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The Cambridge Book 


Poetry for Children 



C. F. CLAY, Manager 

UonHon: fetter lane, e.g. 

lEDinburglj: icx> PRINCES STREET 

ISotnbaB, ffalrutta anU ^aUras : MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd. 

Coranto: J. M. DENT AND SONS, Ltd. 


Copyrighted in the United States of America by 


2, 4 AND 6, West 45TH Street, New York City 

All rights reserved 

The Cambridge Book 


Poetry for Children 

Edited by 

Author of The Golden Age, Dream Days, The Wind 
in the Willows, etc. 


Cambridge : 

at the University Press 



The Editor is indebted to the following authors and 
publishers for leave to reprint copyright poems : Mr W. 
Graham Robertson and Mr Norman Gale ; Messrs Long- 
mans Green & Co. for a poem by Walter Ramal and for 
a poem from Stevenson's Child's Garden of Verse, Messrs 
Chatto & Windus for an extract from Sw^inburne's ^ongs 
Before Sunrise and for 9 poem from Walter Thornbury's 
Ballads and Songs, Messrs G. Routledge & Sons for a 
poem by Joaquin Miller, Mr Elliot Stock for an extract 
from a play by H. N. Maugham ; and Mr John Lane for 
the Rands, Eugene Field, and Graham Robertson poems, 
and for two extracts from John Davidson's Fleet Street 




IN compiling a selection of Poetry for 
Children, a conscientious Editor is bound 
to find himself confronted with limitations so 
numerous as to be almost disheartening. For 
he has to remember that his task is, not to 
provide simple examples of the whole range 
of English poetry, but to set up a wicket- 
gate giving attractive admission to that wide 
domain, with its woodland glades, its pasture 
and arable, its walled and scented gardens 
here and there, and so to its sunlit, and 
sometimes misty, mountain-tops — all to be 
more fully explored later by those who are 
tempted on by the first glimpse. And always 
he must be proclaiming to the small tourists 
that there is joy, light and fresh air in that 
delectable country. 

Briefly, I think that blank verse generally, 
and the drama as a whole, may very well be 


vi Preface 

left for readers of a riper age. Indeed, I 
believe that those who can ignore the plays of 
Shakespeare and his fellow-Elizabethans till 
they are sixteen will be no losers in the long 
run. The bulk, too, of seventeenth and 
eighteenth century poetry, bending under its 
burden of classical form and crowded classical 
allusion, requires a completed education and 
a wide range of reading for its proper 

Much else also is barred. There are the 
questions of subject, of archaic language and 
thought, and of occasional expression, which 
will occur to everyone. Then there is dialect, 
and here one has to remember that these poems 
are intended for use at the very time that a 
child is painfully acquiring a normal — often 
quite arbitrary — orthography. Is it fair to 
that child to hammer into him — perhaps 
literally — that porridge is spelt porridge, and 
next minute to present it to him, in an official 
* Reader,' under the guise of parritch ? I think 
not; and I have accordingly kept as far as 
possible to the normal, though at some loss 
of material. 

In the output of those writers who have 

Preface vii 

deliberately written for children, it is surprising 
how largely the subject of death is found to 
bulk. Dead fathers and mothers, dead 
brothers and sisters, dead uncles and aunts, 
dead puppies and kittens, dead birds, dead 
flowers, dead dolls — a compiler of Obituary 
Verse for the delight of children could make a 
fine fat volume with little difficulty. I have 
turned off this mournful tap of tears as far as 
possible, preferring that children should read 
of the joy of life, rather than revel in senti- 
mental thrills of imagined bereavement. 

There exists, moreover, any quantity of 
verse for children, which is merely verse and 
nothing more. It lacks the vital spark of 
heavenly flame, and is useless to a selector 
of Poetry. And then there is the whole 
corpus of verse — most of it of the present 
day — ^which is written about children, and 
this has even more carefully to be avoided. 
When the time comes that we send our 
parents to school, it will prove very useful 
to the compilers of their primers. 

AU these restrictions have necessarily led 
to two results. First, that this collection is 
chiefly lyrical — and that, after all, is no bad 

viii Preface 

thing. Lyric verse may not be representative 
of the whole range of English poetry, but as 
an introduction to it, as a Wicket-gate, there 
is no better portal. The second result is, that 
it is but a small sheaf that these gleanings 
amount to ; but for those children who frankly 
do not care for poetry it will be more than 
enough ; and for those who love it and delight 
in it, no 'selection' could ever be sufficiently 


October 191 5. 




For the Very Smallest Ones 


Merry are the Bells 

Safe in Bed 

Jenny Wren 

Curly Locks 

Pussy-Cat Mew . 

Draw a Pail of Water 

I Saw a Ship a-sailing 

The Nut-Tree . 

My Maid Mary 

The Wind and the Fisherman 

Blow, Wind, Blow 

All Busy .... 

Winter has Come 

Poor Robin 

I have a Little Sister . 

In Marble Walls 


The Moon . . . Eliza Lee Follen 

The Star . . . . A.i^J. Taylor 
Kitty .... Mrs E. Prentiss 





Kitty : How to Treat Her . . . . 1 1 
Kitty : what She thinks of • 

Herself. . . . W.B. Rands . 12 

The Sea Shell . . . Amy Lowell . 12 


The Cuckoo . . . . . . 13 

The Bird-Scarer's Song . . . . 13 

Cradle Song . . . . . . 13 

Good Night ! . . . . J. ^ J. Taylor . 14 
For Those a Little Older 


Daffodils . . . . W. Shakespeare . 15 

To Daifodils . . . R. Herrick . 1 5 

Daffodils . . . . W. Wordsworth . \6 


The Months . . . Sara Coleridge . 17 

The Wind in a Frolic . William Howitt . 19 

The Four Sweet Months . R. Herrick . 22 

Glad Day . . . . W. G. Robertson . 22 

Buttercups and Daisies . Mary Howitt . 24 

TheMerry Month of March. W. Wordsworth . 24 

What the Birds Say . . S. T. Coleridge . 25 

Spring's Procession . . Sydney D obeli . 26 

The Call of the Woods . W. Shakespeare . 28 
A Prescription for a Spring 

Morning . . . John Davidson . 28 




The Country Faith . . 'Norman Gale . 29 

The Butterfly's Ball . . /T. Roscoe . 30 


A Wish .... Samuel Rogers . 3 3 

Wishing . . . . W. Allingham . 34 

Bunches of Grapes . . Walter Ramal . 3 5 

Contentment . . . Eugene Field . 36 


The Land of Story-Books . R. L. Stevenson . 38 

Sand Castles . . . W. G. Robertson . 39 

Ring o' Roses ... „ .41 


Wynken, Blynken, and Nod 

Eugene Field 


The Drummer-Boy and the 


W. B. Rands 


The Land of Dreams 

William Blake 


Sweet and Low 

Lord Tennyson 


Cradle Song 

Sir Walter Scott 


Mother and I . 

Eugene Field 



The Fairies 

W. Allingham 

. 48 

Shakespeare's Fairies . 

. W. Shakespeare 


The Lavender Beds . 

W. B. Rands 


Farewell to the Fairies 

. Richard Corbet 


Death of Oberon 

. G. W. Thornbur 

^ 57 

Kilmeny . 

. James Hogg 





X » » V-^ V^V^i 


A Boy's Song 

. James Hogg 


A Girl's Song . 

. Thomas Moore 



Three Things to Remember 

William Blake 


The Knight of Bethlehem 

. H. N. Maugham 


The Lamb 

. William Blake 


The Tiger 



I had a Dove . 

. J. Keats 


Robin Redbreast 

. W. Allingham 


Black Bunny 

. W. B. Rands 


The Cow . 

. J. if^ J. Taylor 


The Skylark 

. James Hogg 




Christmas Eve . 

. John Davidson 


A Christmas Carol 

. R. Her rick 


A Child's Present 



The Peace-Giver 

. J. C. Stvinbume 



To a Singer . 

. P. B. Shelley 


The Happy Piper. 

. William Blake 


The Destruction of Sennacherib Lord Byron 


Sheridan's Ride 

. T. Buchanan Read 83 


. Joaquin Miller 



. Lord Macaulay 


Index of Authors 


• 113 

Index of First Lines . 


• 115 


For the Very Smallest Ones ■ 

We begin with some jingles and old rhymes ; for 
rhymes and jingles must not be despised. They have 
rhyme, rhythm, melody, and joy ; and it is well for 
beginners to know that these are all elements of -poetry, 
so that they will turn to it with pleasant expectation. 

Merry are the Bells 

Merry are the bells, and merry would they 

Merry was myself, and merry could I sing; 
With a merry ding-dong, happy, gay, and 

And a merry sing-song, happy let us be ! 

Waddle goes your gait, and hollow are your 

hose ; 
Noddle goes your pate, and purple is your 

Merry is your sing-song, happy, gay, and 

With a merry ding-dong, happy let us be ! 

2 Rhymes and Jingles 

Merry have we met, and merry have we been; 
Merry let us part, and merry me^t again^ 
With our merry sing-song, happy, gay, and free. 
With a merry ding-dong, happy let us be ! 

Safe in Bed 

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, 
Bless the bed that I He on ! 
Four corners to my bed. 
Five angels there lie spread ; 

Two at my head. 

Two at my feet, 
One at my heart, my soul to keep. 

Jenny Wren 

Jenny W 

J^nny Wren fell sick ; 
i a merry time, 
Robin Redbreast, 
And brought her sops of wine. 

Eat well of the sop, Jenny, 
Drink well of the wine ; 

Thank you Robin kindly. 
You shall be mine. 

Rhymes and Jingles 

Jenny she got well, 

And stood I upon her feet, 
And told Robin plainly 

She loved him not a bit. 

Robin, being angry, 
Hopp'd on a twig. 
Saying, Out upon you, 
Fye upon you. 

Bold-faced jig! 

Curly Locks 

Curly locks ! Curly locks ! 

Wilt thou be mine ? 
Thou shalt not wash dishes 

Nor yet feed the swine. 
But sit on a cushion 

And sew a fine scam, , 
And feed upon strawberries 

Sugar and cream. 


Pussy-Cat Mew 

Pussy-cat Mew jumped over a coal. 
And in her best petticoat burnt a great hole. 
Pussy-cat Mew shall have no more milk 
Till she has mended her gown of silk. 

4 Rhymes and Jingles 

Draw a Pail of Water 

Draw a pail of water 

For my Lady's daughter. 

Father's a King, 

Mother's a Queen, 

My two Httle sisters are dressed in green, 

Stamping marigolds and parsley. 

I Saw a Ship a-sailing 

I saw a ship a-sailing, 

A-sailing on the sea ; 
And it was full of pretty things 

For baby and for me. 

There were sweetmeats in the cabin, 

And apples in the hold ; 
The sails were made of silk, 

And the masts were made of gold. 

The four-and-twenty sailors 
That stood between the decks. 

Were four-and-twenty white mice. 
With chains about their necks. 

Rhymes and Jingles 

The captain was a duck, 
With a packet on his back ; 

And when the ship began to move, 
The captain cried, "Quack, quack!" 

The Nut-Tree 

I had a httle nut-tree. 

Nothing would it bear 
But a silver nutmeg 

And a golden pear ; 
The King of Spain's daughter 

She came to see me, 
And all because of my little nut-tree. 
I skipped over water, 

I danced over sea. 
And all the birds in the air couldn't catch me. 

My Maid Mary 

My maid Mary she minds the dairy. 

While I go a-hoeing and a-mowing each 
Gaily run the reel and the little spinning- 
Whilst I am singing and mowing my corn. 

6 Rhymes and Jingles 

The Wind and the Fisherman 

When the wind is in the East, 
'Tis neither good for man or beast ; 
When the wind is in the North, 
The skilful fisher goes not forth ; 
When the wind is in the South, 
It blows the bait in the fish's mouth; 
When the wind is in the West, 
Then 'tis at the very best. 

Blow, Wind, Blow 

Blow, wind, blow ! and go, mill, go ! 

That the miller may grind his corn ; 
That the baker may take it and into rolls make it. 

And send us some hot in the morn. 

All Busy 

The cock's on the house-top, 

Blowing his horn ; 
The bull's in the barn, 

A-threshing of corn ; 
The maids in the meadows 

Are making the hay, 
The ducks in the river 

Are swimming away. 

Rhymes and Jingles 7 

Winter has Come 

Cold and raw 

The north wind doth blow 

Bleak in the morning early; 
All the hills are covered with snow, 

And winter's now come fairly. 

Poor Robin 

The north wind doth blow, 
And we shall have snow, 
And what will poor Robin do then, poor thing ? 

He'll sit in the barn, 
And keep hdlhself warm, 
And hide his head under his wing, poor thing ! 

I HAVE A Little Sister 

I have a little sister, they call her Peep, Peep, 
She wades the waters, deep, deep, deep ; 
She climbs the mountains, high, high, high ; 
Poor little creature, she has but one eye. 

(A star.) 

8 Rhymes and Jingles 

In Marble Walls 

In marble walls as white as milk, 
Lined with a skin as soft as silk, 
Within a fountain crystal-clear, 
A golden apple doth 'Appear. 
No doors there are to this stronghold. 
Yet thieves break in and steal the gold. 

(An t^^) 


Here are some 'poems about things with which we 
are all quite familiar : the Moon and the Stars that we 
see through our bedroom window ; Pussy purring on 
the hearthrug, the spotted shell on the mantelpiece. 

The Moon 

O, look at the moon ! 

She is shining up there ; 
O mother, she looks 

Like a lamp in the air. 

Last week she was smaller, 
And shaped like a bow ; 

But now she's grown bigger. 
And round as an O. 

Eliza Lee Fallen 9 

Pretty moon, pretty moon, 

How you shine on the door, 
And make it all bright 

On my nursery floor ! 

You shine on my playthings, 

And show me their place. 
And I love to look up 

At your pretty bright face. 

And there is a star 

Close by yqu^nd maybe 
That small twinkling star \^ J 

Is your little baby. 

Eliza Lee Follen. 

The Star 

Twinkle, twinkle, little star, 
How I wonder what you are ! 
Up above the world so high. 
Like a diamond in the sky. 

When the blazing sun is gone, 
When he nothing shines upon, 
Then you show your little light, 
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. 

lo Ann and Jane Taylor 

Then the traveller in the dark 
Thanks you for your tiny spark ; 
He could not see which way to go, 
If you did not twinkle so. 

In the dark blue sky you keep, 
And often through my curtains peep, 
For you never shut your eye 
Till the sun is in the sky. 

As your bright and tiny spark 
Lights the traveller in the dark. 
Though I know not what you are, 
Twinkle, twinkle, little star. 

Ann and Jane Taylor. 


Once there was a little kitty 

Whiter than snow; 
In a barn she used to frolic. 

Long time ago. 

In the barn a little mousie 

Ran to and fro ; 
For she heard the kitty coming. 

Long time ago. 

Mrs E. Prentiss 1 1 

Two eyes had little kitty, 

Black as a sloe ; 
And they spied the little mousie, 

Long time ago. 

Four paws had little kitty, 

Paws soft as dough, 
And they caught the little mousie, 

Long time ago. 

Nine teeth had little kitty. 

All in a row ; 
And they bit the little mousie, 

Long time ago. 

When the teeth bit little mousie, 

Little mouse cried "Oh!" 
But she got away from kitty, 

Long time ago. 

Mrs E. Prentiss. 

Kitty: How to Treat Her 

I like little Pussy, her coat is so warm. 
And if I don't hurt her she'll do me no harm 
So I'll not pull her tail, nor drive her away. 
But Pussy and I very gently will play. 

12 W. B. Rands 

Kitty: what She thinks of Herself 

I am the Cat of Cats. I am 

The everlasting cat ! 
Cunning, and old, and sleek as jam, 

The everlasting cat ! 
I hunt the vermin in the night — 

The everlasting cat ! 
For I see best without the light — 

The everlasting cat ! 

W. B. Rands. 

The Sea Shell 

Sea Shell, Sea Shell, 
Sing me a song, O please ! 
A song of ships and sailor-men, 

Of parrots and tropical trees ; 
Of islands lost in the Spanish Main 
Which no man ever may see againy 
Of fishes and corals under the waves. 
And sea-horses stabled in great green caves- 
Sea Shell, Sea Shell, 

Sing me a song, O please ! 

Amy Lowell. 

Anonymous 1 3 


The Cuckoo 

The cuckoo's a bonny bird, 

She sings as she flies ; 
She brings us good tidings, 

And tells us no lies. 
She sucks little birds' eggs. 

To make her voice clear, 
And never cries Cuckoo 

Till the spring of the year. 

The Bird-Scarer's Song 

We've ploughed our land, we've sown our seed, 
We've made all neat and gay ; 
Then take a bit- and leave a bit, 
Away, birds, away! 

Cradle Song 

Sleep, baby, sleep, 
Our cottage vale is deep ; 
The little lamb is on the green. 
With woolly fleece so soft and clean, 

Sleep, baby, sleep! 

14 Ann and Ja7te Taylor 

Sleep, baby, sleep, 
Down where the woodbines creep ; 
Be always like the lamb so mild, 
A kind and sweet and gentle child, 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! 


Little baby, lay your head 

On your pretty cradle-bed ; 

Shut your eye-peeps, now the day 

And the light are gone (away ; 

All the clothes are tucked in tight ; 

Little baby dear, good night. 

Yes, my darling, well I know 
How the bitter wind doth blow ; 
And the winter's snow and rain 
Patter on the window-pane : 
But they cannot come in here, 
To my little baby dear. 

For the window shutteth fast, 
Till the stormy night is past ; 
And the curtains warm are spread 
Round about her cradle-bed : 
So till morning shineth bright 
Little baby dear, good night ! 

Ann and Jane Taylor. 

For Those a L,ittle Older 


Here three Poets treat the same flower each from his 
own distinct and delightful point of view. To the first 
it appeals as the flower of courage, the brave early 
comer ; to the second it is the early goer, the flower of 
a too swift departure — though daffodils really bloom 
for a fairly long time, as flowers go ; the third is grateful 
for an imperishable recollection. 


^— s^ ...Daffodils 

That come before the swallow dares, and take 
The winds of March with beauty. 

To Daffodils 

Fair daffodils, we weep to see 

You haste away so soon; 
As yet the early-rising sun 

Has not attain'd his noon. 
Stay, stay 

Until the hasting day 
Has run 

But to the evensong ; 
And, having pray'd together, we 

Will go with you ^long. 

1 6 Robert Herrick 

We have short time to stay, as you, 
We have as short a spring ; ._. 
^ As quick a growth to meet decay^ 

As you, or anything. 

We die 
As your hours do, and dry 

Like to the summer's rain ; 
Or as the pearls of morning's dew, 
Ne'er to be found again. 

Robert Herrick. 

I wander' d lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
When all at once I saw a crowd, 

A host, of golden daffodils ; 
.Beside the lake, beneath the trees. 
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the Milky Way, 

They stretch' d in never-ending line 
Along the margin of a bay : 

Ten thousand saw I at a glance. 

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

William Wordsworth 17 

The waves beside them danced, but they 
Outdid the sparkHng waves in glee : 

A poet could not but be gay, 
In such a jocund company : 

I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 

What wealth the show to me had brought : 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 

In vacant or in pensive mood. 
They flash upon that inward eye 

Which is the bliss of solitude ; 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils. 

William Wordsworth. 



The Months 

January brings the snow, 
Makes our feet and fingers glow. 

February brings the rain, 
Thaws the frozen lake agaiij. » 

March brings breezes loud and shrill, 
Stirs the dancing daffodil. 

1 8 ' Sara Coleridge 

April brings the primrose sweet, 
Scatters daisies at our feet. 

May brings flocks of pretty lambs, 
Skipping by their fleecy dams. 

June brings tulips, lilies, roses. 

Fills the children's hands with posies. 

Hot July brings cooling showers. 
Apricots and gillyflowers. 

August brings the sheaves of corn. 
Then the harvest home is borne. 

Warm September brings the fruit. 
Sportsmen then begin to shoot. 

Fresh October brings the pheasant. 
Then to gather nuts is pleasant. 

DuU November brings the blast. 
Then the leaves are whirling fast. 

Chill December brings the sleet. 
Blazing fire and Christmas treat. 

Sara Coleridge. 

William Howitt 19 

The Wind in a Frolic 

The wind one morning sprang up from sleep, 

Saying, "Now for a frolic ! now for a leap ! 

Now for a madcap galloping chase ! 

I'll make a commotion in every place ! " 

So it swept with a bustle right through a great 

Creaking the signs and scattering down 
Shutters ; and whisking, with merciless squalls, 
Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls. 
There never was heard a much lustier shout, 
As the apples and oranges trundled about ; 
And the urchins, that stand with their thievish 

For ever on watch, ran off each with a prize. 

Then away to the field it went blustering and 

And the cattle all wondered whatever was 

It plucked bytheir tails the grave matronly cows. 
And tossed the colts' manes all (about )their 

Till, offended at such a familiar salute. 
They all turned their backs, and stood sullenly 


20 JVilliam Howitt 

So on it went, capering and playing its pranks ; 
Whistling with reeds on the broad river's 

banks ; 
Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray, 
Or the traveller grave on the king's, highway. 
It was not too nice to hustle the bags 
Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags ; 
'Twas so bold that it feared not to play its 

With the doctor's wig, or the gentleman's 

Through the forest it roared, and cried gaily, 

You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow ! " 
And it made them bow without more ado, 
Or it cracked their great branches through 

and through. 

Then it rushed like a monster on cottage and 

Striking their dwellers with sudden alarm ; 
And they ran out like bees in a midsummer 

There were dames with their kerchiefs tied 

over their caps. 
To see if their poultry were free from mishaps ; 

nice: particular. 

William Howitt 21 

The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed 

And the hens crept to roost in a terrified 

crowd ; 
There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying 

Where the thatch from the roof threatened 

soon to be gone. 
But the wind had passed on, and had met in a 

With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled 

in vain ; 
For it tossed him and twirled him, then passed, 

and he stood 
With his hat in a pool and his shoe in the 


But away went the wind in its holiday glee. 
And now it was far on the billowy sea. 
And the lordly ships felt its staggering blow. 
And the little boats darted to and fro. 
But lo ! it was night, and it sank to rest. 
On the sea-bird's rock in the gleaming West, 
Laughing to think, in its fearful fun. 
How little of mischief it had done. 

William Howitt. 


22 Robert Her rick 

The Four Sweet Months 

First, April, she with mellow showers 

Opens the way for early flowers ; 

Then after her comes smiling May, 

In a more sweet and rich array; 

Next enters June, and brings us more--. 

Gems than those two that went before : 

Then, lastly, July comes and she 

More wealth brings in than all those three. 

Robert Herrick. 

Glad Day 

Here's another day, dear, 

Here's the sun again 
Peeping in his pleasant way 

Through the window pane. 

Rise and let him in, dear, 

Hail him "hip hurray!" 
Now the fun will all, begin. 

Here's another day! 

Down the coppice path, dear, 
Through the dewy glade, 
(When the Morning took her bath 
What a splash she made !) 

W, Graham Robertson 23 

Up the wet wood-way, dear, 
Under dripping green 
Run to meet another day, 
Brightest ever seen. 

Mushrooms in the field, dear, 

Show their silver gleam. 
What a dainty crop they yield 

Firm as clouted cream. 

Cool as balls of snow, dear. 

Sweet and fresh and round ! 
Ere the early dew can go 

We must clear the ground. 

Such a lot to do, dear. 

Such a lot to see ! 
How we ever can get through 

Fairly puzzles me. 

Hurry up and out, dear, 

Then — away! away! -, 

In and out and round about, 

Here's another day! 

W. Graham Robertson. 

24 Mary Howitt 

Buttercups and Daisies 

Buttercups and daisies — 
O the pretty flowers ! 
Coming ere the spring-time, 

To tell of sunny hours. 
When the trees are leafless ; 

When the fields are bare ; 
Buttercups and daisies 

Spring up here and there. 

Welcome, yellow buttercups ! 
Welcome, daisies white ! 
Ye are in my spirit 

Vision'd, a delight^ 
Coming ere the spring-time, 

Of sunny hours to tell — 
Speaking to our hearts of Him 

Who doeth all things well. 

Mary Howitt. 

The Merry Month of March 

The cock is crowing, 
The stream is flowing. 
The small birds twitter. 
The lake doth glitter. 
The green field sleeps in the sun ; 

William Wordsworth 2 5 

The oldest and youngest 
Are at work with the strongest ; 
The cattle are grazing, 
Their heads never raising ; 
There are forty feeding like one ! 

Like an army defeated 

The snow hath retreated, 

And now doth fare ill 

On the top of the bare hill ; ^ — ^ 

The Plough-boy is whooping'^on^non/ 

There's joy in the mountains; 

There's life in the fountains ; 

Small clouds are sailing, 

Blue sky prevailing ; 
The rain is over and gone ! 

William Wordsworth. 

What the Birds Say 

Do you know what the birds say? The 

sparrow, the dove. 
The linnet and thrush say " I love and I love ! " 
In the winter they're silent — the wind is so 

strong ; 
What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud 


2 6 S. T. Coleridge 

But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny 

warm weather. 
And singing, and loving, all come back together. 
But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love. 
The green fields below him, the blue sky above. 
That he sings, and he sings, and for ever sings 

" I love my love, and my love loves me ! " 

S. T. Coleridge. 

Spring's Procession 

First came the primrose. 
On the bank high. 
Like a maiden looking forth 
From the window of a tower 
When the battle rolls below; 
So look'd she, ^ " 

And saw the storms go by. 

Then came the wind-flGwer 
In the valley left behmd; 
As a wounded maiden, pale 
With purple streaks of woe. 
When the battle has roll'd by 
Wanders to and fro. 
So tottered she, 
Dishevell'd in the wind. 

Sydney Dobell 27 

Then came the daisies, 

On the first of May, 

Like a banner'd show's advance 

While the crowd runs by the way. 

With ten thousand flowers about them 

they came trooping through the fields. 
As a happy people come, 
So came they. 

As a happy people come 

When the war has roll' d^a way, ^ 
With dance and tabor, pipe and drum. 
And all make holiday. 

Then came the cowslip, 

Like a dancer in the fair. 

She spread her little mat of green. 

And on it danced she. 

With a fillet bound about her brow, 

A fillet round her happy brow, 

A golden fillet round her brow. 

And rubies in her hair. ^"~~-s 

Sydney Dobell., 

2 8 Shakespeare 

The Call of the Woods 

Under the greenwood tree, 

Who loves to lie with me, 

And tune his merry note 

Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
Come hither, come hither, come hither ! 

Here shall he see 

No enemy 
But winter and rough weather. 

Who doth ambition shun. 
And loves to live in the sun. 
Seeking the food he eats. 
And pleas'd with what he gets. 

Come hither, come hither, come hither ! 
Here shall he see 
No enemy 

But winter and rough weather. 


A Prescription for a Spring Morning 

At early dawn through London you must go 
Until you come where long black hedgerows 

With pink buds pearl'd, with here and there a 


John Davidson z 9 

And gates and stiles; and watch good 
country folk ; 

And scent the spicy smoke 
Of wither'd weeds tha:t burn where gardens be ; 
And in a ditch perhaps a primrose see. 
The rooks shall stalk the plough, larks mount 
the skies, 

Blackbirds and speckled thrushes sing aloud, 

Hid in the warm white cloud 
Mantling the thorn, and far away shall rise 
The milky low of cows and farm-yard cries. 

From windy heavens the climbing sun shall 

And February greet you like a maid 

In russet cloak array'd ; 
And you shall take her for your mistress fine, 
And pluck a crocus for her valentine. 

John Davidson. 

The Country Faith 

Here in the country's heart 
Where the grass is green, 
Life is the same sweet life 
As it e'er hath been 

3 o Norman Gale 

Trust in a God still lives, 
And the bell at morn 
Floats with a thought of God 
O'er the rising corn. 

God comes down in the rain, 
And the crop grows tall — 
This is the country faith. 
And the best of all. 

Norman Gale. 

The Butterfly's Ball 

"Come, take up your hats, and away let us 

To the Butterfly's Ball and the Grasshopper's 

Feast ; 
The Trumpeter, Gadfly, has summoned the 

And the revels are now only^waiting for you." 
So said little Robert, and pacing along, 
His merry Companions came forth in a throng. 
And on the smooth Grass by the side of a Wood, 
Beneath a broad oak that for ages had stood. 
Saw the Children of Earth and the Tenants of 

For an Evening's Amusement together repair, y 

William Roscoe 3 i 

And there came the Beetle, so blind and so 

Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his 

And there was the Gnat and the Dragon-fly too, 
With all their Relations, green, orange and blue. 
And there came the Moth, with his plumage 

of down. 
And the Hornet in jacket of yellow and brown ; 
Who with him the Wasp, his companion, did 

But they promised that evening to lay by 

their sting. 
And the sly little Dormouse crept out of his 

And brought to the feast his blind Brother, 

the Mole, 
And the Snail, with his horns peeping out of 

his shell, 
Came from a great distance, the length of an 


A Mushroom their Table, and on it was laid 
A water-dock leaf, which a table-cloth made. 
The Viands were various, to each of their taste. 
And the Bee brought her honey to crown the 

32 William Roscoe 

Then close on his haunches, so solemn and wise, 
The Frog from a corner look'd up to the skies ; 
And the Squirrel, well pleased such diversions 

to see. 
Mounted high overhead and look'd down from 

a tree. 

Then out came the Spider, with finger so fine. 
To show his dexterity on the tight-line. 
From one branch to another his cobwebs he 

Then quick as an arrow he darted along. 
But just in the middle — oh! shocking to tell, 
From his rope, in an instant, poor Harlequin 

Yet he touched not the ground, but with 

talons outspread. 
Hung suspended in air, at the end of a thread. 

Then the Grasshopper came, with a jerk and a 

Very long was his leg, though but short was 

his Wing ; 
He took but three leaps, and was soon out of 

Then chirp'd his own praises the rest of the 


William Roscoe 3 3 

With step so majestic the Snail did advance, 
And promised the Gazers a Minuet to dance ; 
But they all laughed so loud that he pulled in 

his head, 
And went in his own little chamber to bed. 
Then as Evening gave way to the shadows of 

Their Watchman, the Glowworm, came out 

with a light. 

"Then home let us hasten, while yet we can 

For no Watchman is waiting for you and for 

So said little Robert, and pacing along. 
His merry Companions return'd in a throng. 

William Roscoe. 


A Wish 

Mine be a cot beside the hill ; 

A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear 
A willowy brook, that turns a mill. 

With many a fall shall linger near. 

34 Samuel Rogers 

The swallow oft beneath my thatch 
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; 

Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch 

And share my meal, a welcome guest. 

Around my ivied porch shall spring 

Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; 

And Lucy at her wheel shall sing 
In russet gown and apron blue. 

The village church among the trees, 

Where first our marriage vows were given, 

With merry peals shall swell the breeze, 
And point with taper spire to Heaven. 

Samuel Rogers. 


Ring-ting ! I wish I were a Primrose, 
A bright yellow Primrose blowing in the 
The stopping boughs above me, 
The wandering bee to love me. 
The fern and moss to creep across. 

And the Elm-tree for our King ! 

William Allingha^n 35 

Nay — stay ! I wish I were an Elm-tree, 
A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay ! 
The winds would set them dancing. 
The sun and moonshine glance in. 
The birds would house among the boughs, 
And sweetly sing ! 

O — no ! I wish I were a Robin, 

A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go ; 

Through forest, field, or garden. 

And ask no leave or pardon. 
Till Winter comes with icy thumbs 
To ruffle up our wing ! 

Well— tell! Where should I fly to. 
Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell? 
Before a day was over. 
Home comes the rover, 
For Mother's kiss, — sweeter this 
Than any other thing ! 

William Allingham. 

Bunches of Grapes 

"Bunches of grapes," says Timothy; 
"Pomegranates pink,** says Elaine; 
"A junket of cream and a cranberry tart 
For me," says Jane. 


36 Walter Rama/ 

"Love-in-a-mist," says Timothy; 
"Primroses pale," says Elaine; 
"A nosegay of pinks and mignonette 
For me," says Jane. 

"Chariots of gold," says Timothy; 
"Silvery wings," says Elaine; 
"A bumpity ride in a waggon of hay 
For me," says Jane. 

Walter Ramal. 


Once on a time an old red hen 

Went strutting round with pompous clucks, 
For she had little babies ten, 

A part of which were tiny ducks. 
"'Tis very rare that hens," said she, 

"Have baby ducks as well as chicks — 
But I possess, as you can see, 

Of chickens four and ducklings six ! " 

A season later, this old hen 

Appeared, still cackling of her luck, 

For, though she boasted babies ten. 
Not one among them was a duck ! 

Eugene Field 37 

"'Tis well," she murmured, brooding o'er 
The little chicks of fleecy down, 

"My babies now will stay ashore. 
And, consequently, cannot drown!" 

The following spring the old red hen 
Clucked just as proudly as of yore — 

But lo ! her babes were ducklings ten. 
Instead of chickens as before ! 

"'Tis better," said the old red hen. 
As she surveyed her waddling brood ; 

"A little water now and then 
• Will surely do my darlings good ! " 

But oh ! alas, how very sad ! 

When gentle spring rolled round again, 
The eggs eventuated bad. 

And childless was the old red hen ! 
Yet patiently she bore her woe. 

And still she wore a cheerful air, 
And said : " 'Tis best these things are so. 

For babies are a dreadful care ! " 

I half suspect that many men. 

And many, many women too. 
Could learn a lesson from the hen 

With plumage of vermilion hue. 

38 Eugene Field 

She ne'er presumed to take offence 
At any fate that might befall, 

But meekly bowed to Providence — 
She was contented — that was all ! 

Eugene Field. 


The Land of Story-Books 

At evening when the lamp is lit. 
Around the fire my parents sit ; 
They sit at home and talk and sing. 
And do not play at anything. 

Now, with my little gun, I crawl 
All in the dark along the wall, 
, And follow round the forest track 
Away behind the sofa back. 

There, in the night, where none can spy, 
All in my hunter's camp I lie. 
And play at books that I have read 
Till it is time to go to bed. 

R. L. Stevenson 39 

These are the hills, these are the woods, 
These are my starry solitudes ; 
And there the river by whose brink 
The roaring lions come to drink. 

I see the others far away 
As if in iirelit camp they lay, 
And I, like to an Indian scout, 
Around their party prowled about. 

So, when my nurse comes in for me. 
Home I return across the sea, 
And go to bed with backward logks 
At my dear land of Story-books. 

R. L. Stevenson. 

Sand Castles 

Build me a castle of sand 

Down by the sea. 
Here on the edge of the strand 

Build it for me. — ^ 

How shall a foeman invade, 

Where may he land, 
While we can raise with our spade 

Castles of sand ? 

40 JV. Graham Robertson 

N/ ^ Turrets upleap and aspire, ' 

Battlements rise 
Sweeping the sea with their fire, 

Storming the skies. 
Pile that a monarch might own, 

Mightily plann'd ! 
I can't sit here on a throne. 

This is too grand. 

Build me a cottage of sand 

Up on the hill; 
Snug in a cleft it must stand 

. Sunny and still. 
Plant it with ragwort and ling, 

Bramble and bine : 
Castles I'll leave to the King, 

This shall be mine. 

Storm-clouds drive over the land. 

High flies the spray ; 
Gone are our houses of sand, 

Vanished feiway! 
Look at the damage you've done, 

Sea-wave and rain ! 
— " Nay, we but give you your fun 


W. Graham Robertson. 

W, Graham Robertson 41 

Ring o' Roses 

Hush a while, my darling, for the long day- 

Nodding into slumber on the blue hill's crest. 
See the little clouds play Ring a ring o' roses, 

Planting Fairy gardens in the red-rose West. 

Greet him for us, cloudlets, say we're not for- 
Golden gifts of sunshine, merry hours of 
Ring a ring o' roses round the sweet sun's 
Spread a bed of roses for the dear dead day. 

Hush-a-bye, my little one, the dear day dozes, 

Doffed his crown of kingship and his fair 

flag furled, 

While the earth and sky play Ring a ring o' 


Ring a ring o' roses round the rose-red world. 

W. Graham Robertson. 

42 Eugene Field 


Wynken, Blynken, and Nod 

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night 

Sailed off in a wooden shoe — 
Sailed on a river of crystal light, 

Into a sea of dew. 
"Where are you going, and what do you 
The old moon asked the three. 
"We have come to fish for the herring fish 
That live in this beautiful sea ; 
Nets of silver and gold have we ! " 
Said Wynken, 
And Nod. 
The old moon laughed and sang a song. 

As they rocked in the wooden shoe. 
And the wind that sped them all night long 

Ruffled the waves of dew. 
The little stars were the herring fish 
That lived in that beautiful sea — 
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish — 
Never afeared are we" : 
So cried the stars to the fishermen three : 
And Nod. 

Eugene Field 43 

All night long their nets they threw 

To the stars in the twinkling foam — 
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, 

Bringing the fishermen home ; 
'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed 

As if it could not be, 
And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd 
Of sailing that beautiful sea — 
But I shall name^ou the fishermen three : 
And Nod. 
Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, 

And Nod is a little head, 
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies 

Is a wee one's trundle-bed. 
So shut your eyes while mother sings 

Of wonderful sights that be, 
And you shall see the beautiful things 
As you rock in the misty sea, 
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen 
three : 

And Nod. 

Eugene Field. 

44 ^' B. Rands 

The Drummer-Boy and the Shepherdess 

Drummer-boy, drummer-boy, where is your 

drum ? 
And why do you weep, sitting here on your 

thumb ? 
The soldiers are out, and the fifes we can hear ; 
But where is the drum of the young grenadier ? 

"My dear little drum it was stolen away 
Whilst I was asleep on a sunshiny day; 
It was all through the drone of a big bumble- 
And sheep and a shepherdess under a tree." 

Shepherdess, shepherdess, where is your crook ? 
And why is your little lamb over the brook ? 
It bleats for its dam, and dog Tray is not by, 
So why do you stand with a tear in your eye ? 

"My dear little crook it was stolen away ' 
Whilst I dreamt a dream on a morning in May ; 
It was all through the drone of a big bumble- 
And a drum and a drummer-boy under a tree." 

W. B. Rands. 

William Blake 45 

The Land of Dreams 

"Awake, awake, my little boy! 
Thou wast thy mother's only joy; 
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep ? 
O wake ! thy father doth thee keep. 

what land is the land of dreams ? 

What are its mountains and what are its 

"O father ! I saw my mother there, 
f^Amorig the lilies by waters fair." 

"Dear child ! I also by pleasant streams 
Have wandered all night in the land of dreams, 
But, though calm and warm the waters wide 

1 could not get to the other side." 

"Father, O father! what do we here, 
In this land of unbelief and fear ? 
The land of dreams is better far, 
/Above the light of the morning star." 

— -^ . William Blake. 

Sweet and Low 

Sweet and low, sweet and low, 
Wind of the western sea. 
Low, low, breathe and blow. 
Wind of the western sea ! 

46 Lord Tennyson 

Over the rolling waters go, 

Come from the dying moon, and blow. 

Blow him ^gltR, to me ; 
While my little one, while my pretty one, 

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest. 

Father will come to thee soon ; 
Rest, rest, on mother's breast. 

Father will come to thee soon ; 
Father will come to his babe in the nest. 
Silver sails all out of the west 

Under the silver moon : 
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. 
Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 

Cradle Song 

O hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a knight, 
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright ; 
The woods and the glens, from the towers which 

we see, 
They all are belonging, dear baby, to thee. 

O fear not the bugle, though loudly it ^dw5^ 
It calls but the warders that guard thyCrepose; 
Their bows would be bended, their blades 

would be red. 
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed. 

Sir Walter Scott 47 

O hush thee, my baby, the time will soon come. 
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet 

and drum ; 
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while 

you may, 
For strife comes with manhood, and waking 

with day. 

Sir Walter Scott. 

Mother and I 

Mother-My-Love, if you'll give me your hand, 
And go where I ask you to wander, 

1 will lead you away to a beautiful land — 

The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder. 
We'll walk in a sweet-posy garden out there. 

Where moonlight and starlight are streaming, 
And the flowers and the birds are filling the air 

With the fragrance and music of dreaming. 

There'll be no Uttle tired-out boy to undress, 

No questions or cares to perplex you; - — -^ 
There'll be no little bruises or bumps to caress. 

Nor patching of stockings to vex you. 
For I'll rock you away on a silver-dew stream. 

And sing you asleep when you're weary. 
And no one shall know of our beautiful dream 

But you and your own little dearie. 


48 Eugene Field 

And when I am tired I'll nestle my head 

In the bosom that's sooth'd me so often, 
And the wide-awake stars shall sing in my 
A song which our dreaming shall soften. 
So Mother-My-Love, let me take your dear 
hand, ^^ 
And away through the starlight we'll 
^ wander — 

t Away through the mist to the beautiful land — 
■ The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder! 

Eugene Field. 

The Fairies 

Up the airy mountain, 
Down the rushy glen. 

We daren't go a-hunting 
For fear of little men ; 

Wee folk, good folk. 

Trooping all together ; 

Green jacket, red cap, 
And white owl's feather 1 

William Allingham 4.9 

Down along the rocky shore 

Some make their home, 
They live on crispy pancakes 

Of yellow tide-foam ; 
Some in the reeds 

Of the black mountain-lake, 
With frogs for their watch-dogs, 

All night awake. 

High on the hill-top 

The old King sits ; 

He is now so old and grey 

He's nigh lost his wits. 
With a bridge of white mist 

Columbkill he crosses, 
On his stately journeys 

From Slieveleague to Rosses ; 
Or going up with music 

On cold starry nights. 
To sup with the Queen 

Of the gay Northern Lights. 

They stole little Bridget 

For seven years long ; 
When she came down again 

Her friends were all gone. 



50 William Allingham 

They took her Hghtly back, 

Between the night and morrow, »^ 

They thought that she was fast asleepy^' 

But she was dead with sorrow. 
They have kept her ever since 

Deep within the lakes, 
On a bed of flag-leaves. 

Watching till she wakes. 

By the craggy hill-side. 

Through the mosses bare. 
They have planted thorn-trees 

For pleasure here and there. 
Is any man so daring 

As dig one up in spite, 
He shall find their sharpest thorns 

In his bed at night. 

Up the airy mountain, 

Down the rushy glen. 
We daren't go a-hunting 

For fear of little men ; 
Wee folk, good folk. 

Trooping all together. 
Green jacket, red cap. 

And white owl's feather ! 

William Allingham. 


Shakespeare 5 1 

Shakespeare's Fairies 

Some of ihem^ — 

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and 

And ye that on the sands with printless foot 
Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him 
When he comes back ; you demi-puppets, that 
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make 
Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose 

Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice 
To hear the solemn curfew. . . . 

^hey Dance and Play, — 

Come unto these yellow sands. 

And then take hands : 
Courtsied when you have, and kiss'd, — 

The wild waves whist, — 
Foot it f eatly here and there ; 

And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. 

Demi-puppets : half the size of a doll. 

Whist : silent. 

F eatly : neatly, elegantly. 


5 2 Shakespeare 

Hark, hark! 

Bow^ woWf 
The watch-dogs bark : 
Bow^ woWy 
Hark, hark! I hear 
The strain of strutting chanticleer 
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow ! 

Ariel Sings, — 

Where the bee sucks, there suck I : 
In a cowsKp's bell I lie ; 

There I couch when owls do cry. 

On the bat's back I do fly 

After summer merrily. 

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now. 

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 

A Busy One 

Over hill, over dale. 

Thorough bush, thorough brier, 

Over park, over pale, 

Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
I do wander everywhere. 
Swifter than the moone's sphere; 
And I serve the fairy queen. 
To dew her orbs upon the green. 

Orbs : circles, or fairy rings. 

Shakespeare 5 3 

The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 

In their gold coats spots you see ; 

Those be rubies, fairy favours, 

In those freckles live their savours : 
I must go seek some dewdrops here. 
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 

They Sing Their Queen to Sleep, — 
You spotted snakes with double tongue, 

Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ; 
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong ; 
Come not near our fairy queen. 
Philomel, with melody 
Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby ! 
Never harm. 
Nor spell nor charm, 
Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
So, good night, with lullaby. 

Weaving spiders, come not here ; 

Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence ! 
Beetles black, approach not near ; 
Worm nor snail, do no offence. 
Philomel, with melody. 
Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby! 

54 Shakespeare 

Never harm, 

Nor spell nor charm, 
Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
So, good night, with lullaby. 


The Lavender Beds 

The garden was pleasant with old-fashioned 

The sunflowers and hollyhocks stood up like 

towers ; 
There were dark turncap liHes and jessamine 

And sweet thyme and marjoram scented the air. 

The moon made the sun-dial tell the time 

wrong ; 
'Twas too late in the year for the nightingale's 

The box-trees were clipped, and the alleys were 

Till you came to the shrubbery hard by the gate. 

The fairies stepped out of the lavender beds, 
With mob-caps, or wigs, on their quaint little 

heads ; 
My lord had a sword and my lady a fan ; 
The music struck up and the dancing began. 

W. B. Rands 55 

I watched them go through with a grave 

minuet ; 
Wherever they footed the dew was not wet ; 
They bowed and they curtsied, the brave and 

the fair ; 
And laughter like chirping of crickets was 


Then all on a sudden a church clock struck loud : 
A flutter, a shiver, was seen in the crowd. 
The cock crew, the wind woke, the trees tossed 

their heads. 
And the fairy folk hid in the lavender beds. 

W. B. Rands. 

Farewell to the Fairies 

Farewell rewards and fairies, 

Good housewives now may say, 
For now foul sluts in dairies 

Do fare as well as they. 
And though they sweep their hearths no less 

Than maids were wont to do, 
Yet who of late, for cleanliness, 

Finds sixpence in her shoe ? 

56 Richard Corbet 

At morning and at evening both, 

You merry were and glad, 
So little care of sleep or sloth 

Those pretty ladies had. 
When Tom came home from labour, 

Or Cis to milking rose, 
Then merrily went their tabor, 

And nimbly went their toes. 

Witness those rings and roundelays 

Of theirs, which yet remain, 
Were footed in Queen Mary's days 

On many a grassy plain; 
But since of late Elizabeth, 

And later, James came in, 
They never danced on any heath 

As when the time hath been. 

Bv which we note the fairies 

Were of the old profession, 
Their songs were Ave-Maries, 

Their dances were procession : 
But now, alas ! they all are dead, 

Or gone beyond the seas ; 
Or farther for religion fled, 

Or else they take their ease. 

G. W, Thornbury 57 

A tell-tale in their company 

They never could endure, 
And whoso kept not secretly 

Their mirth, was punished sure ; 
It was a just and Christian deed 

To pinch such black and blue : 
O how the commonwealth doth need 

Such justices as you! 

Richard Corbet (1582 — 1635). 

Dirge on the Death of Oberon, the 
Fairy King 
Toll the lilies' silver bells ! 

Oberon, the King, is dead ! 
In her grief the crimson rose 

All her velvet leaves has shed. 
Toll the lilies' silver bells ! 

Oberon is dead and gone ! 
He who looked an emperor 

When his glow-worm crown was on. 
Toll the lilies' silver bells ! 

Slay the dragonfly, his steed ; 
Dig his grave within the ring 
Of the mushrooms in the mead. 

G. W. Thornbury. 
{But he wasrCt dead, really. It was all a mist:ke. 
So they didn't slay the dragonfly after all.) 

58 yames Hogg 


{A Story about one who went there) 
Bariny Kilmeny gaed up the glen ; 
But it wasna to meet Duneira's men, 
Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see, 
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 
It was only to hear the yorfin sing, 
And pull the blue cress-flower round the spring ; 
To pull the hip and the hindberrye. 
And the nut that hung frae the hazel-tree ; 
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 
But lang may her minnie look o'er the wa', 
And lang may she seek in the greenwood shaw ; 
Lang the Laird" o' Duneira blame, 
And lang, lang greet e'er Kilmeny come hame ! 
When many a day had come and fled, 
When grief grew calm, and hope was dead, 
When mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung. 
When the bedesman had prayed and the dead- 
bell rung ; 
Late, late in a gloaming, when all was, still. 
When the fringe was red on the westlin hill, 
The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane. 
The reek of the cot hung o'er the plain, 

gaed: went. yorlin : yellow-hammer. hindberrye: wild 
raspberry, minnie : mother, greet : weep, westlin : western. 
reek : smoke. 

y antes Hogg 59 

Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane ; 
When the ingle lowed with an eery gleam, 
Late, late in the gloamin', Kilmeny came hame ! 

" Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ? 
Lang hae we sought baith holt and dene ; 
By linn, by ford, and green-wood tree. 
Yet you are halesome and fair to see. 
Where gat you that joup of the lily sheen ? 
That bonny snood of the birk sae green ? 
And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen ? 
Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ? " 

Kilmeny look'd up with a lovely grace. 
But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face ; 
As stiU was her look, and as still was her ee. 
As the stillness that lay on the emerald lea. 
Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. 
For Kilmeny had been she knew not where, 
And Kilmeny had seen what she could not 

Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew. 
Where the rain never fell, and the wind ^ever 

But it seem'd as the harp of the sky had rung. 
And the airs of heaven play'd round her tongue, 

its lane: alone, ingle: fire, lowed: flamed, linn: water- 
fall, joup: bodice, snood: hair-ribbon, birk: birch. 

6o y antes Hogg 

When she spake of the loyely forms she had 

And a land where sin had never been ; 
A land of love and a land of light, 
Withouten sun, or moon, or night ; 
The land of visibn it would seem. 
And still an everlasting dream. 

They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away. 

And she walk'd in the light of a sunless day ; 

The sky was a dome of crystal bright. 

The fountain of vision, and fountain of light : 

The emerald fields were of dazzling glow, 

And the flowers of everlasting blow. 

Then deep in the stream her body they laid. 

That her youth and beauty might never fade; 

And they smiled on heaven, when they saw 

her lie 
In the stream of Ufe that wander'd by. 
And she heard a song, she heard it sung. 
She kenn'd not where ; but so sweetly it rung, 
It fell on the ear like a dream of the morn : 
" O blest be the day Kilmeny was born !" 

To sing of the sights Kilmeny saw, 
So far surpassing nature's law. 

yames Hogg 6i 

The singer's voice would sink away, 

And the string of his harp would cease to play. 

But she saw till the sorrows of man were by, 

And all was love and harmony ; 

Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away, 

Like the flakes of snow on a winter day. 

When seven lang years had come and fled, 
When grief was calm and hope was dead ; 
When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name, 
Late, late in a gloaming Kilmeny came hame ! 
And O, her beauty was fair to see. 
But still and steadfast was her ee ! 
Her seymar was the lily flower, 
And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower; 
And her voice like the distant melody 
That floats along the twilight sea. 
But she loved to raike the lanely glen. 
And keepit away frae the haunts of men ; 
Her holy hymns unheard to sing. 
To suck the flowers, and drink the spring. 
But wherever her peaceful form appear'd. 
The wild beasts of the hill were cheer'd ; 
The wolf play'd blythly round the field. 
The lordly bison low'd and kneel' d ; 

seymar : a light robe. raike : wander through. 

62 y antes Hogg 

Th^ dun deer woo'd with manner bland, 
And cower' d aneath her lily hand. 
And all in a peaceful ring were hurl'd ; 
It was like an eve in a sinless world ! 

When a month and a day had come and gane, 
Kilmeny sought the green-wood wene ; 
There laid her down on the leaves sae green, 
And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen. 

James Hogg. 


A Boy's Song 

Where the pools are bright and deep, 
Where the grey trout lies asleep, 
Up the river and over the lea. 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

Where the blackbird sings the latest, 
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest. 
Where the nestlings chirp and flee. 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

Where the mowers mow the cleanest. 
Where the hay Hes thick and greenest, 
There to track the homeward bee. 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

y antes Hogg 63 

Where the hazel bank is steepest, 
Where the shadow falls the deepest, 
Where the clustering nuts fall free, 
That's the way for Billy and me. ' 

Why the boys should drive away 
Little sweet maidens from the play, 
Or love to banter and fight so well, 
That's the thing I never could tell. 

But this I know, I love to play 
Through the meadow, among the hay ; 
Up the water and over the lea. 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

Jabes Hogg. 

A Girl's Song 

There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream. 
And the nightingale sings round it all the 
day long ; 
In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet 
To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. 

That bower and its music I never forget. 
But oft when alone in the bloom of the year, 

I think — is the nightingale singing there yet ? 
Are the roses still bright by the calm Bende- 
meer ? 

64 Thomas Moore 

No, the roses soon withered that hung o'er the 
But some blossoms were gathered, while 
freshly they shone. 
And a dew was distilled from their flowers, that 
All the fragrance of summer, when summer 
was gone. 

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies, 

An essence that breathes of it many a year ; 
Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my 
Is that bower on the banks of the calm 
Bendemeer ! 

Thomas Moore. 


"Men are brethren of each other ^ 
One in flesh and one in food ; 
And a sort of foster brother 
Is the litter, or the brood, 
Of that folk in fur or feather. 
Who, with men together. 
Breast the wind and weather P 

Christina Rossetti. 

William Blake 65 

Three Things to Remember 

A Robin Redbreast in a cage 
Puts all Heaven in a rage. 

A skylark wounded on the wing 
Doth make a cherub cease to sing. 

He who shall hurt the little wren 
Shall never be beloved by men. 

William Blake. 

The Knight of Bethlehem 

There was a Knight of Bethlehem, , 

Whose wealth was tears and sorrows ; 
His men-at-arms were little lambs, 

His trumpeters were sparrows. 
His castle was a wooden cross. 

On which he hung so high ; 
His helmet was a crown of thorns, 

Whose crest did touch the sky. 

H. N. Maugham. 

The Lamb 

Little Lamb, who made thee ? 
Dost thou know who made thee ? 
Gave thee life, and bade thee feed 
By the stream and o'er the mead ; 
o. 5 

66 William Blake 

Gave thee clothing of delight, 
Softest clothing, woolly, bright ; 
Gave thee such a tender voice, 
Making all the vales rejoice? 

Little lamb, who made thee ? 

Dost thou know who made thee ? 

Little lamb, I'll tell thee ; 

Little lamb, I'll tell thee : 
He is called by thy name. 
For He calls Himself a Lamb. 
He is meek, and He is mild, 
He became a little child. 
I a child, and thou a lamb, 
We are called by His name. 

Little lamb, God bless thee ! 

Little lamb, God bless thee ! 

William Blake. 

The Tiger 

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright 
In the forest of the night. 
What immortal hand or eye 
Framed thy fearful symmetry ? 

William Blake 67 

In what distant deeps or skies 
Burned that fire within thine eyes ? 
On what wings dared he aspire ? 
What the hand dared seize the fire ? 

And what shoulder, and what art, 
Could twist the sinews of thy heart ? 
When thy heart began to beat, 
What dread hand formed thy dread feet ? 

What the hammer, what the chain, 
Knit thy strength and forged thy brain ? 
What the anvil? What dread grasp 
Dared thy deadly terrors clasp ? 

When the stars threw down their spears. 
And water'd heaven with their tears. 
Did He smile His work to see ? 
Did He who made the lamb make thee ? 

William Blake. 

I HAD A Dove 

I had a dove, and the sweet dove died ; 

And I have thought it died of grieving ; 
O, what could it grieve for ? Its feet were tied 

With a silken thread of my own hands* 

68 yohn Keats 

Sweet little red feet ! why should you die — 
Why would you leave me, sweet bird ! why ? 
You lived alone in the forest tree, 
Why, pretty thing ! would you not live with me ? 
I kiss'd you oft and gave you white peas ; 
Why not Hve sw^ly, as in the green trees ? 

John Keats. 

Robin Redbreast 

Good-bye, good-bye to Summer ! 

For Summer's nearly done; 
The garden smiling faintly, 

Cool breezes in the sun ; 
Our thrushes now are silent, 

Our swallows flown away, — 
But Robin's here in coat of brown. 

And scaflet breast-knot gay. 
Robin, Robin Redbreast, 

O Robin dear ! 
Robin sings so sweetly 

In the falling of the year. 

Bright yellow, red, and orange. 
The leaves come down jn hosts ; 

The trees are Indian princes, 
But soon they'll turn to ghosts ; 

William Allingham 69 

The leathery pears and apples 

Hang russet on the bough^ 
It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, 

'Twill soon be Winter now. 
Robin, Robin Redbreast, 

O Robin dear! y 

And what will this poor Robin do ? 

For pinching days are near. 

The fireside for the cricket, 

The wheatstack for the mouse. 
When trembling night-winds whistle 

And moan all round the house. 
The frosty ways like iron. 

The branches plumed with snow, — 
Alas ! in winter dead and dark. 

Where can poor Robin go ? 
Robin, Robin Redbreast, 

O Robin dear ! 
And a crumb of bread for Robin, 

His little heart to cheer. 

/ William Allingham. 

Black Bunny 

Itjaras a black Bunny, with white in its head, 
Alive when the children went co^ to bed — 
O early next morning. that Bunny was dead! 

JO W. B. Rands 

When Bminy's young master awolpe up from 

sleep, '^ ^ 

To look at the creatures young master did creep, 
And saw that this black one lay all of a heap^ 

"O Buniiy, what ails you ? What does it import - 
That you lean on one side, with your breath 

coming short ? 
For I nev-et befor^ saw a thing of the sort ! " 

They took him so gently up out of his hutch. 
They made him a sick-bed, they loved him so 

They wrapped him up warm ; they said. Poor 

thing, and such ; 

But all to no purpose. Black Bunny he died, 
And rolled over limp on his little black side; 
The grown-up spectators looked awkward and 

While, as for those others in that congregation. 
You heard voices lifted in sore lamentation ; 
But three-year-old Baby desired explanation : 

At least, so it seemed. Then they buried their 

In a nice quiet place, with a flag at his head; 
"Poor Bu;iny!" — in large print — was what 

the flag said. 

W. B. Rands 71 

Now, as they were shovelling the earth in the 

Little Baby burst out, "I don't like it !" — poor 

And bitterly wept. So the dead had his dole. 

That evemng, as Babe she was cuddling to bed, 
"The BuRTiy will come back again," Baby 

"And be a white burfny, and nevfer be dead!" 

W. B. Rands. 

The Cow 

Thank you, pretty cow, that made 
Pleasant milk to soak my bread. 
Every day, and every night. 
Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white. 

Do not chew the hemlock rank, 
Growing on the weedy bank ; 
But the yellow cow^ips eat, 
They will make it very sweet. 

Where the purple violet grows. 
Where the bubbling water flows. 
Where the grass is fresh and fine. 
Pretty cow, go there and dine. 

Ann and Jane Taylor. 



72 y antes Hogg 

The Skylark 

Bird of the wilderness, 

Blythesome and cumberless, 
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 

Emblem of happiness, 

Blest is thy dwelling-place — 
O to abide in the desert with thee ! 

Wild is thy lay and loud 

Far in the downy cloud, 
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. 

Where, on thy dewy wing. 

Where art thou journeying? 
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. 

O'er fell and fountain sheen, 

O'er moor and mountain green, 
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, 

Over the cloudlet dim. 

Over the rainbow's rim, 
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! 

Then, when the gloaming comes, 

Low in the heather blooms. 
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! 

Emblem of happiness. 

Blest is thy dwelling-place — 
O to abide in the desert with thee ! 

James Hogg. 

cumberless : unencumbered, free from care. 

yohn Davidson 73 


Here one would like to have begun with some of the 
old-time carols. But carols^ somehow, seem to demand 
certain accompaniments — snow and frost, starlight and 
lantern-light, a mingling of Church hells, and above all 
their own simple haunting music. In cold print they 
do not appeal to us to the same extfifit. But the poems 
that follow are in the true carol-spirit. 

Christmas Eve 

In hoUy hedges starving birds 

Silently mourn the setting year; 
,Upright like silver-plated swords 
The flags stand in the frozen mere. 

The mistletoe we still adore 

Upon the twisted hawthorn grows : 

In antique gardens hellebore 

Puts forth its blusjiing Christinas rose. 

— ^ Shrivell'd and purple, cheek by jowl, 
The hips and haws hang drearily; 
Roll'd in a ball the sulky owl 
Creeps far into his hollow tree. 


74 yohn Davidson 

In abbeys and cathedrals dim 
The birth of Christ is acted o'er ; 

The kings of Cologne worship him, 
Balthazar, Jasper, Melchior. 

The shepherds in the field at night 

Beheld an angel glory-clad, 
And shrank away with sore affright) 

" Be not afraid," the angel bade. 

" I bring good news to king and clown. 
To you here crouching on the sward ; 
For there is born in David's town 
A Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. 

" Behold the babe is swathed, and laid 
Within a manger." Straight there stood 
Beside the angel all arrayed 
A heavenly multitude. 

" Glory to God," they sang ; " and peace, 
Gooj^ pleasure among men." 
The wondrous message of release! 

Glory to God again ! 
Hush ! Hark ! the waits, far up the street ! 

A distant, ghostly charm unfolds, 
Of magic music wild and sweet, 
Anomes and clarigolds. 
> John Davidson. 

Robert Her rick 75 

A Christmas Carol 

What swjeeter music can we bring 
Than a carol, for to sing 
The birth of this our heavenly King? 
Awake the voice ! awake the string ! 
Heart, ear, and eye, and everything ! 

Dark and dull night, fly hence away^^ 
And give the honour to this day. 
That sees December turned to May. 

If we may ask the reason, say. 

The why and wherefore all things here 

Seem like the spring-time of the year ? 

Why does the chilling winter's morn 
Smile, like a field beset with corn ? 
Or smell, like to a mead new-shorn, 
Thus, on the sudden ? 

Come and see 
The cause, why things thus fragrant be. 
'Tis He is born, whose quickening birth 
Gives light and lustre, public mirth. 
To heaven, and the under-earth. 

We see Him come, and know Him ours. 
Who with His sunshine and His showers 
Turns all the patient ground to flowers. 



76 Robert Herrick 

The darling of the world is come, 

And fit it is we find a room 

To welcome Him. The nobler part 

Of all the house here, is the heart, 

Which we will give Him ; and bequeath) 

This holly, and this ivy wreath. 

To do Him honour ; who's our King, 

And Lord of all this revelling. 

Robert Herrick. 

A Child's Present to His Child-Saviour 

Go, pretty child, and bear this flower 
Unto thy little Saviour ; 
And tell Him, by that bud now blown. 
He is the Rose of Sharon known ; 
When thou hast said so, stick it there 
Upon his bib, or stomacher;^ 
And tell Him, for good hartasel too. 
That thou hast brought a whistle new, 
Made of a clean straight oat^n reed, 
To charm his cries at time of need. 
Tell Him, for coral thou hast none ; 
But if thou hadst, He should have one ; 
But poor thou art, and known to be 
Even as moneyless, as He. 

handsel : a gift for good luck. 

Robert 'Herrick 77 

Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss 
From those mellifluous lips of His, 
Then never take a second on, 
To spoil the first impression. 

Robert Herrick. 

The Peace-Giver 

Thou whose birth on earth 

Angels sang to men, 
While thy stars made mirth. 
Saviour, at thy birth. 
This day borqr again; 

As this night was bright 
With thy cradle-ray. 

Very light of light. 

Turn the wild world's night 
To thy perfect day. 

Thou the Word and Lord 
In all time..and space 

Heard, beheld, adored, 

With all ages poured 
Forth teford thy face. 



78 A. C. Swinburne 

Lord, what worth in earth 
Drew thee down to die ? 
What therein was worth, 
Lord, thy death and birth ? 
What beneath thy sky ? 

Thou whose face gives grace 
As the sun's doth heat. 

Let thy sunbright face 

Lighten time and space 
Here beneath thy feet. 

Bid our peace increase,-^ 
Thou that madest morn ; 

Bid oppression cease ; 

Bid the night be peace ; 
Bid the day be born. 

A. C. Swinburne. 

To A Singer 

My soul is an enchanted boat, 

Which, like a sleepi6g swan, doth float 

Upon the silver waves of thy sweet sijiging ; 
And thine doth like an ajigel sit 
Beside the helm conducting it. 

Whilst all the winds with melody are ringing. 

p. B. She/ ley 79 

It seems to float ever, for ever, 
Upon that many-winding river, 
^. Between mountains, woods, abysses, 

A paradise of wildernesses ! 
Till, like one in slumber bound, 
Borne to the ocean, I float down, around, 
Into a sea profound, of ever-spreading sound. 
Meanwhile thy spirit lifts its pinions 
In music's most serene dominions ; 
Catching the winds that fan that happy heaven. 
And we sail on, away, afar, 
Without a course, without a star, 
But by the instinct of sweet music driven ; 
Till through Elysian garden islets 
By thee, most beautiful of pilots, 
Where never mortal pinnace glided. 
The boat of my desire is guided : 
Realms where the air we breathe is love, 
Which in the winds on the waves doth move, 
Harmonizing this earth with what we feel 

P. B. Shelley. 

8o William Blake 

The Happy Piper 

Piping down the valleys wild, 
Piping songs of pleasant glee, 

On a cloud I saw a child, 
And he laughing said to me : 

" Pipe a song about a Lamb ! " 
So I piped with merry cheer. 

"Piper, pipe that song again" ; 
So I piped : he wept to hear. 

"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; 

Sing thy songs of happy cheer ! " 
So I sang the same again. 

While he wept with joy to hear. 

*' Piper, sit thee down and write 
In a book that all may read." 

So he vanish' d from my sight, 
And I pluck'd a hollow reed, 

And I made a rural pen, 

And I stain'd the water clear, 

And I wrote my happy songs 
Every child may joy to hear. 

William Blake, 


Lord Byron 8i 

The Destruction of Sennacherib 

The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and 

And the sheen of their spears was like stars 

on the sea, 
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep 


Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is 

That host with their banners at sunset were 

Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath 

That host on the morrow lay wither' d and 


For the Angel of Death spread his wings on 

the blast, 
And breathed in the face of the foe as he 

And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and 

chill, ^ 

And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever 

grew still ! 

G. 6 


82 Lord Byron 

And there lay the steed with his nostril all 

But through it there rolled not the breath of 

his pride: 
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the 

And cold as the spray of the rock-beating 


And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his 

And the tents were aU silent, the banners alone, 
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 

And the widows of Ashur are loud in their 

And the idols are broke in the temple of 

And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by 

the sword, 
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the 


Lord Byron. 

Thomas Buchanan Read 83 

The next two spirited, poems — both hailing from 
America — are inserted, with a view to their being useful 
to boys who have a taste for recitation. 

Sheridan's Ride 

Up from the south at break of day^ 
Bringilig to Winchester fresh dismay^ 
The affrighted air with a shudder bore, 
Like a heji^Id in haste, to the chieftain's door, 
The terrible grumble and rumble and roar. 
Telling the battle was on once more — 
And Sheridan twenty miles away ! 

And wilder still those biUows of war 

Thundered along the horizon's bar ; 

And louder yet into Winchester rolled 

The roar of that red sea uncontrolled. 

Making the blood of the listener cold 

As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, 

With Sheridan twejity miles away! 

But there is a road from Winchester town, 
A good broad highway leading down ; ^ 

And there, through the flash of the morning 

A steed, as black as the steeds of night. 
Was seen to pass as with eagle flight. 

6— » 





84 Thomas Buchanan Read 

As if he knew the terrible need, ^ 
He stretched away with his utmost speed ; 
Hills rose and fell, but his heart was gay. 
With Sheridan fijicfen miles away ! 

Still sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering 

south, y 

The dust, like the smoke from the canlion's 

Or the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster. 
Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster ; 
The heart of the steed and the heart of the 

Were beating like prisoners assaulting their 

Impatient to be where the battle-field calls ; 
Every nerve of the charger was strained to full 

play, ^ / 

With Sheridan orily ten miles away ! 

The first that the General saw was the groups 
Of stragglers, and then — the retreating troops ! 
What was done — ^what to do — a glance told 

him both; 
And, striking his spurs, with a terrible oath 
He dashed down the line 'mid a storm of 


Thomas Buchanan Read 85 

And the wave of retreat checked its course 

there, because . ^ 

The sight of the Master compelled it to pause. 
With foam and with dust the black charger 

was grey; 
By the flash of his eye and his red nostril's play 
He seemed to the whole great army to say 
"I have brought you Sheridan, all the way 
From Winchester town to save the day ! " 

Hurrah, hurrah, for Sheridan ! 

Hurrah, hurrah, for horse and man ! 

And when their statues are placed on high 

Under the dome of the Union sky 

— The American soldier's Temple of Fame — 

There, with the glorious General's name. 

Be it said in letters both bold and bright, 

"Here is the steed that saved the day 

By carrying Sheridan into the fight. 

From Winchester — twenty miles away!" 

Thomas Buchanan Read. 

86 yoaquin Miller 


Behind him lay the gray Azores, 

Behind, the Gates of Hercules ; 
•Before him not the ghost of shores ; 

Before him only shoreless seas. 
The good mate said : "Now must we pray, 

For lo ! the very stars are gone. 
Brave Admiral, speak ; what shall I say ? " 

"Why, say ' Sail on ! sail on ! and on ! ' " 

"My men grow mutinous day by day; 

My men grow ghastly, wan and weak." 
The stout mate thought of home ; a spray 

Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. 
"What shall I say, brave Admiral, say. 

If we sight naught but seas at dawn ? " 
"Why, you shall say at break of day: 

' Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on ! ' " 

They,sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, 

Until at last the blanched mate said : 
"Why, now not ev6n God would know 

Should I and aU my men fall dead. 
These very winds forget their way. 

For God from these dread seas is gone. 
Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say — ' 

He said : " Sail on ! sail on ! and on ! " 


jfoaquin Miller 87 

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the 
mate : ^ ->.,^^ 

"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night'. 
He curls his lip, he lies in wait, 

He lifts his. teeth as if to bite! 
Brave Admiral, say but one good word : 

What shall we do when hope is gone ? " 
The words leapt like a leaping sword : 

" Sail on ! sail on ! sail on ! and on ! " 

Then, pale and worn, he paced his deck. 

And peered through darkness. Ah, that 
night ;,. 

Of all dark nights ! And then a speck — 

A light ! A light ! At last a hght ! 
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled ! 

It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. 
He gained a world ; he gave that world 

Its grandest lesson : "On! sail on!" 

Joaquin Miller. 

88 Lord Macaulay 

Macaulay's ^^ Lays of Ancient Rome" of which this 
is the first, deal only with the legends that Rome in her 
greatness liked to tell concerning her early beginnings. 
Unfortunately there is no similar group of poems treating 
of Imperial Rome, the centre of a world-empire ; hut 
children must please not think of the Mistress of the World 
merely as a little riverside town which could free itself 
from outside trouble by chopping down a wooden bridge. 


Lars Porsena of Clusium 

By the Nine Gods he swore 
That the great house of Tarquin 

Should suffer wrong no more. 
By the Nine Gods he swore it. 

And named a trysting day, 
And bade his messengers ride forth 
East and west and south and north 

To sumrnon his array. 

East and west and south and north 

The messengers ride fast. 
And tower and town and cottage 

Have heard the trumpet's blast. 
Shame on the false Etruscan 

Who liij^ers in his home, •. 

When Porsena of Clusium 

Is on the march for Rome. 


Lord Macau lay 89 

The horsjemen and the footmen 

Are poujiiig in amain^ ^ 
From many a stately market-place, 

From many a fruitful plain ; 
From ma,ny a Ipnely hamlet 

Which, hid by beech and pine. 
Like an eagle's nest hangs on the crest 

Of purple Apennine ; 

From lordly Volaterrse, 

Where scowls the far-famed hold 
Piled by the hands of giants 

For godlike kings of old ; 
From sea-girt Populonia 

Whose sentinels descrjj^ 
Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops 

FriQging the southern sky ; 

From the proud mart of Pisae, 

Queen of the western waves. 
Where ride Massilia's triremes 

Heavy with fair-haired slaves ; 
From where sweet Clanis wanders 

Through corn and vines and flowers ; 
From where Cortona lifts to heaven 

Her diadem of towers. 


go Lord Macaulay 

Tall are the oaks whose acorns 

Drop in dark Auser's rill ; 
Fat are the stags that champ the boughs 

Of the Ciminian hill; 
Beyond all streams Clitumnus 

Is to the herdsman dear ; 
Best of all pools the fowler loves 

The great Volsinian mere. 

But now no stroke of woodman 

Is heard by Auser's rill ; 
No hunter tracks the stag's green path 

Up the Ciminian hill ; 
Unwatched along Clitumnus 

Grazes the milk-white steer ; 
^Unharmed the water-fowl may dip 

In the Volsinian mere. 

The harvests of Arretium 

This year old men shall reap ; 
This year young boys in Umbro 

Shall plunge the struggling sheep ; 
And in the vats of Luna 

This year the must shall foam 
Round the white feet of laughing girls 

Whose sires have marched to Rome. 

must : grape-juice. 


Lord Macaulay 91 

There be thirty chosen prophets, 

The wisest of the land, 
Who alway by Lars Porsena 

Both morn and evening stand : 
Evening and morn the Thirty 

Have turned the verses o'er, 
Traced from the right on Hnen white 

By mighty Seers of yore. 

And with one voice the Thirty 

Have their glad answer given : 
" Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena ; 

Go forth, beloved of Heaven ; 
Go, and return in glory 

To Clusium's royal dome. 
And hang round Nurscia's altars 

The golden shields of Rome." 

And now hath every city 

Sent up her tale of men ; 
The foot are fourscore thousand, 

The horse are thousands ten. 
Before the gates of Sutrium 

Is met the great array. 
A proud man was Lars Porsena 

Upon the trysting day ! 

92 Lord Macau /ay 


For all the Etruscan armies 

Were ranged beneatji his eye, 
And many a banished Roman, 

And many a stout ally; 
And with a mighty following 

To join the muster came 
The Tusculan Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name. 

But by the yellow Tiber 

Was tumult and affright : ^ 
From all the spacious champaign 

To Rome men took their flight. 
A mile around the city 

The throng stopped up the ways ; 
A fearful sight it was to see. 

Through two long nights and days. 

For aged folk on crutches, 

And women great with child, 
And mothers sobbing over babes 

That clung to them and smiled. 
And sick men borne in litters 

High on the necks of slaves. 
And troops of sun-burned husbandmen 

With reaping-hooks and staves, 


Lord Macau/ay 93 

And droves of mules and asses 

Laden with skins of wine, 
And endless flocks of goats and sheep, 

And endless herds of kine. 
And endless trains of waggons 

That creaked beneath the weight 
Of corn-sacks and of household goods, 

Choked every roaring gate. 

Now from the rock Tarpeian 

Could the wan burgners spy 
The line of blazing villages 

Red in the midnight sky. 
The Fathers of the City, 

They sat all night and day. 
For every hour some horseman came 

With tidijigs oJ^ dismay. 

To eastward and to westward 

Have spread the Tuscan bands ; 
Nor house, nor fence, nor dovecote 

In Crustumerium stands. 
Verbenna down to Ostia 

Hath wasted all the plain ; 
Astur hath stormed Janiculum, 

And the stout guards are slain. 


94 Lord Macau/ay 

I wis, in all the Senate 

There was no heart so bold 
But sore it ached, and fast it beat, 

When that ill news was told. 
Forthwith up rose the Consul, 

Up rose the Fathers all ; 
In haste they girded up their gowns, 

And hied them to the wall. 

They held a council standing 

Before the River-Gate ; 
Short time was there, ye well may guess, 

For musing or debate. 
Out spake the Consul roundly : 

"The bridge must straight go down; 
For, since Janiculum is lost. 

Nought else can save the town." 

— ^ Just then a scout came flying, 

All wild with haste and fear : 
"To arms! to arms! Sir Consul: 

Lars Porsena is here." 
On the low hills to westward 

The Consul fixed his eye. 
And saw the swarthy storm of dust 

Rise fast along the sky. 


Lord Macaulay 95 

And nearer fast and nearer 

Doth the red whirlwind come ; 
And louder still and still more loud 
From underneath that rolling cloud 
Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud, 

The trampling, and the hum. 
And plainly and more plainly 

Now through the gloom appears, 
Far to left and far to right. 
In broken gleams of dark-blue light, 
The long array of helmets bright. 

The long array of spears. 

And plainly and more plainly 

Above that glimmering line 
Now might ye see the banners 

Of twelve fair cities shine ; 
But the banner of proud Clusium 

Was highest of them all. 
The terror of the Umbrian, 
The terror of the Gaul. 

And plainly and more plainly 

Now might the burghers know. 
By port and vest, by horse and crest, 

Each warlike Lucumo. 

Lucumo : Etruscan nobleman. 


96 Lord Macau lay 

There Cilnius of Arretium 

On his fleet roan was seen ; 
And Astur of the fourfold shield, 
Girt with the brand none else may wield, 
Tolumnius with the belt of gold. 
And .dark Verbenna from the hold 

By reedy Thrasymene. 

Fast by the royal standard 

O'erlooking all the war, 
Lars Porsena of Clusium 

Sate in his ivory car. 
By the right wheel rode Mamilius, 

Prince of the Latian name ; 
And by the left false Sextus, 

That wrought the deed of shame. 

But when the face of Sextus 

Was seen among the foes, 
A yell that rent the firmament 

From all the town arose. ^ 
On the house-tops was no woman 

But spat towards him, and hissed ; 
No child but screamed out curses, 

And shook its little fist. 


Lord Macaulay 97 

But the Consul's brow was sad, 

And the Consul's speech was low, 
And darkly looked he at the wall. 

And darkly at the foe. 
"Their van will be upon us 

Before the bridge goes down ; 
And if they once may win the bridge. 

What hope to save the town ? " 

Then out spake brave Horatius, 

The Captain of the gate : 
"To every man upon this earth 

Death cometh soon or late ; 
And how can man die better 

Than facing fearful odds 
For the ashes of his fathers 

And the temples of his Gods, 

And for the tender mother 

Who dandled him to rest. 
And for the wife who nurses 

His baby at her breast, 
And for the holy maidens 

Who feed the eternal flame. 
To save them from false Sextus 

That wrought the deed of shame ? 


98 Liord Macau lay 

Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 

With all the speed ye may; 
I, with two more to help me, 

Will hold the foe in play. 
In yon strait path a thousand 

May well be stopped by three : 
Now who will stand on either hand, 

And keep the bridge with me ? " 

Then out spake Spurius Lartius, 

A Ramnian proud was he : 
"Lo, I will stand at thy right hand. 

And keep the bridge with thee." 
And out spake strong Herminius, 

Of Titian blood was he : 
** I will abide on thy left side. 

And keep the bridge with thee." 

"Horatius," quoth the Consul, 

"As thou sayest, so let it be." 
And straight against that great array 

Forth went the dauntless Three. 
For Romans in Rome's quarrel 

Spared neither land nor gold. 
Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life 

In the brave days of old. 


Lord Macau lay 99 

Then none was for a party ; 

Then all were for the State ; 
Then the great man helped the poor, 

And the poor man loved the great ; 
Then lands were fairly portioned ; 

Then spoils were fairly sold ; 
The Romans were like brothers 

In the brave days of old. 

Now Roman is to Roman 

More hateful than a foe, 
And the Tribunes beard the high, 

And the Fathers grind the low. 
As we wax hot in faction. 

In battle we wax cold : 
Wherefore men fight not as they fought 

In the brave days of old. 

Now while the Three were tightening 

Their harness on their backs. 
The Consul was the foremost man 

To take in hand an axe : 
And Fathers mixed with Commons 

Seized hatchet, bar, and crow. 
And smote upon the planks above, 

And loosed the props' below^ 



lOO Lord Macau lay 

Meanwhile the Tuscan army, 

Right glorious to behold, 
Came flashing back the noonday light, 
Rank behind rank, like surges bright 

Of a broad sea of gold. 
Four hundred trumpets sounded 

A peal of warlike glee, 
As that great host, with measured tread. 
And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
\y Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head, 

Where stood the dauntless Three. 

The Three stood calm and silent. 

And looked upon the foes, 
And a great shout of laughter 

From all the vanguard rose : ^ 
And forth three chiefs came spurring 

Before that deep array; 
To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, 
And lifted high their shields, and flew 

To win the narrow way ; 

Annus from green Tifernum, 

Lord of the Hill of Vines ; 
And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves 

Sicken in Ilva's mines ; 



Lord Macaulay loi 

And Picus, long to Clusium 

Vassal in peace and war, 
Who led to fight his Umbrian powers 
From that grey crag where, girt with towers, 
The fortress of Nequinum lowers 

O'er the pale waves of Nar. 

Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus 

Into the stream beneath : 
Herminius struck at Seius, 

And clove him to the teeth : 
At Picus brave Horatius 

Darted one fiery thrust, 
And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms 

Clashed in the bloody dust. 

Then Ocnus of Falerii 

Rushed on the Roman Three ; 
And Lausulus of Urgo, 

The rover of the sea ; 
And Aruns of Volsinium, 

Who slew the great wild boar. 
The great wild boar that had his den 
Y Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen, 
And wasted fields, and slaughtered men, 
> Along Albinia's shore. 


I02 Lord Macau lay 

Herminius smote down Aptins : 

Lartius laid OgiIus low : 
Right to the heart of Lausulus 
-^^ Horatius sent a blow. ^ 

"Lie there," he cried, "fell pii^te! 

No more, /aghast and pale. 
From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark 
The track of thy destroying bark. 
No more Campania's hinds shall fly 
To woods and caverns when they spy 

Thy thrice-accursed sail." 

But now no sound of laughter 

Was heard amongst the foes. 
A wild and wrathful clamour 

From all the vanguard rose. 
Six spears' lengths from the entrance 

Halted that deep array, 
And for a space no man came forth 

To win the narrow way. 

But hark! the cry is "Astur!" 

And lo ! the ranks divide ; 
And the great Lord of Luna 

Comes with his stately stride. 
Upon his ample shoulders 

Clangs loud the fourfold shield, 


Lord Macaulay 103 

And in his hand he shakes the brand 
Which none but he can wield. 

He smiled on those bold Romans 

A smile serene and high ; ^ 
He eyed the flinching Tuscans, 

And scorn was in his eye. 
Quoth he, "The she-wolfs litter 

Stand savagely at bay : 
But will ye dare to follow. 

If Astur clears the way ? " 

Then, whirling up his broadsword 

With both hands to the height, 
He rushed against Horatius, 

And smote with all his might. 
With shield and blade Horatius 

Right deftly turned the blow : 
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh ; 
It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh : 
The Tuscans raised a joyful cry 

To see the red blood flow. 

He reeled, and on Herminius 

He leaned one breathing-space ; 
Then, like a wild cat mad with wounds, 

Sprang right at Astur's face. 



104. Lord Macaulay 

Through teeth, and skull, and helmet, 

So fierce a thrust he sped ^ 
The good sword stood a handbteadth out 

Behind the Tuscan's head. 

And the great Lord of Luna 

Fell at that deadly stroke. 
As falls on Mount Alvernus 

A thunder-smitten oak : 
Far o'er the crashing forest 

The giant arms lie spread ; 
And the pale augurs, muttering low, 

Gaze on the blasted head. 

On Astur's throat Horatius 

Right firmly pressed his heel. 
And thrice and four times tugged amain, 

Ere he wrenched out the steel. 
"And see," he cried, "the welcome. 

Fair guests, that waits you here ! 
What noble Lucumo comes next 

To taste our Roman cheer ? " 

But at his haughty challenge 

A sullen murmur ran. 
Mingled of wrath and shame and dread, 

Along that glittering van. 


Lord Macau lay 105 

There lacked not men of prowess, 

Nor men of lordly race ; 
For all Etruria's noblest 

Were round the fatal place. 

But all Etruria's noblest 

Felt their hearts sink to see 
On the earth the bloody corpses, 

In the path the dauntless Three : 
And, from the ghastly entrance 

Where those bold Romans stood. 
All shrank, like boys who unaware. 
Ranging the woods to start a hare, 
Come to the mouth of the dark lair 
Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 

Lies amidst bones and blood. 

Was none who would be foremost 

To lead such dire attack ; 
But those behind cried "Forward!" 

And those before cried "Back!" 
And backward now and forward 

Wavers the deep array; 
And on the tossing sea of steel. 
To' and fro the standards reel; 
And the victorious trumpet-peal 

Dies fitfully away. 



io6 Lord Macau lay 

Yet one man for one mpriient 

Strode out before the crowd ; 
Well known was he to all the Three, 

And they gave him greeting loud. 
"Now welcome, welcome, Sextus! 

Now welcome to thy home ! 
Why dost thou stay, and turn away ? 

Here lies the road to Rome." 

Thrice looked he at the city ; 

Thrice looked he at the dead ; 
And thrice came on in fury, 

And thrice turned back in dread : 
And, white with fear and h^ed. 

Scowled at the narrow way 
Where, wallowing in a pool of blood. 

The bravest Tuscans lay. 

But meanWhile axe and lever 

Have manfully been plied ; 
And now the bridge hangs tottering 

Above the boiling tide. 
"Come back, come back, Horatius!" 

Loud cried the Fathers all. 
"Back, Lartius! back, Herminius ! 

Back, ere the ruin fall ! " 


Lord Macau /ay 107 


Back da;'ted Spurius Lartius ; 

Herminius daj^ed back;__^ 
And, as they passed, beneath their feet 

They felt the timbers crack. 
But, when they turned their faces, 

And on the farther shore ^_, 
Saw brave Horatius stand alone. 

They would have crossed once more. 

But with a crash like thunder 

Fell every loosened beam, 
And, like a dam the mighty wreck 

Lay right athwart the stream : 
And a long shout of triumph 

Rose from the walls of Rome, 
As to the highest turret-tops 

Was splashed the yellow foam. 

And, like a horse unbroken 

When first he feels the rein, 
The furious river struggled hard. 

And tossed his tawny mane ; 
And burst the curb, and bounded. 

Rejoicing to be free; 
And whirling down, in fierce career. 
Battlement, and plank, and pier, 

Rushed headlong to the sea. 


io8 Lord Macau lay 

.Alone stood brave Horatius, 

But constant still in mind; .^- . 
Thrice thirty thousand foes before, 

And the broad flood behind. 
"Down with him !" cried false Sextus, 

With a smile on his pale face. 
"Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, 

"Now yield thee to our grace." 

Round turned he, as not deigning 

Those craven ranks to see ; 
Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, 

To Sextus nought spake he ; 
But he saw on Palatinus 

The white porch of his home ; 
And he spake to the noble river 

That rolls by the towers of Rome. 

"O Tiber! father Tiber! 

To whom the Romans pray, 
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms 

Take thou in charge this day ! " 
So he spake, and speaking sheathed 

The good sword by his side, 
And with his harness on his back 

Plunged headlong in the tide. 



Lord Macau lay 109 

No sound of joy or sorrow 

Was heard from either bank ; ^^^ — . 
But friends and foes in dumb surprise, 
With parted lips and straining eyes, 

Stood gazing where he sank ; . 
And when above the surges 

They saw his crest appear^ 
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry. 
And even the ranks of Tuscany 

Could scarce forbear to cheer. 

But fiercely ran the current, 

Swollen high by months of rain : 
And fast his blood was flowing ; 

And he was sore in pain. 
And heavy with his a]:nlour. 

And spent with changing blows : 
And oft they thought him sinking, 

But still again he rose. 

Never, I ween, did swhnmer. 

In such an evil case. 
Struggle through such a raging flood 

Safe to the landing-place: 
But his limbs were borne up bravely 

By the brave heart withipr, 


no Lord Macaulay 

And our good father Tiber 
Bare bravely up his chin. 

"Curse on him!" quoth false Sextus; 

"Will not the villain drown? 
But for this stay ere close of day 

We should have sacked the town ! " 
"Heaven help him!" quoth Lars Porsena, 

"And bring him safe to shore; 
For such a gallant feat of arms 

Was never seen before." 

And now he feels the bottom ; 

Now on dry earth he stands ; 
Now round him throng the Fathers 

To press his gory hands ; 
And now with shouts and clapping, 

And noise of weeping loud, 
He enters through the River-Gate, 

Borne by the joyous crowd. 

They gave him of the corn-land, 

That was of public right. 
As much as two strong oxen 

Could plough from morn till night ; 


Lord Macau/ay 1 1 1 

And they made a molten image, 

And set it up on high, 
And there it stands unto this day 

To witness if I He. 

It stands in the Comitium 

Plain for all folk to see ; 
Horatius in his harness, 

Halting upon one knee : 
And underneath is written, 

In letters all of gold. 
How valiantly he kept the bridge 

In the brave days of old. 

And still his name sounds stirring 

Unto the men of Rome, 
As the trumpet-blast that cries to them 

To charge the Volscian home ; 
And wives still pray to Juno 

For boys with hearts as bold 
As his who kept the bridge so well 

In the brave days of old. 

And in the nights of winter, 

When the cold north winds blow. 

And the long howling of the wolves 
Is heard amidst the snow ; 



112 Lord Macau/ay 

When round the lonely cottage 
Roars loud the tempest's din, 

And the good logs of Algidus 
Roar louder yet within ; 

When the oldest cask is opened, 

And the largest lamp is lit ; 
When the chestnuts glow in the embers. 

And the kid turns on the spit ; 
When young and old in circle 

Around the firebrands close ; 
When the girls are weaving baskets, 

And the lads are shaping bows ; 

• / 
When the goodman mends his armour 

And trims his helmet's plume; 
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily 

Goes flashing through the loom ; 
With weeping and with laughter 

Still is the story told. 
How well Horatius kept the bridge 

In the brave days of old. 

Lord Macaulay. 



Allingham, William 34, 48, 68 


1—8, II, 13 

Blake, William . 

45, 65, 66, 80 

Byron, Lord 


Coleridge, Samuel Taylor 


Coleridge, Sara . 


Corbet, Richard 


Davidson, John. 


Dobell, Sydney . 


Field, Eugene . 

• 36, 42» 47 

Follen, Eliza Lee 


Gale, Norman . 


Herrick, Robert 

5, 22, 75, 76 

Hogg, James 

58, 62, 72 

Howitt, Mary . 


Howitt, William 


Keats, John 

• (>7 

Lowell, Amy . 


Macaulay, Lord 


Maugham, H. N. . 

. 65 

Miller, Joaquin 


114 Index of Authors 


Moore, Thomas . . . . . . 63 

Prentiss, Mrs E. 


Ramal, Walter . 


Rands, William Brighty 


2, 44 

- 54> 69 

Read, Thomas Buchanan . 


Robertson, W. Graham 


, 39» 41 

Rogers, Samuel . 


Roscoe, William 


Scott, Sir Walter 


Shakespeare, William . 


, 28, 51 

Shelley, Percy Bysshe 


Stevenson, Robert Louis 


Swinburne, Algernon Charles 


Taylor, Ann and Jane 


, H> 71 

Tennyson, Lord 


Thornbury, G. W. . 


Wordsworth, William 


16, 24 


A Robin Redbreast in a cage 

At early dawn through London you must go 

At evening when the lamp is lit 

Awake, awake, my little boy 

Behind him lay the gray Azores 

Bird of the wilderness 

Blow, wind, blow ! and go, mill, go ! 

Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen 

Build me a castle of sand . 

"Bunches of grapes," says Timothy . 

Buttercups and daisies 

Cold and raw ..... 

Come, take up your hats, and away let us haste 

Come unto these yellow sands . 

Curly Locks ! Curly Locks ! 


Do you know what the birds say ? The sparrow, 

the dove ..... 
Draw a pail of water 
Drummer-boy, drummer-boy, where is your drum 
Fair daffodils, we weep to see . 
Farewell rewards and fairies 
First, April, she with mellow showers 
First came the primrose 
Go, pretty child, and bear this flower 
Good-bye, good-bye to Summer . 
Here in the country's heart . ' . 













1 1 6 Index of First Lines 

Here's another day, dear . . . . . 

Hush a while, my darling, for the long day closes 

I am the Cat of Cats. I am . 

I had a dove, and the sweet dove died 

I had a little nut-tree .... 

I have a little sister, they call her Peep, Peep 

I like little Pussy, her coat is so warm 

I saw a ship a-sailing 

I wander'd lonely as a cloud 

In holly hedges starving birds 

In marble walls as white as milk 

It was a black Bunny, with white in its head 

January brings the snow . 

Jenny Wren fell sick. 

Lars Porsena of Clusium . 

Little baby, lay your head 

Little Lamb, who made thee ? . 

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John 

Merry are the bells, and merry would . they ring 

Mine be a cot beside the hill . 

My maid Mary she minds the dairy 

My soul is an enchanted boat . 

O hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a knight 

O look at the moon . 

O Mother-my-Love, if you'll give me your hand 

Once on a time an old red hen 

Once there was a little kitty 

Over hill, over dale . 

Piping down the valleys wild 

Pussy-cat Mew jumped over a coal 

















Index of First Lines 

Ring-ting ! I wish I were a Primrose 

Sea shell, Sea shell ..... 

Sleep, baby, sleep ..... 

Sweet and low, sweet and low . 

Thank you, pretty cow, that made 

The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold 

The cock is crowing ..... 

The cock's on the housetop 

The cuckoo's a bonny bird 

The garden was pleasant with old-fashioned flower 

The north wind doth blow 

The wind one morning sprang up from sleep 

There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream 

There was a Knight of Bethlehem 

Thou whose birth on earth 

Tiger, Tiger, burning bright 

Toll the lilies' silver bells . 

Twinkle, twinkle, little star 

Under the greenwood tree 

Up from the south at break of day 

Up the airy mountain 

We've plough'd our land, we've sown our seed 

What sweeter music can we bring 

When the wind is in the East . 

Where the bee sucks there suck I 

Where the pools are bright and deep 

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night 

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves 

You spotted snakes with double tongue 














- 83 




CamtrtDge : 


The Cambridge Book 


Poetry for Children 



C. F. CLAY, Manager 

l,on»on: FETTER LANE, E.C. 

E&inbargfi: loo PRINCES STREET 


JSombas, (ffalnitta an* PlaHrag: MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd. 

Cotonto: J. M. DENT AND SONS, Ltd. 


Copyrighted in the United States of America by 

2, 4 AND 6, WbsT 45TH STREET, NeW YoRK ClTY 

All rights reserved 

The Cambridge Book 


Poetry for Children 

Edited by 

Author of The Golden Age, Dream Days, The Wind 
in the Willows, etc. 


Cambridge : 

at the University Press 



The Editor has to express his thanks for permission to 
use copyright matter to the Editor of A Sailor s Garland and 
its publishers, Messrs Methuen, to Mr Elicin Mathews for 
the poem by Richard Hovey, to Messrs G. Routledge & Sons 
for a poem by Joaquin Miller. 




To Meadows . . . R. Herrick 


The Brook . . .J. Tennyson 


Recollections of Early Child- 

hood . . , . W. Wordsworth . 


To Autumn . . . /. Keats 


Ode to the West Wind . P. B. Shelley 


To a Skylark . . . „ 


The Moon-Goddess . . Ben Jonson 


Home-Thoughts from Abroad R. Browning 


Home-Thoughts from the Sea „ 



I. The Call of the Sea 

Ye Mariners of England 

The Secret of the Sea 

A Dutch Picture 

Sea Memories . 

The Sea Gypsy 

The Greenwich Pensioner 

The Press-Gang 

A Sea Dirge 

. T. Campbell 


. H. W. Longfellow 






. Richard Hovey 





. W. Shakespeare 


vi Contents 

2. Its Lawless Joys page 

The Old Buccaneer . . C. Kingsley . 31 
The Salcombe Seaman's Flaunt 

to the Proud Pirate . . . . 34 

The Smuggler . . . . . , 36 


The Maid. . . . Theodore Roberts . 37 

The Eve of Waterloo . Lord Byron . 39 
The Glory that was Greece „ .43 
Battle Hymn of the American 

Republic . . . Julia Ward Howe 47 
To Lucasta, on going to 

the Wars . . . Richard Lovelace . 48 

The Black Prince , . Sir Walter Scott . 49 

The Burial of Sir John Moore Charles Wolfe . 50 

How Sleep the Brave . William Collins . 52 

Soldier, Rest ! , . . Sir Walter Scott . 5 3 


1. The Patriot . . Robert Browning . 54 

2. For those who fail . Joaquin Miller . 56 

3. Keeping On . . A. H. Clough . 57 


The Lady of Shalott . . Alfred Tennyson . 5 8 

The Forsaken Merman . Matthew Arnold . 65 

The Legend Beautiful .H.W.Longfellow. 72 

Abou Ben Adhem . . Leigh Hunt . yj 




The Sands of Dee 

. Charles Kingsley . 


Lochinvar . 

. Sir Walter Scott . 



Dreams to Sell . 

. T. L. Beddoes . 


The Lost Bower 

. E. B. Browning . 


Echo and the Ferry . 

. Jean Ingelotv 


Poor Susan's Dream . 

. W, Wordsworth . 



. W. Shakespeare . 



1 . The Good Woman Made 

Welcome In Heaven . R. Crashaw . 102 

2. The Soldier Relieved . R. Browning 103 


Hunting Song . . . Sir Walter Scott . 104 
The Riding to the Tourna- 
ment .... G.W.Thornbury . 105 


A Red, Red Rose 
Blow, Bugle, Blow 
West and East . 
Genseric . 
Kubla Khan . 
Something to Remember 
Ring Out, Wild Bells 

Robert Burns 
Alfred Tennyson 
Matthew Arnold 
Owen Meredith 
S. T. Coleridge 
R. Browning 
A. Tenn-json 



M .2.^ ^? }Lf JS ^ ^ ■ / ^- - 


To Meadows 

Ye have been fresh and green, . 

Ye have been fiU'd with floWers ; 
And ye the walks have been 

Where maids have spent their horn's. 

You have l^ehela how they 
With Ayicker arks did come 

To kiss and bear /away 
The richer cowslips home. 

You've heard them sweetly sing, 
And seen them in a round : 

Each virgin like a spring, 
With lioneysuckles crown'd. 

But now we see none here 
Whose silvJ^y feet did tread 

And with dishevelled hair 
'Adorn'd this smoother mead. 

Like unthnfts, having spent 
Your stock, and ne^y^grown. 

You're left here to (lament) 
Your poor €state^, bloi^. 

Robert Herrick. 


Lord Tennyson 

The Brook 


I come from haunts of coot and hern, 

I make a sudden sally, 
And sparse out among the fern, 

To bicker down a valley. 

By thirty hills I hurry dow;a, 
Or slip between the ridges, 

By twehty thorps, a^little town. 
And half a hundfed bridges. 

I chatter over stony ways . 

In little sharps and trebles, 
I bubble into eddying bays, 

I babble on the pebbles. 

With many a curve my banjcs I fret 
By many a field and fallow. 

And many a fairy forelalid sej; 
With willow-weed and m9:Uow. 

I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
To join the brinvJhing river. 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

hern : heron. thorps : villages. 


Lord Tennyson 

I wind about and in and out, 
With here a blossom sailmg, 

And here and there a lusty trout, 
And here and there a grayling. 

And here and there a foamy flake 

Upon me, as I travel 
With many a silvery waterbreak 

Above the golden gravel. 

I steal by lawns and gra.ssy plots, 

I slide by hazel covers ; 
I move the sweet forget-me-nots 

That grow for h^ppy lovers. 

I slip, I shde, I gloom, I glance, 
(Among my skimming swallows ; 

I make the n^ted smmeam dance 
Against my s^dy shallows. 

I murmur under moon and stars 

In brambly wilderjLesses ; 
I linger by my shingly bars ; 

I loiter rou^id my creases ; 

And out agairi I curve and flow 
To join the brimming river. 

For men may come and men may go, 
But I go on for ever. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 


4 Williafn Wordsworth 

Recollections of Early Childhood 

There was a time when megldow, grove, and 
stream, / 

The earth, and every comjnon sight, 

To me did seem 
Apparell'd in celestial light, 
The gloi^y and the freshness of a dream. 
It is not now as it hath been of yore ; — 
Turn wheresoe'er I may, 
By night or day. 
The things which I have seen I now can see no 

The rainbow comes and goes. 
And lovely is the rose^--^ 
The moon doth wit^d^ght ^. 
Look round her when tKe heavens are bare ; 
Waters on a s^ry night 
) Are beautiful and fair ; 

The sunsMne is a glorious birth ; 
But yet I know, where'er I go, / 
That there hath passed away a gl6ry from the 

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song. 
And while the young lambs bound 

As to the ta^r's sound, 



William Wordsworth 5 

To m^/alon^ there came a thought of gmf : 
A timely utter^ac^ gave that thought reHef, 

And I 'agajja am strong. 
The cataracts blow their trumpets from the 
steep ; 
No more shall grief of mine the se^a6n wrong ; 
I hear the echoes through the madhtains 
The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
And all the earth is gay; 
Land and sea 
Give tKemselv^s up to jollity. 
And with the heart of May 
Doth ey/^y beast keep holiday ; — 
Thou Child of Joy, 
Shout round nje, let me hear thy shouts, thou 
happy Shepherd-boy ! 

Ye ble^ed creatures, I have heard the call 

Ye 4:0 each other make ; I see 
The heayens laugh with you in your jubilee; 
My heart is at your festival, 
My head hath its coronal. 
The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all. 
O tyil day ! if I were sullen 

While Earth hersejt is adorning. 
This sweet May monling, 



6 William Wordsworth 

And the children are culling 
On every side, 
In a thousand valleys far and wide, 

Fresh flowers ; while the sun shines warm, 
And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm : — 

I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! 

— But there's a tree, of many one, 
A single field which I have look'd upon. 
Both of them speak of something that is gone: 

The pansy at my feet , 

Doth the same tale repeat-r 
Whither is fled the visionary gleam ? 
Where is it now, the glory and the dream ? 

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : 
The Soul that rises with us, our Hfe's Star, 

Hath had elsewhere its setting, 
And cometh from afar : 

Not in ^ntiry forgetfulness. 

And not in utter nakedness. 
But trailing clouds of glory do we come 

From God, who is our home : 
Heaven lies aboiit us in our infancy ! 
Shades of the prison-house^begin) to close 

Upon the growing BoyP" 
But he beholds the Hght, and whence it .flows, 

William Wordsworth 7 

He sees it in his joy; y 
The Youth, who daity furtner from the east 
Must travel, still is Nature's priest. 
And by the vision splendid 
Is on his way attended ; ^^^ 

At length the man- perceives it die<aw^y/ 
And fade into the light of common day. 

William Wordsworth. 
{^his is only a portion of the poem, which later you 
should take an opportunity of reading as a whole) 

To Autumn 

Season of mists and meflow fruitfulness ! 

Close bo^m-friend of the maturing sun ; 
Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
V. With fruit the vines that round the thatch- 
eaves run; / 
To bend with apj5les the moss'd cottage-trees, 
__^And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; 
^ To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel 
shells ' 

With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more, 
And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
Until they think warm days will never cease, 
For Sun>jfier has o'er-brimm'd their clafnmy 

I k 1^1 


8 jfohn Keats 

Who hath not seen Thee ofvanai^hy store ? 
Somje^imes whoever seeks abroad^ may find 
Thee sitting ca^'.eless on a granary floor, 

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; 
Or on a half-reap'd fupf'ow sound asleep, 
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while 
thy hook 
Spares the next swath and all its twined 
flowers ; 
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 
Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 
Or by a cider-press, with patient look, 

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by 

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where 
are they ? 
Think not of them, thou hast thym^ic too,-^- 
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying 
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; 
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 
'Among the river sallows, borne aloft 

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; 
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from Mlly 
bourn ; '^'^ 

sallows : willows. bourn : stream, water-course. 

yohn Keats 

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble 

soft , 
The redbreast whistles from a garden- 
croft ; 
And gathering swallows twitter in the 

John Keats. 

Ode to the West Wind 


O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's 

Thou from whose unseen presence the leaves 

Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter 


Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, 

Pestilence-stricken multitudes ! O thou 
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 

The winged seeds, where they lie cold and 

low, ^ N,^ 

Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow 

CTojt : enclosure. 


ro Percy Bysshe Shelley 

Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) 
With living hues and odours plain and hill : 

Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere ; 
Destroyer and preserver ; hear, O hear ! 


Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's 
Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves 
are shed, 
Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and 

Angels of rain and lightning! there are 
On the blue surface of thine airy surge, 

Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 

Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim 
Of the horizon to the zenith's height. 
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge 

Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 
Vaulted with all thy congregated might 

Maenad : a priestess of Bacchus, the wine-god. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 1 1 

Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere 
Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst : O hear ! 


Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams 

The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, 
LuU'd by the coil of his crystalline streams, 

Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay. 
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 
Quivering withiii the wave's intenser day, 

All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers 
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! 
For whose path the Atlantic's lex^el powers 

Cleave themselves into chasms, while far 
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear 
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 

Thy voice, and suddenly grow grey with fear, 
And trepible and despoil themselves : O hear ! 

^ IV. , 

If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear ; 
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee ; 
A wave to pant beneath thy pqWer, and share 

coil : confused noise, murmur, pumice : formed of volcanic 


12 Percy Byss/ie She/ley 

The impulse of thy strength, only less free 
Than thou, O uncontrollable ! if even 
I were as in my boyhood, and could be 

The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, 
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed 
Scarce seem'd a vision — I would ne'er have 

As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. 
O ! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 
I fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! 

A heavy weight of years has chain' d and bow'd 
One too like thee — tameless, and swift, and 


Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is : 

What if my leaves are falling like its own ? 
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 

Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, 
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit 
My spirit ! Be thou me, impetuous one ! 

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe, 

Like wither' d leaves, to quicken a new birth; 
And, by the incantation of this verse. 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 13 

Scatter, as from an unextinguisb.'4 hearth 

Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! 

Be through my Hps to unawaken'd earth 

The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind, 

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind ? 

Percy Bysshe Shelley. 

To A Skylark 

Hail to thee, bHthe spirit ! 
Bird thou never wert — 
That from heaven or near it 
Pourest thy full heart 
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 

Higher still and higher 

From the earth thou springest 
Like a cloud of fire ; 

The blue deep thou wingest. 
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever 

In the golden lightning 

Of the sunken sun. 
O'er which clouds are bright'ning, 
Thou dost float and run, ^ — -x 

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 


14 Percy Bysshe Shelley 

The pale purple even 

Melts around thy flight ; 
Like a star of heaven, 
In the broad daylight 
Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill 

Keen as are the arrows 
Of that silver sphere. 
Whose intense lamp narrows 
In the white dawn clear, 
/Until We hardly see, we feel that it is there. 

All the earth and air 

With thy voice is loud. 
As, when night is bare, 
From one lonely cloud 
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is 

What thou art we know not ; 

What is most like thee ? 
From rainbow clouds there flow not 
Drops so bright to see. 
As from thy presence showers a rain of 
melody : — 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 15 

Like a poet hidden 

In the light of thought, 
Singing hymns unbidden, 
Till the world is wrought 
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded 

Like a high-born maiden 

In a palace tower. 
Soothing her love-laden 
Soul in secret hour 
With music sweet as love, which overflows her 
bower : 

Like a glow-worm golden 

In a dell of dew, 
Scattering unbeholden 

y^ ^Its aerial hue 

^mong the flowers and grass which screen it 
from the view : 

Like a rose embower'd 

In its own green leaves, 
By warm winds deflower'd. 
Till the scent it gives 
Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy- 
winged thieves : 


1 6 Percy Bysshe Shelley 

Sound of vernal showers 

On the twinkling grass, 
Rain-awaken'd flowers — 
All that ever was 
Joyous and clear and fresh — thy music doth 

Teach us, sprite or bird, 

What sweet thoughts are thine : 
I have never heard 

Praise of love or wine y^ N 

That panted forth a flood of rapture so (divine/ 

Chorus hymeneal 

Or triumphal chant. 
Match' d with thine would be all 
But an empty vaunt — 
A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden 

What objects are the fountains 

Of thy happy strain ? 
What fields, or waves, or mountains ? 
What shapes of sky or plain ? 
What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance 
of pain ? 

Percy Bysshe Shelley 17 

With thy clear keen joyance 

Languor cannot be : 
Shadow of annoyance 

Never came near thee : 
Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 

Waking 0/ asleep, 

Thou of death must deem 
Things more true and deep 
Than we mortals dream, 
Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal 
stream ? 

We look^before and after, 

And pine for what is not : 
Our sincerest laughter 

With some pain is fraught ; 
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest 

Yet if we could scorn 

Hate and pride and fear, 
If we were things born 
Not to shed a tear, 
I know not how thy joy we ever should come 


1 8 Percy Bysshe Shelley 

Better than all measures 

Of delightful sound, 
Better than all treasures 
That in books are found, 
Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the 
ground ! 

Teach me half the gladness 

That thy brain must know; 
Such harmonious madness 
From my lips would flow. 
The world should listen then, as I am listening 

now. Percy Bysshe Shelley. 

The Moon-Goddess 

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair. 

Now the sun is laid to sleep, 
Seated in thy silver chair. 

State in wonted manner keep : 
Hesperus entreats thy light. 
Goddess excellently bright. 

Earth, let not: thy envious shade 

Dare itself 'i:o interpose ; 
Cynthia's shining orb was made 

Heaven to clear when day did close : 
Bless us then with wished sight, 
Goddess excellently bright. 


Ben yonson 19 

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, 

And thy crystal-shining quiver ; 
Give utito.' the flying hart 

Space to breathe, how short soever : 
Thou that mak'st a day of night — 
Goddess excellently bright. 

Ben Jonson. 

Home-Thoughts from Abroad 

O, to be in England 

Now that April's there, 

And whoever wakes in England 

Sees, some morning, unaware. 

That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf 

Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, 

While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough 

In England — now! 

And after April, when May follows. 

And the white throat builds, and aU the swallows ! 

Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the 

Leans to the field and scatters on the clover 
Blossoms and dewdrops — at the bent spray's 

edge — 
That's the wise thrush ; he sings each song 

twice over. 

20 Robert Browning 

Lest you should think he never could recapture 
The first fine careless rapture ! 
And though the fields look rough with hoary- 
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew" 
The buttercups, the little children's dower 
— Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower ! 

Robert Browning. 

Home-Thoughts from the Sea 

Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North- 
west died away; 
Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking 

into Cadiz Bay ; 
Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face 

Trafalgar lay ; 
In the dimmest North-east distance dawn'd 

Gibraltar grand and gray; 
"Here and here did England help me: how 

can I help England ? " — say. 
Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to 

praise and pray. 
While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over 


Robert Browning. 

Thomas Campbell 2 1 

I. The Call of the Sea 

Ye Mariners of England 

Ye Mariners of England ! 

That guard our native seas ; 
Whose flag has braved a thousand years 

The battle and the breeze ! 
Your glorious standard launch again 

To match another foe ; 
And sweep through the deep, 

While the stormy winds do blow ! 
While the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy winds do blow. 

The spirits of your fathers 

Shall start from every wave ; 
For the deck it was their field of fame. 

And Ocean was their grave : 
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 

Your manly hearts shall glow, 
As ye sweep through the deep. 

While the stormy winds do blow ! 
While the battle rages loud and long, 

And the stormy winds do blow. 

2 2 T'homas Campbell 

Britannia needs no bulwarks, 

No towers along the steep ; 
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, 

Her home is on the deep. 
With thunders from her native oak 

She quells the floods below;, 
As they roar on the shore. 

When the stormy winds do blow ! 
When the battle rages loud and long. 

And the stormy winds do blow. 
The meteor flag of England 

Shall yet terrific burn ; ^ — >,^ 
Till danger's troubled night 'ae'paiT 

And the star of peace return. 
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! 

Our song and feast shall flow 
To the fame of your name. 

When the storm has ceased to blow! 
When the fiery fight is heard no more. 

And the storm has ceased to blow. 

Thomas Campbell. 

The Secret of the Sea 

Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me 

As I gaze upon the sea ! 
All the old romantic legends, 

All my dreams come back to me. 


H, W, Liongfellow 23 

Sails of silk and ropes of sendal, 
Such as gleam in ancient lore ; 

And the singing of the sailors, 
And the answer from the shore ! 

Most of all, the Spanish ballad 
Haunts me oft, and tarries long. 

Of the noble Count Arnaldos 
And the sailor's mystic song. 

Telling how the Count Arnaldos, 
With his hawk upon his hand, 

Saw a fair and stately galley, 
Steering onward to the land ; — 

How he heard the ancient helmsman 
Chant a song so wild and clear, 

That the sailing sea-bird slowly 
Poised upon the mast to hear, 

Till his soul was full of longing, 

And he cried, with impulse strong, — 

"Helmsman ! for the love of heaven. 
Teach me, too, that wondrous song ! " 

"Wouldst thou," — so the helmsman 

"Learn the secret of the sea? 
Only those who brave its dangers 

Comprehend its mystery ! " 

sendal : coarse narrow silken material. 

24 H. W. Longfellow 

In each sail that skims the horizon, 
In each landward-blowing breeze, 

I behold that stately galley, 
Hear those mournful melodies. 

Till my soul is full of longing 

For the secret of the sea. 
And the heart of the great ocean 
Sends a thrilling pulse through me. 
H. W. Longfellow. 
A Dutch Picture 
Simon Danz has come home again, 

From cruising about with his buccaneers ; 
He has singed the beard of the King of Spain, 
And carried away the Dean of Jaen, 
And sold him in Algiers. 

In his house by the Maese, with its roof of tiles. 

And weathercocks flying aloft in air. 
There are silver tankards in antique styles, 
Plunder of convent and castle, and piles 
Of carpets rich and rare. 

In his tulip-garden there by the town. 

Overlooking the sluggish stream. 
With his Moorish cap and dressing-gown. 
The old sea-captain, hale and brown. 
Walks in a waking dream. 

buccaneers : sea rovers, pirates. 


H, W. LiOngfellow 25 

A smile in his gray mustachio lurks 

Whenever he thinks of the King of Spain, 
And the listed tulips look like Turks, 
And the silent gardener as he works 
Is changed to the Dean of Jaen. 

The windmills on the outermost 

Verge of the landscape in the haze. 
To him are towers on the Spanish coast. 
With whiskered sentinels at their post. 
Though this is the river Maese. 

But when the winter rains^'tegin, 

He sits and smokes by the blazing brands, 
And old seafaring men come in. 
Goat-bearded, gray, and with double chin. 

And rings upon their hands. 

They sit there in the shadow and shine 

Of the flickering fire of the winter night ; 
Figures in colour and design 
Like those by Rembrandt of the Rhine, 
Half darkness and half light. 

And they talk of ventures lost or won. 

And their talk is ever and ever the same. 
While they drink the red wine of Tarragon, 
From the cellars of some Spanish Don, 
Or convent set on flame. 

listed : striped. Jaen : a town in Spain. 

26 H, W. fellow 

Restless at times, with heavy strides 

He paces his parlour to and fro ; 
He is like a ship that at anchor rides, 
And swings with the rising and falling tides, 

And tugs at her anchor-tow. 
Voices mysterious far and near, 

Sound of the wind and sound of the sea, 
Are calling and whispering in his ear, 
" Simon Danz ! Why stayest thou here ? 

Come forth and follow me ! " . 

So he thinks he shall take to the sea, again 

For one more cruise with his buccaneers, 
To singe the beard of the King of Spain, 
And capture another Dean of Jaen, 

And sell him in Algiers. 

H. W. Longfellow. 
Sea Memories 
Often I think of the beautiful town 

That is seated by the sea ; 
Often in thought go up and down 
The pleasant streets of that dear old town, 

And my youth comes back to me. 
And a verse of a Lapland song 
Is haunting my memory still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long 

H, W, Liongfellow 27 

I can see the shadowy Hnes of its trees, 

And catch, in sudden gleams, 
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, 
And islands that were the Hesperides 
Of all my boyish dreams. 

And the burden of that old song, 
It murmurs and whispers still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will, 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long 

I remember the black wharves and the slips, 

And the sea-tides tossing free ; 
And the Spanish sailors with bearded lips, 
And the beauty and mystery of the ships. 
And the magic of the sea. 

And the voice of that wayward song 
Is singing and saying still : 
"A boy's will is the wind's will. 
And the thoughts of youth are long, long 
thoughts." H. W. Longfellow. 

The Sea Gypsy 

I am fever'd with the sunset, 
I am fretful with the bay. 
For the wander-thirst is on me 
And my soul is in^ath^. 

Hesperides: the fabulous "Isles of the Blest" in far western seas. 

28 Richard Hovey 

There's a schooner in the offing, 
With her topsails shot with fire, 
And my heart has gone aboard her 
For the Islands of Desire. 

I must forth again to-morrow ! 
With the sunset I must be 
Hull down on the trail of rapture 
In the wonder of the Sea. 

Richard Hovey. 

The Greenwich Pensioner 

'Twas in the good ship Rover, 
I sailed the world all round, 
And for three years and over 

I ne'er touched British ground ; 
At length in England landed, 

I left the roaring main. 
Found all relations stranded. 
And went to sea again, 
And went to sea again. 

That time bound straight for Portugal, 
Right fore and aft we bore. 

But when we made Cape Ortegal, 
A gale blew off the shore ; 


Anonymous 2 9 

She lay, so did it shock her, 

A log upon the main. 
Till, saved from Davy's locker. 

We put to sea again. 

We put to sea agaip. 

Next sailing in a frigate 
I got my timber toe. 
I never more shall jig it 
As once I used to do; 
My leg was shot off fairly. 
All by a ship of Spain ; 
But I could swab the galley, 
I went to sea again, 
I went to sea again; 

And still I am enabled 

To bring up in the rear, 
Although I'm quite disabled 
And lie in Greenwich tier. 
There's schooners in the river 

A riding to the chain. 
But I shall never, ever 
Put out to sea ^gany 
Put out to sea ^ai^ 

From A Sailor's Garland. 


30 Anonymous 

The Press-gang 

Here's the tender coming, 
Pressing all the men ; 

O, dear honey, 
What shall we do then ? 
Here's the tender coming, 

Off at Shields Bar. 
Here's the tender coming, 

Full of men of war. 
Here's the tender coming. 
Stealing of my dear ; 

O, dear honey. 
They'll ship you out of here, 
They'll ship you foreign. 

For that is what it means. 
Here's the tender coming. 
Full of red marines. 

From A Sailor's Garland. 
A Sea Dirge 

FuU fathom five thy father Hes : 
Of his bones are coral made ; 
Those are p6arls that were his eyes : 
Nothing of him that doth fade, 

tender : a boat or other small vessel, that ' attends ' a ship 
with men, stores, etc. 

Shakespeare 3 1 

But doth suffer a sea-change 
Into something rich and strange. 
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
Hark ! now I hear them, 

Ding, dong, bell. 


2. Its Lawless Joys 
The Old Buccaneer 

Oh England is a pleasant place for them that's 

rich and high, 
But England is a cruel place for such poor 

folks as I ; 
And such a port for mariners I ne'er shall see 

again _^^ — ^ 

As the pleasant Isle of Aves^-beside the Spanish 

main. " ' 

There were forty craft in Aves that were both 

swift and stout. 
All furnished well with small arms and cannons 

round about ; 
And a thousand men in Av^s made laws so 

fair and free 
To choose their valiant captains and obey 

them loyally. 


32 Charles Kingsley 

Thence we sailed Against the Spaniard with 

his hoards of plate and gold, 
Which he wrung with cruel tortures from 

Indian folk of old ; 
Likewise the merchant captains, with hearts 

as hard as stone,^-- — n 
Who flog men. and keel-ha;^l them, and starve 

them to the bone. 

O the palms grew high in Aves, and fruits that 

shone like gold. 
And the coHbris and parrots they were gorgeous 

to behold; 
And the negro maids to Aves from bondage 

fast did flee. 
To welcome gallant sailors, a-sweeping in from 


O sweet it was in Aves to hear the landward 

A-swing with good tobacco in a net between 

the trees. 
With a negro lass to fan you, while you Hstened 

to the roar ^^ 

Of the breakers on the reef outside, that never 

touched the shore. 

colibris : humming-birds. 


Charles Kingsley 33 

-^ But Scripture saith, an ending to all fine things 

must be; 
So the King's ships sailed on Aves, and quite 

put down were we. 
All day we fought like bulldogs, but they burst 

the booms at night; 
And I fled in a piragua, sore wounded, from the 


Nine days^.I floated starving, and a negro lass 

Till, iFbr all I tried to cheer her, the poor young 

thing she died ; 
But as I lay a-gasping, a Bristol sail came by. 
And brought me home to England here, to 

beg until I die. 

And now I'm old and going — I'm sure I can't 

tell where; 
One comfort is, this world's so hard, I can't be 

worse off there : ^^-^ 

If I might but be a sea-dove, I'd fly^acroSs the 

To the pl^a&^nt Isle of Aves, to look at it 

once' agai^. 

Charles Kingsley. 

piragua : a " dug-out " canoe. 


34 Anonymous 

The Salcombe Seaman's Flaunt to the 
Proud Pirate 

A lofty ship from Salcombe came, 
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we ; 

She had golden trucks that shone like flame, 
On the bon7iy coasts of Barbary. 

"Masthead, masthead," the captains hail, 
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we ; 

"Look out and round, d'ye see a sail?" 
On the bonny coasts of Barbary. 

"There's a ship that looms like Beachy Head," 
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we ; 

"Her banner aloft it blows out red," 
On the bonny coasts of Barbary. 

"Oh, ship^ahoyy and where do you steer?" 
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we ; 

^^ hi^ you man-of-war, or privateer?" 
On the bonny coasts of Barbary. 

" I am neither one of the two," said she. 
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we ; 

" I'm a pirate, looking for my fee," 
On the bonny coasts of Barbary. 

trucks : mast-head caps. 


Anonymous 3 5 

"I'm a jolly pirate, out for gold:" 
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we ; 

"I win rummage through your after hold," 
On the bonny coasts of Barbary. 

The grumbling guns they flashed and roared, 
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we ; 

Till the pirate's masts went overboard, 
On the bonny coasts of Barbary. 

They fired shots till the pirate's deck. 
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we ; 

Was blood and spars and broken wreck, 
On the bonny coasts of Barbary. 

"O do not haul the red flag down," 
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we ; 

"O keep all fast until we drown," 
On the bonny coasts of Barbary. 

They called for cans of wine, and drank, 

Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we ; 
They sang their songs until she sank. 
On the bonny coasts of Barbary. 

Now let us brew good cans of flip, 
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we ; 

And drink a bowl to the Salcombe ship. 
On the bonny coasts of Barbary. 

36 Anonymous 

And drink a bowl to the lad of fame, 
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we ; 

Who put the pirate ship to shame, 
On the bonny coasts of Barbary. 

From A Sailor's Garland. 

The Smuggler 

O my true love's a smuggler and sails upon 

the sea, ^,— .^^ 

And I would I were a seaman to gcjf along with he; 
To go along with he for the satins and the wine, 
And run the tubs at Slapton when the stars 

do shine. 
O Hollands is a good drink when the nights 
— \ I are cold, 

/ And Brandy is a good drink for them as grows 
V old. 

There is lights in the cliff-top when the boats 

are home-bound. 
And we run the tubs at Slapton when the word 

goes round. 
The King he is a proud man in his grand red coat, 
But I do love a smuggler in a little fishing-boat ; 
For he runs the Mallins lace and he spends his 

money free, ^ — ^ 

And I would I were a seaman to gof alonj^ with he. 
From J SailorT~Garland. 



Theodore Roberts 37 


The generations -pass, each in its turn wondering y> 

whether it is to be the one to see the ending of War and y^' / 
the awakening of the common sense of nations. But j/ ^ 

the Poetry of the glory of Battle, the hymning of high 
heroisms, the dirges for those who nobly died — these will 
remain, to gild its memory, long after the last echo of 
the last war-drum has faded out of the world. 

The Maid 

Thunder of riotous hoofs over the quaking 

Clash of reeking squadrons, steel-capped, iron- 

The White Maid and the white horse, and the 
flapping banner of God. 

Black hearts riding for money; red hearts 

riding for fame; 
The Maid who rides for France and the King 

who rides for shame — 
Gentlemen, fools, and a saint riding in Christ's 

high name! 

38 Theodore Roberts 

"Dust to dust!" it is written. Wind-scat- 
tered are lance and bow. 

Dust, the Cross of Saint George; dust, the 
banner of snow. 

The bones of the King are crumbled, and rotted 
the shafts of the foe. 

Forgotten, the young knight's valour; for- 
gotten, the captain's skill; 

Forgotten, the fear and the hate and the 
mailed hands raised to kill; 

Forgotten, the shields that clashed and the 
arrows that cried so shrill. 

Like a story from some old book, that battle 

of long ago : 
Shadows, the poor French King and the 

might of his English foe ; 
Shadows, the charging nobles and the archers 

kneeling a-rpw — 
But a flame in my heart and my eyes, the 

Maid with her banner of snow ! 

Theodore Roberts. 

Lord Byron 39 

The Eve of Waterloo 

There was a sound of revelry by night, 
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then 

Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright 
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave 

A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell. 

Soft ey^s-look'd love to eyes which spake 

And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; 
But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like 
a rising knell! 

Did ye not hear it ? — ^No ; 'twas but the wind. 

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; 
On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; 
No sleep till morn, when. Youth and 
Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. 
But hark ! — that heavy sound breaks in 
once more, — 

As if the clouds its echo would ^epeay; 
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! 
Arm ! Arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's opening 


40 Lord Byron 

''ithin a window' d niche of that high hall 
Tate Brunswick' sfatedchieftain; he did hear 
That sound, the first ^idst the festival, 
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic 
And when they smiled because he deem'd it 
His heart more truly knew that peal too well 
Which stretch' d his father on a bloody bier, 
And rous'd the vengeance blood alonejcould 
quell : 
He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
And gathering tears, and tremblings o^^s^ 
tress, ^-tN 

And cheeks all pale, which but an hour-agg/ 
Blush'datthe praise of their own loveliness ; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking 
Which ne'er might be repeated : who would 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 
Since upon pight so sweet such awful morn 
could rise ! 


Lord Byron 41 

And there was mounting in hot haste: the 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed. 
And swiftly forming in the ranks oi^var ; 
And the deep thunder peal on peal'kfar; 

And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Rous'd up the soldier ere the morning star ; 
While throng' d the citizens with terror 
Or whispering with white lips — " The foe ! 
they come ! they come ! " 

And wild and high the " Camerons' gathering " 
rose, / — ~^^ 

The war-note (wLochieh which Albyn's hills 
Have heard, andKekrd, too, have her Saxon 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills 
Savage and shrill! But with the breath 
which fills 
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the moun- 
With the fierce native daring which instiV 
The stirring memory of a thousaild years, 
And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each 
clansman's ears ! 


42 Lord Byron 

And Ardennes waves above them her green 
Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves. 

Over the unreturning brave, — alas ! 
Ere evening to bejtrodden like the gras^'-^'^X 
Which now beneath them, but ^^L^OYje 
shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valour, rolling on the foe. 
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold 
and low. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life. 

Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, 
The midnight brought the signal-sound of 
The morn the marshalling in arms, — the day 
Battle's magnificently sternfarrayl 

The thunder-clouds close o^r it, which 
when rent 
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay. 
Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd 
and pent. 
Rider and horse, — friend, foe, — in one red 
burial blent ! 

Lord Byron. 


Lord Byron 43 

The Glory that was Greece 

/ include this among the War Poems ^ because it is 
a call to a conquered nation to rise in arms against their 
oppressors — a call that was in due course answered. 

The isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! 

Where burning Sappho loved and sung, 
Where grew the arts of war and peace, 

Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ! 
Eternal s;>inl5T&r gilds them yet, 
But all fexcent their sun is set. vl 

The Scian and the Teian muse. 
The hero's harp, the lover's lute, 

Have found the fame your shores refuse : 
Their place of birth alon^is mute 

To sounds which echo further west 

Than your sires' "Islands of the Blest." 

The mountains look on Marathon, 
And Marathon looks on the sea ; 

And, musing there an hour^^Ionb, 

I dreamed that Greece might still be free ; 

For, standing on the Persian's grave, 

I could not deem myself a slave. 

Scian and Teian : I.e. Homer and Anacreon. 


44 Lord Byron 

A king sate on the rocky brow 

Which looks o'er sea-born Sj 
And ships by thousands lay b(elow^ 

And men in nations ; — all were his ! 
He counted them at break of day, 
And when the sun set, where were they ? 

And where are they ? and where art thou, 
My country ? On thy voiceless shore 

The heroic lay is tuneless now. 
The heroic bosom beats no more ! 

And must thy lyre, so long divine. 

Degenerate into hands like mine ? 

'Tis something in tjiesiearth of fame. 
Though linked among the fettered race. 

To feel at least a patriot's shame, 
Even as I sing, ^uffus^' my face ; 

For what is left the poet here ? 

For Greeks a blush — for Greece a tear ! 

Must zue but weep o'er days more blest ? 

Must we but blush ? Our fathers bled. 
Earth ! render back from out thy breast 

A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 
Of the three hundred grant but three, 
To make a new Thermopylae ! 


Lord Byron 45 

What, silent still ? and silent all ? 

Ah ! no : the voices of the dead 
Sound like a distant torrent's fall, 

And ans^vfe^ "Let one living head. 
But one/arisey^we come, we come ! " 
'Tis but the living who are dumb. 

In vain — in vain ; strike other chords ; 

Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! 
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, 

And shed the blood of Scio's vine ! 
Hark ! rising to the ignoble call. 
How answers each bold Bacchanal ! 

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet ; 

Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone ? 
Of two such lessons, why forget 

The nobler and the manlier one ? 
You have the letters Cadmus gave ; 
Think ye he meant them for a slave ? 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

We will not think of thepaes like these ! 
It made Anacreon's sonsfdivine : 

He served — but servedPolycrates : 
A tyrant ; but our masters then 
Were still, at least, our countrymen. 


46 Lord Byron 

The tyrant of the Chersonese 

Was freedom's best and bravest friend ; 
That tyrant was Miltiades ! 

Oh that the present hour would lend 
Another despot of the kind ! 
Such chains as his were sure to bind. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 
On Suli's rock and Parga's shore 
Exists) the remnant of a line 
)uch as the Doric mothers bore ; 
And there, perhaps, some seed is sown 
The Heracleidan blood might own. 

Trust not for freedom to the Franks — 
They have a king who buys and sells ; 

In native swords and native ranks 
The only hope of courage dwells : 

But Turkish force and Latin fraud 

Would break your shield, however broad. 

Fill high the bowl with Samian wine ! 

Our virgins dance beneath the shade — 
I see their glorious black eyes shine ; 

But, gazing on each glowing maid. 
My own the burning tear-drop laves. 
To think such breasts must suckle slaves. 

Lord Byron 47 

Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, 
Where nothing save the waves and I 

May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; 
There, swan-like, let me sing and die : 

A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — 

Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! 

Lord Byron. 

Battle Hymn of the American Republic 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming 

of the Lord : 
He is trampling out the vintage where the 

grapes of wrath are stored ; 
He hath loosed the fatal lightning of his 

terrible swift sword : 

His truth is marching on. 

I have seen him in the watch-fires of a hundred 

circling camps ; 
They have builded him an altar in the evening 

dews and damps ; 
I can read his righteous sentence by the dim 

and flaring lamps : 

His day is marching on. 

48 yulia Ward Howe 

He has sounded ierth the trumpet that shall 

never call /etr^^rf; 
He is sifting oik the hearts of men before his 

Judgment Seat; 
O, be swift, my soul to answer Him, be 

jubilant my feet! 

Our God is marching on. 

In th e be auty of the lilies Christ was born, 

('^ross^the sea, 
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures 

vou and me : 
As he died to make men holy, let us die to 
make men free. 

While God is marching on. 

JuLTA Ward Howe. 


Tell me not. Sweet, I am unkind. 

That from the nunnery 
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind 
. To war and arms I fly. 

True, a new mistress now I chase, 
The first foe in the field i-'''""^ 

And with a stronger faith (^br§ce 
A sword, a horse, a shield. 


Richard Lovelace 49 

Yet this inconstancy ig^ch 

As you too shall/£doi;^ 
I could not love thee, Dear, so much. 

Loved I not Honour more. 

Richard Lovelace. 

The Black Prince 

O for the voice of that wild horn, 
On Fontarabian echoes borne, 

The dying hero's call, 
That told imperial Charlemagne 
How Paynim sons of swarthy Spain 

Had wrought his champion's fall. 

Sad over earth and ocean sounding. 
And England's distant cliffs astounding, 

Such are the notes should say 
How Britain's hope, and France's fear, 
Victor of Cressy and Poitier, 

In Bordeaux dying lay. 

" Raise my faint head, my squires," he said, 
"And let the casement be displayed. 

That I may see once more 
The splendour of the setting sun 
Gleam on thy mirrored wave, Garonne, 

And Blay's empurpled shore. 

50 . Sir Walter Scott 

"Like me, he sinks to Glory's sleep, 
His fall the dews of evening steep, 

As if in sorrow shed. 
So soft shall fall the trickling tear. 
When England's maids and matrons hear 

Of their Black Edward dead. 

"And though my sun of glory set. 
Nor France nor England shall forget 

The terror of my name ; 
And oft shall Britain's heroes rise. 
New planets in these southern skies. 

Through clouds of blood and flame." 

Sir Walter Scott. 

The Burial of Sir Johm Moore 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; 

Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 

We buried him darkly at dead of night. 
The sods with our bayonets turning. 

By the struggling moonbeam's misty light 
And the lantern dimly burning. 

Charles Wolfe 51 

No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 

Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him ; 

But he lay Hke a warrior t^kiiigij^is rest 
With his martial cloak ^round4iim. 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 
And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 

But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the 
And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

We thought, as we hollow' d his narrow bed 
And smooth'd down his lonely pillow, 

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er 
his head, /^ 
And we far /way on the billow ! 

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone. 
And o'er his cold ashes uffbrald him — 

But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 
In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done 

When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; 

And we heard the distant and random gun 
That the foe was sullenly firing. 



52 Charles Wolfe 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 

We carved not a line, and we raised not a 
stone, .- '^ 

But we left him ^lon^ with his glory. 

Charles Wolfe. 

How Sleep the Brave 

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 
By all their country's wishes blest ! 
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold. 
Returns to deck their hallowed mould. 
She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 

By fairy hands their knell is rung ; 
By forms nnsee)i their dirge is sung ; 
There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey. 
To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; 
And Freedom shall(^vhife lepair 
To dwell, a weeping hermit, tKere ! 

William Collins. 


Sir Walter Scott 53 

Soldier, Rest! 

Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ! 
Dream of battled fields no more, 

Days of danger, nights of waking. 
In our isle'sgjichanted hall, 

Hands (inseen thy couch are strewing, 
Fairy strains of music fall. 

Every sense in slumber dewing. 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 
Dream of fighting fields no more ; 
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, 
Morn of toil, nor night of waking. 

No rude sound shall reach thine ear. 

Armour's clang, or war-steed champing 
Trump nor pibroch summon here 

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. 
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come 

At the daybreak from the fallow, 
And the bittern sound his drum, 

Booming from the sedgy shallow. 
Ruder sounds shall none be near. 
Guards nor warders challenge here, 
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, 
Shouting clans, or squadrons stamping. 


54 ^^'/r Walter^ Scott 

Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done ; 

While our slumbrous spells assail- ye, 
Dream not, with the rising sun. 

Bugles here shall sound reveille. 
Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; 

Sleep ! thy hounds are by thee lying ; 
Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen. 

How thy gallant steed lay dying. 
Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done. 
Think not of the rising sun. 
For at dawning tai^ssai]* ye. 
Here no bugles sound reveille. 

Sir Walter Scott. 


I. The Patriot 

It was roses, roses, all the way. 

With myrtle mixed in my path like mad : 
The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway. 

The church-spires flamed, such flags they 
A year ago on this very day. 


Robert Browning 55 

The air broke into a mist with bells, 

The old walls rocked with the crowd and 
cries. y^ ) 

Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise: repels — 
But give me your sun from yonder 
They had answered, "And afterward, what 

Alack, it was I who leaped at the sun 
To give it my loving friends to kegp ! 

Nought man could do, have I left(undon^ 
And you see my harvest, what I reap 

This very day, now a year is run. 

There's nobody on the house-tops now — 
Just a palsied few at the windows set ; 

For the best of the sight is, all allow. 
At the Shambles' Gate — or, better yet. 

By the very scaffold's foot, I trow. 

I go in the rain, and, more thannreeds, 
A rope cuts both my wrists (behin^a ; 

And I think, by the feel, my forehead bleeds, 
For they fling, whoever has^a-aiind. 

Stones at me for my year's/misdeed^. 

56 Robert Browning 

Thus I entered, and thus I go ! 

In triumphs, people have dropped down dead, 
" Paid by the world, what dost thou oi^f^-^ 

Me ? " — God might question ; now qiste^, 
'Tis God shall ^pa/ : I am safer so. 

Robert Browning. 

2. For those who fail 

"All honour to him who shall win the prize," 
The world has cried for a thousand years ; 
But to him who tries and who fails and dies, 
I give great honour and glory and tears. 

O great is the hero who wins a name, 
But greater many and many a time 
Some pale-faced fellow who dies m-^h^me. 
And lets God finish the thought(subli 

And great is the man with asvt^d (undrawn, 
And good is the man who ^Jefrains from wine : 
But the man who fails and yet fights on, 
Lo he is the twin-born brother of mine ! 

Joaquin Miller. 


A. H. C lough 57 

3. Keeping On 

Say not the struggle nought availeth, 
The labour and the wounds are vain, 

The enemy faints not, nor faileth, ~X 
And as things have been they remain.' 

If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars ; 

It may be, in yon smoke cejfice^e^. 
Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers. 

And, but for you, possess the field. 

For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, 
Seem here no painful inch to gain. 

Far back, through creeks and inlets making. 
Comes silent, flooding in, the main. 

And not by eastern windows only, 

When daylight comes, comes in the light ; 

In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly ! 
But westward, look, the land is bright ! 

A. H. Clough. 


58 Lord Tennyson 


The Lady of Shalott 


On either side the river lie 
Long fields of barley and of rye, 
That clothe the wold and meet the sky ; 
And through the field the road runs by 

To many-towered Camelot ; 
And up and down the people go, 
Gazing where the lilies blow 
Round an island there below; 

The island of Shalott. 

Willows whiten, aspens quiver, 
Little breezes dusk and shiver 
Through the wave that runs for ever 
By the island in the river 

Flowing down to Camelot. 
Four gray walls, and four gray towers. 
Overlook a space of flowers, 
And the silent isle embowers 

The Lady of Shalott. 


Lord Tennyson 59 

By the margin, willow-veil'd, 
Slide the heavy bargestrailld 
By slow horses ; and^unhail'a 
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd 

Skimming down to Camelot : 
But who has seen her wave her hand ? 
Or at the casement seen her stand ? 
Or is she known jp^all the land, 

TheLady ofi'^W? 

Only reapers, reaping early 
Iiy^mo^g the bearded barley, 
Efesrr'a^ong that echoes cheerly 
From the river winding clearly, 

Down to towered Camelot : 
And by moon the reaper weary, 
Piling sheaves in upland airy, 
Listening, whispers, "'Tis the fairy 

Lady of Shalott." 


There she weaves by night and day 
A magic web with colours gay. 
She has heard a whisper say, 
A curse is on her if she stay 
To look down to Camelot. 


6o Lord Tennyson 

She knows not what the curse may be, 
And so she weaveth steadily, 
And little other care hath she. 
The Lady of Shalott. 

And moving thro' a mirror clear 
That hangs before her all-the^iyear. 
Shadows of tKe world^/'appe^r^ 
There she sees the highway near 

Winding down to Camelot : 
There the river eddy whirls, 
And there the surly village-churls. 
And the red cloaks of market girls, 

Pass onward from /Shalott. 

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad. 
An abbot on an ambling pad. 
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad. 
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad. 

Goes by to tower'd Camelot : 
And sometimes through the mirror blue 
The knights come riding two and two : 
She hath no loyal kn^ht and true. 

The Lady of Shalott. 

But in her web she still delights/ 
To weave the mirror's magic sights. 

Lord Tennyson 6i 

For often through the silent nights 
A funeral, with plumes and lights 

And music, went to Camelot : 
Or, when the moon was overhead. 
Came two young lovers lately wed ; 
"I am half sick of shadows," said 

The Lady of Sh^km. 


A bow-shot from her bower-eaves. 
He rode between the barley-sheaves. 
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves. 
And flamed upon the brazen greaves 

Of bold Sir Lancelot. 
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd 
To a lady in his shield. 
That sparkled,^ th^'yeilow field 

^^sid^ remot^&halo^ 

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free. 
Like to some branch of stars we see 
Hung in the golden Galaxy. 
The bridle bells rang merrily 
As he rode down to Camelot : 

greaves : leg-armour below the knee. 
galaxy : the " Milky Way." 



62 Lord Tennyson 

And from his blazon' d baldric slung 
A mighty silver bugle hung, 
And as he rode his armour rung, 
Jesid^ jremot& Shalott. 

All in the blue unclouded weather 
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, 
The helmet and the helmet-feather 
Burn'd like one burning flame together. 

As he rode down to Camelot. 
As often thro' the purple night. 
Below the starry clusters bright. 
Some bearded meteor, trailing light. 

Moves over still/ Shalott. 

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd ; 
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode ; 
From underneath his helmet flow'd 
His coal-black curls as on he rode. 

As he rode down to Camelot. 
From the bank and from the river 
He flash'd into the crystal mirror, 
"Tirra lirra," by the river 

Sang Sir Lancelot. ^_^ 


blazon' d baldric : a broad shoulder-belt painted heraldical 

Lord 'Tennyson 63 

She left the web, she left the loom, 
She made three paces thro' the room. 
She saw the water-lily bloom, 
She saw the helmet and the plume, 

She look'd down to Camelot. 
Out flew the web and floated wide ; 
The mirror crack'd ^perrKside to side ; 
"The curse is come upon me," cried 

The Lady of Shalotti 


In the stormy east-wind" straining. 
The pale yellow woods were waning, 
The broad stream in his banks complaining, 
Heavily the low sky raining 

Over tower'd Camelot ; 
Down-.^he came and found a boat 
^eneath a willow left afloat, 
And round j^boi^ the prow she wrote 
The Lady^f/Shaldtt. 

And down the river's dim expanse — 
Like some bold seer in a trance. 
Seeing all his own mischance — 
With a glassy countenance 
Did she look to Camelot. 


64 Lord Tennyson 

And at the clo^ng of the day- 
She loosed the chain and down 
The broad stream, bofe her faf awaj 
The Lady of ^haloty. 

hy'mg, robed in snowy white 
That loo^vflcw to left and right— 
The leaves /'upoii her faUmg light — 
Thro' the nDises of the night 

She floated down to Cameh 
And as the boat-head woun( 
The willowy hills and fields /amdi 
They heard her singtfig her I^st song, 

The Lady of Shaloh;. 

\ Heard a caroL mourpful, holy, 
"^^ I Chantp^ lou,dly, chan<fecl Iqwly^ 
^^ her blood was fro^^ ^lo\yly. 
And her eyes were darken'd wholly, 

Turn'd to tow^'d Camelot. 
For ere she rearhecf upon,/the tide 
The first house by the watw-side. 
Singing in her song she died, 
The Lady of ShalolTt. 

Under toWer and balcony, 
By ga/den-wall and gallery. 

Lord 'Tennyson 65 

A gleaming shape she floated by, 
Dead-pale betwe^ii the houses high, 

Silent into Caimelot. 
Out upon the wharfs they came. 
Knight and burgher, lord and dame, 
And round the prow they read her name. 

The Lady of'Shamt. 

Who is this ? and what is here ? 
And in the lighted palace near 
Died the sound of royal cheer ; 
And they cross'd themselves for fear 

All the knights at Camelot : 
But Lancelot mused a little space ; 
He said, " She has a lovely face ; 
God in his mercyjeftd her grace, 


AlfSed, Lord Tennyson. 

The Forsaken Merman 

Come, dear children, let^u^/^w^y ; 

Down and ^^way beloW. 
Now my brothers call from the bay; 
Now the great winds shoreward blow; 
Now the salt tides seaward flow ; 

burgher: citizen. 
G. IT. 5 


66 Matthew Arnold 

Now the wild white horses play, 
Champ and chafe and-toss in the spray. 
Children dear, let u^a-wj^j^. 
This way, this way ! 

Call her once Di^re you go — 

Call once yet ! 
In a voice that she will know : 

" Margaret ! Margaret ! " 
Children's voices should be dear 
(Call once more) to a mother's ear ; 
Children's voices, wild..-wit]i pain — 
Surely she will come 
Call her once and come 

This way, this way! 
"Mother dear, we cannot stay!" 
The wild white horses foam and fret. 

Margaret! Margaret! 


Come, dear children, come /w^y down. 

Call no more. 
One last look at the white-wall'd town. 
And the little grey church on the windy shore. 

Then come down. 
She will not come thoii^h you call all day. 

Come ^wj^y, come aw^ ! 

Matthew Arnold 67 

Children dear, was it yesterday 
We heard the sweet bells over the bay ? 
In the caverns where we lay, 
Through the surf and through the swell, 
The far-off sound of a silver bell ? 
Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep. 
Where the winds are all ^leep ; 
Where the spent lights quiver and gleam ; 
Where the salt weed sways in the stream ; 
Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round, 
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground ; 
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine. 
Dry their mail and bask in the brine ; 
Where great whales come sailing by. 
Sail and sail, with unshut eye. 
Round the world for ever and aye ? 
When did music come this way ? 
Children dear, was it yesterday ? 

Children dear, was it yesterday \ 

(Call yet once) that she went awav ? 

Once she sate with you and me. 

On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, 

And the youngest sate on her knee. 

She combed its bright hair, and she tended it well. 

When down swung the sound of a far-off bell. 


68 Matthew Arnold 

She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear 

green sea; 
She said : " I must go, for my kinsfolk pray 
In the little grey church on the shore t^^^ajsr 
'Twill be Easter-time in the world — ah me ! 
And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with 

I said, "Go up, dear heart, through the waves ; 
Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind 

She smiled, she went up through the surf in 

the bay. 
Children dear, was it yesterday? 

Children dear, were we longv^lone 

"The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan. 

Long prayers," I said, "in the world they 

Come!" I said, and we rose through the surf 
in the bay. 

We went up the beach, by the sandy down 

Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white- 
walled town. 

Through the narrow paved streets, where all 
was still, 

To the little grey church on the windy hill. 


Matthew Arnold 69 

From the church came a murmur of folk at 

their prayers^^^ 
But we stood v^ithout in the cold blowing airs. 
We climb'd onthe'graves, on the stones worn 

with rains, 
And we gazed up the aisle through the small 
leaded panes. 

She sate by the pillar ; we saw her clear : 

"Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here! 

Dear heart," I said, "we are long ^Ibne. 

The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan." 
But, ah ! she gave me never a look. 
For her eyes were sealed to the holy book. 
Loud prays the priest ; shut stands the door. 

Come away, children, call no more. 

Come away, come down, call no more. 

Down, down, down, 

Down to the depths of the sea ! 
She sits at her wheel in the humming town. 

Singing most joyfully. 
Hark what she sings : "O joy, O joy, 
For the humming street, and the child with its 

For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well ; 

For the wheel where I spun. 

And the blessed light of the sun ! " 


70 Matthew Arfiold 

And so she sings her fill. 

Singing most joyfully, 

Till the spindle drops from her hand, 

And the whizzing wheel stands still. 

She steals to the window and looks at the sand, 

And over the sand at the sea ; 

And her eyes are set in a stare ; 

AndC^o^ there breaks a sigh, 

And ( ^n^ v there drops a tear. 

From a sorrow-clouded eye, 

And a heart sorrow-laden, 

A long, long sigh 
For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden 
And the gleam of her golden hair. 

Come away, away, children ! 
Come children, come down ! 
The hoarse wind blows coldly ; 
Lights shine in the town. 
She will start from her slumber 
When gusts shake the door ; 
She will hear the winds howling, 
Will hear the waves rogr. 
We shall see, while ^bgy^ us 
The waves roar and whirl, 
A ceiling of amber, 
A pavement of pearl. 



Matthew Arnold 71 

Singing: "Here came a mortal, 
But faithless was she : 
AncL^oi^.e-xlwell for ever 
The kings of the sea." 

But, children, at midnight. 
When soft the winds blow, 
When clear falls the moonlight. 
When spring-tides are low : 
When sweet airs come seaward 
From heaths starr'd with broom ; 
And high rocks throw mildly 
On the blanch'd sands a gloom : 
Up the still, glistening beaches. 
Up the creeks we will hie. 
Over banks of bright seaweed 
The ebb-tide leaves dry. 
We will gaze, from the sand-hills. 
At the white, sleeping town ; 
At the church on the hill-side — 
And then come back down. 
Singing: "There dwells a loved one. 

But cruel is she. 
She left lonely for ever 

The kings of the sea." 

Matthew Arnold. 

72 H, W. Long fellow 

The Legend Beautiful 

"Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled!" 
That is what the Vision said. 

In his chamber all alone, 
Kneeling on the floor of stone. 
Prayed the Monk in deep contrition 
For his sins of indecision, 
Prayed for greater self-denial 
In temptation and in trial ; 
It was noonday by the djal. 
And the Monk was all, alone-: 

Suddenly, as if it lighten'd. 
An unwonted splendour brighten'd 
All within him and without him 
In that narrow cell of stone ; 
And he saw the Blessed Vision 
Of our Lord, with light Elysian 
Like a vesture wrapped about him. 
Like a garment round him thrown. 

Not as crucified and slain. 

Not in agonies of pain, 

Not with bleeding hands and feet. 

Did the Monk his Master see ; 

Elysian : heavenly. 


H. W, Longfellow 73 

But as in the village street, 
In the house or harvest-field, 
Halt and lame and blind he healed, 
When he walked in Galilee. 

In an attitude imploring, 

Hands upon his bosom crossed, 

Wondering, worshipping, adoring, 

Knelt the Monk in rapture lost. 

Lord, he thought, in heaven that reignest, 

Who am I, that thus thou deignest 

To reveal thyself to me ? 

Who am I, that from the centre 

Of thy glory thou shouldst enter 

This poor cell, my guest to be ? 

Then amid his exaltation. 
Loud the convent bell appalling. 
From its belfry calling, calling, 
Rang through court and corridor 
With persistent iteration 
He had never heard before. 
It was now the appointed hour 
When alike in sun or shower, 
Winter's cold or summer's heat, 
To the convent portals came 
All the blind and halt and lame, 
All the beggars of the street. 



74 H, W. Liongfellow 

For their daily dole of food 

Dealt them by the brotherhood ; 

And their almoner was he 

Who upon his bended knee, 

Rapt in silent ecstasy 

Of divinest self-surrender, 

Saw the Vi§i6n and the Splendour. 

^ Deep distress and hesitation 

Mingled with his adoration ; 
Should he go or should he stay ? 
Should he leave the poor to wait 
Hungry at the convent gate, 
Till the Vision passed away ? 
Should he slight his radiant guest, 
/Slight his visitant celestial, 
' For a crowd of ragged, bestial 
Beggars at the convent gate ? 
\^ Would the Vision there remain ? 

Would the Virion come again ? 

Then a voice within his breast 
Whispered, audible and clear. 
As if to the outward ear : 
"Do thy duty; that is best; 
Leave unto thy Lord the rest ! " 

almoner : giver of alms or charity. 


H, W, Longfellow 75 

Straightway to his feet he started, 
And with longing look intent 
On the Blessed Vision bent, 
Slowly from his cell departed. 
Slowly on his errand went. 

At the gate the poor were waiting, 

Looking through the iron grating. 

With that terror in the eye 

That is only seen in those 

Who amid their wants and woes 

Hear tlie sound of doors that close. 

And of feet that pass them by ; 

Grown familiar with disfavour, 

Grown familiar with the savour 

Of the bread by which men die ! 

But to-day, they knew not why. 

Like the gate of Paradise 

Seemed the convent gate to rise, 

Like a sacrament divine 

Seemed to them the bread and wine. 

In his heart the Monk -^as praying. 

Thinking of the homeless poor, 

What they suffer and endure ;} / 

What we see not, what^e see ; 

And the inward voice was saying : 

76 H, W. Longfellow 

"Whatsoever thing thou doest 
To the least of mine and lowest, 
That thou doest unto me ! " 

Unto me ! but had the Vision 
Come to him in beggar's clothing, 
Come a mendicant imploring. 
Would he then have knelt adoring, 
Or have listened with derision, 
And have turned away with loathing ? 

Thus his conscience put the question, 
Full of troublesome suggestion. 
As at length, with hurried pace, 
Towards his cell he turned his face, 
J And beheld the convent bright 

With a supernatural light, 
Like a luminous cloud expanding 
Over floor and wall and ceiling. 

But he paused with awe-struck feeling 

At the threshold of his door. 

For the Vision sj:ill was standing 

As he left it there before, 

When the convent bell appalling, 

From its belfry calling, calling, 

Summoned him to feed the poor. 

H. W. Longfellow 77 

Through the long hour intervening x 

It had waited his return, 

And he felt his bosom burn, 

Comprehending all the meaning, 

When the Blessed Vision said, 

"Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled!" 

H. W. Longfellow. 

Abou Ben Adhem 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 

Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, J 

And saw, within the moonlight in his room. 

Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom. 

An angel writing in a book of gold : — 

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, 

And to the presence in the room he said, 

"What writest thou?" — The vision rais'd its 

head, / 

And with a look made all of sweet accord) ' 

Answer'd, "The names of those that love the 

"And is mine one? "said Abou. "Nay, not so," , 

fepliecj the angel. Abou spoke more low, i 

But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then. 
Write me as one that loves his fellow men." 

78 Leigh Hunt 

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next 

It came again with a great wakening light, 
And show'd the names whom love of God had 

And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. 

Leigh Hunt. 

The Sands of Dee 

"O Mary, go and call the cattle home, 
And call the cattle home. 
And caU the cattle home. 
Across the sands of Dee"; 
The western wind was wild and dank with 
J And aU alone went she. 

The western tide crept up along the sand. 
And o'er and o'er the sand, 
And round and round the sand, 
As far as eye could see. 
The roUing mist came down and hid the 
And never home came she. 

Charles Kings ley 79 

"O is it weed, or fish, or floating hair — 
A tress of golden hair, 
A drowned maiden's hair, 
Above the nets at sea?" 
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair 
Among the stakes of Dee. 

They rowed her in across the rolling foam. 
The cruel crawling foam. 
The cruel hungry foam. 

To her grave beside the sea. 
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle 
Across the sands of Dee. 

Charles Kingsley. 


O young Lochinvar is come out of the west. 
Through all the wide Border his steed was the 

And save his good broad-sword he weapons 

had none ; 
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.y 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young Loch- 

8o Sir Walter Scott 

He stay'd not for brake, and he stopp'd not for 

He swam the Esk river where ford there was 

But, ere he aHghted at Netherby gate. 
The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. 
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 
/Among bride's-men and kinsmen, and brothers 
^ — ■'" and all : 

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his 

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a 

"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Loch- 
invar ? " 

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you 

denied : — 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its 

tide — 
And now I am come, with this lost love of 

To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 

Sir Walter Scott 8i 

There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by- 

That would gladly be bride to the young Loch- 

The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took 

it up, 
He quaff d off the wine, and he threw down the 

She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up 

to sigh, 
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could 

bar, — 
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Loch- 
So stately his form, and so lovely her face. 
That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 
While her mother did fret, and her father did 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet 

and plume ; 
And the bride-maidens whisper'd, '"Twere 

better by far 
To have match'd our fair cousin with young 


galliard : a gay dance. 
G. II. 6 

82 Sir Walter Scott 

One touch to her hand and one word in her 

When they reach' d the hall door and the 

charger stood near ; 
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 
So Hght to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, 

and scaur; 
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth 

young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the 

Netherby clan ; 
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode 

and they ran : 
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, 
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 
Have ye e'er heard of gallant Hke young Loch- 
invar ? 

Sir Walter Scott. 

scaur : a steep bank. 

T. L. Bed does 83 


This section will appeal to girls rather than to boys. 
And yet day-dreams are no bad things for either sex—; 
just now and again, as a getting away from realities. 

Dreams to Sell 

If there were dreams to sell, 

What would you buy ? 
Some cost a passing bell ; 

Some a Hght sigh, 
That shakes from Life's fresh crown 
Only a rose-leaf down. 
If there were dreams to sell, 
Merry and sad to tell. 
And the crier rang the bell, 

What would you buy ? 

A cottage lone and still, 

With bowers nigh. 
Shadowy, my woes to still. 

Until I die. 
Such pearl from Life's fresh crown 
Fain would I shake me down. 
Were dreams to have at will, 
This would best heal my ill. 

This would I buy. 

T. L. Beddoes. 

84 E. B. Browning 

The Lost Bower 

In the pleasant orchard closes, 
"God bless all our gains," say we; 
/ But "May God bless all our losses," 

Better suits with our degree. — 
Listen gentle — ay, and simpleT Listen children 
on the knee! 

Green the land is where my daily 
Steps in jocund childhood played — 
Dimpled close with hill and valley. 
Dappled very close with shade ; 
Summer-snow of apple blossoms, running up 
from glade to glade. 

There is one hill I see nearer, 
In my vision of the rest ; 
And a little wood seems clearer. 
As it climbeth from the west, 
Sideway from the tree-locked valley, to the 
airy upland crest. 

Small the wood is, green with hazels, 
^ And, completing the/ascent, 

Where the wind blows and sun dazzles. 
Thrills in leafy tremblement : 
Like a heart that, after climbing, beateth 
. quickly through content.,, 


E. B. B 7^ owning 85 

Not a step the wood advances 
O'er the open hill-top's bound : 
There, in green arrest, the branches 
See their image on the ground : 
You may walk between them smiling, glad 
with sight arid glad with sound. 

For you hearken on your right hand, 
How the birds do leap and call 
In the greenwood, out of sight and 
Out of reach and fear of all ; 
And the squirrels crack the filberts, through 
their cheerful madrigal. 

On your left, the sheep are cropping 
The slant grass and daisies pale ; 
And five apple-trees stand, dropping 
Separate shadows toward the vale, 
Over which, in choral silence, the hills look you {* 
their "All hail!" 

Yet in childhood little prized I 
That fair walk and far Survey : 
'Twas a straight walk, unadvised by 
The least mischief worth a nay — 
Up and down — as dull as grammar on an eve 
of holiday ! 


86 E. B, Browning 

But the wood, all close and clenching 
Bough in bough and root in root, — 
No more sky (for over-branching) 
At your head than at your foot, — 
Oh, the wood drew me within it, by a glamour 
past dispute. 

Few and broken paths showed through it. 
Where the sheep had tried to run, — 
Forced with snowy wool to strew it 
Round the thickets, when anon) 
They with silly thorn-pricked noses bleated 
back into the sun. 

But my childish heart beat stronger 
Than those thickets dared to grow : 
/ could pierce them ! / could longer 
Travel on, methought, than so ! 
Sheep for sheep-paths ! braver children climb 
and creep where they would go. 

On a day, such pastime keeping, 
With a fawn's heart debonair, 
Under-crawling, overleaping 
Thorns that prick and boughs that bear, 
I stood suddenly astonished — I was gladdened 
unaware ! 

£. B. Browning 87 

From the place I stood in, floated 
Back the covert dim and close ; 
And the open ground was suited 
Carpet-smooth with grass and moss, 
And the blue-bell's purple presence signed it 
worthily across. 

'Twas a bower for garden fitter, 
Than for any woodland wide ! 
Though a fresh and dewy glitter 
Struck it through, from side to side. 
Shaped and shaven was the freshness, as by 
garden-cunning plied. 

Rose-trees, either side the door, were 
Growing lithe and growing tall ; 
Each one set a summer warder 
For the keeping of the hall, — 
With a red rose, and a white rose, leaning, 
nodding at the wall. 

As I entered — mosses hushing 
Stole all noises from my foot : 
And a round elastic cushion. 
Clasped within the linden's root. 
Took me in a chair of silence, very rare and 



88 E. B. Browning 

So, young muser, I sat listening 
To my Fancy's wildest word — 
On a sudden, through the glistening 
Leaves around, a little stirred. 
Came a sound, a sense of music, which was 
rather felt than heard. 

Softly, finely, it inwoun« me — 
From the world it shut me in, — 
Like a fountain falling round me, 
Which with silver waters thin 
Clips a little marble Naiad, sitting smilingly 
, within. 

Whence the music came, who knoweth ? 
7 know nothing. But indeed 
Pan or Faunus never bloweth 
So much sweetness from a reed 
Which has sucked the milk of waters, at the 
oldest river-head. 

Never lark the sun can waken 
With such sweetness ! when the lark. 
The high planets overtaking 
In the half-evanished Dark, 
Casts his singing to their singing, like an arrow 
to the mark. 


E, B. Browning 89 

Never nightingale so singeth — 
Oh ! she leans on thorny tree, 
And her poet-soul she flingeth 
Over pain to victory ! 
Yet she never sings such music, — or she sings 
it not to me ! 

Never blackbirds, never thrushes. 
Nor small finches sing as sweet, 
When the sun strikes through the bushes 
To their crimson clinging feet. 
And their pretty eyes Jook sideways to the 
summer heavensr^complete. 

In a child-abstraction lifted, ^=^: — 

Straightway from the bower I passed ; 
Foot and soul being dimly drifted 
Through the greenwood, till, at last. 
In the hill-top's open sunshine, I all consciously 
was cast. 

And I said within me, laughing, / ' 

I have found a bower ^o-day^ ^-^ 

A green lusus — fashioned half in 
Chance, and half in Nature's play — 
And ajiltle bird sings nigh it, I will never more 
missay. , 

" — ^ lusus : a sport, a freak. 

90 E. B. Browning 

Henceforth, / will be the fairy 
Of this bower, not built by one ; 
I will go there, sad or merry, 
With each morning's benison ; 
And the bird shall be my harper in the dream- 
hall I have won. 

So I said. But the next morning, 
( — Child, look up into my face — 
'Ware, O sceptic, of your scorning ! 
This is truth in its pure grace ;) 
The next morning, all had vanished, or my 
wandering missed the place. 

day, with new flesiij 
my wood I ran m faith- 
leaf and over brier — 
Through the thickets, out of breath — 
Like the prince who rescued Beauty from the 
sleep as long as death. 

But his sword of mettle clashed, 
And his arm smote strong, I ween ; 
And her dreaming spirit flashed 
Through her body's fair white screen, 
And the light jthe/eM might guide him up the 
cedarn alleys green. 


E, B. Browning 91 

But for me, I saw no splendour — 
All my sword was my child-heart ; 
And the wood refused surrender 
Of that bower it held apart, 
Safe as CEdipus's grave-place, 'mid Colone's 
olives swart. 

I have lost — oh many a pleasure — 
Many a hope, and many a power — 
Studious health and merry leisure — 
The first dew on the first flower ! 
But the first of all my losses was the losing of 
the bower. 

All my losses did I tell you. 
Ye, perchance, would look away ; — 
Ye would answer me, " Farewell ! you 
Make sad company to-day ; 
And your tears are falling faster than the 
bitter words you say." 

For God placed me like a dial 
In the open ground, with power ; 
And my heart had for its trial. 
All the sun and all the shower ! 
And I suffered many losses ; and my first was 
of the bower. 

Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

92 yean Inge low 

Echo and the Ferry 

Ay, Oliver ! I was but seven, and he was eleven ; 

He looked at me pouting and rosy. I blushed 

where I stood. 
They had told us to play in the orchard (and I 

only seven ! 
A small guest at the farm) ; but he said, "Oh, 

a girl was no good," 
So he whistled and went, he went over the 

stile to the wood. 
It was sad, it was sorrowful! Only a girl- 
only seven ! 
At home in the dark London smoke I had not 

found it out. 
The pear trees looked on'Tji their white, and 

blue birds flashed about'; 
And they too were afigry as Oliver. Were 

they eleven ? 
I thought so. Yes, every one else was eleven 

— eleven ! 

So Oliver went, but the cowslips were tall at 

my feet. 
And all the white orchard with fast-falling 

blossom was littered. 
And under and over the branches those little 

birds twittered, 

yean Ingelow 93 

While hanging head downwards they scolded 

: because I was seven. 
A pity. Avery great pity. One should be eleven. 
But soon I was happy, the smell of the world 

was so sweet. , i*. 

And I saw a round hole in an apple-tree rosy 

and old. 
Then I knew! for I peeped, and I felt it was 

right they should scold ! 
Eggs small and eggs many. For gladness I 

broke into laughter; 
And then some one else — oh, how softly ! came 

after, came after 
With laughter — with laughter came after. 

So this was the country ; clear dazzle of azure 

and shiver 
And whisper of leaves, and a humming all over 

the tall 
White branches, a humming of bees. And I 

came to the wall — 
A little low wall — and looked over, and there 

was the river. 
The lane that led on to the village, and then 

the sweet river. 
Clear-shining and slow, she had far far to go 

from her snow; 


94 yean Inge low 

But each rush gleamed a sword in the sunlight 

to guard her long flowL 
And she murmured methougnt, with a speech 

very soft, very low — 
"The ways will be long, but the days will be 

long," quoth the river, 
"To me a long liver, long, long!" quoth the 

river — the river. 

I dreamed of the country that night, of the 

orchard, the sky. 
The voice that had mocked coming after and 

over and under. 
But at last — in a day or two namely — Eleven 

and I 
Were very fast friends, and to him I confided 

the wonder. 
He said that was Echo. "Was Echo a wise 

kind of bee 
That had learned how to laugh : could it laugh 

in one's ear and then fly. 
And laugh again yonder ? " " No ; Echo " — he 

whispered it low — 
"Was a woman, they said, but a woman whom 

no one could see 
And no one could find ; and he did not believe/ 

it, not he, "^'^ 

yean Inge low 95 

But he could not get near for the river that 

held us asunder. 
Yet I that had money — a shilling, a whole 

silver shilling — 
We might cross if I thought I would spend it." 

"Oh yes, I was willing" — 
And we ran hand in hand, we ran down to the 

ferry, the ferry, 
And we heard how she mocked at the folk 

with a voice clear and merry 
When they called for the ferry; but oh! she 

was very — was very 
Swift-footed. She spoke and was gone; and 

when Oliver cried, 
" Hie over ! hie over ! you man of the ferry — 

the ferry!" 
By the still water's side she was heard far and 

wide — she replied/ 
And she mocked in her voice sweet and merry 

"You man of the ferry. 
You man of — you man of the ferry!" 

"Hie over !" he shouted. The ferryman came 

at his calling. 
Across the clear reed-bordered river he ferried 

us fast; — 


96 yean Inge low 

Such a chase! Hand in hand, foot to foot, 

we ran on; it, surpassed 
All measiir^ her doubling — so close, then so 

far (away falling. 
Then gone, and no more. Oh! to see her but 

once unaware. 
And the mouth that had mocked, but we might 

not (yet sure she was there !) 
Nor behold her wild eyes and her mystical 

countenance fair. 

We sought in the wood, and we found the wood- 
wren in her stead; 

In the field, and we found but the cuckoo that 
talked overhead; 

By the brook, and we found the reed-sparrow 
deep-nested, in brown — 

Not Echo, fair Echo ! for Echo, sweet Echo ! 
was flown. 

So we came to the place where the dead people 

wait till God call. 
The church was among them, grey moss over 

roof, over wall. 
Very silent, so low. And we stood on a green 

grassy mound 

yean Ingelow 97 

^^ — X 

And looked in at a window, for Echo, berhaps, 

in her round ^ — 

Might have come in to hide there. But no; 

every oak carven seat 
Was empty. We saw the great Bible — old, 

old, very old. 
And the parson's great Prayer-booJc't)eside it ; 

we heard the slow beat 
Of the pendulum swing in the tower ; we saw 

the clear gold 
Of a sunbeam float down to the aisle and then 

waver and play 
On the low chancel step and the. railing, and 

Oliver said, 
"Look, Katie! Look, Katie! when Lettice 

came here to be wed 
She stood where that sunbeam drops down, 

and all white was her gown; 
And she stepped upon flowers they strewed 

for her." Then quoth small Seven, 
"Shall I wear a white gown and have flowers 

to walk upon ever ? " 

All doubtful: "It takes a long time to grow 

up," quoth Eleven; 
"You're so little, you know, and the church 

is so old, it can never 

G. II. 7 


98 yean Inge low 

Last on till you're tall." And in whispers — 

because it was old, 
And holy, and fraught with strange meaning, 

half felt, but not told. 
Full of old parsons' prayers, who were dead, 

of old days, of old folk , """^ 
Neither heard nor beheld, but ; abo^t us, in 

whispers we spofegT ^^"^ 

Then we went from it softly, and ran hand in 

hand to the strand. 
While bleating of flocks and birds piping made 

sweeter the land. 
And Echo came back e'en as Oliver drew to 

the ferry, 
"O Katie!" "O Katie!" " Come on, then ! " 

"Come on, then!" "For, see. 
The round sun, all red, lying low by the tree" 

— "by the tree." ,-'^x 

"By the tree." Ay, she mocked him agaim 

with her voice sweet and merry : ^-^ 
"Hie over!" "Hie over!" "You man of 

the ferry"— "the ferry." 
" You man of the ferry — you man of — you man 

of — the ferry." 

Ay, here — it was here that we woke her, the 
Echo of old: 

yean Inge low 99 

All life of that day seems an echo, and many 

times told. 
Shall I cross by the ferry to-morrow, and come 

in my white 
To that little old church ? and will Oliver meet 

me anon ? ^ 

Will it all seem an echo from childhood passed 

over — passed on ? 
Will the grave parson bless us ? Hark, hark ! 

in the dim failing light 
I hear her ! As then the child's voice clear 

and high, sweet and merry 
Now she mocks the man's tone with "Hie 

over! Hie over the ferfy!" 
"And Katie." "And Katie." "Art out with 

the glowworms to-night. 
My Katie?" "My Katie." For gladness I 

break into laughter 
And tears. Then it all comes .again as from 
^ far-away years; 
Again, some one else — ^Oh, how softly! — with 

laughter comes after,- 
Comes after — with laughter comes after. 

Jean Ingelow. 



lOO William Wordsworth 

Poor Susan's Dream 

At the coriier of Wood Street, when dajjKght 

Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for 

three years : 
Poor Su^n has passed by the spot, and has 

heard / / 

In the silence of morning the song of the 

bird. / 

'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? 
She sees 

A mouiylfain asceiltding, a vi»K)n of trees y 

Bright Volumes of y^our through LoJ^bury 

And a river flows on through the vale of Cheap- 


Green pasjmres she views in the midst of the 

Down which she so often has tripp'd with her 

pail ; J 

And a single small cottfage, a nest Hke a 

The one opy dwelling on earth that she 

loves. / 


Shakespeare i o i 

She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but 

they fade, 
The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; 
The stream will not flow, and the hill will not 

And the colours have all passed away from 

her eyes ! ^""—^ 

William Wordsworth. 

Tell me where is Ydi^y bred, \^^m 

Or in the heart or in the head ? 

How begot, how nourished ? 
Reply, reply. 

It is engender'd in the eyes,[^) 

With ga^ne fed ; and Faary dies 

In the cr^e where it lies. 
Let us all ring F^i^y's knell : 
I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 

Ding, dong, bell. 


I02 Richard Crashaw 


I. The. Good Woman Made Welcome in 

Angels, thy old friends, there shall greet thee, 

Glad at their own home now to meet thee. 

All thy good works which went before^ 

And waited for thee at the door. 

Shall own thee there ; and all in one 

Weave a constellation 

Of crowns, with which the King, thy spouse. 

Shall build up thy triumphant brows. 

All thy old woes shall now smile on thee, 

And thy pains sit bright upon thee : 

All thy sorrows here shall shine, 

^ And thy sufferings be divine. 

Tears shall take comfort, and turn gems, 

v/ And wrongs repent to diadems. 

Even thy deaths shall live, and new 
Dress the soul which late they slew. 
Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scars 

yi As keep^ account of the Lamb's wars. 

Richard Crashaw. 

Robert Browning 103 

2. The Soldier Relieved ^^..^^^ 

Fd like now, yet had haply been afraid, sj 

To have just looked, when this man came to 

And seen who lined the clean gay .garret 

And stood about the neat low truckle-bed. 
With the heavenly manner of relieving guard. 
Here had been, mark, the general-in-chief. 
Thro' a whole campaign of the world's life and 

Doing the King's work all the dim day long, 
In his old coat and up to knees in mud. 
Smoked like a herring,' dining on a crust, — 
And, now the day was won, relieved at once ! 
No further show or need of that old coat. 
You are sure, for one thing ! Bless us, all the 

How sprucely we are dressed out, you and I ! 
A second, and the angels alter that. 

Robert Browning. 

I04 Sir Walter Scott 


Hunting Song 

Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
On the momnain dawns the day, 
All the joKy chase is here, ^ 

With horse, and hawk, and hunfing spear! 
"Hounds are in their couples yelling, ; 

Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling. / 
Merrily, merrily, mingle they, 
"Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and lad^s gay, 
The mist has left the moiyltain grey, 
SpringMts in the dawn are steaming. 
Diamonds on the brake are gleaining. 
And foresters have bi^y been 
• To track the buck in thiplcet green ; 
Now w^ come to chant our lay, 
"Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Waken, lords and ladies gay. 
To the greenwood haste away;; 
We can show you where Ke~lies, 
Fleet of foot, and tall of size 

knelling: sounding like a bell. brake: fern, bracken. 


\^ \V^ 

Sir Walter Scott 105 

We can show the marks he made 
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed ; 
You shall see him brought to bay ; 
"Waken, lords and ladies gay." 

Louder, louder chant the lay, 

Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 

Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee, 

Run a course as well as we ; 

Time, stern hunjE^an ! who can baulk. 

Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk ? 

Think of this, and rise with day, 

Gejaftle lords and ladies gay ! 

Sir Walter Scott. 

The Riding to the Tournament 

Over m^a;dows pu^pple-flowered. 
Through the dark lanes oak-embowered, 
Over comrhons dry and brown, 
Through the silent red-roofed town. 
Past the reapers and the sheaves. 
Over white roads strewn with leaves, 
By the gipsy's ragged tent, 
Rode we to the Tournament. 


antlers : horns. 

io6 G. JV, Thornhury 

j-v, Over clover wet with dew, 

Whence the sky-lark, startled, flew. 
Through brown fallows, where the hare 
Leapt up from its subtle lair. 
Past the mill-stream and the reeds 
Where the stately heron feeds, 
By the warren's sunny wall, 
Where the dry leaves shake and fall. 
By the hall's ancestral trees, 
Bent and writhing in the breeze, 
^ Rode we all with one inteiiit, 

Gaily to the Tournament. 

Golden sparkles, flashing gem. 
Lit the robes of each of them. 
Cloak of velvet, robe of silk. 
Mantle siiowy-white as milk. 
Rings upon our bridle-hand. 
Jewels on our belt and band. 
Bells upon our golden reins. 
Tinkling spurs and shining chains — 
In such merry mob we went 
Riding to the Tournament. 

Laughing voices, scraps of song. 
Lusty music loud and strong, 
I Rustling of the banners blowing, 
1 Whispers as of rivers flowing. 

G. W. Thornhury 107 

Whistle of the hawks we bore 
As they rise and as they soar, 
Now and then a clash of drums 
As the rabble louder hums, 
Now and then a burst of horns 
Sounding over brooks and bourns, 
As in merry guise we went 
Riding to the Tournament. 

There were abbots fat and sleek, 
Nuns in couples, pale and meek, 
Jugglers tossing cups and knives. 
Yeomen with their buxom wives. 
Pages playing with the curls 
Of the rosy village girls. 
Grizzly knights with faces scarred, 
Staring through their vizors barred, 
Huntsmen cheering with a shout 
At the wild stag breaking out. 
Harper, stately as a king, 
Touching now and then a string. 
As our revel laughing went 
To the solemn Tournament. 

Charger with the massy chest. 
Foam-spots flecking mane and breast. 
Pacing stately, pawing ground. 
Fretting for the trumpet's sound, 

io8 G. W. Thornhury 

White and sorrel, roan and bay, 
Dappled, spotted, black, and grey, 
Palfreys snowy as the dawn, 
Ponies sallow as the fawn. 
All together neighing went 
Trampling to the Tournament. 

Long hair scattered in the wind. 
Curls that flew a yard behind, 
Flags that struggled like a bird 
Chained and restive — not a word 
But half buried in a laugh ; 
And the lance's gilded staff 
Shaking when the bearer shook ' 
At the jester's merry look. 
As he grins upon his mule. 
Like an urchin leaving school. 
Shaking bauble, tossing bells, 
At the merry jest he tells, — 
So in happy mood we went. 
Laughing to the Tournament. 

What a bustle at the inn, 
What a stir, without — ^within ; 
Filling flagons, brimming bowls 
For a hundred thirsty souls ; 
Froth in snow-flakes flowing down, 
From the pitcher big and brown. 

G. W. Thornbury 109 

While the tankards brim and bubble 
With the balm for human trouble ; 
How the maiden coyly sips, 
How the yeoman wipes his lips, 
How the old knight drains the cup 
Slowly and with calmness up. 
And the abbot, with a prayer, 
Fills the silver goblet rare. 
Praying to the saints for strength 
As he holds it at arm's length; 
How the jester spins the bowl 
On his thumb, then quaffs the whole ; 
How the pompous steward bends 
And bows to half-a-dozen friends, 
As in a thirsty mood we went 
Duly to the Tournament. 

Then again the country over 
Through the stubble and the clover. 
By the crystal-dropping springs, 
Where the road dust clogs and clings 
To the pearl-leaf of the rose. 
Where the tawdry nightshade blows, 
And the bramble twines its chains 
Through the sunny village lanes. 
Where the thistle sheds its seed. 
And the goldfinch loves to feed. 

no G. W, Thornbury 

By the milestone green with moss, 
By the broken wayside cross, 
In a merry band we went 
Shouting to the Tournament. 

Pilgrims with their hood and cowl. 
Pursy burghers cheek by jowl. 
Archers with their peacock's wing 
Fitting to the waxen string, 
Pedlars with their pack and bags. 
Beggars with their coloured rags. 
Silent monks, whose stony eyes 
Rest in trance upon the skies. 
Children sleeping at the breast. 
Merchants from the distant West, 
All in gay confusion went 
To the royal Tournament. 

Players with the painted iace^ 

And a drunken man's grimace, 

Grooms who praise their raw-boned steeds. 

Old wives telling maple beads, — 

Blackbirds from the hedges broke. 

Black crows from the beeches croak. 

Glossy swallows in dismay 

From the mill-stream fled away, 

The angry swan, with ruffled breast. 

G, W, Thornbury 1 1 1 

Frowned tipon her osier nest, 
The wren hopped restless on the brake, 
The otter made the sedges shake, 
The butterfly before our rout 
Flew like a .blossom blown about. 
The coloured leaves, a globe of life. 
Spun round and scattered as in strife, 
Sweeping down the narrow lane 
Like the slant shower of the rain. 
The lark in terror, from the sod. 
Flew up and straight appealed to God, 
As a noisy band we went 
Trotting to the Tournament. 

But when we saw the holy town, 

With its river and its down. 

Then the drums began to beat 

And the flutes piped mellow sweet ; 

Then the deep and full bassoon 

Murmured like a wood in June, 

And the fifes, so sharp and bleak. 

All at once began to speak. 

Hear the trumpets clear and loud, 

FuU-tongued, eloquent and proud. 

And the dulcimer that ranges 

Through such wild and plaintive changes ; 

112 G. IV, Thornhury 

Merry sounds the jester's shawm, 
To our gladness giving form ; 
-^ And the shepherd's chalumeau, 
Rich and soft and sad and low ; 
Hark ! the bagpipes squeak and groan — 
Every herdsman has his own ; 
So in measured step we went 
Pacing to the Tournament. 

All at once the chimes break out, 
Then we hear the townsmen shout, 
And the morris-dancers' bells 
Tinkling in the grassy dells ; 
The bell thunder from the tower 
Adds its sound of doom and power, 
As the cannon's loud salute 
For a moment made us mute ; 
Then again the laugh and joke 
On the startled silence broke ; — 
Thus in merry mood we went 
Laughing to the Tournament. 

G. W. Thornbury. 

shawm : reed pipe. chalumeau : reed pipe. 

Robert Burns 113 

A Red, Red Rose 

O, my love is like a red, red rose. 
That's newly sprung in June : 

O, my love is like the melody 
That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 

So deep in love am I, 
And I will love thee still, my dear, 

Till all the seas gang dry. 

Till all the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi' the sun ! 

And I will love thee still, my dear. 
While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare thee well, my only love, 
And fare thee well a while ! 

And I will come again, my love, 
Tho' it were ten thousand mile ! 

Robert Burns. 

gang: go. 

114 Lord Tennyson 

Blow, Bugle, Blow 

The splendour falls on castle walls 

And snowy summits old in story : 
The long light shakes across the lakes. 
And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, 

O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear. 
And thinner, clearer, farther going ! 
O sweet and far from cliff and scar 
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! 
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: 
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, 

O love, they die in yon rich sky, 

They faint on hill or field or river : 
Our echoes roll from soul to soul. 
And grow for ever and for ever. 
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying. 
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 

scar : a crag, a precipice. 

Matthew Arnold 115 

West and East 

Rome is chiefly known to young readers through the 
medium of Mac aulay^s spirited " Lays " which, however, 
are only a re-telling, in English ballad form, of some of 
the legends which survived into historical times concerning 
the infant city, about which nothing certain is known. 
They give no idea of the Rome of history, the world-power, 
or of the brooding immensity of her influence through 
centuries. This and the following poem illustrate, to 
some slight extent, the later Rome. 

In his cool hall, with haggard eyes, 

The Roman noble lay ; 
He drove abroad, in furious guise, ^ 

Along the Appian way. 

He made a feast, drank fierce and fast. 
And crown'd his hair with flowers — 

No easier nor no quicker pass'd 
The impracticable hours. 

The brooding East with awe beheld 

Her impious younger world. 
The Roman tempest swell'd and swell'd, 

And on her head was hurled. 




1 1 6 Matthew Arnold 

The East bow'd low before the blast 

In patient, deep disdain ; 
She let the legions thunder past, 

And plunged in thought again) 

Matthew Arnold. 


Genseric, King of the Vandals, who, having 
laid waste seven lands. 

From Tripolis far as Tangier, from the sea to 
the great desert sands. 

Was lord of the Moor and the African, — thirst- 
ing anon for new slaughter, 

Sail'd out of Carthage, and sail'd o'er the 
Mediterranean water; 

Plunder'd Palermo, seiz'd Sicily, sack'd the 
Lucanian coast. 

And paused, and said, laughing, " Where next ? " 
Then there came to the Vandal a Ghost 

From the Shadowy Land that lies hid and 
unknown in the Darkness Below. 

And answered, "To Rome!" 

Said the King to the Ghost, "And 
whose envoy art thou ? 

Owen Meredith 


Whence com'st thou? and name me his name 

that hath sent thee : and say what is 

" From far : and His name that hath sent me 

is God," the Ghost answered, "and mine 
Was Hannibal once, ere thou wast: and the 

n^me^that I now have is Fate. 
But' arise, and be swift, and return. For 

God waits, and the moment is late." 
And, "I go," said the Vandal. And went. 

When at last to the gates he was come. 
Loud he knock'd with his fierce iron fist. And 

full drowsily answer'd him Rome. 
"Who is it that knocketh so loud ? Get thee 

hence. Let me be. For 'tis late." 
"Thou art wanted," cried Genseric. "Open! 

His name that hath sent me is Fate, 
And mine, who knock late. Retribution." 

Rome gave him her glorious things ; 
The keys she had conquer' d from kingdoms : 

the crowns she had wrested from kings : 
And Genseric bore them away into Carthage, 

(f^venged thus on Rome, 
And paused, and said, laughing, " Where next ? " 
And again the Ghost answer'd him, 

1 1 8 Owen Meredith 

For now God doth need thee no longer." 

"Where leadest thou me by the 
Cried the King to the Ghost. And the Ghost 
answer'd, "Into the Shadowy Land." 
Owen Meredith. 

KuBLA Khan 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 

A stately pleasure-dome ^iecreq : 
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
Through caverns measureless to man 

Down to a sunless sea. 
So twice five miles of fertile ground 
With walls and towers were girdled round : 
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills 
Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree ; 
And here were forests ancient as the hills, 
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 
But O, that deep romantic chasm which slanted 
Down the green hilL^thwai^t a cedarn cover! 
A savage place ! as hoiy-afid enchanted 
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted 
By woman^ailing for her demon-lover ! 
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil 

S. T, Coleridge 119 

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breath- 
A roighty fountain momently was forced ; 
<^jnid whose swift half-intermitted burst 
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, 
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail : 
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever 
It flung up momently the sacred river. 
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion 
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, 
Then reached the caverns measureless to man, 
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean : 
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far 
Ancestral voices prophesying war ! 
The shadow of the dome of pleasure 

Floated midway on the waves ; 
Where was heard the mingled measure 
From the fountain and the caves. 
It was a miracle of rare device, 
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ! 

A damsel with a dulcimer 

In a vision once I saw : 
It was an Abyssinian maid, 

And on her dulcimer she play'd. 
Singing of Mount Abora. 


1 20 S. T". Coleridge 

Could I revive within me 
Her symphony and song, 
^ To such a deep delight 'twould win me 

That with music loud and long, 
I would build that dome in air. 
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! 
y And all who heard should see them there, 

^ And all should cry, Beware ! Beware ! 

His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! 
Weave a circle round him thrice. 

And close your eyes with holy dread, 
For he on honey-dew hath fed, 
And drunk the milk of Paradise. 

Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 

Something to Remember 

Ah, did you once see Shelley plain, 
And did he stop and speak to you. 

And did you speak to him again ? 
How strange it seems, and new ! 

But you were living before that. 

And also you are living after, 
And the memory I started at — 

My starting moves your laughter ! 

Robert Browning 121 

I crossed a moor, with a name of its own 
And a certain use in the world, no doubt, / 

Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone ^ 

'Mid the blank miles round about : 

For there I picked up on the heather 

And there I put inside my breast 
A moulted feather, an eagle-feather ! v 

Well, I forget the rest. 

Robert Browning. 

Ring Out, Wild Bells 

Ring out, wild beUs, to the wild sky, 
The flying cloud, the frosty light : 
The year is dying in the night ; 

Ring out wild bells, and let him die. 

Ring out the old, ring in the new, 

Ring, happy bells, across the snow : 
The year is going, let him go ; 

Ring out the false, ring in the true. 

Ring out the grief that saps the mind, 
For those that here we see no more ; 
Ring out the feud of rick , and poor. 

Ring in redress to all mankind. v 

122 Lord Tennyson 

Ring out a slowly dying cause, 

And ancient forms of party strife ; 
Ring in the nobler modes of life, 

With sweeter manners, purer laws. 

Ring out the want, the care, the sin, 
The faithless coldness of the times ; 
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes. 

But ring the fuller minstrel in. 

Ring out false pride in place and blood, 
The civic slander and the spite ; 
Ring in the love of truth and right, 

Ring in the common love of good. 

{/ Ring out old shapes of foul disease; 

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 
Ring out the thousand wars of old. 
Ring in the thousand years of peace. 

Ring in the valiant man and free. 

The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
Ring out the darkness of the land, 

Ring in the Christ that is to be. 

Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 



Anonymous ... 

28, 30, 34, 36 

Arnold, Matthew 


Beddoes, Thomas Lovell . 

. . . 83 

Browning, Elizabeth Barrett 

. . . 84 

Browning, Robert 

19, 20, 54, 103, 120 

Burns, Robert . . . 

. 113 

Byron, Lord 

• 39» 43 

Campbell, Thomas 


Clough, Arthur Hugh 


Coleridge, Samuel Taylor . 


Collins, William 


Crashaw, Richard 


Herrick, Robert 


Hovey, Richard 

... 27 

Howe, Julia Ward , 


Hunt, Leigh 


Ingelow, Jean . 


Jonson, Ben 


Keats, John 


Kingsley, Charles 

• 31,78 

Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth 

22, 24, 26, 72 

124 Index of Authors 


Lovelace, Richard 48 

Meredith, Owen 

. 116 

Miller, Joaquin 

. . 56 

Roberts, Theodore 


Scott, Sir Walter 

• 49» 53, 79» 104 

Shakespeare, William . 

30, lOI 

Shelley, Percy Bysshe 

• 9»i3 

Tennyson, Alfred, Lord 

. 2, 58, 114, 121 

Thornbury, G. W. . 

. 105 

Wolfe, Charles . 


Wordsworth, William 

. 4, 100 


A lofty ship from Salcombe came 

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase !) 

Ah, did you once see Shelley plain . 

Ah ! what pleasant visions haunt me . 

"All honour to him who shall win the prize" 

Angels, thy old friends, there shall greet thee 

At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears 

Ay, Oliver ! I was but seven, and he was eleven 

Come, dear children, let us away 

Full fathom five thy father lies . 

Genseric, King of the Vandals, who, having laid 

waste seven lands . . 

"Hadst thou stayed, I must have fled" 
Hail to thee, blithe spirit .... 
Here's the tender coming .... 
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 
I am fever'd with the sunset 
I come from haunts of coot and hern 
I'd like now, yet had haply been afraid 
If there were dreams to sell 
In his cool hall, with haggard eyes 
In the pleasant orchard closes 
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
It was roses, roses, all the way . 
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of 

the Lord ...... 

Nobly, nobly Cape St Vincent to the North-west 

died away ...... 

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note 




1 20 














126 Index of First Lines 

Oh England is a pleasant place for them that's rich 

and high ..... 
O for the voice of that wild horn 
O Mary, go and call the cattle home 
O, my love is like a red, red rose 
O my true love's a smuggler and sails upon the sea 
O, to be in England 
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being 
O young Lochinvar is come out of the West 
Often I think of the beautiful town . 
On either side the river lie 
Over meadows purple-flowered . 
Queen and huntress, chaste and fair . 
Ring out wild bells to the wild sky . 
Say not the struggle nought availeth . 
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness 
Simon Danz has come home again 
Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er . 
Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind 
Tell me where is Fancy bred 
The isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! 
The splendour falls on castle walls 
There was a sound of revelry by night 
There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream 
Thunder of riotous hoofs over the quaking sod 
'Twas in the good ship Rover . 
Waken, lords and ladies gay 
Ye have been fresh and green . 
Ye Mariners of England .... 























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