Skip to main content

Full text of "A paradise of English poetry"

See other formats 


LUA 


OF  Ef 


ry  of  Engph  ^^ 


Presented  to  the 
LIBRARY  of  the 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO 

by 

Mrs.    H.   J.   Cody 


Small  Fcaf.  8:  v.     y.  6d. 
May  also  be  had  bound  in  Uather. 

Words  and  Days 

A  Table-Book  of  Prose  and  Verse. 

Compiled  by  BOWYER  NICHOLS. 

With  a  Preface  by  GEORGE  SAINTSBURY. 

Professor  of  Rhetoric  and  English  Literature 

in  the  University  of  Edinburgh. 

'We  can  only  commend  the  •  'Altogether  thU  little  book  U 
little  volume  a*,  in  it*  kind,  a  |  admirable,  and  will  lake  it%  viand 
nearly  faultless  production.'—  I  ftfftffTf  cento*  at  the  GolJtn 
Tlmti  '  Trtamry  did  among  lyrical  col- 

'  The  selection  he«ri  witnee*  to  I  faction*.  It  U  indeed  a  year'* 
«,;.<>  r-mAing  gnf|  Hh***  tfifflf  '—  'companion,  and  then  will  be  a 

- 


friend  to  li\-e  with  fur  many  another 

•Thi.  U  a  delightful  little  book  |  ytar/  -M«fc«tof  *»Nlaa. 
in  every  respect.     Mr.  NkhoUhiu         'The  field  covered  by  the  teltc- 
ncd  ni*  difficult   task  with      tion*  i«  a  very  wide  one,  but  there 
admirable  judgment  and  excellent      i*  nothing  trivial  here."— 
ta*te.  -01»i«iw  H.nUd  Terkaair*  fo«t 


Dtmy  i6«ro.     a*.  6tf.  *tt. 
May  alto  bt  A.;,/  bound  in  Unlktr. 

Seventeenth   Century   Lyrics 

Edited  by  GEORGE  SAINTSBURY. 

'Charming  in  its  appearance,  and  thoroughly  delightful  in  it* 
contents.'—  TUMa. 

Dtmy  i6««>.     a/.  &/. 
May  also  bt  had  bound  in  Itatkfr. 

A  Calendar  of  Verse 

Being  a  Short  Selection  for  every  day  in  the  year 

from  Twelve  Poets,  one  for  each  month. 
With  an  Introduction  by  GEORGE  SAINTSBURY. 

CONTENTS.  —  Shakespeare  —  Spenser  —  S.  T.  Coleridge  — 
Herrick—  Shelley—  William  Moms—  Keats—  Byron—Campion 
—Sir  Waller  Scott—  Wordsworth—  Milton. 

'An  admirable  little  book;  per-  I  'Delightful  to  handle  and  to 
haps  the  best  of  it-  kind  in  exist-  |  look  at,  delightful  to  read  in.'— 
ence.' 


LONDON:  RIVINGTONS 


BY  THE  SAME  EDITOR 

IN  A  GARDEN,  AND  OTHER  POEMS.     55. 
JOHN  LANE. 


LYRA  SACRA,  AN  ANTHOLOGY  OF  SACRED  VERSE. 

Crown  8vo.     Buckram.     6s. 
'An  anthology  of  high  excellence.'— Athenaeum. 

A  BOOK  OF  CHRISTMAS  VERSE. 

With  Ten  Designs  by  WALTER  CRANE.     Crown  8vo.     55. 

METHUEN  &  CO. 


MILTON'S  PARADISE  LOST.     BOOK  I. 

Extra  Fcap.  8vo.     is.  6d. 
CLARENDON    PRESS. 


SHAKESPEARE'S  JULIUS  OESAR,  CORIOLANUS, 

AND  MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

Falcon  Edition,     is.  each. 

'Mr.  Beeching s  editions  have  made  themselves  a  place  apart.' — 
Athenaeum. 

'  The  present  edition  of  Julius  Ctesar  appears  to  us  to  restore  the 
proper  spirit  of  Shakespearian  criticism  ;  and  to  be  a  model  for  future 
editors.'— Academy. 

'  Mr.  Beeching's  annotated  edition  of  Julius  Casar  represents  a 
near  approach  to  the  ideal  Shakespeare  for  schools.' — Saturday  Review. 

'  Every  one  interested  in  the  study  of  English  Literature,  as  a  part 
of  education,  should  give  a  cordial  welcome  to  Mr.  Beeching's  little 
book.' — Journal  of  Education. 

LONGMANS,   GREEN  &-   CO. 


jy  /!/»  «*— v.     •  •"*   *  L.  /»  ..    ,.t 


- 


A   PARADISE 

OF   ENGLISH    POETRY 


A    PARADISE 
OF   ENGLISH   POETRY 


ARRANGED     BY 

H.  C.  BEECHING 

nontsson  or  PASTORAL  THROLOGY  AT  RING'*  COLLRCR,  LONDON* 

CHAfLAIN  TO  THR  HON.  tOC  or  LINCOLN'S  INN,  AND  FORMRRLV 
CLARK  LRCTURRR  AT  TRINITY  COLLRGR,  CAMRRIDGR 


Flos  pottarum  fttit 

Qui  Httnc  ahitrnnt  him  in  fommunem 
Absentee  proiunt  sed  tamtn  pratstntilms. 
Vot  omnes  off  re  magno  tsse  oratos  veto 
Btnigne  nt  off  ram  dttis  a<{  nostrum  grtgem. 

PLAUTUS 


KEIV  EDIT/OX 


RIVINGTONS 

34  KING  STREET,  CO  VENT  GARDEN 
LONDON 


AMICIS     •    RALLIOLKNSIBV& 

A.CB   .   J.W.M    •   J.RB.N 

PIIILOMVSIS    •    MVSOPII1LIS 


From  tiresome  ease,  from  idle  toil% 
O  blest  who  timely  turns  his  flight 
To  tread  the  consecrated  soil, 
To  contemplate  the  perfect  light, 
Apollo's  humble  Anchorite, 
Secure  to  dwell  and  save  his  soul; — 
But  when  the  Master's  hands  enrol 
The  names  of  those  that  served  him  best, 
Whose  name  were  lowest  on  the  scroll, 
O  doubly  he  and  trebly  blest  I 

B.N. 


PREFACE 

AT  the  outset  some  explanation  will  be  desired 
of  the  principles  underlying  this  Anthology. 
In  the  first  place,  then,  the  title  may  be  inter 
preted  not  only  in  its  proper  sense  of  an 
enclosed  garden,  but  more  particularly  of  a 
garden  of  the  dead  ;  no  poems  being  admitted 
by  living  authors.  Again,  none  are  admitted 
which  ire  still  copyright.  These  limitations 
necessarily  exclude  many  poems  which  the 
reader,  having  them  on  the  sutface  of  his 
memory,  may  expect  to  find  in  the  various 
sections ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  they  allow 
more  space  for  the  older  poets  who  are  pro 
bably  less  familiar.  And  a  candid  reader 
who  compares  the  most  modern  expression 
of  an  idea  with  some  older  one  contained  in 
this  volume,  will  not  uniformly  find  the  pre 
ponderance  on  the  side  of  the  former,  superb 


X  PREFACE 

as  the  poetic  production  of  the  last  half  cen 
tury  in  England  has  been.  Sonnets  have  been 
excluded  because,  in  the  Editor's  judgment, 
they  do  not  mix  well  with  lyric  and  dramatic 
poetry.  The  selections  from  the  drama  are 
such  as  express  general  truths,  and  do  not 
depend  for  their  comprehension  or  force  upon 
particular  characters  and  circumstances.  Great 
care  has  been  bestowed  to  secure  an  accurate 
text  ;  but  the  Editor  has  not  hesitated  to  omit 
lines  and  stanzas  that  for  any  reason  seemed 
best  omitted.  In  important  cases  such  omis 
sions  are  pointed  out  in  the  notes. 

YATTENDON  RECTORY. 


CONTENTS 

TAG* 

LOVE  ....  i 
HOME  AFFECTIONS  AND  FRIENDSHIP  .      85 

MAN »»J 

PATRIOTISM    ...  »3 

ART    .        .  3S» 

ROMANCE        .  3t>' 

NATURE  ....  423 

PASTORAL     ...  49i 

DEATH      .        .  549 

RELIGION         .  597 

NOTES       ....  657 

INDEX  OF  WRITERS    .  .674 

INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES  .        .      678 


Power  above  powers .'    O  heavenly  Eloquence  I 
That,  with  the  strong  rein  of  commanding  words, 
Dost  manage,  guide,  and  master  the  eminence 
Of  men  s  affections  more  than  all  their  swords  ; 
Shall  we  not  offer  to  thy  excellence 
The  richest  treasure  that  our  wit  affords  ? 
Thou  that  canst  do  much  more  with  one  poor  pen 
Than  all  the  powers  of  princes  can  effect, 
And  draw,  divert,  dispose,  and  fashion  men 
Better  than  force  or  rigour  can  direct; 
Should  we  this  ornament  of  glory ,  then 
As  the  immaterial  fruits  of  shades  neglect  ? 
Whenas  our  accent,  equal  to  the  best, 
Is  able  greater  wonders  to  bring  forth  ; 
When  all  that  ever  hotter  spirits  expressed 
Comes  bettered  by  the  patience  of  the  north. 

Daniel 


LOVE 


0,  how  this  spring  oflwe  resembleth 
The  uncertain  glory  of  an  April  day  ; 

Which  now  shows  all  the  beauty  of  the  sun, 
And  by  and  by  a  cloud  takes  all  away  ! 

Shakespeare 


THE   POTENCY    OF    LOVF 

OTHER  slow  arts  entirely  keep  the  brain  ; 
And  therefore  finding  barren  praciiscrs, 
Scarce  show  a  harvest  of  their  heavy  toil : 
But  love,  first  learned  in  a  lady's  eyes, 
Lives  not  alone  immured  in  the  brain  ; 
But  with  the  motion  of  all  elements, 
Courses  as  swift  as  thought  in  evrry  power  ; 
And  gives  to  every  power  a  double  power, 
Above  their  functions  and  their  offices. 
It  adds  a  precious  feeing  to  the  eye. 
A  lover's  eyes  will  gaze  an  eagle  blind  ; 
A  lover's  ear  will  hear  the  lowest  sound. 
When  the  suspicious  head  of  theft  is  stopp'd ; 
Love's  feeling  is  more  soft,  and  sensible, 
Than  arc  the  tender  horns  of  cockled  snai's  ; 
Lore's  tongue  proves  dainty  Bacchus  gross  m  U 
For  valour,  is  not  love  a  Hercuies, 
Still  climbing  trees  in  the  Hesperides  ? 
Subtle  as  Sphinx  ;  as  sweet,  and  musical. 
As  bright  Apollo's  lute,  strung  with  his  hair  ; 
And,  when  love  speaks,  the  voice  of  all  the  gods 
Makes  heaven  drowsy  with  the  harmony. 
Never  durst  poet  touch  a  pen  to  write, 
Until  his  ink  were  temper'd  with  love's  sighs. 
O,  then  his  lines  would  ravish  savage  ears, 
And  plant  in  tyrants  mild  humility. 


LOVE 

From  women's  eyes  this  doctrine  I  derive  : 
They  sparkle  still  the  right  Promethean  fire  ; 
They  are  the  books,  the  arts,  the  academes, 
That  show,  contain,  and  nourish  all  the  world  ; 
Else,  none  at  all  in  aught  proves  excellent. 

SHAKESPEARE 


DESCRIPTION    OF    SUCH    A    ONE    AS 
HE    COULD    LOVE 

A  face  that  should  content  me  wondrous  well 
Should  not  be  fair,  but  lovely  to  behold  ; 
With  gladsome  cheer,  all  grief  for  to  expel : 
With  sober  looks  so  would  I  that  it  should 
Speak  without  words,  such  words  as  none  can  tell 
The  tress  also  should  be  of  crisped  gold. 
With  wit  and  these  might  chance  I  might  be  tied, 
And  knit  again  the  knot  that  should  not  slide. 

WYATT 


SHALL  I  tell  you  whom  I  love? 

Hearken  then  awhile  to  me  ; 
And  if  such  a  woman  move 

As  I  now  shall  versify, 
Be  assured  'tis  she,  or  none, 
That  I  love,  and  love  alone. 

Nature  did  her  so  much  right 
As  she  scorns  the  help  of  art, 

In  as  many  virtues  dight 
As  e'er  yet  embraced  a  heart : 


SHALL    I    TCLL    YOU 

So  much  good,  so  truly  tried. 
Some  for  less  were  deified. 

Wit  she  hath,  without  desire 

To  make  known  how  much  she  bath  . 
And  her  anger  flames  no  higher 

Titan  may  fitly  sweeten  wrath, 
Full  of  pity  as  may  be. 
Though  perhaps  not  so  to  me. 

Reason  masters  every  sen«e  ; 

And  her  virturs  grace  her  birth  . 
Lovely  as  all  excellence  ; 

Modest  in  her  most  of  mirth  : 
Likelihood  enough  to  prove 
Only  worth  could  kindle  love. 

Such  she  is  :  and  if  you  know 

Such  a  one  as  I  have  sung. 
Be  she  brown,  or  fair,  or — so 

That  she  be  but  somcwhilc  young  : 
Be  assured  'tis  she,  or  none, 
That  I  love,  and  love  alone. 

BKOWNE 


AND  would  you  see  my  mistress  lace  f 
It  is  a  flowery  garden  place, 
Where  knots  of  beauties  have  such  grace 
That  all  is  work  and  nowhere  space. 

It  is  a  sweet  delicious  morn. 
Where  day  is  breeding,  never  born  : 
. .  is  a  meadow,  yet  unshorn, 
Which  thousand  flowers  do  adorn. 


LOVE 

It  is  the  heaven's  bright  reflex, 
Weak  eyes  to  dazzle  and  to  vex  * 
It  is  th'  Idea  of  her  sex, 
Envy  cf  whom  doth  world  perplex. 

It  is  a  face  of  Death  that  smiles, 
Pleasing,  though  it  kills  the  whiles  : 
Where  Death  and  Love  in  pretty  wiles 
Each  other  mutually  beguiles. 

It  is  fair  beauty's  freshest  youth, 

It  is  the  feign'd  Elysium's  truth  : 

The  spring,  that  winter'd  hearts  renew'th  ; 

And  this  is  that  my  soul  pursu'th. 

CAMPION 


A    WELCOME 

Welcome,  welcome!  do  I  sing 
Far  more  welcome  than  the  spring  : 
He  that  parteth  from  you  never, 
Shall  enjoy  a  spring  for  ever. 

Love,  that  to  the  voice  is  near 
Breaking  from  your  ivory  pale, 

Need  not  walk  abroad  to  hear 
The  delightful  nightingale. 

Welcome,  welcome,  then  I  sing 

Love,  that  looks  still  on  your  eyes, 
Though  the  winter  have  begun 

To  benumb  our  arteries, 
Shall  not  want  the  summer's  sun. 
Welcome,  welcome  .  .  . 


A    WE  I.  CO  Ml 

Love,  that  still  may  see  your  cheeks. 

Where  all  rareness  still  reposes, 
Is  a  fool  if  e'er  he  seeks 

Other  lilies,  other  rotrs. 

Wtlcomt.  wilcomt  .  .  . 

Ix>ve,  to  whom  your  soft  lips  yields, 
And  perceives  your  breath  in  kissing. 

All  the  odours  of  the  fields 
Never,  never  shall  be  missing. 

\Vtlcomt.  wtlcomt  .  .  . 

Ix>ve,  that  question  would  anew 

What  fair  Eden  was  of  old, 
Let  him  rightly  study  you. 

And  a  brief  of  that  behold. 

Wtlcomt.  wtkomt  .  .  . 

HKOWNE 


THE    PILGRIMAGE 

As  you  came  from  the  holy  land 

Of  Walsinghame, 
Met  you  not  with  my  true  love 

By  the  way  as  you  came  ? 

How  shall  I  know  your  true  fovt, 
Tkat  kavt  met  many  ont, 

At  I  went  to  tke  holy  land, 

Tkat  kavt  come,  tkat  kavt  go**  t 

She  is  neither  white  nor  brown, 

But  as  the  heavens  (air ; 
There  is  none  hath  a  form  so  divine 

In  the  earth  or  the  air. 


LOVE 

Such  a  one  did  I  meet,  good  sit , 

Such  an  angelic  face, 
Who  like  a  queen,  like  a  nymph,  did  appear 

By  her  gait,  by  her  grace. 

She  hath  left  me  here  all  alone, 

All  alone,  as  unknown, 
Who  sometimes  did  me  lead  with  herself, 

And  me  loved  as  her  own. 

What's  the  cause  that  she  leaves  you  alone, 

And  a  new  way  doth  take, 
Who  loved  you  once  as  her  own, 

And  her  joy  did  you  make  f 

I  have  loved  her  all  my  youth, 

But  now  old,  as  you  see  : 
Love  likes  not  the  falling  fruit 

From  the  withered  tree. 

Know  that  love  is  a  careless  child. 

And  forgets  promise  past, 
He  is  blind,  he  is  deaf  when  he  hst, 

And  in  faith  never  fast. 

His  desire  is  a  dureless  content, 

And  a  trustless  joy  ; 
He  is  won  with  a  world  of  'despair ; 

And  is  lost  with  a  toy. 

But  true  love  is  a  durable  fire 

In  the  mind  ever  burning, 
Never  sick,  never  old,  never  dead, 

From  itself  never  turning. 

K- A  LEIGH 


TUB  HEART'S  VENTURE 


THE  IDEA  REALISED 

Twice  or  thrice  had  I  loved  thee, 

Before  I  knew  thy  (ace  or  name ; 

So  in  a  voice,  so  in  a  shapeless  flame, 

Angels  affect  us  oft,  and  worshipped  be : 

Still  when  to  where  thou  wert  I  came. 

Some  lovely  glorious  nothing  did  I  see ; 

But  since  my  soul,  whose  child  love  is. 

Takes  limbs  of  flesh  and  else  could  nothing  do 

More  subtil  than  the  parent  is 

Love  must  not  be,  but  take  a  body  too  ; 

And  therefore  what  thou  wert.  and  who. 

I  bid  love  ask.  and  now 

That  it  assume  thy  body  I  allow. 

And  fix  itself  in  thy  lips,  eyes,  and  brow. 

DONNK 


THE   HEART'S   VENTURE 

As  careful  merchants  do  expecting  stand 
(After  long  time  and  merry  gales  of  wind) 

Upon  the  place  where  their  brave  ship  must  land, 
So  wait  I  for  the  vessel  of  my  mind. 

Upon  a  great  adventure  is  it  bound. 

Whose  safe  return  will  valued  be  at  more 
Than  all  the  wealthy  prizes  which  have  crownet* 

The  golden  wishes  of  an  age  before 

Oh  hasten  then,  and  if  thou  be  not  gone 
Unto  that  wished  traffic  through  the  main, 


LOVE 

My  powerful  sighs  shall  quickly  drive  thee  on, 
And  then  begin  to  draw  thee  back  again. 

If  in  the  mean  rude  waves  have  it  opprest 
It  shall  suffice,  I  ventured  at  the  best. 

BROWNE 


SONG 

O  mistress  mine,  where  are  you  roaming  ? 
O,  stay  and  hear  ;  your  true  love 's  coming, 

That  can  sing  both  high  and  low  : 
Trip  no  further,  pretty  sweeting ; 
Journeys  end  in  lovers'  meeting, 

Every  wise  man's  son  doth  know. 

What  is  love?  'tis  not  hereafter  ; 
Present  mirth  hath  present  laughter  ; 

What 's  to  come  is  still  unsure : 
In  delay  there  lies  no  plenty  ; 
Then  come  kiss  me,  sweet  and  twenty, 

Youth 's  a  stuff  will  not  endure. 

SHAKESPEARE 


MADRIGAL 

My  love  in  her  attire  doth  shew  her  wit, 

It  doth  so  well  become  her  ; 
For  every  season  she  hath  dressings  fit 

For  winter,  spring,  and  summer. 
No  beauty  doth  she  miss 

When  all  her  robes  are  on. 
But  Beauty's  self  she  is 

When  ail  her  robes  are  gone. 

ANON. 


MADRIGAL  II 


TYRIAN  dye  why  do  you  wear, 
You  whose  cheeks  best  scarlet  are  ? 

Why  do  you  fondly  pin 

Pure  linens  o'er  your  skin. 

Your  skin  that  's  whiter  far  ;— 
Casting  a  du-ky  cloud  before  a  Mar? 

Why  bears  your  neck  a  golden  chain  ? 
Did  Nature  makr  your  hair  in  vain 

Of  gold  most  pure  and  fine? 

With  gems  why  do  you  shine  ? 

They,  neighbour  to  your  eyes. 
Show  but  like  Phosphor  when  the  Sun  doih  rise- 

COWI.KY 


LOVE  not  me  for  comely  grace, 
For  my  pleasing  eye  or  face. 
Nor  for  any  outward  part : 
No.  nor  for  a  constant  heart  I 
For  these  may  fail  or  turn  to  ill : 

So  thou  and  I  shall  sever. 
Keep  therefore  a  true  woman's  rye. 
And  love  me  still,  but  know  not  why  ! 
So  hast  thou  the  same  reason  still 

To  doai  upon  roe  ever. 

ANON. 


TO    MISTRESS    MARGARET 

Merry  Margaret 

As  midsummer  fl«*er. 


Gentle  as  falcon 

Or  hawk  of  the  tower : 
With  solace  and  gladness 
Much  mirth  and  no  madness, 
All  gocd  and  no  badness  ; 

So  joyously, 

So  maidenly, 

So  womanly 

Her  demeaning 

In  every  thing, 

Far,  far  passing 

That  I  can  indite, 

Or  suffice  to  write 

Of  merry  Margaret 

As  midsummer  flower, 

Gentle  as  falcon 

Or  hawk  of  the  tower. 

As  patient  and  still 

And  as  full  of  goodwill 

As  fair  Isaphtll, 

Coliander, 

Sweet  Pomander, 

Good  Cassander  ; 

Stedfast  of  thought, 

Well  made,  well  wrought ; 

Far  may  be  sought, 

Ere  that  ye  can  find 

So  courteous,  so  kind, 

As  merry  Margaret 

This  midsummer  flower, 

Gentle  as  falcon 

Or  hawk  of  the  tower. 

SK ELTON 


•ILTIA 


TO    MISTRESS    MARGER1 

With  margerain  gentle, 

The  flower  of  goodlihead. 
Embroidered  the  mantle 

Is  of  your  maidenhead. 
Plainly,  I  cannot  glose  ; 

Ye  be,  as  I  divine, 
The  pretty  primerose, 

The  goodly  columbine. 

Benign,  courteous,  and  meek. 

With  worries  well  devised  ; 
In  you,  who  list  to  seek. 

Be  virtues  well  comprised. 
With  margerain  gentle, 

The  flower  of  goodlihead, 
Embroidered  the  mantle 

Is  of  your  maidenhead. 

MCKLTON 


SILVIA 

Who  is  Silvia?  what  is  she, 

That  all  our  swains  commend  hrr  ? 
Holy,  fair  and  wise  is  she ; 

The  heaven  such  grace  did  lend  her, 
That  she  might  admired  be. 

Is  she  kind  as  she  is  fair? 

For  beauty  lives  with  kindness  : 
Love  doth  to  her  eyes  repair, 

To  help  him  of  his  blindness  ; 
And.  being  helped,  inhabits  there. 


14  LOVE 

Then  to  Silvia  let  us  sing, 

That  Silvia  is  excelling  ; 
She  excels  each  mortal  thing 

Upon  the  dull  earth  dwelling  : 
To  her  let  us  garlands  bring. 

SHAKESPEARE 


DOUBT  you  to  whom  my  Muse  these  notes  entendeth, 
Which  now  my  breast,  o'ercharg'd,  to  music  lendeth? 
To  you,  to  you,  all  song  of  praise  vs  due : 
Only  in  you  my  song  begins  and  endeth. 

Who  hath  the  eyes  which  marry  state  with  pleasure  ? 
Who  keeps  the  key  of  Nature's  chiefest  treasure? 
To  you,  to  you,  all  song  of  praise  is  due  : 
Only  for  you  the  heav'n  forgat  all  measure. 

Who  hath  the  lips,  where  wit  in  fairness  reigneth  ? 
Who  womankind  at  once  both  decks  and  staineth  ? 
To  you,  to  you,  all  song  of  praise  is  due  : 
Only  by  you  Cupid  his  crown  maintaineth. 

Who  hath  the  feet,  whose  step  of  sweetness  planteth  ? 
Who  else,  for  whom  Fame  worthy  trumpets  wanteth? 
To  you,  to  you,  all  song  of  praise  is  due  : 
Only  to  you  her  sceptre  Venus  granteth. 

Who  hath  the  breast,  whose  milk  doth  passions  nourish? 
Whose  grace  is  such,  that  when  it  chides  doth  cherish  ? 
To  you,  to  you,  all  song  of  praise  is  due  : 
Only  through  you  the  tree  of  life  doth  flourish. 

Who  hath  the  hand  which  without  stroke  subdueth  ? 
Who  long -dead  beauty  with  increase  reneweth? 
To  you,  to  you,  all  song  of  praise  is  due  : 
Only  at  you  all  envy  hopeless  rueth. 

SIDNEY 


r  II  ARI  8*     TRIUMPH  ft 


CHAR  IS'    TRIUMPH 

See  the  chariot  at  hand  lieic  of  Love, 

Wherein  my  Lady  rideth  ! 
Kach  that  drawn  is  a  swan  or  a  dove, 

And  well  the  car  Love  guideth. 
As  she  goes,  all  hearts  do  duty 

Unto  her  beauty  ; 
And  enamoured  do  wish.  so  they  might 

But  enjoy  such  a  sight. 
That  they  still  were  to  run  by  her  sidr. 
Thorough  swords,  thorough  seas,  whither 
would  ride. 


I>o  but  look  on  her  eyes,  they  do  light 
All  that  Love's  world  comprised) ! 

I)o  but  look  on  her  hair,  it  is  bright 
As  Love's  star  when  it  riseth ! 

Do  but  mark,  her  forehead  's  smoother 
ITian  words  that  soothe  her ; 

And  from  her  arch'd  brows  such  a  grace 
Sheds  itself  through  the  face. 

As  alone  there  triumphs  to  the  life. 

All  the  gain,  all  the  good  of  the  element*1  strife, 


Have  you  seen  but  a  bright  lily  grow 
Before  rude  hands  have  touched  it  ? 

Have  you  marked  but  the  fall  o'  the  snow. 
Before  the  soil  hath  smutched  it  ? 

Have  you  felt  the  wool  of  beaver? 
Or  swan's  down  ever? 


16  LOVE 

Or  have  smelt  o'  the  bud  o'  the  briar? 

Or  the  nard  in  the  fire  ? 
Or  have  tasted  the  bag  of  the  bee  ? 
O  so  white, — O  so  soft, — O  so  sweet  is  she ! 

JONSON 


TO     CELIA 

Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 

And  I  will  pledge  with  mine  ; 
Or  leave  a  kiss  within  the  cup, 

And  I  '11  not  look  for  wine. 
The  thirst  that  from  the  soul  doth  rise, 

Doth  ask  a  drink  divine : 
But  might  I  of  Jove's  nectar  sup, 

I  would  not  change  for  thine. 

I  sent  thee  late  a  rosy  wreath, 

Not  so  much  honouring  thee, 
As  giving  it  a  hope,  that  there 

It  could  not  withered  be  ; 
But  thou  thereon  didst  only  breathe, 

And  sent'st  it  back  to  me, 
Since  when  it  grows,  and  smells,  I  swear, 

Not  of  itself,  but  thee. 

JONSON 


CAMPASPE 

Cupid  and  my  Campaspe  played 

At  cards  for  kisses ;  Cupid  paid. 

He  stakes  his  quiver,  bow,  and  arrows, 

His  mother's  doves  and  team  of  sparrows ; 

Loses  them  too ;  then  down  he  throws 

The  coral  of  his  lip,  the  rose 


CAMPA8PB  1 

Growing  on  *  cheek  (but  none  knows  bow) ; 
With  these,  the  crystal  of  his  hrow. 
And  then  the  dimple  of  his  chin ; 
All  these  did  my  Campaspe  win : 
At  last  be  set  her  both  his  eyes. 
She  won,  and  Cupid  blind  did  rise. 

O  Love !  has  she  done  Urn  to  thee? 

What  shall,  alas !  become  of  me? 

I.YI.YK 


CHLORIS    IN    THE   SNOW 

I  saw  fair  Chloris  walk  alone 

When  feathered  rain  came  softly  down.  — 

Then  Jove  descended  from  his  tower 

To  court  her  in  a  silver  shower ; 

The  wanton  snow  flew  to  her  tireaM. 

Like  little  birds  into  their  nest ; 

But  overcome  with  whiteness  there. 

For  grief  it  thawed  into  a  tear ; 

Then  falling  down  her  garment  hem. 

To  deck  her  froze  into  a  gem. 

CARKW 


ASK  me  no  more  whither  do  stray 
The  golden  atoms  of  the  day, 
For  in  pure  love  heaven  did  prepare 
Those  powders  to  enrich  your  hair. 

Ask  me  no  more  whither  doth  haste 
The  nightingale  when  May  is  past, 
For  in  your  sweet  dividing  throat 
She  winters  and  keeps  warm  her  note. 


Ask  me  no  more  where  Jove  bestows. 
When  June  is  past,  the  fading  rose 
For  in  your  beauty's  orient  deep 
These  flowers  as  in  their  causes  sleep. 

Ask  me  no  more  where  those  stars  light 
That  downwards  fall  in  dead  of  night-. 
For  in  your  eyes  they  sit,  and  there 
Fixed  become  as  in  their  sphere. 

Ask  me  no  more  if  east  or  west 
The  Phoenix  builds  her  spicy  nest, 
For  unto  you  at  last  she  flies, 
And  in  your  fragrant  bosom  dies. 

CAREW 


THERE  be  none  of  Beauty's  daughters 

With  a  magic  like  thee  ; 
And  like  music  on  the  waters 

Is  thy  sweet  voice  to  me : 
When  as  if  its  sound  were  causing 
The  charmed  ocean's  pausing, 
The  waves  lie  still  and  gleaming 
And  the  lulled  winds  seem  dreaming : 

And  the  midnight  moon  is  weaving 

Her  bright  chain  o'er  the  deep, 
Whose  breast  is  gently  heaving 

As  an  infant's  asleep : 
So  the  spirit  bows  before  thee 
To  listen  and  adore  thee  ; 
With  a  full  but  soft  emotion, 
I-ike  the  swell  of  summer's  ocean. 

BYKON 


ODK 


TO   LAURA 

Rose-checked  Laura,  come ! 
Sing  tbou  smoothly  with  thy  beauty'* 
Silent  music,  either  other 

Sweetly  gracing. 

Ix>vely  forms  do  flow 
From  concent  divinely  framed. 
Heaven  is  music,  and  thy  beauty's 

Birth  is  heavenly. 

These  dull  notes  we  sing 
Discords  need  for  helps  to  grace  them ; 
Only  beauty  purely  loving 

Knows  no  discord  ; 

But  still  moves  delight. 
I  jke  clear  springs  renewed  by  flowing 
Ever  perfect,  ever  in  them- 

Selves  eternal. 

CAMPION 


ODE 

Sweet  love,  mine  only  treasure. 
For  service  long  unfeigned. 
Wherein  I  nought  have  gained  ; 

Vouchsafe  this  little  pleasure, 
To  tell  me  in  what  part 
My  lady  keeps  my  heart. 

If  in  her  hair  so  slender 

Like  golden  nets,  entwined. 
Which  fire  and  art  have  fined  ; 


LOVE 

Her  thrall  my  heart  I  render 
For  ever  to  abide 
With  locks  so  dainty  tied. 

li  in  her  eyes  she  bind  it, 

Wherein  that  fire  was  framed, 

By  which  it  is  inflamed, 
I  dare  not  look  to  find  it ; 

I  only  wish  it  sight, 

To  see  that  pleasant  light. 

But  if  her  breast  have  deigned 

With  kindness  to  receive  it, 

I  am  content  to  leave  it, 
Though  death  thereby  were  gained  ; 

Then,  lady,  take  your  own 

That  lives  for  you  alone. 

A.  w. 


AN    ODD    CONCEIT 

Lovely  kind  and  kindly  loving, 
Such  a  mind  were  worth  the  moving : 
Truly  fair  and  fairly  true,— 
Where  are  all  these  but  in  you? 

Wisely  kind  and  kindly  wise, 
Blessed  life,  where  such  love  lies  1 
Wise  and  kind  and  fair  and  true,  — 
Lovely  live  all  these  in  you. 

Sweetly  dear  and  dearly  sweet, 
Blessed,  where  these  blessings  meet ! 
Sweet,  fair,  wise,  kind,  blessed,  (me, — 
Blessed  be  all  these  in  you  ! 

BRETON 


AUBADE  I 

AUBADK 
I 

Hark  I  hark  I  the  lark  «l  heaven's  gate  >mg*. 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise. 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs 

On  chalked  flowers  that  lies  ! 

And  winking  Mary-bud*  begin  to  ope  their  golden  cvr « 
With  everything  that  pretty  is— my  lady  sweet,  ansr 
Arise,  arise. 

SIIAKUPKARF 


II 

The  lark  now  leaves  his  wat'ry  nest 

And  climbing  shakes  his  dewy  wings. 
He  takes  this  window  for  the  East. 
And  to  implore  your  light  he  singv 

Awake  t  awake !  the  morn  will  never  n>c 
Till  she  cnn  dre*s  her  beauty  at  your  eyes. 
DA  VENA  Ml 


III 


Pack  clouds  away,  and  wcu  .:ue  day, 
With  night  we  banish  sorrow ; 

Sweet  air,  blow  soft ;  mount,  larks,  aloft, 
To  give  my  love  good-morrow. 

Wings  from  the  wind  to  please  her  mind. 
Notes  from  the  lark  I  'U  borrow ; 

Bird,  prune  thy  wing ;  nightingale,  sing. 
To  give  my  love  good-morrow, 
To  give  my  love  good-morrow. 
Notes  from  them  both  I  '11  borrow. 


LOVE 

Wake  from  thy  nest,  Robin  redbreast, 

Sing,  birds,  in  every  furrow ; 
And  from  each  hill  let  music  shrills 

Give  my  fair  love  good-morrow. 
Blackbird  and  thrush  in  every  bush , 

Stare,  linnet  and  cock-sparrow  ; 
You  pretty  elves,  amongst  yourselves, 

Sing  my  fair  love  good-morrow. 

To  give  my  love  good-morrow, 

Sing,  birds,  in  every  furrow. 

HE  V  WOOD. 


IV 

Phoebus,  arise ! 

And  paint  the  sable  skies 

With  azure,  white,  and  red  : 

Rouse  Memnon's  mother  from  her  Tithon's  bed 

That  she  thy  career  may  with  roses  spread  : 

The  nightingales  thy  coming  eachwhere  sing : 

Make  an  eternal  spring  ! 

Give  life  to  this  dark  world  which  lieth  dead  ; 

Spread  forth  thy  golden  hair 

In  larger  locks  than  thou  wast  wont  beroi«. 

And  emperor-like  decore 

With  diadem  of  pearl  thy  temples  fair  • 

Chase  hence  the  ugly  night 

Which  serves  but  to  make  dear  thy  glorious  light. 

This  is  that  happy  morn, 

That  day,  long-wished  day, 

Of  all  my  life  so  dark, 

(If  cruel  stars  have  not  my  ruin  sworn 

And  fates  not  hope  betray), 

Which,  only  white,  deserves 

A  diamond  for  ever  should  it  mark. 


A  U  B  A  D  K  »3 

This  is  the  morn  should  bring  unto  ibi*  grovr 

My  Love,  to  bear  and  recompense  my  love. 

Fair  king,  who  all  preserves. 

But  show  thy  blushing  beams. 

And  thou  two  sweeter  eyes 

Slialt  sec  than  those  which  by  I'cncus  streams 

Did  once  thy  heart  surprise  ; 

Nay,  suns,  which  shine  as  clear 

As  thou  when  two  thou  did  to  Rome  appear. 

Now,  Flora,  deck  thyself  in  fairest  guise : 

If  that  ye  winds  would  hear 

A  voice  surpassing  far  Autphion's  lyre. 

Your  stormy  chiding  stay ; 

Ixrt  Zephyr  only  breathe. 

And  with  her  tresses  play. 

Kissing  sometimes  these  purple  ports  of  death 

The  winds  all  silent  arc. 

And  Phoebus  in  his  chair 

Eiuaftroning  sea  and  air 

M  akes  vanish  every  star : 

Night  like  A  drunkard  reels 

Beyond  the  hills,  to  shun  his  flaming  wheels : 

The  fields  with  flowers  are  decked  in  every  hue, 

The  clouds  bespangle  with  bright  gold  their  blue  ; 

Here  is  the  pleasant  place 

And  everything,  save  her.  who  all  should  grace. 

DRUMMOND  OP  HAWTHORNnRM 


SERENADE 


Her  eyes  the  glow-worm  lend  thee. 
The  shooting  stars  attend  thee ; 


LOVE 

And  the  elves  also, 
Whose  little  eyes  glow 
Like  the  sparks  of  fire,  befriend  thee  ! 

No  Will-o'-the-wisp  mislight  thee, 
Nor  snake  or  slow-worm  bite  thee  ! 

But  on,  on  thy  way, 

Not  making  a  stay, 
Since  ghost  there 's  none  to  affright  thee. 

Let  not  the  dark  thee  cumber ; 

What  though  the  moon  does  shimoer  ? 

The  stars  of  the  night 

Will  lend  thee  their  light, 
Like  tapers  clear  without  number. 

Then,  Julia,  let  me  woo  thee, 
Thus,  thus  to  come  unto  me ; 

And  when  I  shall  meet 

Thy  silvery  feet, 
My  soul  I  '11  pour  into  thee. 

HERRICK 


Who  is  it  that  this  dark  night 
Underneath  my  window  plaincth  ? 

//  is  one  who  from  thy  sight 
Being,  ah,  exiled,  disdaineth 

Every  other  vulgar  light. 

Why,  alas,  and  are  you  he  ? 

Be  not  yet  those  fancies  changed  ? 
Dear,  when  you  find  change  in  me, 

Though  from  me  you  be  estranged. 
Let  my  change  to  ruin  be. 


SERENADE  85 

Well,  in  absence  this  will  die ; 

Leave  to  see,  and  leave  to  wonder. 
Abttntt  m  it  will  tit  If.  if  I 

Cam  learn  ktno  my  stif  t>>  >  under 
From  what  in  my  ktarl  dotk  lit. 

But  time  will  these  thoughts  remove ; 

Time  doth  work  what  no  man  knowrth. 
Tim*  dotk  as  tk*  lubjtct  prove  ; 

Wilk  Hm*  still  Ik*  a/ectiom  ftw*tk 
1m  tke /nilkful  htrtU-dov*. 

What  if  you  new  beauties  see. 

Will  not  they  stir  new  affection  ? 
/  will  think  tk*y  fifturei  bt 

(Imagt-like,  of  saimtf  perfttHou) 
Poorly  counterfeiting  tktt* 

But  your  reason's  purest  light 
Bids  you  leave  such  minds  to  nourish. 

Dear,  do  rtascm  mo  titfk  spit* , 
Never  dotk  tky  beauty  Jlouriik 

More  tkam  im  my  rt  atom's  sigkt. 

tIDNRY 


Ml 

I  arise  from  dreams  of  thee 
In  the  first  sweet  sleep  of  night, 
When  the  winds  are  breathing  low 
And  the  stars  are  shining  bright : 
I  arise  from  dreams  of  thee. 
And  a  spirit  in  my  feet 
Has  led  me — who  knows  bow  ?— 
To  thy  chamber-window,  Sweet ! 


26  LOVE 


The  wandering  airs  they  faint 
On  the  dark,  the  silent  stream — 
The  champak  odours>  tail 
Like  sweet  thoughts  in  a  dream  ; 
The  nightingale's  complaint 
It  dies  upon  her  neart, 
As  I  must  die  on  thine 
O  beloved  as  thou  art ! 

0  lift  me  from  the  grass  ! 

1  die,  I  faint,  I  fail ! 

Let  thy  love  in  kisses  rain 
On  my  lips  and  eyelids  pale. 
My  cheek  is  cold  and  white,  alas  ; 
My  heart  beats  loud  and  fast ; 
O  !   press  it  close  to  thine  again 
Where  it  will  break  at  last. 

SHELLEY 


COME,  O  come,  my  life's  delight, 

Let  me  not  in  languor  pine, 
Love  loves  no  delay  :   thy  sight, 

The  more  enjoyed,  the  more  divine : 
O  come,  and  take  from  me 
The  pain  of  being  deprived  of  thee. 

Thou  all  sweetness  dost  enclose, 

Like  a  little  world  of  bliss ; 
Beauty  guards  thy  looks  :   the  rose 

In  them  pure  and  eternal  is. 
Come  then,  and  make  thy  flight 
As  swift  to  me  as  heavenly  light. 

CAMPION 


A     FANCY 

First  shall  the  hcav'ns  want  starry  light. 

The  seas  be  robbed  of  their  waves. 
The  day  want  sun,  and  sun  want  bright. 

The  night  want  shade,  the  dead  men  graves, 
The  April  flow'rs  and  leaf  and  tree. 
Before  I  false  my  faith  to  tbee. 

First  shall  the  tops  of  highest  hills. 

By  humble  plains  be  ovcrpricd. 
And  poets  scorn  the  Muses'  quills. 

And  fish  forsake  the  water  glide. 
And  Iris  lose  her  coloured  weed. 
Before  I  fail  thee  at  thy  need. 

First  direful  Hale  shall  turn  tu  peace. 

And  love  relent  in  deep  Disdain. 
And  Death  his  fatal  stroke  shall  cease. 

And  Envy  pity  every  pain. 
And  Pleasure  mourn,  and  Sorrow  smile. 
Before  I  talk  of  any  guile. 

First  Time  shall  stay  his  stayless  raor. 

And  Winter  bless  his  brows  with  corn, 
And  snow  bemoisten  July's  face. 

And  Winter  spring,  and  Summer  mourn. 
Before  my  pen.  by  help  of  Fame. 
Cease  to  recite  thy  sacred  name  1 

LODGE 


28  LOVE 


DEAR,  if  you  change,  I  '11  never  choose  again  ; 

Sweet,  if  you  shrink,  I  '11  never  think  of  love  : 

Fair,  if  you  fail,  I  '11  judge  all  beauty  vain  ; 

Wise,  if  too  weak,  more  wits  I  '11  never  prove, 

Dear,  sweet,  fair,  wise  !  change,  shrink,  nor  be  not  weak  ; 

And,  on  my  faith,  my  faith  shall  never  break. 

Earth  with  her  flowers  shall  sooner  heaven  adorn ; 
Heaven  her  bright  stars  through  earth's  dim  globe  shall 

move : 

Fire  heat  shall  lose,  and  frost  of  flame  be  born ; 
Air,  made  to  shine,  as  black  as  hell  shall  prove  : 
Earth,  heaven,  fire,  air,  the  world  transformed  shall  view. 
Ere  I  prove  false  to  faith,  or  strange  to  you. 


FAIN  would  I  change  that  note 
To  which  fond  love  hath  charmed  me 
Long,  long  to  sing  by  rote 
Fancying  that  that  harmed  me  : 
Yet  when  this  thought  doth  come 
'  Love  is  the  perfect  sum 

Of  all  delight,' 
I  have  no  other  choice 
Either  for  pen  or  voice 

To  sing  or  write. 

O  Love,  they  wrong  thee  much 
That  say  thy  sweet  is  bitter, 
When  thy  rich  fruit  is  such, 
As  nothing  can  be  sweeter. 


PAIN    WOULD    I    CHANGE 

Fair  bouse  of  joy  and  bliss 
Where  truest  pleasure  is. 

I  do  adore  thee ; 
I  know  thee  what  thou  art. 
I  serve  thee  with  my  heart. 

And  (all  before  thee. 

ANON. 


SONG 

Love  is  a  sickness  full  of  woe*. 

All  remedies  refusing : 
A  plant  that  with  most  cutting  grow* 
Most  barren  with  best  using. 

Why  to? 

More  we  enjoy  it.  more  it  dies ; 
If  not  enjoyed,  it  sighing  cries 
Hey  ho! 

DANIEL 


HE  or  she  that  hopes  to  gain 
Ix>ve's  best  sweet  without  some  pain. 
Hopes  in  vain. 

Cupid's  livery  no  one  wean 

But  must  put  on  hopes  and  frois. 

Smiles  and  tears. 

And.  like  to  April  weather. 
Rain  and  shine  both  together. 
Both  or  neither. 

ANON, 


LOVE 


MADRIGAL 

April  is  in  my  mistress'  face, 
And  July  in  her  eyes  hath  place ; 
Within  her  bosom  is  September, 
But  in  her  heart  a  cold  December. 

ANON. 


TWO     LOVES 

Brown  is  my  love  but  graceful ; 

And  each  renowned  whiteness 

Matched  with  thy  lovely  brown  loseth  its  brightness. 

%  Fair  is  my  love  but  scornful ; 

Yet  have  I  seen  despised 
Dainty  white  lilies,  and  sad  flowers  well  prized. 

ANON. 


CRUEL    BEAUTY 

Love  in  her  sunny  eyes  does  basking  play ; 

Love  walks  the  pleasant  mazes  of  her  hair ; 
Love  does  on  both  her  lips  for  ever  stray ; 

And  sows  and  reaps  a  thousand  kisses  there. 
In  all  her  outward  parts  Love 's  always  seen  ; 

But,  oh,  he  never  went  within. 

COWLEY 


CRUEL    BEAUTY  3« 


KIND  are  her  answers. 

But  her  performance  keept  no  day ; 
Breaks  time,  as  dancers. 

From  their  own  music  when  th«-v  oray. 
All  her  free  favours  and  smooth  word* 
Wing  my  hopes  in  vain. 
O  did  ever  voice  so  sweet  but  only  feign  ? 
Can  true  love  yield  such  delay. 
Converting  joy  to  pain  ? 

Ix»t  is  our  freedom 

When  we  submit  to  women  so : 
Why  do  we  need  'em 

When,  in  their  best,  they  work  our  wi*  ? 
There  is  no  wisdom 
Can  alter  ends  by  fate  prcfixt. 
O.  why  is  the  good  of  man  with  evil  mixt  ? 
Never  were  days  yet  called  two 
But  one  night  went  betwixt. 

CAMPION 


LOVES    PRISONER 

How  sweet  I  roamed  from  field  to  field 
And  tasted  all  the  summer's  pride. 

Till  I  the  Prince  of  Love  beheld 
Who  in  the  sunny  beams  did  glide. 

He  showed  me  lilies  for  my  hair. 

And  blushing  roses  for  my  brow ; 
He  led  me  through  his  gardens  fair 

Where  all  his  golden  pleasures  grow. 


32  LOVE 

With  sweet  May-dews  my  wings  were  wet, 
And  Phoebus  fired  my  vocal  rage ; 

He  caught  me  in  his  silken  net, 
And  shut  me  in  his  golden  cage. 

He  loves  to  sit  and  hear  me  sing, 
Then,  laughing,  sports  and  plays  with  me ; 

Then  stretches  out  my  golden  wing, 
And  mocks  my  loss  of  liberty. 

BLAKE 


SONG 

My  silks  and  fine  array, 
My  smiles  and  languished  air, 

By  love  are  driven  away  ; 
And  mournful  lean  Despair 

Brings  me  yew  to  deck  my  grave 

Such  end  true  lovers  have. 

His  face  is  fair  as  heaven 

When  springing  buds  unfold ; 
Oh,  why  to  him  was 't  given, 

Whose  heart  is  wintry  cold  ? 
His  breast  is  love's  all-worshipped  tomb. 
Where  all  love's  pilgrims  come. 

Bring  me  an  axe  and  spade, 

Bring  me  a  winding-sheet ; 
When  I  my  grave  have  made, 

Let  winds  and  tempests  beat : 
Then  down  I  '11  lie  as  cold  as  clay. 
True  love  doth  pass  away  ! 

BLAKE 


PHILLIS 


PHILLIS 

I  x>ve  guards  the  roses  of  thy  lip*. 

And  flies  about  them  like  a  bee : 
If  1  approach  be  forward  skips. 

And  if  I  kiss  he  stingeth  me. 

Love  in  thine  eyes  doth  build  his  bower 
And  sleeps  within  their  pretty  shine ; 

And  if  I  look  the  boy  will  lour 
And  from  their  orbs  shoot  shafts  divine. 

LODGE 


Phillis  is  my  only  joy. 

Faithless  as  the  winds  or  seas ; 
Sometimes  cunning,  sometimes  ccy. 
Yet  she  never  fails  to  please  : 
If  with  a  frown 
I  am  cast  down, 
Phillis  smiling. 
And  beguiling. 
Makes  me  happier  than  before, 

Tho*  alas,  too  late  I  find 

Nothing  can  her  fancy  fix. 
Yet  the  moment  she  is  kind 
I  forgive  her  all  her  tricks: 
Which  tho'  I  see. 
I  can't  get  free : 
She  deceiving. 
I  believing: 
What  need  lovers  wish  for  more  ? 

SEDLBT 


34 


FORGET    NOT     YET 

Forget  not  yet  the  tried  intent 
Of  such  a  truth  as  I  have  meant ; 
My  great  travail  so  gladly  spent, 
Forget  not  yet ! 

Forget  not  yet  when  first  began 
The  weary  life  ye  know,  since  whan, 
The  suit,  the  service,  none  tell  can  ; 
Forget  not  yet ! 

Forget  not  yet  the  great  assays, 
The  cruel  wrong,  the'scornful  ways, 
The  painful  patience  in  delays, 
Forget  not  yet ! 

Forget  not !  oh  !  forget  not  this, 
How  long  ago  hath  been,  and  is, 
The  mind  that  never  meant  amiss. 
Forget  not  yet ! 

Forget  not  then  thine  own  approved, 
The  which  so  long  hath  thee  so  loved, 
Whose  steadfast  faith  yet  never  moved  ; 
Forget  not  yet ! 

WYATT 


YEA    OR     NAY 

Madam,  withouten  many  words 
Once  I  am  sure  you  will  or  no : 

And  if  you  will,  then  leave  your  bords,* 
And  use  your  wit  and  show  it  so. 

*  Tricks 


TBA   01    NAY 

For  with  a  beck  you  shall  roe  call : 

And  if  of  one  that  burns  al  way 
Ye  have  pity  or  ruth  at  all. 

Answer  him  fair  with  yea  or  nay. 

If  it  he  yea,  I  shall  be  fain: 

If  it  be  nay,  friends  as  before, 
You  shall  another  man  obtain, 

And  I  mine  own,  and  yours  no  more. 

WYAT-r 


SHALL  I,  wasting  in  despair. 

Die.  because  a  woman 's  fair  ? 

Or  make  pale  my  cheeks  with  car* 

"Cause  another  s  rosy  are  ? 

Be  she  fairer  than  the  day. 

Or  the  rtow'ry  meads  in  May. 
If  she  be  not  so  to  me, 
What  care  I  how  fair  she  be? 

Should  my  heart  be  grieved  or  pined 
'Cause  I  see  a  woman  kind  ? 
Or  a  well-disposed  nature 
Joined  with  a  lovely  feature? 
Be  she  meeker,  kinder  than 
Turtle-dove  or  pelican. 
If  she  be  not  so  to  me, 
What  care  I  how  kind  she  be? 

Shall  a  woman's  virtues  move 
Me  to  perish  for  her  love? 
Or  her  well-deservings,  known. 
Make  me  quite  for**  my  own  ? 


L  O  V  E 

Be  she  with  that  goodness  blest 
Which  may  gain  her  name  01  best, 
If  she  be  not  such  to  me, 
What  care  I  how  good  she  be  ? 

'Cause  her  fortune  seems  too  high, 
Shall  I  play  the  fool  and  die? 
Those  that  bear  a  noble  mind, 
Where  they  want  of  riches  find, 
Think  what  with  them  they  would  do 
That  without  them  dare  to  woo  ; 
And  unless  that  mind  I  see, 
What  care  I  how  great  she  be  ? 

Great,  or  good,  or  kind,  or  fair, 

I  will  ne'er  the  more  despair : 

If  she  love  me,  this  believe, 

I  will  die  ere  she  shall  grieve : 

If  she  slight  me  when  I  woo, 

I  can  scorn  and  let  her  go  ; 
For  if  she  be  not  for  me, 
What  care  I  for  whom  she  be  ? 

WITHER 


TO   ANTHEA 
WHO    MAY    COMMAND    HIM     ANYTHING 

Bid  me  to  live,  and  I  will  live 

Thy  Protestant  to  be : 
Or  bid  me  love,  and  I  will  give 

A  loving  heart  to  thee. 

A  heart.as  soft,  a  heart  as  kind, 

A  heart  as  sound  and  free 
As  in  the  whole  world  thou  canst  find— 

That  heart  I  '11  give  to  thee. 


TO    ANTHEA 

Bid  that  heart  stay,  and  it  will  stay, 

To  honour  thy  decree : 
Or  bid  it  languish  quite  away. 

And  *t  shall  do  so  for  thee. 

Bid  me  to  weep,  and  I  will  weep. 

While  1  have  eyes  to  see : 
And  having  none,  yet  I  will  keep 

A  heart  to  weep  for  thee. 

Bid  me  despair,  and  I  'II  despair 

Under  that  cypress  tree : 
Or  bid  me  die.  and  I  will  dare 

E'en  Death,  to  die  for  thee. 

Thou  an  my  life,  my  love,  my  heart. 

The  very  eyes  of  me ; 
And  hast  command  of  every  part, 

To  live  and  die  for  thee. 


A  CAVALIER'S  WOOING 

My  dear  and  only  love.  I  pray 

This  noble  world  of  thee 
Be  governed  by  no  other  sway 

But  purest  monarchy ; 
For  if  confusion  have  a  part, 

Which  virtuous  souls  abhor. 
And  hold  a  synod  in  thy  heart. 

I  'II  never  love  thee  more. 

As  Alexander  I  will  reign, 
And  I  will  reign  alone ; 


LOVE 

My  thoughts  shall  evermore  disdain 

A  rival  on  my  throne. 
I  te  either  fears  his  fate  too  much, 

Or  his  deserts  are  small, 
Who  puts  it  not  unto  the  touch, 

To  win  or  lose  it  all. 

Put  if  thou  wilt  be  constant  then 

And  faithful  of  thy  word, 
1  '11  make  thee  glorious  by  my  pen, 

And  famous  by  my  sword  ; 
1 11  serve  thee  in  such  noble  ways 

Was  never  heard  before  ; 
1  '11  deck  and  crown  thee  all  with  bays, 

And  love  thee  evermore. 

MONTKOSE 


IP.  as  1  have,  you  also  do 

Virtue  in  woman  see, 
And  dare  love  that,  and  say  so  too, 

And  forget  the  He  and  She, — 

And  if  this  love,  though  placed  so, 

From  profane  men  you  hide, 
Which  will  no  faith  on  this  bestow 

Or,  if  they  do,  deride, — 

Then  you  have  done  a  braver  thing 

Than  all  the  worthies  did  ; 
And  a  braver  thence  will  spring, 

Which  is,  to  keep  that  hid, 

DONNE 


A  K    EARNEST   SUIT  35 

AN      EARNKST     SUIT     TO     HIS     UNKIND 
MISTRESS    NOT    TO    FORSAKE    HIM 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus? 
Say  nay  I  say  nay  I  for  shame. 
To  save  thce  from  the  blame 
Of  all  my  grief  and  grame.  • 
And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus  t 
Say  nay!  say  nay! 

And  wilt  thou  leave  ntc  thus. 
'Hut  liath  loved  thee  so  long 
In  wealth  and  woe  among : 
And  is  thy  heart  so  strong 
As  for  to  leave  me  thus  ? 
Say  nay !  say  nay ! 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus, 
That  hath  given  the«  my  heart 
Never  for  to  depart 
Neither  for  pain  nor  smart : 
And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus  ? 
Say  nay  I  say  nay  i 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus. 
And  have  no  more  pity 
Of  him  that  loveth  thee? 
Alas  thy  cruelty ! 
And  wilt  them  leave  me  thus? 
Say  nay !  say  nay ! 

WYATT 

•Sorrow. 


40  LOVE 


OF  A.  WOMAN'S   HEART 

O  faithless  world,  and  thy  most  faithless  part 

A  woman's  heart, 
The  true  shop  of  variety,  where  sits 

Nothing  but  fits 
And  fevers  of  desire,  and  pangs  of  love, 

Which  toys  remove. 
Why  was  she  born  to  please,  or  I  to  trust 

Words  writ  in  dust, 
Suffering  her  eyes  to  govern  my  despair, 

My  pain  for  air, 
And  fruit  of  time  rewarded  with  untruth, 

The  food  of  youth  ? 
Untrue  she  was,  yet  I  believed  her  eyes, 

Instructed  spies, 
Till  I  was  taught  that  love  was  but  a  school 

To  breed  a  fool. 
Or  sought  she  more  by  triumphs  of  denial 

To  make  a  trial 
How  far  her  smiles  commanded  my  weakness  ? 

Yield  and  confess ! 
Excuse  no  more  thy  folly ;  but,  for  cure, 

Blush  and  endure 
As  well  thy  shame  as  passions  that  were  vain ; 

And  think  'tis  gain 
To  know  that  love  lodged  in  a  woman's  breast 

Is  but  a  guest. 

WOTTON 


THE     LOVER     COMPLAINETH     THE 
UNKINDNESS     OF     HIS     LOVE 

My  lute,  awake,  perform  the  last 
Labour  that  thou  and  I  shall  waste ; 


TUP.    LOVEH    COMPLAINITH  41 

And  end  that  I  have  now  begun : 
And  when  this  song  is  sung  and  post 
My  lute,  be  still,  for  I  have  done. 

As  to  be  beard  where  ear  is  none. 
As  lead  to  grave  in  marble  stone, 
My  song  may  pierce  her  heart  as  «oon ; 
Should  we  then  sigh  or  sing  or  monn  ? 
No,  no,  my  lute,  for  1  have  done. 

1T»c  rocks  do  not  so  cruelly 
Repulse  the  waves  continually, 
As  she  my  suit  and  affection : 
So  that  I  am  past  remedy ; 
Whereby  my  lute  and  I  have  done. 

Proud  of  the  spoil  that  thou  hast  got 
Of  simple  hearts  thorough  Ix>ve's  shot. 
Dy  whom  unkind  thou  hast  them  won : 
Think  not  he  hath  his  bow  forgot. 
Although  my  lute  and  I  have  done. 

Vengeance  shall  fall  on  thy  disdain. 
That  mak'st  but  game  of  earnest  .pain. 
Trow  not  alone  under  the  sun 
Unquit  to  cause  thy  lover's  plain. 
Although  my  lute  and  I  have  done. 

Now  cease,  my  lute,  this  is  the  last 
Labour  that  thou  and  I  shall  waste ; 
And  ended  is  that  we  begun : 
Now  is  this  song  both  sung  and  past— 
My  lute,  be  still,  for  I  have  done. 

WYATT 


MYRA 

I.  with  whose  colours  Myra  dressed  her  head. 

I,  that  wore  posies  of  her  own  hand  making, 
I,  that  mine  own  name  in  the  chimneys  read 

By  Myra  finely  wrought  ere  I  was  waking : 
Must  I  look  on,  in  hope  time  coming  may 
With  change  bring  back  my  turn  again  to  play  ? 

I,  that  on  Sunday  at  the  church-stile  found 
A  garland  sweet  with  true  love-knots  in  flowers, 

Which  I  to  wear  about  mine  arms  was  bound 
That  each  of  us  might  know  that  all  was  ours : 

Must  I  lead  now  an  idle  life  in  wishes, 

And  follow  Cupid  for  his  loaves  and  fishes  ! 

I,  that  did  wear  the  ring  her  mother  left, 
I,  for  whose  love  she  gloried  to  be  blamed, 

I,  with  whose  eyes  her  eyes  committed  theft, 
I,  who  did  make  her  blush  when  I  was  named  : 

Must  I  lose  ring,  flowers,  blush,  theft,  and  go  naked, 

Watching  with  sighs  till  dead  love  be  awaked  ? 

I,  that  when  drowsy  Argus  fell  asleep, 
Like  jealousy  o'erwatched  with  desire, 

Was  ever  warned  modesty  to  keep 
While  her  breath  speaking  kindled  Nature's  fire : 

Must  I  look  on  a-cold  while  others  warm  them  ? 

Do  Vulcan's  brothers  in  such  fine  nets  arm  them  ? 

Was  it  for  this  that  I  might  Myra  see 
Washing  the  water  with  her  beauties  white? 

Yet  would  she  never  write  her  love  to  me. 
Thinks  wit  of  change  when  thoughts  are  in  delight ! 

Mad  girls  may  safely  love  as  they  may  leave ; 

No  man  can  print  a  kiss :   lines  may  deceive. 

BROOKE 


THE    I.OVER    COMFORTETH    H  I  M  5  K  1.  V      43 

I  HI.  I.OVER  COMFORTETH  H1MSKLFWITH 
THE  WORTHINESS  OF   HIS   LOVE 

When  raging  love  with  extreme  pain 
Most  cruelly  distrains  my  heart : 
When  that  my  tears  as  floods  of  rain 
Bear  witness  of  ray  woful  smart ; 
When  sighs  have  wWttJ  so  my  breath. 
That  I  lie  at  the  point  of  death : 

1  call  to  mind  the  navy  great 
That  the  Greeks  I  trough t  to  Troyetown. 
And  how  the  boisterous  wind  did  Ixrat 
Their  ships  and  rrnd  their  sails  adown ; 
Till  Agamemnon's  daughter's  blood 
Appeased  the  gods,  that  them  withstood : 

And  how  that  in  those  ten  yean'  war 
Full  many  a  bloody  deed  was  done. 
And  many  a  lord  that  came  full  far 
There  caught  his  bane  (alas,)  too  soon  ; 
And  many  a  good  knight  overrun. 
Before  the  Greeks  had  Helen  won  ; 

Then  think  I  thus— since  such  repair. 
So  long  time  war  of  valiant  men, 
Was  all  to  win  a  lady  fair. 
Shall  I  not  learn  to  suffer  then, 
And  think  my  time  well  spent  to  be. 
Serving  a  worthier  wight  than  she? 

Therefore  I  never  will  rrpent 
But  pains  contented  still  endure. 
For  like  as  when,  rough  winter  spent, 
The  pleasant  spring  straight  draweth  in  ure. 
So  after  raging  storms  of  care, 
Joyful  at  length  may  be  my  fare. 

SURKLY 


44  LOVE 


SONG 


Take,  oh  take  those  lips  away, 

That  so  sweetly  were  forsworn  ; 
And  those  eyes,  the  break  of  day, 

Lights  that  do  mislead  the  morn  ; 
But  my  kisses  bring  again, 

Bring  again, 
Seals  of  love,  but  sealed  in  vain, 

Sealed  in  vain. 

SHAKESPEARE 


A     DYING     FALL 

Follow  your  saint,  follow  with  accents  sweet ! 
Haste  you,  sad  notes,  fall  at  her  flying  feet ! 
There,  wrapped  in  cloud  of  sorrow,  pity  move, 
And  tell  the  ravisher  of  my  soul,  I  perish  for  her  love  : 
But  if  she  scorns  my  never-ceasing  pain, 
Then  burst  with  sighing  in  her  sight,  and  ne'er  return 
again. 

All  that  I  sang  still  to  her  praise  did  tend  ; 
Still  she  was  first ;  still  she  my  songs  did  end  : 
Yet  she  my  love  and  music  both  doth  fly, 
The  music  that  her  echo  is  and  beauty's  sympathy. 
Then  let  my  notes  pursue  her  scornful  flight ! 
It  shall  suffice  that  they  were  breathed  and  died  for 
her  delight. 

CAMPION 


A    DIALOGUE  45 

A    DIALOGUE    BETWEEN     HIM     AND     HIS 
HEART 

At  her  fair  hinds  how  have  I  grace  entreated. 

With  prayers  oft  repeated  ! 

Yet  still  my  love  is  thwarted  : 

Heart,  let  her  go,  for  she'll  not  be  converted  - 

Say.  shall  she  go? 

O  no,  no.  no,  no.  no ; 
She  is  most  fair  though  she  be  marble-hearted. 

How  often  have  my  sighs  declared  mine  anguish. 

Wherein  I  daily  languish  ! 

Yet  doth  she  still  procure  it : 

Heart,  let  her  go,  for  I  can  not  endure  it. 

Say,  shall  she  go? 

O  no,  no,  no,  no,  no ; 
She  gave  the  wound,  and  she  alone  must  cure  it. 

But  shall  I  still  a  true  aflcction  owe  her, 
Which  prayers,  sighs,  tears,  do  show  her. 
And  shall  she  still  disdain  me? 
Heart,  let  her  go,  if  they  no  grace  can  gain  me, 

Say.  shall  she  go? 

O  no,  no,  no.  no,  no ; 
She  made  me  hers,  and  hers  she  will  retain  me. 

But  if  the  love  that  hath,  and  still  doth  bum  me. 

No  love  at  length  return  me. 

Out  of  my  thoughts  1  '11  set  her. 

Heart,  let  her  go ;  oh.  heart.  I  pray  thee.  let  her. 

Say,  shall  she  go? 

O  no,  no,  no,  no,  no ; 
Fixed  in  the  heart,  how  can  the  heart  forget  her? 

w.  DAMSON 


46  LOVE 


TRUE    AND     FALSE    LOVE 

Love  seeketh  not  itself  to  please, 

Nor  for  itself  hath  any  care. 
But  for  another  gives  its  ease, 

And  builds  a  heaven  in  hell's  despair. 

Love  seeketh  only  self  to  please, 
To  bind  another  to  its  delight, 

Joys  in  another's  loss  of  ease, 
And  builds  a  hell  in  heaven's  despite. 

BLAKtf 


SONG 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest, 

Whom  the  fates  sever 
From  his  true  maiden's  breast, 

Parted  for  ever  ? 
Where,  through  groves  deep  and  high, 

Sounds  the  far  billow, 
Where  early  violets  die, 

Under  the  willow. 

Chorus — 
Eleu  loro,  etc.     Soft  shall  be  Ms  pillow. 

There,  through  the  summer  day, 

Cool  streams  are  laving ; 
There,  while  the  tempests  sway, 

Scarce  are  boughs  waving ; 
There,  thy  rest  shalt  thou  take. 

Parted  for  ever, 


•  ONG 

Never  again  to  wake. 
Never.  O  never  ! 


EUu  loro,  etc.     Never,  O  never  ! 

Where  shall  the  traitor  rest. 

He,  the  deceiver, 
Who  could  win  maiden's  breast. 

Ruin,  and  leave  her  ? 
In  the  lost  battle. 

Borne  down  by  the  flying, 
Where  mingles  war's  rattle, 

With  groans  of  the  dying. 

tkorus— 
Bit*  lorv,  etc.    There  shall  he  be  lying. 

Her  wing  shall  the  eagle  (lap 

O'er  the  false-hearted  ; 
His  warm  blood  the  wolf  shall  lip. 

Ere  life  be  ported. 
Shame  and  dishonour  sit 

By  his  grave  ever  ; 
Blessing  shall  hallow  it.— 
Never,  O  never  ! 
Chorus— 
EUm  hro.  etc.     Never,  O  never  ! 

SCOi  i 


TO    HIS    COY    LOVE 
A  C AN/ON ET 

I  pray  thee  leave,  love  me  no  more. 

Call  home  the  heart  you  gave  me. 
I  but  in  vain  that  saint  adore 

That  can  but  will  not  save  me. 


48  LOVE 

These  poor  half  kisses  kill  me  quite ; 

Was  ever  man  thus  served  ? 
Amidst  an  ocean  of  delight 

For  pleasure  to  be  starved. 

Show  me  no  more  those  snowy  breasts 

With  azure  riverets  branched, 
Where  whilst  mine  eye  with  plenty  feasts, 

Yet  is  my  thirst  not  stanched. 
O  Tantalus,  thy  pains  ne'er  tell, 

By  me  thou  art  prevented ; 
'Tis  nothing  to  be  plagued  in  Hell, 

But  thus  in  Heaven  tormented. 

Clip  me  no  more  in  those  dear  arms, 

Nor  thy  life's  comfort  call  me  ; 
O  these  are  but  too  powerful  charms 

And  do  but  more  enthral  me. 
But  see  how  patient  I  am  grown 

In  all  this  coil  about  thee  ; 
Come,  nice  thing,  let  thy  heart  alone  ; 

I  cannot  live  without  thee. 

DRAYTOJ 


THE     POET-WOOER 

I  now  think  Love  is  rather  deaf  than  blind, 

For  else  it  could  not  be 
That  she 

Whom  I  adore  so  much,  should  so  slight  me, 
And  cast  my  suit  behind  : 
I  'm  sure  my  language  to  her  was  as  sweet, 

And  every  close  did  meet 

In  sentence  of  as  subtle  feet 

As  hath  the  youngest  he 

That  sits  in  shadow  of  Apollo's  tree. 


THK    POET-WOOER  4$ 

Oh.  but  my  conscious  fears 

That  fly  my  thoughts  between 
Tell  me  that  she  hath  Mm 

My  hundreds  of  gray  hairs, 
Told  seven  and  forty  years. 

And  all  these,  through  her  eyes,  have  stopt  her  ears. 

JON  SON 


HALFWAY     IN     LOVE 

Fair  friend,  'tis  true,  your  beauties  move 

My  heart  to  a  respect, 
Too  little  to  be  paid  with  love. 

Too  great  for  your  neglect. 

I  neither  love  nor  yet  am  free. 

For  though  the  flame  I  rind 
Be  not  intense  in  the  degree, 

Tis  of  the  purest  kind. 

It  little  wants  of  love  but  pain  ; 

Your  beauty  takes  my  *cni*c. 
And  lest  you  should  that  praise  disdain, 

My  thoughts  feel  th'  influence. 

'Tis  not  a  passion's  first  access, 

Ready  to  multiply : 
But  like  love's  calmest  stale  it  is 

HonBil  with  victory. 

It  is  like  love  to  truth  reduced. 

All  the  false  values  gone, 
Which  were  created,  or  induced 

By  imagination. 


50  LOVE 


Tis  either  fancy  or  'tis  fate 

To  love  you  more  than  I : 
I  love  you  at  your  beauty's  rate, 

Less  were  an  injury. 

JONSON 


PRAYER    FOR    INDIFFERENCE 

I  ask  no  kind  return  of  love, 

No  tempting  charm  to  please ; 
Far  from  the  heart  those  gifts  remove, 

That  sighs  for  peace  and  ease  ; 

No  peace,  nor  ease,  the  heart  can  know, 

That,  like  the  needle  true, 
Turns  at  the  touch  of  joy  or  woe, 

But  turning  trembles  too. 

Far  as  distress  the  soul  can  wound, 

'Tis  pain  in  each  degree  : 
'Tis  bliss  but  to  a  certain  bound, 

Beyond  is  agony. 

MRS.  GREVILLE 


TIME  is  the  feathered  thing, 

And  whilst  I  praise 

The  sparklings  of  thy  looks,  and  call  tnem  rays, 
Takes  wing, 

Leaving  behind  him  as  he  flies 
An  unperceived  dimness  in  thine  eyes. 


TIME    IS    THE    FEATHERED    THING        51 

His  minutes  while  they  're  told. 
Do  make  us  old. 
And  every  sand  of  his  fleet  glass. 
Increasing  age  as  it  doth  pass. 
Insensibly  sows  wrinkles  there. 
Where  flowers  and  roses  did  appear. 

•  Whilst  we  do  speak,  our  fire 
Doth  into  ice  expire. 

Flames  turn  to  frost  ; 
And  ere  we  can 

Know  how  our  crow  turns  swan. 
Or  how  a  silver  snow 
Springs  there  where  jet  did  grow. 
Our  fading  spring  is  in  dull  winter  lost. 

MAYNC 


TO   A.    L. 
PERSUASIONS    TO    LOVK 

Think  not.  'cause  men  Hutt  ring  say, 
Y  'are  fresh  as  April,  sweet  as  May, 
Bright  as  is  the  morning-star. 
That  you  arc  so  ;  or  though  you  are 
Be  not  therefore  proud,  and  deem 
All  men  unworthy  your  esteem  : 
For  being  so,  you  lose  the  pleasure 
Of  being  fair,  since  that  rich  treasure 
Of  rare  beauty  and  sweet  feature 
Was  bestowed  on  you  by  nature 
To  be  enjoyed,  and  'twere  a  sin. 
There  to  be  scarce,  where  she  hath  been 
So  prodigal  of  her  best  graces ; 


52  LOVE 

Thus  common  beauties  and  mean  faces 
Shall  have  more  pastime,  and  enjoy 
The  sport  you  lose  by  being  coy. 
Starve  not  yourself,  because  you  may 
Thereby  make  me  pine  away  ; 
Nor  let  brittle  beauty  make 
You  your  wiser  thoughts  forsake : 
For  that  lovely  face  will  fail ; 
Beauty's  sweet,  but  beauty's  frail ; 
'Tis  sooner  past,  'tis  sooner  done 
Than  summer's  rain,  or  winter's  sun  ; 
Most  fleeting,  when  it  is  most  dear  ; 
'Tis  gone,  while  we  but  say  'tis  here. 
These  curious  locks  so  aptly  twined, 
Whose  every  hair  a  soul  doth  bind, 
Will  change  their  auburn  hue,  and  grow 
White,  and  cold  as  winter's  snow. 
That  eye  which  now  is  Cupid's  nest 
Will  prove  his  grave,  and  all  the  rest 
Will  follow  ;  in  the  cheek,  chin,  nose, 
Nor  lily  shall  be  found,  nor  rose  ; 
And  what  will  then  become  of  all 
Those,  whom  now  you  servants  call  ? 
Like  swallows,  when  your  summer's  done 
They  '11  fly,  and  seek  some  warmer  sun. 
Then  wisely  choose  one  to  your  friend, 
Whose  love  may   (when  your   beauties 

end) 

Remain  still  firm  :  be  provident, 
And  think  before  the  summer's  spent 
Of  following  winter  ;  like  the  ant 
In  plenty  hoard  for  time  of  scam, 
Cull  out  amongst  the  multitude 
Of  lovers,  that  seek  to  intrude 
Into  your  favour,  one  that  may 
Love  for  an  age,  not  for  a  day  ; 


PERSUASIONS    TO    LOVE  53 

For  when  the  storms  of  time  have  mov.tl 

Wave*  on  that  check  which  w.»*  beloved ; 

When  a  fair  lady's  face  U  pined. 

And  yellow  .spread  \\hcrc  red  once  slnnni ; 

When  beauty,  youth,  and  all  sweets  leave  her. 

lx>ve  may  return,  but  lover  never : 

Oh  love  roe  then,  and  now  begin  it. 

1-rt  us  not  lose  this  present  minute : 

For  time  and  age  will  work  that  wrack. 

Which  lime  or  age  shall  ne'er  call  back. 

The  snake  each  year  fresh  skin  resumes, 

And  eagles  change  their  aged  plumes  ; 

The  faded  rose  each  spring  receives 

A  fresh  red  tincture  on  her  leaves : 

But  if  your  beauties  once  decay. 

You  never  know  a  second  May. 

Oh.  then  IK  wise,  and  whilst  your  season 

Affords  you  days  for  sport,  do  reason  ; 

Spend  not  in  vain  your  life's  short  hour. 

But  crop  in  time  your  lieauty's  flow'r : 

Which  will  away,  and  doth  together 

Both  bud  and  fade,  both  blow  and  »ithcr. 

CARBW 


TO    HIS    COY    MISTRESS 

Had  we  but  world  enough  and  time, 
This  coyness,  lady,  were  no  crime. 
We  would  sit  down  and  think  which  war 
To  walk,  and  pass  our  long  love's  day. 
Thou  by  the  Indian  Ganges'  side 
Shouldst  rubies  find :  I  by  the  tide 
Of  Humbcr  would  complain.     I  would 
Love  you  ten  years  before  the  flood 


LOVE 

And  you  should,  if  you  please,  refuse 
Till  the  conversion  of  the  Jews. 
My  vegetable  love  should  grow 
Vaster  than  empires,  and  more  slow  ; 
An  hundred  years  should  go  to  praise 
Thine  eyes  and  on  thy  forehead  gaze  ; 
Two  hundred  to  adore  each  breast, 
But  thirty  thousand  to  the  rest ; 
An  age  at  least  to  every  part, 
And  the  last  age  should  show  your  heart ; 
For,  lady,  you  deserve  this  state, 
Nor  would  I  love  at  lower  rate. 

But  at  my  back  I  always  hear 
Time's  winged  chariot  hurrying  near ; 
And  yonder  all  before  us  lie 
Deserts  of  vast  eternity. 
The  grave  "s  a  fine  and  private  place, 
But  none,  I  think,  do  there  embrace. 
Now  therefore  while  the  youthful  hue 
Sits  on  thy  skin  like  morning  dew, 
And  while  thy  willing  soul  transpires 
At  every  pore  with  instant  fires 
Now  let  us  sport  us  while  we  may, 
And  now,  like  amorous  birds  of  prey, 
Rather  at  once  our  time  devour 
Than  languish  in  his  slow-chapt  power. 
Let  us  roll  all  our  strength  and  all 
Our  sweetness  up  into  one  ball, 
And  tear  our  pleasures  with  rough  strife 
Thorough  the  iron  gates  of  life  : 
fhus,  though  we  cannot  make  our  sun 
Stand  still,  yet  we  will  make  him  run. 

MARVELL 


A    DIRGK  S5 


A     DIRGE 

Ring  oul  your  bells,  lei  mourning  shows  be  spread 
For  Love  is  dead  : 

All  love  is  dead,  infected 
With  plague  of  deep  disdain : 

Worth,  as  nought  worth,  rejected, 
And  faith  fair  scorn  doth  gain. 

From  so  ungrateful  fancy, 

From  such  a  female  freniy, 

From  them  that  use  men  thus. 

Good  Lord,  deliver  us ! 

Weep,  neighbours,  weep;  do  you  not  bear  it  said 
That  Love  is  dead  ? 

His  deathbed,  peacock's  Folly  ; 
His  winding-sheet  is  Shame : 

His  will,  False  Seeming  wholly  ; 
His  sole  executor,  blame. 

From  so  ungrateful  fancy. 

From  such  a  female  frcruy, 

From  them  that  use  men  that. 

Good  Lord  deliver  us ! 

Let  dirge  be  sung,  and  trentals  rightly  read. 
For  Love  is  dead  ; 

Sir  Wrong  his  tomb  ordaincth 
My  mistress'  marble  heart ; 

Which  epitaph  containeth, 
•  Her  eyes  were  once  his  dart. 

From  so  ungrateful  fancy. 

From  such  a  female  frenzy, 

From  them  that  use  men  thus. 

Good  Lord,  deliver  us  I 


Alas,  I  lie  ;  rage  hath  this  error  bred  ; 
Love  is  not  dead  ; 

Love  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth, 
In  her  unmatched  mind, 

Where  she  his  counsel  keepeth, 
Till  due  deserts  she  find. 

Therefore  from  so  vile  fancy, 

To  call  such  wit  a  frenzy, 

Who  Love  can  temper  thus, 

Good  Lord,  deliver  us  I 

SIDNEY 


ONE  word  is  too  often  profaned 

For  me  to  profane  it, 
One  feeling  too  falsely  disdained 

For  thee  to  disdain  it. 
One  hope  is  too  like  despair 

For  prudence  to  smother, 
And  pity  from  thee  more  dear 

Than  that  from  another. 

I  can  give  not  what  men  call  love  ; 

But  wilt  thou  accept  not 
The  worship  the  heart  lifts  above 

And  the  Heavens  reject  not : 
The  desire  of  the  moth  for  the  star, 

Of  the  night  for  the.  morrow, 
The  devotion  to  something  afar 

From  the  sphere  of  our  sorrow  ? 

SHELLEY 


WHEN  passion's  trance  is  overpast 
If  tenderness  and  truth  could  last. 


WIIRW    PASSION'S    TRANCK  J 

Or  live  whilst  all  wild  feelings  keep 
Some  mortal  slumlicr  <l.uk  and  deep, 
I  should  not  weep.  I  should  not  wcrp ! 

It  were  enough  to  feel,  to  see, 

Thy  soft  eyes  gazing  tenderly, 

And  dream  the  rest— and  burn,  and  be 

'Hie  secret  food  of  fires  unseen— 

Couldst  thou  but  be  as  thou  hast  been. 

After  the  slumber  of  the  year 

The  woodland  violets  re-appear  ; 

All  things  revive  in  field  or  grove. 

And  sky  and  sen.— but  two.  which  move 

And  form  all  others,  life  and  love. 

SHCI.UCY 


TO     HIS     MISTKKSS 
ON    TIIR    SP.AI.    OP    II KR    I.KTTP.R 

Thou  sent 'it  to  me  a  heart  was  crowned. 

I  took  it  to  be  thine ; 
Rut  when  1  saw  it  had  a  wound. 

I  knew  the  heart  was  mine. 

A  bounty  of  a  strange  conceit 

To  send  mine  own  to  me : 
And  send  it  in  a  worse  estate 

Than  it  was  sent  to  thcc. 

O  heavens,  how  wouldst  thou  use  a  %.\m 

That  should  rebellious  br. 
Since  thou  hast  been  unkind  to  tnat 

Which  so  much  honoured  thee? 

DONNE 


58  L  C  V  E 


Now  sleep,  and  take  thy  rest, 

Once  grieved  and  pained  wight. 
Since  now  she  loves  thee  best 

Who  is  thy  heart's  delight. 
Let  joy  be  thy  soul's  guest, 

And  care  be  banished  quite, 
Since  she  hath  thee  expressed 

To  be  her  favourite. 


OF    KISSING 

For  Love's  sake,  kiss  me  once  again, 
1  long,  and  should  not  beg  in  vain, 

Here 's  none  to  spy,  or  see, 
Why  do  you  doubt  or  stay  ? 

I  '11  taste  as  lightly  as  the  bee, 
That  doth  but  touch  his  flower,  and  flies  away. 

Once  more,  and,  faith,  I  will  be  gone  ; 

Can  he  that  loves  ask  less  than  one  ? 

Nay,  you  may  err  in  this, 
And  all  your  bounty  wrong ; 

This  could  be  called  but  half  a  kiss : 
What  we  're  but  once  to  do,  we  should  do  long. 

JON SON 


LOVE'S     PHILOSOPHY 

The  fountains  mingle  with  tne  river 
And  the  rivers  with  the  ocean, 
The  winds  cf  heaven  mix  for  ever 
With  a  sweet  emotion  ; 


LOVE'S    PHILOSOPHY  J 

Nothing  in  the  work!  is  single. 
All  things  by  a  law  divine 
In  one  another's  being  mingle — 
Why  not  I  with  thine  ? 

See  the  mountains  kiss  high  heaven. 
And  the  waves  clasp  one  another ; 
No  sister-flower  would  be  forgiven 
If  it  disdained  its  brother : 
And  the  sunlight  clasps  the  earth, 
And  the  moonbeams  kiss  the  sea — 
What  arc  all  these  kissings  worth. 
It'thou  kiss  not  me? 

IRBU.KT 


AND  truly  I  would  rather  be  struck  dumb 

'llian  speak  against  this  ardent  lawlessness : 

For  I  have  ever  thought  that  it  might  bless 

The  world  with  benefits  unknowingly ; 

As  does  the  nightingale,  up-perched  high, 

And  cloister'd  among  cool  and  bunched  leave*  - 

She  sings  but  to  her  love,  nor  e'er  conceives 

How  tiptoe  Night  holds  back  her  dark-grey  hood. 

Just  so  may  love,  although  'tis  understood 

The  mere  commingling  of  passionate  breath. 

Produce  more  than  our  searching  witnesseth  : 

What  I  know  not :  but  who  of  men  can  tell 

That  flowers  would  bloom,  or  that  green  fruit  would 

swell 

To  melting  pulp,  that  fish  could  have  bright  mail. 
The  earth  its  dower  of  river,  wood,  and  vale. 
The  meadows  runnels,  runnels  pebble-stones, 
The  seed  its  harvest,  or  the  lute  its  tones, 
Tones  ravishment,  or  ravishment  its  sweet. 
If  human  souls  did  never  kiss  and  greet  ? 

KEATS 


60  LOVE 

TO    CASTARA 
OF     THE    KNOWLEDGE    OF 

Where  sleeps  the  north  wind  when  the  scuth  inspires 

Life  in  the  Spring,  and  gathers  into  quires 

The  scattered  nightingales  ?  whose  subtle  ears 

Heard  first  th'  harmonious  language  of  the  spheres  ? 

Whence  hath  the  stone  magnetic  force  t"  allure 

Th'  enamoured  iron?  from  a  seed  impure 

Or  natural  did  first  the  mandrake  grow  ? 

What  power  in  th'  ocean  makes  it  ebb  and  flow? 

What  strange  materials  is  the  azure  sky 

Compacted  of?  of  what  its  brightest  eye, 

The  ever  flaming  sun  ?  what  people  are 

In  th'  unknown  world?  what  worlds  in  every  star? 

Let  curious  fancies  at  this  secret  rove  : 

Castara,  what  we  know  we  '11  practise,  love. 

HABINGTON 


AGAINST    WEEPING 

Dry  those  fair,  those  crystal  eyes, 

Which  like  growing  fountains  rise 

To  drown  their  banks  ;  griefs  sullen  brooks 

Would  better  flow  in  furrowed  looks. 

Thy  lovely  face  was  never  meant 

To  be  the  shore  of  discontent. 

Then  clear  those  waterish  stars  again, 
Which  else  portend  a  lasting  rain  ; 
Lest  the  clouds  which  settle  there 
Prolong  my  winter  all  the  year, 
And  thy  example  others  make 
In  love  with  sorrow  for  thy  sake. 

KING 


SORROW  01 


I  SAW  my  Lady  weep 
And  sorrow  proud  to  be  advanced  so 
In  those  fair  eyes  where  all  perfections  keep. 

Her  face  was  full  of  woe. 

But  such  a  woe  (believe  me)  as  wins  more  hearts 
Than  Mirth  can  do  with  her  enticing  parts. 

Sorrow  \\  as  there  made  fair 
And  Passion  wise  ;  tears  a  delightful  thing. 
Silence  beyond  all  speech,  a  wisdom  rare  ; 

She  made  her  sighs  to  sing, 
Ami  all  things  with  so  sweet  a  sadness  move. 
As  made  my  heart  at  once  both  grieve  and  low*. 

ANON. 


SORROW 

1  he  dew  no  more  will  weep. 

The  primrose's  pale  cheek  to  deck : 
The  dew  no  more  will  sleep. 

Nuzzled  in  the  lily's  neck : 
Much  rather  would  it  tremble  here. 
And  leave  them  both  to  be  thy  tear. 

Not  the  soft  gold  which 

Steals  from  the  amber-weeping  tree. 
Makes  Sorrow  half  so  rich. 

As  the  drops  distilled  from  thee : 
Sorrow's  best  jewels  be  in  these 
Caskets,  of  which  Heaven  keeps  the  keys. 

When  Sorrow  would  IK*  seen 

In  her  bright  majesty, 
For  she  is  a  Queen  I 

Then  is  she  dre&sed  by  none  but  tbec  . 


02  LOVE 

Then,  and  only  then,  she  wears 

Her  richest  pearls  ; — I  mean  thy  tears. 

Not  »n  the  evening's  eyes 
When  they  red  with  weeping  are 

For  the  sun  that  dies, 
Sits  Sorrow  with  a  face  so  fair : 

Nowhere  but  here  doth  meet, 

Sweetness  so  sad,  sadness  so  sweet. 

CRASH  A.  W 


ODE 

That  time  and  absence  proves 
Rather  helps  than  hiirts  to  loves. 

Absence,  hear  thou  my  protestation, 
Against  thy  strength, 
Distance  and  length : 
Do  what  thou  canst  for  alteration, 
For  hearts  of  truest  mettle 
Absence  doth  join,  and  time  doth  settle. 

Who  loves  a  mistress  of  such  quality, 
He  soon  hath  found 
Affection's  ground 

Beyond  time,  place,  and  all  mortality. 
To  hearts  that  cannot  vary, 
Absence  is  present,  Time  doth  tarry. 

My  senses  want  their  outward  motions 
Which  now  within 
Reason  doth  win, 
Redoubled  in  her  secret  notions  : 
Like  rich  men  that  take  pleasure 
In  hiding  more  than  handling  treasure. 


ABSENCE  63 

By  absence  this  good  means  I  gain, 
That  I  can  catch  her 
Where  none  can  watch  her. 
In  some  close  corner  of  my  brain, 
There  I  embrace  and  kiss  her ; 
And  so  I  both  enjoy  and  miss  her. 

DONNK 


HOW  ill  doth  he  deserve  a  I-over's  name 
Whose  pale  weak  flame 
Cannot  retain 

His  beat  in  spite  of  absence  or  disdain ; 
Hut  doth  at  once  like  paper  set  on  fire 

Burn  and  expire. 

True  love  did  never  change  his  seat, 
Nor  did  he  ever  love  that  could  retreat 

The  noble  flame  which  my  breast  keeps  auvc, 
Shall  still  survive 
When  my  soul 's  fled, 

Nor  shall  my  love  die  when  my  body 's  dead, 
That  shall  wait  on  me  to  the  lower  shade. 

And  never  fade ; 
My  very  ashes  in  their  urn 
Shall  like  a  hallowed  lamp  for  ever  burn. 

CAREW 


TO    LUCASTA 
ON    HIS   GOING    BEYOND   THE   SEAS 

If  to  be  absent  were  to  be 
Away  from  thee ; 


64  LOVE 

Or  that  when  I  am  gone 

You  or  I  were  alone  ; 
Then,  my  Lucasta,  might  I  crave 
Pity  from  blust'ring  wind,  or  swallowing  grave. 

Though  seas  and  land  betwixt  us  both, — 

Our  faith  and  troth, 

(Like  separated  souls) 

All  time  and  space  controls ; 
Above  the  highest  sphere  we  meet 
Unseen,  unknown  ;  and  greet  as  angels  greet. 

So  then  we  do  anticipate 

Our  after-fate, 

And  are  alive  in  the  skies 

If  thus  our  lips  and  eyes 
Can  speak  like  spirits  unconfined 
In  heaven,  their  earthy  bodies  left  behind. 

LOVELACE 


TO    LUCASTA 
ON    HIS    GOING    TO    THE    WARS 

Tell  me  not,  Sweet,  I  am  unkind, — 

That  from  the  nunnery 
Of  thy  chaste  breast  and  quiet  mind 

To  war  and  arms  I  fly. 

True,  a  new  mistress  now  I  chase, 

The  first  foe  in  the  field  ; 
And  with  a  stronger  faith  embrace 

A  sword,  a  horse,  a  shield. 


TO   LUCASTA  < 

Yet  this  inconstancy  is  such 

As  you.  too,  shall  adore; 
I  could  not  love  thce.  dear,  so  much, 

Loved  I  not  honour  more. 

LOVKLACB 


TO    AT.THEA 
FROM     PRISON 

When  Love  with  uncon fined  wings 

Hovers  within  my  gates. 
And  my  divine  Altbea  brings 

To  whisper  at  the  grates ; 
When  I  lie  tangled  in  her  hair 

And  fettered  to  her  eye. 
The  gods  that  wanton  in  the  air 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

When  flowing  cups  run  swiftly  round 

With  no  allaying  Thames, 
Our  careless  heads  with  roses  crowned. 

Our  hearts  with  loyal  flames  ; 
When  thirsty  grief  in  wine  we  steep, 

When  healths  and  draughts  go  free— 
Fishes  that  tipple  in  the  deep 

Know  no  such  liberty. 

When,  like  committed  linnets,  1 

With  shriller  throat  shall  sing 
The  sweetness,  mercy,  majesty 

And  glories  of  ray  King ; 
When  I  shall  voice  aloud  how  good 

He  is,  how  great  should  be. 
Enlarged  winds,  that  curl  the  flood, 

Know  no  such  liberty. 


66  LOVE 


Stone  walls  do  not  a  prison  make, 

Nor  iron  bars  a  cage  ; 
Minds  innocent  and  quiet  take 

That  for  an  hermitage : 
If  I  have  freedom  in  my  love, 

And  in  my  soul  am  free, 
Angels  alone,  that  soar  above, 

Enjoy  such  liberty. 

LOVE LACK 


TO    HIS    LOVE 
ON     GOING    A    JOURNEY 

Sweetest  love,  I  do  not  go 
For  weariness  of  thee, 
Nor  in  hope  the  world  can  show 
A  fitter  love  for  me  ; 

But  since  that  I 
Must  die  at  last,  'tis  best 
Thus  to  use  myself  in  jest 

By  feigned  death  to  die. 

Yesternight  the  sun  went  hence, 

And  yet  is  here  to-day  ; 
He  hath  no  desire  nor  sense, 
Nor  half  so  short  a  way : 

Then  fear  not  me, 
But  believe  that  I  shall  make 
Hastier  journeys,  since  I  take 

More  wings  and  spurs  than  he. 

O  how  feeble  is  man's  pow'r ! 

That,  if  good  fortune  fall, 
Cannot  add  another  hour, 

Nor  a  lost  hour  recall ; 

But  come  bad  chance, 


TO   HIS   LOT!  6? 

And  we  join  to  it  our  strength. 
And  we  teach  it  art  and  length 
Itself  o'er  us  t*  advance. 

When  thou  sigh'st  thou  sigh'st  not  wind. 

But  sigh'st  my  soul  away ; 

When  thou  weep'st.  unkindly  kind. 

My  life's  blood  doth  decay. 

It  cannot  be 

That  thou  lov'st  me  as  thou  &ay'»i 
If  in  thine  my  life  thou  waste. 

Which  art  the  life  of  me. 

Let  not  thy  divining  bean 
Forethink  me  any  ill ; 
Destiny  may  take  thy  part 
And  may  thy  fears  fulfil ; 

But  think  that  we 
Are  but  turn'd  aside  to  sleep. 
They  who  one  another  keep 

Alive,  ne'er  parted  be  I 

DONNE 


A    VALEDICTION 
FORBIDDING    MOURNING 

As  virtuous  men  pass  mildly  away. 

And  whisper  to  their  souls  to  go. 
Whilst  some  of  their  sad  friends  do  say, 

•  Now  his  breath  goes.'  and  some  say  '  No' 

So  let  us  melt,  and  make  no  noise. 

No  tear-floods,  nor  sigh-tempests  move, 
'Twere  profanation  of  our  joys 

To  tell  the  laity  our  love. 


68  LOVE 

Moving  of  th'  Earth  brings  harms  and  fears, 
Men  reckon  what  it  did,  and  meant 

But  trepidation  of  the  spheres, 
Though  greater  far,  is  innocent. 

Dull,  sublunary  lovers'  love 
(Whose  soul  is  sense)  cannot  admit 

Of  absence,  'cause  it  doth  remove 
The  thing  which  elemented  it. 

But  we  by  a  love  so  far  refined, 
That  ourselves  know  not  what  it  is, 

Inter-assured  of  the  mind, 
Care  less  eyes,  lips,  and  hand,  to  miss. 

Our  two  souls,  therefore,  which  are  one, 
Though  I  must  go,  endure  not  yet 

A  breach,  but  an  expansion, 
Like  gold  to  airy  thinness  beat. 

If  they  be  two,  they  are  two  so 
As  stiff  twin  compasses  are  two ; 

Thy  soul,  the  fixed  foot,  makes  no  show 
To  move,  but  doth,  if  th'  other  do. 

And  though  it  in  the  centre  sit, 
Yet  when  the  other  far  doth  roam, 

It  leans,  and  hearkens  after  it, 
And  grows  erect  as  that  comes  home. 

Such  wilt  thou  be  to  me,  who  must, 
Like  th'  other  foot,  obliquely  run ; 

Thy  firmness  makes  my  circle  just, 
And  makes  me  end  where  I  begun. 

DONNE 


THE    COURSE    OP    TRUE    LOVE 


THE   ABSENT    LOVER 

Soon  as  she  heard  the  name  of  Artegall 
Her  heart  did  leap,  and  all  her  heart-strings  tremble. 
For  sudden  joy  and  secret  fear  withal ; 
And  all  her  vital  powers  with  motion  nimble 
To  succour  it,  themselves  'gan  there  assemble  ; 
That  by  the  swift  recourse  of  flushing  blood 
Right  plain  appeared,  though  she  it  would  dissemble. 
And  feigned  still  her  former  angry  mood. 
Thinking  to  hide  the  depth  by  troubling  of  the  flood. 

One  while  she  blamed  herself,  another  while 
She  him  condemned  as  trustless  and  untrue. 
And  then,  her  grief  with  error  to  beguile, 
She  feigned  to  count  the  time  again  anew, 
As  if  before  she  had  not  counted  true ; 
For  hours,  but  days,  for  weeks  that  pas&cd  were 
She  told  but  months,  to  make  them  seem  more  few  ; 
Yet  when  she  reckoned  them  still  drawing  near. 
Each  hour  did  seem  a  month,  and  every  month  a  year. 

VEMSER 


THE  COURSE  OF  TRUE   LOVE 

The  current,  that  with  gentle  murmur  glides, 

Thou  know'st,  being  stopped,  impatiently  doth  rage, 

But,  when  his  fair  course  is  not  hindered. 

He  makes  sweet  music  with  the  enamelled  stones. 

Giving  a  gentle  kiss  to  every  sedge 

He  overtaketh  in  his  pilgrimage ; 

And  so  by  many  winding  nooks  he  strays, 

With  willing  sport,  to  the  wild  ocean. 


70  LOVE 

Then  let  me  go,  and  hinder  not  my  course  : 
I  '11  be  as  patient  as  a  gentle  stream, 
And  make  a  pastime  of  each  weary  step, 
Till  the  last  step  have  brought  me  to  my  love ; 
And  there  I  '11  rest  as  after  much  turmoil 
A  blessed  soul  doth  in  Elysium. 

SHAKESPEARE 


FOREKNOWLEDGE 

Little  think'st  thou,  poor  flower 
Whom  I  have  watched  six  or  seven  days, 
And  seen  thy  birth,  and  seen  what  every  hour 
Gave  to  thy  growth,  thee  to  this  height  to  raise, 
And  now  dost  laugh  and  triumph  on  this  bough, 

Little  think'st  thou 

That  it  will  freeze  anon,  and  that  I  shall 
To-morrow  find  thee  fall'n,  or  not  at  all. 

Little  think'st  thou,  poor  heart, 

That  labourest  yet  to  nestle  thee, 

And  think'st  by  hovering  here  to  get  a  part 

In  a  forbidden  or  forbidding  tree, 

And  hop'st  her  stiffness  by  long  siege  to  bow : 

Little  think'st  thou 

That  thou,  to-morrow,  ere  the  sun  doth  wake, 
Must  with  this  sun  and  me  a  journey  take. 

DONNE 


MEMORY 

So  shuts  the  marigold  her  leaves 
At  the  departure  of  the  sun  ; 

So  from  the  honeysuckle  sheaves 
The  bee  goes  when  the  day  is  done  ; 


MEMORY  71 

So  sits  the  turtle  when  she  is  but  one. 
And  so  all  woe,  as  I  since  she  is  gone. 

To  some  few  birds  kind  Nature  hath 

Made  all  the  summer  as  one  day  : 
Which  once  enjoyed,  cold  winter's  wrath 

As  night  they  sleeping  pass  tony. 
Those  happy  creatures  are,  they  know  not  yet 
The  pain  to  be  deprived,  or  to  forget 

1  oft  have  heard  men  say  there  be 

Some  that  with  confidence  profeu 
The  helpful  Art  of  Memory : 

But  could  they  teach  for  get  fulness, 
I  'd  learn,  and  try  what  further  art  could  do 
To  make  me  love  her  and  forget  her  too. 

Sad  melancholy,  that  persuades 
Men  from  themselves,  to  think  they  be 

Headless,  or  other  body's  shades. 
Hath  long  and  bootless  dwrlt  with  me. 

For  could  I  think  she  some  idea  were, 

I  still  might  love,  forget,  and  have  her  here. 

•Row\t 


IN  a  drear-nighled  December, 

Too  happy,  happy  tree  I 
Thy  branches  ne'er  remember 

Their  green  felicity ; 
The  north  cannot  undo  them 
With  a  sleety  whistle  through  them. 
Nor  frozen  thawings  glue  them 
From  budding  at  the  prime. 


72  LOVE 


In  a  drear-nighted  December, 

Too  happy,  happy  brook ! 
Thy  bubblings  ne'er  remember 

Apollo's  summer  look ; 
But,  with  a  sweet  forgetting, 
They  stay  their  crystal  fretting, 
Never,  never  petting 

About  the  frozen  time. 

Ah !  would  'twere  so  with  many 

A  gentle  girl  and  boy ! 
But  were  there  ever  any 

Writhed  not  at  passed  joy  ? 
To  know  the  change  and  feel  it, 
When  there  is  none  to  heal  it, 
Nor  numbed  sense  to  steal  it, 
Was  never  said  in  rhyme. 

KEATS 


IF  I  had  but  two  little  wings 
And  were  a  little  feathery  bird 

To  you  I  'd  fly,  my  dear ! 
But  thoughts  like  these  are  idle  things, 

And  I  stay  here. 

But  in  my  sleep  to  you  I  fly : 
I  'm  always  with  you  in  my  sleep, 

The  world  is  all  one's  own. 
But  then  one  wakes,  and  where  am  I  ? 

All,  all  alone. 

Sleep  stays  not,  though  a  monarch  bids ; 
So  I  love  to  wake  ere  break  of  day : 

For  though  my  sleep  be  gone, 
Yet  while  'tis  dark,  one  shuts  one's  lids, 
And  still  dreams  on. 

COLERIDGE 


EPITHALAMION 


SONG 


My  true-love  bath  my  heart,  and  I  haw  his. 
By  just  exchange  one  for  the  other  given  : 
I  hold  his  dear,  and  mine  he  cannot  miss. 
There  never  was  a  better  bargain  driven  : 
My  true-love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have  his. 

His  heart  in  me  keeps  me  and  him  in  one, 
My  heart  in  him  his  thoughts  and  senses  guides  : 
He  loves  my  heart,  for  once  it  was  his  own, 
I  cherish  his  because  in  me  it  bides  : 
My  true-love  hath  my  bean,  and  I  have  his. 

SIDNEY 


BPITHALAMION 

Ye  learned  sisters,  which  have  oftentimes 

Been  to  me  aiding,  others  to  adorn, 

Whom  ye  thought  worthy  of  your  graceful  rhymes. 

That  even  the  greatest  did  not  greatly  scorn 

To  hear  their  names  sung  in  your  simple  lays, 

But  joyed  in  their  praise ; 

And  when  ye  list  your  own  mishaps  to  mourn. 

Which  death,  or  love,  or  fortune's  wreck  did  raise. 

Your  string  could  soon  to  sadder  tenor  turn, 

And  teach  the  woods  and  waters  to  lament 

Your  doleful  dreariment : 

Now  lay  those  sorrowful  complaints  aside ; 

And  having  all  your  heads  with  garlands  crowned, 

Help  me  mine  own  love's  praises  to  resound  ; 

Ne  let  the  same  of  any  be  envied : 

So  Orpheus  did  for  his  own  bride, 

So  I  unto  myself  alone  will  sing ; 

The  woods  shall  to  me  answer,  and  my  echo  ring. 


74  LOVE 

Early,  before  the  world's  light-giving  lamp 

His  golden  beam  upon  the  hills  doth  spread, 

Having  dispersed  the  night's  uncheerful  damp, 

Do  ye  awake  ;  and  with  fresh  lustyhead 

Go  to  the  bower  of  my  beloved  love, 

My  truest  turtle-dove : 

Bid  her  awake  ;  for  Hymen  is  awake, 

And  long  since  ready  forth  his  mask  to  move, 

With  his  bright  tead  *  that  flames  with  many  a  flake, 

And  many  a  bachelor  to  wait  on  him, 

In  their  fresh  garments  trim. 

Bid  her  awake  therefore,  and  soon  her  dight, 

For  lo  !  the  wished  day  is  come  at  last, 

That  shall  for  all  the  pains  and  sorrows  past 

Pay  to  her  usury  of  long  delight : 

And,  whilst  she  doth  her  dight, 

Do  ye  to  her  of  joy  and  solace  sing, 

That  all  the  woods  may  answer,  and  your  echo  ring. 


Bring  with  you  all  the  Nymphs  that  you  can  hear 

Both  of  the  rivers  and  the  forests  green, 

And  of  the  sea  that  neighbours  to  her  near  ; 

All  with  gay  garlands  goodly  well  beseen. 

And  let  them  also  with  them  bring  in  hand 

Another  gay  garland, 

For  my  fair  love,  of  lilies  and  of  roses, 

Bound  truelove-wise,  with  a  blue  silk  riband, 

And  let  them  make  great  store  of  bridal  posies, 

And  let  them  eke  bring  store  of  other  flowers 

To  deck  the  bridal  bowers. 

And  let  the  ground  whereas  her  foot  shall  tread, 

For  fear  the  stones  her  tender  foot  should  wrong, 

Be  strewed  with  fragrant  flowers  all  along, 

*  Torch. 


EPITHALAMIOK.          •  75 


And  diapered  like  the  discoloured  mead. 

Which  done,  do  at  her  chamber-door  await. 

For  she  will  waken  straight. 

The  whiles  do  ye  this  song  unto  her  ting ; 

The  woods  shall  to  you  answer,  and  your  echo  ring. 

Wake  now,  my  love,  awake !  for  it  is  time ; 

The  rosy  morn  long  since  left  Tithon's  bed. 

All  ready  to  her  silver  coach  to  climb : 

And  Phoebus  'gins  to  show  his  glorious  head. 

Hark  !  how  the  cheerful  birds  do  chant  their  lays. 

And  carol  of  Ix>ve's  praise. 

The  merry  lark  her  matins  sings  aloft ; 

The  thrush  replies  ;  the  mavis  descant  plays  ; 

The  ouzel  shrills  ;  the  ruddock  warbles  soft ; 

So  goodly  nil  agree,  with  sweet  concent. 

To  this  day's  merriment. 

Ah  !  my  dear  love,  why  do  you  sleep  thus  long. 

When  meeter  were  that  you  should  now  awake. 

T  await  the  coming  of  your  joyous  make.* 

And  hearken  to  the  birds'  love-learned  song. 

The  dewy  leaves  among  ? 

For  they  of  joy  and  pleasanoe  to  you  sing. 

That  all  the  woods  them  answer,  and  their  echo  ring. 

My  love  is  now  awake  out  of  her  drrams. 
And  her  fair  eyes,  like  stars  that  dimmed  were 
With  darksome  cloud,  now  show  their  goodly  I -cams 
More  bright  than  Hesperus  his  head  doth  rear. 
Come  now.  ye  damsels,  daughters  of  delight, 
Help  quickly  her  to  dight : 
But  first  come,  ye  fair  Hours,  which  were  begot. 
In  Jove's  sweet  paradise,  of  Day  and  Night ; 
Which  do  the  seasons  of  the  year  allot, 

•  Mate. 


7°  .  LOVE 

And  all  that  ever  in  this  world  is  fair 
Do  make  and  still  repair ; 
And  ye  three  handmaids  of  the  Cyprian  Queen, 
The  which  do  still  adorn  her  beauties'  pride, 
Help  to  adorn  my  beautifullest  bride : 
And,  as  ye  her  array,  still  throw  between 
Some  graces  to  be  seen  ; 
And,  as  ye  use  to  Venus,  to  her  sing, 
The  whiles  the  woods  shall  answer,  and  your  echo 
ring. 

Now  is  my  love  all  ready  forth  to  come  : 

Let  all  the  virgins  therefore  well  await ; 

And  ye,  fresh  boys,  that  tend  upon  her  groom, 

Prepare  yourselves,  for  he  is  coming  straight. 

Set  all  your  things  in  seemly  good  array, 

Fit  for  so  joyful  day  : 

The  joyfull'st  day  that  ever  sun  did  see. 

Fair  Sun !  show  forth  thy  favourable  ray, 

And  let  thy  lifeful  heat  not  fervent  be, 

For  fear  of  burning  her  sunshiny  face, 

Her  beauty  to  disgrace. 

O  fairest  Phoebus  !  father  of  the  Muse ! 

If  ever  I  did  honour  thee  aright, 

Or  sing  the  thing  that  might  thy  mind  delight, 

Do  not  thy  servant's  simple  boon  refuse, 

But  let  this  day,  let  this  one  day,  be  mine ; 

Let  all  the  rest  be  thine. 

Then  I  thy  sovereign  praises  loud  will  sing, 

That  all  the  woods  shall  answer,  and  their  echo  ring. 

Hark !   how  the  minstrels  'gin  to  shrill  aloud 
Their  merry  music  that  resounds  from  far, 
The  pipe,  the  tabor,  and  the  trembling  crowd, 
That  well  agree  withouten  breach  or  jar. 


BPITHALAMION 

But  most  of  all  the  damsels  do  delight, 

When  they  their  timbrels  smite. 

And  thereunto  do  dance  and  carol  sweet, 

That  all  the  senses  they  do  ravish  quite : 

The  whiles  the  boys  run  up  and  down  the  : 

Crying  aloud  with  strong  confused  noise. 

As  if  it  were  one  voice. 

Hymen  !   io  Hymen  !    Hymen !  they  do  shout ; 

That  even  to  the  heavens  their  shouting  shrill 

Doth  reach,  and  all  the  firmament  doth  611 ; 

To  which  the  people  standing  all  about, 

As  in  approvance,  do  thereto  applaud, 

And  loud  advance  her  laud  ; 

And  evermore  they  Hymen.  Hymen,  sing. 

That  all  the  woods  them  answer,  and  their  echo  ring. 


Lo !  where  she  comes  along  with  portly  pace, 

Like  Phoebe,  from  her  chamber  of  the  east, 

Arising  forth  to  run  her  mighty  race. 

Clad  all  in  white,  that  'seems  a  virgin  best. 

So  well  it  her  beseems,  that  ye  would  weea 

Some  angel  she  had  been. 

Her  long  loose  yellow  locks  like  golden  wire. 

Sprinkled  with  pearl,  and  pearling  flowers  atween. 

Do  like  a  golden  mantle  her  attire ; 

And  being  crowned  with  a  garland  green, 

Seem  like  some  maiden  queen. 

Her  modest  eyes,  abashed  to  behold 

So  many  gazers  as  on  her  do  stare. 

Upon  the  lowly  ground  affixed  are ; 

Ne  dare  lift  up  her  countenance  too  bold. 

But  blush  to  hear  her  praises  sung  so  loud. 

So  far  from  being  proud. 

Nathless  do  ye  still  loud  her  praises  sing. 

That  all  the  woods  may  answer,  and  your  echo  ring. 


78  LOVE 

Tell  me,  ye  merchants'  daughters,  did  ye  see 

So  fair  a  creature  in  your  town  before, 

So  sweet,  so  lovely,  and  so  mild  as  she, 

Adorned  with  beauty's  grace  and  virtue's  store  ? 

Her  goodly  eyes  like  sapphires  shining  bright, 

Her  forehead  ivory  white, 

Her  cheeks  like  apples  which  the  sun  hath  rudded, 

Her  lips  like  cherries  charming  men  to  bite, 

Her  breast  like  to  a  bowl  of  cream  uncrudded, 

Her  paps  like  lilies  budded, 

Her  snowy  neck  like  to  a  marble  tower  ; 

And  all  her  body  like  a  palace  fair, 

Ascending  up,  with  many  a  stately  stair, 

To  honour's  seat  and  chastity's  sweet  bower. 

Why  stand  ye  still,  ye  virgins,  in  amaze 

Upon  her  so  to  gaze, 

Whiles  ye  forget  your  former  lay  to  sing, 

To  which  the  woods  did  answer,  and  your  echo  ring  ? 


But  if  ye  saw  that  which  no  eyes  can  see, 
The  inward  beauty  of  her  lively  sprite, 
Garnished  with  heavenly  gifts  of  high  degree, 
Much  more  then  would  ye  wonder  at  that  sight, 
And  stand  astonished  like  to  those  which  read 
Medusa's  mazeful  head. 

There  dwells  sweet  love,  and  constant  chastity, 
Unspotted  faith,  and  comely  womanhood, 
Regard  of  honour,  and  mild  modesty  ; 
There  virtue  reigns  as  queen  in  royal  throne, 
And  giveth  laws  alone, 
The  which  the  base  affections  do  obey, 
And  yield  their  services  unto  her  will ; 
Ne  thought  of  thing  uncomely  ever  may 
Thereto  approach  to  tempt  her  mind  to  ill. 
Had  ye  once  seen  these  her  celestial  treasures, 


EP1THALAMION  79 

And  unrcvealed  pleasures. 

Then  would  ye  wonder,  and  her  praises  sing. 

Thai  all  the  woods  should  answer,  and  your  echo  ring. 

Open  the  temple  gates  unto  my  love  1 

Open  them  wide,  that  she  may  enter  in. 

And  all  the  posts  adorn  as  doth  behove, 

And  all  the  pillars  deck  with  garlands  trim. 

For  to  receive  this  saint  with  honour  due. 

That  cometh  in  to  you. 

With  trembling  steps,  and  humble  reverence. 

She  cometh  in.  before  ih'  Almighty's  view : 

Of  her.  ye  virgins,  learn  obedience. 

When  so  ye  come  into  those  holy  places. 

To  humble  your  proud  faces : 

Bring  her  up  to  th1  high  altar,  that  she  may 

The  sacred  crremonics  there  partake. 

The  which  do  endless  matrimony  make : 

And  let  the  roaring  organs  loudly  play 

The  praises  of  the  Lord  in  lively  notes ; 

The  whiles,  with  hollow  throats. 

The  choristers  the  joyous  anthem  sing. 

That  all  the  woods  may  answer,  and  their  echo  ring 

Ring  ye  the  bells,  ye  young  men  of  the  town. 
And  leave  your  wonted  labours  for  this  day : 
This  day  is  holy ;  do  ye  write  it  down, 
That  ye  for  ever  it  remember  may. 
This  day  the  sun  is  in  his  chicfest  height. 
With  Barnaby  the  bright. 
From  whence  declining  daily  by  degrees. 
He  somewhat  loseth  of  his  heat  and  light, 
When  once  the  Crab  behind  his  back  he  sees. 
But  for  this  time  it  ill  ordained  was. 
To  choose  the  longest  day  in  all  the  year, 


80  LOVE 

And  shortest  night,  when  longest  fitter  were ; 

Yet  never  day  so  long  but  late  would  pass. 

Ring  ye  the  bells,  to  make  it  wear  away, 

And  bonfires  make  all  day ; 

And  dance  about  them,  and  about  them  sing, 

That  all  the  woods  may  answer,  and  your  echo  ring 


Ah  !  when  will  this  long  weary  day  have  end, 

And  lend  me  leave  to  come  unto  my  love? 

How  slowly  do  the  hours  their  numbers  spend ; 

How  slowly  does  sad  Time  his  feathers  move ! 

Haste  thee,  O  fairest  planet !  to  thy  home 

Within  the  western  foam  : 

Thy  tired  steeds  long  since  have  need  of  rest. 

Long  though  it  be,  at  last  I  see  it  gloom, 

And  the  bright  evening  star  with  golden  crest 

Appear  out  of  the  east. 

Fair  child  of  beauty  !  glorious  lamp  of  love ! 

That  all  the  host  of  heaven  in  ranks  dost  lead, 

And  guidest  lovers  through  the  night's  sad  dread, 

How  cheerfully  thou  lookest  from  above, 

And  seemst  to  laugh  atween  thy  twinkling  light, 

As  joying  in  the  sight 

Of  these  glad  many,  which  for  joy  do  sing, 

That  all  the  woods  them  answer,  and  their  echo  ring. 

Now  cease,  ye  damsels,  your  delights  forepast ; 
Enough  it  is  that  all  the  day  was  yours : 
Now  day  is  done,  and  night  is  nighing  fast, 
Now  bring  the  bride  into  the  bridal  bowers. 
The  night  is  come,  now  soon  her  disarray, 
And  in  her  bed  her  lay ; 
Lay  her  in  lilies  and  in  violets, 
And  silken  curtains  over  her  display, 
And  odoured  sheets  and  arras  coverlets. 


EPITHALAMION  8 1 

Behold  how  goodly  my  fair  lore  does  lie. 

In  proud  humility  I 

Like  unto  Maia,  v  hen  as  fore  her  took 

In  Tempe.  lying  on  the  flowery  gnus. 

Twixt  sleep  and  wake,  after  she  weary  was. 

With  bathing  in  the  Acidalian  brook. 

Now  it  is  night,  ye  damsels  may  be  gone. 

And  leave  my  lore  alone ; 

And  leave  likewise  your  former  lay  to  sing : 

The  woods  no  more  shall  answer,  nor  your  echo  ring. 

•nmn 


Now  hath  Flora  robbed  her  bowers 
To  befriend  this  place  with  flowers : 

Strow  about,  strow  about  I 
The  sky  rained  never  kindlier  showers, 
blowers  with  bridals  well  agree. 
Fresh  as  brides  and  bridegrooms  be : 

Strow  about,  strow  about  I 
And  mix  them  with  fit  mrlody. 
Earth  hath  no  princelicr  flowers 
Than  roses  white  and  roses  red. 
But  they  must  still  be  mingled ; 
And  as  a  rose  new  plucked  from  Venus'  thorn, 
So  doth  a  bride  her  bridegroom's  bed  adorn. 

Divers  divers  flowers  afiect 
For  some  private  dear  respect : 

Strow  about,  strow  about  I 
Let  every  one  his  own  protect ; 
But  he's  none  of  Flora's  friend 
That  will  not  the  rose  commend. 

Strow  about,  strow  about ! 


82  LOVE 

Let  princes  princely  flowers  defend : 

Roses,  the  garden's  pride, 

Are  flowers  for  love  and  flowers  for  kings, 

In  courts  desired  and  weddings : 

And  as  a  rose  in  Venus'  bosom  worn, 

So  doth  a  bridegroom  his  bride's  bed  adorn. 

CAMPION 


ROSES,  their  sharp  spines  being  gone, 
Not  royal  in  their  smells  alone, 

But  in  their  hue ; 
Maiden  pinks,  of  odour  faint, 
Daisies  smell-less  yet  most  quaint, 

And  sweet  thyme  true ; 

Primrose,  first-born  child  of  Ver ; 
Merry  Spring-time's  harbinger, 

With  her  bells  dim ; 
Oxlips  in  their  cradles  growing, 
Marigolds  on  deathbeds  blowing, 

Larks' -heels  trim ; 

All  dear  Nature's  children  sweet, 
Lie  'fore  bride  and  bridegroom's  feet, 

Blessing  their  sense  1 
Not  an  angel  of  the  air 
Bird  melodious  or  bird  fair 

Be  absent  hence ! 

The  crow,  the  slanderous  cuckoo,  nor 
The  boding  raven,  nor  chough  hoar, 

Nor  chattering  pie, 
May  on  our  bride-house  perch  or  sing 
Or  with  them  any  discord  bring, 

But  from  it  fly ! 

FLETCHER 


THE    GOLDEN    GATES 


THE  golden  gates  of  Sleep  unbar. 
Where  Strength  and  Beauty,  met  together, 

Kindle  their  image,  like  ft  star 
In  a  sea  of  glassy  weather. 

Night,  with  all  thy  stars  look  down- 
Darkness,  weep  thy  holiest  dew  I 

Never  smiled  the  inconstant  moon 
On  a  pair  so  true. 

Let  eyes  not  see  their  own  delight : 

Haste,  swift  Hour,  and  thy  flight 
Oft  renew. 

Fairies,  sprites,  and  angels  keep  her ! 

Holy  stars,  permit  no  wrong  t 
And  return  to  wake  the  sleeper, 

Dawn,  ere  it  be  long  ! 
Oh  joy  !   Oh  fear !   what  will  be  done 
la  the  absence  of  the  sun  ? 
Come  along  I 

SHELLEY 


HOME    AFFECTIONS 
AND   FRIENDSHIP 


Glad  sight  wherever  new  with  old 

Is  joined  through  sonic  (Hear  homeborn  tie; 

The  life  of  all  that  we  behold 

Depends  upon  that  mystery. 


Wordsworth. 


REMINISCENCE 

AH  I  1  remember  well  (and  bow  can  I 

But  evermore  remember  well)  when  first 

Our  flame  began,  when  scarce  we  knew  what  was 

The  flame  we  felt ;  whenas  we  sat  and  sighed 

And  looked  upon  each  other,  and  conceived 

Not  what  we  ailed,  —yet  something  we  did  ail ; 

And  yet  were  well,  and  yet  we  were  not  well. 

And  what  was  our  disease  we  could  not  tell. 

Then  would  we  kiss,  then  sigh,  then  look  :  and  thus 

In  that  first  garden  of  our  simpleness 

We  spent  our  childhood.     But  when  years  began 

To  reap  the  fruit  of  knowledge— ah.  how  then 

Would  she  with  graver  looks,  with  sweet  stern  brow 

Check  my  presumption  and  my  forwardness ; 

Yet  still  would  give  me  flowers,  still  would  me  show 

What  she  would  have  me,  yet  not  have  me  know. 

DANIEL 


MAN     AND     WIFE 

SWEKT  is  the  breath  of  morn,  her  rising  sweet. 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds :  pleasant  the  sun, 
When  first  on  this  delightful  land  he  spreads 
His  orient  beams,  on  herb,  tree,  fruit,  and  flower. 

m 


HOME    AFFECTIONS 

Glistering  with  dew  ;  fragrant  the  fertile  earth 
After  soft  showers  ;  and  sweet  the  coming  on 
Of  grateful  Evening  mild  ;  then  silent  Night, 
With  this  her  solemn  'bird,  and  this  fair  moon, 
And  these  the  gems  of  Heaven,  her  starry  train  : 
But  neither  breath  of  Morn,  when  she  ascends 
With  charm  of  earliest  birds  :  nor  rising  sun 
On  this  delightful  land  :  nor  herb,  fruit,  flower, 
Glistering  with  dew ;  nor  fragrance  after  showers ; 
Nor  grateful  Evening  mild  ;  nor  silent  Night, 
With  this  her  solemn  bird,  nor  walk  by  moon, 
Or  glittering  star-light,  without  thee  is  sweet. 

MILTON 


A    PERFECT    WOMAN 

SHE  was  a  phantom  of  delight 
When  first  she  gleamed  upon  my  sight 
A  lovely  apparition,  sent 
To  be  a  moment's  ornament ; 
Her  eyes  as  stars  of  twilight  fair ; 
Like  twilight's,  too,  her  dusky  hair  ; 
But  all  things  else  about  her  drawn 
From  May-time  and  the  cheerful  dawn 
A  dancing  shape,  an  image  gay, 
To  haunt,  to  startle,  and  waylay. 

I  saw  her  upon  nearer  view, 
A  spirit,  yet  a  woman  too ! 
Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 
And  steps  of  virgin  liberty ; 
A  countenance  in  which  did  meet 
Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet ; 


A     PEBrtCT    WOMAN  ' 

A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 

For  human  nature's  daily  food  ; 

For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles. 

Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears,  and  smile* 

And  now  I  see  with  eye  serene 
The  very  pulse  of  the  machine  ; 
A  being  breathing  thoughtful  breath. 
A  traveller  between  life  and  death ; 
The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will. 
Endurance,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill ; 
A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command  ; 
And  yet  a  spirit  still,  and  bright 
With  something  of  an  angel  light. 

WOK  DS  WORTH 


THE   ANNIVERSARY 

ALL  kings  and  all  their  favourites. — 

All  glory  of  honours,  beauties,  wits, — 

(The  Sun  itself,  which  makes  times  as  they  pass, 

Is  elder  by  a  year  now  than  it  was 

When  thou  and  I  first  one  another  saw)  :— 

All  other  things  to  their  destruction  draw  ; 

Only  our  love  hath  no  decay : 

This  no  to-morrow  hath  nor  yesterday  ; 

Running  it  never  runs  from  us  away. 

But  truly  keeps  his  first,  last,  everlasting  day. 

DONNE 


90  HOME    AFFECTIONS 

A    CRADLE    SONG 

SWEET  dreams  form  a  shade 
O'er  my  lovely  infant's  head  ! 
Sweet  dreams  of  pleasant  streams 
By  happy,  silent,  moony  beams ! 

Sweet  Sleep,  with  soft  down 
Weave  thy  brows  an  infant  crown  I 
Sweet  sleep,  angel  mild, 
Hover  o'er  my  happy  child. 

Sweet  smiles  in  the  night 
Hover  over  my  delight ! 
Sweet  smiles,  mother's  smile 
All  the  livelong  night  beguile  ! 

Sweet  moans,  dove-like  sighs 
Chase  not  slumber  from  thine  eyes  ! 
Sweet  moan,  sweeter  smile, 
All  the  dove-like  moans  beguile  ! 

BLAKE 


TO  MISS  CHARLOTTE  PULTENEY 
IN  HER  MOTHER'S  ARMS 

TIMELY  blossom,  infant  fair, 
Fondling  of  a  happy  pair, 
Every  morn  and  every  night 
Their  solicitous  delight, 
Sleeping,  waking,  still  at  ease, 
Pleasing  without  skill  to  please 


TO  MISS  CHARLOTTE  PULTKNBT 

Little  gossip,  blithe  and  hale. 
Tattling  many  a  broken  tale. 
Singing  many  a  tuneless  song, 
Lavish  of  a  heedless  tongue. 
Simple  maiden,  void  of  art, 
Babbling  out  the  very  bean, 
Yet  abandoned  to  thy  will, 
Yet  imagining  no  ill, 
Yet  too  innocent  to  blush, 
Like  the  linnet  in  the  bush, 
To  the  mother-linnet's  note 
Moduling  her  slender  throat, 
Chirping  forth  thy  petty  joys, 
Wanton  in  the  change  of  toys. 
Like  the  linnet  green,  in  May, 
Flitting  to  each  bloomy  spray ; 
Wearied  then  and  glad  of  rest. 
Like  the  linnet  in  the  nest 
This  thy  present  happy  lot. 
This  in  time  will  be  forgot : 
Other  pleasures,  other  carat, 
Ever-busy  time  prepares, 
And  tbou  shall  in  thy  daughter  see 
This  picture  once  resembled  thcr. 

PHILIPS 


A  CHILD  's  a  plaything  for  an  hour ; 

Its  pretty  tricks  we  try 
For  that  or  for  a  longer  space ; 

Then  tire,  and  lay  it  by. 

But  I  knew  one  that  to  itself 
All  seasons  could  control ; 


HOME    AFFECTIONS 

That  would  have  mocked  the  sense  of  pain 
Out  of  a  grieved  soul. 

Thou  straggler  into  loving  arms, 

Young  climber-up  of  knees, 
When  I  forget  thy  thousand  ways 

Then  life  and  all  shall  cease. 

MARY  LAMB 


THE    PICTURE    OF    LITTLE    T.    C. 
IN    A    PROSPECT    OF    FLOWERS 

SEE  with  what  simplicity 
This  nymph  begins  her  golden  days ! 
In  the  green  grass  she  loves  to  lie, 
And  there  with  her  fair  aspect  tames 
The  wilder  flowers,  and  gives  them  names  ; 
But  only  with  the  roses  plays, 
And  them  does  tell 
What  colours  best  become  them,  and  what  smell. 

Who  can  foretell  for  what  high  cause 
This  darling  of  the  gods  was  born  ? 
Yet  this  is  she  whose  chaster  laws 
The  wanton  Love  shall  one  day  fear, 
And,  under  her  command  severe, 
See  his  bow  broke,  and  ensigns  torn. 

Happy  who  can 
Appease  this  virtuous  enemy  of  man ! 

O  then  let  me  in  time  compound 

And  parley  with  those  conquering  eyes, 

Ere  they  have  tried  their  force  to  wound ; 


PICTURE  OP   LITTLE  T.   C. 

Ere  with  their  glancing  wheels  they  drive 
In  triumph  over  hearts  that  strive. 
And  them  that  yield  but  more  despise : 

Let  me  be  laid. 
Where  I  may  see  the  glories  from  some  shade. 

Meantime,  whilst  every  verdant  thing 
Itself  does  at  thy  beauty  charm. 
Reform  the  errors  of  the  Spring  ; 
Make  that  the  tulips  may  have  share 
Of  sweetness,  seeing  they  are  fair. 
And  roses  of  their  thorns  disarm ; 

But  most  procure 
That  violets  may  a  longer  age  endure. 

But  O  young  beauty  of  the  woods, 

Whom  Nature  courts  with  fruits  ami  flowers. 

Gather  the  flowers,  but  spare  the  buds ; 

L»t  Flora,  angry  at  thy  crime 

To  kill  her  infants  in  their  prime. 

Should  quickly  make  th*  example  yours ; 

And  ere  we  see 
Nip  in  the  blossom  all  our  hopes  and  thcc. 

MARVELL 


TO    A    CHILD    OF    QUALITY 
FIVE    TEARS    OLJ> 

LORDS,  knights,  and  'squires,  the  numerous  band 
That  wear  the  fair  Miss  Mary's  fetters. 

Were  summoned  by  her  high  command 
To  show  their  passions  by  their  letters. 


94  HOME    AFFECTIONS 

My  pen  among  the  rest  I  took, 
Lest  those  bright  eyes  that  cannot  read 

Should  dart  their  kindling  fires,  and  look 
The  power  they  have  to  be  obeyed. 

Nor  quality,  nor  reputation, 

Forbid  me  yet  my  flame  to  tell ; 
Dear  five  years  old  befriends  my  passion, 

And  I  may  write  till  she  can  spell. 

For,  while  she  makes  her  silk-worms  beds 
With  all  the  tender  things  I  swear, 

Whilst  all  the  house  my  passion  reads, 
In  papers  round  her  baby's  hair, 

She  may  receive  and  own  my  flame, 

For,  though  the  strictest  prudes  should  know  it, 

She  '11  pass  for  a  most  virtuous  dame, 
And  I  for  an  unhappy  poet. 

Then  too,  alas,  when  she  shall  tear 
The  lines  some  younger  rival  sends  ; 

She  '11  give  me  leave  to  write,  I  fear, 
And  we  shall  still  continue  friends. 

For  as  our  different  ages  move, 
'Tis  so  ordained  (would  Fate  but  mend  it), 

And  I  shall  be  past  making  love, 
When  she  begins  to  comprehend  it. 

PRIOR 


TO    MY   YOUNG    LADY    LUCY    SIDNEY 

WHY  came  I  so  untimely  forth 
Into  a  world  which,  wanting  thee, 

Could  entertain  us  with  no  worth 
Or  shadow  of  felicity, 


TO   NT    YOUNG    LADY  95 

That  time  should  me  so  Cur  remove 
From  that  which  I  was  born  to  love? 

Yet,  Fairest  Blossom,  do  not  slight 
That  age  which  you  may  know  so  soon. 

The  rosy  morn  resigns  her  light 
And  milder  glory  to  the  noon  ; 

And  then  what  wonders  shall  you  do 

Whose  dawning  beauty  warms  us  so  ! 

Hope  waits  upon  the  flowery  prime, 
And  Summer,  though  it  be  less  gay, 

Yet  is  not  looked  on  as  a  time 
Of  declination  or  decay  : 

For  with  a  full  hand  that  does  bring 

All  that  was  promised  by  the  Spring 


TO  CHLOR1S 

AH  I  Chloris,  that  I  now  could  sit 

As  unconcerned  as  when 
Your  infant  beauty  could  beget 

No  pleasure,  nor  no  pain  I 
When  I  the  dawn  used  to  admire 

And  praised  the  coming  day, 
I  little  thought  the  growing  fire 

Must  take  my  rest  away. 

Your  charms  in  harmless  childhood  lay 

Like  metals  in  the  mine ; 
Age  from  no  face  took  more  away 

Than  youth  concealed  in  thine  : 


HOME    AFFECTIONS 

But  as  your  charms  insensibly 

To  their  perfection  prest, 
Fond  Love  as  unperceived  did  fly 

And  in  my  bosom  rest. 

My  passion  with  your  beauty  grew, 

And  Cupid  at  my  heart, 
Still  as  his  mother  favoured  you, 

Threw  a  new  flaming  dart : 
Each  gloried  in  their  wanton  part : 

To  make  a  lover,  he 
Employed  the  utmost  of  his  art : 

To  make  a  beauty,  she. 

SEDLEY 


TO   H.C. 
SIX   YEARS   OLD 

O  THOU  whose  fancies  from  afar  are  brought, 

Who  of  thy  words  dost  make  a  mock  apparel, 

And  fittest  to  unutterable  thought 

The  breeze-like  motion  and  the  self-born  carol ; 

Thou  faery  voyager,  that  dost  float 

In  such  clear  water,  that  thy  boat 

May  rather  seem 

To  brood  on  air  than  on  an  earthly  stream  ; 

Suspended  in  a  stream  as  clear  as  sky, 

Where  earth  and  heaven  do  make  one  imagery ; 

0  blessed  vision  !  happy  child  ! 
Thou  art  so  exquisitely  wild, 

1  think  of  thee  with  many  fears 

For  what  may  be  thy  lot  in  future  years. 


TO    M.C.  97 

I  thought  of  times  when  Pain  might  be  thy  guest, 

Ixml  of  thy  house  and  hospitality  ; 

And  Grief,  uneasy  lover !  never  rest 

But  when  she  sate  within  the  touch  of  tbee 

O  too  industrious  folly ! 

O  vain,  O  causeless  melancholy  I 

Nature  will  either  end  thee  quite, 

Or  lengthening  out  thy  season  of  delight, 

Preserve  for  thee,  by  individual  right, 

A  young  lamb's  heart  among  the  full-glow n  flocks. 

What  hast  thou  to  do  with  sorrow, 

Or  the  injuries  of  to-morrow  ? 

Thou  art  a  dew-drop,  which  the  morn  brings  fotth, 

III  fitted  to  sustain  unkindly  shocks. 

Or  to  be  trailed  along  the  soiling  earth ; 

A  gem  that  glitters  while  it  lives. 

And  no  forewarning  gives  ; 

But,  at  the  touch  of  wrong,  without  a  Mrife 

Slips  in  a  moment  out  of  life. 

WORDSWORTH 


A    SISTER 

RFIIOLD,  within  the  leafy  shade. 
Those  bright  blue  eggs  together  laid  ! 
On  me  the  chance-disco vered  *ight 
Gleamed  like  a  vision  of  delight. 
I  startrd— seeming  to  espy 
The  home  and  sheltered  bed. 
The  sparrow's  dwelling,  which  hard  t  y 
My  fathrr's  house  in  wet  or  dry 
My  sister  Emmeline  and  I 
Together  visited. 


HOME    AFFECTIONS 

She  looked  at  it  and  seemed  to  fear  it ; 
Dreading,  tho*  wishing,  to  be  near  it ; 
Such  heart  was  in  her,  being  then 
A  little  Prattler  among  men. 
The  Blessing  of  my  later  years 
Was  with  me  when  a  boy ; 
She  gave  me  eyes,  she  gave  me  ears, 
And  humble  cares,  and  delicate  fears, 
A  heart,  the  fountain  of  sweet  tears, 
And  love,  and  thought,  and  joy. 

WORDSWORTH 


CHILDISH    FRIENDSHIP 

I 

We  were 

Two  lads,  that  thought  there  was  no  more  behind 
But  such  a  day  to-morrow  as  to-day, 
And  to  be  boy  eternal. 

We  were  as  twinn'd  lambs,  that  did  frisk  i*  the  sun, 
And  bleat  the  one  at  the  other :  What  we  changed 
Was  innocence  for  innocence ;  we  knew  not 
The  doctrine  of  ill-doing,  nor  dreamed 
That  any  did  :  Had  we  pursued  that  life, 
And  our  weak  spirits  ne'er  been  higher  reared 
With  stronger  blood,  we  should  have  answered  heaven 
Boldly,  '  Not  guilty, '  the  imposition  cleared 
Hereditary  ours. 


Is  all  the  counsel  that  we  two  have  shared, 
The  sisters'  vows,  the  hours  that  we  have  spent, 
When  we  have  chid  the  hasty-footed  time 
For  parting  us,—  O,  and  is  all  forgot? 


FRIENDSHIP 

AH  school-days'  friendship,  childhood  innocence ' 

We.  Hermia,  like  two  artificial  gods, 

Have  with  our  needles  created  both  one  flower. 

Both  on  one  sampler,  sitting  on  one  cushion. 

Both  warbling  of  one  song,  both  in  one  key ; 

As  if  our  hands,  our  sides,  voices,  and  minds, 

Had  been  incorporate.     So  we  grew  together. 

Like  to  a  double  cherry,  seeming  parted, 

But  yet  a  union  in  partition, 

Two  lovely  berries  moulded  on  one  stem  : 

So,  with  two  seeming  bodies,  but  one  hcnrt ; 

Two  of  the  first,  like  coats  in  heraldry. 

Due  but  to  one,  and  crowned  with  one  crest. 

We  still  have  slept  together. 
Rose  at  an  instant,  learned,  played,  eat  together ; 
And  wheresoe'er  we  went,  like  Juno's  swans, 
Still  we  went  coupled,  and  inseparable. 

SHAKBSPBAII 


MANI.Y     FRIENDSHIP 


SINCE  my  dear  sou!  was  mistress  of  my 

And  could  of  men  distinguish,  her  election 

Hath  sealed  thee  for  herself  :  for  thou  hast  been 

As  one,  in  suffering  all,  that  suffers  nothing  ; 

A  man.  that  fortune's  buffets  and  rewards 

Has  ta'en  with  equal  thanks  :  and  bless'd  are  those, 

Whose  blood  and  judgment  are  so  well  co-mingled. 

That  they  are  not  a  pipe  for  fortune's  finger 

To  sound  what  stop  she  please  :  Give  me  that  man 

That  is  not  passion's  slave,  and  I  will  wear  him 

In  my  heart's  core,  ay,  in  my  heart  of  heait. 

As  I  do  thre.  SIIAKKSI>K\KI. 


FRIENDSHIP 

TO     A     FRIEND 
BEFORE     TAKING    A    JOURNEY 

I  HAVE  examined  and  do  find 

Of  all  that  favour  me 
There  's  none  I  grieve  to  leave  behind 

But  only,  only  thee. 
To  part  with  thee  I  needs  must  die 
Could  parting  sep'rate  thee  and  I. 

Our  changed  and  mingled  souls  are  grown 

To  such  acquaintance  now, 
That  if  each  would  resume  their  own, 

Alas,  we  know  not  how. 
We  have  each  other  so  engrost 
That  each  is  in  the  union  lost. 

And  thus  we  can  no  absence  know, 

Nor  shall  we  be  confined  ; 
Our  active  souls  will  daily  go 

To  learn  each  other's  mind. 
Nay,  should  we  never  meet  to  sense, 
Our  souls  would  hold  intelligence. 

Thy  larger  soul  in  me  shall  lie, 

And  all  thy  thoughts  reveal ; 
Then  back  again  with  mine  shall  fly, 

And  thence  to  me  shall  steal. 
Thus  still  to  one  another  tend, 
Such  is  the  sacred  name  of  Friend. 

KATHERINE  PHILIPS 

OH,  friendship,  cordial  of  the  human  bieast. 
So  little  felt,  so  fervently  exprest, 
Thy  blossoms  deck  our  unsuspecting  years, 
The  promise  of  delicious  fruit  appears  ; 


FRIENDSHIP 

But  soon,  alas,  we  find  the  rash  mistake 

That  sanguine  inexperience  loved  to  make. 

And  view  with  tears  the  expected  harvest  lo*i. 

Decay  with  time  or  wither  by  a  frost. 
/" Whoever  undertakes  a  friend's  great  part. 
,  Should  be  renewed  in  nature,  purr  in  heart. 
^  I'rcpared  for  many  a  trial,  strong  10  prove 
LA  thousand  ways  the  force  of  genuine  love : 

He  may  be  called  to  give  up  health  nnd  gain. 

To  exchange  content  for  trout  Jb.  e-.iv  for  pain  . 

To  echo  sigh  for  sigh  and  gram  for  groan, 

And  »cl  his  cheeks  with  sorrows  not  his  own. 

The  heart  of  man.  for  such  a  task  too  fmil. 

When  most  relied  on  is  most  sure  to  fail. 

And,  summoned  for  to  take  it*  fellow'*  \\oc. 

Starts  from  its  office  like  a  broken  bow. 


CKAHI  K 


SONG 


BLOW,  blow,  thou  winter  wind, 
Thou  art  not  so  unkind 
As  man's  ingratitude ; 
Thy  tooth  is  not  so  keen. 
Because  thou  art  not  seen, 

Although  thy  breath  be  rude. 
Heigh  ho !  sing  heigh  ho !  unto  the  grren  holly : 
Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere  fu'.ly 
Then,  heigh  ho !  the  holly ! 


Freeze,  freeze,  thou  bitter  sky, 
Tliat  dost  not  bite  so  nigh 
As  benefits  forgot : 


2  FRIENDSHIP 

Though  thou  the  waters  warp, 

Thy  sting  is  not  so  sharp 

As  friend  remembered  not. 

Heigh  ho  !  sing  heigh  ho  !  unto  the  green  holly : 
Most  friendship  is  feigning,  most  loving  mere  folly  : 

Then,  heigh  ho !  the  holly  ! 

SHAKESPEARE 


ALAS  !  they  had  been  friends  in  youth  ; 
But  whispering  tongues  can  poison  truth  ; 
And  constancy  lives  in  realms  above  ; 
And  life  is  thorny  ;  and  youth  is  vain  ; 
And  to  be  wroth  with  one  we  love 
Doth  work  like  madness  in  the  brain. 
Each  spake  words  of  high  disdain 
And  insult  to  his  heart's  best  brother  : 
They  parted — ne'er  to  meet  again  ; 
But  never  either  found  another 
To  free  the  hollow  heart  from  paining — 
They  stood  aloof,  the  scars  remaining, 
Like  cliffs  which  had  been  rent  asunder  ; 
A  dreary  sea  now  flows  between  ; 
But  neither  heat,  nor  frost,  nor  thunder 
Shall  wholly  do  away,  I  ween, 
The  marks  of  that  which  once  hath  been. 

COLERIDGE 


THE   OLD    FAMILIAR    FACES 

I  HAVE  had  playmates,  I  have  had  companions 
In  my  days  of  childhood,  in  my  joyful  school-day; 
All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 


Till   OLD    FAMILIAR    FACES  103 

I  have  been  laughing,  I  have  been  carousing , 
Drinking  late,  sitting  late,  with  my  bosom  cronies ; 
All,  all  are  f/cne.  the  old  familiar  faces. 

I  loved  a  Love  once,  fairrst  among  women  : 
Closed  are  her  doors  on  me.  I  must  not  see  her 
All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

I  have  a  friend,  a  kinder  friend  has  no  man : 
Like  an  ingrate,  I  left  my  friend  abruptly  ; 
Left  him,  to  muse  on  the  old  familiar  faces. 

Ghost-like  1  i -.iced  round  the  haunts  of  my  childhood. 
Earth  seemed  a  desert  I  was  bound  to  traverse, 
Seeking  to  find  the  old  familiar  face*. 

Friend  of  my  bosom,  thott  more  than  a  brother, 
Why  wert  not  thou  born  in  my  father's  dwelling? 
So  might  \vc  talk  of  the  old  familiar  faces, 

Mow  sonte  they  have  died,  and  some  they  have  left  me. 
And  some  are  taken  from  me  ;  all  are  departed  ; 
All,  all  are  gene,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

I.AMB 


OFT  in  the  stilly  night 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Fond  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  roe  : 
The  smiles,  the  tears 
Of  boyhood's  years. 
The  words  of  love  then  spoken  ; 
The  eyes  that  shone. 
Now  dimm'd  and  gone. 
1  he  cheerful  hearts  now  broken  I 


IO4  HOME    AFFECTIONS 

Thus  in  the  stilly  night 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me., 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 

Of  other  days  around  me. 

When  I  remember  all 

The  friends  so  linked  together 
I  've  seen  around  me  fall 

Like  leaves  in  wintry  weather, 
I  feel  like  one 
Who  treads  alone 
Some  banquet-hall  deserted, 
Whose  lights  are  fled, 
Whose  garlands  dead, 
And  all  but  he  departed  ! 
Thus  in  the  stilly  night 

Ere  slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 

MOORE 


THE   AFFLICTION    OF   MARGARET 

WHERE  art  thou,  my  beloved  Son, 
Where  art  thou,  worse  to  me  than  dead  ? 
Oh  find  me,  prosperous  or  undone  ! 
Or  if  the  grave  be  now  thy  bed, 
Why  am  I  ignorant  of  the  same 
That  I  may  rest :  and  neither  blame 
Nor  sorrow  may  attend  thy  name  ? 

Seven  years,  alas !  to  have  received 
No  tidings  of  an  only  child  ; 
To  have  despaired,  have  hoped,  believed, 
And  been  for  evermore  beguiled  ; 


TIIK    AFFLICTION    OP    MAEGAEKT        105 

Sometimes  with  thoughts  of  very  bliss  I 
I  catch  at  them,  and  then  I  miss ; 
Was  ever  darkness  like  to  this? 

Ah  !  little  doth  the  young  one  dream, 
When  full  of  play  and  childish  cares, 
What  powrr  is  in  his  wildest  scream. 
Heard  by  his  mother  unawares  I 
He  knows  it  not.  he  cannot  guest : 
Years  to  a  mother  bring  distress ; 
But  do  not  make  her  love  the  less. 

My  Son.  if  thou  be  humbled,  poor, 
Hopeless  of  honour  and  of  gam. 
Oh  !  do  not  dread  thy  mother's  door ; 
Think  not  of  me  with  grief  and  pain ; 
I  now  can  see  with  better  eyes ; 
And  worldly  grandeur  I  despise, 
And  fortune  with  her  gifts  and  lies. 

Alas !  the  fowls  of  Heaven  have  wings. 
And  blasu  of  Heaven  will  aid  their  flight ; 
They  mount— how  short  a  voyage  brings 
The  wanderers  back  to  their  delight  I 
Chains  tie  us  down  by  land  and  sea  ; 
And  wishes,  vain  as  mine,  may  be 
All  that  is  left  to  comfort  thee. 

Perhaps  some  dungeon  hears  thee  groan, 
Maimed,  mangled  by  inhuman  men ; 
Or  thou  upon  a  desert  thrown 
Inherited  the  lion's  den : 
Or  hast  been  summoned  to  the  deep, 
Thou,  thou  and  all  thy  males,  to  keep 
An  incommunicable  sleep. 


loft  HOME    AFFECTIONS 

I  look  for  ghosts ;  but  none  will  force 
Their  way  to  me  : — 'tis  falsely  said 
That  there  was  ever  intercourse 
Between  the  living  and  the  dead  ; 
For,  surely,  then  I  should  have  sight 
Of  him  I  wait  for  day  and  night, 
With  love  and  longings  infinite. 

My  apprehensions  come  in  crowds ; 
I  dread  the  rustling  of  the  grass  ; 
The  very  shadows  of  the  clouds 
Have  power  to  shake  me  as  they  pass  , 
I  question  things,  and  do  not  find 
One  that  will  answer  to  my  mind  ; 
And  all  the  world  appears  unkind. 

Beyond  participation  lie 
My  troubles,  and  beyond  relief : 
If  any  chance  to  heave  a  sigh, 
They  pity  me  and  not  my  grief. 
Then  come  to  me,  my  Son,  or  send 
Some  tidings  that  my  woes  may  end  ; 
I  have  no  other  earthly  friend  ! 

WORDSWORTH 


ON    THE    RECEIPT   OF    MY    MOTHER^ 
PICTURE    OUT    OF    NORFOLK 

O  THAT  those  lips  had  language  !     Life  has  passed 
With  me  but  roughly  since  I  heard  thee  last. 
Those  lips  are  thine — thy  own  sweet  smile  I  see, 
The  same  that  oft  in  childhood  solaced  me  ; 
Voice  only  fails,  else  how  distinct  they  say, 


MY    MOTHER  8    PICTURE  107 

ve  not.  my  child,  chase  all  thy  fears  away  I ' 
The  meek  intelligence  of  those  dear  eyes 
(Blest  be  the  urt  that  can  immortalise, 
The  heart  that  baffles  Time's  tyrannic  claim 
To  quench  it  I)  here  shines  on  me  still  the  MUM. 

Faithful  remembrancer  of  one  so  dear. 
O,  welcome  guest,  though  unexpected  here  I 
Who  bidd'st  me  honour  with  an  artless  song, 
Affectionate,  a  mother  lost  so  long, 
I  will  obey,  not  willingly  alone, 
But  gladly,  as  the  precept  were  her  own ; 
And,  while  that  face  renews  my  filial  grief, 
Fancy  shall  weave  a  charm  for  my  relief. 
Shall  steep  me  in  Elysian  reverie. — 
A  momentary  dream  that  thou  art  she. 

My  mother  I  when  I  learnt  that  thou  wast  dead. 
Say,  wast  thou  conscious  of  the  tears  I  shed  ? 
Hovered  thy  spirit  o'er  thy  sorrowing  son. 
Wretch  even  then,  life's  journey  just  begun  ? 
Perhaps  thou  gav'st  me.  though  unfelt,  a  kiss ; 
Perhaps  a  tear,  if  sculs  can  weep  in  bliss  -  - 
Ah,  that  maternal  smile !     It  answers — Yes. 
I  beard  the  bell  tolled  on  thy  burial  day, 
I  saw  the  hearse  that  bore  thee  slow  away. 
And,  turning  from  my  nursery  window,  drew 
A  long,  long  sigh,  and  wept  a  last  adieu  ! 
But  was  it  such  ?— It  was. — Where  thou  an  gone 
Adieus  and  farewells  are  a  sound  unknown. 
May  I  but  meet  thee  on  that  peaceful  shore. 
The  parting  word  shall  pass  ray  lips  no  more ! 
Thy  maidens,  grieved  themselves  at  my  concern, 
Oft  gave  me  promise  of  thy  quick  return. 
What  ardently  I  wished  1  long  believed. 
And,  disappointed  still,  was  still  deceived. 
By  expectation  every  day  beguiled 
Dupe  of  tomorrow  even  from  a  child. 


lo8  HOME    AFFECTIONS 

Thus  many  a  sad  to-morrow  came  and  went, 
Till,  all  my  stock  of  infant  sorrow  spent, 
I  learnt  at  last  submission  to  my  lot ; 
But,  though  I  less  deplored  thee,  ne'er  forgot. 

Where  once  we  dwelt  our  name  is  heard  no 

more. 

Children  not  thine  have  trod  my  nursery  floor ; 
.And  where  the  gardener  Robin,  day  by  day, 
Drew  me  to  school  along  the  public  way, 
Delighted  with  my  bauble  coach,  and  wrapped 
In  scarlet  mantle  warm,  and  velvet-capped, 
'Tis  now  become  a  history  little  known, 
That  once  we  called  the  pastoral  house  our  own. 
Short-lived  possession  !  but  the  record  fair 
That  memory  keeps  of  all  thy  kindness  there 
Still  outlives  many  a  storm  that  has  effaced 
A  thousand  other  themes  less  deeply  traced. 
Thy  nightly  visits  to  my  chamber  made, 
That  thou  might' st  know  me  safe  and  warmly  laid  ; 
Thy  morning  bounties  ere  I  left  my  home, 
The  biscuit,  or  confectionary  plum  ; 
The  fragrant  waters  on  my  cheeks  bestowed 
By  thy  own  hand,  till  fresh  they  shone  and  glowed  ; 
All  this,  and,  more  endearing  still  than  all, 
Thy  constant  flow  of  love,  that  knew  no  fall, 
Ne'er  roughened  by  those  cataracts  and  breaks 
That  humour  interposed  too*often  makes  ; 
All  this  still  legible  in  memory's  page, 
And  still  to  be  so  to  my  latest  age, 
Adds  joy  to  duty,  makes  me  glad  to  pay 
Such  honours  to  thee  as  my  numbers  may ; 
Perhaps  a  frail  memorial,  but  sincere, 
Not  scorned  in  heaven,  though  little  noticed  here. 

Could    Time,    his    flight    reversed,    restore    the 

hours, 
\Vh  MI  playing  with  thy  vesture's  tissued  flowers. 


MY    MOTHRR'S    P  I  (    I  f  R  R  1C 

The  violet,  ihe  pink,  and  jessamine, 

krd  them  into  paper  with  a  pin  — 
(And  thou  wasi  happier  than  myself  the  while. 
Wouldst  softly  speak,  and  stroke  my  head  and  smile. . 
Could  (hose  few  pleasant  days  again  appear. 
Might  one  wish  bring  them,  would  I  wish  them  here* 
I  would  not  trust  my  heart—  the  dear  delight 
Seems  so  to  be  desired,  perhaps  I  might.— 
But  no— what  here  we  call  our  life  is  such, 
So  little  to  be  loved,  and  thou  so  much. 
That  I  should  ill  requite  ihee  to  constrain 
Thy  unbound  spirit  into  bonds  again. 

Thou,  as  a  gallant  bark  from  Albion's  coast 
(The  storms  all  weathered  and  the  ocean  oossed.) 
Shoots  into  pott  at  some  well-havened  i •.!•-. 
Where  spices  breathe,  and  brighter  seasons  smile, 
There  sits  quiescent  on  the  floods  that  show 
Her  beauteous  form  reflected  clear  below. 
While  airt  impregnated  with  incense  play 
Around  her,  fanning  light  her  streamers  gay ; 
So  thou.  wUh  sails  how  swift !  hast  reached  the  s'.ore, 
•  Where  tempests  never  beat  nor  billows  roar,'* 
And  thy  loved  consort  on  the  dangerous  tide 
Of  life,  long  since  has  anchored  by  thy  side. 
Hut  me.  scarce  hoping  to  attain  that  rest. 
Always  from  port  withheld,  always  distressed.  - 
Me  howling  winds  drive  devious,  tempest-tossed. 
Sails  ript,  scams  opening  wide,  and  compass  lost 
And  day  by  (lay  some  current's  thwarting  force- 
Sets  me  more  distant  from  a  prosperous  course. 
Yet,  oh  the  thought  that  thou  an  safe,  and  he ! 
That  thought  is  joy.  arrive  what  mav  to  me. 
My  boast  is  not  that  I  deduce  my  bitth 
From  loins  enthroned,  and  rulers  of  the  earth ; 

•  From  Garth's  Dtt/fntary. 


110  FRIENDSHIP 

But  higher  far  my  proud  pretensions  rise— 
The  son  of  parents  passed  into  the  skies  ! 

And  now,  farewell !    Time  unrevoked  has  run 
H-is  wonted  course,  yet  what  I  wished  is  done. 
By  contemplation's  help,  not  sought  in  vain, 
I  seem  to  have  lived  my  childhood  o'er  again ; 
To  have  renewed  the  joys  that  once  were  mine ; 
Without  the  sin  of  violating  thine ; 
And,  while  the  wings  of  Fancy  still  are  free, 
And  I  can  view  this  mimic  show  of  thee, 
Time  has  but  half  succeeded  in  his  theft — 
Thyself  removed,  thy  power  to  soothe  me  left. 


AUTUMNAL     BEAUTY 

No  spring,  nor  summer's  beauty,  hath  such  grace 

As  I  have  seen  in  one  autumnal  face. 
If  'twere  a  shame  to  love,  here  'twere  no  shajne, 

Affections  here  take  Reverence's  name. 
Were  her  first  years  the  golden  age  ;  that 's  true, 

But  now  she's  gold  oft  tried,  yet  ever  new. 
That  was  her  torrid  and  inflaming  time ; 

This  is  her  habitable  tropic  clime. 
Fair  eyes  !  who  asks  more  heat  than  comes  from  hence 

He  in  a  fever  wishes  pestilence. 
Call  not  these  wrinkles  graves  ;  if  graves  they  were, 

They  were  Love's  graves,  or  else  he  is  nowhere. 
Yet  lies  not  Love  dead  here,  but  here  doth  sit, 

Vow'd  to  this  trench,  like  an  anachorit 
Here  dwells  he ;  though  he  sojourn  everywhere 

In  progress,  yet  his  standing  house  is  here  ; 
Here  where  still  evening  is,  not  noon,  nor  night, 

Where  no  voluptuousness,  yet  all  delight. 


AUTUMK  ALBKAUTT  I 

If  we  love  things  long  sought,  age  is  a  thing 
Which  we  are  fifty  years  in  compassing  ; 

If  transitory  things  which  soon  decay, 
Age  must  be  loveliest  at  the  latest  day. 

DONNE 


AN    ODF. 

UPON    A    QUESTION    MOVED    WHKTIIER    LOVf 
SHOULD   CONTINUE    FOR    EVER 

O  NO,  Bclov'd,  I  am  most  sure 
These  virtuous  habits  we  acquire 
As  being  with  the  soul  entire 

MUM  with  it  evermore  endure. 

Else  should  our  souls  in  vain  elect : 
And  vainer  yet  were  Heaven's  laws. 
When  to  an  everlasting  cause 

They  give  a  perishing  effect. 

These  eyes  again  thine  eyes  shall  sec. 
These  hands  again  thine  hand  rnfolJ, 
And  all  chaste  blessings  can  be  told 

Shall  with  us  everlasting  be. 

For  if  no  use  of  sense  remain 
When  bodies  once  this  life  forsake, 
Or  they  could  no  delight  partake. 

Why  should  they  ever  rise  again  ? 

And  if  every  imperfect  mind 
Make  love  the  end  of  knowledge  here 
How  perfect  will  our  love  be  where 

All  imperfection  is  refined  ! 


HOME    AFFECTIONS 

So  when  from  hence  we  shall  be  gone, 

And  be  no  more  nor  you  nor  I ; 

As  one  another's  mystery 
Each  shall  be  both,  yet  both  but  one. 

HERBERT  OF  CHERBURY 


Music,  when  soft  voices  die, 
Vibrates  in  the  memory — 
Odours,  when  sweet  violets  sicken, 
Live  within  the  sense  they  qu;cken. 

Rose  leaves,  when  the  rose  is  dead, 
Are  heaped  for  the  beloved's  bed  ; 
And  so  thy  thoughts,  when  thou  art  gone, 
Lo  -  e  itself  shall  slumber  on, 

SHELLEY 


MAN 


titan,  PI-OU  i  man, 

Most  ignoiant  of -what  ke  's  most  assured. 
His  glassy  essence. 


Su^e  he  that  made  us  ^vith  such  large  discoun 
Looking  before  and  after,  gave  us  not 
That  capability  and  god-like  reason 
'to jits t  in  »J  unused! 

Shakesf>ea.i 


CHILDHOOD     AND    AGK 

OUR  birth  is  but  ft  sleep  and  a  forgetting  : 
The  Soul  that  rises  with  u»  ttr  life's  Star. 

Hath  had  eivear.jerf  its  v  ting, 
And  cometh  from  afar ; 

Not  in  entire  forgrt  fulness. 

And  not  in  utter  nakedness, 
Rut  trailing  clouds  of  glory  do  we  come 

From  God,  who  is  our  home  ; 
Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infancy  ! 
Shade*  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close 

Upon  the  growing  Hoy. 
But  he  beholds  the  light,  and  whence  it  Hows. 

I  le  sees  it  in  his  joy  ; 

The  Youth,  who  daily  farther  from  the  east 
Must  travel,  still  is  Nature's  priest. 

And  by  the  vision  splendid 

Is  on  his  way  attended  ; 
At  length  the  Man  perceives  it  die  away. 
And  fade  into  the  light  of  common  day. 

Ik-hold  the  Child  among  his  new-born  blisses. 
A  six  years'  Darling  of  a  pigmy  site ! 
See,  wh'-rc  'mid  work  of  his  own  hand  he  lies. 
Fretted  by  sallies  of  his  mother's  kisses. 
With  light  upon  him  fronr.  his  father's  cy  *s  I 
See,  at  his  feet,  some  little  plan  or  chart, 
Some  fragment  from  his  dream  of  hum.u.  «iie. 
Shaped  by  himself  with  new.y-le.umxl  art , 


Il6  MAN 

A  wedding  or  a  festival, 

A  mourning  or  a  funeral ; 

And  this  hath  now  his  heart, 

And  unto  this  he  frames  his  song  : 

Then  will  he  fit  his  tongue 
To  dialogues  of  business,  love,  or  strife  ; 

But  it  will  not  be  long 

Ere  this  be  thrown  aside, 

And  with  new  joy  and  pride 
The  little  actor  cons  another  part ; 
Filling  from  time  to  time  his  '  humorous  stage' 
With  all  the  Persons,  down  to  palsied  Age, 
That  Life  brings  with  her  in  her  equipage  ; 

As  if  his  whole  vocation 

Were  endless  imitation. 


Thou,  whose  exterior  semblance  dost  belie 

Thy  soul's  immensity ; 
Thou  best  philosopher,  who  yet  dost  keep 
Thy  heritage,  thou  Eye  among  the  blind, 
That,  deaf  and  silent,  read'st  th'  eternal  deep 
Haunted  for  ever  by  the  eternal  mind, — 

Mighty  Prophet !  Seer  blest ! 

On  whom  those  truths  do  rest, 
Which  we  are  toiling  all  our  lives  to  find, 
In  darkness  lost,  the  darkness  of  the  grave ; 
Thou,  over  whom  thy  immortality 
Broods  like  the  Day,  a  Master  o'er  a  Slave, 
A  Presence  which  is  not  to  be  put  by ; 
Thou  little  Child,  yet  glorious  in  the  might 
Of  heaven-born  freedom,  on  thy  being's  height, 
Why  with  such  earnest  pains  dost  thou  provoke 
The  years  to  bring  the  inevitable  yoke, 
Thus  blindly  with  thy  blessedness  at  strife? 


CHILDHOOD    AND    AGC  117 

full  soon  thy  Soul  shall  have  her  earthly  freight, 
And  custom  lie  upon  thee  with  a  weight. 
Heavy  as  frost,  and  deep  almost  as  life ! 


O  joy !  that  in  our  embers 
Is  something  that  doth  live. 
That  Nature  yet  remembers 
What  was  so  fugitive  ! 

The  thought  of  our  past  years  in  me  doth  brred 
Perpetual  benediction  ;  not  indeed 
For  that  which  is  most  worthy  to  be  blest 
Delight  and  liberty,  the  simple  creed 
Of  Childhood,  whether  busy  or  at  rest, 
With  new-fledged  hope  still  fluttering  in  his  b»-  at    - 
Not  for  these  I  raise 
The  song  of  thanks  and  praise : 
But  for  those  obstinate  questioning* 
Of  sense  and  outward  things. 
Fallings  from  us,  vanishing*  ; 
Blank  misgivings  of  a  Creature 
Moving  about  in  worlds  not  realised. 
High  instincts,  before  which  our  mortal  Nature 
Did  tremble  like  a  guilty  Thing  surprised : 
But  for  those  first  affections, 
Those  shadowy  recollections. 
Which,  be  they  what  they  may, 
Are  yet  the  fountain-light  of  all  our  day, 
Are  yet  a  master-light  of  all  our  seeing  ; 

Uphold  us,  cherish,  and  have  po\,cr  to  make 
Our  noisy  years  seem  moments  in  the  being 
Of  the  eternal  Silence  ;  truths  that  wake, 

To  perish  never ; 
Which  neither  listlessness.  nor  mad  endeavour 

Nor  Man  nor  Boy, 
Nor  all  that  is  at  enmity  with  joy. 


n8  1,1  AN 

Can  utterly  abolish  or  destroy  ; 

Hence  in  a  season  of  calm  weather, 

Though  inland  far  we  be, 
Our  Souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  sea 
Which  brought  us  hither ; 

Can  in  a  moment  travel  thither, — 
And  jee  the  Children  sport  upon  the  shore, 
And  hear  the  mighty  waters  rolling  evermore. 

WORDSWORTH 


1  CANNOT  reach  it;  and  my  striving  eye 
Dazzles  at  it,  as  at  eternity. 
Were  now  that  chronicle  alive 
Those  white  designs  which  children  drive 
And  the  thoughts  of  each  harmless  hour, 
With  them  content  too,  in  my  power, 
Quickly  would  I  make  my  path  even 
And  by  mere  playing  go  to  heaven. 

Dear,  harmless  age  !  the  short,  swift  span 
Where  weeping  virtue  parts  with  man  ; 
Where  love  without  lust  dwells,  and  bends 
What  way  we  please  without  self-ends. 

An  age  of  mysteries  !  which  he 
Must  live  twice  that  would  God's  face  see  ; 
Which  angels  guard  and  with  it  play  ; 
Angels  which  foul  men  drive  away. 

How  do  I  study  now,  and  scan 
Thee  more  than  e'er  I  study  man, 
And  only  see  through  a  long  night 
Thy  edges  and  thy  bordering  light  I 
O  for  thy  centre  and  mid-day  ! 
For  sure  that  is  the  narrow  way. 

VAUGHAN 


FAST    AND    PRESENT  119 


I  REMEMBER,  I  remember 
The  bouse  where  I  was  born, 
The  little  window  where  the  sun 
Came  peeping  in  at  morn ; 
He  never  came  a  wink  too  soon. 
Nor  brought  too  long  a  day , 
But  now,  I  often  wish  the  night 
Had  borne  my  breath  away 

I  remember,  I  remember 
The  roses,  red  and  white. 
The  violets,  and  the  lily-cups— 
Those  flowers  made  of  light ! 
The  lilacs  where  the  robin  built, 
And  where  my  brother  set 
The  laburnum  on  his  birth -day. — 
The  tree  is  living  yet  I 

I  remember,  I  remember 

Where  I  was  used  to  swing, 

And  thought  the  air  must  rush  as  frrsh 

To  swallows  on  the  wing  ; 

My  spirit  flew  in  feathers  then 

That  is  so  heavy  now, 

And  summer  pools  could  hardly  cool 

'1  be  fever  on  my  brow. 

I  remember,  I  remember 

The  fir  trees  dark  and  high  ; 

I  used  to  think  their  slender  tops 

Were  close  against  the  sky : 

h  was  a  childish  ignorance, 

But  now  'tis  little  joy 

To  know  I  'm  farther  off  from  Heaven 

Than  when  I  was  a  boy. 


I2O  MAN 

ODE   ON   A    DISTANT   PROSPECT   OF   ETON 
COLLEGE 

YE  distant  spires,  ye  antique  towers 

That  crown  the  wat'ry  glade, 
Where  grateful  Science  still  adores 

Her  Henry's  holy  shade  ; 
And  ye,  that  from  the  stately  brow 
Of  Windsor's  heights  th*  expanse  below 

Of  grove,  of  lawn,  of  mead  survey, 
Whose  turf,  whose  shade,  whose  flowers  among 
Wanders  the  hoary  Thames  along 

His  silver-winding  way : 

Ah  happy  hills  !  ah  pleasing  shade  ! 

Ah  fields  beloved  in  vain  ! 
Where  once  my  careless  childhood  strayed, 

A  stranger  yet  to  pain  ! 
I  feel  the  gales  that  from  ye  blow 
A  momentary  bliss  bestow, 

As  waving  fresh  their  gladsome  wing 
My  weary  soul  they  seem  to  soothe, 
And,  redolent  of  joy  and  youth, 

To  breathe  a  second  spring. 

Say,  Father  Thames,  for  thou  hast  seen 

Full  many  a  sprightly  race 
Disporting  on  thy  margent  green 

The  paths  of  pleasure  trace  ; 
Who  foremost  now  delight  to  cleave 
With  pliant  arm  thy  glassy  wave? 

The  captive  linnet  which  enthrall  ? 


ON    A    DISTANT    PROSPECT    OP    ETON     191 

What  idle  progeny  succeed 
To  chase  the  rolling  circle's  speed 
Or  urge  the  flying  ball  ? 

While  some  on  earnest  business  bent 

Their  murnVring  labours  ply 
'Gainst  graver  hours,  that  bring  constraint 

To  sweeten  liberty : 
Some  bold  adventurers  disdain 
The  limits  of  their  little  reign 

And  unknown  regions  dare  descry : 
Still  as  they  run  they  look  behind, 
They  hear  a  voice  in  every  wind 

And  snatch  a  fearful  joy. 

Gay  hope  is  theirs  by  fancy  fed, 

Less  pleasing  when  possest ; 
The  tear  forgot  as  soon  as  shed. 

The  sunshine  of  the  breast : 
Theirs  buxom  health,  of  rosy  hue, 
Wild  wit.  invention  ever  new. 

And  lively  cheer,  of  vigour  bom  ; 
The  thoughtleas  day,  the  easy  night. 
The  spirits  pure,  the  slumbers  light 

That  fly  th*  approach  of  morn. 

Alas  1  regardless  of  their  doom 

The  little  victims  play ! 
No  sense  have  they  of  ills  to  come, 

Nor  care  beyond  to-day : 
Yet  see  how  all  around  'em  wait 
The  Ministers  of  human  fate 

And  black  Misfortune's  baleful  train  ! 
Ah,  shew  them  where  in  ambush  stand, 
To  seize  their  prey,  the  murth'rous  band  I 

Ah,  tell  them  they  are  men 


MAN 

These  shall  the  fury  Passions  tear, 

The  vultures  of  the  mind, 
Disdainful  Anger,  pallid  Fear, 

And  Shame  that  skulks  behind ; 
Or  pining  Love  shall  waste  their  youth . 
Or  Jealousy  with  rankling  tooth 

That  inly  gnaws  the  secret  heart, 
And  Envy  wan,  and  faded  Care, 
Grim-visaged  comfortless  Despair, 

And  Sorrow's  piercing  dart. 

Ambition  this  shall  tempt  to  rise, 

Then  whirl  the  wretch  from  high 
To  bitter  Scorn  a  sacrifice 

And  grinning  Infamy. 
The  stings  of  Falsehood  those  shall  try, 
And  hard  Unkindness'  altered  eye, 

That  mocks  the  tear  it  forced  to  flow  ; 
And  keen  Remorse  with  blood  defiled, 
And  moody  Madness  laughing  wild 

Amid  severest  woe. 

Lo,  in  the  vale  of  years  beneath 

A  griesly  troop  are  seen, 
The  painful  family  of  Death, 

More  hideous  than  their  Queen : 
This  racks  the  joints,  this  fires  the  veins. 
That  every  labouring  sinew  strains, 

Those  in  the  deeper  vitals  rage  : 
Lo,  Poverty,  to  fill  the  band, 
That  numbs  the  soul  with  icy  hand, 

And  slow-consuming  Age. 

To  each  his  sufF rings :  all  are  men, 
Condemned  alike  to  groan ; 


fOUTH    AND    AGE  193 

The  tender  for  another's  pain. 

Th*  unfeeling  for  hi*  own. 
Yet,  ah  I  why  should  they  know  their  tale, 
Since  sorrow  never  comes  too  late. 

And  happiness  too  swiftly  flics  ? 
Thought  would  destroy  their  paradise ! 
No  more  ;  where  ignorance  is  bliss, 

Tis  folly  to  be  wise. 

GRAY 


VF.KSK,  a  breeze  'mid  blossoms  straying, 
Where  Hope  clung  feeding,  like  a  bee  - 
Moth  were  mine  I  Life  went  a-mnying 

With  Nature,  Hope,  and  Poesy. 

When  I  was  young  ! 
When  \  was  young?— Ah.  woful  When  ! 
Ah !  for  the  change  'twixt  Now  and  Then  ' 
This  breathing  house  not  built  with  hands. 
This  body  that  does  me  grievous  wrong, 
O'er  aery  cliffs  and  glittering  sands 
How  lightly  then  it  flashed  along : 
Like  those  trim  skiffs,  unknown  of  yore. 
On  winding  lakes  and  rivers  wide. 
That  ask  no  aid  of  sail  or  oar. 
That  fear  no  spite  of  wind  or  tide  ! 
Nought  cared  this  body  for  wind  or  weather 
When  Youth  and  I  lived  in 't  together. 

Flowers  are  lovely  ;  Love  i*  flower-like, 
Friendship  is  a  sheltering  tree ; 
0 1  the  joys,  that  came  down  shower-like. 
Of  Friendship.  Love,  and  Liberty, 

Ere  I  was  old  I 


124  MAN 

Ere  I  was  old  ?  Ah,  woful  Ere, 

Which  tells  me,  Youth  's  no  longer  here  ! 

0  Youth  !  for  years  so  many  and  sweet 
'Tis  known  that  Thou  and  I  were  one, 

1  '11  think  it  but  a  fond  conceit — 
It  cannot  be,  that  Thou  art  gone  ! 
Thy  vesper-bell  hath  not  yet  toll'd : — 
And  thou  wert  aye  a  masker  bold  ! 
\Vhat  strange  disguise  hast  now  put  on 
To  make  believe  that  thou  art  gone  ? 

I  see  these  locks  in  silvery  slips, 
This  drooping  gait,  this  altered  size : 
But  Springtide  blossoms  on  thy  lips, 
And  tears  take  sunshine  from  thine  eyes  I 
Life  is  but  Thought ;  so  think  I  will 
That  Youth  and  I  are  housemates  still. 

Dew-drops  are  the  gems  of  morning, 
But  the  tears  of  mournful  eve  ! 
Where  no  hope  is,  life 's  a  warning 
That  only  serves  to  make  us  grieve 

When  we  are  old  : 

— That  only  serves  to  make  us  grieve 
With  oft  and  tedious  taking-leave, 
Like  some  poor  nigh-related  guest 
That  may  not  rudely  be  dismist, 
Yet  hath  outstayed  his  welcome  while, 
And  tells  the  jest  without  the  smile. 

COLERIDGE 


IN    LOVE 

THOU  joy'st,  fond  boy,  to  be  by  many  loved, 
To  have  thy  beauty  of  most  dames  approved  ; 


IN    LOVB  125 

For  this  dost  ihou  thy  native  worth  disguise 
And  play'st  the  sycophant  t'  observe  their  eyes ; 
Thy  glass  thou  counsell'st  more  to  adorn  thy  skin, 
That  first  should  school  thee  to  be  fair  within. 

Tis  childish  to  be  caught  with  pearl  or  amber, 
And  woman-like  too  much  to  cloy  the  chamber  ; 
Youths  should  the  fields  affect,  heat  their  rough  steeds. 
Their  hardened  nerves  to  fit  for  bitter  deeds. 
Is 't  not  more  joy  strongholds  to  force  with  swords 
Than  women's  weakness  take  with  looks  or  words  ? 

Men  that  do  noble  things  all  purchase  glory  : 
One  man  for  one  brave  act  hath  proved  a  stor  y  : 
But  if  that  one  ten  thousand  dames  o'ercame. 
Who  would  record  it,  if  not  to  his  shame  ? 
Tis  far  more  conquest  with  one  to  live  true 
Than  every  hour  to  triumph  lord  of  new. 

CAMPION 


SlLLY  boy,  'tis  full  moon  yet.  thy  night  as  day  shines 

clearly, 
Had  thy  youth  but  wit  to  fear,  thou  couldst  not  love  so 

dearly; 
Shortly   wilt   thou   mourn  when  all  thy  pleasures  are 

bereaved; 
Little  knows  he  how  to  love,  that  never  was  deceived. 

This  is    thy  first    maiden    flame,    that    triumphs    yet 

unstained, 
All  is  artless  now   you  speak,   not   one  wotd  yet  is 

feigned ; 


126  MAN 

All  is  heaven  that  you  behold,  and  all  your  thoughts  are 

blessed, 
But  no  spring  can  want  his  fall,  each  Troilus  hath  his 

Cressid. 

Thy  well-ordered    locks   ere    long  shall    rudely   hang 

neglected ; 
And    thy  lively  pleasant    cheer    read    grief   on  earth 

dejected — 
Much  then  wilt  thou  blame  thy  Saint,  that  made  thy 

heart  so  holy, 
And  with  sighs  confess,  in  love  that  too  much  faith  is 

folly. 

Yet    be  just  and  constant  still !    Love   may  beget  a 

wonder, 

Not  unlike  a  summer's  frost,  or  winter's  fatal  thunder. 
He  that  holds  his  sweetheart  true  unto  his  day  of  dying, 
Lives,   of   all    that   ever    breathed,   most    worthy  the 

envying. 

CAMPION 


THE  sea  hath  many  thousand  sinds 
The  sun  hath  motes  as  many, 

The  sky  is  full  of  stars,  and  love 
As  full  of  woes  as  any  : 

Believe  me,  that  do  know  the  elf, 

And  make  no  trial  by  thyself. 

It  is  in  truth  a  pretty  toy 
For  babes  to  play  withal : 

But  O  the  honies  of  our  youtn 
Are  oft  our  age's  gall  I 


TWO    IDEALS  127 

Self-proof  in  time  will  make  thee  know 
He  was  a  prophet  told  thee  so : 

A  prophet  that,  Cassandra-like, 

Tells  truth  without  belief ; 
For  headstrong  youth  will  run  his  race, 

Although  his  goal  be  brief: 
Love's  martyr,  when  his  heat  is  past, 
Proves  Care's  confessor  at  the  ln>t. 


TWO     IDEALS 

LOOK  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming. 
Sit  thou  still  when  king*  are  arming. 
Taste  not  when  the  wine-cup  glistens. 
Speak  not  when  the  people  listens. 
Stop  thine  ear  against  the  singer. 
From  the  red  gold  keep  thy  finder. 
Vacant  heart,  and  hand,  and  eye, 
Easy  live  and  quiet  die 


SOUND,  sound  the  clarion,  fill  the  fife ! 

To  all  the  sensual  world  proclaim, 
One  crowded  hour  of  glorious  life 

is  worth  an  age  without  a  name. 

SCOTT 

I.'.M  LEGRO 

HENCE,  loathed  Melanchoh, 

Of  Cerberus  and  blackest  Midnight  bom 
In  Stygian  cave  forlorn, 

'Mongst  horrid  shapes,  and  shrieks,  and  sights  unholy ! 


128  MAN 

Find  out  some  uncouth  cell 
Where  brooding  Darkness  spreads  his  jealous 

wings 
And  the  night-raven  sings ; 

There  under  ebon  shades,   and  low-browed 

rocks 

As  ragged  as  thy  locks, 
In  dark  Cimmerian  desert  ever  dwell. 

But  come,  thou  Goddess  fair  and  free, 
In  heaven  yclep'd  Euphrosyne, 
And  by  men  heart-easing  Mirth, 
Whom  lovely  Venus  at  a  birth 
With  two  sister  Graces  more 
To  ivy-crowned  Bacchus  bore  : 
Or  whether  (as  some  sager  sing) 
The  frolic  wind  that  breathes  the  spring 
Zephyr,  with  Aurora  playing, 
As  he  met  her  once  a-Maying — 
There  on  beds  of  violets  blue 
And  fresh-blown  roses  washed  in  dew 
Filled  her  with  thee  a  daughter  fair, 
So  buxom,  blithe,  and  debonair. 

Haste  thee,  Nymph,  and  bring  with  thee 
Jest,  and  youthful  jollity, 
Quips,  and  cranks,  and  wanton  wiles, 
Nods,  and  becks,  and  wreathed  smiles, 
Such  as  hang  on  Hebe's  cheek, 
And  love  to  live  in  dimple  sleek  ; 
Sport  that  wrinkled  Care  derides, 
And  Laughter  holding  both  his  sides  ; — 
Come,  and  trip  it  as  ye  go 
On  the  light  fantastic  toe  ; 
And  in  thy  right  hand  lead  with  thee 
The  mountain  nymph,  sweet  Liberty  ; 
And  if  I  give  thee  honour  due, 
Mirth,  admit  me  of  thy  crew, 


L'ALI.EGKO  iay 

To  live  with  her.  and  live  with  tbce 
In  unrrproved  pleasures  free; 
To  hear  the  lark  begin  his  flight 
And  singing  startle  thr  dull  night 
From  his  watch-tower  in  ilw  skirt. 
Till  the  dappled  dawn  doth  ri-e ; 
Then  to  come,  in  spite  of  sorrow, 
And  ai  mv  window  bid  good -morrow 
Through  the  sweetbriar,  or  the  vine. 
Or  the  twisted  eglantine  : 
While  the  cock  with  lively  din 
Scatters  thr  rear  of  darkness  thin. 
And  to  the  slack,  or  the  bant-door. 
Stoutly  struts  hi*  dames  before  : 
Oft  listening  how  the  hounds  and  born 
Cheerly  rouse  the  slumbering  morn, 
From  the  side  of  some  boar  hill. 
Through  the  high  wood  echoing  shrill. 
Sometime  walking,  not  unseen, 
By  hedgr-row  elms,  on  hillocks  green 
Right  against  the  eastern  gate 
Where  the  great  Sun  begins  his  stau* 
Robed  in  flames  and  amber  light, 
The  clouds  in  thousand  liveries  «lu.:.i ; 
While  the  ploughman,  near  at  hand, 
Whistles  o'er  the  furrowed  land, 
And  thr  milkmaid  singeth  blithe. 
And  the  mower  whets  his  scythe. 
And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale 
Under  the  hawthorn  in  the  dale. 

Straight  mine  eye  hath  caught  new  pleasures 
Whilst  the  landscape  round  it  measures, 
Rus«et  lawns,  and  fallows  gray, 
Where  the  nibbling  flocks  do  stray  ; 
Mountains  on  whose  barren  breast 
The  lalouring  clouds  do  often  rest ; 


MAN 

Meadows  trim  and  daisies  pied  ; 
Shallow  brooks,  and  rivers  wide  • 
Towers  and  battlements  it  sees 
Bosomed  high  in  tufted  trees, 
Where  perhaps  some  beauty  lies. 
The  cynosure  oc  neighb'ring  eyes. 
Hard  by,  a  cottage-chimney  smokes, 
From  betwixt  two  aged  oaks, 
Where  Corydon  and  Thyrsis  met 
Are  at  their  sav'ry  dinner  set 
Of  herbs,  and  other  country  messes, 
Which  the  neat-handed  Phyllis  dresses  : 
And  then  in  haste  her  bower  she  leaves, 
With  Thestylis  to  bind  the  sheaves  ; 
Or,  if  the  earlier  season  lead, 
To  the  tanned  haycock  in  the  mead. 

Sometimes  with  secure  delight 
The  upland  hamlets  will  invite, 
When  the  merry  bells  ring  round, 
And  the  jocund  rebecks  sound 
To  many  a  youth,  and  many  a  maid, 
Dancing  in  the  chequered  shade  ; 
And  young  and  old  come  forth  to  play 
On  a  sunshine  holiday, 
Till  the  livelong  daylight  fail ; 
Then  to  the  spicy  nut-brown  ale, 
With  stories  told  of  many  a  feat, 
How  fairy  Mab  the  junkets  ate ; 
She  was  pinched  and  pulled,  she  said, 
And  he  by  friar's  lantern  led  ; 
Tells  how  the  drudging  goblin  sweat 
To  earn  his  cream-bowl  duly  set, 
When  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  oi  morn, 
His  shadowy  flail  hath  threshed  the  corn 
That  ten  day-labourers  could  not  end  ; 
Then  lies  him  down  the  lubber  fiend, 


L'ALLRGRO 

And,  stretched  out  all  the  chimney's  length 
Basks  at  the  fire  I  is  hairy  strength  ; 
And  crop-full  out  of  doors  he  flings, 
Ere  the  first  cock  his  matin  rings. 

Thus  done  the  tales,  to  brd  they  era  p. 
By  whispering  winds  soon  lulled  asleep. 

Towered  cities  please  us  then 
And  the  busy  hum  of  men, 
Where  throngs  of  knights  and  barons  tx>ld, 
In  weeds  of  peace  high  triumphs  hold. 
With  store  of  ladies,  whose  bright  eyrs 
Rain  influence,  and  judge  the  priw 
Of  wit  or  arm*,  while  both  contend 
To  win  her  grace,  whom  ail  command. 
There  let  Hymen  oft  appear 
In  saffron  robe,  with  ta|>cr  clear, 
And  pomp,  and  feast,  and  revelry, 
With  mask,  and  antique  pageantry  ; 
Such  sights  as  youthful  poets  dre.un 
On  summer  eves  t>y  haunted  stream. 
Then  to  the  well-trod  stage  anon. 
If  Jonson's  learned  sock  be  on, 
Or  sweetest  Shakespeare,  Fancy's  child, 
Warble  his  native  wood-notes  wild. 

And  ever  against  eating  car** 
Lap  me  in  soft  Lydi.in  airs 
Married  to  immortal  verse, 
Such  as  the  meeting  soul  may  pierce 
In  notes  with  many  a  winding  bout 
Of  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out, 
With  wanton  heed  and  giddy  cunning. 
The  melting  voice  through  mazes  running. 
Untwisting  all  the  chains  that  tie 
The  hidden  soul  of  harmony ; 
That  Orpheus'  self  may  heave  his  head 
From  golden  slumber  on  a  bed 


T32 


Of  licaped  Elysian  flowers,  and  hear 
Such  strains  as  would  have  won  the  ear 
Of  Pluto,  to  have  quite  set  free 
His  half-regained  Eurydice. 

These  delights  if  thou  canst  give, 
Mirth,  with  thee  I  mean  to  live. 

MILTON 


IL    PENSEROSO 

HENCE,  vain  deluding  joys, 

The  brood  of  Folly,  without  father  bred  1 

How  little  you  bestead, 

Or  fill  the  fixed  mind  with  all  your  toys  ! 
Dwell  in  some  idle  brain, 
And  fancies  fond  with  gaudy  shapes  possess, 
As  thick  and  numberless 

As  the  gay  motes  that  people  the  sunbeams 
Or  likest  hovering  dreams, 

The  fickle  pensioners  of  Morpheus'  train. 
But  hail,  thou  Goddess,  sage  and  holy  ! 
Hail,  divinest  Melancholy! 
Whose  saintly  visage  is  too  bright 
To  hit  the  sense  of  human  sight, 
And  therefore  to  our  weaker  view 
O'erlaid  with  black,  staid  Wisdom's  hue : 
Black,  but  such  as  in  esteem 
Prince  Memnon's  sister  might  beseem, 
Or  that  starred  Ethiop  queen,  that  strove 
To  set  her  beauty's  praise  above 


IL    PKNSEROSO  133 

The  sea-nymphs,   and   ihcir   pO*er* 


Yet  ibou  art  higher  far  descended ; 
Thee  bright-haired  Vestn  long  of  yore 
To  solitary  Saturn  bore ; 
His  daughter  she  (in  Saturn'*  reign 
Sue  1 1  mixture  was  not  held  a  slain  1 
Oft  in  glimmering  bowers  and  gteues 
1 1-,  met  her.  and  in  secret  shades 
Of  woody  Ida's  inmost  grove. 
While  yet  there  was  no  fear  of  JOVP. 

Come,  pensive  nun,  devout  and  pure. 
Sober,  steadfast,  and  demure, 
All  in  a  robe  of  darkest  grain  ' 
Rowing  with  majestic  train, 
And  sable  stole  of  cypress  lawn. 
Over  thy  decent  shoulders  drawn. 
Come,  but  keep  thy  wonted  state. 
With  even  step  and  musing  gait. 
And  looks  commercing  with  the  skies, 
Thy  rapt  soul  sitting  in  thine  eyes ; 
There,  held  in  holy  passion  Mill. 
Forget  thyself  to  marble,  till 
With  a  sad  leaden  downward  cast* 
Thou  lix  them  on  the  earth  as  fast ; 
And  join  with   thee  calm    Peace.   anJ 

Quiet, 

Spare  Fast,  that  oft  with  Gods  doth  dirt. 
And  hears  the  Muses  in  a  ring 
Aye  round  about  Jove's  altar  sing ; 
And  add  to  these  retired  Leisure, 
That  in  trim  gardens  takes  his  pleasure  ; 
But  first  and  chiefest  with  tbee  bring 
Him  that  yon  soars  on  golden  wing. 

»  PurpU. 


134  MAN 


Guiding  the  fiery-wheeled  throne 
The  cherub  Contemplation  ; 
And  the  mute  Silence  hist  along 
'Less  Philomel  will  deign  a  song 
In  her  sweetest,  saddest  plight, 
Smoothing  the  rugged  brow  of  Night, 
While  Cynthia  checks  her  dragon  yoke, 
Gently  o'er  th'  accustomed  oak. 

Sweet  bird,  that  shunn'st  the  noise  of 

folly, 

Most  musical,  most  melancholy  ! 
Thee,  chantress,  oft  the  woods  among, 
1  woo  to  hear  thy  even  song  ; 
And  missing  thee,  I  walk  unseen 
On  the  dry  smooth-shaven  green, 
To  behold  the  wand' ring  Moon, 
Riding  near  her  highest  noon, 
Like  one  that  had  been  led  astray 
Through  the  Heav'ns'  wide  pathless  way 
And  oft,  as  if  her  head  she  bowed, 
Stooping  through  a  fleecy  cloud. 
Oft  on  a  plat  of  rising  ground 
I  hear  the  far-off  curfew  sound , 
Over  some  wide-watered  shore 
Swinging  slow  with  sullen  roar. 
Or  if  the  air  will  not  permit, 
Some  still,  removed  place  will  fit, 
Where  glowing  err.bers  through  the 

room 

Teach  light  to  counterfeit  a  gloom  ; 
Far  from  all  resort  of  mirth, 
Save  the  cricket  on  the  hearth, 
Or  the  bellman's  drowsy  charm 
To  bless  the  doors  from  nightly  harm. 

Or  let  my  lamp  at  midnight  hour 
Be  seen  in  some  high  lonely  tower, 


1L    PENSEROSO 


Where  I  may  oft  oui-waich  the  Bear 
With  thrice-great  Hrrmes,  or  unsphcr* 
The  spirit  of  Plato,  to  unfold 
What  worlds  or  what  vast  regions  hold 
The  immortal  mind,  that  hath  forsook 
Her  mansion  in  this  fleshly  nook  : 
And  of  those  «1  nu>n>  that  are  found 
In  fire,  air,  flood,  or  under  ground. 
Whose  power  haih  a  true  consent 
With  planet,  or  with  element 
Sometime  let  gorgeous  Tragedy 
In  scepteied  pall  come  sweeping  l>y. 
Presenting  Thebes,  or  PelopV  line. 
Or  the  tale  of  Troy  divine : 
Or  what  (though  rare)  of  later  age 
Ennobled  hath  the  buskined  stage. 

But,  O  sad  Virgin,  th.it  thy  power 
Might  raise  Musacm  from  his  bower, 
Or  bid  the  soul  of  Orpheus  sing 
Such  notes  as,  warbled  to  the  string. 
Drew  iron  tears  down  I'luto's  cheek. 
And   made    Hell  grant   what    l.ovc  did 

seek! 

Or  call  up  him  that  left  half-told 
The  story  of  Cambuscan  Iwld. 
Of  Camball,  and  of  Algarsife, 
And  who  had  Canace  to  wife. 
Thai  owned  the  virtuous  ring  and  gla^s  ; 
And  of  the  wondrous  horse  of  brass 
On  which  the  Tartar  king  did  ride  ; 
And  if  aught  else  great  bards  beside 
In  sage  and  solemn  tunes  have  sung. 
Of  tourneys  and  of  trophies  hung  ; 
Of  forests  and  enchantments  drear. 
Where   more  is  meant   than   me.  ts   the 

ear. 


136  MAN 

Thus,    Night,    oft  see   me   in   thy   pale 

career, 

Till  civil-suited  Morn  appear, 
Not  tricked   and   frounced   as  she   was 

wont 

With  the  Attic  boy  to  hunt, 
But  kerchiefed  in  a  comely  cloud, 
While  rocking  winds  are  piping  loud, 
Or  ushered  with  a  shower  still, 
When  the  gust  hath  blown  his  fill, 
Ending  on  the  rustling  leaves, 
With  minute  drops  from  off  the  eaves. 

And  when  the  sun  begins  to  fling 
His  flaring  beams,  me,  Goddess,  bring 
To  arched  walks  of  twilight  groves, 
And  shadows  brown,  that  Sylvan  loves, 
Of  pine,  or  monumental  oak, 
Where  the  rude  axe  with  heaved  stroke 
Was  never  heard,  the  Nymphs  to  daunt, 
Or  fright  them  from  their  hallowed  haunt. 
There  in  close  covert  by  some  brook, 
Where  no  profaner  eye  may  look, 
Hide  me  from  day's  garish  eye, 
While  the  bee  with  honeyed  thigh, 
That  at  her  flowery  work  doth  sing, 
And  the  waters  murmuring, 
WHh  such  concert  as  they  keep, 
Entice  the  dewy-feathered  Sleep  ; 
And  let  some  strange  mysterious  dream 
Wave  at  his  wings  in  aery  stream 
Of  lively  portraiture  displayed, 
Softly  on  my  eyelids  laid  : 
And,  as  I  wake,  sweet  music  breathe 
Above,  about,  or  underneath, 
Sent  by  some  Spirit  to  mortals  good. 
Or  th'  unseen  Genius  of  the  wood. 


IL    PKNSKROtO  137 

But  let  my  due  feet  never  fail 
To  walk  the  studious  cloister's  pale. 
And  love  the  high  embowed  roof. 
With  antique  pillars  massy  proof.  * 
And  storied  windows  richly  digbt 
Casting  a  dim  religious  light. 
There  let  the  pea < ing  organ  blow 
To  the  full-voiced  quire  below 
In  service  high,  and  anthems  clear. 
As  may  with  sweetness,  through  mine  cat . 
Dissolve  me  into  ecstasies, 
And  bring  all  Heaven  before  mine  eyes. 

And  may  at  last  my  weary  age 
Find  out  the  peaceful  hermitage.  . 
The  hairy  gown  and  mossy  ceil 
Where  I  may  sit  and  rightly  spell 
Of  every  star  that  Heaven  doth  shew. 
And  every  herb  that  sips  the  dew  ; 
Till  old  experience  do  attain 
To  something  like  prophetic  strain. 

These  pleasures,  Melancholy,  give. 
And  I  with  thee  will  choose  to  live. 

Mil. TON 


LOOK   HUME 

RKTIR&O  thoughts  enjoy  their  own  delights. 

As  beauty  doth  in  self-beholding  eye  ; 
Man's  mind  a  mirror  is  of  heavenly  Mghts, 

A  brief  wherein  all  marvels  summed  lie. 
Of  fairest  forms  and  sweetest  shapes  the  store, 
Most  graceful  all.  %  et  thought  may  grace  them  more. 


138  MAN 

The  mind  a  creature  is,  yet  can  create, 
To  Nature's  patterns  adding  higher  skill : 

Of  finest  works  wit  better  could l  the  state 
If  force  of  wit  had  equal  power  of  will : 

Device  of  man  in  working  hath  no  end ; 

What  thought  c  an  think  another  thought  can  mend. 

SOUTHWELL 


SELF-IGNORANCE 

WHEN  Reason's  lamp,  which  like  the  sun  in  sky. 

Throughout  man's  little  world  her  beams  did  spread, 
Is  now  t-ecome  a  sparkle,  which  doth  lie 

Under  the  ashes,  half  extinct  and  dead  : 

How  can  we  hope,  that  through  the  eye  and  ear 

This  dying  sparkle  in  this  cloudy  place 
Can  recollect  these  beams  of  knowledge  clear 

Which  were  infused  in  the  first  minds  by  grace  ? 

The  wits  that  dived  most  deep  and  soared  most  high, 
Seeking  Man's  powers,  have  found  his  weakness  such : 

'  Skill  comes  so  slow,  and  life  so  fast  doth  fly, 
We  learn  so  little  and  forget  so  much.' 

For  this  the  wisest  of  all  moral  men 

Said,  '  He  knew  naught,  but  that  he  naught  did  knoiu,' 
And  the  great  mocking-master  mocked  not  then 

When  he  said,  '  Truth  was  buried  deep  below.1 

For  why  should  we  the  busy  soul  believe, 
When  boldly  she  concludes  of  that  or  this ; 

When  of  herself  she  can  no  judgment  give, 

Nor  how,  nor  whence,  nor  where,  nor  what  she  is? 

1  i.e.  could  better. 


SELF-IGNORANCE  139 

All  things  without  which  round  about  we  see, 
We  seek  to  know,  and  how  therewith  to  do 

But  that  wherrby  we  reason,  live,  and  hr. 
Within  ourtelves.  we  strangers  are  thereto. 

We  seek  to  know  the  moving  of  each  sphere. 

And  the  strange  cause  of  lh'  ebbs  and  flows  of  Nile ; 
But  of  that  clock,  which  in  our  breasts  we  hear, 

The  subtle  motions  we  forget  the  while. 

We  that  acquaint  ourselves  with  every  zone 
And  pass  both  tropics,  and  behold  each  pole. 

When  we  come  home  are  to  ourselves  unknown. 
And  unacquainted  still  with  our  own  soul. 

DAVIES 


DESIRE    OF     KNOWLEDGE 

NATURE  that  framed  us  of  four  elements. 
Warring  within  our  breasts  for  regiment. 
Doth  teach  us  all  to  have  aspiring  minds : 
Our  souls  whose  faculties  can  comprehend 
The  wondrous  architecture  of  the  world, 
And  measure  every  wandering  planet's  course. 
Still  climbing  after  knowledge  infinite, 
And  always  moving  as  the  restless  spheres. 
Wills  us  to  wear  ourselves  and  never  rest 
Until  we  reach  the  ripest  fruit  of  all. 

MAKLOWE 


140  MAN 


THE    SOUL    COMPARED     TO     A     RIVER 

LIKE  as  the  moisture,  which  the  thirsty  earth 
Sucks  from  the  sea,  to  fill  her  empty  veins, 
From  out  her  womb  at  last  doth  take  a  birth, 
And  runs  a  nymph  along  the  grassy  plains  ; 
Long  doth  she  stay,  as  loth  to  leave  the  land 
From  whose  soft  side  she  first  did  issue  make, 
She  tastes  all  places,  turns  to  every  hand, 
Her  flowery  banks  unwilling  to  forsake  ; 
Yet  Nature  so  her  streams  doth  lead  and  carry, 
As  that  her  course  doth  make  no  final  stay, 
'Till  she  herself  unto  the  ocean  marry, 
Within  whose  wat'ry  bosom  first  she  lay : 
Even  so  the  soul,  which  in  this  earthly  mould 
The  spirit  of  God  doth  secretly  infuse, 
Because  at  first  she  doth  the  earth  behold, 
And  only  this  material  world  she  views, 
At  first  her  mother  earth  she  holdeth  dear, 
And  doth  embrace  the  world,  and  worldly  things, 
She  flies  close  by  the  ground,  and  hovers  here, 
And  mounts  not  up  with  her  celestial  wings  ; 
Yet  under  heaven  she  cannot  light  on  ought 
That  with  her  heavenly  nature  doth  agree, 
She  cannot  rest,  she  cannot  fix  her  thought, 
She  cannot  in  this  world  contented  be  ; 
For  who  did  ever  yet  in  honour,  wealth, 
Or  pleasure  of  the  sense,  contentment  find? 
Who  ever  ceased  to  wish,  when  he  had  health  ? 
Or,  having  wisdom,  was  not  vexed  in  mind? 

DAVIBS 


TRUE    KNOWLKDGE    AND    ITS    USB        14! 


TRUE     KNOWLEDGE    AND     ITS    USK 

IN  lapse  to  God  though  thus  the  World  remains. 
Yet  doth  she  wuh  divine  eyes  in  Chaos'd  light. 
Strive,  study,  search  through  all  her  finite  veins. 
To  be  and  know  (without  God)  infinite : 
To  which  end  cloisters,  cells,  schools,  she  r'ccts 
False  moulds,  that  while  thry  fashion  do  infect. 

Yet  here,  before  we  can  direct  niau  &  choice 

We  must  divide  God'*  children  frum  the  rest ; 
Since  these  pure  sou's  who  only  know  His  voice 
Have  no  art  but  OMttnct  for  their  test : 
A  mystery  lx>twern  God,  ami  the  man. 
Asking,  and  giving  far  more  thao  we  can. 

For  in  the  world,  not  of  it.  since  they  be 

Like  pnssrnprrs.  their  ends  must  tw  to  take 
Only  those  blessings  of  mortality 
Which  He  that  made  all  fashioned  for  their  sake : 
Not  fixing  love,  hope,  sorrow,  care,  or  fear. 
On  mortal  blovoms,  which  must  die  to  bear. 

For  Earth  and  Kar-hmess  it  i>  alone 

Which  envies.  *trivc>,  hates,  or  is  malcontent. 
Which  meteors  vanish  must  from  this  clear  zone. 
Where  each  thought  is  on  his  Creator  bent. 

And  where  both  Kings  and  People  should  aspire 
To  fix  all  other  motions  of  desire. 

Hence  have  they  latitudes  wherein  they  may 

Study  sea,  sky.  air,  earth,  as  they  enjoy  them  ; 
Contemplate  the  crcati  n.  state,  decay 
Of  mortal  things  in  thrm  that  misemploy  them. 
Preserve  the  body  to  obey  the  mind. 
Abhor  the  error  yet  love  human-kind. 


142 


The  chief  use  then  in  man  of  that  he  knows 

Is  his  pains-taking  for  the  good  of  all ; 
Not  fleshly  weeping  for  our  own  made  woes, 

Not  laughing  from  a  melancholy  gall, 
Not  hating  from  a  soul  that  overflows 
With  bitterness,  breathed  out  from  inward  thrall : 
But  sweetly  rather  to  ease,  loose,  or  bind, 
As  need  requires,  this  frail,  fall'n,  human-kind. 

BROOKE 


BALLADE    OF    GOOD    COUNSEL 

FLEE  from  the  press  and  dwell  with  soothfastness  ; 
Suffice  thine  owen  thing  though  it  be  small ; 
For  hoard  hath  hate,  and  climbing  tickleness  ; 
Press  hath  envy,  and  wealth  blinds  overall. 
Savour  no  more  than  thee  behove  shall ; 
Rule  well  thyself  that  other  folk  canst  rede, 
And  truth  thee  shall  deliver,  it  is  no  dread. 

Tempest  thee  not  all  crooked  to  redress 
In  trust  of  her  that  turneth  as  a  ball ; 
Much  weale  slant  in  little  business, 
Beware  therefore  to  spurn  agains  an  awl. 
Strive  not  as  doth  the  crokke  with  the  wall. 
Daunte  thyself  that  dauntest  others  deed, 
And  truth  thee  shall  deliver,  it  is  no  dread. 

That  thee  is  sent  receive  in  buxomness, 

The  wrestling  for  the  world  asketh  a  fall ; 

Here  is  no  home,  here  is  but  wilderness. 

Forth,  pilgrim,  forth  !  forth,  beast,  out  of  thy  stall ! 

Know  thy  country,  look  up,  thank  God  of  all ; 


BAI.1   ADB    OP    GOOD    COUNSEL  143 

Hold  the  high-way,  and  let  thy  ghost  thee  li  ad. 
And  truth  thee  shall  deliver,  it  is  no  dread. 

L'ENVOY 

Therefore,  thou  vache.  leave  thine  old  wretchedness  : 

Unto  the  world  leave  now  to  be  thrall. 

Cry  Him  mercy  that  of  his  high  goodness 

Made  ihee  of  naught ;  and  in  especial 

Draw  unto  Him,  and  pray  in  general 

For  thee,  and  eke  for  other,  heavi-nly  meed. 

And  truth  thee  shall  deliver,  it  is  no  dread. 

CHAUCKI 


TO  THEM  THAT  TRUST  IN  FORTUNK 

THOU  that  art  proud  of  honour,  shape,  or  kin, 
That  beapest  up  this  wretched  worhlc's  treasure, 
Thy  fingers  shrined  with  gold,  thy  t.iwny  skin 
With  fresh  apparel  garnished  out  of  measure. 
And  wenest  to  have  fortune  at  thy  pleasure, 
Cast  up  thine  eye.  and  look  how  slipper  chance 
Illud'th  her  men  with  change  and  variance. 

Sometimes  she  look'tli  as  lovrly  fair  and  bright 

As  goodly  Venus,  mother  of  Cupide. 

She  becketh  and  she  smil'th  on  every  wight. 

But  this  cheer  feigned  may  not  long  abide. 

There  com'th  a  cloud,  and  farewell  all  our  pritle. 

Like  any  serpent  he  beginn'th  to  swell, 

And  look'th  as  fierce  as  any  fury  of  hell 

Yet  for  all  that  we  brotle »  men  are  fain, 
(So  wretched  is  our  nature  and  so  blind) 
As  soon  as  fortune  list  to  laugh  again 

l  Brittle,  tkUe. 


144 


With  fair  countenance  and  deceitful  mind, 
To  crouch  and  kneel  and  gape  after  the  wind, 
Not  one  or  twain  but  thousands  in  a  rout, 
Like  swarming  bees  come  flickering  her  about, 

Then  as  a  bait  she  bringeth  forth  her  ware, 
Silver  [and]  gold,  rich  pearl,  and  precious  stone  ; 
On  which  the  mazed  people  gaze  and  stare 
And  gape  therefor,  as  dogs  do  for  the  bone. 
Fortune  at  them  laugheth,  and  in  her  throne 
Amid  her  treasure  and  wavering  richesse 
Proudly  she  hoveth  l  as  lady  and  empress. 

Fast  by  her  side  doth  weary  Labour  stand, 
Pale  Fear  also,  and  Sorrow  all  bewept, 
Disdain  and  Hatred  on  that  other  hand, 
Eke  Restless  Watch,  from  sleep  with  travail  kept, 
His  eyes  drowsy  and  looking  as  he  slept  ; 
Before  her  standeth  Danger  and  Envy, 
Flattery,  Deceit,  Mischief,  and  Tyranny. 

About  her  cometh  all  the  world  to  beg. 
He  asketh  land,  and  he  to  pass  would  bring 
This  toy  and  that,  and  all  not  worth  an  egg  ; 
He  would  in  love  prosper  above  all  thing  ; 
He  kneeleth  down  and  would  be  made  a  king  ; 
He  forceth  2  not  so  he  may  money  have 
Though  all  the  world  account  him  for  a  knave. 

Lo  thus  ye  see—  divers  heads,  divers  wits  ; 

Fortune  alone  as  divers  as  they  all 

Unstable  here  and  there  among  them  flits  ; 

And  at  aventure  down  her  giftes  fall, 

Catch  whoso  may  she  throweth  great  and  small 

Not  to  all  men,  as  cometh  sun  and  dew, 

But  for  the  most  part  all  among  a  few. 

1  hovereth  (like  a  bird  of  prey).  2  careth. 


TO    THF.M    THAT    TRUST    IN    FORTUNE        14$ 

And  yet  her  brotel  gifts  long  may  not  last. 

lie,  that  she  gave  them,  looketh  proud  and  high  ; 

She  whirl'th  about  and  pluck'th  away  as  fast 

And  giv'th  thrm  lo  another  by  and  by. 

And  thus  from  man  to  man  continually 

She  us'th  to  give  and  take,  and  slily  toss 

One  man  to  winning  of  another's  lots. 


Alas  the  foolish  people  can  not  cease 

Ne  void  her  train,  till  they  the  harm  do  feel. 

About  her  alwny  busily  they  press  ; 

But.  lord,  how  he  doth  think  himself  full  well 

That  may  set  once  his  hand  upon  her  wheel. 

He  holdeth  fast :  but  upward  as  he  flieth, 

She  whippet h  her  wheel  about,  and  there  he  lieth 

She  suddenly  cnhaunceth  them  aloft. 
And  suddenly  mischieveth  all  the  (lock. 
The  hea.l  that  late  lay  easily  and  lull  soft. 
Instead  of  pillows  liclh  on  the  block 
And  yet.  alas,  the  most  cruel  proud  mock. 
The  dainty  mouth  that  ladies  k»ss*tl  have, 
She  bringclh  in  the  case  to  kis-  a  knave. 

In  changing  of  her  course  the  change  shew'th  this : 
Up  start' th  a  knave  and  down  there  fall'th  a  knight. 
The  beggar  rich  and  the  rich  man  poor  is. 
Hatred  is  turned  to  love,  love  to  despight. 
This  is  her  sport,  thus  pro  vein  she  her  might ; 
Great  boast  she  mak'th  if  one  be  by  her  power 
Wealthy  and  wretched  both  within  an  hour. 

Wherefore  if  thou  in  surety  lust  to  stand. 
Take  poverty's  part  and  let  proud  fortune  go, 


i46 


Receive  nothing  that  cometh  from  her  hand  : 
Love  manner  and  virtue  :  they  be  only  tho  l 
Which  double  Fortune  may  not  take  thee  fro' : 
Then  may'st  thou  boldly  defy  her  turning  chance, 
She  can  thee  neither  hinder  nor  advance. 

THOMAS   MORE 


SOOTHSAY 

WHO  makes  the  last  a  pattern  for  next  year 
Turns  no  new  leaf,  but  still  the  same  thing  reads  ; 

Seen  things  he  sees  again,  heard  things  doth  hear, 
And  makes  his  life  but  like  a  pair  of  beads. 

Our  soul,  whose  country's  heaven,  and  God  her  father, 

Into  this  world,  corruption's  sink,  is  sent ; 
Yet  so  much  in  her  travel  she  doth  gather, 
That  she  returns  home  wiser  than  she  went. 

•it- 
Be  then  thine  own  home,  and  in  thyself  dwell ; 
Inn  any  where,  continuance  is  Hell ; 
And  seeing  the  snail  which  everywhere  doth  roam 
Carrying  his  own  house  still,  still  is  at  home  ; 
Follow  (for  he  is  easy- paced)  this  snail, 
Be  thine  own  palace  or  the  world 's  thy  jail. 
* 

How  happy 's  he,  which  hath  due  place  assigned 

To  his  beasts  :  and  disafforested  his  mind  ! 

Emp  iled  himself  to  keep  them  out,  not  in  ; 

Can  sow,  and  durst  trust  corn,  where  they  have  been  ; 

Can  use  his  horse,  goat,  wolf,  and  every  beast, 

And  is  not  ass  himself  to  all  the  rest. 

* 
1  those 


SOOTHSAY  147 

Oh,  to  confess  we  know  not  what  we  should, 
Is  half  excuse,  we  know  not  what  we  would  ! 
Lightness  depresseth  us.  Emptiness  fills  ; 

We  sweat  and  faint,  yet  still  go  down  the  hills. 

• 

In  none  but  us  are  such  mixed  engines  found 

As  hands  of  double  office :  for  the  ground 

We  till  with  them,  and  them  to  Heaven  we  raise  ; 

Who  prayer  less  labours,  or  without  these  prays. 

Doth  but  one  half,  that 's  none  ;  He  which  said,  •  Plough. 

And  look  not  buck,'  to  look  up  doth  allow. 

• 

Some  men  whom  we  call  virtuous,  are  not  so 

In  their  whole  substance ;  but  their  virtues  grow 

But  in  their  humour  t.  and  at  seasons  show. 

For  when  through  tasteless  flat  humility 

In  dough-baked  men  some  harmlessncss  we  sec, 

Tis  but  his  phlegm  that 's  virtuous  and  not  he. 

So  in  the  blood  sometimes  ;  whoever  ran 

To  danger  unimportuned,  he  was  then 

No  better  than  a  sa n£ut*e- virtuous  man. 

So  cloistered  men,  who  in  pretence  of  I  < 

All  contributions  to  this  life  forbear, 

Have  virtue  in  melancholy,  and  only  there. 

Spiritual  ckoleru  critic,  which  in  all 

Religions  find  faults,  and  forgive  no  fall. 

Have  through  this  zeal  virtue  but  in  their  gal! 

We're  thus  but  parcel-gilt,  to  gold  we're  grown. 

When  virtue  is  our  soul's  complexion  ; 

Who  know  his  virtue's  name  or  place,  hath  none. 

DUNS  • 


148  MAN 


JVSTVM    ET    TENACEM 

THE  man  of  life  upright 

Whose  cheerful  mind  is  free 
From  weight  of  impious  deeds, 

And  yoke  of  vanity  ; 

The  man  whose  silent  days, 

In  harmless  joys  are  spent, 
Whom  hopes  can  not  delude 

Noi  sorrow  discontent ; 

That  man  needs  neither  towers 

Noi  armour  for  defence, 
Nor  vaults  his  guilt  to  shroud 

From  thunder's  violence. 

He  only  can  behold 

With  unaffrighted  eyes 
The  horrors  of  the  deep, 

And  terrors  of  the  skies. 

Thus,  scorning  all  the  cares 

That  fate  or  foriune  brings, 
His  book  the  heaven  he  makes, 

His  wisdom  heavenly  things. 

Good  thoughts  his  surest  friends. 

His  wealth  a  well-spent  age, 
The  earth  his  sober  inn 

And  quiet  pilgrimage. 

CAMPION 


A    HAPPY    LI  FR  149 


THE   CHARACTER    OF    A    HAPPY    LIFE 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught 
That  serveth  not  another**  will ; 
Whose  armour  is  his  honest  thought. 
And  simple  truth  his  utmost  skill ! 

Whose  passions  not  his  masters  are. 
Whose  soul  is  still  prepared  for  denth. 
Untied  unto  the  world  by  care 
Of  public  fame,  or  private  breath  ; 

Who  envies  none  th.it  chance  doth  mise. 
Nor  vice.     Who  never  underwood 
How  deepest  wounds  are  given  by  praise  ; 
Nor  rules  of  state,  but  rules  of  good  : 

Who  hath  his  life  from  rumours  freed. 
Whose  conscience  is  his  strong  retreat ; 
Whose  state  can  neither  flatteiers  feed, 
Nor  ruin  make  oppressors  t.rcat. 

Who  God  doth  late  and  early  pray 
More  of  his  grace  than  gifts  to  lend ; 
And  entertains  the  harmless  day 
Witl>  a  religious  book  or  friend  ; 

This  Man  is  freed  from  servile  bands 
Of  hope  to  nse.  or  fear  to  fall ; 
Ix>rd  of  himself,  though  not  of  lands. 
And  having  nothing,  yet  hath  All. 

WOTTON 


I<VQ  MAN 


THE    CHRISTIAN    STOIC 

THE  virtuous  man  is  free,  though  bound  in  chains  ; 

Though   poor,    content ;    though    banished,    yet    r 
stranger  : 

Though  sick,  in  health  of  mind  ;  secure  in  danger  ; 
And  o'er  himself,  the  world,  and  fortune  reigns. 

Nor  good  haps  proud,  nor  bad  dejected  make  him  ; 

To  God's,  not  to  man's  will,  he  frames  each  action  ; 

He  seeks  no  fame  but  inward  satisfaction  ; 
And  firmer  stands,  the  more  bad  fortunes  shake  him. 

A.  w. 


SUAVE     MARI     MAGNO 

HE  that  of  such  a  height  hath  built  his  mind, 
And  reared  the  dwelling  of  his  thoughts  so  strong, 
As  neither  fear  nor  hope  can  shake  the  frame 
Of  his  resolved  powers  ;  nor  all  the  wind 
Of  vanity  or  malice  pierce  to  wrong 
His  settled  peace,  or  to  disturb  the  same  ; 
What  a  fair  seat  hath  he,  from  whence  he  may 
The  boundless  wastes  and  wilds  of  man  survey ! 

And  with  how  free  an  eye  doth  he  look  down 

Upon  these  lower  i  egions  of  turmoil ! 

Where  all  the  storms  of  passions  mainly  beat 

On  flesh  and  blood  !  where  honour,  power,  renown. 

Are  only  gay  afflictions,  golden  toil ; 

Where  greatness  stands  upon  as  feeble  feet 

As  frailty  doth,  and  only  great  doth  seem 

To  little  minds  who  do  it  so  esteem. 


ftUAVK    M  A  R  I     MAONO 

Although  his  hcait  (so  near  allied  to  ea«th) 
Cannot  but  pity  the  perplexed  state 
Of  troublous  and  distressed  mortality, 
That  thus  make  way  unto  the  ugly  birth 
Of  if  eir  own  sorrows,  and  do  still  l*get 
Affliction  upon  imbecility  ; 
Yet  seeing  thus  the  course  of  things  must  run. 
I  le  looks  thereon  not  strange,  but  as  foredone. 

And  whilst  distraught  Ambition  comp.isses, 
And  is  encompassed  ;  whilst  as  Craft  deceives. 
And  is  deceived  ;  whilst  man  doth  ransack  man. 
And  builds  on  blood,  and  rises  by  distress, 
And  th'  inheritance  of  desolation  leaves 
To  great-expecting  hopes :  he  looks  thereon 
As  from  the  shore  of  peace,  with  unwet  eye, 
And  beajs  no  venture  in  impiety. 


CONSTANCY 

WHO  is  the  hon-bt  man  ? 
He  that  doth  still,  and  strongly,  good  pursue  : 
To  God,  his  neighbour,  and  himself  most  true. 

Whom  neither  foice  nor  fawning  can 
Unpin,  or  wrench  from  giving  all  their  due. 

Whose  honesty  is  not 
So  loose  or  ra*y  that  a  ruffling  wind 
Can  blow  away,  or  glut  ring  look  it  blind. 

Who  rides  his  suie  and  even  tro*. 
While  the  world  now  rides  by,  now  lags  bel.ind. 


152 


Who,  wht  n  great  trials  come, 
Nor  seeks,  nor  shun*  them  ;  but  doth  calmly  stay 
Till  he  the  thing,  and  the  example  weigh. 

All  being  brought  into  a  sum, 
What  place  or  person  calls  for,  he  doth  pay. 

Whom  none  can  work,  or  woo, 
To  use  in  any  thing  a  trick  or  sleight ; 
For  above  all  things  he  abhors  deceit 

His  words,  and  works,  and  fashion,  too, 
All  of  one  piece  ;  and  all  are  clear  and  straight. 

Who  never  melts  or  thaws 
At.  close  temptations.     When  the  day  is  done, 
His  goodness  sets  not,  but  in  dark  can  run. 

The  sun  to  others  writeth  laws, 
And  is  their  virtue.     Virtue  is  his  sun. 

Who,  when  he  is  to  treat 

With  sick  folks,  women,  those  whom  passions  sway, 
Allows  for  that,  and  keeps  his  constant  way. 

Whom  others'  faults  do  not  defeat ; 
But  though  men  fail  him,  yet  his  part  doth  play. 

Whom  nothing  can  procure, 
When  the  wide  world  runs  bias,  from  his  will 
To  writhe  his  limbs  ;  and  share,  not  mend,  the  ill. 

This  is  the  mark-man,  safe  and  sure, 
Who  still  is  right,  and  prays  to  be  so  still. 

HERBERT 


THE     PERFECT     LIFE 

IT  is  not  growing  like  a  tree 

In  bulk,  doth  make  Man  better  be ; 


THF.    PKirECT    LIFE  153 

Or  standing  long  an  oak.  three  hundred  year, 
To  Tall  a  log  at  last,  dry,  bald,  and  wrr : 
A  lily  of  a  day 
Is  fairer  far  in  May, 
Although  it  (all  and  die  that  night  - 
It  was  the  plant  and  flower  of  Light. 
In  small  proportions  we  just  beauties  see ; 
And  in  short  measures  life  may  perfect  be 

JON  so* 


THE     MASTER     SPIRIT 

GIVE  me  a  spirit  that  on  life's  rough  sea 
Ix>ves  to  have  his  sails  filled  with  a  lusty  wind. 
Even  till  his  sail-yards  tremble,  his  masts  crack. 
And  his  rapt  ship  run  on  her  side  so  low 
That  she  drinks  water,  and  her  keel  ploughs  air. 
There  is  no  danger  to  a  man  that  knows 
What  life  and  death  is  ;  there 's  not  any  law 
Exceeds  his  knowledge  .  neither  is  it  lawful 
That  be  should  stoop  to  any  other  law ; 
He  goes  before  them,  and  commands  them  all. 
Thai  to  himself  is  a  law  rational 

CHAPMAN 


MAN  is  his  own  star,  and  the  soul  that  can 
Render  an  honest  and  a  perfect  man. 
Commands  all  light,  all  influence,  all  fate  ; 
Nothing  to  him  falls  early  or  too  late  ; 
Our  acts  our  angels  are.  or  good  or  ill. 
Our  fatal  shadows  that  walk  by  us  still 

FLETCHEI 


'54 


MAN 


THE     KAPPY     WARPJOT? 

WHO  is  the  happy  Warrior  ?    Whs  is  he 
That  every  man  in  arms  should  wish  to  be? 
— Tt  is  the  generous  Spirit,  who,  when  brought 
Among  the  tasks  of  real  life,  hath  wrought 
Upon  the  plan  that  pleased  his  boyish  thought : 
Whose  high  endeavours  arc  an  inward  light 
That  makes  the  path  before  him  always  bright : 
Who,  witli  n  naturnl  instinct  to  discern 
What  knowledge  can  perform,  is  diligent  to  learn  ; 
Abides  by  this  resolve,  and  stops  not  there, 
But  makes  his  moral  being  his  prime  care  ; 
Who,  doomed  to  go  in  company  with  Pain, 
And  Fear,  and  Bloodshed,  miserable  train  ! 
Turns  his  necessity  to  glorious  gain  ; 
In  face  of  these  doth  exercise  a  power 
Which  is  our  human  nature's  highest  dower; 
Controls  them  and  subdues,  transmutes,  bereaves 
Of  their  bad  influence,  and  their  good  receives  : 
By  objects,  which  might  force  the  soul  to  ab^.« 
Her  feeling,  rendered  more  compassionate  : 
Is  placable — bee  mse  occasions  rise 
So  often  that  demand  such  sacrifice  ; 
More  skilful  in  self-knowledge,  even  more  pure, 
As  tempted  more  ;  more  able  to  endure, 
As  more  exposed  to  suffering  and  distress; 
Thence,  also,  more  alive  to  tenderness. 
— 'Tis  he  whose  law  is  reason  ;  who  depends 
Upon  that  law  as  on  the  best  of  friends ; 
Whence,  in  a  state  where  men  are  tempted  still 
To  evil  for  a  guard  against  worse  ill,  • 


TUP     II  APPY     WAR  R  10*  155 

And  what  in  Duality  or  act  is  best 

•  Idom  on  a  right  foundation  rest, 
He  labour*  good  on  good  to  fix.  and  owes 
To  virtue  every  triumph  that  he  knows: 
— Who,  if  he  rise  to  station  of  command. 
Rises  by  open  means  ;  and  there  will  stand 
On  honourable  terms,  or  else  retire, 
And  in  himself  possess  his  own  desire ; 
Who  comprehends  his  trust,  and  to  the  same 
Keeps  faithful  with  a  sing'eness  of  aim  ; 
And  therefore  docs  not  stoop,  nor  lie  in  wait 
For  wealth,  or  honours,  or  for  worldly  Mate; 
Whom  they  must  follow  ;  on  whose  head  must  fall, 
Like  showers  of  manna,  if  they  come  at  all  ; 
Whose  powers  shed  ro-md  him  in  the  common  Mrife. 
Or  mild  concerns  of  ordinary  life. 
A  constant  influence,  a  peculiar  grace . 
Rut  who,  if  he  be  called  upon  to  face 
Some  awful  moment  to  which  llcavm  has  joirrd 
Great  issues,  good  or  bad  for  human  kind, 
Is  happy  as  a  Lover  ;  and  attired 
\Viih  sudden  brightness,  like  a  Man  inspired  ; 
And.  through  the  heat  of  conl'ut.  kerps  the  law 
In  calmness  made,  and  sees  what  he  foresaw  , 
Or  if  an  unexpected  call  succeed. 
Come  when  it  will,  is  equal  to  the  need  ; 
— He  who,  though  thus  en  !ued  as  with  a  sense 
And  faculty  for  storm  and  turbulence. 
Is  yet  a  Soul  whose  master-bias  leans 
To  homefelt  pleasures  and  to  gentle  scenes ; 
Sweet  images  I  which,  wheresoe'er  he  be, 
Arc  at  his  heart ;  and  such  fidelity 
It  is  his  darling  passion  to  approve ; 
More  brave  for  this,  that  he  hath  murli  to  love:— 
'Tis,  finally,  the  Man,  who.  lifted  h  gh, 
Conspicuous  object  in  a  Nation's  eye, 


I5t)  MAN 

Or  left  unthought-of  in  obscurity, — 
Who,  with  a  toward  or  untoward  lot, 
Prosperous  or  adverse,  to  his  wish  or  not  — 
Plays,  in  the  many  games  of  life,  that  one 
Where  what  he  most  doth  value  must  be  won : 
Whom  neither  shape  of  danger  can  dismay, 
Nor  thought  of  tender  happiness  betray ; 
Who,  not  content  that  former  worth  stand  fast, 
Looks  forward,  persevering  to  the  last, 
From  well  to  better,  daily  self-surpast ; 
Who,  whether  praise  of  him  must  walk  the  earth 
For  ever,  and  to  noble  deeds  give  birth, 
Or  he  must  fall,  to  sleep  without  his  fame, 
And  leave  a  dead  unprofitable  name- 
Finds  comfort  in  himself  and  in  his  cause  ; 
And,  while  the  mortal  mist  is  gathering,  draws 
His  breath  in  confidence  of  Heaven's  applause : 
This  is  the  happy  Warrior ;  this  is  he 
That  every  Man  in  arms  should  wish  to  be. 

WORDSWORTH 


CHARACTER     AND    CIRCUMSTANCES 

WITHIN  the  soul  a  faculty  abides, 
That  with  interpositions  which  would  hide 
And  darken  so  can  deal,  that  thev  become 
Contingencies  of  pomp  ;  and  serve  to  exalt 
Her  native  brightness.     As  the  ample  moon, 
In  the  deep  stillness  of  a  summer  even, 
Rising  behind  a  thick  and  lofty  grove, 
Burns  like  an  unconsuming  fire  of  light, 


CHARACTER    AND    CIRCUMSTANCES       157 

In  the  green  tires  ;  and,  kindling  on  all  tides 
Their  leafy  umbrage,  turns  the  dusky  veil 
Into  a  substance  glorious  as  her  own. 
Yea.  with  hrr  own  incorporated,  by  power 
Capacious  and  serene.     Lake  power  abides 
In  man's  celestial  spirit ;  Virtue  thus 
Sets  forth  and  magnifies  herself ;  thus  fertls 
A  calm,  a  beautiful,  and  silent  fire, 
From  the  encumbrances  of  mortal  life, 
From  error,  disappointment— nay.  from  guilt . 
And  sometimes,  so  relenting  justice  wills, 
From  palpable  oppressions  of  despair. 

WORDSWORTH 


JUSTICE 

ALL  glory  cbe  besides  ends  with  our  breath  ; 
And  men's  respects  scarce  brings  us  to  our  grave : 
But  this  of  doing  good  must  outlive  death. 
And  have  a  right  out  of  the  right  it  gave. 
Though  th'  act  but  few,  th'  example  profitcth 
Thousands,  that  shall  thereby  n  blessing  have. 
The  world's  respect  grows  not  but  on  desrris  : 
Power  may  have  knees,  but  justice  hath  our  hearts. 

DANIEL 


SACRED  Religion  1  mother  of  form  and  fear  I 
How  gorgeously  sometime  dost  thou  sit  decked, 

What  pompous  vestures  do  we  make  ther  wear, 
What  stately  piles  we  prodigal  erect, 

How  sweet  perfumed  thou  art,  how  shining  dear. 
How  solemnly  observed,  with  what  respect  I 


158  MAN 

Another  time  all  plain,  all  quite  threadbare, 

Thou  must  have  all  within,  and  nought  without : 

Sit  poorly  without  light,  disrobed  :  no  care 
Of  outward  grace,  t'  amuse  the  poor  devout, 

Powerless,  unfollowed  ;  scarcely  men  can  spare 
The  necessary  rites  to  set  thee  out. 

DANIEL 


PERSEVERANCE  IN   HONOUR   NECESSARY 

TIME  hath,  my  lord,  a  wallet  at  his  back, 

Wherein  he  puts  alms  for  oblivion, 

A  great-sized  monster  of  ingratitudes  : 

Those  scraps  are  good  deeds  past :  which  are  devoured 

As  fast  as  they  are  made,  forgot  as  soon 

As  done :  Perseverance 

Keeps  honour  bright :  To  have  done,  is  to  hang 

Quite  out  of  fashion,  like  a  rusty  mail 

In  monumental  mockery.     Take  the  instant  way  ; 

For  honour  travels  in  a  strait  so  narrow, 

Where  one  but  goes  abreast ;  keep  then  the  path  • 

For  emulation  hath  a  thousand  sons, 

That  one  by  one  pursue  :  If  you  give  way, 

Or  hedge  aside  from  the  direct  forthright, 

Like  to  an  entered  tide,  they  all  rush  by, 

And  leave  you  hindmost ; — 

Or,  like  a  gallant  horse  fallen  in  first  rank, 

Lie  there  for  pavement  to  the  abject  rear, 

O'errun  and  trampled  on  :  Then  what  they  do  in  present, 

Though  less  than  yours  in  past,  must  o'ertoo  vonrs  : 

Foi  time  ii  like  a  fashionable  host, 

That  slightly  shakes  his  parting  guest  by  the  hand  ; 

And  with  his  arms  outstretched,  as  he  would  fly, 


FKRSKVCKANCF  IN    HONOUR  159 

Grasps  in  the  comer :  Welcome  ever  sm  Irs, 

And  farewell  goes  out  sighing.     O,  let  not  virtue  seek 

Remuneration  for  the  thing  it  was ; 

For  beauty,  wit. 

High  birth,  vigour  of  bone,  desert  in  service. 

Love,  friendship,  charity,  are  subjects  all 

To  envious  and  calumniating  time. 

One  touch  of  nature  makes  the  whole  world  km.— 

That  all,  with  one  consent,  praise  new-born  gnwds. 

Though  they  are  made  and  moulded  of  things  past ; 

And  give  to  dust,  that  is  a  little  gilt, 

More  laud  than  gilt  o'er  •dusted. 

MIAKKM'KAKE 


THI.    USES    OF    ILL    SITCKSS 

Tut:  ample  proposition  that  hope  m.ikrs 

In  all  designs  begun  on  earth  below, 

Kails  in  the  promise- 1  largeness  :  checks  and  disasters 

Grow  in  the  veins  of  actions  highest  reared  ; 

As  knots,  by  the  conflux  of  meeting  sap, 

In'ect  the  sound  pine,  and  divert  his  grain 

Tor  live  and  errant  from  his  course  of  growth. 

Nor.  princes,  is  it  matter  new  to  us. 

That  we  come  short  oi  our  suppose  so  far. 

That,  after  seven  ye.ir*'  siegr,  yet  Troy  walls  st.md  ; 

Sith  every  action  that  hath  gone  before. 

Wheieof  we  have  record,  trial  did  draw 

Bias  and  ihuart.  not  aniwering  the  aim. 

And  that  unbodied  figure  of  ih?  thought 

That  gave 't  surmised  shape.     Why  ti.cn.  you  prime*. 

Do  you  with  cheeks  Mb.* shed  behold  our  works : 

And  call  them  shames,  which  are,  indeed,  nought  el  e 

But  the  protract  ive  trials  of  great  Jove. 


l6o  MAN 

To  find  persistive  constancy  in  men? 
The  fineness  of  which  metal  is  not  found 
In  fortune's  love :  for  then,  the  bold  and  coward. 
The  wise  and  fool,  the  artist  and  unread, 
The  hard  and  soft,  seem  all  affined  and  kin  : 
But,  in  the  wind  and  tempest  of  her  frown, 
Distinction,  with  a  broad  and  powerful  fan, 
Puffing  at  all,  winnows  the  light  away  ; 
And  what  hath  mass,  or  matter,  by  itself, 
Lies,  rich  in  virtue,  and  unmingled. 

In  the  reproof  of  chance 

Lies  the  true  proof  of  men  :  the  sea  being  smooth, 
How  many  shallow  bauble  boats  dare  sail 
Upon  her  patient  breast,  making  their  way 
With  those  of  nobler  bulk  ! 
But  let  the  ruffian  Boreas  once  enrage 
The  gentle  Thetis,  and,  anon,  behold 
The  strong-ribbed  bark  through  liquid  mountains  cut, 
Bounding  between  the  two  moist  elements, 
Like  Perseus'  horse  :  Where 's  then  the  saucy  boat, 
Whose  weak  untimbered  sides  but  even  now 
Co-rivalled  greatness?  either  to  harbour  fled, 
Or  made  a  toast  for  Neptune.     Even  so 
Doth  valour's  show,  and  valour's  worth,  divide, 
In  storms  of  fortune  :  For,  in  her  ray  and  brightness, 
The  herd  hath  more  annoyance  by  the  brize  * 
Than  by  the  tiger  ;  but  when  the  splitting  wind 
Makes  flexible  the  knees  of  knotted  oaks, 
And  flies  lied  under  shade,  why,  then,   the   thing   of 

courage, 

As  roused  with  rage,  with  rage  doth  sympathise, 
And,  with  an  accent  tuned  in  self-same  key, 
Returns  to  chiding  fortune. 

SHAKESPEARE 
*  Gad-fly. 


ON    DEO  K  EC  l6l 


ON    DEGRFF. 

THE  heav  ns  themselves,  the  planets  and  this  centre 

Observe  degree,  prioiitjr.  and  place. 

Insisturc,  course,  pro;  onion,  season,  form. 

Office,  and  custom,  in  all  line  of  order : 

And  therefore  is  the  glorious  planet.  Sol, 

In  noble  eminence  enthroned  and  sphered 

Amidst  the  other  ;  whose  med'cinablc  eye 

Correct*  the  ill  aspects  of  planets  evil, 

And  posts,  like  the  comma  n  d  mr  •  t  of  a  king. 

Sons  check,  to  good  and  had  :  Rut  when  the  planets 

In  evil  mixture  to  disorder  wander, 

What  plagues,  and  what  portents !  what  mutiny  ! 

What  raging  of  the  sea !  shaking  of  earth  ! 

Commotion  in  the  winds  I  frights,  changes,  honors. 

Divert  and  crack,  rrnd  and  deracinate 

The  unity  and  ma  ried  calm  of  states 

Quite  from  their  fixwe  I  O,  when  degree  is  sl.akctl. 

Which  is  the  ladder  to  all  \  igh  designs, 

The  enterprise  is  sick  I  How  could  communities, 

Degrees  in  schools,  and  brotherhoods  in  cities, 

Peaceful  commerce  from  dividab'e  shores, 

The  primogenitive  and  due  of  birth, 

Prerogative  of  age.  crowns,  sceptres,  laurels, 

But  by  degree,  stand  in  authentic  place  ? 

Take  but  degree  away,  untune  that  string, 

And,  hark,  what  discord  follows  1  each  thing  meets 

In  mere  oppugnancy  :  The  bounded  waters 

Should  lift  their  bosoms  higher  than  the  shores. 

And  make  a  sop  of  all  tt  is  so' id  globe  : 

Strength  should  be  lord  of  imbecility. 

And  the  rude  son  should  strike  his  father  dead  : 


1 62 


Force  should  be  right ;  or,  rather,  right  and  wrong 

(Between  whose  endless  jar  justice  resides) 

Should  lose  their  names,  and  so  should  justice  too. 

Then  everything  includes  itself  in  power, 

Power  into  will,  will  into  appetite  ; 

And  appetite,  an  universal  wolf, 

So  doubly  seconded  with  will  and  power 

Must  make,  perforce,  an  universal  prey, 

And,  last,  eat  up  himself. 

SHAKESPEARE 


IMAGINATION 


LOVERS  and  madmen  have  such  seething  brains, 

Such  shaping  fantasies,  that  apprehend 

More  than  cool  reason  ever  comprehends. 

The  lunatic,  the  lover,  and  the  poet, 

Are  of  imagination  all  compact : 

One  sees  more  devils  than  vast  hell  can  hold — 

That  is  the  madman  :  the  lover,  all  as  frantic, 

Sees  Helen's  beauty  in  a  brow  of  Egypt : 

The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 

Doth  glance  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven, 

And,  as  imagination  bodies  forth 

The  forms  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 

Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 

A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

Such  tricks  hath  strong  imagination  ; 

That,  if  it  would  but  apprehend  some  joy. 

It  comprehends  some  bringer  of  that  joy  ; 

Or,  in  the  night,  imagining  some  fear, 

How  easy  is  a  bush  supposed  a  bear  ! 


IMAGINATION  l6j 


It  so  faOs  out. 

That  what  we  hate  we  price  not  to  the  worth 
Whiles  we  enjoy  it  ;  but  being  lacked  and  lost. 
Why  then  we  rack  the  value,  then  we  find 
The  virtue  that  possession  would  not  show  us 
Whiles  it  was  ours  :  So  will  it  fare  with  Claudio 
When  he  shall  hear  she  died  upon  his  words, 
The  idea  of  hrr  life  shall  sweetly  creep 
Into  his  study  of  imagination ; 
And  every  lovely  organ  of  her  life 
Shall  come  apparell'd  in  more  precious  habit. 
More  moving-delicate,  and  full  of  life. 
Into  the  eye  and  prospect  of  his  soul. 
Than  when  she  lived  indeed. 


HI 

Ga urn/.— All  places  that  the  eye  of  heaven  visits. 
Are  to  a  wise  man  ports  and  happy  havens  : 
Teach  thy  necessity  to  reason  thus ; 
There  is  no  virtue  like  necessity. 
Think  not  the  king  did  banish  tl.ee  ; 
But  thou  the  king.     Woe  doth  the  heavier  sit. 
Where  it  perceives  it  is  but  faintly  l>orne. 
Go.  say  I  sent  thee  forth  to  purchase  honour. 
And  not,  the  king  exiled  thee :  or  suppose 
Devouring  pestilence  hangs  in  our  air.          • 
And  thou  art  flying  to  a  fresher  clime. 
Ixx>k.  what  thy  soul  holds  dear,  imagine  it 
To  lie  that  way  thou  go'st,  not  whence  thou  com'st 
Suppose  the  singing  birds,  musicians ; 
The  grass  whereon  thou  tread'st.  the  presence  strew'd ; 


104  MAN 

The  flowers,  fair  ladies  ;  and  thy  steps,  no  more 
Than  a  delightful  measure  or  a  dance  : 
For  gnarling  sorrow  hath  less  power  to  bite 
The  man  that  mocks  at  it,  and  sets  it  light. 

Bolingbroke. — O,  who  can  hold  a  fire  in  his  hand, 
By  thinking  on  the  frosty  Caucasus? 
Or  cloy  the  hungry  edge  of  appetite, 
By  bare  imagination  of  a  feast  ? 
Or  wallow  naked  in  December  snow, 
By  thinking  on  fantastic  summer's  heat  ? 
O,  no  !  the  apprehension  of  the  good 
Gives  but  the  greater  feeling  to  the  worse  : 
Fell  sorrow's  tooth  doth  never  rankle  more, 
Than  when  he  bites  but  lanceth  not  the  sore. 

SHAKESPEAKK 


'Tis  better  in  a  play 
Be  Agamemnon  than  himself  indeed. 
How  oft  with  danger  of  the  field  beset, 
Or  with  home-mutinies,  would  he  un-be 
Himself;  or,  over  cruel  altars  weeping, 
Wish,  that  with  putting  off  a  vizard  he 
Might  his  true  inward  sorrow  lay  aside  ! 
The  shows  of  things  are  greater  than  themselves. 
How  doth  it  stir  this  airy  part  of  us 
To  hear  our  poets  tell  imagined  fights, 
And  the  strange,  blows  that  feigned  courage  gives  ! 
When  I  Ach  lies  hear  upon  the  stage 
Speak  honour  and  the  greatness  of  his  soul, 
Methinks  I  too  could  on  a  Phrygian  spear 
Run  boldly  and  make  tales  for  after  times  : 


IMAGINATION  165 

But  when  we  come  to  net  it  in  the  deed. 
Death  man  this  bravery,  and  the  ugly  fears 
Of  t>  e  other  world  sit  on  the  proudest  brow  ; 
And  boasting  valour  loseth  his  red  cheek. 

ANON. 


AFTER    SEEING     A     MASQUE 

OUR  revels  now  are  ended  .  these  our  actors. 
As  I  foretold  you.  were  all  spirits,  and 
Are  melted  into  air,  into  thin  air : 
And  like  the  baseless  fahric  of  this  vision. 
The  clouil-capp'd  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
Fhe  solemn  temples,  the  great  glotw  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve. 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded. 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind.     We  arr  such  stuff 
As  dreams  are  made  on,  and  our  little  life 
Is  rounded  with  a  sleep. 

SHAKESPEARE 


CONTENT 

THERE  is  a  jewel  which  no  Indian  mines 
Can  buy,  no  chymic  art  can  counterfeit ; 
It  makes  men  rich  in  greatest  poverty ; 
Makes  water  wine,  turns  wooden  cups  to  gold, 
The  homely  whistle  to  sweet  music's  strain : 
Seldom  it  comes,  to  few  from  heaven  sent, 
That  much  in  little,  all  in  nought,— Content. 

ANON. 


166  MAN 


IN  crystal  towers  and  turrets  richly  set 
With  glitt'ring  gems  that  shine  against  the  sun, 

In  regal  rooms  of  jasper  and  of  jet, 
Content  of  mind  not  always  likes  to  won  ; 

But  oftentimes  it  pleaseth  her  to  stay 

In  simple  cots  enclosed  with  walls  of  clay. 

ANON. 


SWEET  are  the  thoughts  that  savour  of  content : 
The  quiet  mind  is  richer  than  a  crown  : 
Sweet  are  the  nights  in  careless  slumber  spent : 
The  poor  estate  scorns  Fortune's  angry  frown. 
Such  sweet  content,  such  minds,  such  sleep,  such  bliss, 
Beggars  enjoy,  when  princes  oft  do  miss. 

The  homely  house  that  harbours  quiet  rest, 
The  cottage  that  affords  nor  pride  nor  care, 
The  mean  that  'grees  with  country  music  best, 
The  sweet  consort  of  mirth  and  modest  fare, 
Obscured  life  sets  down  a  type  of  bliss  ; 
A  mind  content  both  crown  and  kingdom  is. 

GREENE 


ART  thou  poor,  yet  hast  thou  golden  slumbers? 

O,  sweet  content ! 
Art  thou  rich,  yet  is  thy  mind  perplexed  ? 

O,  punishment ! 

Dost  thou  laugh  to  see  how  fools  are  vexed 
To  add  to  golden  numbers  golden  numbers  ? 
O,  sweet  content  1 


CONTENT  167 

Work  apace,  apace,  apace,  apace ; 
Honest  labour  bears  a  lovely  face ; 
Then  hey  noney,  noney,  hey  noney,  nonev  ! 

Canst  drink  the  waters  of  the  crisped  spring  ? 

O,  sweet  content ! 
Swimm'st  thou  in  wraith,  yet  sink'st  in  thine  own  tears? 

O,  punishment ! 

Then  he  that  patiently  want's  burden  bears. 
No  burden  bears,  but  is  a  king,  a  king  I 
O,  sweet  content  1 

Work  apace,  npace,  apace,  apace ; 
Honest  labour  bears  a  lovely  face  ; 
Then  hey  noney,  noney,  hey  noney.  noney  ! 

UtKKEH 


TIME'S  GLORY 

TIME'S  glory  is  to  calm  contending  kings, 

To  unmask  falsehood,  and  bring  truth  to  light, 

To  stamp  the  seal  of  time  in  aged  things, 

To  wake  the  morn,  and  sentinel  the  night. 

To  wrong  the  wronger  till  he  render  right. 

To  ruinate  proud  buildings  with  thy  hours, 

And  smear  with  dust  their  glittering  golden  towers: 

To  fill  with  worm-holes  stately  monuments. 
To  feed  oblivion  with  decay  of  things, 
To  blot  old  books  and  alter  their  contents. 
To  pluck  the  quills  from  ancient  raven's  wings. 
To  dry  the  old  oak's  sap,  and  cherish  springs. 
To  spoil  antiquities  of  hammered  steel, 
And  turn  the  giddy  round  of  fortune's  wheel : 


168  MAN 

To  show  the  beldam  daughters  of  her  da-ghter, 
To  make  the  child  a  man,  the  man  a  child, 
To  slay  the  tiger  that  doth  live  by  slaughter, 
To  tame  the  unicorn  and  lion  wild ; 
To  mock  the  subtle,  in  themselves  beguiled, 
To  cheer  the  ploughman  with  increaseful  crops 
And  waste  huge  stones  with  little  water  drops. 

SHAKESPEARE 


TIME     GOES     BY    TURNS 

THE  lopped  tree  in  time  may  grow  again, 

Most  naked  plants  renew  both  fruit  and  flower ; 

The  sorriest  wight  may  find  release  of  pain, 
The  driest  soil  suck  in  some  moistening  shower  : 

Time  goes  by  turns,  and  chances  change  by  course, 

From  foul  to  fair,  from  better  hap  to  worse. 


The  sea  of  Fortune  doth  not  ever  flow, 
She  draws  her  favours  to  the  lowest  ebb ; 

Her  tides  have  equal  times  to  come  and  go, 

Her  loom  doth  weave  the  fine  and  coarsest  web. 

No  joy  so  great  but  runneth  to  an  end, 

No  hap  so  hard  but  may  in  fine  amend. 

Not  always  fall  of  leaf,  nor  ever  spring, 
Not  endless  night,  nor  yet  eternal  day : 

The  saddest  birds  a  season  find  to  sing ; — 
The  roughest  storm  a  calm  may  soon  allay : 

Thus,  with  succeeding  turns/God  tempsreth  all, 

That  man  may  hope  to  rise,  yet  fear  to  fall. 


TIMF.    GOES    BY    TURN»  169 

A  chance  may  win  that  by  mischance  was  lost ; 

The  net  that  holds  no  great,  takes  little  fish ; 
In  some  things  all,  in  all  things  none  are  cross'd. 

Few  all  t'»ey  need,  but  none  have  all  they  wish  ; 
Unmeddled  joys  here  to  no  man  brfa-1, 
Who  least,  hath  some  ;  who  most,  hath  never  all. 

SOUTHWELL 


ODE    ON     THE     PLEASURE     ARISING 
PROM     VICISSITUDE 

NOW  the  golden  Morn  aloft 

Waves  her  dew  -hes  pang  led  wing. 
With  vermeil  cheek  and  whisper  soft 

She  woos  the  tardy  Spring : 
Till  April  sum,  and  calls  around 
The  sleeping  fragrance  from  the  ground. 
And  lightly  o'er  the  living  scene 
Scatters  his  freshest.  tendereM  green. 

New-born  flocks,  in  rustic  dance, 
Frisking  ply  their  feeble  feet ; 

Forgetful  of  their  wintry  trance 
The  birds  his  presence  greet : 

But  chief,  the  skylark  warbles  high 

His  trembling  thrilling  ecstasy  ; 

And  lessening  from  the  dazzled  sight. 

Melts  into  air  and  liquid  light 

Yesterday  the  sullen  year 
Saw  the  snowy  whirlwind  fly ; 

Mute  was  the  music  of  the  air. 
The  herd  stood  drooping  by  : 


I70  MAN 

Their  raptures  now  that  wildly  flow 
No  yesterday  nor  morrow  know  ; 
'Tis  Man  alone  that  joy  descries 
With  forward  and  reverted  eyes. 


Smiles  on  past  Misfortune's  brow 

Soft  Reflection's  hand  can  trace, 
And  o'er  the  cheek  of  Sorrow  throw 

A  melancholy  grace ; 
While  Hope  prolongs  our  happier  hour, 
Or  deepest  shades,  that  dimly  lour 
And  blacken  round  our  weary  way, 
Gilds  with  a  gleam  of  distant  day. 

Still,  where  rosy  Pleasure  leads, 

See  a  kindred  Grief  pursue  ; 
Behind  the  steps  that  Misery  treads 

Approaching  Comfort  view  : 
The  hues  of  bliss  more  brightly  glow 
Chastised  by  sabler  tints  of  woe, 
And  blended  form,  with  artful  strife, 
The  strength  and  harmony  of  life. 


See  the  wretch  that  long  has  tost 

On  the  thorny  bed  of  pain, 
At  length  repair  his  vigour  lost 

And  breathe  and  walk  again  : 
The  meanest  floweret  of  the  vale 
The  simplest  note  that  swells  the  gale, 
The  common  sun,  the  air,  the  skies, 
To  him  are  opening  Paradise. 

GRAY 


THE    ABSTRACT   OF    MELANCHOLY      171 


THE    ABSTRACT    OF    MELANCHOLY 

WHKS  1  go  musing  All  alone, 
Thinking  of  divers  things  foreknown  ; 
When  I  build  castles  in  the  air, 
Void  of  sorrow,  and  void  of  fear, 
Pleasing  myself  with  phantasms  sweet. 
Meihinks  the  time  runs  very  fleet. 

All  my  joys  to  this  are  folly ; 

Naught  so  sweet  as  melancholy  ! 


When  I  go  walking  all  alone, 
Recounting  what  I  have  ill-done, 
My  thoughts  on  me  then  tyrannise, 
Fear  and  sorrow  me  surprise. 
Whether  I  tarry  still,  or  go. 
Methinks  the  time  moves  very  slow. 

All  my  griefs  to  this  are  jolly ; 

Naught  so  sad  as  melancholy. 


When  to  myself  1  act  and  smile, 
With  pleasing  thoughts  the  time  beguile, 
By  a  brookside  or  wood  so  green, 
Unheard,  unsought  for,  or  unseen. 
A  thousand  pleasures  do  me  bless. 
And  crown  my  soul  with  happiness. 

All  my  joys  besides  are  folly  ; 

Naught  so  sweet  as  melancholy. 


172  MAN 

When  I  lie,  sit,  or  walk  alone, 

I  sigh,  I  grieve,  making  great  moan  ; 

In  a  dark  grove  or  irksome  den, 

With  discontents  and  furies,  then 

A  thousand  miseries  at  once 

Mine  heavy  heart  and  soul  ensconce. 

All  my  griefs  to  this  are  jolly ; 

None  so  sour  as  melancholy. 


Methinks  I  hear,  methinks  1  see 
Sweet  music,  wondrous  melody, 
Towns,  palaces  and  cities  fine  ; 
Here  now,  then  there,  the  world  is  mine  ; 
Rare  beauties,  gallants,  ladies  shine, 
Whate'er  is  lovely,  is  divine. 

All  other  joys  to  this  are  folly  ; 

None  so  sweet  as  melancholy. 


Methinks  I  hear,  methinks  1  see, 
Ghosts,  goblins,  fiends  :  my  fantasy 
Presents  a  thousand  ugly  shapes ; 
Headless  bears,  black  men,  and  apes ; 
Doleful  outcries,  fearful  sights 
My  sad  and  dismal  soul  affrights. 

All  my  griefs  to  this  are  jolly ; 

None  so  damn'd  as  melancholy. 

BURTON 


MR  I.  ANCHOLY  173 


HCNCK,  aH  you  vain  delights, 

As  short  as  are  the  nights 

Wherein  you  spend  your  folly  : 

There's  nought  in  this  life  sweet. 

If  man  were  wise  to  see't, 

But  only  Melancholy. 

O  sweetest  Melancholy  I 
Welcome  folded  arms,  and  fixed  eyes, 
A  sigh  that  piercing  mortifies, 
A  look  that 's  fastened  to  the  ground, 
A  tongue  chained  up  without  a  sound  I 
Fountain  heads  and  pathless  groves. 
Places  which  pale  passion  loves  ! 
Moonlight  walks,  when  all  the  fowls 
Are  warmly  housed,  save  bats  and  owls  ! 
A  midnight  bell,  a  parting  groan  ! 
These  are  the  sounds  we  feed  upon  ; 
Then  stretch  our  bones  in  a  still  gloomy  valley ; 
Nothing's  so  dainty  sweet  as  lovely  Melancholy. 

rLETCHKR 


MEMORY,  hither  come. 

And  tune  your  merry  notes : 
And  while  upon  the  wind 

Your  music  floats, 
1 11  pore  upon  the  stream 
Where  sighing  lovers  dream, 

And  fish  for  fancies  as  they  pass 

Within  the  watery  glass. 


174  MAN 


I  '11  drink  of  the  clear  stream, 

And  hear  the  linnet's  song, 
And  then  I  '11  lie  and  dream 

The  day  along : 
And  when  night  comes,  I  '11  go 
To  places  fit  for  woe, 

Walking  along  the  darken'd  valley 

With  silent  Melancholy. 

BLAKE 


LIFE    A     BUBBLE 

THIS  Life,  which  seems  so  fair, 

Is  like  a  bubble  blown  up  in  the  air 

By  sporting  children's  breath, 

Who  chase  it  everywhere 

And  strive  who  can  most  motion  it  bequeath. 

And  though  it  sometime  seem  of  its  own  might 

Like  to  an  eye  of  gold  to  be  fixed  there, 

And  firm  to  hover  in  that  empty  height, 

That  only  is  because  it  is  so  light. 

— But  in  that  pomp  it  doth  not  long  appear ; 

For  when  'tis  most  admired,  in  a  thought, 

Because  it  erst  was  nought,  it  turns  to  nought. 

DRUMMOND 


LIKE  to  the  falling  of  a  star, 
Or  as  the  flights  of  eagles  are, 
Or  like  the  fresh  spring's  gaudy  hue, 
Or  silver  drops  of  morning  dew, 


THE    VANITY    OF    I.IKE 

Or  like  a  wind  that  chafes  the  flood. 
Or  bubbles  which  on  water  stood : 
Even  such  is  man,  whose  borrowed  lig'  : 
Is  straight  called  in  and  paid  to  night : 
The  wind  blows  out ;  the  bubble  die* ; 
The  spring  intomb'd  in  autumn  lies ; 
The  dew 's  dry'd  up ;  the  star  is  shot ; 
The  flight  is  past ;  and  man  forgot ! 


'75 


cAUfttomr 


THK  World 's  a  bubble,  and  the  Life  of  Man 

I^ess  than  a  span  : 
In  his  conception  wretched,  from  the  womb 

So  to  the  tomb ; 
Curst  from  his  cradle,  and  brought  up  to  years 

With  cares  and  fears. 
Who  then  to  frail  mortality  shall  trust, 
Rut  limns  on  water,  or  but  writes  in  dust 

Yet  whilst  with  sorrow  here  we  live  opprcst. 

What  life  is  best? 
Courts  are  but  only  superficial  schools 

To  dandle  fools : 
The  rural  parts  are  turned  into  a  den 

Of  savage  men : 

And  where's  a  city  from  foul  vice  so  free. 
But  may  be  termed  the  worst  of  all  the  three  ' 

Domestic  cares  afflict  the  husband's  bed. 

Or  pains  his  head : 
Those  that  live  single,  take  it  for  a  curse. 

Or  do  things  worse  : 


I76  MAN 

Some  would  have  children  :  those  that  have  them, 
moan 

Or  wish  them  gone  : 

What  is  it  then,  to  have,  or  have  no  wife, 
But  single  thraldom,  or  a  double  strife? 


Our  own  affections  still  at  home  to  please 

Is  a  disease : 
To  cross  the  seas  to  any  foreign  soil, 

Peril  and  toil : 
Wars  with  their  noise  affright  us  ;  when  they  cease, 

We  are  worse  in  peace  ; — 
What  then  remains,  but  that  we  still  should  cry 
For  being  born,  or,  being  born,  to  die? 

BACO* 


VAIN    TEARS 

WEEP  no  more,  nor  sigh,  nor  groan, 
Sorrow  calls  no  time  that 's  gone  ; 
Violets  plucked  the  sweetest  rain 
Makes  not  fresh  nor  grow  again  ; 
Trim  thy  locks,  look  cheerfully  ; 
Fate's  hid  ends  eyes  cannot  see  ; 
Joys  as  winged  dreams  fly  fast, 
Why  shouM  sadness  longer  last? 
Grief  is  but  a  wound  to  woe  ; 
Gentlest  fair,  mourn,  mourn  no  moe. 

FLETCHER 


LIFE'S    STAT 


LIFE'S     STAY 

THE  sturdy  rock,  for  all  his  strength. 

By  raging  seas  is  rent  in  twain  ; 
The  marble  stone  is  pierced  at  length, 

With  little  drop*  of  drizzling  rain : 
The  ox  doth  yield  unto  the  yoke, 
The  steel  obcyeth  the  ha  miner  stroke. 


The  stately  slag  tha»  teems  so  stout, 
By  yelping  hounds  at  bay  is  set : 

The  swiftest  bird  that  flies  about 
Is  caught  at  length  in  fowler's  net. 

The  greatest  fish  in  deepest  brook 

Is  soon  deceived  with  subl'.e  hook. 


Yea,  roan  himself,  unto  whose  will 
All  things  are  boundcn  to  obey. 

For  all  his  wit,  and  worthy  skill, 
Doth  fade  at  length,  and  fall  away. 

There  is  no  thing  but  time  doth  waste  ; 

The  heavens,  the  earth,  consume  at  last. 


But  virtue  sits,  triumphing  still. 

Upon  the  throne  of  glorious  fame; 
Though  spiteful  Death  man's  bodylcill. 

Yet  hurts  he  not  his  virtuous  name. 
By  life  or  death,  whatso  betides. 
The  state  of  virtue  never  slides. 

ANON. 


MAN 


CHORUS    OF    PRIESTS 

O  WEARISOME  condition  of  humanity  ! 
Born  under  one  law,  to  another  bound  ; 
Vainly  begot  and  yet  forbidden  vanity, 
Created  sick,  commanded  to  be  sound  : 
What  meaneth  Nature  by  these  diverse  laws  ? 
Passion  and  Reason  self-division  cause. 
Is  it  the  mark  or  majesty  of  power 
To  make  offences  that  it  may  forgive  ? 
Nature  herself  doth  her  own  self  deflower, 
To  hate  those  errors,  she  herself  doth  give. 
For  how  should  man  think  that  he  may  not  do 
If  Nature  did  not  fail  and  punish  too  ? 
Tyrant  to  others,  to  herself  unjust, 
Only  commands  things  difficult  and  hard. 
Forbids  us  all  things  which  it  knows  is  lust ; 
Makes  easy  pains,  impossible  reward 
If  Nature  did  not  take  delight  in  blood, 
She  would  have  made  more  easy  ways  to  good. 
We  that  are  bound  by  vows,  and  by  promotion, 
With  pomp  of  holy  sacrifice  and  rites, 
To  lead  belief  in  good  and  'still  devotion, 
To  preach  of  Heaven's  wonders  and  delights  ; 
Yet  when  each  of  us  in  his  own  heart  looks, 
He  finds  the  God  there  far  unlike  his  books. 

BROOKE 


THE    LIE 

Go,  Soul,  the  body's  guest, 
Upon  a  thankless  arrant !  * 

Fear  not  to  touch  the  best ; 
The  truth  shall  be  thy  warrant. 

*  Errand. 


THE    LIB 

Go,  since  I  needs  must  die. 
And  give  the  world  the  lie. 

Go,  tell  the  Court,  it  glows 
And  shines  like  rotten  wood ; 

Go.  tell  the  Church,  it  shows 
What  *s  good,  and  doth  no  good 

If  Church  and  Court  reply. 

Then  give  them  both  the  lie 

Tell  potentates,  they  live 

Acting  by  others'  action. 
Not  loved  unless  they  give, 

Not  strong  but  by  a  faction. 
If  potentates  reply. 
Give  potentates  the  lie. 

Tell  men  of  high  condition. 

That  manage  the  estate. 
Their  purpose  is  ambition, 

Their  practice  only  hate. 
And  if  they  once  reply, 
Then  give  them  all  the  lie. 

Tell  them  that  brave  it  most. 

They  beg  for  more  by  sending, 
Who  in  their  greatest  cost 

Seek  nothing  but  commending. 
And  if  they  make  reply, 
Then  tell  them  all  they  lie. 

Tell  zeal  it  lacks  devotion  ; 

Tell  love  it  is  but  lust ; 
Tell  time  it  is  but  motion  ; 

Tell  fle*h  it  is  but  du>t. 
And  wish  them  not  reply. 
For  thou  must  give  the  lie. 


179 


180  MAN 

Tell  age  it  daily  wasteth  ; 

Tell  honour  how  it  alters  ; 
Tell  beauty  how  she  blasteth  ; 

Tell  favour  how  it  falters. 
And  as  they  shall  reply, 
Give  every  one  the  lie. 


Tell  wit  how  much  it  wrangles 
In  tickle  points  of  niceness  ; 

Tell  wisdom  she  entangles 
Herself  in  over-wiseness. 

And  when  they  do  reply, 

Straight  give  them  both  the  lie. 

Tell  physic  of  her  boldness  ; 

Tell  skill  it  is  pretension  ; 
Tell  charity  of  coldness ; 

Tell  law  it  is  contention. 
And  as  they  do  reply, 
So  give  them  still  the  lie. 

Tell  fortune  of  her  blindness ; 

Tell  nature  of  decay  ; 
Tell  friendship  of  unkindness ; 

Tell  justice  of  delay. 
And  if  they  will  reply, 
Then  give  them  all  the  lie. 

Tell  arts  they  have  no  soundness, 

But  vary  by  esteeming  ; 
Tell  schools  they  want  profoundness, 

And  stand  too  much  on  seeming. 
If  arts  and  schools  reply, 
Give  arts  and  schools  the  lie. 


THK    LIB  idl 

Tell  faith  it  'i  fled  the  city  ; 

Tell  how  the  country  erreth  ; 
Tell,  manhood  shakes  off  pity ; 

Tell,  virtue  least  prefcrrclh. 
And  if  they  do  reply, 
Spare  not  to  give  the  lie. 

So  when  thou  hast,  as  I 

Commanded  thee.  done  blabbing. 
Although  to  give  the  lie 

Deserves  no  less  than  stabbing  : 
Stab  at  thce  he  who  will. 
No  stab  the  soul  can  kill. 

RALKGH 


FORLORN     HOPE 

To-MORROW,  and  to-monrow,  and  to-morrow, 
Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day, 
To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time ; 
And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 
The  way  to  dusty  death.     Out,  out.  brief  candle  ! 
Life's  but  a  walking  shadow  ;  a  poor  player. 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stag--. 
And  then  is  heard  no  more  :  it  is  a  tale 
Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury. 
Signifying  nothing. 

SHAKESPEARE 


BE  wise  to-day  !  tis  madness  to  defer : 
Next  day  the  fatal  precedent  will  plead  ; 
Thus  on,  till  wisdom  is  pushed  out  of  life 


182 


Procrastination  is  the  thief  of  time : 
Year  after  year  it  steals,  till  all  are  fied. 
And  to  the  mercies  of  a  moment  leaves 
The  vast  concerns  of  an  eternal  scene. 
If  not  so  frequent,  would  not  this  be  strange? 
That  'tis  so  frequent,  this  is  stranger  still. 
Of  man's  miraculous  mistakes,  this  bears 
The  palm,  'That  all  men  are  about  to  live, 
For  ever  on  the  brink  of  being  born : 
All  pay  themselves  the  compliment  to  think 
They  one  day  shall  not  drivel,  and  their  pride 
On  this  reversion,  takes  up  ready  praise  ; 
At  least,  their  own  ;  their  future  selves  applaud. 
How  excellent  that  life  they  ne'er  will  lead  ! 
Time  lodged  in  their  own  hands  is  Folly's  vails ; 
That  lodged  in  Fate's,  to  Wisdom  they  consign  ; 
The  thing  they  can't  but  purpose,  they  postpone. 
"1'is  not  in  folly  not  to  scorn  a  fool, 
And  scarce  in  human  wisdom  to  do  more- 
All  promise  is  poor  dilatory  man, 
And    that    through    every    stage.     When    young 

indeed, 

In  full  content  we  sometimes  nobly  rest 
Unanxious  for  ourselves,  and  only  wish, 
As  duteous  sons,  our  fathers  were  more  wise. 
At  thirty,  man  suspects  himself  a  fool ; 
Knows  it  at  forty,  and  reforms  his  plan  ; 
At  fifty,  chides  his  infamous  delay, 
Pushes  his  prudent  purpose  to  resolve , 
In  all  the  magnanimity  of  thought 
Resolves  and  re  -resolves  ;  then  dies  the  same. 

And  why  ?  because  he  thinks  himself  immortal. 
All  men  think  all  men  mortal  but  themselves  ! 
Themselves,  when  some  alarming  shock  of  Fate 
Strikes  through  their  wounded   hearts  the  sudden 

dread : 


PROCRASTINATION  183 

But  thrir  hearts  wounded,  like  the  wounded  air. 
Soon  close  ;  where  passed  the  shaft,  no  trace  is  found. 
As  from  the  wing  no  scar  the  sky  retains, 
The  parted  wave  no  furrow  from  the  keel ; 
So  dies  in  human  hearts  the  thought  of  death  : 
Even  with  the  tender  tear  which  nature  sheds 
O'er  those  *e  love,  we  drop  it  in  their  grave. 

YOUNG 


LINES    WRITTEN    AMONG    THE 
EUGANF.AN     IIII.I.S 

MANY  a  green  isle  nerds  must  be 
In  the  deep  wide  sea  of  misery, 
Or  the  mariner,  worn  and  wan. 
Never  thus  could  voyage  on 
Day  and  night,  and  night  and  day, 
Drifting  on  his  dreary  way, 
With  the  solid  darkness  black 
Closing  round  his  vessel's  track  ; 
Whilst  above,  the  sunlrss  sky 
Rig  with  clouds,  hangs  heavily, 
And  behind  the  temprst  fleet 
Hurries  on  with  lightning  feet. 
Riving  sail,  and  cord,  and  plank, 
Till  the  ship  has  almost  drank 
Death  from  the  o'er-brimming  deep ; 
And  sinks,  down,  down,  like  that  sleep 
When  the  dreamer  seems  to  be 
Weltering  through  eternity  ; 
And  the  dim  low  line  before 
Of  a  dark  and  distant  shore 
Still  recedes,  as  ever  si  ill 
Longing  with  divided  will. 


i84 


But  no  power  to  seek  or  shun 
He  is  ever  drifted  on 
O'er  the  unreposing  wave 
To  the  haven  of  the  grave. 


Ay,  many  flowering  islands  lie 

In  the  waters  of  wide  agony : 

To  such  a  one  this  morn  was  led 

My  bark,  by  soft  winds  piloted. 

— 'Mid  the  mountains  Euganean 

I  stood  listening  to  the  paean 

With  which  the  legioned  rooks  did  hail 

The  Sun's  uprise  majestical : 

Gathering  round  with  wings  all  hoar, 

Through  the  dewy  mist  they  soar 

Like  gray  shades,  till  the  eastern  heaven 

Bursts,  and  then, — as  clouds  of  even 

Fleck'd  with  fire  and  azure,  lie 

In  the  unfathomable  sky, — 

So  their  plumes  of  purple  grain 

Starred  with  drops  of  golden  rain 

Gleam  above  the  sunlight  woods, 

As  in  silent  multitudes 

On  the  morning's  fitful  gale 

Through  the  broken  mist  they  sail ; 

And  the  vapours  cloven  and  gleaming 

Follow  down  the  dark  steep  streaming, 

Till  all  is  bright,  and  clear,  and  still 

Round  the  solitary  hill. 


Beneath  is  spread  like  a  green  sea 
The  waveless  plain  of  Lombardv. 
Bounded  by  the  vaporous  air, 
Islanded  by  cities  fair  ; 


WriTTBN   AMONG  THE  CUGANEAN  HILLS     185 

Underneath  day's  azure  eyes, 
Ocean's  nursling,  Venice  lies.— 
A  peopled  labyrinth  of  walls. 
Amphilrilc's  destined  halls, 
Which  her  hoary  sire  now  paves 
With  his  blue  and  beaming  waves. 
Lo  I  the  sun  upsprings  behind, 
Broad,  red,  radiant,  half-reclined 
On  the  level  quivering  line 
Of  the  waters  crystalline  ; 
And  before  that  chasm  of  light. 
As  within  a  furnace  bright. 
Column,  tower,  and  dome,  and  spire. 
Shine  like  obelisks  of  fire, 
Pointing  with  inconstant  motion 
From  the  altar  of  dark  ocean 
To  the  sapphire-tinted  skies ; 
As  the  flames  of  sacrifice 
From  the  marble  shrines  did  rise 
As  to  pierce  the  dome  of  gold 
Where  Apollo  spoke  of  old. 


Noon  descends  around  me  now : 
Tis  the  noon  of  autumn's  glow. 
When  a  soft  and  purple  mist 
Like  a  vaporous  amethyst, 
Or  an  air-dissolved  star 
Mingling  light  and  fragrance,  far 
From  the  curved  horizon's  bound 
To  the  point  of  heaven's  profound, 
Fills  the  overflowing  sky, 
And  the  plains  that  silent  lie 
Underneath  ;  the  leaves  unsodden 
Where  the  infant  frost  has  trodden 


1 86  MAN 

With  his  morning-winged  feet 

Whose  bright  print  is  gleaming  yei  ; 

And  the  red  and  golden  vines 

Piercing  with  their  trellised  lines 

The  rough,  dark-skirted  wilderness  : 

The  dun  and  bladed  grass  no  less, 

Pointing  from  this  hoary  tower 

In  the  windless  air  ;  the  flower 

Glimmering  at  my  feet ;  the  line 

Of  the  olive-sandalled  Apennine 

In  the  south  dimly  islanded  ; 

And  the  Alps,  whose  snows  are  spread 

High  between  the  clouds  and  sun  ; 

And  of  living  things  each  one  ; 

And  my  spirit,  which  so  long 

Darkened  this  swift  stream  of  song, — 

Interpenetrated  lie 

By  the  glory  of  the  sky  ; 

Be  it  love,  light,  harmony, 

Odour,  or  the  soul  of  all 

Which  from  heaven  like  dew  doth  fall, 

Or  the  mind  which  feeds  this  verse 

Peopling  the  lone  universe. 


No  .n  descends,  and  after  noon 
Autumn's  evening  meets  me  soon, 
Leading  the  infantine  moon 
And  that  one  star,  which  to  her 
Almost  seems  to  minister 
Half  the  crimson  light  she  brings 
From  the  sunset's  radiant  springs  : 
And  the  soft  dreams  of  the  morn 
(Which  like  winged  winds  had  borne 
To  that  silent  isle  which  lies 


WRITTEN'   AMONG  THE   F.UGANEAN   HILLS     187 

'Mid  remembered  agonies. 
The  frail  bark  of  this  lone  being;. 
Prw,  to  other  sufferers  fleeing. 
And  its  ancient  pilot.  Pain. 
Sits  beside  the  helm  again. 


Other  flowering  isles  must  be 

In  the  sea  of  life  and  agony : 

Other  spirits  float  and  flee 

O'er  that  gulf:  even  now.  perhaps. 

On  some  rock  the  wild  wave  wraps. 

With  folding  wings  they  waiting  sit 

For  my  bark,  to  pil»t  it 

To  some  calm  and  blooming  cove. 

Where  for  me,  and  those  I  love. 

May  a  windless  bower  be  built, 

Far  from  passion,  pain.  zin<!  guilt. 

In  a  dell  'mid  lawny  hills 

Which  the  wild  sea-murmur  fills, 

And  soft  sunshine,  and  the  sound 

Of  old  forests  echoing  round. 

And  the  light  and  smell  divine 

Of  all  flowers  that  breathe  and  shine. 

— We  may  live  so  happy  there, 

That  the  spirits  of  the  air 

Envying  us.  may  even  entice 

To  our  healing  paradise 

The  polluting  multitude ; 

But  their  rage  would  be  subdued 

By  that  clime  divine  and  calm, 

And  the  winds  whose  wings  rain  balm 

On  the  uplifted  soul,  and  leaves 

Under  which  the  bright  sea  heaves ; 

While  each  breathless  interval 

In  their  whisperings  musical 


(88 


The  inspired  soul  supplies 

With  its  own  deep  melodies ; 

And  the  Love  which  heals  all  strife 

Circling,  like  the  breath  of  life, 

All  things  in  that  sweet  abode 

With  its  own  mild  brotherhood. 

They,  not  it,  would  change  ;  and  soon 

Every  sprite  beneath  the  moon 

Would  repent  its  envy  vain, 

And  the  Earth  grow  young  again  ! 

SHELLEY 


O  WORLD  !  O  Life  !  O  Time ! 
On  whose  last  steps  I  climb, 

Trembling  at  that  where  I  had  stood  before  ; 
When  will  return  the  glory  of  your  prime  ? 
No  more — O  never  more  1 

Out  of  the  day  and  night 
A  joy  has  taken  flight: 

Fresh  spring,  and  summer,  and  winter  hoar 
Move  my  faint  heart  with  grief,  but  with  delight 
No  more— O  never  more ! 

SHELLEY 


STANZAS    WRITTEN    IN    DEJECTION 
NEAR     NAPLES 

THE  sun  is  warm,  the  sky  is  clear, 
The  waves  are  dancing  fast  and  bright, 
Blue  isles  and  snowy  mountains  wear 
The  purple  noon's  transparent  light : 


WtlTTKH    IK    OBJECTION  189 

T  e  breath  of  the  moul  air  is  light 
Around  its  unexpanded  buds ; 
Like  many  a  voice  of  one  delight— 
The  winds',  the  birds',  the  ocean-floods  — 
The  City's  voice  itself  is  soft  like  Solitude's. 


I  see  the  Deep's  untrampled  floor 
With  green  and  purple  sea-weeds  strown  , 
I  see  the  waves  upon  the  shore 
Like  light  dissolved  in  star-showers  thrown  : 
I  sit  upon  the  sands  alone ; 
The  lightning  of  the  noontide  ocean 
Is  flashing  round  roe,  and  a  tone 
Arises  from  its  measured  motion — 
How  sweet !  did  any  heart  now  share  in  my  emotion. 

Alas !  I  have  nor  hope  nor  health. 
Nor  peace  within  nor  calm  around, 
Nor  that  content  surpassing;  wealth 
The  sage  in  meditation  found. 
And  walked  with  inward  glory  crowned  - 
Nor  fame,  nor  power,  nor  love,  nor  leisure  ; 
Others  I  see  whom  these  surround— 
Smiling  they  live,  and  call  life  pleasure  ; 
To  me  that  cup  has  been  dealt  in  another  measure. 

Yet  now  despair  itself  is  mild 
Even  as  the  winds  and  waters  are  ; 
I  could  lie  down  like  a  tired  child. 
And  weep  away  the  life  of  care 
Which  I  have  borne,  and  yet  must  bear. 
Till  death  like  sleep  might  steal  on  me. 
And  I  might  feel  in  the  warm  air 
My  cheek  grow  cold,  and  hear  the  sea 
Breathe  o'er  my  dying  brain  its  last  monotony. 


190  MAN 

Some  might  lament  that  I  were  cold 
As  I  when  this  sweet  day  is  gone, 
Which  my  lost  heart,  too  soon  grown  old, 
Insults  with  this  untimely  moan. 
They  might  lament— for  I  am  one 
Whom  men  love  not  and  yet  regret ; 
Unlike  this  day  which,  when  the  sun 
Shall  on  its  stainless  glory  set, 
Will  linger,  though  enjoyed,  like  joy  in  memory  yet 


A    LAMENT 

SWIFTER  far  than  summer's  flight, 
Swifter  far  than  youth's  delight, 
Swifter  far  than  happy  night, 

Art  thou  come  and  gone  : 
As  the  earth  when  leaves  are  dead, 
As  the  night  when  sleep  is  sped, 
As  the  heart  when  joy  is  fled, 

I  am  left  lone,  alone. 

The  swallow  Summer  comes  again, 
The  owlet  Night  resumes  her  reign, 
But  the  wild  swan  Youth  is  fain 

To  fly  with  thee,  false  as  thou. 
My  heart  each  day  desires  the  morrow, 
Sleep  itself  is  turned  to  sorrow, 
Vainly  would  my  winter  borrow 

Sunny  leaves  from  any  bough. 

Lilies  for  a  bridal  bed, 
Roses  for  a  matron's  head, 
Violets  for  a  maiden  dead, 

Pansies  let  my  flowers  be : 


A    LAMENT  191 

On  the  living  grave  I  bear, 
Scatter  them  without  a  tear 
Let  no  friend,  however  dear, 

Waste  one  hope,  one  fear  for  me. 

SHELLF.¥ 


DEJKCT1ON  :     AN    ODE 

Late,  late  ye«tre«n  I  MW  thr  new  Moon, 
With  the  okl  Moon  in  her  arm*  ; 
And  I  fear,  I  fear,  my  Matter  dear ! 
We  shall  have  a  deadly  norm. 

BalUd  f/Sir  Patrick  Sffmt. 

WELL!     If  the  Bard  was  wcathrr-wise,  who  made 
The  grand  old  ballad  of  S»r  fatrick  Spcnce, 
'I"his  night,  so  tranquil  now,  will  nut  go  hence 
Unroused  by*winds.  that  ply  a  busier  trade 
Than  those  which  mould  yon  cloud  in  lazy  flakes, 
Or  the  dull  sobbing  draft,  that  moans  and  rakes 
Upon  the  strings  of  this  Kolian  lute, 
Which  belter  far  were  mute. 
For  lo !  the  New-moon  winter-bright ! 
And  overspread  with  phantom  light, 
(With  swimming  phantom  light  o'ersprrad 
But  rimmed  and  circled  by  a  silver  thread) 
I  see  the  old  Moon  in  her  lap,  foretelling 

The  coming  on  of  rain  and  squally  blast 
And  oh  !  that  even  now  the  gust  were  swelling. 

And  the  slant  night-shower  driving  loud  .md  f.i-t ! 
Those  sounds  which  oft  have  raised   me,   wlu.st  thc> 

awed, 

And  sent  my  soul  abroad, 
Might  now  perhaps  their  wonted  impulse  give. 
Might  startle  this  dull  pain,  and  make  it  move  and  live  ! 


192  MAN 

A  grief  without  a  pang,  void,  dark,  and  drear, 
A  stifled,  drowsy,  unimpassioned  grief, 
Which  finds  no  natural  outlet,  no  relief, 
In  word,  or  sigh,  or  tear — 

0  Lady  !  in  this  wan  and  heartless  mood, 
To  other  thoughts  by  yonder  throstle  woo'd, 

All  this  long  eve,  so  balmy  and  serene, 
Have  I  been  gazing  on  the  western  sky, 

And  its  peculiar  tint  of  yellow  green  : 
And  still  I  gaze — and  with  how  blank  an  eye  ! 
And  those  thin  clouds  above,  in  flakes  and  bars, 
That  give  away  their  motion  to  the  stars  ; 
Those  stars,  that  glide  behind  them  or  between, 
Now  sparkling,  now  bedimmed,  but  always  seen 
Yon  crescent  Moon  as  fixed  as  if  it  grew 
In  its  own  cloudless,  starless  lake  of  blue  ; 

1  see  them  all  so  excellently  fair, 

I  see,  not  feel  how  beautiful  they  are  1 


My  genial  spirits  fail ; 

And  what  can  these  avail 
To  lift  the  smothering  weight  from  off  my  breast? 

It  were  a  vain  endeavour, 

Though  I  should  gaze  for  ever 
On  that  green  light  that  lingers  in  the  west : 
I  may  not  hope  from  outward  forms  to  win 
The  passion  and  the  life,  whose  fountains  are  within. 


O  Lady !  we  receive  but  what  we  give, 
And  in  our  life  alone  does  nature  live : 
Ours  is  her  wedding-garment,  ours  her  shroud  ! 
And  would  we  aught  behold,  of  higher  worth. 
Than  that  inanimate  cold  world  allowed 


DEJECTION:    AN  ODE  193 

To  the  poor  loveless  ever-anxious  crowd. 

Ah  !  from  the  soul  itself  must  issue  forth. 
A  light,  a  glory,  a  fair  luminous  cloud 

Enveloping  the  Earth — 
And  from  the  soul  itself  must  there  be  sent 

A  sweet  and  potent  voice,  of  its  own  birth, 
Of  all  sweet  sounds  the  life  and  element  I 


O  pure  of  heart !  thou  need'st  not  ask  of  me 
What  this  strong  music  in  the  soul  may  be  f 
What,  and  wherein  it  doth  exist, 
This  light,  this  glory,  this  fair  luminous  mist. 
This  beautiful  and  beauty-making  power. 

Joy.  virtuous  Lady  !     Joy  that  ne'er  was  given. 
Save  to  the  pure,  and  in  their  purest  hour, 
Life,  and  Life's  effluence,  cloud  at  once  and  shower. 
Joy,  Lady  I  is  the  spirit  and  the  power. 
Which  wedding  Nature  to  us  gives  in  dower. 

A  new  Earth  and  new  Heaven, 
Undreamt  of  by  the  sensual  and  the  proud — 
Joy  is  the  sweet  voice.  Joy  the  luminous  cloud— 

We  in  ourselves  rejoice  I 
And  thence  flows  all  that  charms  or  ear  or  sight, 

All  melodies  the  echoes  of  that  voice. 
All  colours  a  suffusion  from  that  light. 


Tin-re  was  a  time  when,   though  my  path  was 
rough, 

This  joy  within  me  dallied  with  distress. 
And  all  misfortunes  were  but  as  the  stuff 

Whence  Fancy  made  me  dreams  of  happiness  : 
For  hope  grew  round  me,  like  the  twining  vine, 
Ai.d  fruits,  and  foliage,  not  my  own.  seemed  mine. 
But  now  affliction*  bow  me  down  to  earth  : 


194  MAN 

Nor  care  1  that  they  rob  me  of  my  mirth, 

But  oh  !  each  visitation 
Suspends  what  nature  gave  me  at  my  birth, 

My  shaping  spirit  of  Imagination. 
For  not  to  think  of  what  I  needs  must  feel, 

But  to  be  still  and  patient,  all  I  can  ; 
And  haply  by  abstruse  research  to  steal 

From  my  own  nature  all  the  natural  man — 

This  was  my  sole  resource,  my  only  plan  : 
Till  that  which  suits  a  part  infects  the  whole, 
And  now  is  almost  grown  the  habit  of  my  soul. 


Hence,  viper  thoughts,  that  coil  around  my  mind, 

Reality's  dark  dream  ! 
I  turn  from  you,  and  listen  to  the  wind, 

Which  long  has  raved  unnoticed.     What  a  scream 
Of  agony  by  torture  lengthened  out 
That  lute  sent  forth  !    Thou  Wind,  that  ravest  without, 

Bare  craig,  or  mountain-tairn,  or  blasted  tree, 
Or  pine-grove  whither  woodman  never  clomb, 
Or  lonely  house,  long  held  the  witches'  home, 

Methinks  were  fitter  instruments  for  thee, 
Mad  Lutanist !  who  in  this  month  of  showers, 
Of  dark  brown  gardens,  and  of  peeping  flowers, 
Mak'st  Devils'  yule,  with  worse  than  wintry  song, 
The  blossoms,  buds,  and  timorous  leaves  among. 

Thou  Actor,  perfect  in  all  tragic  sounds  ! 
Thou  mighty  Poet,  e'en  to  frenzy  bold  ! 
What  tell'st  thou  now  about  ? 
'Tis  of  the  rushing  of  a  host  in  rout, 

With  groans  of  trampled  men,  with  smarting 

wounds — 

At  once  they  groan  with  pain,  and  shudder  with  the  cold ! 
But  hush  !  there  is  a  pause  of  deepest  silence  ! 

And  all  that  noise,  as  of  a  rushing  crowd, 


DEJECTION:      AN    ODE  195 

With  groans,  and  tremulous  sbudderings — all  is  over- 
It  tells  another  tale,  with  sounds  less  deep  and  loud  ! 

A  tale  of  less  aflright. 

And  tempered  with  delight. 
As  Otway's  self  had  framed  the  tender  lay. 

Tis  of  a  little  child 

Upon  a  lonesome  wild. 

Not  far  from  home,  but  she  hath  lost  her  way : 
And  now  moans  low  in  bitter  grief  and  fear. 
And  DOW  screams  loud,  and  hopes  to  make  her  mother 
hear. 


T!s  midnight,  but  small  thoughts  have  I  of  steep : 
Full  seldom  may  my  friend  such  vigils  keep ! 
Visit  her,  gentle  Sleep!  with  wings  of  healing. 

And  may  this  storm  be  but  a  mountain-birth, 
May  all  the  stars  hang  bright  above  her  dwelling, 

Silent  as  though  they  watched  the  sleeping  Lanh 
With  light  hean  may  she  rise, 
Gay  fancy,  cheerful  eyes, 

Joy  lift  hrr  spirit,  joy  attune  her  voice ; 
To  her  may  all  things  live,  from  pole  to  pole. 
Their  life  the  eddying  of  her  living  soul ! 

O  simple  spirit,  guided  from  above. 
Dear  Lady  I  friend  devoutest  of  my  choice. 
Thus  mayest  thou  ever,  evermore  rejoice. 

COLERIDGE 


ODE    TO    DUTY 

STF.RN  Daughter  of  the  Voice  of  God  1 
O  Duty  I  if  that  name  thou  love. 
Who  art  a  light  to  guide,  a  rod 
To  check  the  erring,  and  reprove  ; 


156  MAN 

Thou,  who  art  victory  and  law 

When  empty  terrors  overawe  ; 

From  vain  temptations  dost  set  free  ; 

And  calm'st  the  weary  strife  of  frail  humanity 


There  are  who  ask  not  if  thine  eye 
Be  on  them  ;  who,  in  love  and  truth, 
Where  no  misgiving  is,  rely 
Upon  the  genial  sense  of  youth  : 
Glad  Hearts !  without  reproach  or  blot  ; 
Who  do  thy  work,  and  know  it  not : 
Long  may  the  kindly  impulse  last ! 
But  Thou,  if  they  should  totter,  teach  them  to  stand 
fast! 


Serene  will  be  our  days  and  bright, 

And  happy  will  our  nature  be, 

When  love  is  an  unerring  light, 

And  joy  its  own  security. 

And  they  a  blissful  course  may  hold 

Even  now,  who,  not  unwisely  bold, 

Live  in  the  spirit  of  this  creed  ; 

Yet  seek  thy  firm  support,  according  to  their  need. 


I,  loving  freedom,  and  untried; 

No  sport  of  every  random  gust, 

Yet  being  to  myself  a  guide, 

Too  blindly  have  reposed  my  trust ; 

And  oft,  when  in  my  heart  was  heard 

Thy  timely  mandate,  I  deferred 

The  task,  in  smoother  walks  to  stray  ; 

But  thee  I  now  would  serve  more  strictly,  it  I  may. 


ODE    TO    DUTY  IO7 

Through  no  disturbance  of  my  soul. 

Or  strong  compunction  in  me  wrought. 

I  supplicate  for  Thy  control ; 

But  in  the  quietness  of  thought : 

Me  this  unchartered  freedom  tires ; 

I  feel  the  weight  of  chance  desires  : 

My  hopes  no  more  must  change  their  name. 

I  long  for  a  repose  that  ever  is  the  same. 

Stern  Lawgiver  I  yet  thou  dost  wear 
The  Godhead's  most  benignant  grace; 
Nor  know  we  anything  so  fair 
As  is  the  smile  upon  thy  face  : 
Flowers  laugh  before  thee  on  their  betl* 
And  fragrance  in  thy  footing  treads  ; 
Thou  dost  preserve  the  stars  from  «  roug  ; 
And  the  most  ancient  Heavens,  through  Ti.ee.  ar< 
fresh  and  strong. 

To  humbler  functions,  awful  Powrr  ! 

I  call  Thee  !  I  myself  commend 

Unto  thy  guidance  from  this  hour  ; 

Oh,  let  my  weakness  have  an  end  I 

Give  unto  me,  made  lowly  wise, 

The  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  ; 

The  confidence  of  reason  give ; 

And  in  the  light  of  truth  thy  bondman  let  me  live    ' 

WOK PS  WORTH 


RESOLUTION    AND    INDEPENDENCE 

THERE  was  a  roaring  in  the  wind  all  night ; 
The  rain  came  heavily  and  fell  in  floods  ; 
But  now  the  sun  is  rising  calm  and  bright ; 


rr;8  MAN 

The  birds  are  singing  in  the  distant  woods  ; 
Over  his  own  sweet  voice  the  Stock-dove  broods  ; 
The  Jay  makes  answer  as  the  Magpie  chatters  ; 
And  all  the  air  is  filled  with  pleasant  noise  of  waters. 

All  things  that  love  the  sun  are  out  of  doors  ; 

The  sky  rejoices  in  the  morning's  birth  ; 

The  grass  is  bright  with  rain- drops  ; — on  the  moors 

The  hare  is  running  races  in  her  mirth  ; 

And  with  her  feet  she  from  the  plashy  earth 

Raises  a  mist ;  that,  glittering  in  the  sun, 

Runs  with  her  all  the  way,  wherever  she  doth  run. 

1  was  a  traveller  then  upon  the  moor ; 

I  saw  the  hare  that  raced  about  with  joy  ; 

I  heard  the  woods  and  distant  waters  roar, 

Or  heard  them  not,  as  happy  as  a  boy  : 

The  pleasant  season  did  my  heart  employ : 

My  old  remembrances  went  from  me  wholly  ; 

And  all  the  ways  of  men,  so  vain  and  melancholy  ! 

But,  as  it  sometimes  chanceth,  from  the  might 
Of  joy  in  minds  that  can  no  further  go, 
As  high  as  we  have  mounted  in  delight 
In  our  dejection  do  we  sink  as  low, 
To  me  that  morning  did  it  happen  so  ; 
And  fears  and  fancies  thick  upon  me  came  : 
Dim  sadness — and  blind  thoughts,  I  knew  not,  nor 
could  name. 

I  heard  the  skylark  warbling  in  the  sky  ; 
And  I  bethought  me  of  the  playful  hare  : 
Even  such  a  happy  child  of  earth  am  I ; 
Even  as  these  blissful  creatures  do  I  fare  ; 
Far  from  the  world  I  walk,  and  from  all  care  ; 


RESOLUTION    AND    INDEPENDENCE      199 

But  there  may  come  another  day  to  me  — 
Solitude,  pain  of  heart,  distress,  and  poverty. 

My  whole  life  I  have  lived  in  pleasant  thought. 

As  if  life's  business  were  a  summer  mood  : 

As  If  all  needful  things  would  come  unsought 

To  genial  faith,  still  rich  in  genial  good : 

But  how  can  be  expect  that  others  should 

Build  for  him,  sow  for  him.  and  at  his  call 

Love  him.  who  for  himself  will  take  no  heed  at  all  ? 


I  thought  of  Chatterton,  the  marvellous  ik>y. 

The  sleepless  soul  that  perished  in  his  pride  ; 

Of  him  who  walked  in  glory  and  in  joy 

Following  his  plough,  along  the  mountain  -side  . 

By  our  own  spirits  are  we  deified  ; 

We  poets  in  our  youth  begin  in  gladness  ; 

Rut  thereof  comes  in  the  end  despondency  and  nuit! 


Now.  whether  it  were  by  peculiar  grace, 

A  leading  from  above,  a  something  given. 

Yet  it  befel.  that,  In  this  lonely  place. 

When  I  with  these  untoward  thoughts  had  striven. 

Beside  a  pool  bare  to  the  eye  of  heaven 

I  saw  a  Man  before  me  unawares : 

The  oldest  man  he  seemed  that  ever  wore  grey  hain> 


As  a  huge  stone  is  sometimes  seen  to  lie 
Couched  on  the  bald  top  of  an  eminence ; 
Wonder  to  all  who  do  the  same  espy, 
By  what  means  it  could  thither  come,  and  whence  ; 
So  that  it  seems  a  thing  endued  with  sense : 
Like  a  sea-beast  crawled  forth,  that  on  a  shelf 
Of  rock  or  sand  rcposeth.  there  to  sun  itself; 


200  MAN 

Siuh  seemed  this  Man,  not  all  alive  nor  dead, 

Nor  all  asleep — in  his  extreme  old  age  : 

His  body  was  bent  double,  feet  and  head 

Coming  together  in  life's  pilgrimage  ; 

As  if  some  dire  constraint  of  pain,  or  rage 

Of  sickness  felt  by  him  in  times  long  past, 

A  more  than  human  weight  upon  his  frame  had  cast. 

Himself  he  propped,  his  body,  limbs,  and  face, 
Upon  a  long  grey  staff  of  shaven  wood  : 
And,  still  as  I  drew  near  with  gentle  pace, 
Upon  the  margin  of  that  moorish  flood 
Motionless  as  a  cloud  the  Old-man  stood  ; 
That  heareth  not  the  loud  winds  when  they  call ; 
And  moveth  all  together,  if  it  move  at  all. 

At  length,  himself  unsettling,  he  the  pond 

Stirred  with  his  staff,  and  fixedly  did  look 

Upon  the  muddy  water,  which  he  conned, 

As  if  he  had  been  reading  in  a  book  ; 

And  now  a  stranger's  privilege  I  took  ; 

And  drawing  to  his  side,  to  him  did  say, 

'  This  morning  gives  us  promise  of  a  glorious  day. 

A  gentle  answer  did  the  Old-man  make, 
In  courteous  speech  which  forth  he  slowly  drew  : 
And  him  with  further  words  I  thus  bespake, 
'  What  occupation  do  you  there  pursue  ? 
This  is  a  lonesome  place  for  one  like  you.' 
He  answered,  while  a  flash  of  mild  surprise 
Broke  from  the  sable  orbs  of  his  yet  vivid  eyes. 

His  words  came  feebly,  from  a  feeble  chest, 
But  each  in  solemn  order  followed  each, 
With  something  of  a  lofty  utterance  drest — 


•  KSOLUTI'ON    AND    INDEPENDENCE      aot 

Choice  word  and  measured  phrase,  above  the  reach 
Of  ordinary  men  ;  a  stately  speech ; 
Such  as  grave  liven  do  in  Scotland  use. 
Religious  men,  who  give  to  God  and  Man  their  dues. 

He  told,  that  to  these  waters  he  had  come 

To  gather  Leeches,  being  old  and  poor  : 

Kmployment  hazardous  and  wearisome  ! 

And  he  had  many  harelips  to  endute  , 

From  pond  to  pond  he  roamed,  from  moor  to  moor . 

Housing,  with  God's  good  help,  by  choice  or  chan-  > 

And  in  this  way  he  gained  an  honest  maintenance. 

The  Old-man  still  flood  talking  by  my  side ; 

Uut  now  his  voice  to  me  was  like  a  stream 

Scarce  heard  ;  nor  word  from  word  could  I  divide  . 

And  the  whole  body  of  the  Man  did  srt-m 

Like  one  whom  I  had  met  with  in  a  drram  ; 

Or  like  a  man  from  some  far  region  sent. 

To  give  me  human  strength,  by  apt  admonishment 

My  former  thoughts  returned  ;  the  fear  that  kills  ; 

And  hope  that  is  unwilling  to  be  fed  ; 

Cold,  pain,  and  labour,  and  all  fleshly  ills  ; 

And  mighty  Poets  in  their  misery  dead. 

—  Perplexed,  and  longing  to  be  comforted. 

My  question  eagerly  did  I  renew, 

'  How  is  it  that  you  live,  and  what  is  it  you  do  ?' 

He  with  a  smile  did  then  his  words  repeat : 
And  said,  that,  gathering  Leeches,  far  and  wide 
He  travelled  ;  stirring  thus  about  his  feet 
The  waters  of  the  pools  where  they  abide, 
'  Once  I  could  meet  with  them  on  every  side ; 


202  MAN 

But  they  have  dwindled  long  by  slow  decay  ; 
Yet  still  I  persevere,  and  find  them  where  I  may.* 

While  he  was  talking  thus,  the  lonely  place, 

The  Old-man's  shape,  and  speech,  all  troubled  me  : 

In  my  mind's  eye  I  seemed  to  see  him  pace 

About  the  weary  moors  continually, 

Wandering  about  alone  and  silently. 

While  I  these  thoughts  within  myself  pursued. 

He,  having  made  a  pause,  the  same  discourse  renewed 

And  soon  with  this  he  other  matter  blended, 

Cheerfully  uttered,  with  demeanour  kind 

But  stately  in  the  main  :  and  when  he  ended, 

I  could  have  laughed  myself  to  scorn  to  find 

In  that  decrepit  Man  so  firm  a  mind. 

1  God,'  said  I,  '  be  my  help  and  stay  secure  ; 

I  '11  think  of  the  Leech-gatherer  on  the  lonely  moor ! ' 

WORDSWORTH 


PATRIOTISM 


O  England,  model  to  thy  inward  greatness 
Like  little  body  with  a  mighty  heart ' 

This  royal  throne  of  kings,  this  scepter'd  isle, 

This  earth  of  majesty,  this  seat  of  Mars, 

This  other  Eden,  demi-paradise  ; 

This  fortress,  built  by  nature  for  herselj, 

Against  infection  and  the  hand  of  war  ; 

This  happy  breed  of  men,  this  little  world; 

This  precious  stone  set  in  the  silver  sea, 

Which  serves  it  in  the  office  of  a  wall, 

Or  as  a  moat  defensive  to  a  house, 

Against  the  envy  of  less  happier  lands  ; 

This  blessed  plot,  this  earth,  this  realm,  this  England 

England,  bound  in  with  the  triumphant  sea, 

Whose  rocky  shore  beats  back  the  envious  siege 

Oj  watery  Neptune. 

This  England  never  did  nor  never  shall 

Lie  at  the  proud  foot  of  a  conqueror. 

Come  the  three  corners  of  the  world  in  arms 

And  we  shall  shock  them.    Nought  shall  make  us  rue, 

If  England  to  itself  do  rest  but  true. 


AND  did  those  feet  in  ancient  time 

Walk  upon  England's  mountain  green  ? 

And  was  the  holy  Lamb  of  God 
On  England's  pleasant  pastures  seen  ? 

And  did  the  countenance  divine 
Shine  forth  upon  our  clouded  hills? 

And  was  Jerusalem  builded  here 
Among  these  dark  Satanic  mills  ? 

Bring  me  my  bow  of  burning  gold  ! 

Bring  me  my  arrows  of  desire ! 
Bring  me  my  spear :  O  clouds,  unfold  ' 

Bring  me  my  chariot  of  fire  ! 

I  will  not  cense  from  mental  fight. 

Nor  shall  my  sword  sleep  in  my  hand. 
Till  we  hare  built  Jerusalem 

In  England's  green  and  pleasant  land. 

BLAKE 


BREATHES  there  the  man.  with  soul  so  dead, 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 

This  is  my  own,  my  native  land  ! 
Whose  heart  hath  ne'er  within  him  burn  d. 
As  home  his  footsteps  he  hath  turn'd, 

From  wandering  on  a  foreign  strand  ! 
If  such  there  breathe,  go,  mark  him  well ; 
For  him  no  Minstrel  raptures  swell ; 


206  PATRIOTISM 

High  though  his  titles,  proud  his  name, 
Boundless  his  wealth  as  wish  can  claim  ; 
Despite  those  titles,  power,  and  pelf, 
The  wretch,  concentred  all  in  self, 
Living,  shall  forfeit  fair  renown, 
And,  doubly  dying,  shall  go  down 
To  the  vile  dust,  from  whence  he  sprung, 
Unwept,  unhonour'd,  and  unsung. 

SCOTT 


LIBERTY 


OH  how  comely  it  is,  and  how  reviving 

To  the  spirits  of  just  men  long  oppress' d  ! 

When  God  into  the  hands  of  their  deliverer 

Puts  invincible  might 

To  quell  the  mighty  of  the  earth,  the  oppressor, 

The  brute  and  boisterous  force  of  violent  men, 

Hardy  and  industrious  to  support 

Tyrannic  power,  but  raging  to  pursue 

The  righteous  and  all  such  as  honour  truth  ; 

He  all  their  ammunition 

And  feats  of  war  defeats, 

With  plain  heroic  magnitude  of  mind 

And  celestial  vigour  arm'd  ; 

Their  armouries  and  magazines  contemns, 

Renders  them  useless  ;  while 

With  winged  expedition, 

Swift  as  the  lightning  glance,  he  executes 

His  errand  on  the  wicked,  who,  surprised, 

Lose  their  defence,  distracted  and  amazed. 

MILTON 


LIBERTY  007 


WHO  shall  awake  the  Spartan  fife. 

And  call  in  solemn  sounds  to  life 
The  youths  whose  locks  divinely  spreading 

Like  vernal  hyacinths  in  sullen  hue. 
At  once  the  breath  of  fear  and  virtue  shedding 

Applauding  Freedom  loved  of  old  to  view  ? 
What  new  Alcaeus.  fancy-blest, 
Shall  sing  the  sword  in  myrtle  drcst, 

At  wisdom's  shrine  awhile  its  flame  concealing. 
(What  place  so  fit  to  seal  a  deed  renowned  !) 

Till  she  her  brightest  lightnings  round  revealing. 
It  leaped  in  glory  forth,  and  dealt  her  prompted  wound. 

COLLINS 


in 

YK  Clouds !  that  far  above  me  float  and  pauv. 
Whose  pathless  march  no  mortal  may  control  I 

Ye  Ocean-Waves  I  that,  wheresoe'er  yc  roll, 
Yield  homage  only  to  eternal  laws ! 
Ye  woods !  that  listen  to  the  night-birds  singing. 

Midway  the  smooth  and  perilous  slope  reclined. 
Save  when  your  own  imperious  branches  swinging 

Have  made  a  solemn  music  of  the  wind  ! 
Where,  like  a  man  beloved  of  God, 
Through  glooms,  which  never  woodman  trod, 

How  oft.  pursuing  fancies  holy, 
My  moonlight  way  o'a  flowering  weeds  I  wound. 

Inspired,  beyond  the  guess  of  folly, 
By  each  rude  shape  and  wild  unconquerable  sound  ! 


>8  PATRIOTISM 

O  ye  loud  Waves  !  and  O  ye  Forests  high  ! 

And  O  ye  Clouds  that  far  above  me  soared  ! 
Thou  rising  Sun  !  thou  blue  rejoicing  Sky  ! 

Yea,  every  thing  that  is  and  will  be  free  ! 

Bear  witness  for  me,  wheresoe'er  ye  be, 

With  what  deep  worship  I  have  still  adored 
The  spirit  of  divinest  Liberty. 

COLERIDGE 


BOADICEA 

WHEN  the  British  warrior  queen, 
Bleeding  from  the  Roman  rods, 

Sought  with  an  indignant  mien, 
Counsel  of  her  country's  gods, 

Sage  beneath  a  spreading  oak 
Sat  the  Druid,  hoary  chief, 

Every  burning  word  he  spoke 
Full  of  rage  and  full  of  grief: 

'  Princess  !  if  our  aged  eyes 
Weep  upon  thy  matchless  wrongs, 

Tis  because  resentment  ties 
All  the  terrors  of  our  tongues. 

'  Rome  shall  perish, — write  that  word 
In  the  blood  that  she  has  spilt : 

Perish  hopeless  and  abhorred, 
Deep  in  ruin  as  in  guilt. 

'  Rome,  for  empire  far  renowned, 
Tramples  on  a  thousand  states  ; 

Soon  her  pride  shall  kiss  the  ground,  ~ 
Hark  !  the  Gaul  is  at  her  gates. 


•OADICBA 

•Other  Romans  sh.tll  arise. 

Heedless  of  a  soldier's  name. 
Sounds,  not  arms,  shall  win  the  prize. 

Harmony  the  path  to  fame. 

'  Then  the  progeny  that  springs 
From  the  forests  of  our  land. 

Armed  with  thunder,  clad  with  wing*. 
Shall  a  wider  world  command. 


•  Regions  Caesar  never  knew 

Thy  posterity  shall  sway, 
Where  his  eagles  never  flew. 

None  invincible  as  they.' 

Such  the  bard's  prophetic  words, 

Pregnant  with  celestial  fire. 
Bending  as  he  swept  the  chords 

Of  his  sweet  but  awful  lyre. 

She.  with  all  a  monarch's  pride 

Felt  them  in  her  bosom  glow. 
Rushed  to  battle,  fought  and  died, 

Dying,  hurled  them  at  the  foe. 

'  Ramans,  pitiless  as  proud, 
Heaven  awards  the  vengeance  due ; 

Empire  is  on  us  bestowed, 
Shame  and  ruin  wait  for  you  ! ' 

COWFU 


410  PATRIOTISM 


AGINCOURT 


Now  entertain  conjecture  of  a  time, 
When  creeping  murmur  and  the  poring  dark 
Fills  the  wide  vessel  of  the  universe. 
From  camp  to  camp,  through  the  foul  womb  of  night, 
The  hum  of  either  army  stilly  sounds, 
That  the  fix'd  sentinels  almost  receive 
The  secret  whispers  of  each  other's  watch : 
Fire  answers  fire  :  and  through  their  paly  flames 
Each  battle  *  sees  the  other's  umber'd  face  : 
Steed  threatens  steed,  in  high  and  boastful  neighs 
Piercing  the  night's  dull  ear  ;  and  from  the  tents, 
The  armourers,  accomplishing  the  knights, 
With  busy  hammers  closing  rivets  up, 
Give  dreadful  note  of  preparation. 
The  country  cocks  do  crow,  the  clocks  do  toll, 
And  the  third  hour  of  drowsy  morning  name. 
Proud  of  their  numbers  and  secure  in  soul 
The  confident  and  over-lusty  French 
Do  the  low-rated  English  play  at  dice  ; 
And  chide  the  cripple  tardy-gaited  night 
Who,  like  a  foul  and  ugly  witch,  doth  limp 
So  tediously  away.    The  poor  condemned  English, 
Like  sacrifices,  by  their  watchful  fires 
Sit  patiently,  and  inly  ruminate 
The  morning's  danger,  and  their  gesture  sad 
Investing  lank-lean  cheeks  and  war-worn  coats 
Presenteth  them  unto  the  gazing  moon 
So  many  horrid  ghosts.     O  now,  who  will  behold 
The  royal  captain  of  this  ruin'd  band 
*  Army. 


AGINCOURT  911 

Walking  from  watch  to  watch,  from  tent  to  tent. 
Let  him  cry  '  Praise  and  glory  on  his  head ! ' 
For  forth  he  goes  and  visits  all  his  host. 
Bids  them  good  morrow  with  a  modest  smile 
And  calls  them  brothers,  friends,  and  count  r>  men 
Upon  his  royal  face  there  is  no  note 
How  dread  an  army  hath  enrounded  him  ; 
Nor  doth  he  dedicate  one  jot  of  colour 
Unto  the  weary  and  all -watched  night, 
But  freshly  looks  and  over-bears  attaint 
With  cheerful  semblance  and  sweet  majesty  ; 
That  every  wretch,  pining  and  pale  before, 
Beholding  him,  plucks  comfort  from  his  looks  ; 
A  largess  universal  like  the  sun 
His  liberal  eye  doth  give  to  every  one. 
Thawing  cold  fear,  that  mean  and  gentle  all 
Behold,  as  may  un worthiness  define, 
A  little  touch  of  Harry  in  the  night 


II 
KING  HENRY'S  SPEECH    HKKOKK  THE   BAT  I  I.E 

Wh.it  s  he  that  wish*  s  so  ? 
My  cousin  Westmoreland  ? — No,  my  fair  cousin  : 
If  we  are  mark'd  to  die,  we  are  enow 
To  do  our  country  loss ;  and  if  to  live, 
The  fewer  men  the  greater  share  of  honour. 
God's  will  I  I  pray  thee,  wish  not  one  man  more. 
By  Jove,  I  am  not  covetous  for  gold  ; 
Nor  care  I  who  doth  feed  upon  my  cost ; 
It  yearns  me  not  if  men  my  garments  wear ; 
Such  outward  things  dwell  not  in  my  desires: 
But  if  it  be  a  sin  to  covet  honour 
I  am  the  most  offending  soul  alive. 


PATRIOTISM 

No,  'faith,  my  coz,  wish  not  a  man  from  England  : 
God's  peace  !  I  would  not  lose  so  great  an  honour, 
As  one  man  more,  methinks,  would  share  from  me, 
For  the  best  hope  I  have.  O,  do  not  wish  one 

more: 
Rather  proclaim  it,  Westmoreland,  through  my 

host, 

That  he  which  hath  no  stomach  to  this  fight 
Let  him  depart ;  his  passport  shall  be  made, 
And  crowns  for  convoy  put  into  his  purse : 
We  would  not  die  in  that  man's  company 
That  fears  his  fellowship  to  die  with  us. 
This  day  is  called  the  feast  of  Crispian  : 
He  that  outlives  this  day,  and  comes  safe  home, 
Will  stand  a  tip-toe  when  this  day  is  nam'd, 
And  rouse  him  at  the  name  of  Crispian. 
He  that  shall  see  this  day,  and  live  old  age, 
Will  yearly  on  the  vigil  feast  his  neighbours, 
And  say,  To-morrow  is  saint  Crispian  : 
Then  will  he  strip  his  sleeve  and  show  his  scars  : 
And  say,  These  wounds  I  had  on  Crispin's  day. 
Old  men  forget ;  yet  all  shall  be  forgot, 
But  he  '11  remember,  with  advantages, 
What  feats  he  did  that  day  :  Then  shall  our  names, 
Familiar  in  his  mouth  as  household  words, — 
Harry  the  king,  Bedford  and  Exeter, 
Warwick  and  Talbot,  Salisbury  and  Gloster, — 
Be  in  their  flowing  cups  freshly  remember'd  : 
This  story  shall  the  good  man  teach  his  son ; 
And  Crispin  Crispian  shall  ne'er  go  by, 
From  this  day  to  the  ending  of  the  world, 
But  we  in  it  shall  be  remembered  : 
We  few,  we  happy  few,  we  band  of  brothers ; 
For  he  to-day  that  sheds  his  blood  with  me 
Shall  be  my  brother  ;  be  he  ne'er  so  vile 
This  day  shall  gentle  his  condition  : 


AGINCOURT  213 

And  gentlemen  in  England,  now  a -bed. 
Shall  think  themselves  accurs'd  they  were  not  here ; 
And  hold  their  manhoods  cheap,  whiles  any  speaks 
That  fought  with  us  upon  St.  Crispin's  day. 

SHAKESPEARE 


TO     THR     CAMRRO-BRITONS     AND    THFIR 
HART,    HIS    RAM. AD    OP    AOINCOURT 

FAIR  stood  the  wind  for  France 
When  we  our  sails  advance. 
Nor  now  to  prove  our  chance 

Longer  will  tarry  ; 
But  putting  to  the  main. 
At  Kaux,  the  mouth  of  Seine. 
With  all  his  martial  train, 

Landed  King  Harry. 

And  taking  many  a  fort. 
Furnish'd  in  warlike  sort 
Marcheth  towards  Agincourt 

In  happy  hour ; 
Skirmishing  day  by  day 
With  those  that  stopp'd  his  wav. 
Where  the  French  gen'ral  lay 

With  all  his  power. 

Which  in  his  height  of  pride 
King  Henry  to  deride 
His  ransom  to  provide 
To  the  king  sending ; 


214  PATRIOTISM 

Which  he  neglects  the  while 
As  from  a  nation  vile, 
Yet  with  an  angry  smile 
Their  fall  portending, 

And  turning  to  his  men, 
Quoth  our  brave  Henry  then : 
'  Though  they  to  one  be  ten 

Be  not  amazed : 
Yet  have  we  well  begun  ; 
Battles  so  bravely  won 
Have  ever  to  the  sun 

By  fame  been  raised. 

'  And  for  myself  (quoth  he) 
This  my  full  rest  shall  be, 
England  ne'er  mourn  for  me ; 

Nor  more  esteem  me  : 
Victor  I  will  remain 
Or  on  this  earth  lie  slain, 
Never  shall  she  sustain 

Loss  to  redeem  me. 

'  Poitiers  and  Cressy  tell 
When  most  their  pride  did  swell, 
Under  our  swords  they  fell : 

No  less  our  skill  is 
Than  when  our  grandsire  great 
Claiming  the  regal  seat, 
By  many  a  warlike  feat 

Lopped  the  French  lilies.' 

The  Duke  of  York  so  dread, 
The  eager  vaward  led  ; 
With  the  main  Henry  sped 
Amongst  his  henchmen. 


AOINCOURT  115 

Rxccstrr  had  the  rear. 
A  braver  man  not  there, 
O  Lord  how  hot  they  were 
On  the  false  Frenchm-  n  I 

They  now  to  fight  are  gone. 
Armour  on  armour  shone, 
Drum  now  to  drum  did  groao 

To  hear  was  wonder  ; 
That  with  the  cries  they  make. 
The  very  earth  did  shake. 
Trumpet  to  trumpet  spake. 

Thunder  to  thunder. 

Well  it  thine  age  became. 
O  noble  Erpingham. 
Which  did'st  the  signal  aim 

To  our  hid  forces ; 
When  from  a  meadow  by, 
Like  a  storm  suddenly. 
The  English  archery 

Stuck  the  French  horses, 

With  Spanish  yew  so  strong, 
Arrows  a  cloth-yard  long. 
That  like  to  serpents  stung 

Piercing  the  weather ; 
None  from  his  fellow  starts, 
But  playing  manly  parts. 
And  like  true  English  hearts, 

Stuck  close  together. 

When  down  their  bows  they  threw 
And  forth  their  bilbows  *  drew. 
And  on  the  French  they  Bew. 
Not  one  was  tardy  : 

»  Swords,  from  Biltc* 


2l6  PATRIOTISM 

Arms  were  from  shoulders  sent, 
Scalps  to  the  teeth  were  rent, 
Down  the  French  peasants  went,- 
Our  men  were  hardy  ! 

This  while  our  noble  king, 
His  broadsword  brandishing, 
Down  the  French  host  did  ding,* 

As  to  o'erwhelm  it ; 
And  many  a  deep  wound  lent, 
His  arms  with  blood  besprent, 
And  many  a  cruel  dent 

Bruised  his  helmet. 

Gloster,  that  duke  so  good, 
Next  of  the  royal  blood, 
For  famous  England  stood, 

With  his  brave  brother, 
Clarence,  in  steel  so  bright ; 
Though  but  a  maiden  knight, 
Yet  in  that  furious  fight 

Scarce  such  another. 

Warwick  in  blood  did  wade, 
Oxford  the  foe  invade, 
And  cruel  slaughter  made, 

Still  as  they  ran  up  ; 
Suffolk  his  axe  did  ply, 
Beaumont  and  Willoughby 
Bare  them  right  doughtily, 

Ferrers  and  Fanhope. 

Upon  Saint  Crispin's  day 
Fought  was  this  noble  fray5 
Which  fame  did  not  delay 
To  England  to  carry  ; 

'  Dash. 


AC  IN  COURT  717 

O  when  shall  Englishmen 
With  such  acts  fill  a  pen. 
Or  England  breed  again 
Such  a  King  Harry? 

PRAYTOM 


FLODDEN     FIELD 

BY  this,  though  deep  the  evening  fell. 
Still  race  the  battle's  deadly  swell. 
For  still  the  Scots  around  their  king, 
Unbroken,  fought  in  desperate  ring. 
Where 's  now  their  victor  vaward  wing. 

Where  Huntly.  and  where  Home?— 
O,  for  a  blast  of  that  dread  horn. 
On  Fontarabian  echoes  borne. 

That  to  King  Charles  did  come. 
When  Rowland  brave,  and  Olivier. 
And  every  paladin  and  peer. 

On  Roncesvalles  died ! 
Such  blast  might  warn  them,  not  in  vain. 
To  quit  the  plunder  of  the  slain, 
And  turn  the  doubtful  day  again. 

While  yet  on  Flodden  side, 
Afar,  the  Royal  Standard  flies. 
And  round  it  toils,  and  bleeds,  and  dies. 

Our  Caledonian  pride  I 
The  English  shafts  in  volleys  hail'd, 
In  headlong  charge  their  hone  as  ail'd ; 
Front,  flank,  and  rear,  the  squadrons  sweep 
To  break  the  Scottish  circle  deep. 

That  fought  around  their  King. 


2l8  PATRIOTISM 

But  yet,  though  thick  the  shafts  as  snow, 
Though  charging  knights  like  whirlwinds  go, 
Though  bill-men  ply  the  ghas'V  Wow, 

Unbroken  was  the  ring ; 
The  stubborn  spear-men  still  made  good 
Their  dark  impenetrable  wood, 
Each  stepping  where  his  comrade  stood, 

The  instant  that  he  fell. 
No  thought  was  there  of  dastard  flight ; 
Link'd  in  the  serried  phalanx  tight, 
Groom  fought  like  noble,  squire  like  knight, 

As  fearlessly  and  well ; 
Till  utter  darkness  closed  her  wing 
O'er  their  thin  host  and  wounded  King. 
Then  skilful  Surrey's  sage  commands 
Led  back  from  strife  his  shattered  bands  ; 

And  from  the  charge  they  drew, 
As  mountain-waves,  from  wasted  lands, 

Sweep  back  to  ocean  blue. 
Then  did  their  loss  his  foeman  know  ; 
Their    King,    their    Lords,    their    mightiest 

low, 

They  melted  from  the  field  as  snow, 
When  streams  are  swoln  and  south  winds 
blow, 

Dissolves  in  silent  dew. 
Tweed's  echoes  heard  the  ceaseless  piash, 

While  many  a  broken  band, 
Disorder'd,  through  her  currents  dash, 

To  gain  the  Scottish  land  ; 
To  town  and  tower,  to  down  and  dale, 
To  tell  red  Flodden's  dismal  tale, 
And  raise  the  universal  wail. 
Tradition,  legend,  tune,  and  song. 
Shall  many  an  age  that  wail  prolong : 
Still  from  the  sire  the  son  shall  hear 


FLODDEN    FIELD  819 

Of  the  stern  strife,  and  carnage  drear, 

Of  Flodden's  fetal  field. 
Where  shiver'd  was  fair  Scotland's  spear. 

And  broken  was  her  shield  ! 

SCOTT 


HAIL  thou.  my  native  soil  I  thou  blessed  plot 

Whose  equal  all  the  world  afford cth  not ! 

.Shew  me  who  can  so  many  crystal  rills. 

Such  sweet  clothed  vallies.  or  aspiring  hills. 

Such  wood-ground,  pastures,  quarries,  wealthy  mines 

Such  rocks  in  whom  the  diamond  fairly  sl..ncs  : 

And  if  the  earth  can  shew  the  like  again. 

Yet  will  she  fail  in  her  sea-ruling  men. 

Time  never  can  produce  men  to  o'n  take 

The  fames  of  Grenville.  Davies,  Gilbert,  Drake. 

Or  worthy  Hawkins,  or  of  thousands  more, 

That  by  their  power  made  the  Devonian  shore 

Mock  the  proud  Tagus  ;  for  whose  richest  spoil 

The  boasting  Spaniard  left  the  Indian  soil 

Bankrupt  of  store,  knowing  U  would  quit  cost 

By  winning  this,  though  all  the  real  were  lost. 

BROWNE 


TO     THE    VIRGINIAN     VOYAGE 

You  brave  heroic  minds 
Worthy  your  country's  name. 
That  honour  still  pursue  . 
Go  and  subdue. 
Whilst  loitering  hinds 
Lurk  here  at  home  with  shame. 


P  ATR  IOTISM 

Britons,  you  stay  too  long : 
Quickly  aboard  bestow  you, 
And  with  a  merry  gale, 
Swell  your  stretched  sail, 
With  vows  as  strong 
As  the  winds  that  blow  you. 


Your  course  securely  steer 

West  and  by  south  forth  keep, 
Rocks,  leeshores  nor  shoals 
When  Eolus  scowls 
You  need  not  fear, 
So  absolute  the  deep. 

And  cheerfully  at  sea, 
Success  you  still  entice 
To  get  the  pearl  and  gold 
And  ours  to  hold 
Virginia 

Earth's  only  paradise. 

Where  nature  hath  in  store 
Fowl,  venison,  and  fish, 
And  the  fruitfull'st  soil 
Without  your  toil 
Three  harvests  more, 
All  greater  than  your  wish. 

And  the  ambitious  vine 
Crowns  with  his  purple  mass 
The  cedar  reaching  b\ftr 
To  kiss  the  sky, 
The  cypress,  pine 
And  useful  sassafras. 


TO   THE    VIRGINIAN    VOYAGE 

To  whom  the  golden  age 
Still  nature's  laws  doth  give, 
Nor  other  cares  attend 
But  them  to  defend 
From  winter's  rags, 
That  long  there  doth  not  live. 

When  as  the  luscious  smell 
Of  that  delicious  land 
Ab>ve  the  seas  that  flows 
The  clear  wind  throws 
Your  hearts  to  swell 
Approaching  the  dear  strand. 

In  kcnmng  of  the  shore 
(Thanks  to  God  first  given), 
O  you  the  happiest  men, 
Be  frolic  then ; 
Let  cannons  roar. 
Frighting  the  wide  heaven. 

And  in  regions  far, 
>uch  heroes  bring  ye  forth. 
As  those  from  whom  we  came , 
And  plant  our  name 
Under  that  star 
Not  known  unto  our  north. 

And  as  there  plenty  grows 
Of  laurel  everywhere.— 
Apollo's  sacred  tree,  — 
You  it  may  see 
A  poet's  brows 
To  crown  that  may  sing  there. 


PATRIOTISM 

Thy  voyages  attend 
Industrious  Hackluit 
Whose  reading  shall  inflame 
Men  to  seek  fame, 
And  much  commend 
To  after  times  thy  wit. 

DRAYTON 


KINGSHIP 


Richard  II. 

For  heaven's  sake,  let  us  sit  upon  the  ground, 
And  tell  sad  stories  of  the  death  of  kings  : — 
How  some  have  been  deposed,  some  slain  in  war, 
Some  haunted  by  the  ghosts  they  have  deposed  : 
Some  poison'd  by  their  wives,  some  sleeping  kill'd  ; 
All  murther'd  : — For  within  the  hollow  crown 
That  rounds  the  mortal  temples  of  a  king, 
Keeps  death  his  court ;  and  there  the  antic  sits, 
Scoffing  his  state,  and  grinning  at  his  pomp, — 
Allowing  him  a  breath,  a  little  scene 
To  monarchize,  be  fear'd,  and  kill  with  looks  ; 
Infusing  him  with  self  and  vain  conceit, — 
As  if  this  flesh,  which  walls  about  our  life, 
Were  brass  impregnable, — and,  humour'd  thus, 
Comes  at  the  last,  and  with  a  little  pin 
Bores  through  his  castle  walls,  and — farewell  king ! 
Cover  your  heads,  and  mock  not  flesh  and  blood 
With  solemn  reverence  ;  throw  away  respect, 
Tradition,  form,  and  ceremonious  duty, 


KINGSHIP  223 

For  you  have  but  mistook  roe  nil  this  while : 
1  live  with  bread  like  you,  feel  want,  taste  grief, 
Need  friends : — Subjected  thus. 
How  can  you  say  to  me— I  am  a  king? 


Htnry  IV. 

How  many  thousand  of  my  poorest  subjects 

Are  at  this  hour  asleep  !    O  sleep,  O  gentle  slerj  >. 

Nature's  soft  nurse,  how  have  I  frighted  ther. 

That  thou  no  more  wilt  weigh  my  eyelids  down, 

And  sleep  my  senses  in  forgetfulness  ? 

Why  rather,  sleep,  liest  thou  in  smoky  cribs, 

Upon  uneasy  pallets  stretching  thee, 

And  trash 'd  with  buzzing  night-flies  to  thy  slumbri 

Than  in  the  perfumed  chambers  of  the  great, 

Under  the  canopies  of  costly  state, 

And  lull'd  with  sounds  of  sweetest  melody  ? 

O  thou  dull  god.  why  liest  thou  with  the  vile, 

In  loathsome  beds ;  and  Irav'st  the  kingly  couch 

A  watch-case,  or  a  common  'larum-bell  ? 

Wilt  thou  upon  the  high  and  giddy  mast 

Seal  up  the  ship-boy's  eyes,  and  rock  his  brains 

In  cradle  of  the  rude  imperious  surge, 

And  in  the  visitation  of  the  winds. 

Who  take  the  ruffian  billows  by  the  top, 

Curling  their  monstrous  heads,  and  hanging  them 

With  deafning  clamours  in  the  slippery  clouds, 

That,  with  the  burly,  death  itself  awakes? 

Canst  thou,  O  partial  sleep  !  give  thy  repose 

To  the  wet  sea-boy  in  an  hour  so  rude  ; 


224  PATRIOTISM 

And,  in  the  calmest  and  most  stillest  night, 
With  all  appliances  and  means  to  boot, 
Deny  it  to  a  king  ?    Then,  happy  low,  lie  down  ? 
Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown. 


in 

Henry  V. 

O  hard  condition  ! 

Twin-born  with  greatness,  subject  to  the  breath 
Of  every  fool,  whose  sense  no  more  can  feel 
But  his  own  wringing  !     What  infinite  heart's  case 
Must  kings  neglect,  that  private  men  enjoy? 
And  what  have  kings  that  privates  have  not  too, 
Save  ceremony,  save  general  ceremony? 
And  what  art  thou,  thou  idol  ceremony? 
What  kind  of  god  art  thou,  that  suffer'st  more 
Of  mortal  griefs  than  do  thy  worshippers  ? 
What  are  thy  rents  ?  what  are  thy  comings-in  ? 
O  ceremony,  show  me  but  thy  worth  ! 
What  is  thy  soul  of  adoration? 
Art  thou  aught  else  but  place,  degree,  and  form, 
Creating  awe  and  fear  in  other  men  ? 
Wherein  thou  art  less  happy  being  fear'd 
Than  they  in  fearing. 

What  drink'st  thou  oft,  instead  of  homage  sweet. 
But  poisoned  flattery?    O,  be  sick,  great  greatness, 
And  bid  thy  ceremony  give  thee  cure  ! 
Think'st  thou,  the  fiery  fever  will  go  out 
With  titles  blown  from  adulation? 
Will  it  give  place  to  flexure  and  low  bending  ? 
Canst  thou,  when  thou  command'st  the  beggar's  knee, 
Command  the  health  of  it?     No,  thou  proud  dream, 


KINGSHIP  M 

That  play'st  so  subtly  with  a  king's  repose ; 

I  am  a  king  that  find  thee  ;  and  1  know. 

Tis  not  the  balm,  the  sceptre,  and  the  ball. 

The  sword,  the  mace,  the  crown  imperial. 

The  inter-tissued  robe  of  gold  and  prarl, 

The  breed  title  running  'fore  the  king, 

The  throne  he  sits  on,  nor  the  tide  of  pomp 

That  beau  upon  the  high  shore  of  this  world. 

No.  not  all  these,  thrice-gorgeous  ceremony, 

Not  all  these,  laid  in  bed  majestical. 

Can  sleep  so  soundly  as  the  wretched  slave 

Who,  with  a  body  filled,  and  vacant  mind, 

Gets  him  to  rest,  crammed  with  distressful  bread 

Never  sees  horrid  night,  the  child  of  hell  . 

But,  like  a  lackey,  from  the  rise  to  set. 

Sweats  in  the  eye  of  Phoebus,  and  all  night 

Sleeps  in  Elysium  ;  next  day.  after  dawn, 

Doth  rise,  and  help  Hyperion  to  his  horse  ; 

And  follows  so  the  ever-running  year 

With  profitable  labour,  to  his  grave : 

And,  but  for  ceremony,  such  a  wretch, 

Winding  up  days  with  toil  and  nights  with  sleep. 

Had  the  fore-hand  and  vantage  of  a  king. 

The  slave,  a  member  of  the  country's  peace, 

Enjoys  it ;  but  in  gross  brain  little  wots 

What  watch  the  king  keeps  to  maintain  the  peace. 

Whose  hours  the  peasant  best  advantages. 


IV 

Henry  VI. 

This  battle  fares  like  to  the  morning's  war, 
When  dying  clouds  contend  with  growing  light : 
What  time  the  shepherd,  blowing  of  his  nail*. 
Can  neither  call  it  perfect  day  nor  night 


926  PATRIOTISM 

Now  sways  it  this  way,  like  a  mighty  sea, 
Forced  by  the  tide  to  combat  with  the  wind  ; 
Now  sways  it  that  way,  like  the  selfsame  sea 
Forced  to  retire  by  fury  of  the  wind  : 
Sometime  the  flood  prevails ;    and  then  the 

wind  : 

Now  one  the  better ;  then  another  best ; 
Both  tugging  to  be  victors,  breast  to  breast, 
Yet  neither  conqueror  nor  conquered  : 
So  is  the  equal  poise  of  this  fell  war. 
Here  on  this  molehill  will  1  sit  me  down. 
To  whom  God  will,  there  be  the  victory  ! 
For  Margaret  my  queen,  and  Clifford  too, 
Have  chid  me  from  the  battle  ;  swearing  both 
They  prosper  best  of  all  when  I  am  thence. 
'Would  I  were  dead  !  if  God's  good  will  were  so ; 
For  what  is  in  this  world  but  grief  and  woe  ? 
O  God  !  methinks  it  were  a  happy  life, 
To  be  no  better  than  a  homely  swain  : 
To  sit  upon  a  hill,  as  I  do  now, 
To  carve  out  dials  quaintly,  point  by  point, 
Thereby  to  see  the  minutes  how  they  run  : 
How  many  make  the  hour  full  complete, 
How  many  hours  bring  about  the  day, 
How  many  days  will  finish  up  the  year, 
How  many  years  a  mortal  man  may  live. 
When  this  is  known,  then  to  divide  the  times  : 
So  many  hours  must  I  tend  my  flock  : 
So  many  hours  must  I  take  my  rest ; 
So  many  hours  must  I  contemplate  ; 
So  many  hours  must  I  sport  myself; 
So  many  days  my  ewes  have  been  with  young  ; 
So  many  weeks  ere  the  poor  fools  will  yean  ; 
So  many  years  ere  I  shall  shear  the  fleece  ; 
So  minutes,  hours,  days,  months,  and  years, 
Passed  over  to  the  end  they  were  created, 


KINGSHIP  227 

Would  bring  white  hairs  unto  a  quiet  grave. 

Ah,  what  a  life  were  this !  how  sweet !  how  lovely  ' 

Gives  not  the  hawthorn  bush  a  sweeter  shade 

To  shepherds,  looking  on  their  silly  shcrp, 

Than  doth  a  rich  embroidered  canopy 

To  kings,  that  fear  their  subjects'  treachery  ? 

O.  >es  it  doth  ;  a  thousandfold  it  doih. 

And  to  conclude,— the  shepherd's  homely  cu'rU 

His  cold  thin  drink  out  of  his  leather  bottle, 

His  wonted  sleep  under  a  fresh  tree's  shade 

All  which  secure  and  sweetly  he  enjoys, 

Is  far  beyond  a  prince's  dclicates, 

His  viands  sparkling  in  a  golden  cup. 

His  body  couched  in  a  curious  bed, 

When  care,  mistrust,  and  treason  wait  on  him 

SHAKKSPKAM 


QUF.KN     WORSHIP 

I 

A   PRAISE  OF   ELIZABETH  OF   BOHEMIA,  DAUCII1  > 
OF   KING  JAMES   I. 

You  meaner  beauties  of  the  night. 
That  poorly  satisfy  our  eyes 

More  by  your  number  than  your  light, 
You  common  people  of  the  skies, 
What  are  you  when  the  Moon  shall  rise? 

You  curious  chanters  of  the  wood 
That  warble  forth  dame  Nature's  lays, 

Thinking  your  passions  understood 

By  your  weak  accents ;  what 's  your  praise 
When  Philomel  her  voice  shall  raise  ? 


PATRIOTISM 

You  violets  that  first  appear, 

By  your  pure  purple  mantles  known 

Like  the  proud  virgins  of  the  year 
As  if  the  spring  were  all  your  own, — 
What  are  you  when  the  Rose  is  blown  ? 

So  when  my  Mistress  shall  be  seen 
In  form  and  beauty  of  her  mind, 

By  virtue  first,  then  choice,  a  Queen, 
Tell  me,  if  she  were  not  designed 
Th'  eclipse  and  glory  of  her  kind  ? 

WOTTON 


II 

A     FAREWELL    TO    ARMS 
(70  Queen  Elizabeth} 

His  golden  locks  time  hath  to  silver  turned  : 
O  time  too  swift,  O  swiftness  never  ceasing  ! 

His  youth  'gainst  time  and  age  hath  ever  spurned, 
But  spurned  in  vain  ;  youth  waneth  by  increasing : 

Beauty,  strength,  youth,  are  flowers  but  fading  seen 

Duty,  faith,  love,  are  roots  and  evergreen. 

His  helmet  now  shall  make  a  hive  for  bees, 
And,  lover's  sonnets  turned  to  holy  psalms, 

A  man-at-arms  must  now  serve  on  his  knees, 
And  feed  on  prayers,  which  are  age's  alms : 

But  though  from  court  to  cottage  he  depart, 

His  saint  is  sure  of  his  unspotted  heart. 

And  when  he  saddest  sits  in  lonely  cell, 
He  '11  teach  his  swains  this  carol  for  a  song, — 


OU  P.  EN    WORSHIP  t3t 

'  Rtess'd  be  ihc  hearts  that  wish  my  sovereign  wrll. 

Curs'd  be  the  souls  that  think  her  any  wrong ! ' 
Goddess,  allow  this  aged  man  his  right. 
To  be  your  bedesman  nn\v  that  was  your  knight. 

PKKLK 


III 
THK    DISGRACKD    COURTIER'S     LAMENT 

(  7P..  Qnttm  Elitattlk) 

• 

( Tkt pott  after  re Iterating  his  Mi strtst' dtiittt  q ujiittei. 

addtth  tkal  tkt  l.uked  mercy. ) 
YKT  have  these  wonders  want,  which  want  i  •  .ui|  M  • 

Yet  hath  her  mind  some  marks  of  human  race  ; 
Yet  will  she  be  a  woman  for  a  fashion. 

So  doth  she  please  her  virtues  to  deface. 
And  like  ns  that  immortal  power  doth  seat 

An  element  of  waters,  to  allay 
The  fiery  sunbeams  that  on  earth  do  U-.it. 

And  temper  by  cold  night  the  heat  of  «l.iy. 
So  hath  perfection,  which  begat  her  mind. 

Added  thereto  a  change  of  fantasy. 
And  left  her  the  affections  of  her  kind, 

Yet  free  from  every  cv'l  hut  cruelty. 

(And to  out  defect  in  the  pott  availed  to  hie  kirn  An 

Mittrttf  l<n*.} 
And  as  a  stream  by  strong  hand  bounded  in 

From  nature's  course  where  it  did  sometime  run, 
Hy  some  small  rent  or  loose  part  doth  begin 

To  find  escape  till  it  a  way  hath  won  ; 
Doth  then  all  unawares  in  sunder  tear 

The  forced  bounds,  and  raging  mn  at  large 


70  PATRIOTISM 

In  the  ancient  channels  as  they  wonted  were  ; 

Such  is  of  women's  love  the  careful  charge, — 
Held  and  maintained  with  multitude  of  woes ; 

Of  long  erections  such  the  sudden  fall ; 
One  hour  diverts,  one  instant  overthrows, 

For  which  our  lives,  for  which  our  fortune's  thrall 
So  many  years  those  joys  have  dearly  bought ; 

Of  which  when  our  fond  hopes  do  most  assure, 
All  is  dissolved  ;  our  labours  come  to  nought  ; 

Nor  any  mark  thereof  there  doth  endure. 
But  as  the  fields,  clothed  with  leaves  and  flowers 

The  banks  of  roses  smelling  precious  sweet 
Have  but  their  beauty's  date  and  timely  hours, 

And  then  defaced  by  winter's  cold  and  sleet, 
So  far,  as  neither  fruit  nor  form  of  flower 

Stays  for  a  witness  what  such  branches  bare, 
But  as  time  gave,  time  did  again  devour, 

And  change  our  rising  joy  to  falling  care  : 
So  of  affection  which  our  youth  presented  ; 

When  she  that  from  the  sun  reaves  power  and  light1 
Did  but  decline  her  beams  as  discontented, 

Converting  sweetest  days  to  saddest  night, 
All  droops,  all  dies,  all  trodden  under  dust, 

The  person,  place,  and  passages  forgotten  ; 
The  hardest  steel  eaten  with  softest  rust, 

The  firm  and  solid  tree  both  rent  and  rotten. 


(Hope  therefore  is  dead  in  him,  but  not  love.) 

With  youth  is  dead  the  hope  of  Love's  return 
Who  looks  not  back  to  hear  our  after-cries  : 

Where  he  is  not  he  laughs  at  those  that  mourn  : 
Whence  he  is  gone,  he  scorns  the  mind  that  dies. 

1  Cynthia. 


QUEEN    WORSHIP  *jl 

When  he  is  absent,  he  believes  no  words  : 

When  reason  speaks,  he  careless  stops  his  enrs  . 
Whom  he  hath  left  he  never  grace  affords. 

But  bathes  his  wings  in  our  lamenting  tears. 
Sorrow  was  my  revenge,  and  woe  my  hate  ; 

I  powerless  was  to  alter  my  desire ; 
My  love  is  not  of  time  nor  bound  to  dale  ; 

My  heart's  internal  heat  and  living  fire 
Would  not.  nor  could,   be  quenched   with   sudden 
showers  ; 

My  bound  respect  was  not  confined  to  days, 
My  vowed  faith  not  set  to  ended  hours  ; 

I  love  the  bearing  and  not  tearing  sprays 
Which  now  to  others  do  their  sweetness  send  : 

The  incarnate,  snow -driven  white,  nml  pureM  azure 
Who  from  high  heaven  doth  on  their  fields  descend. 

Filling  their   hams  with   Rr.iin,   and   towers  wiih 

treasure. 
Kiting,  or  never  erring,  such  is  love 

As,  while  it  lastcth,  scorns  the  account  of  those 
Seeking  but  self-contentment  to  improve, 

And  hides,  if  any  be.  his  inward  woes. 
But  thou  my  weary  soul  and  heavy  thought, 

Made  by  her  love  a  burthen  to  my  tieing, 
Dost  know  my  error  never  was  forethought, 

Nor  ever  could  proceed  from  sense  of  loving. 
Of  other  cause  if  then  it  had  proceeding 

1  leave  th  excuse,  sith  judgment  hath  been  given , 
The  limbs  divided,  sundered,  and  a-blccding 

Cannot  complain  the  sentence  was  uneven. 


( Tkt  foel't  tttfiifatiou  is  gome.) 

She  cares  not  for  thy  praise,  who  knows  not  theirs ; 
It 's  now  an  idle  labour,  and  a  tale 


232  PATRIOTISM 

Told  out  of  time,  that  dulls  the  hearer's  ears, 

A  merchandise  whereof  there  is  no  sale. 
Leave  them,  or  lay  them  up  with  thy  despairs  ; 

She  hath  resolved  and  judged  thee  long  ago. 
Thy  lines  are  now  a  murmuring  to  her  ears, 

Like  to  a  falling  stream,  which  passing  slow, 
Is  wont  to  nourish  sleep  and  quietness  ; 

So  shall  thy  painful  labours  be  perused, 
And  draw  on  rest,  which  sometime  had  regard, 

But  those  her  cares  thy  errors  have  excused. 


(Sorrow,  and  the  voice  of  sorrow,  are  alike  vain.} 

But  stay,   my  thoughts,  make  end  :    give  fortune, 
way : 

Harsh  is  the  voice  of  woe  and  sorrow's  sound : 
Complaints  cure  not,  and  tears  do  but  allay 

Griefs  for  a  time  which  after  more  abound. 
To  seek  for  moisture  in  the  Arabian  sands 

Is  but  a  loss  of  labour  and  of  rest : 
The  links  which  time  did  break  of  hearty  bands 
Words  cannot  knit,  or  wailings  make  anew. 

Seek  not  the  sun  in  clouds  when  it  is  set  ... 
On  highest  mountains,  where  those  cedars  grew, 

Against  whose  banks  the  troubled  ocean  beat, 
And  were  the  marks  to  find  thy  hoped  port, 

Into  a  soil  far  off  themselves  remove. 
On  Sestus'  shore,  Leander's  late  resort, 

Hero  hath  left  no  lamp  to  guide  her  love. 
Thou  look'st  for  light  in  vain,  and  storms  arise  ; 

She  sleeps  thy  death,  that  erst  thy  danger  sighed  ; 
Strive  then  no  more  :  bow  down  thy  watery  eyes — 

Eyes  which  to  all  these  woes  thy  heart  did  guide. 
She  is  gone,  she  is  lost,  she  is  found,  she  is  ever  fair : 

Sorrow  draws  weakly,  where  love  draws  not  too : 


QUEEN    WORSHIP  »J 

Woe's  cries  sound  nothing,  but  only  in  love's  ear. 

Do  then  by  dying  what  life  cannot  da 
Unfold  thy  flocks,  and  leave  them  to  the  fields. 

To  feed  on  hills,  or  dales,  where  likes  them  best. 
Of  what  the  summer  or  the  springtime  yields. 

For  love  and  time  have  givrn  thee  leave  to  rest . 

(L'tttwy.) 
Thus  home  I  draw,  as  death's  long  night  draws  on ; 

Yet  every  foot,  old  thoughts  turn  hack  mine  ryrs 
Constraint  me  guides,  as  old  age  draws  a  stone 

Against  the  hill,  which  over-weighty  lies 
For  feeble  arms  or  wasted  strength  to  move : 

My  steps  are  backward,  gnzing  on  my  loss. 
My  mind's  affection,  and  my  soul's  sole  love. 

Not  mixed  with  fancy's  chaff  or  foriunc's  dross. 
To  God  I  leave  it,  Who  first  gave  it  me, 

And  I  her  gave,  and  she  returned  again. 
As  it  was  hers ;  so  let  His  mercies  be 

Of  my  last  comforts  the  essential  me^n. 

But  be  it  so  or  not.  the  effects  are  past ; 
Her  love  hath  end  :  my  woe  must  ever  last. 

RALEGH 


UPON    THE    DEATH    OF    KING    CHARLES    1. 

GREAT,  good,  and  just !  could  1  but  rate 

My  griefs  and  thy  too  rigid  fate, 

I  *d  weep  the  world  to  suet)  a  strain, 

As  it  should  deluge  once  again. 

But  since  thy  loud-tongued  blood  demands  supplies 

More  from  Briareus'  hands  than  Argus'  eyes, 

I  '11  sing  thy  obsequies  with  trumpet  sounds, 

And  write  thy  epitaph  with  blood  and  wounds. 

MONTKO&K 


234  PATRIOTIC 

HOKATIAN     ODE 

UPON  CROMWELL'S  RETURN  FROM  IRELAND 

THE  forward  youth  that  would  appear 
Must  now  forsake  his  Muses  dear, 

Nor  in  the  shadows  sing 

His  numbers  languishing. 

'Tis  time  to  leave  the  books  in  dust, 
And  oil  th'  unused  armour's  rust, 

Removing  from  the  wall 

The  corslet  of  the  hall. 

So  restless  Cromwell  could  not  cease 
In  the  inglorious  arts  of  peace, 

But  through  adventurous  war 

Urged  his  active  star  : 

And  like  the  three-forked  ligluning  first 
Breaking  the  clouds  where  it  was  nurst, 

Did  thorough  his  own  side 

His  fiery  way  divide  : 

For  'tis  all  one  to  courage  high 
The  emulous,  or  enemy ; 

And  with  such,  to  enclose 

Is  more  than  to  oppose. 

Then  burning  through  the  air  he  went 

And  palaces  and  temples  rent ; 
And  Caesar's  head  at  last 
Did  through  his  laurels  blast. 


HORAT1ANODE  335 

TU  madness  to  resist  or  blame 
The  face  of  angry  heaven's  flame  ; 

And  if  we  would  speak  true, 

Much  to  the  Man  is  due 

Who,  from  his  private  gardens,  where 
He  lived  reserved  and  austere 

(As  if  his  highest  plot 

To  plant  the  hergnniot) 

Could  by  industrious  valour  climb 
To  ruin  the  great  work  of  lime. 

And  cast  the  Kingdoms  old 

Into  another  mould. 

Though  Justice  against  Kate  complain. 
And  plead  the  ancient  Rights  in  vain  : 

Rut  those  do  hold  or  break 

As  men  are  strong  or  weak. 

Nature,  that  hateth  emptiness 
Allows  of  penetration  less, 

And  therefore  must  make  room 

Where  greater  spirits  come. 

What  field  of  all  the  civil  war 
Where  his  were  not  the  deepest  scar  ? 

And  Hampton  shows  what  patt 

He  had  of  wiser  art. 

Where,  twining  subtle  fears  with  hope, 
He  wove  a  net  of  such  a  scope 

That  Charles  himself  might  chase 

To  Carisbrook's  narrow  case ; 


236  PATRIOTISM 

That  thence  the  Royal  actor  boi  ne 
The  tragic  scaffold  might  a^jorn  : 
While  round  the  armed  bands 
Did  clap  their  bloody  hands  : 

He  nothing  common  did  or  mean 
Upon  that  memorable  scene, 
But  with  his  keener  eye 
The  axe's  edge  did  try  ; 

Nor  called  the  Gods,  with  vulgar  apjte, 
To  vindicate  his  helpless  right ; 

But  bowed  his  comely  head 

Down,  as  upon  a  bed. 

— This  was  that  memorable  hour 
Which  first  assured  the  forced1  powtr  : 
So  when  they  did  design 
The  Capitol's  first  line, 

A  Bleeding  Head,  where  they  begun, 
Did  fright  the  architects  to  run  ; 
And  yet  in  that  the  State 
Foresaw  its  happy  fate  ! 

And  now  the  Irish  are  ashamed 
To  see  themselves  in  one  year  tamed  : 
So  much  one  man  can  do 
That  does  both  act  and  know. 

They  can  affirm  his  praises  best, 
And  have,  though  overcome,  confest 
How  good  he  is,  how  just 
And  fit  for  highest  trust ; 

1  Fated. 


HORATIAW    ODE  337 

Nor  yet  grown  suffer  with  command. 

Hut  still  in  the  Republic's  hand- 
How  fit  he  is  to  sway 
That  can  so  well  obey  i 

He  to  the  Commons'  feet  presents 
A  Kingdom  for  his  first  year's  rents. 

And  (what  he  may)  forbears 

His  fame,  to  make  it  theirs : 

And  has  his  sword  and  spoils  ungirt 
To  lay  them  at  the  Public's  skirl. 

So  when  the  falcon  high 

Falls  heavy  from  the  sky. 

She,  having  killed,  no  more  dors  search 
But  on  the  next  green  bough  to  perch, 

Where,  when  he  first  does  lure, 

The  falconer  has  her  sure. 

—What  may  not  then  our  Isle  presume 
Whi!e  victory  his  crest  does  plume  t 

What  may  not  others  fear 

If  thus  he  crowns  each  year  I 

As  Caesar  I  e,  ere  long,  to  Gaul. 
To  Italy  an  Hannibal, 

And  to  all  states  not  free 

Shall  climacteric^  be. 

The  Pict  no  shelter  now  shall  find 
Within  his  parti-coloured  mind, 

But  from  this  valour  sad 

Shrink  underneath  the  plaid— 

1  Dangerou*. 


238  PATRIOTISM 

Happy,  if  in  the  tufted  brake 
The  English  hunter  him  mistake 

Nor  lay  his  hounds  in  near 

The  Caledonian  deer. 

But  Thou,  the  War's  and  Fortune  s  son, 

March  indefatigably  on ; 
And  for  the  last  effect 
Still  keep  the  sword  erect  : 

Besides  the  force  it  has  to  fright 
The  spirits  of  the  shady  night, 
The  same  arts  that  did  gain 
A  power,  must  it  maintain. 

MARVELL 


ENGLAND     AFTER     THE     CIVIL     WARS 
THOUGHTS    IN    A    GARDEN 

SEE  how  the  flowers  as  at  parade 

Under  their  colours  stand  displayed : 

Each  regiment  in  order  grows, 

That  of  the  tulip,  pink,  and  rose. 

But  when  the  vigilant  patrol 

Of  stars  walks  round  about  the  pole, 

Their  leaves,  that  to  the  stalks  are  curled, 

Seem  to  their  staves  the  ensigns  furled. 

Then  in  some  flower's  beloved  hut, 

Each  bee,  as  sentinel,  is  shut ; 

And  sleeps  so  too ;  but  if  once  stirred 

She  runs  you  through,  nor  asks  the  word. 

O  thou,  that  dear  and  happy  isle 

The  garden  of  the  world  erewhile, 

Thou  paradise  of  the  four  seas, 


F  \G  I.  AND    AFTER    THE    CIVIL    WARS     239 

Which  heaven  planted  us  to  please, 
Hut,  to  exclude  the  world,  did  guard 
With  wat'ry,  if  not  flaming,  sword ; 
What  luckless  apple  did  we  taste 
To  make  us  mortal,  and  thee  waste  I 
Unhappy  t  shall  we  never  more 
That  sweet  militia  restore. 
When  gardens  only  had  their  towers, 
And  all  the  garrisons  were  flowers ; 
When  roses  only  arms  might  bear. 
And  men  did  rosy  garlands  wear? 

MAIVEJ.L 


SONG   OF   THK    EMIGRANTS 
IN    BERMUDA 

WHERE  the  remote  Bermudas  ride 

In  the  ocean's  bosom  unespied, 

From  a  small  boat  that  rowed  along. 

The  listening  winds  received  this  song  : 

'  What  should  we  do  hut  sing  His  praise 

That  led  us  through  the  watery  maze 

Unto  an  isle  so  long  unknown. 

And  yet  far  kinder  than  our  own ? 

Where  He  the  huge  sea-monsicrs  wracks, 

That  lift  the  deep  upon  their  backs  . 

He  lands  us  on  a  grassy  stage, 

Safe  from  the  storms  and  prelates'  mge : 

He  gave  us  this  eternal  spring 

Which  here  enamels  everything, 

And  sends  the  fowls  to  us  in  care 

On  daily  visits  through  the  air. 

He  hangs  in  shades  the  orange  bright 

Like  golden  lamps  in  a  green  night, 


240  PATRIOTISM 

And  does  in  the  pomegranates  close 
Jewels  more  rich  than  Ormus  shows  : 
He  makes  the  figs  our  mouths  to  meet, 
And  throws  the  melons  at  our  feet ; 
But  apples  plants  of  such  a  price, 
No  tree  could  ever  bear  them  twice. 
With  cedars,  chosen  by  His  hand, 
From  Lebanon  He  stores  the  land  ; 
And  makes  the  hollow  seas  that  roar 
Proclaim  the  ambergris  on  shore. 
He  cast — of  which  we  rather  boast — 
The  Gospel's  pearl  upon  our  coast  ; 
And  in  these  rocks  for  us  did  frame 
A  temple  where  to  sound  His  name. 
O  let  our  voice  His  praise  exalt 
Till  it  arrive  at  Heaven's  vault, 
Which  thence  perhaps  rebounding  may 
Echo  beyond  the  Mexique  bay ! ' 
— Thus  sung  they  in  the  English  boat 
An  holy  and  a  cheerful  note : 
And  all  the  way,  to  guide  their  chime, 
With  falling  oars  they  kept  the  time. 

MARVELL 


AH  no.     To  distant  climes,  a  dreary  scene 
Where  half  the  convex  world  intrudes  between, 
Through  torrid  tracts  with  fainting  steps  they  go 
Where  wild  Altama  murmurs  to  their  woe. 
Far  different  there  from  all  that  charmed  before, 
The  various  terrors  of  that  horrid  shore ; 
Those  blazing  suns  that  dart  a  downward  ray 
And  fiercely  shed  intolerable  day  ; 


I' MIGRANT*  141 

Those  matted  woods  wheie  birds  forget  to  sing 

But  silent  bats  in  drowsy  clusters  cling ; 

Those  poisonous  fields  with  rank  luxuriance  crowned, 

Where  the  dark  scorpion  gathers  denth  around  ; 

While  oft  in  whirls  the  mad  tornado  flic*. 

Mingling  the  ravaged  landscape  with  the  skies. 

Far  different  these  from  every  former  scene. 

The  cooling  brook,  the  grassy-vetted  green, 

The  breezy  covert  of  lite  warbling  grove. 

That  only  she.trrcil  thefts  of  harmless  love. 

GOLDSMITH 


BRITISH    CI.IMATi:    AND    KRKKDOM 

MY  genius  spreads  her  wing 
And  flies  where  Britain  court*  the  western  spring  ; 
Where  lawns  extend  that  com  Arcadian  pride, 
And  brighter  streams  than  f.imcd  Hydaspc*  glide 
There  all  around  the  gentlest  brrezrs  stray, 
There  gentle  music  melts  on  every  spray  ; 
Creation's  mildest  <  harms  are  there  combined. 
Extremes  are  only  in  the  master's  mind  ! 
Stern  o'er  each  bosom  r-  ason  holds  her  state. 
With  daring  aims  irrcgul.irly  great, 
Pride  in  their  port,  defiance  in  their  eye. 
I  see  the  lords  of  human  kind  pass  by, 
Intent  on  high  designs,  a  thoughtful  band, 
By  forms  unfashioned,  fresh  from  Nature's  hand  : 
Fierce  in  their  native  hardiness  of  soul, 
True  to  imagined  right,  above  control, 
While  even  the  peasant  boasts  these  rights  to  sum 
And  learns  to  venerate  himself  as  man. 

OOLD&Mll  II 


243  PATRIOTISM 


A    PROPHECY    OF    FREE    TRADE 

( The  Thames  speaks] 

THY  trees,  fair  Windsor,  now  shall  leave  their  woods 
And  half  thy  forests  rush  into  thy  floods ; 
Tempt  icy  seas  where  scarce  the  wateis  roll, 
Where  clearer  flames  glow  round  the  frozen  pole ; 
Or  under  southern  skies  exalt  their  sails, 
Led  by  new  stars,  and  borne  by  spicy  gales  ! 
Foi  me  the  balm  shall  bleed,  and  amber  flow, 
The  coral  redden,  and  the  ruby  glow, 
The  pearly  shell  its  lucid  globe  unfold, 
And  Phcebus  warm  the  ripening  ore  to  gold. 
The  time  shall  come  when  free  as  seas  or  wind 
Unbounded  Thames  shall  flow  for  all  mankind, 
Whole  nations  enter  with  each  swelling  tide, 
And  seas  but  join  the  regions  they  divide ; 
Earth's  distant  ends  our  glory  shall  behold  ; 
And  the  new  world  launch  forth  to  seek  the  old. 

POPE 


THE     BURIAL     OF     SIR     JOHN     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  i he  struggling  moonbeam's  misty  light, 
And  the  lantern  dimly  burning. 


TUF.    BURIAL    OF    SIR    JOHN    MOORK       343 

No  useless  coffin  enclosed  bis  bn  a*t. 
Not  in  sheet  nor  in  shroud  we  wound  him  ; 

Bin  he  lay  like  a  warrior  taking  his  rest. 
With  his  martial  cloak  around  him. 

Few  and  short  were  the  prayers  we  ^aui. 

And  we  spoke  not  a  word  of  sorrow  ; 
But  we  steadfastly  gazed  on  the  face  that  wa<  dr.ul. 

And  we  bitterly  thought  of  the  morrow. 

We  thought,  as  we  hollowed  his  narrow  bed. 

And  smoothed  down  his  lonely  pillow. 
That  the  foe  and  the  stranger  would  Head  o'er  his 
head. 

And  we  far  away  on  the  billow  ! 

Lightly  they'll  talk  of  the  spirit  that 's  gone, 
And  o'er  his  cold  ashes  upbraid  him. 

Hut  little  he  '11  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. 

Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down. 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  anu  gory  ; 
We  carved  not  a  line,  and  we  raised  not  a  stone  — 

but  we  left  him  alone  with  his  glory. 

VOLTE 


244  PATRIOTISM 


SEA     SONG 

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  fe<l 

Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow, 
As  we  sweep  through  the  deep, 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow  ; 
While  the  battle,  etc. 

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,  etc. 


V  F    MARINERS    OF    R  N  G  I.  A  N  I  >  945 

The  meteor  flag  of  Kngland 

Yet  shall  terrific  burn  ; 
Till  danger's  troubled  night  depn t 

And  the  biar  of  peace  return. 
Then,  then,  ye  ocean -warriors  I 

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

When  the  storm  ha»  ceased  to  blow  ; 
When  the  fiery  fight  is  heard  no  more. 

And  the  storm  lias  ceased  to  blow 

CAMPBELL 


BATTLE    OF    THE     BALTIC 

OP  Nelson  and  the  North 

Sing  the  glorious  day's  rrnown, 

When  to  battle  fierce  came  forth 

All  the  might  of  Denmark's  crown. 

And  her  arms  along  the  deep  proud  I  v  shone 

By  each  gun  the  lighted  brand 

In  a  bold  determined  hand. 

And  the  Prince  of  all  the  land 

Led  them  on. 

Like  leviathans  afloat 

Lay  their  bulwarks  on  the  brine ; 

While  the  sign  of  battle  flew 

On  the  lofty  British  line  : 

It  was  ten  of  April  morn  by  the  chime : 

As  they  drifted  on  their  path 

There  was  silence  deep  as  death 

And  the  boldest  held  his  breath 

For  a  time. 


^6  PATRIOTISM 

But  the  might  of  England  flushed 

To  anticipate  the  scene  ; 

And  her  van  the  fleeter  rushed 

O'er  the  deadly  space  between. 

'  Hearts  of  oak  ! '  our  captains  cried,  when  each  gun 

From  its  adamantine  lips 

Spread  a  death-shade  round  the  ships, 

Like  the  hurricane  eclipse 

Of  the  sun. 


Again  !  again  !  again  ! 

And  the  havoc  did  not  slack, 

Till  a  feeble  cheer  the  Dane 

To  our  cheering  sent  us  back  ; — 

Their  shots  along  the  deep  slowly  boom  : — 

Then  ceased — and  all  is  wail, 

As  they  strike  the  shatter'd  sail ; 

Or  in  conflagration  pale 

Light  the  gloom. 

Out  spoke  the  victor  then 

As  he  hailed  them  o'er  the  wave, 

'  Ye  are  brothers  !  ye  are  men  ! 

And  we  conquer  but  to  save  : — 

So  peace  instead  of  death  let  us  bring  : 

But  yield,  proud  foe,  thy  fleet 

With  the  crews,  at  England's  feet.- 

And  make  submission  meet 

To  our  King.' 

Then  Denmark  blest  our  chief 

That  he  gave  her  wounds  repose ; 

And  the  sounds  of  joy  and  grief 

From  her  people  wildly  rose, 

As  death  withdrew  his  shades  from  the  day  : 


BATTLE   OF   THE    BALTIC  147 

While  ihe  sun  looked  smiling  bright 
O'er  a  wide  and  woeful  sight. 
Where  the  fires  of  funeral  light 
Died  away. 

Now  joy,  old  England,  raise  I 
For  the  tidings  of  thy  might, 
By  the  festal  cities'  blare. 
Whilst  the  wine-cup  shines  in  light ; 
And  yet  amidst  that  joy  and  uproar, 
Let  us  think  of  them  that  sleep 
Full  many  a  fathom  deep 
By  ihy  wild  and  stormy  steep, 
Elsinor.  ! 

Brave  hearts  I  to  Britain's  pride 

Once  so  faithful  and  so  true, 

On  the  deck  of  fame  that  died 

With  the  gallant  good  Kiou  : 

Soft  sigh  the  winds  of  heaven  o'er  their  grave 

While  the  billow  mournful  roll  , 

And  the  mermaid's  song  condoles. 

Singing  glory  to  the  souls 

Of  the  brave  I 

CAMPBELL 


LOSS    OP    THE     ROYAL    r.KORGE 

TOLL  for  the  Brave  I 
The  brave  that  are  no  more  I 
All  sunk  beneath  ihe  wave 
Fa-t  by  their  nativ    shore  I 


248  PATRIOTISM 

Eight  hundred  of  the  brave 
Whose  courage  well  was  tried, 
Had  made  the  vessel  heel 
And  laid  her  on  her  side. 

A  land-breeze  shook  the  shrouds 
And  she  was  overset ; 
Down  went  the  Royal  George, 
With  all  her  crew  complete. 

Toll  for  the  brave  ! 
Brave  Kempenfelt  is  gone  ; 
His  last  sea-fight  is  fcught, 
His  work  of  glory  done. 

It  was  not  in  the  battle  ; 
No  tempest  gave  the  shock  ; 
She  sprang  no  fatal  leak, 
She  ran  upon  no  rock. 

His  sword  was  in  its  sheath, 
His  fingers  held  the  pen, 
When  Kempenfelt  went  down 
With  twice  four  hundred  men. 

Weigh  the  vessel  up 
Once  dreaded  by  our  foes  ! 
And  mingle  with  our  cup 
The  tear  that  England  owes. 

Her  timbers  yet  are  sound, 

And  she  may  float  again 

Full  charged  with  England's  thunder, 

And  plough  the  distant  main  : 


I  Oftfc    Or    1IIE    KOYAl     CH*GK  £49 

But  Kcnijxnfelt  is  gone. 
His  victories  arc  o'er  ; 
And  be  and  his  eight  hundred 
Shall  plough  the  wave  no  more. 

COW  PS  t 


BATTI.K     SONG 

DAY,  like  our  &ouls.  is  fiercely  dark  ; 

What  then?    Tis  day  I 
We  sleep  no  more ;  the  cock  crow*  —hark 

To  arms !  away  ! 
They  come  !  they  come  !  the  knell  is  rung 

Of  us  or  them  ; 
Wide  o'er  their  march  the  pomp  is  flung 

Of  gold  and  gem. 
What  collared  hound  of  lawless  sway. 

To  famine  dear — 
What  pensioned  slave  of  Aitila, 

Leads  in  the  rear  ? 
Come  they  from  Scythian  wilds  afar, 

Our  blood  to  spilP 
Wear  they  the  live/y  Jf  *•>>  Czar  ? 

They  do  his  will. 
Nor  tasselled  silk,  nor  epaulette. 

Nor  plume,  nor  torse 
No  splendour  gilds,  all  sternly  met. 

Our  foot  and  horse. 
But  dark  and  still,  we  inly  glow, 

Condensed  in  ire ! 
Strike,  tawdry  slaves,  and  ye  shall  know 

Our  gloom  is  fire. 
In  vain  your  pomp,  ye  evil  powers. 

Insults  the  land : 


250  PATRIOTISM 

Wrongs,  vengeance,  and  the  cause  are  ours, 

And  God's  right  hand  ! 
Madmen  !  they  trample  into  snakes 

The  wormy  clod  ! 
Like  fire  beneath  their  feet  awakes 

The  sword  of  God  ! 
Behind,  before,  above,  below, 

They  rouse  the  brave  ; 
Where'er  they  go,  they  make  a  foe, 

Or  find  a  grave. 

ELLIOT! 


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  unseen  their  dirge  is  sung  ; 
There  Honour  comes,  a  pilgrim  gray, 
To  bless  the  turf  that  wraps  their  clay, 
And  Freedom  shall  a  while  repair, 
To  dweli,  a  weeping  hermit,  there  ! 

COLLINS 


ART 


A  thing  of  beauty  is  a  joy  for  ever  .- 
Its  loveliness  increases  ;  it  will  never 
Pass  into  nothingness  ;  but  still  will  keep 
A  bower  quiet  for  us,  and  a  sleep 

Full  of  sweet  dreams,  and  health,  and  quiet  breathing, 

Keats 


Spite  of  cormorant  devouring  Time 
TJie  endeavour  of  this  present  breath  may  buy 
That  honour  which  shall  bate  his  scythe  s  keen  edge 

Shakespeaie 


ODE   ON    A   GRECIAN    URN 

TilOU  still  unrmvished  bride  of  quietness, 

Thou  foster-child  of  silence  and  slow  time. 
Sylvan  historian,  who  canst  thus  express 

A  flowery  tile  more  sweetly  than  our  rhyme : 
What  leaf-fringed  legend  haunts  about  thy  shape 

Of  deities  or  mortals,  or  of  both. 

In  Tern pc  or  the  dales  of  Arcady  ? 
What  men  or  gods  are  thes*?    What  maidens  loth  ? 

What  mad  pursuit  ?    What  struggle  to  rscape  ? 
What  pipes  and  timbrels?    What  wild  ecstasy  ? 

Heard  melodies  are  sweet,  but  those  unheard 

Are  sweeter ;  therefore,  ye  soft  pipes,  play  on  : 
Not  to  the  sensual  ear.  but,  more  endeared. 

Pipe  to  the  spirit  ditties  of  no  tone  1 
Fair  youth,  beneath  the  trees,  thou  canst  not  leave 

Thy  song,  nor  ever  can  those  trees  be  bare  ; 

Bold  lover,  never,  never  canst  thou  kiss, 
Though  winning  near  the  goal  —yet,  do  rot  grieve  ; 

She  cannot  fade,  though  thou  hast  not  thy  bliss. 
For  ever  wilt  thou  love,  and  she  be  fair  ! 

Ah.  happy,  happy  boughs !  that  cannot  shed 
Your  leaves,  nor  ever  bid  the  spring  adieu; 

And,  happy  melodist,  unwearied, 
For  ever  piping  songs  for  ever  new  ; 

M 


254  ART 

More  happy  love  !  more  happy,  happy  love ! 
For  ever  warm  and  still  to  be  enjoyed, 

For  ever  panting,  and  for  ever  young  ; 
All  breathing  human  passion  far  above, 
That  leaves  a  heart  high-sorrowful  and  cloyed, 
A  burning  forehead,  and  a  parching  tongue. 

Who  are  these  coming  to  the  sacrifice  ? 

To  what  green  altar,  O  mysterious  priest, 
Leadest  thou  that  heifer  lowing  at  the  skies, 

And  all  her  silken  flanks  with  garlands  drest? 
What  little  town  by  river  or  sea-shore, 

Or  mountain-built  with  peaceful  citadel, 

Is  emptied  of  this  folk,  this  pious  morn  ? 
And,  little  town,  thy  streets  for  evermore 

Will  silent  be  ;  and  not  a  soul  to  tell 
Why  thou  art  desolate,  can  e'er  return. 

O  Attic  shape  !     Fair  attitude  !  with  brede 

Of  marble  men  and  maidens  overwrought, 
With  forest  branches  and  the  trodden  weed  ; 

Thou,  silent  form,  dost  tease  us  out  of  thought 
As  doth  eternity  :  Cold  Pastoral ! 

When  old  age  shall  this  generation  waste, 

Thou  shah  remain,  in  midst  of  other  woe 
Than  ours,  a  friend  to  man,  to  whom  thou  sayest, 

'  Beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty ' — that  is  all 
Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need  to  know. 

KEATS 


THE    POWER    OF    MUSIC 


ORPHEUS  with  his  lute  made  trees 
And  the  mountain-tops  that  freeze 
Bow  themselves  when  he  did  sing  : 


THE    POWER    OP    MUSIC  255 

To  his  music,  plants  and  flowers 
Ever  sprung  ;  as  sun  and  showers 
There  had  made  a  lasting  spring. 

Every  thing  that  heard  him  play. 
Even  the  billows  of  the  sea, 

Hung  their  heads,  and  then  lay  by. 
In  sweet  music  is  such  art : 
Killing  care  and  grief  of  heart 

Fall  asleep,  or,  hearing,  die. 

FLETCHER 


.— How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  u|>or 

this  bank ! 

Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  cars  ;  soft  stillness,  and  the  night, 
Become  the  touches  of  swc<-t  harmony. 
Sit,  Jessica.     Look  how  the  floor  of  heaven 
Is  thick  inlaid  with  pannes  of  bright  gold. 
'1  here's  not  the  smallest  orb  which  thou  bebold'st 
But  in  his  motion  like  an  angel  sings, 
Still  quiring  to  the  young-eyed  cherubins : 
Such  harmony  is  in  immortal  souls  ; 
But  whilst  this  muddy  vesture  of  decay 
Doth  grossly  close  it  in,  we  cannot  hear  it  — 
Come,  ho,  and  wake  Diana  with  a  hymn. 
Jftsua. — I  am  never  merry  when  I  hear  sweet  music, 
Lortnto. — The  reason  is  your  spirits  are  attentive : 
For  do  but  note  a  wild  and  wanton  herd, 
Or  race  of  youthful  and  un  ban  died  colts, 
Fetching  mad  bounds,  bellowing,  and  neighing  loud, 
Which  is  the  hot  condition  of  their  blood ; 
if  they  but  hear  perchance  a  trumpet  sound, 


256  ART 

Or  any  air  of  music  touch  their  ears, 

You  shall  perceive  them  make  a  mutual  stand, 

Their  savage  eyes  turned  to  a  modest  gaze, 

By  the  sweet  power  of  music :  Therefore  the  poet 

Did    feign    that  Orpheus    drew  trees,   stones,    and 

floods ; 

Since  nought  so  stockish,  hard,  and  full  of  rage, 
But  music  for  the  time  doth  change  his  nature  : 
The  man  that  hath  no  music  in  himself, 
Nor  is  not  moved  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 
Is  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and  spoils  ; 
The  motions  of  his  spirit  are  dull  as  night, 
And  his  affections  dark  as  Erebus  : 
Let  no  such  man  be  trusted. — Mark  the  music. 

SHAKESPEARE 


AT  last  a  soft  and  solemn-breathing  sound 

Rose  like  a  steam  of  rich  distilled  perfumes 

And  stole  upon  the  air,  that  even  silence 

Was  took  ere  she  was  ware,  and  wish't  she  might 

Deny  her  nature,  and  be  never  more 

Still  to  be  so  displac't.     I  was  all  ear, 

And  took  in  strains  that  might  create  a  soul 

Under  the  ribs  of  Death. 


Comus. — Can  any  mortal  mixture  of  earth's  mould 
Breathe  such  divine  enchanting  ravishment  ? 
Sure  something  holy  lodges  in  that  breast, 
And  with  these  raptures  moves  the  vocal  air 
To  testify  his  hidden  residence. 
How  sweetly  did  they  float  upon  the  wings 


tttt  POWE*  or  MUSIC  257 

Of  silence,  through  the  empty-vaulted  night. 

At  every  fall  smoothing  the  raven  down 

Of  Darkness  till  it  smiled  !  I  have  oft  heard 

My  mother  Circe  with  the  Sirens  three, 

Amidst  the  flowery-kirtled  Naiades, 

Culling  their  potent  herbs,  and  baleful  drugs ; 

Who  as  they  sung,  would  take  the  prisoned  soul 

And  lap  it  in  Elysium  :  Scylla  wept. 

And  chid  her  barking  waves  into  attention. 

And  fell  Charybdis  murmured  soft  applause : 

Yet  they  in  pleasing  slumber  lull'd  the  sense, 

And  in  sweet  madness  robb'd  it  of  itself; 

Hut  such  a  sacred  and  home-felt  delight. 

Such  sober  ceitainty  of  w .iking  bliss, 

1  never  heard  till  now. 

MILTON 


AWAKE,  awake,  my  Lyre) 
And  tell  thy  silent  master's  humble  tale 

In  sounds  that  may  prevail ; 
Sounds  that  gentle  thoughts  inspire: 

Though  so  exalted  she 

And  I  so  lowly  be 
Tell  her,  such  different  notes  make  all  thy  harmony. 

Hark  I  how  the  strings  awake : 
And,  though  the  moving  hand  approach  not  near, 

Themselves  with  awful  fear 
A  kind  of  numerous  trembling  make. 
Now  all  thy  forces  try  ; 
Now  all  thy  charms  apply  ; 

her  ear  the  conquest*  of  her  eye. 


258  ART 

Weak  Lyre  !  thy  virtue  sure 
Is  useless  here,  since  thou  art  only  found 

To  cure,  but  not  to  wound, 
And  she  to  wound,  but  not  to  cure. 

Too  weak  too  wilt  thou  prove 

My  passion  to  remove  ; 
Physic  to  other  ills,  thou  'rt  nourishment  to  love. 


Sleep,  sleep  again,  my  Lyre  ! 
For  thou  canst  never  tell  my  humble  tale 

In  sounds  that  will  prevail, 
Nor  gentle  thoughts  in  her  inspire  ; 

All  thy  vain  mirth  lay  by, 

Bid  thy  strings  silt  nt  lie, 
Sleep,  sleep  again,  my  Lyre,  and  let  thy  master  die. 

COVVLEY 


TWO    SONGS    FOR    SAINT    CECILIA'S    DAY 


FROM  Harmony,  from  heavenly  Harmony 

This  universal  frame  began  : 
When  Nature  underneath  a  heap 

Of  jarring  atoms  lay 
And  could  not  heave  her  head, 
The  tuneful  voice  was  heard  from  high 

Arise,  ye  more  than  dead  ! 
Then  cold,  and  hot,  and  moist,  and  dry 
In  order  to  their  stations  leap, 

And  music's  power  obey. 


ro*  SAINT  CECILIA'S  DAY  259 

From  harmony,  from  heavenly  harmony 

This  universal  frame  began  : 

From  haimony  to  harmony 
Through  all  the  compass  of  the  notes  it  ran. 
The  diapason  closing  full  in  Man. 

What  Passion  cannot  Music  raise  and  quell  I 

When  Jubal  struck  the  chortled  shell 
His  listening  brethren  stood  around, 
And,  wondering,  on  their  faces  fell 
To  worship  that  celestial  sound. 
Less  than  a  God  they  thought  there  could  not  dwell 
Within  the  hollow  of  that  shell 
That  spoke  so  sweetly  and  so  well. 
What  passion  cannot  Music  raise  and  quell? 

The  trumpet's  loud  clangor 

Excites  us  to  arms, 
With  shrill  notes  of  anger 

And  mortal  alarms. 
The  double  double  double  beat 

Of  the  thundering  drum 
Cries  '  Hark  !  the  foes  come ; 
Charge,  charge,  'tis  too  late  to  retreat  I ' 

The  soft  complaining  flute 
In  dying  notes  discovers 

The  woes  of  helpless  lovers. 
Whose  dirge  is  whispered  by  the  warbling  lute. 

Sharp  violins  proclaim 
Their  jealous  pangs,  and  desperation, 
Fury,  frantic  indignation, 
Depth  of  pains,  and  height  of  pas&ion, 

For  the  fair,  disdainful  dame. 


260 


But  oh  !  what  art  can  teach, 

What  human  voice  can  reach, 

The  sacred  organ's  praise  ? 

Notes  inspiring  holy  love, 

Notes  that  wing  their  heavenly  ways 
To  mend  the  choirs  above. 


ALEXANDER'S   FEAST 

'TWAS  at  the  royal  feast  for  Persia  won 

By  Philip's  warlike  son  : 

Aloft  in  awful  state 

The  godlike  hero  sate 

On  his  imperial  throne  ; 

His  valiant  peers  were  placed  around, 

Their  brows  with  roses  and  with  myrtles  bound 

(So  should  desert  in  arms  be  crowned)  ; 

The  lovely  Thais  by  his  side 

Sate  like  a  blooming  eastern  bride 

In  flower  of  youth  and  beauty's  pride  : — 

Happy,  happy,  happy  pair  ! 

None  but  the  brave 

None  but  the  brave 

None  but  the  brave  deserves  the  fair  ! 

Timotheus  placed  on  high 
Amid  the  tuneful  quire 
With  flying  fingers  touched  the  lyre  : 
The  trembling  notes  ascend  the  sky 
And  heavenly  joys  inspire. 


A  I.  F.  JTA  NORM'S    PR  AST  a6l 

The  song  began  from  Jove 

Who  left  his  blissful  seats  above. 

Such  is  the  power  of  mighty  love  ! 

A  dragon's  fiery  form  belied  the  god ; 

Sublime  on  radiant  spires  he  rode 

When  he  to  fair  Olympia  prest. 

And  while  he  sought  her  snowy  brra5t ; 

'I"hrn  round  her  slender  waist  he  curled, 

And  stamped  an  image  of  himself,  a  sovereign 

of  the  world. 

—The  listening  crowd  admire  the  lofty  sound  ! 
A  present  deity  !  they  shout  around  : 
A  present  deity  I  the  vaulted  roofs  rebound  ( 
With  ravished  ears 
The  monarch  hears, 
Assumes  the  god, 
Affects  to  nod. 
And  seems  to  shake  the  spheres. 


The  pra'sc  of  Bacchus  then  the  sweet  musician 

song: 

Of  Bacchus  ever  fair  and  ever  young : 
The  jolly  god  in  triumph  comes  ! 
Sound  the  trumpets,  beat  the  drums  1 
Flushed  with  a  purple  grace 
He  shows  his  honest  face : 
Now  give  the  hautboys  breath ;  be  comes,  be 

comes  I 

Bfcccbus,  ever  fair  and  young. 
Drinking  joys  did  first  ordain  ; 
Bacchus'  blessings  are  a  treasure, 
Drinking  is  the  soldier's  pleasure : 
Rich  the  treasure 
Sweet  the  pleasure, 
Sweet  is  pleasure  alter  pain. 


262  ART 

Soothed  with  the  sound,  the  king  grew  vain  ; 
Fought  all  his  battles  o'er  again, 
And  thrice  he  routed  all  his  foes,  and  thrice  he 

slew  the  slain. 

The  master  saw  the  madness  rise, 
His  glowing  cheeks,  his  ardent  eyes  ; 
And  while  he  Heaven  and  Earth  defied 
Changed  his  hand  and  checked  his  pride. 
He  chose  a  mournful  Muse 
Soft  pity  to  infuse  : 
He  sung  Darius  great  and  good, 
By  too  severe  a  fate 
Fallen,  fallen,  fallen,  fallen, 
Fallen  from  his  high  estate, 
And  welt'ring  in  his  blood  ; 
Deserted,  at  his  utmost  need, 
By  those  his  former  bounty  fed  ; 
On  the  bare  earth  exposed  he  lies 
With  not  a  friend  to  close  his  eyes. 
— With  downcast  looks  the  joyless  victor 

sate, 

Revolving  in  his  altered  soul 
The  various  turns  of  chance  below ; 
And  now  and  then  a  sigh  he  stole, 
And  tears  began  to  flow. 

The  mighty  master  smiled  to  see 
That  love  was  in  the  next  degree  ; 
'Twas  but  a  kindred  sound  to  move, 
For  pity  melts  the  mind  to  love. 
Softly  sweet,  in  Lydian  measures 
Soon  he  soothed  his  soul  to  pleasures. 
War,  he  sung,  is  toil  and  trouble, 
Honour  but  an  empty  bubble, 
Never  ending,  still  beginning  ; 
Fighting  still,  and  still  destroying  ; 


Af.  KXAMDKR'S    PP.  AST  a6; 

If  the  world  be  worth  thy  winning, 

'I  hink,  O  think,  it  worth  enjoying : 

Lovely  Thais  sits  beside  thee. 

Take  the  good  the  gods  provide  thee ! 

—The  many  rend  the  skies  with  loud  applause ; 

So  Love  was  crowned,  but  Music  won  the  cause 

The  prince,  unable  to  conceal  his  pain, 

Gated  on  the  fair 

Who  caused  his  care. 

And  sighed  and  lookr d.  sighed  and  looked. 

Signed  and  looked,  and  sighed  again  : 

At  length  with  love  and  wine  at  once  oppre&t 

Th«  vanquished  victor  sunk  upon  her  breast. 

Now  strike  the  golden  lyre  again  : 
A  louder  yet,  and  yet  a  louder  strain  I 
Break  his  bands  of  sleep  asunder 
And  rouse  him  like  a  rattling  peal  of  thunder 
Hark,  hark  !  the  horrid  sound 
1  las  raised  up  his  head : 
As  awaked  from  the  dead 
And  amazed  he  stares  around. 
Revenge,  revenge,  Timotheus  cries. 
See  the  Furies  arise  I 
See  the  tnakrs  that  they  rear 
How  they  hiss  in  their  hair. 
And  the  sparkles  that  flash  from  their  eyes ! 
t'chold  a  ghastly  band 
Each  a  torch  in  his  hand ! 
Those  are  Grecian  ghosts,  that  in  liattle  were 

slain 

And  unburied  remain 
Inglorious  on  the  plain  : 
Give  the  vengeance  due 
To  the  valiant  crew  I 
Behold  how  they  toss  their  torches  on  high, 


264  ART 

How  they  point  to  the  Persian  abodes 
And  glittering  temples  of  their  hostile  gods. 
— The  princes  applaud  with  a  furious  joy  : 
And  the  King  seized  a  flambeau  with  zeal  to 

destroy ; 

Thais  led  the  way 
To  light  him  to  his  prey, 
And  like  another  Helen,  fired  another  Troy  ! 

— Thus,  long  ago, 

Ere  heaving  bellows  learned  to  blow, 

While  organs  yet  were  mute  ; 

Timotheus,  to  his  breathing  flute 

And  sounding  lyre, 

Could  swell  the  soul  to  rage,  or  kindle  soft  desire. 

At  last  divine  Cecilia  came, 

Inventress  of  the  vocal  frame  ; 

The  sweet  enthusiast  from  her  sacred  store 

Enlarged  the  former  narrow  bounds, 

And  added  length  to  solemn  sounds, 

With  Nature's  mother- wit,  and  arts  unknown 

before. 

—Let  old  Timotheus  yield  the  prize 
Or  both  divide  the  crown ; 
He  raised  a  mortal  to  the  skies ; 
She  drew  an  angel  down  ! 

DRYDEN 


THE     PASSIONS 

WHEN  Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  young, 
While  yet  in  early  Greece  she  sung, 
The  Passions  oft,  to  hear  her  shell, 
Thronged  around  her  magic  cell, 


THR    PASSIONS  1 

Exulting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting. 
Possessed  beyond  the  muse's  painting. 
By  turns  «l  ey  felt  the  glowing  mind 
Disturbed,  delighted,  raised,  refined  ; 
Till  once,  'tis  said,  when  all  were  fired. 
Filled  with  fury,  rapt,  inspired, 
From  the  supporting  myrtles  round 
They  snatched  her  instruments  of  sound  ; 
And.  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart 
Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art, 
Each,  for  Madness  ruled  the  hour. 
Would  prove  his  own  expressive  power. 

First  Fear  his  hand,  its  skill  to  try. 

Amid  the  chords  bewildered  laid. 
And  back  recoiled,  he  knew  not  why. 

Even  at  the  sound  himself  had  made. 
Next  Anger  rushed  ;  his  eyes  on  fire, 

In  lightnings  owned  his  secret  stings  ; 
In  one  rude  clash  he  struck  the  lyre, 

And  swept  with  hurried  hand  the  strings. 

With  woeful  measures  wan  Despair, 

Low  sullen  sounds,  his  grief  beguiled  ; 
A  solemn,  strange  and  mingled  air 

Twas  sad  by  fits,  by  starts  'twas  wild. 
Rut  thou,  O  Hope,  with  eyes  so  fair, 

What  was  thy  delighted  measure  ? 

Still  it  whispered  promised  pleasure, 
And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  hail  I 
Still  would  her  touch  the  strain  prolong, 

And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale. 
She  called  on  Echo  still  through  all  the  song  ; 

And,  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 
A  soft  responsive  voice  was  heard  at  evei  y  close 


266  ART 

And  Hope  enchanted  smiled,  and  waved  her  golden 

hair. 
And  longer  had  she  sung  ; — but,  with  a  frown, 

Revenge  impatient  rose  ; 

He  threw  his  blood-stained  sword  in  thunder  down, 
And,  with  a  withering  look, 
The  war-denouncing  trumpet  took, 
And  blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  dread, 
Were  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  woe  ! 
And  ever  and  anon,  he  beat 
The  doubling  drum  with  furious  heat ; 
And  though  sometimes,  each  dreary  pause  between, 
Dejected  Pity  at  his  side, 
Her  soul-subduing  voice  applied, 
Yet  still  he  kept  his  wild  unaltered  mien, 
While  each  strained  ball  of  sight  seemed  bursting 

from  his  head. 

Thy  numbers,  Jealousy,  to  nought  were  fixed  ; 
Sad  proof  of  thy  distressful  state  ! 

Of  differing  themes  the  veering  song  was  mixed  ; 
And  now  it  courted  Love,  now  raving  called  on 
Hate. 

With  eyes  upraised,  as  one  inspired, 

Pale  Melancholy  sat  retired. 

And,  from  her  wild  sequestered  seat, 

In  notes  by  distance  made  more  sweet, 

Poured  through  the  mellow  horn  her  pensive  soul. 

And  dashing  soft  from  rocks  around, 

Bubbling  runnels  joined  the  sound  ; 
Through  glades  and  glooms  the  mingled  measure 

stole ; 
Or  o'er  some  haunted  stream,  with  fond  delay, 

Round  a  holy  calm  diffusing, 

Love  of  peace,  and  lonely  musing. 
In  hollow  murmurs  died  away. 


TUB    PASSIONS  967 

But  oh  !  how  altered  was  its  spriglulirr  tone. 
When  Cheerfulness,  a  nymph  of  healthiest  hue. 

Her  bow  across  her  shoulder  flung. 

Her  buskins  gemmed  with  morning  dew. 
Blew  an  inspiring  air,  th.it  dal«f  and  thicket  rung. 

The  hunter's  call,  to  Faun  and  Dryad  known  ! 
The  oak-crowned   sister*,   and  their  chaste-eyed 

queen. 
Satyrs  and  sylvan  boys,  were  seen 

Peeping  from  forth  their  alleys  green  ; 
Brow  n  Exercise  rejoiced  to  hear  ; 

And  Sport  leaped  up.  and  'fixed  his  beechen 
spear. 


I  ~ist  came  Joy's  ecstatic  trial ; 
Hi\  with  viny  crown  advancing, 

First  to  the  lively  pipe  his  hand  addressed  ; 
But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk-awakening  viol, 

Whose  sweet  entrancing  voice  he  loved  the  best . 

They  would  have  thought  who  hr.ird  thr  strain. 

They  saw  in  Tempe's  vale  her  native  maids, 

Amidst  the  festal  sounding  shades, 
To  some  unwearied  minstrel  dancing, 

While,  as  his  flying  fingers  kissed  the  strings. 
Love  framed  with  Mirth  a  gay  fantastic  round  ; 

Loose  were  her  tresses  scon,  her  zone  unbound  ; 

And  he,  amidst  his  frolic  play. 
As  if  he  would  the  charming  air  repay, 

Shook  thousand  odours  from  his  dewy  wings. 


O  Music  !  sphere-descended  maid. 
Friend  of  Pleasure.  Wisdom's  aid  I 
Why.  goddess,  why.  to  us  denied. 
Lay'st  thou  thy  ancient  lyre  aside  ? 


268  ART 

As  in  that  loved  Athenian  bower 
You  learned  an  all-commanding  power, 
Thy  mimic  soul,  O  nymph  endeared  ! 
Can  well  recall  what  then  it  heard. 
Where  is  thy  native  simple  heart 
Devote  to  Virtue,  Fancy,  Art  ? 
Arise,  as  in  that  elder  time, 
Warm,  energic,  chaste,  sublime  ! 
Thy  wonders,  in  that  god-like  age, 
Fill  thy  recording  Sister's  page  ; — 
Tis  said,  and  I  believe  the  tale, 
Thy  humblest  reed  could  more  prevail 
Had  more  of  strength,  diviner  rage, 
Than  all  which  charms  this  laggard  age, 
E'en  all  at  once  together  found, 
Cecilia's  mingled  world  of  sound  : — 
O  bid  our  vain  endeavours  cease  ; 
Revive  the  just  designs  of  Greece  ; 
Return  in  all  thy  simple  state  ! 
Confirm  the  tales  her  sons  relate  ! 

COLLINS 


TO     A     LADY 
WITH    A    GUITAR 

Ariel  to  Miranda  : — Take 

This  slave  of  music,  for  the  sake 

Of  him,  who  is  the  slave  of  thee  ; 

And  teach  it  all  the  harmony 

In  which  thou  canst,  and  only  thou, 

Make  the  delighted  spirit  glow, 

Till  joy  denies  itself  again, 

And,  too  intense,  is  turned  to  pain. 


TO    A    LADY  X 

For  by  permission  and  command 

Of  thine  own  Prince  Ferdinand. 

Poor  Ariel  sends  this  silent  token 

Of  more  than  ever  can  be  spoken  ; 

Your  guardian  spirit,  Ariel,  who 

From  life  to  life  must  still  pursue 

Your  happiness,  for  thus  alone 

Can  Ariel  ever  find  his  own  . 

From  Prospero's  enchanted  cell, 

As  the  mighty  verses  tell. 

To  the  throne  of  Naples  he 

Lift  you  o'er  the  trackless  sea. 

Flitting  on.  your  prow  before. 

Like  a  living  meteor. 

When  you  die.  the  silent  Moon 

In  her  interlunar  swoon 

Is  not  sadder  in  her  cell 

Than  deserted  Ariel ; 

When  you  live  again  on  earth, 

Like  an  unseen  Star  of  birth 

Ariel  guides  you  o'er  the  sea 

Of  life  from  your  nativity  : 

Many  changes  have  been  run 

Since  Ferdinand  and  you  begun 

Your  course  of  love,  and  Ariel  still. 

Has  tracked  your  steps  and  served  your 

will 

Now  in  humbler,  happier  lot. 
This  is  all  remembered  not ; 
And  now,  alas  !  the  poor  sprue  is 
Imprisoned  for  some  fault  of  bis 
In  a  body  like  a  grave— 
From  you  he  only  dares  to  crave 
For  his  service  and  his  sorrow 
A  smile  to-day,  a  song  to-morrow. 


ART 

The  artist  who  this  viol  wrought 

To  echo  all  harmonious  thought, 

Felled  a  tree,  while  on  the  steep 

The  woods  were  in  their  winter  sleep, 

Rocked  in  that  repose  divin". 

On  the  wind-swept  Apennine  ; 

And  dreaming,  some  of  autumn  pa  t, 

And  some  of  spring  approaching  fast, 

And  some  of  April  buds  and  showers, 

And  some  of  songs  in  July  bowers, 

And  all  of  love  ;  and  so  this  tree, — 

O  that  such  our  death  may  be  ! — 

Died  in  sleep,  and  felt  no  pain, 

To  live  in  happier  form  again  : 

From  which,  beneath  Heaven's  fairest  star, 

The  artist  wrought  this  loved  Guitar  ; 

And  taught  it  justly  to  reply 

To  all  who-question  skilfully 

In  language  gentle  as  thine  own ; 

Whispering  in  enamoured  tone 

Sweet  oracles  of  woods  and  dells, 

And  summer  winds  in  sylvan  cells  ; 

— For  it  had  learnt  all  harmonies 

Of  the  plains  and  of  the  skies, 

Of  the  forests  and  the  mountains, 

And  the  many-voiced  fountains  ; 

The  clearest  echoes  of  the  hills, 

The  softest  notes  of  falling  rills, 

The  melodies  of  birds  and  bees, 

The  murmuring  of  summer  seas, 

And  pattering  rain,  and  breathing  d<_w, 

And  airs  of  evening ;  and  it  knew 

That  seldom-heard  mysterious  sound 

Which,  driven  on  its  diurnal  round, 

As  it  floats  through  boundless  day, 

Our  world  enkindles  on  its  way  : 


THE    POET   TO   THE    NIGHTINGALE      271 

—All  this  it  knows,  but  will  not  i-  I 
To  those  who  cannot  question  well 
The  spirit  that  inhabits  it; 
It  talks  according  to  the  wit 
Of  its  companions ;  and  no  more 
Is  beard  than  has  been  felt  before 
By  those  who  tempt  it  to  betray 
1  hrse  secrets  of  an  elder  day. 
But.  sweetly  as  its  answers  will 
Flatter  hands  of  perfect  skill. 
It  keeps  its  highest  holic-t  tone 
For  one  beloved  Friend  alone. 


IF  all  the  pens  that  ever  poets  h-ld 
Had  fed  the  feeling  of  their  masters'  t»  oughts. 
And  every  sweetness  that  inspire  i  their  h«vtrts, 
Their  minds  and  muses,  on  admired  themes  ; 
If  all  the  heavenly  quintessence  they  'sti.l 
From  their  immortal  flowers  of  poesy, 
Wherein,  as  in  a  mirror,  we  perceive 
The  highest  reaches  of  a  human  wit ; 
If  these  had  made  one  poem's  period 
And  all  combined  in  beauty's  worthiness. 
Yet  should  there  hover  in  their  restless  heads 
One  thought,  one  grace,  one  wonder  at  the  least. 
Which  into  words  no  virtue  can  digest. 

WAR  LOW  K 


272  ART 


THE    POET   TO    THE    NIGHTINGALE 

EXERT  thy  voice,  sweet  harbinger  of  Spring  ! 

This  moment  is  thy  time  to  sing, 

This  moment  I  attend  to  praise, 

And  set  my  numbers  to  thy  lays  ; 

Free  as  thine  shall  be  my  song, 

As  thy  music,  short  or  long  ; 

Poets  wild  as  thou  were  born, 

Pleasing  best  when  unconfined, 

When  to  please  is  least  designed, 

Soothing  but  their  cares  to  rest ; 

Cares  do  still  their  thoughts  molest, 

And  still  th'  unhappy  poet's  breast, 

Like  thine,  when  best  he  sings,  is  placed 

against  a  thorn. 
She  begins  !     Let  all  be  still ! 
Muse,  thy  promise  now  fulfil ! 
Sweet,  oh,  sweet !  still  sweeter  yet ! 
Can  thy  words  such  accents  fit  ? 
Canst  thou  syllables  refine, 
Melt  a  sense  that  shall  retain 
Still  some  spirit  of  the  brain, 
Till  with  sounds  like  those  it  join  ? 
'Twill  not  be  !  then  change  thy  note, 
Let  division  shake  thy  throat ! 
Hark  !  division  now  she  tries, 
Yet  as  far  the  Muse  out  flies. 

LADY  WINCHILSEA 


ON  THE  MUSE  OF  POETRY       973 


ON  THE  MUSE  OF  POETRY 

Is  my  former  days  of  bliss, 

Her  divine  skill  taught  me  this. 

That  from  everything  I  saw, 

I  could  some  invention  draw. 

And  raise  pleasure  to  her  height 

'1  hrough  ihc  meanest  object's  sight ; 

By  the  murmur  of  a  spring, 

Or  the  least  bough's  rustling, 

By  a  daisy  whose  leaves  spread 

Shut  when  Titan  goes  to  bed, 

Or  a  shady  bush  or  tree, 

She  could  more  infuse  in  me 

Than  all  Nature's  beauties  can 

In  some  other  wiser  man. 

By  her  help  I  also  now 

Make  this  churlish  place  allow 

Some  things  that  may  sweeten  gladness 

In  the  very  gall  of  sadness. 

The  dull  loneness,  the  black  shade 

That  these  hanging  vaults  have  made. 

The  strange  music  of  the  waves 

IWf^fog  on  these  hollow  caves, 

This  black  den  which  rocks  emboss. 

Overgrown  with  eldest  moss. 

The  rude  portals  that  give  light 

More  to  terror  than  delight, 

This  my  chamber  of  neglect, 

Walled  about  with  disrespect, 

From  all  these  and  this  dull  air, 

A  fit  object  for  despair. 


274  ART 

She  hath  taught  me,  by  her  might, 
To  draw  comfort  and  delight. 
Therefore,  thou  best  earthly  bliss, 
I  will  cherish  thee  for  this. 

WITHER 


THE    POET'S    AUDIENCE 

AND  for  the  few  that  only  lend  their  ear, 
That  few  is  all  the  world  ;  which  with  a  few 
Do  ever  live,  and  move,  and  work,  and  stir. 

This  is  the  heart  doth  feel,  and  only  know  ; 
The  rest  of  all  that  only  bodies  bear, 
Roll  up  and  down,  and  fill  up  but  the  row  ; 

And  serves  as  others'  members,  not  their  own, 
The  instruments  of  those  that  do  direct. 
Then  what  disgrace  is  this,  not  to  be  known 
To  those  know  not  to  give  themselves  respect  ? 
And  though  they  swell  with  pomp  of  folly  blow;), 
They  live  ungraced,  and  die  but  in  neglect. 

,      And  for  my  part,  if  only  one  allow 

/  The  care  my  lab'ring  spirits  take  in  this, 

/    He  is  to  me  a  theatre  large  enow, 
And  his  applause  only  sufficient  is : 

1    All  my  respect  is  bent  but  to  his  brow  ; 

\That  is  my  all,  and  all  I  am  is  his. 

DANIKL 


ftUMA  N  P.  R    LETTERS 


HUMANF.R    LETTERS 

O  BLESSED  letters  I  that  combine  in  one 
All  ages  past,  and  make  one  live  M  ith  all 
By  you  we  do  confer  with  who  are  gone, 
And  the  dead-living  unto  council  call ; 
By  you  in*  unborn  shall  have  communion 
Of  what  we  feel,  and  what  does  us  befall 

For  these  lines  are  the  veins,  the  arteries, 
And  undeca>ing  life-strings  of  those  hearts, 
That  still  shall  pant,  and  still  shall  exercise 
The  motion,  Spirit  and  Nature  both  imparts. 
And  shall  with  those  alive  so  sympathise. 
As  nourished  with  their  powers,  enjoy  their  ptrt&. 

Soul  of  the  World,  Knowledge,  without  thee 
What  hath  the  earth  that  truly  glorious  is? 
Why  should  our  pride  make  such  a  stir  to  be. 
To  be  forgot  ?    What  good  is  like  to  this, 
To  do  worthy  the  writing,  and  to  write 
Worthy  the  reading,  and  the  world's  delight  ? 

CAjtIKL 


TO  THE   MEMORY   OF   MY    BELOVED 

MASTER    WILLIAM    SHAKSPEAKE,    « X  I) 

WHAT    HE   HATH    LEFT   US 

To  draw  no  envy,  Shales peare.  on  thy  name* 
Am  I  thus  ample  to  thy  book  and  fame ; 
While  I  confess  thy  writings  to  be  such. 
As  neither  Man  nor  Muse  can  praise  too  much. 


276 


'Tis  true,  and  all  men's  suffrage.     But  these  ways 
Were  not  the  paths  I  meant  unto  thy  praise  ; 
For  seeliest  ignorance  on  these  may  light, 
Which,  when  it  sounds  at  best,   but  echoes 

right ; 

Or  blind  affection,  which  doth  ne'er  advance 
The  truth,  but  gropes,  and  urgeth  all  by  chance  ; 
Or  crafty  malice  might  pretend  this  praise, 
And  think  to  ruin  where  it  seemed  to  raise. 
But  thou  art  proof  against  them  and,  indeed, 
Above  the  ill  fortune  of  them,  or  the  need. 
I  therefore  will  begin  :  Soul  of  the  age  ! 
The  applause,  delight,  the  wonder  of  our  stage  ! 
My  SHAKSPEARE,  rise !  I  will  not  lodge  thee  by 
Chaucer,  or  Spenser,  or  bid  Beaumont  lie 
A  little  further,  to  make  thee  a  room  ; 
Thou  art  a  monument  without  a  tomb, 
And  art  alive  still  while  thy  book  doth  live, 
And  we  have  wits  to  read,  and  praise  to  give. 
That  I  not  mix  thee  so  my  brain  excuses, — 
1  mean  with  great,  but  disproportioned  Muses  ; 
For  if  I  thought  my  judgment  were  of  years, 
I  should  commit  thee  surely  with  thy  peers, 
And  tell  how  far  thou  didst  our  Lyly  outshine, 
Or  sporting  Kyd,  or  Marlowe's  mighty  line. 
And  though  thou  hadst  small  Latin  and  less 

Greek, 

From  thence  to  honour  thee  I  would  not  seek 
For  names,  but  call  forth  thundering  ^Eschylus, 
Euripides,  and  Sophocles  to  us, 
Pacuvius,  Accius,  him  of  Cordova1  dead, 
To  life  again,  to  hear  thy  buskin  tread, 
And  shake  a  stage  :  or,  when  thy  socks  were  on, 
Leave  thee  alone  for  a  comparison 

1  Seneca, 


TO   THE    MEMORY    OF    SIIAKSPKARR 

Of  all  that  insolent  Greece  or  haughty  Kon.e 
Sent  forth,  or  >ince  did  from  their  ashes  conic. 
Triumph,  my  Mritnin.  t1  ou  hast  one  to  *bow. 
To  whom  all  scenes  of  Kurojx:  homage  owe. 
He  was  not  of  an  age,  but  for  all  time  I 
And  all  the  Muses  still  were  in  their  prime. 
When,  like  Apollo,  he  mine  forth  to  \vaiv. 
Our  ears,  or  like  a  Mercury  to  charm  ! 
Nature  herself  was  proud  of  his  designs. 
And  joyed  to  wear  the  dressing  of  his  lines. 
Which  were  so  richly  spun,  and  woven  so  lit. 
As,  since,  she  will  \onchsafc  no  other  w*r 
The  merry  Greek,  tart  Aristophanes, 
Neat  Terence,  witty  Hautus.  now  not  please  . 
Rut  antiquated  and  deserted  lie, 
As  they  were  not  of  Nature's  family. 
Vet  must  I  not  give  Nature  all :  thy  An, 
My  gentle  Shakspeare,  must  enjoy  a  pan. 
For  though  the  poet's  matter  nature  be. 
His  art  doth  gi\c  the  fashion  ;  and  that  he  • 
Who  casts  to  write  a  living  line,  must  sweat 
(Such  as  thine  are)  and  strike  the  second  l.cai 
Upon  the  Muses'  anvil,  turn  the  same, 
And  himself  with  it,  that  be  thinks  to  frame  . 
Or  for  the  laurel  he  may  gain  to  scorn ; 
For  a  good  poet 's  made,  as  well  a*  but  n. 
And  such  wert  thou!     Look,  how  the  fathers 

face 

1  Jves  in  his  i«»ue,  even  so  the  race 
Of  Shakspeare's  mind  and    manners  brightly 

shines 

In  his  well  turned  and  true  filed  lines, 
In  each  of  which  he  seems  to  shake  a  lance. 
As  brandished  at  the  eyes  of  ignorance. 

1   1  bai  iuan. 


27»  ART 

Swept  Swan  of  Avon  !  what  a  sight  it  were 
To  see  tnee  in  our  waters  yet  appear, 
And  make  those  flights  upon  the  banks  of  Thamr* 
That  so  did  take  Eliza  and  our  James ! 
But  stay,  I  see  thee  in  the  hemisphere 
Advanced,  and  made  a  constellation  there  ! 
Shine  forth,  thou  Star  of  Poets,  and  with  rage 
Or  influence  chide  or  cheer  the  drooping  stage, 
Which,  since  thy  flight  from  hence,  hath  mourned 

like  night, 
And  despairs  day  but  for  thy  volume's  light. 

JONSON 


AN     EPITAPH     ON     THE     ADMIRABLE 
DRAMATIC    POET    W.     SHAKSPEARE 

WHAT  needs  my  Shakspeare,  for  his  honoured  bones, 

The  labour  of  an  age  in  piled  stones  ? 

Or  that  his  hallowed  reliques  should  be  hid 

Under  a  star-y pointing  pyramid? 

Dear  son  of  memory,  great  heir  of  fame, 

What  need'st  thou  such  weak  witness  of  thy  name  ? 

Thou,  in  our  wonder  and  astonishment, 

Hast  built  thyself  a  live-long  monument. 

For  whilst,  to  the  shame  of  slow-endeavouring  art 

Thy  easy  numbers  flow  ;  and  that  each  heart 

Hath,  from  the  leaves  of  thy  unvalued  book, 

Those  Delphic  lines  with  deep  impression  took  ; 

Then  thou,  our  fancy  of  itself  bereaving, 

Dost  make  us  marble  with  too  much  conceiving : 

And,  so  sepulchred  in  such  pomp  dost  lie, 

That  kings,  for  such  a  tomb,  would  wish  to  die. 

MILTON 


INVOCATION    TO    LICIlt 


MILTON'S   INVOCATION   TO   LIGHT 

HAIL,  holy  Light,  offspring  of  Heaven  first-born, 

Or  of  the  Eternal  co-eternal  beam, 

May  I  express  tbee  unblamrd  ?  since  God  is  light. 

And  never  but  in  unapproached  light 

Dwelt  from  eternity ;  dwelt  then  in  thee. 

Bright  effluence  of  bright  essence  incrcate  ! 

Or  hear'st  thou  rather  pure  ethereal  stream, 

Whose  fountain  who  shall  tell?     Before  the  sun, 

Before  the  Heavens  thou  wert.  and  at  the  voice 

Of  God,  as  with  a  mantle,  didst  invest 

The  rising  world  of  waters  dark  and  deep, 

Won  from  the  void  and  formless  infinite. 

Thee  I  revi&it  now  with  bolder  wing, 

Escaped  the  Stygian  pool,  though  long  detained 

In  that  obscure  sojourn,  while  in  my  flight 

Through  uttet  and  through  middle  darkness  borne, 

With  other  notes  than  to  the  Orphean  lyre, 

I  sung  of  Chaos  and  eternal  Night ; 

Taught  by  the  heavenly  Muse  to  venture  down 

The  dark  descent,  and  up  to  reascend. 

Though  hard  and  rare :  Thee  I  revisit  safe, 

And  feel  thy  sovran  vital  lamp ;  but  thou 

Revisit'st  not  these  eyes,  that  roll  in  vain 

To  find  thy  piercing  ray,  and  find  no  dawn ; 

So  thick  a  drop  serene  hath  quenched  their  orbs. 

Or  dim  suffusion  veiled.    Yet  not  the  more 

Cease  I  to  wander,  where  the  Muses  haunt 

Clear  spring,  or  shady  ^'ove.  or  sunny  hill. 

Smit  with  the  love  of  sacred  song ;  but  chief 

Thee,  Sion,  and  the  flowery  brooks  beneath, 

That  wash  thy  hallow'd  feet,  and  warbling  flow, 


280  ART 

Nightly  I  visit :  nor  sometimes  forget 

Those  other  two  equalled  with  me  in  fate, 

So  were  I  equalled  with  them  in  renown, 

Blind  Thamyris,  and  blind  Maeonides  ; 

And  Tiresias,  and  Phineus,  prophets  old  : 

Then  feed  on  thoughts,  that  voluntary  move 

Harmonious  numbers  ;  as  the  wakeful  bird 

Sings  darkling,  and  in  shadiest  covert  hid 

Tunes  her  nocturnal  note.     Thus  with  the  year 

Seasons  return  ;  but  not  to  me  returns 

Day,  or  the  sweet  approach  of  even  or  morn, 

Or  sight  of  vernal  bloom,  or  summer's  rose, 

Or  flocks,  or  herds,  or  human  face  divine; 

But  cloud  instead,  and  cvcr-during  dark 

Surrounds  me,  from  the  cheerful  ways  of  men 

Cut  off,  and  for  the  book  of  knowledge  fair 

Presented  with  a  universal  blank 

Of  nature's  works,  to  me  expunged  and  rased, 

And  wisdom  at  one  entrance  quite  shut  out. 

So  much  the  rather  thou,  celestial  Light, 

Shine  inward,  and  the  mind  through  all  her  powers 

Irradiate  ;  there  plant  eyes,  all  mist  from  thence 

Purge  and  disperse,  that  I  may  see  and  tell 

Of  things  invisible  to  mortal  sight. 


HIS     INVOCATION     TO    THE     MUSE! 
THE     POEM     HALF    FINISHED 

DESCEND  from  Heaven,  Urania,  by  that  name 
If  rightly  thou  art  call'd,  whose  voice  divine 
Following,  above  the  Olympian  hill  I  soar, 
Above  the  flight  of  Pegas&in  wing  ! 
The  meaning,  not  the  name,  1  call :  for  thou 


INVOCATION    TO   THE    MUSB 

Nor  of  the  Muses  nine,  nor  on  the  top 
Of  old  Olympus  dwell'st  :  but.  heavenly-botn. 
Before  the  hills  appeared,  or  founuin  flowm. 
Thou  with  eternal  Wisdom  dklM  convrr-e. 
Wisdom,  thy  sister,  and  with  her  didst  play 
In  presence  of  the  Almighty  Father,  pissed 
With  thy  celestial  song.     Up  ted  by  th«- 
Into  the  Heaven  of  Heavens  I  have  presumed. 
An  earthly  guest,  and  drawn  empyreal  air. 
Thy  tempering  :  with  like  safety  guide- i  down 
Return  me  to  my  native  element : 
Lest  from  this  flying  steed  unreined  (as  once 
Uellerophon,  though  from  a  lower  clmtc). 
Dismounted,  on  the  Alcian  field  I  fall. 
Erroneous  there  to  wander,  and  forlorn. 
Half  yet  remains  unsung,  but  narrower  bound 
Within  the  visible  diurnal  sphere  ; 
Standing  on  earth,  not  wrapped  above  tl  e  poll-. 
More  safe  1  sing  with  mortal  voice,  unchanged 
To  hoarse  or  mute,  though  fallen  on  evil  days. 
On  evil  days  though  fallen,  and  evil  tongues  : 
In  darkness,  nnd  with  dangers  composed  rouiu1 
And  solitude  ;  yet  not  alone,  while  thou 
Visit'it  my  slumbers  nightly,  or  when  morn 
Purples  the  enst :  still  govern  thou  my  song. 
Urania,  and  fit  audience  find,  though  few. 
But  drive  far  off  the  barbarous  dissonance 
Of  Bacchus  and  his  revellers,  the  race 
Of  that  wild  rout  that  tore  the  Thracian  bard 
In  Rhodnpe.  where  woods  and  rocks  had  ears 
To  rapture,  till  the  savage  clamour  drowned 
Both  harp  and  voice  ;  nor  could  the  Mu>e  defv 
Her  son.    So  fail  not  thou,  who  thee  implores : 
tor  thou  art  heavenly,  she  an  empty  dream. 


ART 


ODE    TO     SIMPLICITY 

O  THOU  by  Nature  taught, 

To  breathe  her  genuine  thought, 
In  numbers  warmly  pure,  and  sweetly  strong  ; 

Who  first  on  mountains  wild, 

In  Fancy,  loveliest  child, 
Thy  babe,  or  Pleasure's,  nursed  the  powers  of  song ! 

Thou,  who  with  hermit  heart 

Disdain'st  the  wealth  of  art, 
And  gauds,  and  pageant  weeds,  and  trailing  pall : 

But  comest  a  decent  maid, 

In  Attic  robe  arrayed, 
O  chaste,  unboastful  Nymph,  to  thee  I  call  1 

By  all  the  honeyed  store 

On  Hybla's  thymy  shore  ; 
By  all  her  blooms,  and  mingled  murmurs  dear ; 

By  her  whose  love-lorn  woe, 

In  evening  musings  slow, 
Soothed  sweetly  sad  Electra's  Poet  s  ear  : 

By  old  Cephisus  deep, 

Who  spread  his  wavy  sweep 
In  warbled  wanderings  round  thy  green  retreat 

On  whose  enamelled  side 

When  holy  Freedom  died, 
No  equal  haunt  allured  thy  future  feet. 

O  sister  meek  of  Truth, 

To  my  admiring  youth, 
Thy  sober  aid  and  native  charms  infuse  ! 

The  flowers  that  sweetest  breathe, 

Though  beauty  culled  the  wreath, 
Still  ask  thy  hand  to  range  their  order'd  hues. 


ODE   TO   SIMPLICITY 

Though  taste,  though  genius  blca* 

To  some  divine  excess, 
Faints  the  cold  work  till  thou  inspire  iiw  wnoJe ; 

What  each,  what  all  supply, 

May  court,  may  charm  our  eye ; 
Thou,  only  thou,  canst  raise  the  meeting  sou) 


Of  thrsr  let  others  a<k. 

To  aid  some  mighty  task, 
I  only  seek  to  find  thy  temperate  rate  : 

Where  oft  my  reed  might  sound 

To  maids  and  shepherds  round. 
And  all  thy  sons,  O  Nature  !  learn  my  taW. 

COLJ.INI 


THE     PROGRESS     OP     POESY 
A    PINDARIC    ODE 


AWAKE.  ^Eolian  lyre,  awake. 
And  give  to  rapture  all  thy  trembling  strings. 
From  Helicon's  harmonious  springs 

A  thousand  rills  theii  mazy  progress  take  ; 
The  laughing  flowers  that  round  them  blow 
Drink  life  and  fragrance  as  they  flow. 
Now  the  rich  stream  of  music  winds  along, 
Deep,  majestic,  smooth,  and  strong, 
Through  verdant  vales,  and  Ceres'  golden  leign ; 
Now  rolling  down  the  steep  amain. 
Headlong,  impetuous,  see  it  pour  : 
The  rocks  and  nodding  groves  rebellow  to  the  roar. 


284  ART 

Oh  !  sovereign  of  the  willing  soul, 
Parent  of  sweet  and  solemn-breathing  airs, 
Enchanting  shell  !  the  sullen  Cares 

And  frantic  Passions  hear  thy  soft  control. 
On  Thracia's  hills  the  Lord  of  War 
Has  curbed  the  fury  of  his  car, 
And  dropt  his  thirsty  lance  at  thy  commarH. 
Perching  on  the  sceptred  hand 
Of  Jove,  thy  magic  lulls  the  feathered  king 
With  ruffled  plumes  and  flagging  wing  ; 
Quenched  in  dark  clouds  of  slumber  lie 
The  terror  of  his  beak,  and  lightnings  of  his 
eye. 


Thee  the  voice,  the  dance,  obey, 

Tempered  to  thy  warbled  lay. 

O'er  Idalia's  velvet-green 

The  rosy-crowned  Loves  are  seen 

On  Cytherea's  day 

With  antic  Sport,  and  blue-eyed  Pleasures, 

Frisking  light  in  frolic  measures  ; 

Now  pursuing,  now  retreating, 

Now  in  circling  troops  they  meet  ; 
To  brisk  notes  in  cadence  beating, 

Glance  their  many-twinkling  feet. 
Slow  melting  strains  their  Queen's  approach 
declare : 

Where'er  she  turns,  the  Graces  homage  pay  ; 
With  arms  sublime,  that  float  upon  the  air, 

In  gliding  state  she  wins  her  easy  wav  t 
O  er  her  warm  cheek  and  rising  bosom  move 
The  bloom  of  young  Desire  and  purple  light  of 
Love. 


THE    PROGRESS    OP    POESY  2^ 

It 

Man's  feeble  race  \\  liat  ills  await ' 
Labour,  and  I'rnury.  the  racks  of  Pain. 
Disease,  and  Sorrow's  weeping  train, 

And  Death,  sad  refuge  from  the  storms  of  Fate ! 
The  fond  complaint,  my  song,  disprove. 
And  justify  the  laws  of  Jove. 
Say.  has  he  given  in  v.iin  the  heavenly  Muse? 
Night  and  all  her  sickly  dews. 
Her  spectres  wan,  and  birds  of  boding  cry. 
He  gives  to  range  the  dreary  sky  ; 
Till  down  the  eastern  cliffs  afar 
Hyperion's  march  they  spy,  and  glittering  shafts  ol 


In  climes  beyond  the  solar  ro  id. 
Where  shaggy  forms  o'er  ice-built  mountains  roam. 
The  Muse  has  broke  the  twilight  gloom 

To  cheer  the  shivering  native's  dull  abode. 
And  oft.  bentith  the  odorous  shade 
Of  Chili's  boundless  forests  laid, 
She  deigns  to  hear  the  savage  youth  repeat. 
In  loose  numbers  wildly  sweet, 
Their  feather-cinctured  chiefs,  and  dusky  loves. 
Her  track,  where'er  the  goddess  roves, 
Glory  pursue,  and  generous  Shame  ; 
The  unconquerable  Mind,  and  Freedom's  holy 
flame. 


Woods,  that  wave  o'er  Delphi's  steep. 

Isles,  that  crown  la'  ^Egean  deep, 
Fields,  that  cool  Ilissus  laves, 
Or  where  Mseander's  amber  waves 

In  lingering  labyrinths  creep. 


ART 

How  do  your  tuneful  echoes  languish, 

Mute,  but  to  the  voice  of  anguish  ' 
Where  each  old  poetic  mountain 

Inspiration  breathed  around  ; 
Every  shade  and  hallowed  fountain 

Murmured  deep  a  solemn  sound  ; 
Till  the  sad  Nine,  in  Greece's  evil  hour. 

Left  their  Parnassus  for  the  Latian  plains. 
Alike  they  scorn  the  pomp  of  tyrant  Power, 

And  coward  Vice,  that  revels  in  her  chains. 
When  Latium  had  her  lofty  spirit  lost, 
They  sought,   O  Albion  !    next  thy  sea-enciicled 
coast. 


Far  from  the  sun  and  summer-gale, 
In  thy  green  lap  was  Nature's  Darling  laid, 
What  time,  where  lucid  Avon  strayed, 
To  him  the  mighty  Mother  did  unveil 
Her  awful  face  ;  the  dauntless  child 
Stretched  forth  his  little  arms  and  smiled. 
1  This  pencil  take  (she  said),  whose  colours  clear 
Richly  paint  the  vernal  year  ; 
Thine  too  these  golden  keys,  immortal  Boy  ! 
This  can  unlock  the  gates  of  joy  ; 
Of  horror  that,  and  thrilling  fears, 
Or  ope  the  sacred  source  of  sympathetic  tears. 


Nor  second  He,  that  rode  sublime 
Upon  the  seraph-wings  of  Ecstasy, 
The  secrets  of  the  abyss  to  spy. 
He  passed  the  flaming  bounds  of  place  and  time 
The  living  throne,  the  sapphire  blaze, 
Where  angels  tremble  while  they  gaze, 


TUB    PROGRESS    OF    POESY  287 

He  saw ;  but,  blasted  with  excess  or  light. 
Closed  his  eyes  in  endless  night. 

Behold,  where  Dryden's  less  presumptuous  car 
Wide  o'er  the  fields  of  glory  bear 
Two  coursers  of  ethereal  race. 
With  necks  in  thunder  clothed,  and  long-resounding 
pace. 

Hark,  bis  hands  the  lyre  explore  I 
Hright-eyed  Fancy,  hovering  o'er, 
Scatters  from  her  pictured  urn 
Thoughts  that  breathe,  and  words  that  bum. 
But  ah  I  'tis  heard  no  more— 

Oh  lyre  divine,  what  daring  spirit 

Wakes  thce  now  ?    Though  he  inherit 
Nor  the  pride,  nor  ample  pinion. 

That  the  Thcban  eagle  bear, 
Sailing  with  supreme  dominion 

Through  the  azuic  deep  of  air ; 
Yet  oft  before  his  infant  eyes  would  run 

Such  forms  as  glitter  in  the  Muse  »  ray. 
With  orient  hues  unborrowed  of  the  sun  ; 

Yet  shall  he  mount,  and  kc«  p  his  distant  way 
Beyond  the  limits  of  a  vu'g.ir  fate, 
Reneath  the  Good  how  far— but  far  above  the  Great. 

GRAY 


TO    RICHARD    BENT1.EY 

IN  silent  gaze  the  tuneful  choir  among. 

Half  pleased,  half  blushing,  let  the  Muse  admire 
While  Bentley  leads  her  sister-art  along, 

And  bids  the  pencil  answer  to  the  lyre. 


288  ART 

See,  in  their  course,  each  transitory  thought 

Fixed  by  his  touch  a  lasting  essence  take  ; 
Fach  dream,  in  fancy's  airy  colouring  wrought, 

To  local  symmetry  and  life  awake  ! 
The  tardy  rhymes  that  used  to  linger  on, 

To  censure  cold,  and  negligent  of  fame, 
In  swifter  measures  animated  run, 

And  catch  a  lustre  from  his  genuine  flame. 
Ah  !  could  they  catch  his  strength,  his  easy  grace, 

His  quick  creation,  his  unerring  line  ; 
The  energy  of  Pope  they  might  efface, 

And  Dryden's  harmony  submit  to  mine. 
But  not  to  one  in  this  benighted  age 

Is  that  diviner  inspiration  given, 
That  burns  in  Shakespeare's  or  in  Milton's  page, 

The  pomp  and  prodigality  of  heaven. 
As  when  conspiring  in  the  diamond's  blaze, 

The  meaner  gems,  that  singly  chaim  the  sight, 
Together  dart  their  intermingled  rays, 

And  dazzle  with  a  luxury  of  light. 
Enough  for  me,  if  to  some  feeling  breast 

My  lines  a  secret  sympathy  impart ; 
And  as  their  pleasing  influence  flows  confest, 

A  sigh  of  soft  reflection  heave  the  heart. 

GRAY 


THE    POET   GROWING    OLD 

DEPARTING  Summer  hath  assumed 
An  aspect  tenderly  illumed, 
The  gentlest  look  of  Spring  ; 
That  calls  from  yonder  leafy  shade 
Unfaded,  yet  prepared  to  fade, 
A  timely  carolling. 


THE    POET    GROWING    O  I.  It 

No  faint  and  hesitating  trill 
Such  tribute  as  to  winter  chill 
The  lonely  red-breast  pays ! 
Clear,  loud,  and  lively  U  the  din. 
From  social  warblers  gathering  in 
Tl.eir  harvest  of  sweet  lays. 

Nor  does  the  example  tail  to  cheer 
Me.  conscious  that  my  leaf  is  sere, 
And  ycl  ow  on  the  bough : — 
Fall,  rosy  garlands,  from  my  head  I 
Ye  myrtle  wreaths,  your  fragrance  shed 
Around  a  younger  brow. 

Yet  will  1  temperately  rejoice ; 

Wide  is  the  range,  and  frre  the  choice 

Of  undiscordunl  themes ; 

Which,  haply,  kindred  souls  may  prize 

Not  less  than  vernal  ecstasies. 

And  passion's  feverish  drcanu. 

For  deathless  powers  to  verse  belong, 
And  they  like  Demi-gods  are  strong 
On  whom  the  Muses  smile  ; 
But  some  their  function  have  disclaimed. 
Best  pleased  with  what  is  aptliest  frame  1 
To  enervate  and  defile. 


Not  iuch  the  initiatory  strains 

Committed  to  the  silent  plains 

In  Britain's  earliest  dawn : 

Trembled  the  groves,  the  stars  grew  pale. 

While  all-too-daring  ly  the  veil 

Of  nature  was  withdrawn  ! 


2QO 


Nor  such  the  spirit-stirring  note 
When  the  live  chords  Alcaeus  smote. 
Inflamed  by  sense  of  wrong  ; 
Woe,  woe  to  tyrants  !  from  the  lyre 
Broke  threateningly,  in  sparkles  dire 
Of  fierce,  vindictive  song. 

And  not  unhallow'd  was  the  page 
By  winged  Love  inscribed,  to  assuage 
The  pangs  of  vain  pursuit  ; 
Love  listening  while  the  Lesbian  Maid 
With  finest  touch  of  passion  sway'd 
Her  own  ^Eolian  lute. 


O  ye  who  patiently  explore 
The  wreck  of  Herculanean  lore, 
What  rapture  !  could  ye  seize 
Some  Theban  fragment,  or  unroll 
One  precious,  tender-hearted  scroll 
Of  pure  Simonides. 

That  were  indeed  a  genuine  birth 
Of  poesy  ;  a  bursting  forth 
Of  genius  from  the  dust. 
What  Horace  gloried  to  behold, 
What  Maro  loved,  shall  we  enfold  ? 
Can  haughty  Time  be  just ! 

WORDSWORTH 


CLF.CIAC    STANZAS  091 


ELEGIAC    STANZAS 

SUGGESTED   BY  A    PICTURE  OP   PEKLK  CASTLE  IN  A 
STORM,  PAINTED  BY  SIR  GEORGE  BEAUMONT 

I  WAS  thy  neighbour  once,  thou  nigged  pile  ! 
Four  summer  weeks  I  dwelt  in  sight  of  thee  ; 
I  saw  thee  every  day  ;  and  all  the  while 
Thy  form  was  sleeping  on  a  glassy  sea. 

So  pure  the  sky,  to  quiet  was  the  air  I 
So  like,  to  very  like,  was  day  to  day  ! 
Whene'er  I  looked,  thy  image  still  was  there  . 
It  trembled,  but  it  never  passed  away. 

How  perfect  was  the  calm  !     It  seemed  no  slerp 
No  mood,  which  smson  takes  away,  or  brings  : 
I  could  have  fancied  tint  the  might v  !>••«  p 
Was  even  the  gentlest  of  all  gentle  things. 

Ah  !  then  if  mine  had  been  the  paintn's  hand 
To  express  what  then  I  saw  ;  and  add  the  gleam. 
The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  Lmd, 
The  consecration,  and  the  Poet's  dream  ; 

I  would  have  planted  thee.  thou  hoary  pile. 
Amid  a  world  how  different  from  this  ! 
Beside  a  sea  that  could  not  cease  to  smile  : 
On  tranquil  land,  beneath  a  sky  of  bliss. 

Thou  shuuldst  have  seemed  a  treasure-house  divinr 
Of  peaceful  years  ;  a  chronicle  of  heaven  ;— 
Of  all  the  sunbeams  that  did  ever  shine 
The  very  sweetest  had  to  thee  been  given. 


2Q2  ART 

A  picture  had  it  been  of  lasting  ease, 
Elysian  quiet,  without  toil  or  strife  ; 
No  motion  but  the  moving  tide,  a  breeze, 
Or  merely  silent  Nature's  breathing  life. 

Such,  in  the  fond  illusion  of  my  heart. 

Such  picture  would  I  at  that  time  have  made  ; 

And  seen  the  soul  of  truth  in  every  part, 

A  steadfast  peace  that  might  not  be  betrayed. 

So  once  it  would  have  been, — 'tis  so  no  more  : 
I  have  submitted  to  a  new  control ; 
A  power  is  gone,  which  nothing  can  restore  ; 
A  deep  distress  hath  humanised  my  soul. 

Not  for  a  moment  could  I  now  behold 
A  smiling  sea,  and  be  what  I  have  been  ; 
The  feeling  of  my  loss  will  ne'er  be  old  ; 
This,  which  I  know,  I  speak  with  mind  serene. 

Then,  Beaumont,  friend  !  who  would  have  been  the 

friend, 

If  he  had  lived,  of  him  whom  I  deplore, 
This  work  of  thine  I  blame  not,  but  commend  ; 
This  sea  in  anger,  and  that  dismal  shore. 

0  'tis  a  passionate  work  ! — yet  wise  and  well, 
Well  chosen  is  the  spirit  that  is  here  ; 

That  hulk  which  labours  in  the  deadly  swell, 
This  rueful  sky,  this  pageantry  of  fear  ! 

And  this  huge  Castle,  standing  here  sublime, 

1  love  to  see  the  look  with  which  it  braves, 
Cased  in  the  unfeeling  armour  of  old  time, 

The  lightning,  the  fierce  wind,  and  trampling  waves. 


ELEGIAC   STANZAS  993 

Farewell,  farewell  the  heart  thai  lives  alonr 
Housed  in  a  dream,  at  distance  from  the  kind  ! 
Such  happiness,  wherever  it  be  known. 
Is  to  be  pitied  ;  for  'tis  surely  blind. 

But  welcome  fortitude,  and  patient  crfer, 
And  frequent  sights  of  what  is  to  be  borne  I 
Such  sights,  or  worse,  as  are  before  me  h<  re ;  — 
Not  without  hope  we  suffer  and  we  mourn. 

WORDSWORTH 


ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OK  JOHN  KKATS 

HE  has  outsoared  the  shadow  of  our  night. 

Envy  and  calumny  and  hate  and  pain. 
And  that  unrest  which  men  miscall  delight 

Can  touch  him  not  and  torture  not  again. 

From  the  contagion  of  the  world's  slow  stain 
He  is  secure  ;  and  now  can  never  mourn 

A  heart  grown  cold,  a  head  grown  grey,  in  vain  - 
Nor,  when  the  spint's  self  has  ceased  to  burn, 
With  sparkless  ashes  load  an  unlaincntcd  urn. 

He  is  made  one  with  Nature.    There  is  heard 
His  voice  in  all  her  music,  from  the  moan 

Of  thunder  to  the  song  of  night's  sweet  bird. 
He  is  a  presence  to  be  felt  and  known 
In  darkness  and  in  light,  from  herb  and  stone,  — 

Spreading  itself  where'er  that  Power  may  move 
Which  has  withdrawn  his  being  to  its  own, 

Which  wields  the  world  with  never- wearied  love. 

Sustains  it  from  beneath,  and  kindles  it  above. 


294  ART 

He  is  a  portion  of  the  loveliness 

Wnich  once  he  made  more  lovely.     He  doth  bear 
His  part,  while  the  One  Spirit's  plastic  stress 

Sweeps  through  the  dull  dense  world  ;  compelling 
there 

All  new  successions  to  the  forms  they  wear  ; 
Torturing  the  unwilling  dross,  that  checks  its  flight, 

To  its  own  likeness,  as  each  mass  may  bear  ; 
And  bursting  in  its  beauty  and  its  might 
From  trees  and  beasts  and  men  into  the  heaven's 
light. 


The  splendours  of  the  firmament  of  time 
May  be  eclipsed,  but  are  extinguished  not ; 

Like  stars  to  their  appointed  height  they  climb, 
And  death  is  a  low  mist  which  cannot  blot 
The  brightness  it  may  veil.     When  lofty  thought 

Lifts  a  young  heart  above  its  mortal  lair, 
And  love  and  life  contend  in  it  for  what 

Shall  be  its  earthly  doom,  the  dead  live  there, 

And  move  like  winds  of  light  on  dark  and  stormy 
air. 


The  inheritors  of  unfulfilled  renown 

Rose  from  their  thrones,   built  beyond  mortal 

thought 
Far  in  the  unapparent.     Chatterton 

Rose  pale,  his  solemn  agony  had  not 

Yet  faded  from  him  :  Sidney  as  he  fought 
And  as  he  fell,  and  as  he  lived  and  loved 

Sublimely  mild,  a  spirit  without  spot, 
Arose  ;  and  Lucan,  by  his  death  approved  ; — 
Oblivion,  as  they  rose,  shrank  like  a  thing  reproved. 


ELEGY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  KEATS    295 

And  many  more,  whose  names  on  earth  are  dark. 

But  whose  transmitted  effluence  cannot  die 
So  long  as  fire  outlives  the  parent  spark, 

Rose,  robed  in  dazzling  immortality. 

'  Thou  art  become  as  one  of  us,'  they  cry ; 
'  It  was  for  thee  yon  kmgtess  sphere  has  long 

Swung  blind  in  unascended  majesty. 
Silent  alone  amid  an  heaven  of  song. 

thy  winged  throne,  thou  vrsper  of  our 
throng.' 


Who  mourns  for  Adonais  ?    Oh.  come  forth, 
Fond    wretch,  and    know    thyself   and    him 
aright 

Clasp  with  thy  panting  soul  the  pendulous  earth  . 
As  from  a  centre,  dart  thy  spirit's  light 
Beyond  all  worlds,  until  its  spacious  might 

Satiate  the  void  circumference  ;  then  shrink 
Even  to  a  point  within  our  day  and  night ; 

And  keep  thy  heart  light,  lest  it  make  thee  sink. 

When  hope  has  kindled  hope,  and  lured  thee  to  the 
brink. 


Or  go  to  Rome,  which  is  the  sepuldue 

Oh  not  of  him  but  of  our  joy.     Tis  nought 
That  ages,  empires,  and  religions  there 

Lie  buried  in  the  ravage  they  have  wrought  ; 

For  >uch  as  he  can  tend    they  borrow  not 
Glory  from  those  who  made  the  world  their  prey  ; 

And  he  is  gathered  to  the  kings  of  thought 
Who  waged  contention  with  their  time's  decay, 
And  of  the  past  are  all  that  cannot  pass  away. 


290  ART 

Go  thou  to  Rome, — at  once  the  paradise, 
The  grave,  the  city,  and  the  wilderness  ; 

And  where  its  wrecks  like  shattered  mountains  rise, 
And  flowering  weeds  and  fragrant  copses  dress 
The  hones  of  Desolation's  nakedness, 

Pass,  till  the  spirit  of  the  spot  shall  lead 
Thy  footsteps  to  a  slope  of  green  access, 

Where,  like  an  infant's  smile,  over  the  dead 

A  light  of  laughing  flowers  along  the  grass  is  spread. 

And  grey  walls  moulder  round,  on  which  dull  Time 
Feeds,  like  slow  fire  upon  a  hoary  brand  ; 

And  one  keen  pyramid  with  wedge  sublime, 
Pavilioning  the  dust  of  him  who  planned 
This  refuge  for  his  memory,  doth  stand 

Like  flame  transformed  to  marble  ;  and  beneath 
A  field  is  spread,  on  which  a  newer  band 

Have  pitched  in  heaven's  smile  their  camp  of  death, 

Welcoming  him  we  lose  with  scarce  extinguished 
breath. 

Here  pause.     These  graves  are  all  too  young  as  yet 
To  have  outgrown  the  sorrow  which  consigned 

Its  charge  to  each  ;  and,  if  the  seal  is  set 
Here  on  one  fountain  of  a  mourning  mind, 
Break  it  not  thou  !  too  surely  shall  thou  find 

Thine  own  well  full,  if  thou  returnest  home, 

Of  tears  and  gall.     From  the  world's  bitter  wind 

Seek  shelter  in  the  shadow  of  the  tomb. 

What  Adonais  is  why  fear  we  to  become  ? 

The  One  remains,  the  many  change  and  pass  ; 
Heaven's  light  for  ever  shines,  earth's  shadows  fly  ; 

Life,  like  a  dome  of  many-coloured  glass, 
Stains  the  white  radiance  of  eternity, 
Until  Death  tramples  it  to  fragments. — Die, 


ELtOT    ON    THE    DEATH    OP    KKATS        ftO? 

If  tbou  wouldst  be  with  thai  which  tbou  dost  sick  ! 

Follow  where  ail  is  fled  !  Rome's  azure  >ky, 
Flowers,  ruins,  statues,  music,  words  are  weak 
The  glory  they  transfuse  with  fitting  truth  to  speak. 

Why  linger,  why  turn  back,  why  shrink,  my  heart  ? 

Thy  hopes  are  gone  brfore  ;  from  all  things  hrrc 
They  have  departed  ;  thou  shouldst  now  dcjwr  t  ! 

A  light  is  past  from  the  revolving  year, 

And  man  and  woman  ;  and  what  still  is  dear 
Attracts  to  crush,  repels  to  make  thee  wither. 

The  soft  sky  smiles,  the  low  wind  whispers  near ; 
Tis  Adonais  calls  I  Oh  !  hasten  thither  ! 
No  more  let  life  divide  what  death  can  join  together. 

That  light  whose  smile  kindles  the  universe, 
That  beauty  in  which  all  things  work  and  move. 

That  benediction  which  the  eclipsing  curse 
Of  birth  can  quench  not,  that  sustaining  I.o\<- 
Which,  through  the  web  of  lx  ing  blindly  wove 

By  man  and  beast  and  earth  and  air  and  sea. 
Burns  bright  or  dim,  as  each  are  mirrors  of 

The  fire  for  which  all  thirst,  now  beams  on  mo, 

Consuming  the  last  clouds  of  cold  mortality. 

The  breath  whose  might  I  have  invoked  in  song 

Descends  on  me  ;  my  spirit's  bark  is  driven 
Far  from  the  shore,  far  from  the  trembling  throng 

Whose  sails  were  never  to  the  tempest  given. 

The  massy  earth  and  sphered  skies  are  riven  ! 
I  am  borne  darklv,  fearfully,  afar  I 

Whilst,  burning  through  the  inmost  veil  of  heaven, 
The  soul  of  A  '.on.iis.  like  a  star. 
Beacons  from  the  abode  where  the  Eternal  are. 

•MltLLICf 


298  ART 


THE     POET     SHELLEY 

MIDST  others  of  less  note  came  one  frail  form, 
A  phantom  among  men,  companionless 

As  the  last  cloud  of  an  expiring  storm 

Whose  thunder  is  its  knell.     He,  as  I  guess, 
Had  gazed  on  Nature's  naked  loveliness 

Actason-like  ;  and  now  he  fled  astray 

With  feeble  steps  o'er  the  world's  wilderness, 

And  his  own  thoughts  along  that  rugged  way 

Pursued  like  raging  hounds  their  father  and 
their  prey. 

A  pard-like  Spirit  beautiful  and  swift — 

A  love  in  desolation  masked — a  power 
Girt  round  with  weakness  ;  it  can  scarce  uplift 

The  weight  of  the  superincumbent  hour  ; 

It  is  a  dying  lamp,  a  falling  shower, 
A  breaking  billow  ;  even  whilst  we  speak 

Is  it  not  broken  ?    On  the  withering  flower 
The  killing  sun  smiles  brightly  :  on  a  cheek 
The  life  can  burn  in  blood  even  while  the  heart 
may  break. 

His  head  was  oouna  witn  pansies  overblown, 
And  faded  violets,  white  and  pied  and  blue  ; 

And  a  light  spear  topped  with  a  cypress-cone, 
Round  whose  rude  shaft  dark  ivy-tresses  grew 
Yet  dripping  with  the  forest's  noon-day  dew, 

Vibrated,  as  the  ever-beating  heart 
Shook  the  weak  hand  that  grasped  it.     Of  that 
crew 

He  came  the  last,  neglected  and  apart ; 

A  herd-abandoned  deer  struck  by  the  hunter's  dart, 

SHELLEY 


SHELLEY.  KKATS,  1 ANDOR       399 


MOTHER  of  Hermes  and  still  youthful  Mala  ! 

May  I  sing  to  thee 
As  thou  wast  hymned  on  the  shores  of  Baue  ? 

Or  may  I  woo  thee 
In  earlier  Sicilian  ?  or  thy  smiles 
Seek  as  they  once  were  sought  in  G  ecian  ulci 
By  bards  who  died  content  on  pleasant  sward. 
Leaving  grrat  verse  unto  a  little  clan  ? 
O  give  me  their  old  vigour,  and  unheard 
Save  of  the  quiet  primrose,  and  the  span 

Of  heaven  and  few  ears. 
Rounded  by  thee  my  song  should  die  away 

Content  as  theirs 
Rich  in  the  simple  worship  of  a  day. 

KEATS 


I  STROVE  with  none,  for  none  *a*  woith  in)  -.ii 
Nature  I  loved,  and,  next  to  Nature,  Art ; 
I  wanned  both  hands  before  the  fire  of  life  : 
It  sinks,  and  I  am  ready  to  depart. 

I.  AN  DOE 


TO    THE    MUSES 

WHETHER  on  Ida's  shady  brow, 
Or  in  the  chambers  of  the  East. 

The  chambers  of  the  Sun.  that  now 
From  ancient  melody  have  cra«ed  ; 


300  ART 

Whether  in  heaven  ye  wander  fair, 
Or  the  green  corners  of  the  earth, 

Or  the  blue  regions  of  the  air 
Where  the  melodious  winds  have  birth  ; 

Whether  on  crystal  rocks  ye  rove 
Beneath  the  bosom  of  the  sea, 

Wandering  in  many  a  coral  grove, 
Fair  Nine,  forsaking  Poetry  ; 

How  have  you  left  the  ancient  love 
That  bards  of  old  enjoyed  in  you  ! 

The  languid  strings  do  scarcely  move, 
The  sound  is  forced,  the  notes  are  few  ! 

BLAKE 


ROMANCE 


Fashioning  worlds  oj  fancies  evermore. 


Thefa:~  humanities  oj  old  religion, 

The  power,  the  beauty,  and  the  majesty 

That  had  their  haunts  in  dale,  or  piny  mountain. 

Or  forest,  by  slow  stream,  or  pebbly  spring, 

Or  c/tasms,  or  watery  depths  ;  all  these  have  vanished', 

They  Ihte  no  longer  in  the  faith  of  reason, 

Siti  still  the  heart  doth  need  a  language,  still 

Doth  thf  old  instinct  bring  back  the  old  names. 

Coleridge 


A   DRF.AM    IN    MAY    MORNING 

Mt  thought*  thus  that  it  was  May 

And  in  (he  dawning  where  I  lay 

Me  mctt* l  thus  in  my  bed  all  naked  ;— 

And  looked  forth,  for  I  was  waked 

With  small*  fowles.  a  great  heap.* 

That  had  affrayed  me  out  of  sleep. 

Through  noise  and  sweetness  of  their  song 

And  as  me  mrtte,  they  sat  among 

Upon  my  chamber  roof  without. 

Upon  the  tiles  all  about ; 

And  sungen  t  vereach  in  his  wise 

The  most  solemn*  service 

By  note,  that  ever  man,  I  trow, 

Had  heard.     For  some  of  them  iung  low. 

Some  high,  and  all  of  one  accord. 

To  tell*  shortly  at  one  word 

Was  never  heard  so  sweet  a  steven,* 

But  it  had  been  a  thing  of  heaven. 

For  there  was  none  of  them  that  feigned 

To  sing,  for  each  of  them  him  pained 

To  find  out  merry  crafty  notes  ; 

They  ne  spared  not  their  throats. 

My  windowes  were  shut  each  one 

And  through  the  glass  the  sonn*  shone. 

Upon  my  bed  with  bright*  beams 

With  many  glad*,  gild*  streams ; 

>  Dreamt.  *  Crowd.  »  Sound 


304  ROMANCE 

And  eke  the  welkin  was  so  fair, 
Blue,  brighte,  cleare  was  the  air 
And  full  atemper,1  for  sooth,  it  was  ; 
For  neither  too  cold  nor  hot  it  nas/J 
Ne  in  all  the  welkin  was  a  cloud. 

CHAUCEK 


A    PRAISE   AND    DREAM    OF 
THE    DAISY 

NOW  Have  t  then  such  a  condition 

That  of  all  the  flowres  in  the  mead 

Then  love  I  most  these  flowers  white  and  red, 

Such  as  men  callen  daisies  in  their  iowu. 

To  them  have  I  so  great  affection, 

As  I  said  erst,  when  comen  is  the  May, 

That  in  my  bed  there  dawneth  me  no  day, 

That  I  nam  up,  and  walking  in  the  mead 

To  see  this  flower  against  the  sonne  spread.. 

When  it  upriseth  early  by  the  morrow ; 

That  blissful  sight  softeneth  all  my  sorrow, 

So  glad  am  I  when  that  I  have  presence 

Of  it,  to  do  it  alle  reverence 

As  she  that  is  of  alle  floweres  flower, 

Fulfilled  01  all  virtue  and  honour, 

And  ever  alike  fair,  and  fresh  of  hue. 

And  I  love  it,  and  ever  alike  new, 

And  ever  shall,  till  that  mine  hearte  die, 

All  swear  I  not,  of  this  I  will  not  lie, 

There  loved  no  wight  hotter  in  his  life. 

And  when  that  it  is  eve,  I  run  belive  3 

As  soon  as  ever  the  sonne  ginneth  west, 

I  Temperate.  2  Was  not.  «  Quickly. 


A    PRAISE    AND    DREAM    OF    THE    DAISY  305 

To  see  this  flower,  how  it  will  go  to  rest. 

For  fear  of  night,  so  bateth  >he  darkness. 

Her  cheer  is  plainly  spread  in  the  brightness 

Of  the  sun,  for  there  it  will  unclose. 

Ala«,  that  I  no  had  English,  rime  or  prose, 

Sufficient  this  flower  to  praise  aright. 

Sh«  is  the  clearness  and  the  very  light 

Thai  in  this  darkc  world  me  wind'th  and  leadrth  ; 

The  heart  within  my  sorrowful  breast  you  drcadeih 

And  loveth  so  sore,  that  ye  be  verily 

The  mistress  of  my  wit.  and  nothing  I. 

My  word,  my  work,  is  knit  so  in  your  band, 

That  as  an  harp  obeyeth  to  the  hand 

That  maketh  it  sound  nfter  his  fingering, 

Right  so  may  you  out  of  mine  heart*  bring 

Such  voice,  right  as  you  list,  to  laugh  or  plain. 

Be  you  my  guide,  and  lady  sovereign. 

My  busy  ghost,  that  trusteth  alway  new 
To  see  this  flower  so  young,  so  fresh  of  hew, 
Constrained  me  with  so  greedy  desire 
That  in  mine  heart  I  feele  yet  the  fire, 
That  made  me  to  rise  ere  yet  vvere  day,  — 
And  this  was  now  the  fir-te  morrow  of  May.— 
With  dreadful  heart,  and  gl  id  devotion 
For  to  be  at  the  resurrection 
Of  this  flower,  when  that  it  s  ould  unclose 
Against  the  sun,  that  rose  as  red  as  rose. 
And  down  on  knees  anon  right  I  me  set, 
And,  as  I  could,  this  fresh*  dower  I  gret. 
Kneeling  alway  till  it  unclosed  was 
Upon  the  small*,  soft*,  sweet*  grass. 
And  Zephirus  and  Flora  gentilly 
( i.ive  to  the  flowers,  soft  and  tenderly, 
Their  sweet*  breath,  anti  made  them  for  to 

spread, 
As  God  and  Goddess  of  the  flowery  mead. 


306  ROMANCE 

In  which  methought  I  mighte,  day  by  day, 
Dwellen  alway,  the  jolly  month  of  May, 
Withouten  sleep,  withouten  meat  or  drink. 
Adown  full  sofiely  I  gan  to  sink 
And  leaning  on  mine  elbow  and  my  side 
The  longe  day  I  shope  me  to  abide 
For  nothing  elles,  and  I  shall  not  lie, 
But  for  to  look  upon  the  daisy  ; 
That  men  by  reason  well  it  cnlle  may 
The  '  daisy,'  or  else  '  the  eye  of  day.' 

When  that  the  sun  out  of  the  south  gan  west 
And  that  this  flower  gan  close,  and  go  to  rest, 
For  darkness  of  the  night,  the  which  she 

dred ; 

Home  to  mine  house  full  swiftly  I  me  sped, 
To  go  to  rest,  and  early  for  to  rise, 
To  see  this  flower  spread,  as  I  devise. 
And  in  a  little  arbour  that  I  have 
That  benched  was  on  turves  fresh  y-grave, 
I  bad  one  shoulde  me  my  couche  make  ; 
For  dainty  of  the  newe  summer's  sake, 
I  bad  them  strawen  flowers  on  my  bed. 
When  I  was  laid  and  had  mine  eye'n  hid 
I  fell  on  sleep  within  an  hour  or  two. 
Me  mette1  how  1  lay  in  the  meadow  tho 
To  see  this  flower  that  I  love  so  and  dread  ; 
And  from  a'ar  came  walking  in  the  mead, 
The  God  of  Love  and  in  his  hand  a  Queen, 
Aud  she  was  clad  in  royal  habit  green ; 
A  fret  of  gold  she  hadde  next  her  hair, 
And  upon  that  a  white  corown  she  bare, 
With  flou.ons  sm  die,  and  I  shall  not  Ik- 
For  all  the  world  right  as  a  daisy 
Y-crowned  is  with  white  leaves  light, 


A    PRAISE    AND    DREAM    OF    THE    D  A  I  S  Y  307 

So  were  the  flourons  of  her  corown  white ; 

For  of  one  pearlc.  fine,  oriental, 

Her  whit*  corown  was  y-mak*d  all. 

For  which  the  white  corown  above  the  green 

Made  her  like  a  daisy  for  to  seen. 

Considered  eke  her  fret  of  gold  above. 

Y -clothed  was  this  mighty  God  of  Love 

In  silk  embroidered,  full  of  green*  grcves * 

Within  a  fret  of  rede  rose  leaves, 

The  freshest  since  the  world  was  first  begun 

His  gilt*  hair  was  corownd  with  a  sun. 

Instead  of  gold  for  heaviness  and  weight. 

Therewith  methoughl  his  face  shone  so  bright. 

That  well  unnethes2  might  I  him  behold  ; 

And  in  his  hand  melhought  I  saw  him  hold 

Two  fiery  dartes.  as  the  glcdes  *  red. 

And  angel-like  his  wingcs  saw  I  spread. 

And  by  the  hand  he  held  this  noble  queen, 

Corowncd  with  white,  and  clothed  all  in  green. 

So  womanly,  so  benign,  and  so  meek, 

That  in  this  world*  though  that  men  would  seek. 

Half  her  beauty  shoulde  men  not  find 

In  creature  that  formed  is  by  kind. 

And  therefor  may  I  say,  as  ihinketh  me. 

This  song  in  praising  of  this  lady  free. 

Hide.  Abialon.  tky gilli  t rents  clear; 
Either,  lay  tkou  tky  meekness  all  adoion  • 
Hub.  Jonatkas.  all  tky  friendly  manner; 
Penelope,  and  Marcia  Catoun, 
Make  of  your  wifekood  no  comparison  ; 
Hide  ye  your  beauties.   Ysoudt  and  Elaine. 
My  lady  cometk.  tkat  all  tkis  may  distant, 

1  Grove..  »  Scarcely. 

*  Burning  coals.  «  Take  the  colour  (TOOL 


308  ROMANCE 

Thy  fair e  body  let  it  not  appear^ 

Lavine;  and  thou  Lucrece  of  Rome  tow* 

And  Polixene,  that  boughten  love  so  dear, 

And  Cleopatre,  with  all  thy  passion, 

Hide  ye  your  truth  of  love  and  your  renown, 

And  thou,  Thisbe,  that  hast  of  love  such  pain  ; 

My  lady  cometh,  that  all  this  may  distain. 

Hero,  Dido,  Laudomia,  all  y -fere, 1 

And  Phillis,  hanging  for  thy  Demophoun, 

And  Canace,  espied  by  thy  cheer, 

Vsiphile,  betrayed  with  Jasoun, 

Maketh  of  your  truth  neither  boast  ne  soun, 

Nor  Ypermystre,  or  Adriane,  ye  twain, 

My  lady  cometh  that  all  this  may  distain. 

CHAUCT.R 


DESCRIPTION    OF  THE    LISTS    BUILT    BY 

THESEUS    FOR    THE    TOURNAMENT 

BETWEEN    PALAMON    AND 

ARCITE 

I  TROWE  men  would  deem  it  negligence 

If  I  forget  to  tellen  the  dispense 

Of  Theseus,  that  go'th  so  busily 

To  maken  up  the  liste's  royally  ; 

That  such  a  noble  theatre  as  it  was 

I  dare  well  sain  that  in  this  world  there  nas. 

1  Together. 


DESCRIPTION   Or   THE    LIST!  309 

The  circuit  a  mile  was  about, 
Walled  of  stone,  and  ditched  all  without. 
Round  was  the  shape  in  manner  of  compass. 
Full  of  degrees,  the  bight  of  sixty  pas, 
That  when  a  man  was  set  on  one  degree 
He  lette"  i  not  his  fellow  for  to  see. 

Eastward  there  stood  a  gate  of  marble  white. 
Westward  right  such  another  in  the  opposite  ; 
And  shortly  to  concluden,  such  a  place 
Was  none  in  earth,  as  in  so  little  space  : 
For  in  the  land  there  nas  no  crafty  man. 
That  geometry  or  ars-metric  can, 
Ne  portrayour,  ne  carver  of  images. 
That  Theseus  ne  gave  him  meat  and  wngcs. 
The  theatre  for  to  maken  and  devise. 
And  for  to  do  his  rite  and  sacrifice. 
lie  eastward  h.tth  upon  the  gale  above. 
In  wot  ship  of  Venus,  goddess  of  love. 
Done  make  an  nliar  and  an  oratory  ; 
And  westward,  in  the  mind  and  in  memory 
Of  Mars,  he  maked  hath  right  such  another. 
That  coste*  largely  of  gold  a  father.3 
And  northward,  in  a  turret  on  the  wall. 
Of  alabaster  white  and  red  coral. 
Vn  onttorie  rich  for  to  see 
In  worship  of  Diane  of  chastity, 
Hath  Theseus  done  wrought  in  noble  wise. 
But  yet  had  I  forgotten  to  devise 
The  noble  carving,  and  the  portraitures, 
The  shape,  the  countenance,  and  the  figures. 
That  weten  in  these  oratories  three. 

First  in  the  temple  of  Venus  may'st  thou  sec, 
Wrought  on  the  wall,  full  piteous  to  behold, 
The  broken  sleepes  and  the  sighes  cold, 

1  Hindered.  >  Lo«L 


* 

3TO  ROMANCE 

The  sacred  teares  and  the  way  menting 
The  fiery  strokes  of  the  desiring, 
That  Love's  servants  in  this  life  enduren  ; 
The  oathe's  that  their  covenants  assuren  ; 
Pleasaunce  and  hope,  desire,  fool-hardiness, 
Beauty  and  youthe,  bawdery,  richess, 
Charmes  and  force,  lesinges,2  flattery, 
Dispense,  business,  and  Jealousy 
That  wore  of  yellow  golde's  a  garland 
And  a  cuckoo  sitting  on  her  hand  ; 
Feastes,  instruments,  caroles,  dances, 
Lust  and  array,  and  all  the  circumstances 
Of  love,  which  that  I  reckon  and  reckon 

shall, 

By  order  weren  painted  on  the  wall, 
And  mo  than  I  can  make  of  mention. 
For  soothly,  all  the  mount  of  Citheron, 
Where  Venus  hath  her  principal  dwelling, 
Was  shewed  on  the  wall  in  portraying, 
With  all  the  garden,  and  the  lustiness. 
Nor  was  forgot  the  porter  Idleness 
Ne  Narcisus  the  fair  of  yore  agone, 
Ne  yet  the  folly  of  king  Salomon, 
Ne  yet  the  greate  strength  of  Hercules, 
The  enchantments  of  Medea  and  Circes, 
Ne  of  Turnus  with  the  hardy  fierce  courage, 
The  riche  Croesus,  caitif 3  in  servage. 
Thus  may  ye  seen  that  wisdom  ne  richess 
Beauty  ne  sleighte,  strengths  ne  hardiness, 
Ne  may  with  Venus  holde  champarty  4  ; 
For  as  her  list  the  world  then  may  she  guie.* 
Lo,  all  these  folk  so  caught  were  in  her  las,* 
Till  they  for  woe  full  ofte  said  '  alas  ! ' 

1  Wailing.  2  Lies.  8  Wretched. 

*  Partnership,  B  Guide.  «  Net. 


DESCRIPTION    OP    T  H  F.    LISTS  31! 

Sufficeth  here  ensamples  one  or  two 

And  though  I  coulde  reckon  a  thousand  mo. 

The  statue  of  Venus,  glorious  for  to  see. 
Was  naked  fleeting  in  the  large  sra, 
And  from  the  navel  down  all  covered  was 
With  waves  green  and  bright  as  any  gUs*. 
A  citole  in  her  right  hand  haddc  she. 
And  on  her  brad  full  seemly  for  to  see. 
A  rosy  garb  ml   frrsh  and  well-smelling; 
Above  her  bead  her  doves  flickering. 
Brfore  her  stood  her  sone  Cupiilo ; 
Upon  his  shoulders  wingcs  had  he  two  ; 
And  blind  he  was.  as  it  is  oflrn  seen  ; 
A  bow  he  bore  and  arrows  bright  and  keen. 

Why  should  1  not  as  wt  II  eke  trll  you  nil 
The  portraiture  that  was  upon  the  wall 
Within  the  temple  of  migl.ty  Mars  0  e  red? 
All  painted  was  the  wall  in  length  and  bread 
Like  to  the  estres '  of  the  grisly  place. 
That  light  the  grcate  temple  of  Mars  in  T I  race, 
In  thilke  colde,  frosty,  region, 
Whereas  Mars  hath  his  sovereign  mansion. 

First  on  the  wall  Mas  painted  a  forest. 
In  which  theie  dwellcth  neither  man  nc  beast. 
With  knotty,  knarry,  barren  t-ee>  old. 
Of  slubbcs  sharp  and  hideous  to  behold  ; 
In  which  there  ran  a  tombel*  in  a  swough,* 
As  though  a  ••torm  should  biesten  every  bough  ; 
And  downward  from  an  hill,  under  a  Ixrnt. 
There  stood  the  t«  mple  of  Mars  armipoimt. 
Wrought  all  of  burnished  steel,  of  which  ih* 

en'ree 
Was  long  and  snail,  and  ghastly  for  to  see, 

*  Inward  paiu. 

»  Roaring.  *  Sough  tboth  word*  onomaiopccic). 


312 


ROMANCE 


And  thereout  came  a  rage1  and  such  a  vese,2 
That  it  made  all  the  gates  for  to  rese.8 
The  northren  light  in  at  the  doore's  shone, 
For  window  on  the  wall  ne  was  there  none- 
Through  which   men    mighten   any  light 

discern. 

The  doors  were  all  of  adamant  etern, 
Y-clenched  overthwart  and  endelong 
With  iron  tough  ;  and,  for  to  make  it  strong, 
Every  pillar,  the  temple  to  sustain, 
Was  tonne-great,  of  iron  bright  and  sheen. 

There  saw  I  first  the  dark  imagining 
Of  felony,  and  all  the  compassing  ; 
The  cruel  ire,  as  red  as  any  glede  ;  4 
The  pickepurse  and  eke  the  pale  dread ; 
The  smiler  with  the  knife  under  the  cloke  ; 
The  shippen  burning  with  the  blacke  smoke  ; 
The  treason  of  the  murdei  ing  in  the  bed, 
The  open  war,  with  woundes  all  be-bled  ; 
Contest  with  bloody  knife  and  sharp  menace  ; 
All  full  of  chirking  6  was  that  sorry  place. 
The  slayer  of  himself  yet  saw  I  there, 
His  hearte-blood  hath  bathed  all  his  hair  ; 
The  nail  y-driven  in  the  shode  6  a-night ; 
The  colde  death,  with  mouth  gaping  upright. 
Amiddes  of  the  temple  sat  Mischance 
With  discomfort  and  sorry  countenance. 
Yet  saw  I  Woodness?  laughing  in  his  rage, 
Armed  Complaint,  Outcry,  and  fierce  Outrage, 
The  carrion8  in  the  bush  with  throat  y-corve, 
A  thousand  slain  and  not  of  qualm  y-storve,9 
The  tyrant  with  the  prey  by  force  y-reft, 
The  town  destroyed,  there  was  nothing  left. 

1  Raging  wind.  2  Gust.  3  Shake. 

*  Burning  coal.  5  Shrieking.  6  Temple 

'I  Madness.         8  Carcase.        9  Not  dead  through  sickness. 


DESCRIPTION    OF    THE    LIST*  313 

Yet  saw  I  burnt  the  shipes  hoppesters.i 

The  hunter  strangled  with  the  wild*  bean. 

The  sow  fretten  the  child  right  in  the  cradl*. 

The  cook  y-scaldrd.  for  all  his  longc*  Indie. 

Nought  was  forgotten  by  th'  infortune  of  Mart  . 

The  carter  over-ridden  with  his  cart. 

Under  the  wheel  full  low  he  lay  adown. 

There  were  also  oi  Martes  division 

The  barber,  and  the  butcher,  and  the  smith 

That  forgeth  sharpe  swordes  on  his  stith. 

And  all  above,  depainted  in  a  tower. 

Saw  I  Conquest  sitting  in  great  honour, 

With  the  sharpe  sword  over  his  head 

Hanging  by  a  subtle  twines  thread. 

Depainted  was  the  slaughter  of  Julius, 

Of  great  Nero,  and  of  Antonius  ; 

Albe  that  thilkc  time  they  were  unborn. 

Yet  was  their  death  depainted  there-befom. 

By  menacing  of  Mars,  right  by  figure  ; 

So  was  it  shewed  in  that  portraiture 

As  is  depainted  in  the  stars  above. 

Who  shall  be  slain  or  dies  dead  for  love. 

Sufficrth  one  ensample  in  stories  old. 

I  may  not  reckon  them  allc  though  I  would. 

The  statue  of  Mars  upon  a  carte3  stood, 
Armed,  and  looked  grim  as  he  were  wood  ; 
And  over  his  head  there  shincn  two  figures 
Of  starres,  that  be  cleped  in  Scriptures 
That  one  Puella.  that  other  Rubeus. 
This  god  of  armes  was  arrayed  thus  :— 
A  wolf  there  stood  before  him  at  his  feet 
With  c>  en  red,  and  of  a  man  he  eat ; 
With  subtle  pencil  was  dr paint  this  story, 
In  redout  ing  of  Mars  and  of  his  glory. 

1  Dancing  thipi.  -  Chariot 


314  ROMANCE 

Now  to  the  temple  of  Diane  the  chaste 
As  shortly  as  I  can  I  will  me  haste, 
To  telle  you  all  the  description. 
Depainted  be  the  walles  up  and  down 
Of  hunting  and  of  shamefast  chastity. 
There  saw  I  how  woeful  Calistopee 
When  that  Diane  agrieved  was  with  her 
Was  turned  from  a  woman  to  a  bear, 
And  after  was  she  made  the  lode-star  ; 
Thus  was  it  paint,  I  can  say  you  no  far  ; l 
Her  son  is  eke  a  star  as  men  may  see. 
There  saw  I  Dane,  y-turned  to  a  tree, 
(I  mene  not  the  goddesse  Diane 
But  Penneus'  daughter  which  that  highte  Dane.2) 
There  saw  I  Attheon  an  hart  y-maked 
For  vengeance  that  he  saw  Diane  all  naked ; 
I  saw  how  that  his  houndes  have  him  caught, 
And  fretten  him,  for  that  they  knew  him  naught. 
Yet  painted  was  a  little  further-more, 
How  Atthalante  hunted  the  wilde  boar, 
And  Meleager,  and  many  another  mo, 
For  which  Diane  wrought  him  care  and  woe. 
There  saw  I  many  another  wonder  story, 
The  which  me  list  not  drawen  to  memory. 
This  goddess  on  a  hart  full  highe  sate, 
With  smalle  houndes  all  about  her  feet ; 
And  underneath  her  feet  she  had  a  moon, 
Waxing  it  was  and  shoulde  wane  soon. 
In  gaudy-green3  her  statue  clothed  was, 
With  bow  in  hand  and  arrows  in  a  case, 
Her  eyen  caste  she  full  low  adovvn, 
Where  Pluto  hath  his  darke  region. 
A  woman  travailing  was  her  beforn, 
But  for  her  child  so  longe  was  unborn, 

1  Farther.          3  i.e.  Daphne.          »  A  light  green  colour. 


DESCRIPTION    OF   THE    LISTS  315 

Full  piteously  Lucina  gan  she  call. 
And  said  '  Help,  for  thou  maycst  best  of  all.1 
Well  could  be  painien  lifely  thai  it  wrought, 
Witb  many  a  florin  he  the  hues  bought. 

Now  be  these  listes  made,  and  Theseus 
That  at  his  great*  cost  arrayed  thus 
The  temples  and  the  theatre  every  deal, 
When  it  was  done,  him  liked  wonder  well. 

CHAUCER 


A    PAGEANT   OF    HUMAN    LIFE 

CHILDHOOD 

I  AM  called  Childhood,  in  play  is  all  my  mind 
To  oast  a  quoit,  a  cockstcle.1  and  a  ball. 
A  top  can  I  bet,  and  drive  it  in  his  kind. 
But  would  to  God  these  hateful  bookes  all 
Were  in  a  fire  brent  to  powder  small  I 
Then  might  I  lead  my  life  always  in  play  : 
Which  life  God  send  me  to  mine  ending  day. 


MANHOOD 

Manhood  I  am.  therefore  I  me  delight 

To  hunt  and  hawk,  to  nourish  up  and  feed 

The  gray  hound  to  the  course,  the  hawk  to  th*  flight. 

And  to  bestride  a  good  and  lusty  steed  ; 

These  things  become  a  very  man  indeed  ; 

Yet  thinketh  this  boy  his  peevish  game  sweeter, 

But  what  no  force,  bis  reason  is  no  better  I  * 

1  Stick  for  cock-*hving. 

*  No  matter  for  that,  he  knows  no  better. 


3T6  ROMANCE 

CUPID 

Whoso  ne  knoweth  the  strength,  power  and  might 

Of  Venus  and  me  her  little  son  Cupid, 

Thou,  Manhood,  shalt  a  mirror  be1  aright, 

By  us  subdued  for  all  thy  great  pride  ; 

My  fiery  dart  pierceth  thy  tender  side. 

Now  thou,  which  erst  despisedst  children  small, 

Shall  wax  a  child  again  and  be  my  thrall. 

AGE 

O!d  Age  am  I,  with  locke's  thin  and  hoar, 
Of  our  shore  life  the  last  and  best  part : 
Wise  and  discreet :  the  public  weal  therefore 
I  help  to  rule  to  my  labour  and  smart ; 
Therefore  Cupid  withdraw  thy  fiery  dart ; 
Chargeable  matters  shall  of  love  2  oppress 
Thy  childish  game  and  idle  business. 


Though  I  be  foul,  ugly,  lean  and  misshape, 
Yet  there  is  none  in  all  this  worlde  wide 
That  may  my  power  withstands  or  escape, 
Therefore,  sage  father,  greatly  magnified, 
Descend  from  your  chair,  set  apart  your  pride, 
Vouchsafe  to  lend  (though  it  be  to  your  pain) 
To  me  a  fool  some  of  your  wise  brain. 

LADY    FAME 

Fame  I  am  called,  marvel  you  nothing 
Though  [I]  with  tongues  am  compassed  all  round, 
For  in  voice  of  people  is  my  chief  living : 
O  cruel  death,  thy  power  I  confound. 

1  To  him  who  knows  not,  etc. 

2  i.e.  Thy  childish  game  of  love. 


A    PAGEANT    Of    HUMAN    LIFE  317 

When  thou  a  noble  man  hast  brought  to  ground. 
Maugrei  thy  teeth,  to  live  cause  him  shall  I 
Of  people  in  perpetual  memory. 

TIME 

I  whom  thou  seest  with  horologe  in  hand 

Am  named  Time,  the  lord  of  ewry  hour. 

I  shall  in  space  dcstioy  both  sea  and  land. 

O  simple  Fame,  how  dar  st  thou  man  honour, 

Promising  of  his  name  an  endless  flower/ 

Who  may  in  the  world  have  a  name  eternal! 

When  I  shall  in  process  destroy  the  world  and  all  ? 

LADY   ETERNITY 

Me  needeth  not  to  boast.  I  am  Eternity. 

The  very  name  signifycth  well. 

That  mine  empire  infinite  shall  be. 

Thou  mortal  Time,  every  man  can  tell, 

Art  nothing  else  but  the  mobility 

Of  sun  and  moon  changing  in  every  degree. 

When  they  shall  leave  their  course  thou  shall 

be  brought 
For  all  thy  pride  and  boasting  into  nought. 

THOMAS  MQkC 


CYNTHIA 

THKSCE  to  the  Circle  of  the  Moon  she  clamb. 
Where  Cynthia  reigns  in  everlasting  glory. 
To  whose  bright  shining  palace  straight  she  came, 
All  fairly  deck!  with  heaven's  goodly  story  ; 

1  Despite. 


318  ROMANCE 

Whose  silver  gates  (by  which  there  sate  an  hoary 
Old  aged  Sire,  with  hour-glass  in  hand, 
Hight  Time,)  she  ent'red,  were  he  lief  or  sorry  ; 
Ne  staid  till  she  the  highest  stage  had  scan'd, 
Where  Cynthia  did  sit,  that  never  still  did  stand. 


Her  sitting  on  an  Ivory  throne  she  found, 
Drawn  of  two  steeds,  th'  one  black,  the  other  white, 
Environ'd  with  ten  thousand  stars  around, 
That  duly  her  attended  day  and  night ; 
And  by  her  side  there  ran  her  Page,  that  hight 
Vesper,  whom  we  the  Evening  Star  intend  ; 
That  with  his  torch,  still  twinkling  like  twilight, 
Her  lighten'd  all  the  way  where  she  should  wend, 

And  joy  to  weary  wand'ring  travellers  did  lend. 

SPENSER 


QUEEN  and  huntress,  chaste  and  fair, 
Now  the  sun  is  laid  to  sleep, 
Seated  in  thy  silver  chair, 
State  in  wonted  manner  keep. 
Hesperus  entreats  thy  light, 
Goddess  excellently  bright ! 

Earth,  let  not  thy  envious  shade 

Dare  itself  to  interpose  ; 

Cynthia's  shining  orb  was  made 

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


tO   DIANA  319 

Lay  thy  bow  of  pearl  apart, 
And  thy  crystal-shining  quiver : 
Give  unto  the  flying  hart 
Space  to  breathe  how  short  soever  . 

Thou  that  nuk'st  a  day  of  night, 

Goddess  excellently  bright ! 

JONSON 


ECHO  S     LAMENT    OF     NARCISSUS 

Sl.OW.  slow,  fre«>h  fount,  keep  time  with  my  salt  lr.tr 

Yet  s'ower.  yet  :  O  f-«intly  grntle  -prings: 
List  to  the  h«-avy  part  the  music  U  an, 
Woe  weeps  out  her  division,  when  she  sinys 
Droop  herb*  and  flowers. 
Fall  grief  in  showers, 
Our  beauties  are  not  ours ; 

O  I  could  still 
Like  melting  snow  upon  some  craggy  hill. 

Drop,  drop,  drop,  drop. 
Since  nature's  pride  is  now  a  withered  daffodil. 

JONSON 


TO    ECHO 

SWEET  Echo,  sweetest  nymph,  that  liv'sl  unseen 

Within  thy  a*ry  shell, 
By  slow  Meander's  margent  green, 
And  in  the  violet-embroider' d  vale, 

Where  the  love-lorn  nightingale 
Nightly  to  tbee  her  sad  song  mourncth  well ; 


320  ROMANCE 

Canst  thou  not  tell  me  of  a  gentle  pair 
That  likest  thy  Narcissus  are? 
O,  if  thou  have 
Hid  them  in  some  flowery  cave, 

Tell  me  but  where, 

Sweet  queen  of  parley,  daughter  of  the  sphere  ! 
So  may'st  thou  be  translated  to  the  skies, 
And  give  resounding  grace  to  all  Heaven's  harmonies. 

MILTON 


THE     SIRENS      SONG 

STEER,  hither  steer  your  winged  pines, 

All  beaten  mariners  ! 
Here  lie  Love's  undiscovered  mines, 

A  prey  to  passengers  ; 
Perfumes  far  sweeter  than  the  best 
Which  makes  the  phoenix'  urn  and  nest : 

Fear  not  your  ships, 
Nor  any  to  oppose  you  save  our  lips ; 

But  come  on  shore, 
Where  no  joy  dies  till  love  hath  gotten  more. 

For  swelling  waves  our  panting  breasts, 

Where  never  storms  arise, 
Exchange,  and  be  awhile  our  guests  ; 

For  stars  gaze  on  our  eyes. 
The  compass  Love  shall  hourly  sing, 
And  as  he  goes  about  the  ring 

We  will  not  miss 
To  tell  each  point  he  nameth,  with  a  kiss. 

Then  come  on  shore 
Where  no  joy  dies  till  love  hath  gotten  more. 

BROWNE 


331 


Fr»m  COM  US 


COM  US  sffaJts.— 

THE  star  that  bids  the  shepherd  fold, 

Now  the  top  of  heaven  doth  hold ; 

And  the  gilded  car  of  day 

His  glowing  axle  doth  allay 

In  the  steep  Atlantic  stream ; 

And  the  slope  sun  his  upward  beam 

Shoots  against  the  dusky  pole. 

Pacing  toward  the  other  goal 

Of  his  chamber  in  the  East  ; 

Meanwhile  welcome  Joy,  and  Feast. 

Midnight  Shout,  and  Revelry, 

Tipsy  Dance,  and  Jollity. 

Braid  your  locks  with  rosy  twine. 

Dropping  odours,  dropping  wine. 

Rigour  now  is  gone  to  bed. 

And  Advice  with  scrupulous  head. 

Strict  Age  and  sour  Severity. 

With  their  grave  saws,  in  slumber  lie  ; 

We  that  are  ot  purer  fire 

Imitate  the  starry  quire, 

Who,  in  their  nightly  watchful  spheres, 

Lead  in  swift  round  the  months  and  yean. 

The  sounds  and  seas,  with  all  their  finny  drove. 

Now  to  the  moon  in  wavering  morrioe  move ; 

And,  on  the  tawny  sands  and  shelves. 

Trip  the  pert  fairies  and  the  dapper  elves. 

By  dimpled  brook  and  fountain  brim, 

The  Wood-Nymphs,  decked  with  daisies  trim, 


322  ROMANCE 

Their  merry  wakes  and  pastimes  keep ; 
What  hath  night  to  do  with  sleep  ? 
Night  hath  better  sweets  to  prove  ; 
Venus  now  wakes,  and  wakens  love. 
Come,  knit  hands,  and  beat  the  ground 
In  a  light  fantastic  round. 


THE  ATTENDANT  SPIRIT  epiloguises  :— 

To  the  ocean  now  I  fly, 

And  those  happy  climes  that  lie 

Where  day  never  shuts  his  eye, 

Up  in  the  broad  fields  of  the  sky : 

There  I  suck  the  liquid  air 

All  amidst  the  gardens  fair 

Of  Hesperus,  and  his  daughters  three 

That  sing  about  the  golden  tree : 

Along  the  crisped  shades  and  bowers 

Revels  the  spruce  and  jocund  Spring  ; 

The  Graces,  and  the  rosy-bosom'd  Hours. 

Thither  all  their  bounties  bring  ; 

There  eternal  Summer  dwells, 

And  West-winds,  with  musky  wing, 

About  the  cedarn  alleys  fling 

Nard  and  cassia's  balmy  smells. 

Iris  there  with  humid  bow 

Waters  the  odorous  banks,  that  blow 

Flowers  of  more  mingled  hue 

Than  her  purfled  scarf  can  shew ; 

And  drenches  with  Elysian  dew 

(List,  mortals,  if  your  ears  be  true), 

Beds  of  hyacinth  and  roses, 

Where  young  Adonis  oft  reposes, 


COMOt  333 

Waxing  well  of  bis  deep  wound 
In  slumber  soft,  and  on  toe  ground 
Sadly  sits  the  Assyrian  queen  : 
But  far  above  in  spangled  sheen 
Celestial  Cupid,  her  famed  son.  advanced 
Holds  bis  dear  Psyche  sweet  entranced. 
After  her  wandering  labours  long. 
Till  free  consent  the  Gods  among 
Make  her  his  eternal  bride. 
And  from  her  fair  unspotted  side 
Two  blissful  twins  are  to  be  born. 
Youth  and  Joy  :  so  Jove  hath  sworn. 

But  now  my  task  is  smoothly  done. 
I  can  By,  or  I  can  run, 
Quickly  to  the  green  earth's  end. 
Where  the  bowed  welkin  slow  doth  bend  , 
And  from  thence  can  soar  as  soon 
To  the  corners  of  the  moon. 

Mortals,  that  would  follow  me. 
Love  Virtue  ;  she  alone  is  free : 
She  can  teach  ye  how  to  climb 
Higher  than  the  sphery  chime  ; 
Or  if  Virtue  feeble  were. 
Heaven  itself  would  stoop  to  her. 

MILTON 


HERO    AND    LEANDER 

ON  Hellespont,  guilty  oi  tiue  love's  blood. 
In  view  and  opposite  two  cities  stood, 
Sea-borderers,  disjoined  by  Neptune's  might ; 
The  one  Abydos,  the  other  Sestos  bight. 


334  ROMANCE 

At  Sestos  Hero  dwelt,  Hero  the  fair, 
Whom  young  Apollo  courted  for  her  hair, 
And  offered  as  a  dower  his  burning  throne, 
Where  she  should  sit  for  men  to  gaze  upon. 
Some  say  for  her  the  fajrest  Cupid  pined, 
And  looking  in  her  face  was  stricken  blind. 
But  this  is  true  ;  so  like  was  one  the  other, 
As  he  imagined  Hero  was  his  mother, 
And  oftentimes  into  her  bosom  flew, 
About  her  naked  neck  his  bare  arms  threw, 
And  laid  his  childish  head  upon  her  breast, 
And  with  still  panting  rockt,  there  took  his 

rest. 

Amorous  Leander  beautiful  and  young 
(Whose  tragedy  divine  Musaeus  sung) 
Dwelt  at  Abydos  ;  since  him  dwelt  there  none 
For  whom  succeeding  times  make  greater  moan. 
His  dangling  tresses  that  were  never  shorn, 
Had  they  been  cut  and  unto  Colchos  borne, 
Would  have  allured  the  venturous  youth  of  Greece 
To  hazard  more  than  for  the  golden  fleece. 
Fair  Cynthia  wished  his  arms  might  be  her  sphere 
Grief  makes  her   pale  because  she  moves  not 

there. 

His  body  was  as  straight  as  Circe's  wand  ; 
Jove  might  have  sipt  out  nectar  from  his  hand. 
Even  as  delicious  meat  is  to  the  taste, 
So  was  his  neck  in  touching,  and  surpast 
The  white  of  Pelops'  shoulder  ...  let  it  suffice 
That  my  slack  muse  sings  of  Leander's  eyes, 
Those  orient  cheeks  and  lips,  exceeding  his 
That  leapt  into  the  water  for  a  kiss 
Of  his  own  shadow,  and  despising  many 
Died  ere  he  could  enjoy  the  love  of  any. 
The  men  of  wealthy  Sestos  every  year 
For  his  sake  whom  their  goddess  held  so  dear, 


IIBIOANDLBANDE1  3*5 

Kose-cheeked  Adonis,  kept  a  solemn  (east : 

Thither  resorted  many  a  wandering  guest 

To  meet  their  lores :  such  as  had  none  at  all 

Came  lovers  home  from  this  great  festival ; 

For  every  street  like  to  a  firmament 

Glistered  with  breathing  stars,  who  where  they  went 

Frighted  the  melanclioly  earth,  which  deemed 

Eternal  heaven  to  burn ;  for  so  it  seemed 

As  if  another  Phaeton  bad  got 

The  guidance  of  the  sun's  rich  chariot. 

But  far  above  the  loveliest  Hero  shined, 

And  stole  away  the  enchanted  gazer's  mind  ; 

For  like  sea-nymphs'  inveigling  harmony, 

So  was  her  beauty  to  the  sunders  by  ; 

Nor  that  night-wandering,  pale  and  watery  star 

(When  yawning  dragons  draw  her  thirling  > « .  r 

From  Latmus*  mount  up  to  the  gloomy  sky, 

Where  crowned  with  blazing  light  and  majesty 

She  proudly  sits)  more  overrules  the  flood 

Than  she  the  hearts  of  those  who  near  her  stood. 

On  this  feast-day— O  cursed  day  and  hour  !  — 

Went  Hero  thorough  Sestos,  from  her  tower 

To  Venus'  temple,  where  unhappily, 

As  after  chanced,  they  did  each  other  spy. 

So  fair  a  church  as  this  had  Venus  none  : 

The  walls  were  of  discoloured  jasper-stone, 

Wherein  was  Proteus  carved  ;  and  overhead 

A  lively  vine  of  green  sea-agate  spread. 

Where  by  one  hand  light-headed  Bacchus  hung. 

And  with  the  other  wine  from  graprs  outwrung. 

Of  crystal  shining  (air  the  pavement  was ; 

The  town  of  Sestos  call'd  it  Venus'  glass  : 

For  know  that  underneath  this  radiant  floor 

Was  Danae's  statue  in  a  brazen  tower  : 

»  Hurliac- 


326  ROMANCE 

Love  kindling  fire  to  burn  such  towns  as  Troy  ; 

Silvanus  weeping  for  the  lovely  boy 

That  now  is  turned  into  a  cypress-tree 

Under  whose  shade  the  wood-gods  love  to  be. 

And  in  the  midst  a  silver  altar  stood  ; 

There  Hero,  sacrificing  turtle's  blood, 

Vailed  to  the  ground,  veiling  her  eyelids  close  ; 

And  modestly  they  opened  as  she  rose : 

Hence  flew  Love's  arrow  with  the  golden  head, 

And  thus  Leander  was  enamoured. 

Stone-still  he  stood,  and  evermore  he  gazed 

Till  with  the  fire  that  from  his  count'nance  blazed 

Relenting  Hero's  gentle  heart  was  strook : 

Such  force  and  virtue  hath  an  amorous  look. 

It  lies  not  in  our  power  to  love  or  hate, 
For  will  in  us  is  over-ruled  by  fate. 
When  two  are  stript,  long  ere  the  course  begin 
We  wish  that  one  should  lose,  the  other  win  ; 
And  one  especially  do  we  affect 
Of  two  gold  ingots,  like  in  each  respect : 
The  reason  no  man  knows,  let  it  suffice, 
What  we  behold  is  censured  by  our  eyes. 
Where  both  deliberate  the  love  is  slight ; 
Who  ever  loved,  that  loved  not  at  first  sight ! 


Thus  having  swallowed  Cupid's  golden  hook 

The  more  she  strived  the  deeper  was  she  strook  ; 

Yet,  evilly  feigning  anger,  strove  she  still 

And  would  be  thought  to  grant  against  her  will ; 

So  having  paused  a  while  at  last  she  said, 

'  Who  taught  thee  rhetoric  to  deceive  a  maid?' 

Ay,  me  !  such  words  as  these  should  I  abhor, 

And  yet  I  like  them  for  the  orator.' 

With  that  Leander  stooped  to  have  embraced  her, 

But  from  his  spreading  arms  away  she  cast  her, 


FAU5TUS    TO    HELEN  327 

And  thus  bespake  him  :  •  Gentle  youth,  forbear 

To  touch  the  sacred  garments  which  I  wear. 

Upon  a  rock,  and  underneath  a  hill, 

Far  from  the  town  (where  all  is  whist  and  still. 

Save  that  the  sea,  playing  on  yellow  sand. 

Sends  forth  a  rattling  murmur  to  the  land. 

Whose  sound  allures  the  golden  Morpheus 

In  silence  of  the  night  to  visit  us), 

My  turret  stands  ;  and  there,  God  knows,  I  play 

With  Venus'  swans  and  sparrows  all  the  day. 

Come  thither.'     As  she  spake  this,  her  tongue 

tripped, 

For  unawares  •  Conic  thaher '  from  her  slipj-cd  ; 
And  suddenly  her  former  colour  changed 
And  here  and  there  her  eyes  through  anger  ranged ; 
And  like  a  planet  moving  several  ways 
At  one  self  instant  she,  poor  soul,  assays 
Loving  not  to  love  at  all,  and  every  part 
Strove  to  resist  the  motions  of  her  heart. 

MARLOWE 


F AUSTUS    TO     H  fcLEN 

WAS  this  the  face  that  launched  a  thousand  ships 
And  burnt  the  topless  towers  of  Ilium  ? 
Sweet  Helen,  make  me  immortal  with  a  kiss. 
Her  lips  suck  forth  my  soul,  see  where  it  flies  !— 
Come,  Helen,  come,  give  me  my  soul  again. 
Here  will  1  dwell,  for  Heaven  is  in  these  lips, 
And  all  is  dross  that  is  not  Helena. 
I  will  be  Paris,  and  for  love  of  thee 
Instead  of  Troy  shall  Wertenberg  be  sacked  : 


328  ROMANCE 

And  I  will  combat  with  weak  Menelaus, 
And  wear  thy  colours  on  my  plumed  crest : 
Yea  I  will  wound  Achilles  in  the  heel, 
And  then  return  to  Helen  for  a  kiss. 
O  thou  art  fairer  than  the  evening  air 
Clad  in  the  beauty  of  a  thousand  stars  ! 

MARLOWE 


From  THE   FAERY   QUEENE 

THE    CAVE    OF    DESPAIR 

ERE  long  they  come  where  that  same  wicked  wight 
His  dwelling  has,  low  in  an  hollow  cave, 
Far  underneath  a  craggy  cliff  ypight.i 
Dark,  doleful,  dreary,  like  a  greedy  grave, 
That  still  for  carrion  carcases  doth  crave  : 
On  top  whereof  ay  dwelt  the  ghastly  Owl, 
Shrieking  his  baleful  note,  which  ever  drave 
Far  from  that  haunt  all  other  cheerful  fowl ; 

And  all  about  it  wandering  ghosts  did  wail  and  howl. 

And  all  about  old  stocks  and  stubs  of  trees, 
Whereon  nor  fruit  nor  leaf  was  ever  seen, 
Did  hang  upon  the  ragged  rocky  knees  ; 
On  which  had  many  wretches  hanged  been, 
Whose  carcases  were  scattered  on  the  green, 
And  thrown  about  the  cliffs.     Arrived  there, 
That  bare-head  knight,  for  dread  and  doleful  teen, 
Would  fain  have  fled,  ne  durst  approchen  near ; 

But  th'  other  forced  him  stay,  and  comforted  in  fear. 

That  darksome  cave  they  enter,  where  they  find 
That  cursed  man,  low  sitting  on  the  ground, 
Musing  full  sadly  in  his  sullen  mind : 
i  Placed. 


TUB   CAVE  OF    DESPAII  399 

His  griesiei  locks,  long  groweo  and  unbound, 
Disordered  bung  about  bis  shoulders  round. 
And  bid  his  face  ;  through  which  bis  hollow  eyne 
Looked  deadly  dull,  and  stared  as  astound  ; 
His  raw-bone  cheeks,  through  penury  and  pine. 
Were  shrunk  into  his  Jaws,  as  he  did  never  dine. 

His  garment,  nought  but  many  ragged  clouts. 
With  thorns  together  pinned  and  patched  was, 
The  which  his  naked  sides  he  wrapt  abouts  : 
And  him  beside  there  lay  upon  the  grass 
A  dreary  corse,  whose  life  away  did  pass, 
All  wallowed  in  his  own  yet  lukewarm  blood, 
That  from  his  wound  yet  welled  fresh,  alas  ! 
In  which  a  rusty  knife  fast  fixed  stood. 

And  made  an  open  passage  for  ihr  gushing  flood. 

Which  piteous  spectacle,  approving  true 
The  woeful  tale  that  Trevisan  had  told, 
Whenas  the  gentle  Redcross  knight  did  view  ; 
With  fiery  zeal  he  burnt  in  courage  bold 
Him  to  avenge  before  his  blood  were  cold, 
And  to  the  villain  said  :  '  Thou  damned  wight. 
The  author  of  this  fact  we  here  behold. 
What  justice  can  but  judge  against  thce  right 

With  thine  own  blood  to  price  his  blood,  here  shed 
in  sight?* 

What  frantic  fit '  (quoth  he),  •  hath  thus  distraught 
Thee,  foolish  man,  so  rash  a  doom  to  give  ? 
What  justice  ever  other  judgment  taught, 
But  he  should  die  who  merits  not  to  live? 
None  else  to  death  this  man  despairing  drive 
But  his  own  guilty  mind,  deserving  death. 


330  ROMANCE 

Is  then  unjust  to  each  his  due  to  give  ? 
Or  let  him  die,  that  loatheth  living  breath, 
Or  let  him  die  at  ease,  that  liveth  here  uneath  ?  i 


1  Who  travels  by  the  weary  wandering  way, 
To  come  unto  his  wished  home  in  haste, 
And  meets  a  flood  that  doth  his  passage  stay, 
Is  not  great  grace  to  help  him  over  past, 
Or  free  his  feet  that  in  the  mire  stick  fast  ? 
Most  envious  man,  that  grieves  at  neighbour's  good. 
And  fond,  that  joyest  in  the  woe  thou  hast ! 
Why  wilt  not  let  him  pass,  that  long  hath  stood 

Upon  the  bank,  yet  wilt  thy  self  not  pass  the  flood  ? 

1  He  there  does  now  enjoy  eternal  rest 
And  happy  ease,  which  thou  dost  want  and  crave, 
And  further  from  it  daily  wanderest : 
What  if  some  little  pain  the  passage  have, 
That  makes  frail  flesh  to  fear  the  bitter  wave, 
Is  not  short  pain  well  borne,  that  brings  long  ease, 
And  lays  the  soul  to  sleep  in  quiet  grave  ? 
Sleep  after  toil,  port  after  stormy  seas, 

Ease  after  war,  death  after  life,  does  greatly  please. ' 

The  knight  much  wondered  at  his  sudden  wit, 
And  said — '  The  term  of  life  is  limited, 
Ne  may  a  man  prolong,  nor  shorten,  it : 
The  soldier  may  not  move  from  watchful  stead, 
Nor  leave  his  stand  until  his  captain  bed.'  2 
'  Who  life  did  limit  by  almighty  doom,' 
(Quoth  he)  '  knows  best  the  terms  established  ; 
And  he,  that  points  the  sentinel  his  room, 

Doth  license  him  depart  at  sound  of  morning  drum. 

1  Uneasily.  2  Bid. 


THE   CAVE   OF   DBSPAIt  3j> 

'  Is  not  his  deed,  what  ever  thing  is  done 
In  heaven  and  earth  ?    Did  not  be  all  create 
To  die  again  ?    All  ends  that  was  began  : 
Their  tiroes  in  his  eternal  book  of  fate 
Are  written  sute.  and  have  their  certain  date. 
Who  then  can  strive  with  strong  necessity, 
That  holds  the  world  in  his  still  changing  state. 
Or  shun  the  death  ordained  by  destiny  ? 

When  hour  of  death  is  come,  let  none  ask  whence 
nor  why. 

'  The  longer  life,  I  wot.  the  greater  sin ; 

The  greater  sin.  the  greater  punishment : 

AH  those  great  battles,  which  thou  boasts  to  win 

Through  strife,  and  bloodshed,  and  avengement. 

Now  praised,  hereafter  dear  thou  shah  repent ; 

For  life  must  life,  and  blood  must  blood,  repay. 

Is  not  enough  thy  evil  life  forespcnt  ? 

For  he  that  once  hath  missed  the  right  way. 
The  further  be  doth  go,  the  further  he  doth  stray. 


'  Then  do  no  further  go,  no  further  stray. 

But  here  lie  down,  and  to  thy  rest  betake, 

Th*  ill  to  prevent,  that  life  ensuen  may  ; 

For  what  hath  life  that  may  it  loved  make. 

And  gives  not  rather  cause  it  to  forsake  ? 

Fear,  sickness,  age,  loss,  labour,  sorrow,  strife. 

Pain,  hunger,  cold  that  makes  the  heart  to  quake, 

And  ever  fickle  fortune  rageth  rife  ; 
All  which,  and  thousands  moe,  do  make  a  loathsome 
life,' 


332  ROMANCE 


THE    HOUSE    OF    MORPHEUS 

HE,  making  speedy  way  through  spersed  air, 
And  through  the  world  of  waters  wide  and  deep, 
To  Morpheus'  house  doth  hastily  repair. 
Amid  the  bowels  of  the  earth  full  steep, 
And  low,  where  dawning  day  doth  never  peep, 
His  dwelling  is  ;  there  Tethys  his  wet  bed 
Doth  ever  wash,  and  Cynthia  still  doth  steep 
In  silver  dew  his  ever-drooping  head, 

Whiles  sad  Night  over  him  her  mantle  black  doth 
spread. 


Whose  double  gates  he  findeth  locked  fast, 

The  one  fair  framed  of  burnisht  ivory, 

The  other  all  with  silver  overcast ; 

And  wakeful  dogs  before  them  far  do  lie, 

Watching  to  banish  Care  their  enemy, 

Who  oft  is  wont  to  trouble  gentle  sleep. 

By  them  the  sprite  doth  pass  in  quietly, 

And  unto  Morpheus  comes,  whom  drowned  deep 
In  drowsy  fit  he  finds :  of  nothing  he  takes  keep. 

And  more  to  lull  him  in  his  slumber  soft, 
A  trickling  stream  from  high  rock  tumbling  down, 
And  ever-drizzling  rain  upon  the  loft,1 
Mixed  with  a  murmuring  wind,  much  like  the  sown 
Of  swarming  Bees,  did  cast  him  in  a  swown. 
No  other  noise,  nor  people's  troublous  cries, 
As  still  are  wont  t' annoy  the  walled  town, 
Might  there  be  heard ;  but  careless  Quiet  lies 

Wrapt  in  eternal  silence  far  from  enemies. 

1  In  the  air. 


THE    HOUSE    OF   CUPID  333 


TUB    HOUSE    OP    CUPID 

Foft  round  about  the  walls  yclotbed  were 

With  goodly  arras  of  great  majesty 

Woven  witli  gold  and  silk,  so  close  and  near 

That  the  rich  metal  lurked  privily, 

As  faming  to  be  hid  from  envious  eye  ; 

Yet  here,  and  there,  and  everywhere,  tinware* 

It  shewed  itself  and  shone  unwillingly  : 

Like  a  discoloured  *  snake,  whose  hidden  snares 
Through  the  green  grass  his    long  bright    burnished 
back  declares. 

And  in  those  Tapets  weien  fashioned 

Many  fair  portraits  and  many  a  fur  feat ; 

And  all  of  love,  and  all  of  lustibcad. 

As  seemtfd  by  their  semblaunt,  did  entreat : 

And  eke  all  Cupid's  wars  they  did  repeat. 

And  cruel  battles,  which  he  whilome  fought. 

'Gainst  all  the  gods  to  make  his  empire  great ; 

Besides  the  huge  massacres  which  he  wrought 
On  mighty  kings  and  Kesars  into  thraldom  brought 

Kings,  Queens,  Lords.  Ladies.  Knights.  .\nd  Damsel 

gtnt, 

Were  heaped  » together  with  the  vulgar  sort 
And  mingled  with  the  rascal  rabblement, 
Without  respect  of  person  or  of  port. 
To  shew  Dan  Cupid's  power  and  great  effort : 
And  round  about  a  border  was  entrailed 
Of  broken  bows  and  arrows  shivered  short ; 
And  a  long  bloody  river  through  them  railed.! 

So  lively  and  so  like  that  living  sense  it  failed. 

1  Divers-coloured.  *  Crowded.  >  Flowed 


334  ROMANCE 

And  at  the  upper  end  of  that  fair  room 
There  was  an  altar  built  of  precious  stone 
Of  passing  value  and  of  great  renowm 
On  which  there  stood  an  image  all  alone 
Of  massy  gold,  which  with  his  own  light  shone  : 
And  wings  it  had  with  sundry  colours  dight 
More  sundry  colours  than  the  proud  Pavone 
Bears  in  his  boasted  fan,  or  Iris  bright, 

When  her  discoloured  bow  she  spreads  through 
heaven  s  height. 

Blindfold  he  was  :  and  in  his  cruel  fist 
A  mortal  bow  and  arrows  keen  did  hold, 
With  which  he  shot  at  random  when  him  list, 
Some  headed  with  sad  lead,  some  with  pure  gold : 
(Ah  man  !  beware  how  thou  those  darts  behold. ) 
A  wounded  dragon  under  him  did  lie, 
Whose  hideous  tail  his  left  foot  did  enfold, 
And  with  a  shaft  was  shot  through  either  eye, 

That  no  man  forth  might  draw,  ne  no  man  remedy. 

And  all  about  the  glistring  walls  were  hung 
With  warlike  spoils  and  with  victorious  preys 
Of  mighty  conquerors  and  captains  strong 
Which  were  whilome  captived  in  their  days 
To  cruel  love,  and  wrought  their  own  decays. 
Their  swords  and  spears  were  broke,  and  hawberks 

rent, 

And  their  proud  girlands  of  triumphant  bays 
Trodden  in  dust  with  fury  insolent, 

To  shew  the  victor's  might  and  merciless  intent. 

All  suddenly  a  stormy  whirlwind  blew 
Throughout  the  house,  that  clapped  every  door, 

1  Peacock. 


THE    HOUSE    OF  CUPID  335 

With  which  that  iron  wicket  open  flew, 
As  it  with  mighty  levers  had  been  tore ; 
And  forth  issued,  as  on  the  ready  floor 
Of  some  Theatre,  a  grave  personage 
That  in  bis  hand  a  branch  of  laurel  bore. 
With  comely  haveour  and  count' nance  sage, 
Yclad  in  costly  garments  fit  for  tragic  stage. 

Proceeding  to  the  midst  he  still  did  stand. 

As  if  in  mind  be  somewhat  had  to  say  ; 

And  to  the  vulgar  beck'ning  with  his  hand. 

In  sign  of  silence,  as  to  bear  a  play, 

By  lively  actions  he  'gan  bewray 

Some  argument  of  matter  passioned  : 

Which  done,  be  back  retired  soft  away, 

And,  passing  by,  his  name  discovered, 
Ease,  on  his  robe  in  golden  letters  cyphered. 

The  whiles  a  most  delicious  harmony 
In  full  strange  notes  was  sweetly  heard  to  sound. 
That  the  rare  sweetness  of  the  melody 
The  feeble  senses  wholly  did  confound, 
And  the  frail  soul  in  deep  delight  nigh  drown 'd  : 
And,  when  it  ceased,  shrill  trumpets  loud  did  bray, 
That  their  report  did  far  away  rebound  ; 
And,  when  they  ceased,  it  'gan  again  to  play, 

The  whiles  the  maskers  marched  forth  in  trim  array. 

The  first  was  Fancy,  like  a  lovely  Boy 
Of  rare  aspect,  and  beauty  without  peer, 
Matchable  either  to  that  imp  of  Troy, 
Whom  Jove  did  love  and  chose  his  cup  to  bear 
Or  that  same  dainty  lad,  which  was  so  dear 
To  great  Alcides,  that,  when  as  he  died, 
He  wailed  womanlike  with  many  a  tear, 
And  every  wood  and  every  valley  wide 

He  filled  with  Hylas'  name ;  the  Nymphs  eke  Hylas  cried. 


336  ROMANCE 

His  garment  neither  was  of  silk  nor  say, 
But  painted  plumes  in  goodly  order  dight, 
Like  as  the  sunburnt  Indians  do  array 
Their  tawny  bodies  in  their  proudest  plight : 
Aa  those  same  plumes  so  seemed  he  vain  and  light, 
That  by  his  gait  might  easily  appear  ; 
For  still  he  far'd  as  dancing  in  delight, 
And  in  his  hand  a  windy  fan  did  bear, 

That  in  the  idle  air  he  moved  still  here  and  there. 

And  him  beside  marched  amorous  Desire, 
Who  seemed  of  riper  years  than  th'  other  swain, 
Yet  was  that  other  swain  this  elder's  sire, 
And  gave  him  being,  common  to  them  twain  : 
His  garment  was  disguised  very  vain, 
And  his  embroidered  bonnet  sat  awry  : 
'Twixt  both  his  hands  few  sparks  he  close  did  strain, 
Which  still  he  blew  and  kindled  busily, 

That  soon  they  life  conceiv'd,  and  forth  in  flames  did 

fly- 

Next  after  him  went  Doubt,  who  was  yclad 
In  a  discoloured  coat  of  strange  disguise, 
That  at  his  back  a  broad  Capuccio  i  had, 
And  sleeves  dependent  Albanese-wise  : 
He  looked  askew  with  his  mistrustful  eyes, 
And  nicely  trode,  as  thorns  lay  in  his  way, 
Or  that  the  floor  to  shrink  he  did  avise ; 
And  on  a  broken  reed  he  still  did  stay 

His  feeble  steps,  which  shrunk  when  hard  thereon  he  lay. 

With  him  went  Danger,  cloth'd  in  ragged  weed, 
Made  of  bears'  skin,  that  him  more  dreadful  made ; 
Yet  his  own  face  was  dreadful,  ne  did  need 
Strange  horror  to  deform  his  grisly  shade : 
i  Hood. 


THK    HOUSE   OF    CUPID  33? 

A  net  in  th'  one  hand,  and  a  rusty  blade 
In  th'  other  was ;  this  Mischief,  that  Mishap : 
With  th'  one  his  foes  he  threatened  to  invade, 
With  th'  other  be  his  friends  meant  to  enwrap ; 
For  whom  he  could  not  kill  he  practised  to  entrap. 

Next  him  was  Fear,  all  armed  from  top  to  toe. 

Yet  thought  himself  not  safe  enough  thereby, 

But  feared  each  shadow  moving  to  or  fro ; 

And,  his  own  arms  when  glittering  he  did  spy 

Or  clashing  heard,  he  fast  away  did  fly  . 

As  ashes  pale  of  hue.  and  winged-heeled. 

And  evermore  on  Danger  fixed  his  eye. 

'Gainst  whom  he  always  bent  a  brazen  shield, 
Which  his  right  hand  unarmed  fearfully  did  wield. 

After  all  these  there  marched  a  most  fair  Dame, 
Led  of  two  grysie1  villains,  th'  one  Despite, 
The  other  cleped  Cruelty  by  name : 
She.  doleful  Lady,  like  a  dreary  Sprite 
Called  by  strong  charms  out  of  eternal  night, 
Had  Death's  own  image  figured  in  her  face. 
Full  of  sad  signs,  fearful  to  living  bight ; 
Yet  in  that  horror  shewed  a  seemly  grace. 

And  with  her  feeble  fret  did  mo\  c  a  comely  pace, 

Her  breast  all  naked,  as  nett  ivory 
Without  adorn  of  gold  or  silver  bright 
Wherewith  the  craftsman  wonts  it  beautify, 
Of  her  du--  honour  was  despoiled  quite ; 
And  a  wide  wound  therein  (O  rueful  sight !) 
Entrenched  deep  with  knife  accursed  keen, 
Yet  freshly  bleeding  forth  her  fainting  sprite. 
(The  work  of  cruel  hand)  was  to  be  seen. 

That  dyed  in  sanguine  red  her  skin  all  snowy  clean. 


33^  ROMANCE 

At  that  wide  orifice  her  trembling  heart 
Was  drawn  forth,  and  in  silver  basin  laid, 
Quite  through  transfixed  with  a  deadly  dart, 
And  in  her  blood  yet  steaming  fresh  embayed : 
And  those  two  villains,  which  her  steps  upstayed, 
When  her  weak  feet  could  scarcely  her  sustain, 
And  fading  vital  powers  'gan  to  fade, 
Her  forward  still  with  torture  did  constrain, 

And  evermore  increased  her  consuming  pain. 

Next  after  her,  the  winged  God  himself 
Came  riding  on  a  Lion  ravenous, 
Taught  to  obey  the  manage  of  that  Elf 
That  man  and  beast  with  power  imperious 
Subdueth  to  his  kingdom  tyrannous. 
His  blindfold  eyes  he  bade  a  while  unbind, 
That  his  proud  spoil  of  that  same  dolorous 
Fair  Dame  he  might  behold  in  perfect  kind ; 

Which  seen,  he  much  rejoiced  in  his  cruel  mind. 

Of  which  full  proud,  himself  uprearing  high 
He  looked  round  about  with  stern  disdain, 
And  did  survey  his  goodly  company  ; 
And  marshalling  the  evil  ordered  train, 
With  that  the  darts  which  his  right  hand  did  strain 
Full  dreadfully  he  shook,  that  all  did  quake, 
And  clapped  on  high  his  coloured  winges  twain, 
That  all  his  many  *  it  afraid  did  make : 

Then,  blinding  him  again,  his  way  he  forth  did  take. 

Behind  him  was  Reproach,  Repentance,  Shame  ; 
Reproach  the  first,  Shame  next,  Repent  behind  : 
Repentance  feeble,  sorrowful,  and  lame ; 
Reproach  despiteful,  careless,  and  unkind  ; 

1  Train. 


THE    GARDENS    OP    ADONIS  $39 

Shame  most  ill  favoured,  bestial,  and  blind : 
Shame  lower'd,  Repentance  sigh'd,  Reproach  did  scold: 
Reproach  sharp  stings,  Repentance  whips  entwined, 
Shame  burning  brand-irons  in  her  hand  did  bold : 
All  three  to  each  unlike,  yet  all  made  in  one  mould. 

And  after  them  a  rude  confused  rout 
Of  persons  flocked,  whose  names  is  hard  to  read : 
Amongst  them  was  stern  Strife,  and  Anger  stout ; 
Unquiet  Care,  and  fond  Unthriftyhcad  ; 
Lewd  Loss  of  Time,  and  Sorrow  seeming  dead 
Inconstant  Change,  and  false  Disloyalty  ; 
Consuming  Kiotise,  and  guilty  Drrad 
Of  heavenly  vengeance  ;  faint  Infirmity  ; 

Vile  Poverty ;  and,  lastly,  Death  with  infamy 


THE    GARDENS    OF    ADONIS 

THERE  is  continual  spring,  and  harvest  there 
Continual,  both  meeting  at  one  time  ; 
For  both  the  boughs  do  laughing  blossoms  bear, 
And  with  fresh  colours  deck  the  wanton  prime, 
And  eke  at  once  the  heavy  trees  they  climb, 
Which  seem  to  labour  under  their  fruit's  load  : 
The  whiles  the  joyous  birds  make  their  pastime 
Amongst  the  shady  leaves,  their  sweet  abode. 

And  their  true  loves  without  suspicion  tell  abroad. 

Right  in  the  middest  of  that  Paradise 
There  stood  a  stately  Mount,  on  whose  round  top 
A  gloomy  grove  of  myrtle  trees  did  rise, 
Whose  shady  boughs  sharp  steel  did  never  lop 


34°  ROMANCE 

Nor  wicked  beasts  their  tender  buds  did  crop, 
But  like  a  girlond  compassed  the  height ; 
And  from  their  fruitful  sides  sweet  gum  did  drop, 
That  all  the  ground,  with  precious  dew  bedight, 
Threw  forth  most  dainty  odours  and  most  sweet  delight 


And  in  the  thickest  covert  of  that  shade 
There  was  a  pleasant  Arbour,  not  by  art 
But  of  the  trees'  own  inclination  made, 
Which  knitting  their  rank  branches,  part  to  part, 
With  wanton  ivy  twine  entrailed  athwart, 
And  eglantine  and  caprifole  *  among, 
Fashioned  above  within  their  inmost  part, 
That  neither  Phoebus'  beams  could  through  them 
throng, 

Nor  Aeolus'  sharp  blast  could  work  them  any  wrong. 


And  all  about  grew  every  sort  of  flower, 
To  which  sad  lovers  were  transformed  of  yore ; 
Fresh  Hyacinthus,  Phcebus*  paramour 
And  dearest  love ; 

Foolish  Narcisse,  that  likes  the  wat'ry  shore  ; 
Sad  Amaranthus,  made  a  flower  but  late, 
Sad  Amaranthus,  in  whose  purple  gore 
Me  seems  I  see  Amintas'  wretched  fate, 

To  whom  sweet  Poets'  verse  hath  given  endless  date. 


There  wont  fair  Venus  often  to  enjoy 
Her  dear  Adonis'  joyous  company, 
And  reap  sweet  pleasure  of  the  wanton  boy : 
There  yet,  some  say,  in  secret  he  does  lie, 
Lapped  in  flowers  and  precious  spicery, 
1  Woodbine. 


THE    GARDENS    Ot    ADONIS  341 

By  her  hid  from  the  world,  and  from  the  skill 
Of  Stygian  Gods,  which  do  her  love  envy* ; 
But  she  herself,  whenever  that  she  will. 
Possessetb  him.  and  of  his  sweetness  takes  her  fill 

And  sooth,  it  seems,  they  say  ;  for  he  may  not 

For  ever  die.  and  ever  buried  be 

In  baleful  night  where  all  things  are  forgot : 

All  be  he  subject  to  mortality, 

Yet  is  eterne  in  mutability. 

And  by  succession  made  perpetual, 

Transformed  oft.  and  changed  diver  sly  ; 

For  him  the  Father  of  all  forms  they  call : 
Therefore  needs  mote  he  live,  that  living  gives  to  all. 

There  now  he  liveth  in  eternal  bliss. 
Joying  his  goddess,  and  of  her  enjoyed  ; 
Ne  feareth  he  henceforth  that  foe  of  his, 
Which  with  his  cruel  tusk  him  deadly  cloyed :  * 
For  that  wild  Boar,  the  which  him  once  annoyed, 
She  firmly  hath  imprisoned  for  aye, 
That  her  sweet  love  his  malice  mote  avoid, 
In  a  strong  rocky  Cave,  which  is.  they  say. 

Hewn  underneath  that  Mount,  that  none  him  loosen 
may. 

There  now  he  lives  in  everlasting  joy, 
With  many  of  the  Gods  in  company 
Which  thither  haunt,  and  with  the  Winged  Boy. 
Sporting  himself  in  safe  felicity  : 
Who  when  he  hath  with  spoils  and  cruelty 
Ransacked  the  world,  and  in  the  woful  hearts 
Of  many  wretches  set  his  triumphs  high, 
Thither  resorts,  and,  laying  his  sad  darts 

Aside,  with  fair  Adonis  plays  his  wanton  parts. 


34*  ROMANCE 

And  his  true  love  fair  Psyche  with  him  plays, 
Fair  Psyche  to  him  lately  reconciled, 
After  long  troubles  and  unmeet  upbrays 
With  which  his  mother  Venus  her  reviled, 
And  eke  himself  her  cruelly  exiled  : 
But  now  in  steadfast  love  and  happy  state 
She  with  him  lives  and  hath  him  born  a  child, 
Pleasure,  that  doth  both  gods  and  men  aggrate,1 

Pleasure,  the  daughter  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  late. 


THE    BOWER    OF    BLISS 

THENCE  passing  forth,  they  shortly  do  arrive 
Whereas  the  Bower  of  Bliss  was  situate ; 
A  place  picked  out  by  choice  of  best  alive, 
That  nature's  work  by  art  can  imitate : 
In  which  whatever  in  this  worldly  state 
Is  sweet  and  pleasing  unto  living  sense, 
Or  that  may  daintiest  fantasy  aggrate, 
Was  poured  forth  with  plentiful  dispense, 

And  made  there  to  abound  with  lavish  affluence. 


Goodly  it  was  enclosed  round  about, 
As  well  their  entered  guests  to  keep  within, 
As  those  unruly  beasts  to  hold  without ; 
Yet  was  the  fence  thereof  but  weak  and  thin  : 
Nought  feared  their  force  that  fortilage  to  win, 
But  wisdom's  power,  and  temperance's  might, 
By  which  the  mightiest  things  efforced  bin  ; 
And  eke  the  gate  was  wrought  of  substance  light, 

Rather  for  pleasure  than  for  battery  or  fight, 
i  Delight. 


THE    BOWKR    OF    BLISS  343 

It  framed  was  of  precious  ivory, 

That  seemed  a  work  of  admirable  wit ; 

And  therein  all  the  fiunous  history 

Of  Jason  and  Medea  was  ywrit ; 

Her  mighty  charms,  her  furious  loving  fit ; 

His  goodly  conquest  of  the  golden  fleece. 

His  falsed  faith,  and  love  too  lightly  flit ; 

The  wondered  Argo,  which  in  venturous  peece  * 
First  through  the  Euzine  seas  bore  all  the  flower  of  Greece. 

Ye  might  have  seen  the  frothy  billows  fry 

Under  the  ship  as  thorough  them  she  went, 

That  seemed  the  waves  were  into  ivory. 

Or  ivory  into  the  waves  were  sent ; 

And  otherwhere  the  snowy  substance  *prent 

With  vermeil,  like  the  boys'  blood  therein  sh«-d, 

A  piteous  spectacle  did  represent ; 

And  otherwhiles.  with  gold  besprinkeled, 
It  seemed  the  enchanted  flame  which  did  Crcusa  wed. 


All  this  and  more  might  in  that  goodly  gate 

Be  read,  that  ever  open  stood  to  all 

Which  thither  came  ;  but  in  the  Porch  there  sat 

A  comely  personage  of  stature  tall. 

And  semblance  pleasing,  more  than  natural. 

That  travellers  to  him  seemed  to  entice  : 

His  looser  garment  to  the  ground  did  fall. 

And  flew  about  his  heels  in  wanton  wise, 
Not  fit  for  speedy  pace,  or  manly  exercise. 

They  in  that  place  him  Genius  did  call : 
Not  that  celestial  power,  to  whom  the  care 
Of  life,  and  generation  of  all 
That  lives,  pertains  in  charge  particular, 
l  Fortified  ship. 


344  ROMANCE 

Who  wondrous  things  concerning  our  welfare, 
And  strange  phantoms  doth  let  us  oft  foresee, 
And  oft  of  secret  ill  bids  us  beware  : 
That  is  our  Selfe,  whom  though  we  do  not  see. 
Yet  each  doth  in  himself  it  well  perceive  to  be. 

Therefore  a  God  him  sage  Antiquity 
Did  wisely  make,  and  good  Agdistes  call ; 
But  this  same  was  to  that  quite  contrary, 
The  foe  of  life,  that  good  envies  to  all, 
That  secretly  doth  us  procure  to  fall 
Through  guileful  semblants  which  he  makes  us 

see: 

He  of  this  Garden  had  the  governall, 
And  Pleasure's  porter  was  devised  to  be, 

Holding  a  staff  in  hand  for  more  formality. 

Thus  being  entered,  they  behold  around 
A  large  and  spacious  plain,  on  every  side 
Strewed  with  pleasauns l ;    whose  fair  grassy 

ground 

Mantled  with  green,  and  goodly  beautified 
With  all  the  ornaments  of  Flora's  pride, 
Wherewith  her  mother  Art,  as  half  in  scorn 
Of  niggard  Nature,  like  a  pompous  bride 
Did  deck  her,  and  too  lavishly  adorn, 

When  forth  from  virgin  bower  she  comes  in  the  early 
morn. 


Therewith  the  Heavens  always  jovial 
Looked  on  them  lovely,  still  in  stedfast  state, 
Ne  suffered  storm  nor  frost  on  them  to  fall, 
Their  tender  buds  or  leaves  to  violate  ; 
1  Objects  of  pleasure. 


THE    BOWER    OF    BLIfft  345 

Nor  scorching  heat,  nor  cold  intemperate, 
To  afflict  the  creatures  which  therein  did  dwell ; 
But  the  mild  air  with  season  moderate 
Gently  attempered,  and  disposed  so  well, 
That  still  it  breathed  forth  sweet  spirit  and  wholesome 
smell: 

More  sweet  and  wholesome  than  the  pleasant  hill 
Of  Rhodope,  on  which  the  Nymph  that  bore 
A  giant  babe  herself  for  grief  did  kill ; 
Or  the  Thessalian  Tcmpc,  where  of  yore 
Fair  Daphne  Phoebus'  heart  with  lore  did  gore ; 
Or  Ida.  where  the  Gods  loved  to  repair, 
Whenever  they  their  heavenly  bowers  forlore ; 
Or  sweet  Parnasse,  the  haunt  of  Muses  fair ; 

Or  Eden  self,  if  ought  with  Kden  mote  compare, 

Much  wondered  Guy  on  at  the  fair  aspect 

Of  that  sweet  place,  yet  suffered  no  delight 

To  sink  into  his  sense,  nor  mind  affect. 

But  passed  forth,  and  looked  still  forward  right. 

Bridling  his  will  and  mastering  his  might, 

Till  that  he  came  unto  another  gate  ; 

No  gate,  but  like  one,  being  goodly  dight 

With  boughs  and  branches,  which  did  broad  dilate 
Thrir  clasping  arms  in  wanton  wreathings  intricate : 

So  fashioned  a  Porch  wiih  rare  device ; 
Arched  over  head  with  an  embracing  vine. 
Whose  bunches  hanging  down  seemed  to  entice 
All  passers-by  to  taste  their  luscious  wine, 
And  did  themselves  into  their  hands  incline, 
As  freely  offering  to  be  gathered  ; 
Some  deep  empurpled  as  the  Hyacine, 
Some  as  the  Rubinc  laughing  sweetly  red. 

Some  like  fair  Emeralds,  not  yet  well  ripened. 


346  ROMANCE 

And  them  amongst  some  were  of  burnished  gold, 
So  made  by  art  to  beautify  the  rest, 
Which  did  themselves  amongst  the  leaves  enfold, 
As  lurking  from  the  view  of  covetous  guest, 
That  the  weak  boughs,  with  so  rich  load  opprest 
Did  bow  adown  as  overburdened. 
Under  that  porch  a  comely  dame  did  rest, 
Clad  in  fair  weeds  but  foul  disordered, 

And  garments  loose  that  seemed  unmeet  for  woman- 
head. 


In  her  left  hand  a  cup  of  gold  she  held, 
And  with  her  right  the  riper  fruit  did  reach, 
Whose  sappy  liquor,  that  with  fulness  swelled, 
Into  her  cup  she  scruzed 1  with  dainty  breach 
Of  her  fine  fingers,  without  foul  impeach 
That  so  fair  winepress  made  the  wine  more  sweet 
Thereof  she  used  to  give  to  drink  to  each, 
Whom  passing  by  she  happened  to  meet : 

It  was  her  guise  all  Strangers  goodly  so  to  greet. 

So  she  to  Guyon  offered  it  to  taste, 
Who,  taking  it  out  of  her  tender  hand, 
The  cup  to  ground  did  violently  cast, 
That  all  in  pieces  it  was  broken  fond,2 
And  with  the  liquor  stained  all  the  land  : 
Whereat  Excess  exceedingly  was  wroth, 
Yet  no'te  the  same  amend,  ne  yet  withstand, 
But  suffered  him  to  pass,  all  were  she  loth ; 

Who,  nought  regarding  her  displeasure,  forward  goeth. 

There  the  most  dainty  Paradise  on  ground 
Itself  doth  offer  to  his  sober  eye, 

i  Squeezed.  a  Found. 


THE    BOWER    OP    BLISS  347 


In  which  all 


And  none  does  others'  happiness  envy  ; 
The  painted  flowers,  the  trees  upshooting  high. 
The  dales  for  shade,  the  hills  for  breathing  space. 
The  trembling  groves,  the  crystal  running  by. 
And,  that  *  hich  all  fair  works  doth  most  aggrace. 
The  art  which  all  that  wrought  appeared  in  no  place. 

One  would  have  thought  (so  cunningly  the  rude 
And  scorned  parts  were  mingled  with  the  fine) 
That  Nature  had  for  wantonness  ensued 
Art.  and  that  Art  at  Nature  did  repine  ; 
So  striving  each  the  other  to  undermine. 
Each  did  the  other's  work  more  beautify  ; 
So  differing  both  in  wills  agreed  in  fine : 
So  all  agreed,  through  sweet  diversity. 

This  Garden  to  adorn  with  all  variety. 

And  in  the  midst  of  all  a  fountain  stood. 
Of  richest  substance  that  on  earth  might  be. 
So  pure  and  shiny  that  the  silver  flood 
Through  every  channel  running  one  might  sec  ; 
Most  goodly  it  with  curious  imagery 
Was  overwrought,  and  shapes  of  naked  boys 
Of  which  some  seemed  with  lively  jollity 
To  fly  about,  playing  their  wanton  toys. 

Whilst  others  did  themselves  embay  in  liquid  joys. 

And  over  aft  of  purest  gold  was  spread 
A  trail  of  ivy  in  his  native  hue ; 
For  the  rich  metal  was  so  coloured, 
That  wight  who  did  not  well  avised  it  view 
Would  surely  deem  it  to  be  ivy  true : 
Low  his  lascivious  arms  adown  did  creep. 
That  themselves  dipping  in  the  silver  dew 
Their  fleecy  flowers  they  fearfully  did  steep, 

Which  drops  of  crystal  seemed  for  wantonness  to  weep. 


348  ROMANCE 

Infinite  streams  continually  did  well 
Out  of  this  fountain,  sweet  and  fair  to  see- 
The  which  into  an  ample  laver  fell, 
And  shortly  grew  into  so  great  quantity, 
That  like  a  little  lake  it  seemed  to  be  ; 
Whose  depths  exceeded  not  three  cubits  height, 
That  through  the  waves  one  might  the  bottom  see, 
All  paved  beneath  with  Jasper  shining  bright, 

That  seemed  the    fountain    in    that  sea  did  sail 
upright, 

Eftsoons  they  heard  a  most  melodious  sound, 
Of  all  that  mote  delight  a  dainty  ear, 
Such  as  at  once  might  not  on  living  ground, 
Save  in  this  Paradise,  be  heard  elsewhere  : 
Right  hard  it  was  for  wight  which  did  it  hear, 
To  read  what  manner  music  that  mote  be  ; 
For  all  that  pleasing  is  to  living  ear 
Was  there  consorted  in  one  harmony  ; 

Birds,  voices,  instruments,  winds,  waters,  all  agree : 

The  joyous  birds,  shrouded  in  cheerful  shade, 
Their  notes  unto  the  voice  attempered  sweet ; 
The  angelical  soft  trembling  voices  made 
To  th*  instruments  divine  respondence  meet : 
The  silver  sounding  instruments  did  meet 
With  the  bass  murmur  of  the  waters'  fall ; 
The  waters'  fall  with  difference  discreet, 
Now  soft,  now  loud,  unto  the  wind  did  call ; 

The  gentle  warbling  wind  low  answered  to  all. 

The  whiles  some  one  did  chant  this  lovely  lay  : 
Ah!  see,  whoso  fair  thing  dost  fain  to  see, 
In  springing  flower  the  image  of  thy  day. 
Ah  I  see  the  Virgin  Rose,  how  sweetly  she 


THE    BOWER    OF    BLISS  349 

Doth  first  peep  forth  witk  batkful  modesty. 
Tkat  fairer  seems  tkt  less  ye  Me  her  may. 
L»l  set  too*  afttr  kmo  more  bold  and  fret 
Her  bartd  bosom  tkt  doth  broad  display  ; 
Lot  tt«  toon  after  how  she  fades  and  falls  away. 

Sopastetk.  in  tkt  pasting  of  a  day. 

Of  mortal  lift  tkt  Itaf.  tkt  bud.  thefiswer; 
Nt  mort  dotk  flourish  after  first  decay, 
Tkat  erst  wot  sought  to  deck  botk  bed  and  bower 
Of  many  a  lady,  and  many  a  paramour. 
Gatker  therefore  ike  Rose  whilst  yet  it  prime. 
For  toon  comes  age  Ikat  will  ktr  pride  de/lmver  : 
Gatker  tkt  Rest  of  love  whilst  ytt  is  time, 

Whilst  loving  thott  mayest  loved  be  witk  tonal  crime. 


THE    HOUSE    OF    PRIDE 

A  STATELY  palace  built  of  squared  brick, 
Which  cunningly  was  without  mortar  laid. 
Whole  walls  were  high,  but  nothing  strong  nor  thick, 
And  golden  foil  all  over  them  displayed. 
That  purest  sky  with  brightness  they  dismayed : 
High  lifted  up  were  many  lofty  towers, 
And  goodly  galleries  far  over  laid, 
Full  of  fair  windows  and  delightful  bowers; 

And  on  the  top  a  dial  told  the  timely  hours. 

It  was  a  goodly  heap  for  to  behold, 
And  spake  the  praises  of  the  workman's  wit ; 
But  full  great  pity,  that  so  fair  a  mould 
Did  on  so  weak  foundation  ever  sit : 
For  on  a  sandy  hill,  that  still  did  flit 


350  ROMANCE 

And  fall  away,  it  mounted  was  full  high, 
That  every  breath  of  heaven  shaked  it : 
And  all  the  hinder  parts,  that  few  could  spy. 
Were  ruinous  and  old,  but  painted  cunningly. 


Arrived  there,  they  passed  in  forth  right ; 
For  still  to  all  the  gates  stood  open  wide  : 
Yet  charge  of  them  was  to  a  Porter  hight, 
Called  Malvemi,  who  entrance  none  denied  : 
Thence  to  the  hall,  which  was  on  every  side 
With  rich  array  and  costly  arras  dight. 
Infinite  sorts  of  people  did  abide 
There  waiting  long,  to  win  the  wished  sight 

Of  her,  that  was  the  Lady  of  that  Palace  bright. 

High  above  all  a  cloth  of  state  was  spread, 
And  a  rich  throne,  as  bright  as  sunny  day  ; 
On  which  there  sat,  most  brave  embellished 
With  royal  robes  and  gorgeous  array, 
A  maiden  Queen  that  shone  as  Titan's  ray, 
In  glistering  gold  and  peerless  precious  stone ; 
Yet  her  bright  blazing  beauty  did  assay 
To  dim  the  brightness  of  her  glorious  throne, 

As  envying  herself,  that  too  exceeding  shone : 

Exceeding  shone,  like  Phoebus'  fairest  child, 
That  did  presume  his  father's  fiery  wain, 
And  flaming  mouths  of  steeds,  unwonted  wild, 
Through  highest  heaven  with  weaker  hand  to  rein  : 
Proud  of  such  glory  and  advancement  vain, 
While  flashing  beams  do  daze  his  feeble  eyen, 
He  leaves  the  welkin  way  most  beaten  plain, 
And,  rapt  with  whirling  wheels,  inflames  the  sky  en 

With  fire  not  made  to  burn,  but  fairly  for  to  shine. 


THE    MOUSE  OF    PI1DE  351 

So  proud  she  shined  in  her  princely  stale, 
Looking  to  heaven,  for  earth  the  did  disdain  ; 
And  sitting  high,  (or  lowly  she  did  hate : 
Lo  I  underneath  her  scornful  feet  was  lain 
A  dreadful  dragon  with  an  hideous  train  ; 
And  in  her  hand  she  held  a  mirror  bright. 
Wherein  her  face  she  often  viewed  fain, 
And  in  her  selMov'd  semblance  took  delight ; 

For  she  was  wondrous  fair,  as  any  living  wight. 


Of  grisly  Pluto  she  the  daughter  was, 
And  sad  Proserpina,  the  Queen  of  hell  , 
Yet  did  she  think  her  peerless  worth  to  pass 
That  parentage,  with  pride  so  did  she  swell  ; 
And  thundering  Jove,  that  high  in  heaven  doth  dwell. 
And  wield  the  world,  she  claimed  for  her  sire. 
Or  if  that  any  else  did  Jove  excel : 
For  to  the  highest  she  did  still  aspire  ; 

Or.  if  ought  higher  were  than  that,  did  it  desire. 


And  proud  Lucifera  men  did  her  call, 
That  made  herself  a  Queen,  and  crowned  to  be ; 
Yet  rightful  kingdom  she  had  none  at  all, 
Ne  heritage  of  native  sovereignty : 
But  did  usurp  with  wrong  and  tyranny 
Upon  the  sceptre  which  she  now  did  hold  : 
Ne  ruled  her  realm  with  laws,  but  policy, 
And  strong  advisement  of  six  wizards  old. 

That  with  their  counsels  bad  her  kingdom  did  uphold. 


Sudden  upriseth  from  her  stately  place 
The  royal  Dame,  and  for  her  coach  doth  rail : 
AH  hurtlen  forth  ;  and  she,  with  princely  pace, 
As  fair  Aurora  in  her  purple  pall 


352  ROMANCE 

Out  of  the  East  the  dawning  day  doth  call. 
So  forth  she  comes  ;  her  brightness  broad  doth  blaze. 
The  heaps  of  people,  thronging  in  the  hall, 
Do  ride  each  other  upon  her  to  gaze : 
Her  glorious  glitterand  light  doth  all  men's  eyes  amaze. 

So  forth  she  comes,  and  to  her  coach  does  climb, 
Adorned  all  with  gold  and  garlands  gay, 
That  seemed  as  fresh  as  Flora  in  her  prime  : 
And  strove  to  match  in  royal  rich  array, 
Great  Juno's  golden  chair  ;  the  which,  they  say, 
The  gods  stand  gazing  on,  when  she  does  ride 
To  Jove's  high  house  through  heavens  brass-paved 

way, 
Drawn  of  fair  peacocks,  that  excel  in  pride, 

And  full  of  Argus  eyes  their  tails  dispreaden  wide. 


THE    HOUSE    OF 

HARD  by  the  gates  of  hell  her  dwelling  is  ; 
There  whereas  all  the  plagues  and  harms  abound 
Which  punish  wicked  men  that  walk  amiss : 
It  is  a  darksome  delve l  far  underground 
With  thorns  and  barren  brakes  environ'd  round, 
That  none  the  same  may  easily  outwin  :  2 
Yet  many  ways  to  enter  may  be  found, 
But  none  to  issue  forth  when  one  is  in  ; 

For  discord  harder  is  to  end  than  to  begin. 

And  all  within  the  riven  walls  were  hung 
With  ragged  monuments  of  times  forepast, 
All  which  the  sad  effects  of  discord  sung : 
There  were  rent  robes  and  broken  sceptres  placed 
1  Dell.  2  Get  out. 


THE    HOUSE    OF    AT  ft  353 

Altars  dr filed  and  holy  things  defaced  ; 
Disshiver'd  spears  and  shields  ytorn  in  twain ; 
Great  cities  ransack'd,  and  strong  castles  rased  ; 
Nations  captivecl,  and  huge  armies  slain  ; 
Of  all  which  ruins  there  some  relics  did  remain. 


There  was  the  sign  of  antique  Babylon  ; 

Of  fatal  Thebes  ;  of  Rome  that  reigned  long ; 

Of  sacred  Salem  ;  and  sad  Ilion. 

For  memory  of  which  on  high  there  hung 

The  golden  apple,  cause  of  all  their  wrong. 

For  which  the  three  fair  goddesses  did  strive : 

There  also  was  the  name  of  Nimrod  strong  ; 

Of  Alexander,  and  his  princrs  five 
Which  shared  to  them  the  spoils  that  he  had  got  alive. 

And  eke  of  private  persons  many  moe 

That  were  too  long  a  work  to  count  them  all. 

Some,  of  sworn  friends  that  did  their  faith  forego  ; 

Some,  of  born  brethren,  proved  unnatural ; 

Some,  of  dear  lovers,  foes  perpetual ; 

Witness  their  broken  bands  there  to  be  seen. 

Their  girlands  rent,  their  bowers  despoiled  all. 

The  monuments  whereof  there  biding  been. 
As  plain  as  at  the  first  when  they  were  fresh  and  green. 


THE    TEMPLE    OF    VENUS 

THUS  having  past  all  peril,  I  was  come 
Within  the  compass  of  that  Island's  space  ; 
The  which  did  seem,  unto  my  simple  doom, 
The  only  pleasant  and  delightful  place 

Z 


354  ROMANCE 

That  ever  trodden  was  of  footings'  trace : 
For  all  that  nature  by  her  mother  wit 
Could  frame  in  earth,  and  form  of  substance  base. 
Was  there  ;  and  all  that  nature  did  omit, 
Art,  playing  second  nature's  part,  supplied  it. 

No  tree,  that  is  of  count,  in  greenwood  grows, 
From  lowest  Juniper  to  Cedar  tall, 
No  flower  in  field,  that  dainty  odour  throws, 
And  decks  his  branch  with  blossoms  over  all, 
But  there  was  planted,  or  grew  natural : 
Nor  sense  of  man  so  coy  and  curious  nice, 
But  there  mote  find  to  please  itself  withal ; 
Nor  heart  could  wish  for  any  quaint  device, 

But  there  it  present  was,  and  did  frail  sense  entice. 

In  such  luxurious  plenty  of  all  pleasure, 
It  seemed  a  second  paradise  to  guess, 
So  lavishly  enriched  with  Nature's  treasure, 
That  if  the  happy  souls,  which  do  possess 
Th'  Elysian  fields  and  live  in  lasting  bliss, 
Should  happen  this  with  living  eye  to  see, 
They  soon  would  loathe  their  lesser  happiness, 
And  wish  to  life  returned  again  to  be, 

That  in  this  joyous  place  they  mote  have  joyance  free. 

Fresh  shadows,  fit  to  shroud  from  sunny  ray  ; 

Fair  lawns,  to  take  the  sun  in  season  due  ; 

Sweet  springs,  in  which  a  thousand  Nymphs  did  play 

Soft  rumbling  brooks,  that  gentle  slumber  drew  ; 

High  reared  mounts,  the  lands  about  to  view  ; 

Low  looking  dales,  disloign'd l  from  common  gaze ; 

Delightful  bowers,  to  solace  lovers  true  ; 

False  labyrinths,  fond  runners'  eyes  to  daze  ; 
All  which  by  nature  made  did  nature  self  amaze, 

1  Separated, 


THE    TEMPLE    OF    VENUS  355 

And  all  without  were  walks  and  alleys  dight 
With  divers  trees  cnranged  in  even  ranks ; 
And  here  and  there  were  pleasant  arbours  pight. 
And  shady  seats,  and  sundry  flow'ring  banks. 
To  sit  and  rest  the  walkers'  weary  shanks : 
And  therein  thousand  pairs  of  lovers  walked, 
Praising  their  god,  and  yielding  hint  great  thanks. 
Ne  ever  ought  but  of  their  true  loves  talked, 

Ne  ever  for  rebuke  or  blame  of  any  balked. 

All  these  together  by  themselves  did  sport 
Their  spotless  pleasures  and  sweet  loves'  content. 
But,  far  away  from  these,  another  sort 
Of  lovers  linked  in  true  beans'  consent ; 
Which  loved  not  as  these  for  like  intent, 
But  on  chaste  virtue  grounded  their  desire, 
Far  from  all  fraud  or  feigned  blandishment  ; 
Which,  in  their  spirits  kindling  zealous  fire, 

Brave  thoughts  and  noble  deeds  did  evermore  aspire. 

Such  were  great  Hercules  and  Hyllus  dear ; 

True  Jonathan  and  David  trusty  tried  ; 

Stout  Theseus  and  Pirithous  his  fere  ;  * 

Pylades  and  Orestes  by  his  side ; 

Mild  Titus  and  Gesippus  without  pride  ; 

Damon  and  Pythias,  whom  death  could  not  sever : 

All  these,  and  all  that  ever  had  been  tied 

In  bands  of  friendship,  there  did  live  for  ever  ; 
Whose  lives  although  decay'd,  yet  loves  decayed  never. 

Yet  all  those  sights,  and  all  that  else  I  sa\.* 
Might  not  my  steps  withhold,  but  that  fonnright 
Unto  that  purpos'd  place  I  did  me  draw. 
Whereas  my  love  was  lodged  day  and  night, 
*  Companion. 


35$  ROMANCE 

The  temple  of  great  Venus,  that  is  hight 
The  Queen  of  beauty,  and  of  love  the  mother. 
There  worshipped  of  every  living  wight ; 
Whose  goodly  workmanship  far  past  all  other 
That  ever  were  on  earth,  all  were  they  set  together. 

I,  much  admiring  that  so  goodly  frame, 
Unto  the  porch  approached,  which  open  stood ; 
But  therein  sate  an  amiable  Dame, 
That  seem'd  to  be  of  very  sober  mood, 
And  in  her  semblant  shew'd  great  womanhood  : 
Strange  was  her  tyre  ;  for  on  her  head  a  crown 
She  wore,  much  like  unto  a  Danisk  hood, 
Powdered  with  pearl  and  stone  ;  and  all  her  gown 
Enwoven  was  with  gold,  that  raught l  full  low  adown. 

Concord  she  cleeped  was  in  common  rede, 
Mother  of  blessed  Peace  and  Friendship  true  ; 
They  both  her  twins,  both  born  of  heavenly  seed, 
And  she  herself  likewise  divinely  grew  ; 
The  which  right  well  her  works  divine  did  shew  : 
For  strength  and  wealth  and  happiness  she  lends, 
And  strife  and  war  and  anger  does  subdue  ; 
Of  little  much,  of  foes  she  maketh  friends, 

And  to  afflicted  minds  sweet  rest  and  quiet  sends. 

By  her  the  heaven  is  in  his  course  contained, 
And  all  the  world  in  state  unmoved  stands, 
As  their  Almighty  maker  first  ordained, 
And  bound  them  with  inviolable  bands  ; 
Else  would  the  waters  overflow  the  lands, 
And  fire  devour  the  air,  and  hell  them  quight, 
But  that  she  holds  them  with  her  blessed  hands. 
She  is  the  nurse  of  pleasure  and  delight, 

And  unto  Venus'  grace  the  gate  doth  open  right. 
I  Reached. 


THE    TEMPLE    OP    VENUS  357 

Into  the  inmost  Temple  thus  I  came. 

Which  fuming  all  with  frankincense  I  found 

And  odours  rising  from  the  altars'  flame. 

Upon  an  hundred  marble  pillars  round 

The  roof  up  high  was  reared  from  the  ground. 

All  decked  with  crowns,  and  chains,  nml  girlands  g.t\ . 

And  thousand  precious  gifts  worth  many  a  pound. 

The  which  sad  lovers  for  their  vowrs  did  pay  ; 
And  all  the  ground  was  strew'd  with  (lowers  as  frc :.!.  as 
May. 

An  hundred  Altars  round  about  wrrc  set, 
All  flaming  with  their  sacrifices'  fire, 
That  with  the  steam  thereof  the  Temple  sweat, 
Which  rolled  in  clouds  to  heaven  did  aspire. 
And  in  them  bore  true  lovers'  vows  entire  : 
And  eke  an  hundred  brasen  caudrons  bright, 
To  bathe  in  joy  and  amorous  desire. 
Every  of  which  was  to  a  damsel  hight.i 

For  all  the  priests  were  damsels  in  soft  linen  dight. 

Right  in  the  midst  the  goddess  self  did  stand. 
Upon  an  altar  of  some  costly  mass. 
Whose  substance  was  uncath*  to  understand  : 
For  neither  precious  stone,  nor  durcful  brass. 
Nor  shining  gold,  nor  mould'ring  clay  it  was  ; 
But  much  more  rare  and  precious  to  esteem. 
Pure  in  aspect,  and  like  to  crystal  glass. 
Yet  glass  was  not,  if  one  did  rightly  deem. 
But,  being  fair  and  brickie,*  likest  glass  did  seem. 

But  it  in  shape  and  beauty  did  excel 
All  other  idols  which  the  heathen  adore, 
Far  passing  that,  which  by  surpassing  skill 
Phidias  did  make  in  Paphos  Isle  of  yore. 

1  Intruded.  »  Hard.  *  Brittle. 


358  ROMANCE 

With  which  that  wretched  Greek,  that  life  forlore, 
Did  fall  in  love  ;  yet  this  much  fairer  shined, 
But  covered  with  a  slender  veil  afore  ; 
And  both  her  feet  and  legs  together  twined 
Were  with  a  snake,  whose  head  and  tail  were  fast  com 
bined. 

And  all  about  her  neck  and  shoulders  flew, 
A  flock  of  little  loves,  and  sports,  and  joys, 
With  nimble  wings  of  gold  and  purple  hue  ;  . 
Whose  shapes  seemed  not  like  to  terrestrial  boys, 
But  like  to  Angels  playing  heavenly  toys, 
The  whilst  their  eldest  brother  was  away, 
Cupid  their  eldest  brother :  he  enjoys 
The  wide  kingdom  of  love  with  lordly  sway, 

And  to  his  law  compels  all  creatures  to  obey. 

And  all  about  her  altar  scattered  lay 
Great  sorts  of  lovers  piteously  complaining, 
Some  of  their  loss,  some  of  their  loves'  delay, 
Some  of  their  pride,  some  paragons  disdaining, 
Some  fearing  fraud,  some  fraudulently  feigning, 
As  every  one  had  cause  of  good  or  ill. 
Amongst  the  rest  some  one,  through  Love'sconstraining 
Tormented  sore,  could  not  contain  it  still, 

But  thus  brake  forth,  that  all  the  temple  it  did  fill. 

1  Great  Venus  !  Queen  of  beauty  and  of  grace, 
The  joy  of  Gods  and  men,  that  under  sky 
Dost  fairest  shine,  and  most  adorn  thy  place  ; 
That  with  thy  smiling  look  dost  pacify 
The  raging  seas,  and  mak'st  the  storms  to  fly  : 
Thee,  goddess,  thee  the  winds,  the  clouds  do  fear ; 
And,  when  thou  spread's!  thy  mantle  forth  on  high, 
The  waters  play,  and  pleasant  lands  appear, 

And  heavens  laugh,  and  all  the  world  shews  joyous  cheer. 


THE   TEMPLE   Of    VENUt  359 

•  So  all  the  world  by  tbee  at  first  was  made, 
And  doily  yet  thou  dost  the  same  repair ; 
Ne  ought  on  earth  that  merry  is  and  glad. 
Ne  ought  on  earth  that  lovely  is  and  fair, 
But  thou  the  same  for  pleasure  didst  prepare : 
Thou  art  the  root  of  all  that  joyous  is  : 
Great  God  of  men  and  women,  queen  of  th*  air, 
Mother  of  laughter,  and  wellspring  of  bliss. 

O  grant  that  of  my  love  at  last  I  may  not  miss.' 

So  did  he  say  :  but  I  with  murmur  soft, 
That  none  might  hear  the  sorrow  of  my  heart. 
Yet  inly  groaning  deep  and  sighing  oft. 
Besought  her  to  grant  ease  unto  ray  smart, 
Aftd  to  my  wound  her  gracious  help  impart 
Whilst  thus  I  spake,  behold  !  with  happy  eye 
I  spied  where  at  the  Idol's  feet  apart 
A  bevy  of  fair  damsels  close  did  lie, 

Waiting  whm  as  the  Anthem  should  be  sung  on  high. 

The  first  of  them  did  seem  of  riper  years 
And  graver  countenance  than  all  the  rest. 
Yet  all  the  rest  were  eke  her  equal  peers. 
Yet  unto  her  obeyed  all  the  best : 
Her  name  was  Womanhood  ;  that  she  expressed 
By  her  sad  scmb'ant  and  demeanour  wise. 
For  steadfast  still  her  eyes  did  fixed  rest. 
Ne  rov'd  at  random,  after  gazers  guise, 

Whose  luring  bails  o ft i roes  do  heedless  hearts  entise. 

And  next  to  her  sat  goodly  Shamefacedness, 
Ne  ever  durst  her  eyes  from  ground  uprear, 
Ne  ever  once  did  look  up  from  her  dcsse,1 
As  if  some  blame  of  evil  she  did  fear, 
»  Dai*. 


360  ROMANCE 

That  in  her  cheeks  made  roses  oft  appear : 
And  her  against  sweet  Cheerfulness  was  placed, 
Whose  eyes,  like  twinkling  stars  in  evening  clear, 
Were  decked  with  smiles  that  all  sad  humours  chased, 
And  darted  forth  delights  the  which  her  goodly  graced. 

And  next  to  her  sate  sober  Modesty, 

Holding  her  hand  upon  her  gentle  heart ; 

And  her  against  sate  comely  Courtesy, 

That  unto  every  person  knew  her  part ; 

And  her  before  was  seated  overthwart 

Soft  Silence,  and  submisse  Obedience, 

Both  linked  together  never  to  dispart ; 

Both  gifts  of  God,  not  gotten  but  from  thence ; 
Both  girlands  of  His  Saints  against  their  foes'  offence. 

Thus  sat  they  all  around  in  seemly  rate, 
And  in  the  midst  of  them  a  goodly  maid, 
Even  in  the  lap  of  Womanhood  there  sate, 
The  which  was  all  in  lilly  white  arrayed, 
With  silver  streams  amongst  the  linen  strayed  ; 
Like  to  the  Morn,  when  first  her  shining  face 
Hath  to  the  gloomy  world  itself  bewray'd : 
That  same  was  fairest  Amoret  in  place, 

Shining  with  beauty's  light  and  heavenly  virtue's  grace. 


Whom  soon  as  I  beheld,  my  heart  'gan  throb 
And  wade  in  doubt  what  best  were  to  be  done ; 
For  sacrilege  me  seem'd  the  Church  to  rob, 
And  folly  seemed  to  leave  the  thing  undone 
Which  with  so  strong  attempt  I  had  begun. 
Tho,  shaking  off  all  doubt  and  shamefast  fear, 
Which  Ladies'  love,  I  heard,  had  never  won 
'Mongst  men  of  worth,  I  to  her  stepped  near, 

And  by  the  lilly  hand  her  labour'd  up  to  rear. 


THE    TEMPLE    OF    VENUS  561 

And  evermore  upon  the  Goddess*  face 
Mine  eye  was  fixt.  for  fear  of  her  offence ; 
Whom  when  I  saw  with  amiable  grace 
To  laugh  at  me,  and  favour  my  pretence, 
1  was  emboldened  with  more  confidence ; 
And  nought  for  nio  ness  nor  for  envy  sparing, 
In  presence  of  them  all  forth  led  her  thence, 
All  looking  on,  and  like  astonished  staring. 

Yet  to  lay  hand  on  her  not  one  of  all  ti  em  during. 

She  oftm  prayed,  and  often  me  besought, 
Sometime  with  tendrr  teares  to  let  her  go, 
Sometime  with  witching  smiles  ;  but  yn.  for  nought 
That  ever  she  to  me  could  say  or  do, 
Could  she  her  wished  freedom  from  me  woo ; 
But  forth  I  led  her  through  the  temple  gate. 
By  which  I  hardly  passed  with  much  ado ; 
But  that  same  lady,  which  me  friended  late 

In  entrance,  did  me  also  friend  in  my  retreat 

IPENSEl 


ALL     NATURE     OANCKTH 

FIRST  you  see  fixt  in  this  huge  mirror  blue 
Of  trembling  lights  a  number  numberless. 
Fixtd  they  are  named,  but  with  a  name  untrue. 
For  they  all  move  and  in  a  dance  exprrss 
That  great  long  year  that  doth  contain  no  le&s 
Than  threescore  hundreds  of  those  years  in  all 
Which  the  Sun  makes  with  his  course  natural 

What  if  to  you  these  sparks  disordered  seem 
As  if  by  chance  they  had  been  scattered  there  ? 


362  ROMANCE 

The  gods  a  solemn  measure  do  it  deem, 
And  see  a  just  proportion  everywhere, 
And  know  the  points  where  first  their  movings  were; 
To  which  first  points  when  all  return  again, 
The  axle-tree  of  heaven  shall  break  in  twain. 

Under  that  spangled  sky  five  wand'ring  flames, 
Besides  the  King  of  Day  and  Queen  of  Night, 
Are  wheeled  around  all  in  their  sundry  frames, 
And  all  in  sundry  measures  do  delight, 
Yet  altogether  keep  no  measure  right ; 
For  by  itself  each  doth  itself  advance 
And  by  itself  each  doth  a  galliard  dance. 

And,  lo  !  the  sea  that  fleets  about  the  land, 
And  like  a  girdle  clips  her  solid  waist, 
Music  and  measure  both  doth  understand  ; 
For  his  great  crystal  eye  is  always  cast 
Up  to  the  moon,  and  on  her  fixed  fast  ; 

And  as  she  danceth  in  her  pallid  sphere, 
So  danceth  he  about  his  centre  here. 

Sometimes  his  proud  green  waves  in  order  set, 

One  after  other  flow  unto  the  shore, 

Which,  when  they  have  with  many  kisses  wet, 

They  ebb  away  in  order  as  before  ; 

And  to  make  known  his  courtly  love  the  more, 
He  oft  doth  lay  aside  his  three-forked  mace, 
And  with  his  arms  the  timorous  earth  embrace. 

Only  the  Earth  doth  stand  for  ever  still : 
Her  rocks  remove  not,  nor  her  mountains  meet : 
(Although  some  wits  enriched  with  Learning's  skill 
Say  heaven  stands  firm,  and  that  the  earth  doth  fleet, 
And  swiftly  turneth  underneath  their  feet) 

Yet  though  the  Earth  is  ever  stedfast  seen, 
On  her  broad  breast  hath  dancing  ever  been. 


ALL    NATURE    DANCETH  363 

For  those  blue  veins  that  through  her  body  spread. 
Those  sapphire  streams  which  from  grrat  hills  do 

spring, 

(The  Earth's  great  dugs  ;  for  every  wight  is  fed 
With  sweet  fresh  moisture  from  them  issu  ng) 
Observe  a  dance  in  their  wild  wandering  ; 

And  still  their  dance  beget*  a  murmur  sweet. 

And  still  the  murmur  with  the  dance  doth  meet. 


See  how  those  flowers  that  have  sweet  beauty  too. 
(The  only  jewels  that  the  earth  doth  wear 
When  the  young  Sun  in  bravery  her  doth  woo.) 
As  oft  as  they  the  whistling  wind  do  hear 
Do  wave  their  tender  bodies  here  and  there  ; 

And  though  their  dance  no  perfect  measure  is. 

Yet  oftentimes  their  music  makes  them  kiss. 


Lastly,  where  keep  the  Winds  their  revelry. 

Their  violent  turnings,  and  wild  whirling  hays,1 

But  in  the  Air's  tralucent  gallery  ? 

Where  she  herself  is  turned  a  hundred  ways 

While  with  those  maskers  wantonly  she  plays  ; 
Yet  in  this  misrule  they  such  rule  embrace, 
As  two  at  once  encumber  not  the  place. 

But  why  relate  I  every  singular  ? 
Since  all  the  world's  great  fortunes  and  affairs 
Forward  and  backward  rapt  and  whirled  are, 
According  to  the  music  of  the  spheres : 
And  Change  herself  her  nimble  feet  upbears 
On  a  round  slippery  wheel  that  rolleih  aye, 
And  turns  all  States  with  her  imperious  sway. 

DAY  its 
»  Dances. 


364  ROMANCE 


THE     GATES     OF     HELL 

AND  first  within  the  porch  and  jaws  of  hell 
Sat  deep  Remorse  of  Conscience,  all  besprent 
With  tears  ;  and  to  herself  oft  would  she  tell 
Her  wretchedness,  and  cursing  never  stent 
To  sob  and  sigh  ;  but  ever  thus  lament, 

With  thoughtful  care  as  she  that  all  in  vain 
Would  wear  and  waste  continually  in  pain. 

Her  eyes  unsteadfast,  rolling  here  and  there, 
Whirled  on  each  place,  as  place  that  vengeance 

brought, 

So  was  her  mind  continually  in  fear, 
Tossed  and  tormented  with  the  tedious  thought 
Of  those  detested  crimes  which  she  had  wrought ; 

With  dreadful  cheer,  and  looks  thrown  to  the 
sky, 

Wishing  for  death,  and  yet  she  could  not  die. 

When  fell  Revenge,  with  bloody  foul  pretence 
Had  shewed  herself,  as  next  in  order  set, 
With  trembling  limbs  we  softly  parted  thence 
Till  in  our  eyes  another  sight  we  met : 
When  from  my  heart  a  sigh  forthwith  I  fet, 
Rueing,  alas,  upon  the  woful  plight 
Of  Misery,  that  next  appeared  in  sight. 

His  face  was  lean  and  somedeal  pined  away, 
And  eke  his  hands  consumed  to  the  bone, 
But  what  his  body  was,  I  cannot  say, 
For  on  his  carcase  raiment  had  he  none 
Save  clouts  and  patches  pieced,  one  by  one ; 

With  staff  in  hand,  and  scrip  on  shoulders  cast, 
His  chief  defence  against  the  winter's  blast. 


THE   OATKS   OF    HELL  365 

His  food,  for  most,  was  wild  fruits  of  the  tree. 
Unless  sometimes  some  crumbs  fell  to  his  share. 
Which  in  his  wallet  long,  God  wot.  kept  he, 
As  on  the  which  full  daint'ly  would  he  fare  : 
His  drink,  the  running  stream  ;  his  cup,  the  bare 

Of  his  palm  closed  ;  his  bed,  the  hard  cold 
ground: 

To  this  poor  life  was  Mnery  y bound. 

Whose  wretched  state  when  we  had  well  beheld, 

With  tender  ruth  on  him  and  on  his  fears. 

In  thoughtful  cares  forth  then  our  pace  we  held  ; 

And  by  and  by,  another  shape  appears. 

Of  greedy  Cart,  still  brushing  up  the  breres. 

His  knuckles  knobb'd,  his  flesh  deep  denied  in, 
With  tawed »  hands,  and  hard  ytanned  skin. 

The  morrow  grey  no  sooner  hath  tx-gun 
To  spread  his  light,  even  peeping  in  our  c>es. 
When  he  is  up  and  to  his  work  >  run  : 
But  let  the  night's  black  misty  mantle  rise. 
And  with  foul  dark  never  so  much  disguise 

The  fair  bright  day,  yet  cease th  he  no  *  hile, 
But  hath  his  candles  to  prolong  his  toil 

By  him  lay  heavy  S/ttf.  the  cousin  of  Deatk, 
Flat  on  the  ground,  and  still  as  any  stone. 
A  very  corpse,  save  yielding  forth  a  breath : 
Small  keep  took  he,  whom  Fortune  frowneo  on, 
Or  whom  she  lifted  up  into  the  throne 

Of  high  renown  ;  but  as  a  living  death 
So,  dead  alive,  of  life  he  drew  the  breath. 

The  body's  rest,  the  quiet  of  the  heart, 
The  travail's  ease,  the  still  night's  fear  was  I.e. 
»  Hardened. 


366  ROMANCE 

And  of  our  age  in  earth  the  better  part  ; 
Reaver  of  sight,  and  yet  in  whom  we  see 
Things  oft  that  tide,  and  oft  that  never  be  ; 
Without  respect,  esteeming  equally 
King  Croesus'  pomp,  and  Irus'  poverty. 

SACKVILLE 


A     PROCESSION     OF     PEACE 

BEFORE  her  flew  Affliction  girt  in  storms, 
Gash'd  all  with  gushing  wounds,  and  all  the  forms 
Of  bane  and  misery  frowning  in  her  face  ; 
Whom  Tyranny  and  Injustice  had  in  chase  ; 
Grim  Persecution,  Poverty,  and  Shame  ; 
Detraction,  Envy,  foul  Mishap,  and  lame 
Scruple  of  Conscience  ;  Fear,  Deceit,  Despair  ; 
Slander  and  Clamour,  that  rent  all  the  air  ; 
Hate,  War,  and  Massacre,  uncrowned  Toil ; 
And  Sickness,  t'  all  the  rest  the  base  and  foil, 
Cre^  t  after  ;  and  his  deadly  weight  trod  down 
Wealth,  Beauty,  and  the  glory  of  a  Crown. 
These  usher' d  her  far  off ;  as  figures  given 
To  show  these  Crosses  borne,  make  peace  with 

heaven. 

But  now,  made  free  from  them,  rext  her  before, 
Peaceful  and  young,  Herculean  Silence  bore 
His  craggy  club  ;  which  up  aloft  he  held  ; 
With  which,  and  his  forefinger's  charm  he  still'd 
All  sounds  in  air  ;  and  left  so  free  mine  ears, 
That  I  might  hear  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
And  all  the  angels  singing  out  of  heaven  ; 
Whose  tunes  were  solemn  as  to  passion  given  ; 
For  now,  that  Justice  was  the  happ:ness  there 
For  all  the  wrongs  to  Right  inflicted  here, 


PARADISK  367 

Such  was  the  passion  that  Peace  now  put  on  : 
And  on  all  went ;  when  suddenly  was  gone 
All  light  of  heaven  before  us ;  from  a  wood, 
Whose  light  foreseen,  now  lost,  amazed  we  stood 
The  sun  still  gracing  us ;  when  now,  the  air 
Inflamed  with  meteors,  we  discovered  fair 
The  skipping  goat ;  the  horde's  flaming  mane ; 
ilaairtnil  and  trained  comets ;  stars  in  wane  ; 
The  burning  sword,  the  firebrand-flying  snake  ; 
The  lance ;  the  torch  ;  the  licking  fire  ;  the  drak 
And  all  else  meteors  that  did  ill  abode  ; 
The  thunder  chid  ;  the  lightning  leaped  abroad  : 
And  yet  when  Peace  came  in  all  heaven  was  cleat 
And  then  did  all  the  horrid  wood  appear. 
Whrre  mortal  dangers  more  than  leaves  did  grow 
In  which  we  could  not  one  free  step  In-slow, 
For  treading  on  some  murther'd  passenger 
Who  thither  was.  by  witchcraft,  forcrd  to  err  : 
Whose  (ace  the  bird  hid  that  loves  humans  best . 
That  hath  the  bugle  eyes  and  rosy  breast. 
And  is  the  yellow  Autumn's  nightingale. 


From   PARADISE    LOST   «W   PARADISE 
REGAINED 

PARADISE 

SOUTHWARD  through  Eden  went  a  river  large; 
And  now,  divided,  into  four  main  streams, 
Runs  diverse,  wandering  many  a  famous  realm 
And  country,  whereof  here  needs  no  account ; 
But  rather  to  tell  how.  if  An  could  tell. 
How  from  that  sapphire  fount  the  crisped  brooks. 
Rolling  ou  orient  pearl  and  sands  of  gold, 


368  ROMANCE 

With  mazy  error  under  pendent  shades 

Ran  nectar,  visiting  each  plant,  and  fed 

Flowers  worthy  of  Paradise,  which  not  nice  Art 

In  beds  and  curious  knots,  but  Nature  boon 

Poured  forth  profuse  on  hill,  and  dale,  and  plain, 

Both  where  the  morning  sun  first  warmly  smote 

The  open  field,  and  where  the  unpierced  shade 

Imbrowned  the  noontide  bowers  :  Thus  was  this  place 

A  happy  rural  seat  of  various  view  ; 

Groves  whose  rich  trees  wept  odorous  gums  and  balm, 

Others  whose  fruit,  burnished  with  golden  rind, 

Hung  amiable,  Hesperian  fables  true, 

If  true,  here  only,  and  of  delicious  taste  : 

Betwixt  them  lawns,  or  level  downs,  and  flocks 

Grazing  the  tender  herb,  were  interposed, 

Or  palmy  hillock  ;  or  the  flowery  lap 

Of  some  irriguous  valley  spread  her  store, 

Flowers  of  all  hue,  and  without  thorn  the  rose  : 

Another  side,  umbrageous  grots  and  caves 

Of  cool  recess,  o'er  which  the  mantling  vine 

Lays  forth  her  purple  grape,  and  gently  creeps 

Luxuriant ;  meanwhile  murmuring  waters  fall 

Down  the  slope  hills,  dispersed,  or  in  a  lake, 

That  to  the  fringed  bank  with  myrtle  crowned, 

Her  crystal  mirror  holds,  unite  their  streams. 

The  birds  their  quire  apply  :  airs,  vernal  airs, 

Breathing  the  smell  of  field  and  grove,  attune 

The  trembling  leaves,  while  universal  Pan, 

Knit  with  the  Graces  and  the  Hours  in  dance, 

Led  on  the  eternal  Spring.     Not  that  fair  field 

Of  Enna,  where  Proserpine  gathering  flowers, 

Herself  a  fairer  flower,  by  gloomy  Dis 

Was  gathered,  which  cost  Ceres  all  that  pain 

To  seek  her  through  the  world  ;  nor  that  sweet 

grove 
Of  Daphne  by  Orontes,  and  the  inspired 


tttLL  369 

Casialian  spring,  might  with  this  Paradise 
Of  Eden  strive ;  nor  that  Nyseian  isle 
Girt  with  the  river  Triton,  where  old  Cham, 
Whom  Gentiles  Amnion  call  and  Libyan  Jove, 
Hid  AmaJthea  and  her  florid  ton 
Young  Bacchus,  from  his  strpdame  Rbea's  eye  ; 
Nor  where  Abassin  kings  their  issue  guard. 
Mount  Aiuara. 


HELL 

FOUR  ways  they  flying  march,  along  the  bonks 

Of  four  infernal  rivers,  that  disgorge 

Into  the  burning  lake  their  baleful  streams  : 

Abhorred  Styx,  the  flood  of  deadly  hate 

Sad  Acheron,  of  sorrow,  black  and  deep  ; 

Cocytus,  named  of  lamentation  loud 

Heard  on  the  rueful  stream  ;  fierce  Ptilegeihon. 

Whose  waves  of  torrent  fire  inflame  with  rage. 

Far  off  from  these,  a  slow  and  silent  stream, 

Lethe,  the  river  of  oblivion,  rolls 

Her  watery  labyrinth,  whereof  who  drinks. 

Forthwith  his  former  state  and  being  forgrts, 

Forgets  both  joy  and  grief,  pleasure  and  |  ain. 

Beyond  this  flood  a  frozen  continent 

Lies  dark  and  wild,  beat  with  perpetual  storms 

Of  whirlwind  and  dire  hail,  which  on  firm  land 

Thaws  not,  but  gathers  heap,  and  ruin  seems 

Of  ancient  pile ;  or  else  deep  snow  and  ice. 

A  gulf  profound,  as  that  Serbonian  bog 

Betwixt  Damiata  and  Mount  Casius  old. 

Where  armies  whole  have  sunk  :  The  parching  air 

Burns  frore,  and  cold  performs  the  effect  of  fire. 

Thither  by  harpy-footed  furies  haled. 


370  ROMANCE 

At  certain  revolutions,  all  the  damn'd 

Are  brought ;  and  feel  by  turns  the  bitter  change 

Of  fierce  extremes,  extremes  by  change  more  fierce, 

From  beds  of  raging  fire,  to  starve  in  ice 

Their  soft  ethereal  warmth,  and  there  to  pine 

Immoveable,  infixed,  and  frozen  round, 

Periods  of  time,  thence  hurried  back  to  fire. 

They  ferry  over  this  Lethean  sound 

Both  to  and  fro,  their  sorrow  to  augment, 

And  wish  and  struggle,  as  they  pass,  to  reach 

The  tempting  stream,  with  one  small  drop  to  lose 

In  sweet  forgetfulness  all  pain  and  woe, 

All  in  one  moment,  and  so  near  the  brink  ; 

But  fate  withstands,  and  to  oppose  the  attempt 

Medusa  with  Gorgonian  terror  guards 

The  ford,  and  of  itself  the  water  flies 

All  taste  of  living  wight,  as  once  it  fled 

The  lip  of  Tantalus. 


SATAN    COMPARED 

( On  the  sea  of  fire, ) 

THUS  Satan,  talking  to  his  nearest  mate, 
With  head  uplift  above  the  wave,  and  eyes 
That  sparkling  blazed  ;  his  other  parts  besides 
Prone  on  the  flood,  extended  long  and  large, 
Lay  floating  many  a  rood  ;  in  bulk  as  huge 
As  whom  the  fables  name  of  monstrous  size, 
Titanian,  or  Earth-born,  that  warred  on  Jove  ; 
Briareos,  or  Typhon,  whom  the  den 
By  ancient  Tai  sus  held  ;  or  that  sea-beast 
Leviaihan,  which  God  of  all  his  works 
Created  hugest  that  swim  the  ocean  stream : 


SATAN    COMPARED  371 

Him,  haply,  slumbering  on  the  Norway  foam 

The  pilot  of  some  small  night-founder'd  skiff 

Deeming  some  island,  oft.  as  seamen  tell, 

With  fixed  anchor  in  his  scaly  rind 

Moors  by  his  side  under  the  lea,  while  night 

Invests  the  sea.  and  wished  morn  delays : 

So  stretched  out  huge  in  length  the  Arch -Fiend  lay. 


(Moving  to  tkt  skort.) 

He  scarce  had  ceased,  when  the  superior  Fiend 
Was  moving  toward  the  shore :  his  ponderous  shield 
Ethereal  temper,  massy,  large,  and  round. 
Behind  him  cast ;  the  broad  circumference 
Hung  on  his  shoulders  like  the  moon,  whose  orb 
Through  optic  glass  the  Tuscan  artist  views, 
At  evening  from  the  top  of  FesoU1. 
Or  in  Valdarno,  to  descry  new  lands. 
Rivers,  or  mountains,  in  her  spotty  globe. 
His  spear,  to  equal  which  the  ta'lest  pine. 
Hewn  on  Norwegian  hills,  to  be  the  mast 
Of  some  great  ammiral,  were  but  a  wand, 
He  walked  with,  to  support  uneasy  steps 
Over  the  burning  marie,  not  like  those  steps 
On  Heaven's  azure  ;  and  the  torrid  clime 
Smote  on  him  sore  besides,  vaulted  with  fire, 

(Amongst  kit  Itgioits.) 

He  above  the  rest 

In  shape  and  gesture  proudly  eminent, 
Stood  like  a  lower :  his  form  had  yet  not  lost 
All  her  original  brightness,  nor  appeared 
Less  than  archangel  ruined,  and  th'  excess 
Of  glory  obscured  :  as  when  the  sun,  new  risen, 
Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air 


372  ROMANCE 

Shorn  of  his  beams  ;  or  from  behind  the  moon, 
In  dim  eclipse,  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  nations,  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs. 

(Flying  to  Hell  gates.} 

Meanwhile,  the  Adversary  of  God  and  Man, 
Satan,  with  thoughts  inflamed  of  highest  design, 
Puts  on  swift  wings,  and  towards  the  gates  of  Hell 
Explores  his  solitary  flight :  sometimes 
He  scours 'the  right  hand  coast,  sometimes  the  left ; 
Now  shaves  with  level  wing  the  deep,  then  soars 
Up  to  the  fiery  concave  towering  high. 
As  when  far  off  at  sea  a  fleet  descried 
Hangs  in  the  clouds,  by  equinoctial  winds 
Close  sailing  from  Bengala,  or  the  isles 
Of  Ternate  and  Tidore,  whence  merchants  bring 
Their  spicy  drugs  ;  they,  on  the  trading  flood, 
Through  the  wide  Ethiopian  to  the  Cape, 
Ply  stemming  nightly  toward  the  pole  :  So  seemed 
Far  off  the  flying  Fiend. 

(His  encounter  with  Death.} 
So  spake  the  grisly  Terror,  and  in  shape, 
So  speaking  and  so  threatening,  grew  tenfold 
More  dreadful  and  deform.     On  the  other  side, 
Incensed  with  indignation,  Satan  stood 
Unterrified,  and  like  a  comet  burned, 
That  fires  the  length  of  Ophiuchus  huge, 
In  the  arctic  sky,  and  from  his  horrid  hair 
Shakes  pestilence  and  war.     Each  at  the  head 
Levelled  his  deadly  aim  :  their  fatal  hands 
No  second  stroke  intend  ;  and  such  a  frown 
Each  cast  at  the  other,  as  when  two  black  clouds, 
With  heaven's  artillery  fraught,  come  rattling  on 


SATAN    COMPARED  373 

Over  the  Caspian,  then  stand  front  to  front, 
Hovering  a  space,  till  winds  the  signal  blow 
To  join  their  dark  encounter  in  mid  air : 
So  frowned  the  mighty  combatants,  that  Hrll 
Grew  darker  at  their  frown :  so  matched  they  stood. 

(His  jottmty  tkrottgk  Chaos.) 

In  a  boggy  Syrtis,  neither  sea 
Nor  good  dry  land,  nigh  foundrrrd  on  he  fares,  x 
Treading  the  crude  consistence,  half  <  n  foot, 
Half  flying ;  behoves  him  now  loth  oar  and  sail. 
As  when  a  gryphon,  through  the  wilderness 
With  winged  course,  o'er  hill  or  moory  dale, 
Pursues  the  Arimospian,  who  by  stealth 
Had  from  his  wakeful  custody  purloined 
The  guarded  gold  :  So  eagerly  the  Fiend 
O'er  bog,  or  steep,  through  strait,  rough,  dense,  01 

rare, 

With  head,  hands,  wings,  or  feet,  pursues  his  wny 
And  swims,  or  sinks,  or  wades,  or  creeps,  or  flics. 
• 

But  glad  that  now  his  sea  should  find  a  shore. 

With  fresh  alacrity,  and  force  renewed, 

Springs  upward,  like  a  pyramid  of  fire, 

Into  the  wild  expanse ;  and,  through  the  shock 

Of  fighting  elements,  on  all  sides  round 

Environed,  wins  his  way  ;  harder  beset 

And  more  endangered,  than  when  Argo  passed 

Through  Bosporus,  betwixt  thejuttling  rocks; 

Or  when  Ulysses  on  the  larboard  shunned 

Charybdis,  and  by  the  other  whirlpool  sacred. 

So  he  with  difficulty  and  labour  hard 

Moved  on  :  with  difficulty  and  labour  he  ; 

But  now  at  last  the  sacred  influence 

Of  light  appears,  and  from  the  walls  of  Heavm 


374  ROMANCE 

Shoots  far  into  the  bosom  of  dim  night 
A  glimmering  dawn  ;  Here  Nature  first  begins 
Her  furthest  verge,  and  Chaos  to  retire 
As  from  her  outmost  works  a  broken  foe 
With  tumult  less,  and  with  less  hostile  din  ; 
That  Satan  with  less  toil,  and  now  witn  ease, 
Wafts  on  the  calmer  wave  by  dubious  light ; 
And,  like  a  weather-beaten  vessel,  holds 
Gladly  the  port,  though  shrouds  and  tackle  torn 
Or  in  the  emptier  waste,  resembling  air, 
Weighs  his  spread  wings,  at  leisure  to  behold 
Far  off  the  empyreal  Heaven,  extended  wide 
In  circuit,  undetermined  square  or  round, 
With  opal  towers  and  battlements  adorned 
Of  living  sapphire,  once  his  native  seat ; 
And  fast  by,  hanging  in  a  golden  chain, 
This  pendent  world,  in  bigness  as  a  star 
Of  smallest  magnitude  close  by  the  moon. 


(The  world  discovered  through  an  opening  in  tht 
outer  sphere.} 

As  when  a  scout, 

Through  dark  and  desert  ways  with  peril  gone 
All  night,  at  last  by  break  of  cheerful  dawn 
Obtains  the  brow  of  some  high-climbing  hill, 
Which  to  his  eye  discovers  unaware 
The  goodly  prospect  of  some  foreign  land 
First  seen,  or  some  renowned  metropolis 
With  glistering  spires  and  pinnacles  adorned, 
Which  now  the  rising  sun  gilds  with  his  beams : 
Such  wonder  seized,  though  after  heaven  seen, 
The  spirit  malign  ;  but  much  more  envy  seized, 
At  sight  of  all  this  world  beheld  so  fair. 
Round  he  surveys  (and  well  might,  where  he  stood 
So  high  above  the  circling  canopy 


SATAN    COMPARED  375 

Of  night's  extended  shade),  from  eastern  point 

Of  Libra  to  the  fleecy  star  that  bean 

Andromeda  far  oft  At 'antic  seas. 

Beyond  th*  horizon  :  then  from  pole  to  pole 

He  views  in  breadth,  and  without  longer  pause 

Downright  into  the  world's  first  region  throws 

His  flight  precipiunt.  and  winds  with  rase 

Through  the  pure  marble  air  his  oblique  way, 

Amongst  innumerable  stars,  that  shone 

Stars  disunt,  but  nigh  hand  seemed  other  worlds. 


(Em  court  ttr  with  Gabrirf*  forct  in  Par  ad  iff.) 
While  thus  he  spake,  the  angelic  squad' on  brig*  I 
Turned  fiery  red.  sharpening  in  mooned  ho  ns 
Their  phalanx,  and  began  to  hem  him  round 
With  ported  sprars.  as  thick  a»  when  a  held 
Of  Ceres  ripe  for  harvest  waving  bends 
Her  bearded  grove  of  ears,  which  way  the  wind 
Sways  them  ;    the  careful   ploughman  doubting 

stands, 

Lest  on  the  threshing-floor  his  hopeless  sheaves 
Prove  chaff.     On  the  other  side,  Satan,  alarmed, 
Collecting  all  his  might,  dilated  stood, 
Like  Teneriff  or  Atlas,  unremoved. 

(/n  tktform  of  a  strjxnt.) 
So  spake  the  enemy  of  mankind  enclosed 
In  serpent,  inmate  bad  !  and  toward  Eve 
Addressed  his  way :  not  with  indented  wave, 
Prone  on  the  ground,  as  since ;  but  on  his  rea-, 
Circular  base  of  rising  folds,  that  towered 
Fold  above  fold,  a  surging  maze  ;  his  head 
Crested  aloft,  and  carbuncle  his  eyes ; 
With  burnished  neck  of  verdant  gold,  erect 


37b  ROMANCE 

Amidst  his  circling  spires,  that  on  the  grass 
Floated  redundant :  pleasing  was  his  shape 
And  lovely  :  never  since  of  serpent-kind 
Lovelier ;  not  those  that  in  Illyria  changed 
Hermione  and  Cadmus  ;  or  the  god 
In  Epidaurus  ;  nor  to  which  transformed 
Ammonian  Jove  or  Capitoline,  was  seen  ; 
He  with  Olympias  ;  this  with  her  who  bore 

Scipio,  the  height  of  Rome. 
* 

He,  leading,  swiftly  rolled 
In  tangles,  and  made  intricate  seem  straight, 
To  mischief  swift.     Hope  elevates,  and  joy 
Brightens  his  crest ;  as  when  a  wandering  fire, 
Compact  of  unctuous  vapour,  which  the  night 
Condenses,  and  the  cold  environs  round, 
Kindled  through  agitation  to  a  flame, 
Which  oft,  they  say,  some  evil  Spirit  attends, 
Hovering  and  blazing  with  delusive  light, 
Misleads  the  amazed  night-wanderer  from  his  way 
To  bogs  and  mires,  and  oft  through  pond  or  pool ; 
There  swallowed  up  and  lost,  from  succour  far. 
So  glistered  the  dire  Snake. 


A     MAGICAL    PALACE 

ANON,  out  of  the  earth,  a  fabric  huge 

Rose  like  an  exhalation,  with  the  sound 

Of  dulcet  symphonies  and  voices  sweet. 

Built  like  a  temple,  where  pilasters  round 

Were  set,  and  Doric  pillars  overlaid 

With  golden  architrave ;  nor  did  there  want 

Cornice  or  frieze,  with  bossy  sculptures  graven  : 


A    MAGICAL    BANQUET  377 

The  roof  was  fretted  gold.     Not  Babylon. 
Nor  great  Alcairo,  such  magnificence 
Equalled  in  all  their  glories,  to  enshrine 
Bclus  or  Sera  pis,  their  gods ;  or  seat 
Their  kings,  when  Egypt  with  Assyria  strove 
In  wealth  and  luxury.    The  ascending  pile 
Stood  fixed  her  stately  height ;  and  straight  the 

doors 

Opening  their  braxen  folds,  discover,  wide 
Within,  her  ample  spaces,  o'er  the  smooth 
And  level  pavement :  from  the  arched  roof. 
Pendent  by  subtle  magic,  many  a  row 
Of  starry  lamps  and  blazing  cres<ets.  fed 
With  naphtha  and  asphaltus,  yielded  light 
As  from  a  sky. 


A    MAGICAL    BANQUET 

IN  ample  space  under  the  broadest  shade, 
A  table  richly  spread,  in  regal  mode, 
With  dishes  piled,  and  meats  of  nob'est  sort 
And  savour ;  beast  of  chase,  or  fowl  of  game, 
In  pastry  built,  or  from  the  spit,  or  boiled. 
Gris-amber-steamed  ;  all  fish,  from  sea  or  shore, 
Freshet  or  purling  brook,  of  shell  or  fin, 
And  exquisitest  name,  for  which  was  drained 
Pontus,  and  Lucrine  bay.  and  Afric  coasL 
And  at  a  stately  side-board,  by  the  wine 
That  fragrant  smell  diffused,  in  order  stood 
Tall  stripling  youths  rich  dad,  of  fairer  hue 
Than  Ganymcd  or  Hylas ;  distant  more 
Under  the  trees  now  tripped,  now  solemn  stood, 


3?8  ROMANCE 

Nymphs  of  Diana's  train,  and  Naiades 

With  fruits  and  flowers  from  Amalthea's  horn, 

And  ladies  of  the  Hesperides,  that  seemed 

Fairer  than  feigned  of  old  or  fabled  since 

Of  faery  damsels,  met  in  forest  wide 

By  knights  of  Logres,  or  of  Lyones, 

Lancelot,  or  Pelleas,  or  Pellenore. 

And  all  the  while  harmonious  airs  were  heard 

Of  chiming  strings,  or  charming  notes  ;  and  winds 

Of  gentlest  gale  Arabian  odours  fanned 

From  their  soft  wings,  and  Flora's  earliest  smells. 


A    VISION    OF    ROME    AND    ATHENS 

THE  city,  which  thou  seest,  no  other  deem 
Than  great  and  glorious  Rome,  queen  of  the  earth, 
So  far  renowned,  and  with  the  spoils  enriched 
Of  nations  ;  there  the  Capitol  thou  seest, 
Above  the  rest  lifting  his  stately  head 
On  the  Tarpeian  rock,  her  citadel 
Impregnable ;  and  there  mount  Palatine, 
The  Imperial  palace,  compass  huge,  and  high 
The  structure,  skill  of  noblest  architects, 
With  gilded  battlements  conspicuous  far, 
Turrets,  and  terraces,  and  glittering  spires  : 
Many  a  fair  edifice  besides,  more  like 
Houses  of  Gods  (so  well  I  have  disposed 
My  aery  microscope),  thou  may'st  behold, 
Outside  and  inside  both,  pillars  and  roofs, 
Carved  work,  the  hand  of  famed  artificers, 
In  cedar,  marble,  ivory,  or  gold. 
Thence  to  the  gates  cast  round  thine  eye,  and  see 
What  conflux  issuing  forth,  or  entering  in  ; 
Praetors,  proconsuls  to  their  provinces 


A    VISION    OF   ROME    AND    ATHENS      379 

Hasting,  or  on  return,  in  robes  of  state, 
Lictors  and  rods,  the  ensigns  of  their  power, 
Legions  and  cohorts,  turms  of  horse  and  wings  ; 
Or  embassies  from  regions  far  remote, 
In  various  habits,  on  the  Appian  road, 
Or  on  the  Emilian  ;  some  from  farthest  south, 
Syene,  and  where  the  shadow  both  way  falls, 
Meroe.  Nilotic  isle  ;  and,  more  to  west. 
The  realm  of  Bocchus  to  the  Black-moor  sea  ; 
From  the  Asian  kings,  and  Parthian  among  these  ; 
From  India,  and  the  goldrn  Chersonese. 
And  utmost  Indian  Isle  Taprobane, 
Dusk  faces  with  white  silken  turbans  wreathed  ; 
From  Gallia.  Gades,  and  the  British  west ; 
Germans,  and  Scythians,  and  Sarmatians,  north 
Beyond  Danubius  to  the  Tauric  pool. 


Look  once  more,  ere  we  leave  this  specular  mount, 

Westward,  much  nearer  by  south-west,  behold 

Where  on  the  yEgean  shore  a  city  stands. 

Built  nobly,  pure  the  air,  and  light  the  soil ; 

Athens,  the  eye  of  Greece,  mother  of  arts 

And  eloquence,  native  to  famous  wits 

Or  hospitable,  in  her  sweet  recess, 

City  or  suburban,  studious  walks  and  shades. 

See  there  the  olive  grove  of  Academe. 

Plato's  retirement,  where  the  Attic  bird 

Trills  her  thick-wai  bled  notes  the  summer  long ; 

There  flowery  hill  Hymettus,  with  the  sound 

Of  bees'  industrious  murmur,  oft  invites 

To  studious  musing;  there' Ilissus  rolls 

His  whispering  stream  :  within  the  walls,  then  vie* 

The  schools  of  ancient  sages ;  his.  who  bred 

Great  Alexander  to  subdue  the  world, 

Lyceum  there,  and  painted  Stoa  next ; 


38°  ROMANCE 

There  shalt  thou  hear  and  learn  the  secret  power 

Of  harmony  in  tones  and  numbers  hit 

By  voice  or  hand  ;  and  various  measured  verse, 

uiEolian  charms  and  Dorian  lyric  odes, 

And  his  who  gave  them  breath,  but  higher  sung, 

Blind  Melesigenes,  thence  Homer  call'd, 

Whose  poem  Phcebus  challenged  for  his  own  : 

Thence  what  the  lofty  grave  tragedians  taught 

In  Chorus  or  Iambic,  teachers  best 

Of  moral  prudence,  with  delight  received 

In  brief  sententious  precepts,  while  they  treat 

Of  fate,  and  chance,  and  change  in  human  life, 

High  actions  and  high  passions  best  describing  : 

Thence  to  the  famous  orators  repair, 

Those  ancient,  whose  resistless  eloquence 

Wielded  at  will  that  fierce  democratie, 

Shook  the  arsenal,  and  fulmined  over  Greece 

To  Macedon  and  Artaxerxes'  throne : 

To  sage  Philosophy  next  lend  thine  ear, 

From  Heaven  descended  to  the  low-roofed  house 

Of  Socrates  ;  see  there  his  tenement, 

Whom  well  inspired  the  oracle  pronounced 

Wisest  of  men  ;  from  whose  mouth  issued  forth 

Mellifluous  streams,  that  watered  all  the  schools 

Of  Academics  old  and  new,  with  those 

Surnamed  Peripatetics,  and  the  sect 

Epicurean  and  the  Stoic  severe. 

MILTON 


ANGELS 

i 

BESIDE  his  head  there  sat  a  fair  young  man 
Of  wondrous  beauty  and  of  freshest  years, 


ANGELS  3 

Whose  tender  bud  to  blossom  new  began. 
And  flourish  fair  above  his  equal  peer* : 
His  snowy  front,  curled  with  golden  hairs 
Lake  Phoebus'  face  adorned  with  sunny  rays, 
Divinely  shone ;  and  two  sharp  winged  shears 
Decked  with  diverse  plumes  like  painted  jays 
Were  fixeil  at  his  back  to  cut  his  airy  ways. 

Like  as  Cupido  on  Idaean  bill. 
When  having  laid  his  cruel  bow  away 
And  mortal  airows.  wherewith  he  doth  fill 
The  world  with  murdrous  spoils  and  bloody  prey, 
With  his  fair  mother  he  him  dights  to  play. 
And  with  his  goodly  sisters.  Graces  three : 
The  goddess,  pleased  with  his  wanton  play 
Suffers  herself  through  sleep  beguiled  to  be, 
The  whiles  the  other  ladies  mind  their  merry  glee 

•PENfEB 


II 

Nor  delay  d  the  winged  Saint 
After  his  charge  received  ;  but  from  among 
Thousand  celestial  Ardours,  where  he  stood 
Veiled  with  his  gorgeous  wings,  upspringing  light, 
Flew  through  the  midst  of  Heaven ;  the  angelic- 
quires, 

On  each  hand  parting,  to  his  speed  gave  way 
Through  all  the  empyreal  road  ;  till,  at  the  gate 
Of  Heaven  arrived,  the  gate  self-opened  wide 
On  golden  hinges  turning,  as  by  work 
Divine  the  sovran  Architect  had  framed. 
From  hence,  no  cloud,  or.  to  obstruct  his  sight, 
Star  interposed,  however  small,  he  sees, 
Noi  un conformed  to  other  shining  globes, 
Earth,  and  the  garden  of  God.  with  cedars  crowned 


382  ROMANCE 

Above  all  hills.     As  when  by  night  the  glass 

Of  Galileo,  less  assured,  observes 

Imagined  lands  and  regions  in  the  moon  : 

Or  pilot,  from  amidst  the  Cyclades 

Delos  or  Samos  first  appearing,  kens 

A  cloudy  spot.     Down  thither  prone  in  flight 

He  speeds,  and  through  the  vast  ethereal  sky 

Sails  between  worlds  and  worlds,  with  steady  wing 

Now  on  the  polar  winds,  then  with  quick  fan 

Winnows  the  buxom  air  ;  till,  within  soar 

Of  towering  eagles,  to  all  the  fowls  he  seems 

A  phoenix,  gazed  by  all  as  that  sole  bird, 

When,  to  enshrine  his  reliques  in  the  Sun's 

Bright  temple,  to  Egyptian  Thebes  he  flies. 

At  once  on  the  eastern  cliff  of  Paradise 

He  lights,  and  to  his  proper  shape  returns 

A  Seraph  winged  :  Six  wings  he  wore  to  shade 

His  lineaments  divine ;  the  pair  that  clad 

Each  shoulder  broad  came  mantling  o'er  his  breast 

With  regal  ornament  ;  the  middle  pair 

Girt  like  a  starry  zone  his  waist,  and  round 

Skirted  his  loins  and  thighs  with  downy  gold 

And  colours  dipped  in  Heaven  ;  the  third  his  feet 

Shadowed  from  either  heel  with  feathered  mail, 

Sky-tinctured  grain.     Like  Maia's  son  he  stood, 

And  shook  his  plumes,  that  heavenly  fragrance  filled 

The  circuit  wide. 

MILTON 


THE    GENIUS    OF    THE    WOOD 

FOR  know,  by  lot  from  Jove  I  am  the  Power 
Of  this  fair  wood,  and  live  in  oaken  bower, 


THE    GENIUS   OF   THE    WOOD  383 

To  nurse  the  saplings  tall,  and  curl  the  grove 
With  ringlets  quaint,  and  wanton  windings  wove. 
A"d  all  my  plants  I  save  from  nightly  ill 
Of  noisome  winds,  and  blasting  vapours  chill : 
And  from  the  boughs  brush  off  the  evil  dew. 
And  heal  the  harms  of  thwarting  thunder  blue. 
Or  what  the  cross  dire-looking  planet  smites, 
Or  hurtful  worm  with  canker'd  venom  bites. 
When  evening  grey  doth  rise.  I  fetch  my  round 
Over  the  mount,  and  all  Urn  hallowed  ground  ; 
And  early,  ere  the  odorous  breath  of  morn 
Awakes  the  slumbering  leaves,  or  tasvelktl  hoin 
Shakes  the  high  thicket,  haste  I  all  about, 
Number  my  ranks,  and  visit  every  sprout 
With  puissant  words,  and  murmurs  made  to  bit  si 
But  else  in  deep  of  night,  when  drowsiness 
Hath  locked  up  mortal  sense,  then  listen  I 
To  the  celestial  Syrens'  harmony, 
That  sit  upon  the  nine  infolded  spheres. 
And  sing  to  those  that  hold  the  vital  si. cars. 
And  turn  the  adamantine  spindle  round, 
On  which  the  fate  of  Gods  and  Mm  is  wound. 
Such  sweet  compulsion  doth  in  music  lie 
To  lull  the  daughters  of  Necessity. 
And  keep  unsteady  Nature  to  her  law, 
And  the  low  world  in  measured  motion  draw 
After  the  heavenly  tune,  which  none  can  hear 
Of  human  mould,  with  gross  unpurgcd  tar. 

MILTON 


FAIRY    SONGS 

WHERE  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I ; 
In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie : 


384  ROMANCE 

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, 


ii 
Come  unto  these  yellow  sands, 

And  then  take  hands  : 
Court'sied  when  you  have,  and  kissed 

The  wild  waves  whist, 
Foot  it  featly  here  and  there  ; 
And,  sweet  sprites,  the  burden  bear. 

Hark,  hark  !  Bowgh,  wowgh. 
The  watch-dogs  bark : 

Bowgh,  wowgh. 

Hark,  hark  !  I  hear 

The  strain  of  strutting  chanticleer 

Cry,  Cock-a-diddle-dow. 


Over  hill,  over  dale, 

Thorough  bush,  thorough  brier, 
Over  park,  over  pale, 

Thorough  flood,  thorough  fire, 
I  do  wander  everywhere, 
Swifter  than  the  moones  sphere ; 
And  I  serve  the  fairy  queen, 
To  dew  her  orbs  upon  the  green  • 
The  cowslips  tall  her  pensioners  be  ; 
In  their  gold  coats  spots  you  see ; 
These  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, 


QUBKN    MAS  385 

IV 

You  spotted  snakes,  with  double  tongue, 

Thorny  hedge-hogs,  be  not  seen  : 
Newts,  and  blind-worms,  do  no  wrong ; 
Come  not  near  oar  fairy  queen : 

Gbrstf 

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. 

SIIAKESPEABE 


QUEEN     MAB 

O,  THEN,  I  see,  queen  Mab  hath  been  with  you. 
She  is  the  fairies'  midwife ;  and  she  comes 
In  shape  no  bigger  than  an  agate-stone 
On  the  fore-finger  of  an  alderman. 
Drawn  with  a  tram  of  little  atomies1 
Athwart  men  s  noses  as  they  lie  asleep ; 
Her  waggon-spokes  made  of  long  spinners'  legs  : 
The  cover,  of  the  wings  of  grasshoppers ; 
The  traces  of  the  smallest  spider's  web ; 
The  collars,  of  the  moonshine's  wat'ry  beams : 
Her  whip,  of  cricket's  bone  ;  the  lash,  of  film  : 
Her  waggoner,  a  small  gray-coated  gnat, 
Her  chariot  is  an  empty  hazel-nut. 
Made  by  the  joiner  squirrel,  or  old  grub, 
Time  out  of  mind  the  fairies'  coach-makers. 
And  in  this  state  she  gallops  night  by  night 
Through  lovers'  brains,  and  then  they  Hr-am  of  love : 
On  courtiers'  knees,  that  dream  on  court'sies  straight 
1  Atoms. 


386  ROMANCE 

O'er  lawyers'  fingers,  who  straight  dream  on  fees : 
O'er  ladies'  lips,  who  straight  on  kisses  dream  ; 
Which  oft  the  angry  Mab  with  blisters  plagues, 
Because  their  breaths  with  sweetmeats  tainted  are. 
Sometimes  she  gallops  o'er  a  courtier's  nose, 
And  then  dreams  he  of  smelling  out  a  suit : 1 
And  sometimes  comes  she  with  a  tithe-pig's  tail, 
Tickling  a  parson's  nose  as  'a  lies  asleep, 
Then  dreams  he  of  another  benefice : 
Sometimes  she  driveth  o'er  a  soldier's  neck, 
And  then  dreams  he  of  cutting  foreign  throats, 
Of  breaches,  ambuscadoes,  Spanish  blades, 
Of  healths  five  fathom  deep  ;  and  then  anon 
Drums  in  his  ear  ;  at  which  he  starts,  and  wakes ; 
And,  being  thus  frighted,  swears  a  prayer  or  two, 
And  sleeps  again.     This  is  that  very  Mab, 
That  plats  the  manes  of  horses  in  the  night ; 
And  bakes  the  elf-locks2  in  foul  sluttish  hairs, 
Which  once  untangled,  much  misfortune  bodes. 

SHAKESPEARE 


DREAMS 

IF  there  were  dreams  to  sell 

What  would  you  buy  ? 
Some  cost  a  passing  bell ; 

Some  a  light  sigh, 
That  shakes  from  Life's  fresh  crown 
Only  a  rose-leaf  down. 
If  there  were  dreams  to  sell, 
Merry  and  sad  to  tell, 
And  the  crier  rang  the  bell, 

What  would  you  buy  ? 

1  A  place  in  court. 

2  Fairy-locks,  locks  of  hair  clotted  and  tangled  in  the  night. 


A    DREAM    OF    SPRING  387 

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. 

KDOOCk 


A     DREAM     OF    SPRING 

I  DREAMED  that  as  I  wandered  by  the  way 
Bare  Winter  suddenly  was  changed  to  Spring. 

And  gentle  odours  led  my  steps  astray. 
Mixed  with  a  sound  of  waters  murmuring 

Along  a  shelving  bank  of  turf,  which  Liy 
Under  a  copse,  and  hardly  dared  to  fling 

Its  green  arras  round  the  bosom  of  the  stream. 

But  kissed  it  and  then  fled,  as  Thou  mightest  in 
dream. 

There  grew  pied  wind-flowers  and  violets  ; 

Daisies,  those  pearled  Arcturi  of  the  earth. 
The  constellated  flower  that  never  sets  ; 

Faint  ozlips  ;  tender  blue-bells,  at  whose  birth 
The  sod  scarce  heaved  ;  and  that  tall  flower  that 

wets 

Its  mother's  face  with  heaven-collected  tears. 
When  the  low  wind,  its  playmate's  voice,  it  hears 

And  in  the  warm  hedge  grew  lush  eglantine. 

Green  cow-bind  and  the  moonlight-coloured  M..\ 
And  cherry-blossoms,  and  white  cups,  whose  wine 

Was  the  bright  dew  yet  drained  not  by  the  day  : 


388  ROMANCE 

And  wild  roses,  and  ivy  serpentine 

With  its  dark  buds  and  leaves,  wandering  astray ; 
And  flowers  azure,  black,  and  streaked  with  gold, 
Fairer  than  any  wakened  eyes  behold. 

And  nearer  to  the  river's  trembling  edge 

There  grew  broad  flag-flowers,  purple  prankt  with 
white, 

And  starry  river-buds  among  the  sedge, 
And  floating  water-lilies,  broad  and  bright, 

Which  lit  the  oak  that  overhung  the  hedge 

With  moonlight  beams  of  their  own  watery  light ; 

And  bulrushes,  and  reeds  of  such  deep  green 

As  soothed  the  dazzled  eye  with  sober  sheen. 

Methought  that  of  these  visionary  flowers 
I  made  a  nosegay,  bound  in  such  a  way 

That  the  same  hues,  which  in  their  natural  bowers 
Were  mingled  or  opposed,  the  like  array 

Kept  these  imprisoned  children  of  the  Hours 
Within  my  hand  — and  then,  elate  and  gay, 

I  hastened  to  the  spot  whence  I  had  come 

That  I  might  there  present  it— O  !  to  Whom? 

SHELLEY 


KUBLA     KHAN 

IN  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan 
A  stately  pleasure-dome  decree  : 
Where  Alph,  the  sacred  river,  ran 
Through  caverns  measureless  to  man 

Down  to  a  sunless  sea. 
So  twice  five  miles  of  fertile  ground 
With  walls  and  towers  were  girdled  round  ; 


KUBLA    KHAN  389 

And  there  were  gardens  bright  with  sinuous  rills 

Where  blossomed  many  an  incense-bearing  tree : 

And  here  were  forests  ancient  as  the  hills. 

Enfolding  sunny  spots  of  greenery. 

Hut  oh  !  that  deep  romantic  chasm  which  slanted 

Down  the  green  hill  athwart  a  oedorn  cover  1 

A  savage  place  I  as  holy  and  enchanted 

As  e'er  beneath  a  waning  moon  was  haunted 

By  woman  wailing  for  her  demon-lover ! 

And  from  this  chasm,  with  ceavlrM  turmoil 

seething, 

As  if  this  earth  in  fast  thick  pants  were  breathing 
A  mighty  fountain  momently  was  forced : 
Amid  whose  swift  half-intermitted  burst 
Huge  fragments  vaulted  like  rebounding  hail, 
Or  chaffy  grain  beneath  the  thresher's  flail : 
And  'mid  these  dancing  rocks  at  once  and 

ever 

It  flung  up  momently  the  sacred  river. 
Five  miles  meandering  with  a  mazy  motion 
Through  wood  and  dale  the  sacred  river  ran. 
Then  reached  the  caverns  measureless  to  man, 
And  sank  in  tumult  to  a  lifeless  ocean  : 
And  'mid  this  tumult  Kubla  heard  from  far 
Ancestral  voices  prophesying  war ! 

The  shadow  of  the  dome  of  pleasure 

Floated  midway  on  the  waves ; 

Where  was  beard  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  played. 


390  ROMANCE 

Singing  of  Mount  Abora  ! 

Could  I  revive  within  me 

Her  symphony  and  song, 

To  such  a  deep  delight  'twould  win  me, 
That  with  music  loud  and  long, 
I  would  build  that  dome  in  air, 
That  sunny  dome  !     Those  caves  of  ice  ! 
And  all  who  heard  should  see  them  there, 
And  all  should  cry,  Beware !  Beware  ! 
His  flashing  eyes,  his  floating  hair ! 
Weave  a  circle  round  him  thrice, 
And  close  your  eyes  with  holy  dread, 
For  he  on  honey-dew  hath  fed, 
And  drunk  the  milk  of  Paradise ! 

COLERIDGE 


LEWTI 
OR   THE   CIRCASSIAN   LOVE-CHAUNT 

AT  midnight  by  the  stream  I  roved, 
To  forget  the  form  I  loved. 
Image  of  Lewti !  from  my  mind 
Depart ;  for  Lewti  is  not  kind. 

The  Moon  was  high,  the  moonlight  gleam 

And  the  shadow  of  a  star 
Heaved  upon  Tamaha's  stream  ; 

But  the  rock  shone  brighter  far, 
The  rock  half  sheltered  from  my  view 
By  pendent  boughs  of  tressy  yew — 
So  shines  my  Lewti's  forehead  fair, 
Gleaming  through  her  sable  hair. 
Image  of  Lewti !  from  my  mind 
Depart ;  for  Lewti  is  not  kind. 


L1WTI 

I  taw  a  cloud  of  palest  hue. 

Onward  to  the  moon  it  passed  ; 
Still  brighter  and  more  bright  it  grew. 
With  floating  colours  not  a  few, 

Till  it  reached  the  moon  at  last : 
Then  the  cloud  was  wholly  bright, 
With  a  rich  and  amber  light ! 
And  so  with  many  a  hope  I  seek. 

And  with  such  joy  I  find  my  Lewti ; 
And  even  so  my  pale  wan  cheek 

Drinks  in  as  deep  a  flush  of  beauty  I 
Nay.  treacherous  image  !  leave  my  mind. 
If  Lewti  never  will  be  kind. 


The  little  cloud— it  floats  away, 

Away  it  goes ;  aw*y  so  soon? 
Alas  !  it  has  no  power  to  stay : 
Its  hoes  are  dim,  its  hues  are  grey — 

Away  it  passes  from  the  moon  I 
How  mournfully  it  seems  to  fly, 

Ever  fading  more  and  more, 
To  joyless  regions  of  the  iky — 

And  now  'tis  whiter  than  before  I 
As  white  as  my  poor  cheek  will  be, 

When,  Lewti !  on  my  couch  I  lie, 
A  dying  man  for  love  of  thee. 
Nay.  treacherous  image  I  leave  my  raind- 
And  yet,  thou  didst  not  look  unkind. 

Hush  !  ray  heedless  feet  from  under 
Slip  the  crumbling  banks  for  ever : 

Like  echoes  to  a  distant  thunder. 
They  plunge  into  the  gentle  river. 

The  river -swans  have  heard  my  tread, 

And  startle  from  their  reedy  bed. 


ROMANCE 

O  beauteous  birds  !  methinks  ye  measure 
Your  movements  to  some  heavenly  tune  ! 

0  beauteous  birds  !  'tis  such  a  pleasure 
To  see  you  move  beneath  the  moon, 

1  would  it  were  your  true  delight 
To  sleep  by  day  and  wake  all  night. 
I  know  the  place  where  Lewti  lies, 
When  silent  Night  has  closed  her  eyes  : 

It  is  a  breezy  jasmine-bower, 
The  nightingale  sings  o'er  her  head  : 

Voice  of  the  night !  had  I  the  power 
That  leafy  labyrinth  to  thread, 
And  creep,  like  thee,  with  soundless  tread. 
I  then  might  view  her  bosom  white 
Heaving  lovely  to  my  sight, 
As  these  two  swans  together  heave 
On  the  gently  swelling  wave. 

COLERIDGE 


LOVE 

ALL  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights, 
Whatever  stirs  this  mortal  frame, 
All  are  but  ministers  of  Love, 
And  feed  his  sacred  flame. 

Oft  in  my  waking  dreams  do  I 
Live  o'er  again  that  happy  hour, 
When  midway  on  the  mount  I  lay 
Beside  the  ruined  tower. 

The  moonshine  stealing  o'er  the  scene 
Had  blended  with  the  lights  of  eve ; 
And  she  was  there,  my  hope,  my  joy, 
My  own  dear  Genevieve  1 


LOVt  593 

She  leant  against  the  armed  man. 

The  statue  of  the  armed  knight ; 

She  stood  and  listened  to  my  lay 

Amid  the  lingering  light. 

Few  sorrows  bath  she  of  her  own. 
My  hope !  my  joy  !  my  Gcnevicvc  I 
She  loves  me  best,  whene'er  I  sing 
The  songs  that  make  her  grieve. 

I  played  a  soft  and  doleful  air, 
I  sang  an  old  and  moving  story— 
An  old  rude  song,  that  suited  well 
That  ruin  wild  and  hoary. 

She  listened  with  a  flitting  blush. 
With  downcast  eyes  and  modest  grace  . 
For  well  she  knew,  1  could  not  choose 
But  gaze  upon  her  face. 

I  told  her  of  the  Knight  that  wore 
Upon  his  shield  a  burning  brand  ; 
And  that  for  ten  long  years  he  wooed 
The  Lady  of  the  Land. 

I  told  her  how  he  pined  :  and  ah ! 
The  deep,  the  low,  the  pleading  tone 
With  which  I  sang  another's  love 
Interpreted  my  own. 

She  listened  with  a  flitting  blush. 
With  downcast  eyes,  and  modest  grace  ; 
And  she  forgave  me.  that  I  gazed 
Too  fondly  on  her  face. 


394  ROMANCE 

But  when  I  told  the  cruel  scorn 
That  crazed  that  bold  and  lovely  Knight, 
And  that  he  crossed  the  mountain  woods, 
Nor  rested  day  nor  night ; 

That  sometimes  from  the  savage  den, 
And  sometimes  from  the  darksome  shade, 
And  sometimes  starting  up  at  once 
In  green  and  sunny  glade, 

There  came  and  looked  him  in  the  face 
An  angel  beautiful  and  bright ; 
And  that  he  knew  it  was  a  Fiend, 
This  miserable  Knight ! 

And  that  unknowing  what  he  did, 
He  leaped  amid  a  murderous  band, 
And  saved  from  outrage  worse  than  death 
The  Lady  of  the  Land ; 

And  how  she  wept,  and  clasped  his  knees ; 
And  how  she  tended  him  in  vain  ; 
And  ever  strove  to  expiate 

The  scorn  that  crazed  his  brain. 

And  that  she  nursed  him  in  a  cave, 
And  how  his  madness  went  away, 
When  on  the  yellow  forest-leaves 
A  dying  man  he  lay  ; 

His  dying  words — but  when  I  reached 

That  tenderest  strain  of  all  the  ditty, 

My  faltering  voice  and  pausing  harp 

Disturbed  her  soul  with  pity  ! 


LOV1  395 

All  impulses  of  soul  and  sense 
H«d  thrilled  my  guileless  Genevieve; 
The  music  and  the  doleful  tale, 
The  rich  and  balmy  eve ; 

And  hopes,  and  fears  that  kindle  hope. 
An  undminguishable  throng, 
And  gentle  wfehes  long  subdued, 
Subdued  and  cherished  long  ! 

She  wept  with  pity  and  delight. 
She  blushed  with  love,  and  virgin  shame ; 
And  like  the  murmur  of  a  dream, 
I  heard  her  brrathe  my  name. 

Her  bosom  heaved — she  stept  aside, 
As  conscious  of  my  look  she  stept— 
Then  suddenly,  with  timorous  eye 
She  fled  to  me  and  wept. 

She  half  enclosed  me  with  her  arms, 
She  pressed  me  with  a  meek  embrace ; 
And  bending  back  her  bead,  looked  up. 
And  gazed  upon  my  face. 

Twas  partly  love,  and  partly  fear. 
And  partly  'twas  a  bashful  art 
That  I  might  rather  feel,  than  see, 
The  swelling  of  her  heart 

I  calmed  her  fears,  and  she  was  calm, 
And  told  her  love  with  virgin  pride  ; 
And  so  I  won  my  Genevieve, 

My  bright  and  beauteous  Bride. 

COLERIDGE 


396  ROMANCE 


THE    SOLITARY    REAPER 

BEHOLD  her,  single  in  the  field, 
Yon  solitary  Highland  lass  ! 
Reaping  and  singing  by  herself ! 
Stop  here,  or  gently  pass  ! 
Alone  she  cuts  and  binds  the  grain, 
And  sings  a  melancholy  strain  ; 

0  listen !  for  the  vale  profound 
Is  overflowing  with  the  sound. 

No  Nightingale  did  ever  chant 

So  sweetly  to  reposing  bands 

Of  travellers  in  some  shady  haunt, 

Among  Arabian  sands : 

A  voice  so  thrilling  ne'er  was  heard 

In  spring-time  from  the  Cuckoo-bird, 

Breaking  the  silence  of  the  seas 

Among  the  farthest  Hebrides. 

Will  no  one  tell  me  what  she  sings  ? 
Perhaps  the  plaintive  numbers  flow 
For  old,  unhappy,  far-off  things, 
And  battles  long  ago  : 
Or  is  it  some  more  humble  lay, 
Familiar  matter  of  to-day  ? 
Some  natural  sorrow,  loss,  or  pain, 
That  has  been,  and  may  be  again  ! 

Whate'er  the  theme,  the  maiden  sang, 
As  if  her  song  could  have  no  ending  • 

1  saw  her  singing  at  her  work, 
And  o'er  the  sicKle  Dending  : — 


THE    ANCfBNT    MAR  INF.  R  397 

I  listened  till  I  had  my  fill, 
And  when  I  mounted  up  the  hill. 
The  music  in  my  heart  I  bore. 
Ix>ng  after  it  was  heard  no  more. 

WORDSWORTH 


From  'THE  RIME  OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER 

O  he  Mariner  telU  bow  the  nhip  tailed  southward  with  a  good 
wind  and  fair  weather,  till  it  reached  the  Line.  The  »hip  drawn 
by  a  storm  toward  the  South  Pole.) 

AND  now  the  storm-blast  came,  and  Ite 
Was  tyrannous  and  strong ; 
He  struck  with  his  o'crtaking  wings. 
And  chased  us  south  along. 

With  sloping  masts,  and  dipping  prow, 

As  who  pursued  with  yell  and  blow 

Still  treads  the  shadow  of  his  foe, 

And  forward  bends  his  head. 

The  ship  drove  fast,  loud  roared  the  Mast, 

And  southward  aye  we  fled. 

And  now  there  came  both  mist  and  snow, 
And  it  grew  wondrous  cold  : 
And  ice,  mast  high,  came  floating  by, 
As  green  as  emerald. 

And  through  the  drifts,  the  snowy  chfts 
Did  send  a  dismal  sheen  : 
Nor  shapes  of  men  nor  beasts  we  k< 
The  ice  was  all  between. 


398  ROMANCE 


(Till  a  great  sea-bird  called  the  Albatross  came  through  the 
snow-fog,  and  proveth  a  bird  of  good  omen,  and  followeth  the 
ship  as  it  returned  northward  through  fog  and  floating  ice. 
The  Ancient  Mariner  inhospitably  killeth  the  pious  bird  of 
good  omen.  The  fair  breeze  continues,  the  ship  enters  the 
Pacific  Ocean,  and  sails  northward  till  it  reaches  the  Line. 
The  ship  hath  been  suddenly  becalmed.) 

The  fair  breeze  blew,  the  white  foam  flew, 

The  furrow  followed  free  ; 

We  were  the  first  that  ever  burst 

Into  that  silent  sea. 

Down  dropt  the  breeze,  the  sails  dropt  down, 
'Twas  sad  as  sad  could  be  ; 
And  we  did  speak  only  to  break 
The  silence  of  the  sea  ! 

All  in  a  hot  and  copper  sky, 
The  bloody  sun,  at  noon, 
Right  up  above  the  mast  did  stand, 
No  bigger  than  the  moon. 

Day  after  day,  day  after  day, 
We  stuck,  nor  breath  nor  motion ; 
As  idle  as  a  painted  ship 
Upon  a  painted  ocean. 

Water,  water,  everywhere, 
And  all  the  boards  did  shrink  ; 
Water,  water,  everywhere, 
Nor  any  drop  to  drink. 

The  very  deep  did  rot :  O  Christ ! 
That  ever  this  should  be  ; 
Yea,  slimy  things  did  crawl  with  legs 
Upon  the  slimy  sea. 


Til  P.    ANCIENT    MARINER  399 

About,  about,  in  red  and  rout. 
The  death-fires  danced  at  night ; 
The  water,  like  a  witch's  oils. 
Burnt  green  and  blue  and  white. 

And  some  in  dreams  assured  were 
Of  the  spirit  that  plagued  us  so : 
Nine  fathom  deep  he  had  followed  us 
From  the  land  of  mist  and  snow. 


(Death,  and  I .ife  in- Death,  have  diced  for  the  *hip'»  crew ;  and 
she  (the  latter)  winneth  the  Ancient  Mariner.  One  after  another 
his  shipmates  drop  down  dead  ;  but  Life-in- Death  begins  her 
work  on  the  Ancient  Mariner.  He  despiseth  iht  creatures  of 
the  calm  ;  and  envieth  that  they  should  live,  and  so  many  lie 
dead.) 

Alone,  alone,  all,  all,  alone, 
Alone  on  a  wide  wide  sea  ! 
And  never  a  saint  took  pity  on 
My  soul  in  agony. 

The  many  men,  so  beautiful  I 

And  they  all  dead  did  lie : 

And  a  thousand  thousand  slimy  things 

Lived  on  ;  and  so  did  I. 

I  looked  upon  the  rotting  sea 
And  drew  my  eyes  away  ; 
I  looked  upon  the  rotting  deck. 
And  there  the  dead  men  lay. 

1  looked  to  Heaven,  and  tried  to  pray ; 
But  or  ever  a  prayer  had  gusht, 
A  wicked  whisper  came,  and  made 
My  heart  as  dry  as  dust 


400  ROMANCE 

I  closed  my  lids,  and  kept  them  close.. 

And  the  balls  like  pulses  beat, 

For  the  sky  and  the  sea,  and  the  sea  and  the  sky 

Lay  like  a  load  on  my  weary  eye, 

And  the  dead  were  at  my  feet. 


(In  his  loneliness  and  fixedness,  he  yearneth  towards  the 
journeying  moon,  and  the  stars  that  still  sojourn  yet  still  move 
onward,  and  everywhere  the  blue  sky  belongs  to  them,  and  is 
their  appointed  rest,  and  their  native  country,  and  their  own 
natural  homes,  which  they  enter  unannounced,  as  lords  that 
are  certainly  expected,  and  yet  there  is  a  silent  joy  at  their 
arrival  By  the  light  of  the  moon  he  beholdeth  God's  creatures 
of  the  great  calm  ;  their  beauty  and  their  happiness.  He . 
blesseth  them  in  his  heart.) 

The  moving  moon  went  up  the  sky, 
And  nowhere  did  abide  ; 
Softly  she  was  going  up, 
And  a  star  or  two  beside. 

Her  beams  bemocked  the  sultry  main, 
Like  April  hoar-frost  spread  ; 
But  where  the  ship's  huge  shadow  lay, 
The  charmed  water  burned  alway 
A  still  and  awful  red. 

Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship 

I  watched  the  water-snakes  : 

They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white, 

And  when  they  reared,  the  elfish  light 

Fell  off  in  hoary  flakes. 

Within  the  shadow  of  the  ship 

I  watched  their  rich  attire  ; 

Blue,  glossy  green,  and  velvet  black, 

They  coiled  and  swam  :  and  every  track 

Was  a  flash  of  golden  fire. 


THR    ANCIENT    MARINER  40! 

O  happy  living  things  !  no  tongue 

Their  beauty  might  declare : 

A  spring  of  love  gushed  from  my  hrart, 

And  I  blest  them  unaware : 

Sure  my  kind  saint  took  pity  on  me 

And  I  blessed  them  unaware. 


(Th«  bodies  of  the  ihip'i  crew  arc  inspirited,  and  the  thip 
move*  oo  ;  but  not  by  the  soul*  of  the  men,  nor  by  demon*  of 
earth  or  middle  air,  but  by  a  bleued  troop  of  angelic  tpiriu, 
•em  down  by  the  invocation  of  the  guardian  taint.) 

For  when  it  dawned— they  dropped  their  arms. 
And  clustered  round  the  mast ; 
Sweet  sounds  rose  slowly  through  their  mouths 
And  from  their  bodies  passed. 

Around,  around,  flew  each  sweet  sound. 
Then  darted  to  the  sun  ; 
Slowly  the  sounds  came  back  again, 
Now  mixed,  now  one  by  one. 

Sometimes  a-dropping  from  the  sky 
I  heard  the  skylark  sing  ; 
Sometimes  all  little  birds  that  are 
How  they  seemed  to  fill  the  sea  and  air 
With  their  sweet  jargon  ing  ! 

And  now  'twas  like  all  instruments, 
Now  like  a  lonely  flute ; 
And  now  it  is  an  angel's  song. 
That  makes  the  heavens  be  mute. 

It  ceased  ;  yet  still  the  sails  made  on 

A  pleasant  noise  till  noon, 

A  noise  like  of  a  hidden  brook, 


4O2  ROMANCE 

In  the  leafy  month  of  June, 

That  to  the  sleeping  woods  all  night 

Singeth  a  quiet  tune. 

Till  noon  we  quietly  sailed  on, 
Yet  never  a  breeze  did  breathe : 
Slowly  and  smoothly  went  the  ship, 
Moved  onward  from  beneath. 

Under  the  keel  nine  fathom  deep, 
From  the  land  of  mist  and  snow, 
The  spirit  slid  ;  and  it  was  he 
That  made  the  ship  to  go. 
1  he  sails  at  noon  left  off  their  tune, 
And  the  ship  stood  still  also. 

But  soon  there  breathed  a  wind  on  me, 
Nor  sound  nor  motion  made  ; 
Its  path  was  not  upon  the  sea 
In  ripple  or  in  shade. 

It  raised  my  hair,  it  fanned  my  cheek, 
Like  a  meadow-gale  of  spring — 
It  mingled  strangely  with  my  fears, 
Yet  it  felt  like  a  welcoming. 

Swiftly,  swiftly,  flew  the  ship, 
Yet  she  sailed  softly  too  ; 
Sweetly,  sweetly,  blew  the  breeze — 
On  me  alone  it  blew. 

Oh  !  dream  of  joy  !  is  this,  indeed, 
The  lighthouse-top  I  see  ? 
Is  this  the  hill?  is  this  the  kirk  ? 
Is  this  mine  own  countree? 


THE    FINDING    OW   GERALDINE  403 

We  drifted  o'er  the  harbour-bar. 
And  I  with  sobs  did  pray— 
O  let  me  he  awake,  my  God  I 
Or  let  me  sleep  alway. 

The  harbour-bay  was  clear  as  glass. 
So  smoothly  it  was  strewn  ; 
And  on  the  bay  the  moonlight  lay. 
And  the  shadow  of  the  moon. 

The  rock  shone  bright,  the  kirk  no  less, 
That  stands  above  the  rock  : 
The  moonlight  sterpcd  in  silentness 
The  steady  weathercock. 

COUtllDGf 


CHRISTABEL 

THE    FINDING    OP    GERAI.DINE 

• 

Tis  the  middle  of  night  by  the  castle  clock 
And  the  owls  have  awakened  the  crowing  cock 

Tu— whit ! Tu— whoo! 

And  hark,  again  !  the  crowing  cock. 
How  drowsily  it  crew. 

Sir  Leoline.  the  Baron  rich, 

Hath  a  toothless  mastiff  bitch  ; 

From  her  kennel  beneath  the  rock 

She  maketh  answer  to  the  clock, 

Four  for  the  quarters,  and  twelve  for  the  houi ; 

Ever  and  aye,  by  shine  and  shower, 

Sixteen  short  howls,  not  over  loud  ; 

Some  say,  she  sees  my  lady's  shroud. 


404  ROMANCE 

Is  the  night  chilly  and  dark? 
The  night  is  chilly,  but  not  dark. 
The  thin  grey  cloud  is  spread  on  high. 
It  covers  but  not  hides  the  sky. 
The  moon  is  behind,  and  at  the  full ; 
And  yet  she  looks  both  small  and  dull. 
The  night  is  chill,  the  cloud  is  grey : 
'Tis  a  month  before  the  month  of  May, 
And  the  Spring  comes  slowly  up  this  way- 

The  lovely  lady,  Christabel, 

Whom  her  father  loves  so  well, 

What  makes  her  in  the  wood  so  late, 

A  furlong  from  the  castle  gate  ? 

She  had  dreams  all  yesternight 

Of  her  own  betrothed  knight ; 

And  she  in  the  midnight  wood  will  pray 

For  the  weal  of  her  lover  that 's  far  away. 

She  stole  along,  she  nothing  spoke, 
The  sighs  she  heaved  were  soft  and  low, 
And  naught  was  green  upon  the  oak, 
But  moss  and  rarest  mistletoe  : 
She  kneels  beneath  the  huge  oak  tree, 
And  in  silence  prayeth  she. 

The  lady  sprang  up  suddenly, 

The  lovely  lady,  Christabel ! 

It  moaned  as  near  as  near  can  be, 

But  what  it  is,  she  cannot  tell. — 

On  the  other  side  it  seems  to  be 

Of  the  huge,  broad-breasted,  old  oak  tree. 

The  night  is  chill ;  the  forest  bare  ; 
Is  it  the  wind  that  moaneth  bleak  ? 


THF    FINDING    OF    OF.R  M   DISK  405 

There  n  not  wind  enough  in  the  air 
To  move  away  the  ringlet  cud 
From  the  lovely  lady's  cheek- 
There  is  not  wind  enough  to  twirl 
The  one  red  leaf,  the  last  of  its  clan. 
That  dances  as  often  as  dance  it  can, 
Hanging  so  light,  and  hanging  so  high. 
On  the  topmost  twig  that  looks  up  at  the  sky. 


Hush,  beating  heart  of  Christahel ! 
Jesu,  Maria,  shield  her  well ! 
She  folded  her  arms  beneath  her  cloak , 
And  stole  to  the  other  side  of  the  oak. 
What  sees  she  there  ? 


There  she  sees  a  damsel  bright, 
Drest  in  a  silken  robe  of  white, 
That  shadowy  in  the  moonlight  shone  : 
The  neck  that  made  that  white  rol>  •  wan, 
Her  stately  neck,  and  arms  were  bare ; 
Her  blue-veined  feet  unsandallrd  were, 
And  wildly  glittered  here  and  there 
The  gems  entangled  in  her  hair. 
I  guess,  'twas  frightful  there  to  see 
A  lady  so  richly  clad  as  she — 
Beautiful  exceedingly  ! 

Mary  mother,  save  me  now  I 

(Said  Christabel.)  And  who  art  thou? 

The  lady  strange  made  answer  meet. 
And  her  voice  was  faint  and  sweet : — 
Have  pity  on  my  sore  distress, 
I  scarce  can  speak  for  weariness : 


406  ROMANCE 

Stretch  forth  thy  hand,  and  have  no  fear  ! 
Said  Christabel,  How  earnest  thou  here? 
And  the  lady,  whose  voice  was  faint  and  sweet, 
Did  thus  pursue  her  answer  meet : — 

My  sire  is  of  a  noble  line, 

And  my  name  is  Geraldine  : 

Five  warriors  seized  me  yestermorn, 

Me,  even  me,  a  maid  forlorn  : 

They  choked  my  cries  with  force  and  fright, 

And  tied  me  on  a  palfrey  white. 

The  palfrey  was  as  fleet  as  wind, 

And  they  rode  furiously  behind. 

They  spurred  amain,  their  steeds  were  white  : 

And  once  we  crossed  the  shade  of  night. 

As  sure  as  Heaven  shall  rescue  me, 

I  have  no  thought  what  men  they  be  ; 

Nor  do  I  know  how  long  it  is 

(For  I  have  lain  entranced,  I  wis) 

Since  one,  the  tallest  of  the  five, 

Took  me  from  the  palfrey's  back, 

A  weary  woman,  scarce  alive. 

Some  muttered  words  his  comrades  spoke  : 

He  placed  me  underneath  this  oak  ; 

He  swore  they  would  return  with  haste  ; 

Whither  they  went  I  cannot  tell— 

I  thought  I  heard,  some  minutes  past, 

Sounds  as  of  a  castle  bell. 

Stretch  forth  thy  hand  (thus  ended  she), 

And  help  a  wretched  maid  to  flee. 

Then  Christabel  stretched  forth  her  hand 
And  comforted  fair  Geraldine  : 
O  well,  bright  dame  !  may  you  command 
The  service  of  Sir  Leoline  ; 


THE    FINDING    OF    GKRAI.DINK  407 

And  gladly  our  Mout  chivalry 
Will  he  send  forth  and  frimd*  withal 
To  guide  and  guard  you  safe  and  free 
Home  to  your  noble  father  s  hall 

She  row :  and  forth  with  steps  they  pasted 

That  strove  to  be,  and  were  not.  fast. 

Her  gracious  stars  the  lady  blest. 

And  thus  spake  on  sweet  Chmtabel : 

All  our  household  are  at  rest, 

The  hall  as  silent  as  the  cell ; 

Sir  Leoline  is  weak  in  health, 

And  may  not  well  awakened  be, 

But  we  will  move  as  if  in  stealth. 

And  I  beseech  your  courtesy, 

This  night,  to  share  your  couch  with  me. 

They  crossed  the  moat,  and  ChristabeJ 

Took  the  key  that  fitted  well ; 

A  little  door  she  opened  straight, 

All  in  the  middle  of  the  gate  ; 

The  gate  that  was  ironed  within  and  without. 

Where  an  army  in  battle  array  had  marched 

out. 

The  lady  sank,  belike  through  pain, 
And  Christabel  with  might  and  main 
Lifted  her  up,  a  weary  weight. 
Over  the  threshold  of  the  gate : 
Then  the  lady  rose  again, 
And  moved,  as  she  were  not  in  pain. 

So  free  from  danger,  free  from  fear, 

They  crossed  the  court :  right  glad  they  were. 

And  Christabel  devoutly  cried 

To  the  Lady  by  her  side; 


408  ROMANCE 

Praise  we  the  Virgin  all  divine 

Who  hath  rescued  thee  from  thy  distress ! 

Alas,  alas !  said  -Geraldine, 

I  cannot  speak  for  weariness. 

So  free  from  danger,  free  from  fear, 

They  crossed  the  court :  right  glad  they  were. 

Outside  her  kennel  the  mastiff  old 
Lay  fast  asleep,  in  moonshine  cold. 
The  mastiff  old  did  not  awake, 
Yet  she  an  angry  moan  did  make  ! 
And  what  can  ail  the  mastiff  bitch  ? 
Never  till  now  she  uttered  yell 
Beneath  the  eye  of  Christabel. 
Perhaps  it  is  the  owlet's  scritch : 
For  what  can  ail  the  mastiff  bitch  ? 

COLERIDGE 


LA     BELLE    DAME     SANS     MERCI 

O  WHAT  can  ail  thee,  Knight-at-arms, 

Alone  and  palely  loitering  ? 
The  sedge  has  withered  from  the  lake, 

And  no  birds  sing. 

0  what  can  ail  thee,  Knight-at-arms  ! 
So  haggard  and  so  woe-begone  ? 

The  squirrel's  granary  is  full, 
And  the  harvest 's  done. 

1  see  a  lily  on  thy  brow 

With  anguish  moist  and  fever-dew, 
And  on  thy  cheeks  a  fading  rose 
Fast  withereth  too. 


LA    BF.I.T.E    DAUB    SANS    MBKC!  4 

I  met  a  bdy  in  the  meads. 

Full  beautiful— a  faery's  child, 
Her  hair  was  long,  her  foot  was  light. 

And  her  eyes  were  wild. 

I  made  a  garland  for  her  head. 

And  bracelets  too.  and  fragrant  zone ; 
She  looked  at  roe  as  she  did  love. 

And  made  sweet   noan. 

I  set  her  on  my  pacing  steed 
And  nothing  else  saw  all  day  long. 

For  sidelong  would  she  bend,  and  sing 
A  faery's  song. 

She  found  me  roots  of  relish  sweet. 

And  honey  wild  and  manna-dew. 
And  sure  in  language  strange  she  said 

I  love  thee  true. 

She  took  me  to  her  elfin  grot. 

And  there  she  wept,  and  sighed  full  sore, 
And  there  I  shut  her  wild  wild  eyes 

With  kisses  four. 

And  there  she  lulled  me  asleep. 

And  there  I  dreamed— Ah  woe  betide  ! 
The  latest  dream  I  ever  dream'd 

On  the  cold  hill's  side. 

I  saw  pale  Kings  and  Princes  too. 

Pale  warriors,  death-pale  were  they  all ; 
They  cried—  •  La  Belle  dame  sans  Mero 

Hath  theeta  thrall  I ' 


4TO  ROMANCE 

I  saw  their  starved  lips  in  the  gloam 
With  horrid  warning  gaped  wide, 

And  I  awoke,  and  found  me  here 
On  the  cold  hill's  side. 

And  this  is  why  I  sojourn  here 

Alone  and  palely  loitering ; 
Though  the  sedge  is  withered  from  the  lake 

And  no  birds  sing. 

KEATS 


From   HYPERION 
THE    FALL    OF    THE    TITANS 

DEEP  in  the  shady  sadness  of  a  vale 

Far  sunken  from  the  healthy  breath  of  morn, 

Far  from  the  fiery  noon  and  eve's  one  star, 

Sat  grey-haired  Saturn,  quiet  as  a  stone, 

Still  as  the  silence  round  about  his  lair ; 

Forest  on  forest  hung  about  his  head 

Like  cloud  on  cloud.     No  stir  of  air  was  there, 

Not  so  much  life  as  on  a  summer's  day 

Robs  not  one  light  seed  from  the  feathered  grass  ; 

But  where  the  dead  leaf  fell,  there  did  it  rest. 

A  stream  went  voiceless  by,  still  deadened  more 

By  reason  of  his  fallen  divinity 

Spreading  a  shade :  the  Naiad  mid  her  reeds 

Pressed  her  cold  finger  closer  to  her  lips. 

Along  the  margin-sand  large  footmarks  went, 

No  farther  than  to  where  his  feet  had  strayed, 

And  slept  there  since.     Upon  the  sodden  ground 

His  old  right  hand  lay  nerveless,  listless,  dead, 


THEFALLOFTHKTITANf  411 

Unsceptred  ;  and  his  realmless  eyes  were  closed  ; 
While  his  bowed  head  seemed  listening  to  the 

Earth. 

His  ancient  mother,  for  some  comfort  yet. 
It  seemed  no  force  could  wake  him  from  his  place  ; 
But  there  came  one,  who  with  a  kindred  hand 
Touched  his  wide  shoulders,  after  bending  low 
With  reverence,  though  to  one  who  knew  it  not. 
She  was  a  goddess  of  the  infant  world  ; 
By  her  in  stature  the  tall  Amazon 
Had  stood  a  pigmy's  height ;  she  would  have  ta  en 
Achilles  by  the  hair  and  bent  his  neck  ; 
Or  with  a  finger  stayed  Ixion's  wheel. 
Her  face  was  large  as  that  of  Memphian  Sphinx 
Pedestalled  haply  in  a  palace  court 
When  sages  looked  to  Egypt  for  their  lore. 
But  oh  I  how  unlike  marble  was  that  face  : 
How  beautiful,  if  sorrow  had  not  made 
Sorrow  more  beautiful  than  Beauty's  self. 
There  was  a  listening  fear  in  her  regard, 
As  if  calamity  had  but  begun ; 
As  if  the  vanward  clouds  of  evil  days 
Had  spent  their  malice,  and  the  sullm  rear 
Was  with  its  stored  thunder  labouring  up. 
One  hand  she  pressed  upon  that  aching  spot 
Where  beats  the  human  heart,  as  if  just  there. 
Though  an  immortal,  she  felt  cruel  pain  : 
The  other  upon  Saturn's  bended  neck 
She  laid,  and  to  the  level  of  his  ear 
Leaning  with  parted  lips,  some  words  she  spake 
In  solemn  tenour  and  deep  organ  tone. 


Meanwhile  in  other  realms  big  tears  were  shed. 
More  sorrow  like  to  this,  and  such  like  woe, 
Too  huge  for  mortal  tongue,  or  pen  of  scribe : 


ROMANCE 

The  Titans  fierce,  self-hid  or  prison-bound, 
Groaned  for  the  old  allegiance  once  more, 
And  listened  in  sharp  pain  for  Saturn's  voice. 
But  one  of  the  whole  mammoth-brood  still 

kept 

His  sovereignty  and  rule  and  majesty  ; 
Blazing  Hyperion  on  his  orbed  fire 
Still  sat,  still  snuffed  the  incense  teeming  up 
From  man  to  the  sun's  God  ;  yet  unsecure  ; 
For  as  among  us  mortals  omens  drear 
Fright  and  perplex,  so  also  shuddered  he — 
Not  at  dog's  howl,  or  gloom-bird's  hated  screech, 
Or  the  familiar  visiting  of  one 
Upon  the  first  toll  of  his  passing-bell, 
Or  prophesyings  of  the  midnight  lamp ; 
But  horrors,  portioned  to  a  giant  nerve, 
Oft  made  Hyperion  ache.     His  palace  bright, 
Bastioned  with  pyramids  of  glowing  gold, 
And  touched  with  shade  of  bronzed  obelisks, 
Glared    a    blood-red    through    all    its    thousand 

courts, 

Arches  and  domes  and  fiery  galleries  : 
And  all  its  curtains  of  Aurorian  clouds 
Flushed  angerly :  while  sometimes  eagles'  wings 
Unseen  before  by  Gods  or  wondering  men, 
Darkened  the  place :    and  neighing  steeds  were 

heard, 

Not  heard  before  by  Gods  or  wondering  men.    . 
Even  now,  while  Saturn,  roused  from  icy  trance, 
Went  step  for  step  with  Thea  through  the  woods, 
Hyperion,  leaving  twilight  in  the  rear, 
Came  slope  upon  the  threshold  of  the  west : 
Then,  as  was  wont,  his  palace-door  flew  ope 
In  smoothest  silence,  save  what  solemn  tubes 
Blown  by  the  serious  Zephyrs,  gave  of  sweet 
And  wandering  sounds,  slow-breathed  melodies 


THE    FALL    OF    THE    TITANS  413 

And  like  a  rose  in  vermeil  tint  and  shape. 
In  fragrance  soft,  and  coolness  to  the  eye, 
That  inlet  to  severe  magnificence 
Stood  full  blown,  for  the  God  to  enter  in. 

He  enter'd.  but  he  enter'd  full  of  wrath  ; 
His  flaming  robes  stream  d  out  beyond  his  heels, 
And  gave  a  roar,  as  if  of  earthly  fire. 
That  scared  away  the  meek  ethereal  Hours. 
And  made  their  dove-wings  tremble.     On  he 

flared, 

From  stately  nave  to  nave,  from  vault  to  vault, 
Through  bowers  of  fragrant  and  en  wreathed  light. 
And  diamond-paved  lustrous  long  arcades. 
Until  he  reach'd  the  great  main  cupola ; 
There  standing  fierce  beneath,  he  stampt  his  foot. 
And  from  the  basements  deep  to  the  high  towers 
Jarr'd  his  own  golden  region  ;  and  before 
The  quavering  thunder  thereupon  hod  ceased. 
His  voice  leapt  out,  despite  of  godlike  curb. 
To  this  result :  .  .  . 
'  Saturn  is  fallen,  am  I  too  to  fall? 
Am  1  to  leave  this  haven  of  my  rest. 
This  cradle  of  my  glory,  this  soft  clime. 
This  calm  luxuriance  of  blissful  light. 
These  crystalline  pavilions,  and  pure  fanes. 
Of  all  my  lucent  empire?    It  is  left 
Deserted,  void,  nor  any  haunt  of  mine. 
The  blaze,  the  splendour,  and  the  symmetry 
I  cannot  see — but  darkness,  death  and  darkness. 
Even  here,  into  my  centre  of  repose, 
The  shady  visions  come  to  domineer. 
Insult,  and  blind,  and  stifle  up  my  pomp. 
Fall  I— No,  by  Tellus  and  her  briny  robes ! 
Over  the  fiery  frontier  of  my  realms 
I  will  advance  a  terrible  right  arm, 


414  ROMANCE 

Shall  scare  that  infant  thunderer,  rebel  Jove, 
And  bid  old  Saturn  take  his  throne  again.' 
He  spake,  and  ceased,  the  while  a  heavier  threat 
Held  struggle  with  his  throat,  but  came  not 

forth  ; 

For  at  Hyperion's  words  the  Phantoms  pale 
Bestirr'd  themselves,  thrice  horrible  and  cold ; 
And  from  the  mirror'd  level  where  he  stood 
A  mist  arose,  as  from  a  scummy  marsh. 
At  this,  through  all  his  bulk  an  agony 
Crept  gradual,  from  the  feet  unto  the  crown, 
Like  a  lithe  serpent  vast  and  muscular 
Making  slow  way,  with  head  and  neck  convulsed 
From  over-strained  might.     Released,  he  fled 
To  the  eastern  gates,  and  full  six  dewy  hours 
Before  the  dawn  in  season  due  should  blush, 
He  breathed  fierce  breath  against  the  sleepy  portals, 
Clear'd  them  of  heavy  vapours,  burst  them  wide 
Suddenly  on  the  ocean's  chilly  streams. 
The  planet  orb  of  fire,  whereon  he  rode 
Each  day  from  east  to  west  the  heavens  through, 
Spun  round  in  sable  curtaining  of  clouds  ; 
Not  therefore  veiled  quite,  blindfold  and  hid, 
But  ever  and  anon  the  glancing  spheres, 
Circles,  and  arcs,  and  broad-belting  colure, 
Glow'd  through,  and  wrought  upon  the  muffling 

dark 

Sweet- shaped  lightnings  from  the  nadir  deep 
Up  to  the  zenith— hieroglyphics  old, 
Which  sages  and  keen-eyed  astrologers 
Then  living  on  the  earth,  with  labouring  thought 
Won  from  the  gaze  of  many  centuries  : 
Now  lost,  save  what  we  find  on  remnants  huge 
Of  stone,  or  marble  swart ;  their  import  gone, 
Their  wisdom  long  since  fled.     Two  wings  this 

orb 


THE    FALL   OF    THE    TITANS  415 

Possess"  d  for  glory,  two  fair  argent  wings. 

Ever  exalted  at  the  God's  approach  : 

And  now.  from  forth  the  gloom  their  plumo 

immense 

Rose,  one  by  one,  till  all  out-preaded  were  ; 
While  still  the  dazzling  globe  nwinum'd  eclipse, 
Awaiting  for  Hyperion's  command. 
Fain  would  he  have  commanded,  fain  took  throne 
And  bid  the  day  begin,  if  but  for  change*. 
He  might  not  :-•  No,  though  a  primeval  Gud : 
The  sacred  seasons  might  not  be  dioturb'd. 
Therefore  the  operations  of  the  dawn 
Stay'd  in  their  birth,  even  as  here  'tis  told. 
Those  silver  wings  expanded  sisterly. 
Eager  to  sail  their  orb  ;  the  porches  wide 
Open'd  upon  the  dusk  demesnes  of  night ; 
And  the  bright  Titan,  phtenzied  with  new  \\ocv 
Unused  to  bend,  by  hard  compulsion  bent 
His  spirit  to  the  sorrow  of  the  time ; 
And  all  along  a  dismal  rack  of  clouds. 
Upon  the  boundaries  of  day  and  night. 
He  stretch'd  himself  in  grief  and  radiance  faint. 
There  as  he  lay,  the  Heaven  with  it.s  stars 
Look'd  down  on  him  with  pity,  and  the  voice 
Of  Coelus,  from  the  universal  space, 
Thus  whisper'd  low  and  solemn  in  his  ear  : 
*  O  brightest  of  my  children  dear,  earth-born 
And  sk) -engender 'd,  Son  of  Mysteries 
All  unrevealed  even  to  the  powers 
Which  met  at  thy  creating ;  .  .   .   oh  !   brightest 

child  I 
Art  thou,  too.   near  such  doom  ?    vague  fear 

there  is: 

For  I  have  seen  my  sons  most  unlike  Gods. 
Divine  ye  were  created,  and  divine 
In  sad  demeanour,  solemn,  undisturb'd 


416  kOMANCfi 

Unruffled,  like  high  Gods,  ye  lived  and  ruled : 
Now  I  behold  in  you  fear,  hope,  and  wrath ; 
Actions  of  rage  and  passion  ;  even  as 
I  see  them,  on  the  mortal  world  beneath, 
In  men  who  die. — This  is  the  grief,  O  Son ! 
Sad  sign  of  ruin,  sudden  dismay,  and  fall ! 
Yet  do  thou  strive ;  as  thou  art  capable, 
And  canst  oppose  to  each  malignant  hour 
Ethereal  presence  : — I  am  but  a  voice  ; 
My  life  is  but  the  life  of  winds  and  tides, 
No  more  than  winds  and  tides  can  I  avail : 
But  thou  canst.     Be  thou  therefore  in  the  van 
Of  circumstance  ;  yea,  seize  the  arrow's  barb 
Before  the  tense  string  murmur. — To  the  earth  ! 
For  there  thou  wilt  find  Saturn,  and  his  woes. 
Meantime  I  will  keep  watch  on  thy  bright  sun 
And  of  thy  seasons  be  a  careful  nurse.' 
Ere  half  this  region-whisper  had  come  down, 
Hyperion  arose,  and  on  the  stars 
Lifted  his  curved  lids,  and  kept  them  wide 
Until  it  ceased  ;  and  still  he  kept  them  wide  : 
And  still  they  were  the  same  bright,  patient  stars. 
Then  with  a  slow  incline  of  his  broad  breast, 
Like  to  a  diver  in  the  pearly  seas, 
Forward  he  stoop'd  over  the  airy  shore, 
And  plunged  all  noiseless  into  the  deep  night. 

KEATS 


From  PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND 
LIFE    OF    LIFE 

LIFE  of  Life  !  Thy  lips  enkindle 

With  their  love  the  breath  between  them  ; 
And  thy  smiles  before  they  dwindle 

Make  the  cold  air  fire  ;  then  screen  them 


LIFE    OP    LIFE  417 


Tn  those  locks,  where  whoso  gates 
Faints,  entangled  in  their  mazes. 

Child  of  Light  1  Thy  limbs  are  burning 
Through  the  veil  which  seems  to  hide  them, 

As  the  radiant  lines  of  morning 
Through  thin  clouds,  ere  they  divide  them ; 

And  this  atmosphere  divinest 

Shrouds  thee  wheresoe'er  thou  shincst. 

Fair  are  others  :  none  behold*  thee  ; 

But  thy  voice  sounds  low  and  tender 
Like  the  fairest,  for  it  folds  thee 

From  the  sight,  that  liquid  splendour ; 
And  all  feel,  yet  see  thee  never.— 
As  I  feel  now,  lost  for  ever  ! 

Lamp  of  Karth  I  where'er  thou  movest 
Its  dim  shapes  are  clad  with  Imghtii'M, 

And  the  souls  of  whom  thou  lovest 
Walk  upon  the  winds  with  lightness 

Till  they  fail,  as  1  am  failing. 

Dizzy,  lost,  yet  un bewailing  I 


CHORUS    OF    SPIRITS    OP    THE    MIND 
( To  Prowittktta) 

FROM  unremembered  ages  we 
Gentle  guides  and  guardians  l»e 
Of  Heavcn-oppress'd  M  rtality. 
And  we  br rathe  and  sicken  not 
The  atmosphere  of  human  thought : 
Re  it  dim  and  dank  and  grey 
Like  a  storm-extinguish'd  day 
ao 


ROMANCE 

Travell'd  o'er  by  dying  gleams  ; 

Be  it  bright  as  all  between 
Cloudless  skies  and  windless  streams, 

Silent,  liquid  and  serene. 
As  the  birds  within  the  wind, 

As  the  fish  within  the  wave, 
As  the  thoughts  of  man's  own  mind 

Float  through  all  above  the  grave : 
We  make  there  our  liquid  lair, 
Voyaging  cloudlike  and  unpent 
Through  the  boundless  element. 
Thence  we  bear  the  prophecy 
Which  begins  and  ends  in  thee. 

First  Spirit 

On  a  battle-trumpet's  blast 

I  fled  hither,  fast,  fast,  fast, 

Mid  the  darkness  upward  cast. 

From  the  dust  of  creeds  outworn, 

From  the  tyrant's  banner  torn, 

Gathering  round  me,  onward  borne, 

There  was  mingled  many  a  cry — 

'  Freedom  ! '  '  Hope  ! '  '  Death  ! '   '  Victory  ! ' 

Till  they  faded  through  the  sky. 

And  one  sound,  above,  around, 

One  sound,  beneath,  around,  above, 

Was  moving,  'twas  the  Soul  of  Love  ; 

'Twas  the  hope,  the  prophecy, 

Which  begins  and  ends  in  thee. 

Second  Spirit 

A  rainbow's  arch  stood  on  the  sea 
Which  rocked  beneath,  immovably  ; 
And  the  triumphant  storm  did  flee, 
Like  a  conqueror,  swift  and  proud, 


CHORUS    OF    SPIRITS    OP    THE    MIND      4?0 

Between,  with  many  a  captive  cloiid. 

A  shapeless,  dark,  and  rapid  crowd. 

Each  by  lightning  riven  in  half. 

1  heard  the  thunder  hoarsely  laugh  ; 

Mighty  fleets  were  strewn  like  chaff, 

And  spread  beneath,  a  hell  of  death. 

O'er  the  white  waters.     I  alit 

On  a  great  ship  lightning-split ; 

And  speeded  h-ther  on  the  sigh 

Of  one  who  gave  an  enemy 

His  plank,  then  plunged  asid-  to  die. 

Third  Spirit 

I  sate  beside  a  Sage's  bed 
And  the  lamp  was  burning  red 
Near  the  book  where  he  hj»d  fed  ; 
When  a  Dream  with  plumes  of  flame 
To  his  pillow  hovering  came. 
And  1  knew  it  was  the  same 
Which  bad  kindled  long  ago 
Pity,  eloquence,  and  woe  ; 
And  the  world  awhile  below 
Wore  the  shade  its  lustre  made. 
It  has  borne  me  here  as  fleet 
As  Desire's  lightning  feet  : 
1  roust  ride  it  back  ere  morrow. 
Or  the  Sa*e  will  wake  in  sorrow. 

Fourth  Spirit 
On  a  poet's  lips  I  slept. 
Dreaming  like  a  love-ad'pt 
In  the  sound  his  breathing  kept 
Nor  seeks  nor  finds  he  mortal  blisses. 
But  feeds  on  the  aerial  kisses 
Of  shapes  that  haunt  thought's  wildernesses. 


420  ROMANCE 

He  will  watch  from  dawn  to  gloom 
The  lake-reflected  sun  illume 
The  yellow  bees  in  the  ivy-bloom, 
Nor  heed  nor  see  what  things  they  be, 
But  from  these  create  he  can 
Forms  more  real  than  living  man, 
Nurslings  of  immortality. 
One  of  these  awaken'd  me 
And  I  sped  to  succour  thee. 

Chorus  of  Spirits 
Hast  thou  beheld  the  form  of  Love  ? 

Fifth  Spirit 

As  over  wide  dominions 
I  sped,  like  some  swift  cloud  that  wings  the  wide  air's 

wildernesses, 
That  planet-crested  shape  swept  by  on  lightning-braided 

pinions, 
Scattering  the  liquid  joy  of  life  from  his  ambrosial 

tresses : 
His  footsteps  paved  the  world  with  light.     But  as  I 

passed,  'twas  fading, 
And  hollow  ruin  yawn'd  behind :  great  sages  bound 

in  madness, 
And  headless  patriots,  and   pale  youths  who  perish'd 

unupbraiding, 
Gleam'd  in  the  night.       I  wander'd  o'er,  till  thou, 

O  King  of  Sadness, 

Turn'st  by  thy  smile  the  worst  I  saw  to  recollected 
gladness. 

Sixth  Spirit 

Ah  sister,  Desolation  is  a  delicate  thing : 
Jt  walks  not  on  the  earth,  it  floats  not  on  the  air, 


CHORUS    OF    SPIRITS    OF    T  II  K    MINI)       431 

Rut  treads  with   killing  footstep,  and  fans  with  silent 

wing 
The  tender  hopes  which  in  their  hearts  the  best  and 

gentlest  bear; 
Who  soothed  to  fal*c  repose  by  the  fanning  plumes 

above, 

And  the  music-stirring  motion  of  its  soft  and  busy  feet, 
Dream  visions  of  aerial  joy,  and  call  the  monster  1  x>ve, 
And  wake,  and  hod  the  shadow  Pain,  as  he  whom 
now  we  greet. 

Ckorut 

Though  Ruin  now  Love's  shadow  be. 
Following  him  destroying  ly 

On  Death's  white  and  winged  steed, 
Which  the  fleetest  cannot  flee, 

Trampling  down  both  flower  and  weed, 
Man  and  beast,  and  foul  and  fair, 
Like  a  tempest  through  the  air  ; 
Thou  shall  quell  this  horseman  grim. 
Woundlcss  though  in  heart  and  limb. 


Spirits  I  bow  know  ye  this  shall  be  t 

Cktrus 

In  the  atmosphere  we  breathe 
(As  buds  grow  red  when  the  snow  -storms  flee 

From  Spring  gathering  up  beneath, 
Whose  mild  winds  shake  the  elder-brake, 
And  the  wandering  herdsmen  know 
That  the  white-thorn  soon  will  blow) 
Wisdom,  Justice,  Love,  and  Peace, 
When  they  struggle  to  increase, 


422  ROMANCE 

Are  to  us  as  soft  winds  be 

To  shepherd  boys,  the  prophecy 

Which  begins  and  ends  in  thee. 

SHELLEY 


WHEN  the  world  is  burning, 
Fired  within,  yet  turning 

Round  with  face  unscathed, — 
Ere  fierce  flames,  uprushing, 
O'er  all  lands  leap,  crushing, 

Till  earth  fall,  fire-swathed  ; 
Up  amidst  the  meadows, 
Gently  through  the  shadows, 

Gentle  flames  will  glide, 
Small  and  blue  and  golden  : 
Though  by  bard  beholden 
When  in  calm  dreams  folden, 

Calm  his  dreams  will  bide. 

Where  the  dance  is  sweeping, 
Through  the  greensward  peeping 

Shall  the  soft  lights  start ; 
Laughing  maids,  unstaying, 
Deeming  it  trick-playing, 
High  their  robes  upswaying, 

O'er  the  lights  shall  dart  ; 
And  the  woodland  haunter 
Shall  not  cease  to  saunter 

When,  far  down  some  glade, 
Of  the  great  world's  burning 
One  soft  flame  upturning, 
Seems,  to  his  discerning, 

Crocus  in  the  shade. 

EBENEZER  JONES 


NATUK1' 


Paradise,  and  Groves 

Elysian,  Fortunate  Fields— why  should  they  be 
A  history  only  of  departed  things, 
Or  a  mere  fiction  of  what  never  was  ? 
For  the  discerning  intellect  of  Man, 
When  wedded  to  this  goodly  Universe 
In  love  and  holy  passion,  shall  fina  these 
A  simple  produce  of  the  common  day. 

Wordsworth 


THF   SUH 

THE  golden  sun,  in  splendour  likest  Heaven. 
Aloof  the  vulgar  constellations  thick, 
That  from  his  lordly  eye  keep  distance  due, 
Dispenses  light  from  far ;  they,  as  they  move 
Their  starry  dance  in  numbers  that  compute 
Days,  months,  and  yean,  towards  his  all-cheering 

lamp 

Turn  swift  their  various  motions,  or  are  turn'd 
By  his  magnetic  beam,  that  gently  warms 
The  universe,  and  to  each  inward  part 
With  gentle  penetration,  though  unseen. 
Shoots  invisible  virtue  even  to  the  deep ; 
So  wondrously  was  set  his  station  bright, 
Compared  with  aught  on  earth,  metal  or  stone  ; 
Not  all  parts  like,  but  all  alike  inform'd 
With  radiant  light,  as  glowing  iron  with  fire ; 
If  metal,  part  seem'd  gold,  pan  silver  clear  ; 
If  stone,  carbuncle  most  or  chrysolite. 
Ruby  or  topaz,  to  the  twelve  that  shone 
In  Aaron's  breastplate,  and  a  stone  besides 
Imagined  rather  oft  than  elsewhere  seen, 
That  stone,  or  Ukt-  to  that  which  here  below 
Philosophers  in  vain  so  long  have  sought. 
In  vain,  though  by  their  powerful  art  they  bind 
Volatile  Hermes,  and  call  up  unbound 
In  various  shapes  old  Proteus  from  the  sea. 
Drain'd  through  a  lurbec  to  his  native  form. 


426  NATURE 

What  wonder  then  if  fields  and  regions  here 
Breathe  forth  Elixir  pure,  and  rivers  run 
Potable  gold,  when  with  one  virtuous  touch 
The  archchymic  sun,  so  far  from  us  remote, 
Produces,  with  terrestrial  humour  mix'd, 
Here  in  the  dark  so  many  precious  things 
Of  colour  glorious,  and  effect  so  rare? 

MILTON 


HYMN    TO    LIGHT 

WHEN,  goddess,  thou  lift'st  up  thy  waken'd  head 

Out  of  the  morning's  purple  bed, 

Thy  quire  of  birds  about  thee  play, 
And  all  the  joyful  world  salutes  the  rising  day. 

At  thy  appearance,  grief  itself  is  said 

To  shake  his  wings  and  rouse  his  head, 
And  cloudy  cate  has  often  took 

A  gentle  beamy  smile  reflected  from  thy  look. 

At  thy  appearance,  fear  itself  grows  bold  ; 

Thy  sunshine  melts  away  his  cold. 

Encouraged  at  the  sight  of  thee. 
To  the  cheek  colour  comes,  and  firmness  to  the  knee. 

Thou  Scythian-like  dost  round  thy  lands  above 

The  Sun's  gilt  tent  for  ever  move, 

And  still  as  thou  in  pomp  dost  go, 
The  shining  pageants  of  the  world  attend  thy  show. 

All  the  world's  bravery  that  delights  our  eyes 
Is  but  thy  several  liveries, 
Thou  the  rich  dye  on  them  bestowest, 

Thy  nimble  pencil  paints  this  landscape  as  thou  goest. 


HYMN    TO    LIGHT  427 

A  crimson  garment  in  the  rose  thou  wear's!  ; 

A  crown  of  studded  gold  thou  bear 'si. 

The  virgin  lilies  in  their  white 
Are  clad  but  with  the  lawn  of  almost  naked  light ! 

Thou  in  the  moon's  bright  chariot  proud  and  gay 

Dost  thy  bright  wood  of  stars  survey  ; 

And  all  the  year  dost  with  thee  bring 
Of  thousand  flowery  lights  thine  own  nocturnal  spring. 

Nor  amidst  all  these  triumphs  dost  thou  scorn 

The  humble  glow-worms  to  adom, 

And  with  those  living  spangles  gild 
(O  greatness  without  pride  !)  the  bmhes  of  the  field. 

COW  LEY 


DAWN 

THE  busy  larke,  ineisager  of  day, 
Salueth  in  her  song  the  morrow  gray. 
And  fiery  Phoebus  riseth  up  so  bright 
That  all  the  orient  laughcth  of  the  light, 
And  with  his  streamed  drieth  in  the  grcves ' 
The  silver  dropcs  banging  on  the  leaves. 

CHAUCER 


BY  this  the  Northern  waggoner  had  set 
His  sevenfold  team  behind  the  stcdfast  star 
That  was  in  ocean  waves  yet  never  wet, 
But  firm  is  fixt,  and  sendeth  light  from  far 

1  Grove*. 


428  NATURE 

To  all  that  in  the  wide  deep  wand'ring  are  ; 
And  cheerful  Chanticlere  with  his  note  shrill 
Had  warned  once  that  Phoebus'  fiery  car 
In  haste  was  climbing  up  the  Eastern  hill 
Full  envious  that  Night  so  long  his  room  did  fill. 

SPENSER 


BEAUTIES     OF     THE     MORNING 

THE  sun,  when  he  hath  spread  his  rays, 

And  showed  his  face  ten  thousand  ways, 

Ten  thousand  things  do  then  begin 

To  show  the  life  that  they  are  in  : 

The  heaven  shows  lively  art  and  hue 

Of  sundry  shapes  and  colours  new, 

And  laughs  upon  the  earth  ;  anon 

The  earth,  as  cold  as  any  stone, 

Wet  in  the  tears  of  her  own  kind, 

"Gins  then  to  take  a  joyful  mind  : 

For  well  she  feels  that  out  and  out 

The  sun  doth  warm  her  round  about, 

And  dries  her  children  tenderly, 

And  shows  them  forth  full  orderly. 

The  mountains  high,  and  how  they  stand  ! 

The  valleys,  and  the  great  main  land  ! 

The  trees,  the  herbs,  the  towers  strong, 

The  castles,  and  the  rivers  long  ! 

The  hunter  then  sounds  out  his  horn, 

And  rangeth  straight  through  wood  and  corn. 

On  hills  then  show  the  ewe  and  lamb, 

And  every  young  one  with  his  dam. 

Then  lovers  walk  and  tell  their  tale 

Both  of  their  bliss  and  of  their  bale. 


EVENING  429 

Then  tune  the  birds  their  harmony  . 
Then  flock  the  fowls  in  company. 
Then  every  thing  doth  pleasure  find 
In  that,  that  comforts  all  their  kind. 

ANON. 


EVENING 

NOW  came  still  Evening  on.  and  Twilight  gray 
Had  in  her  sober  livery  all  things  clad ; 
Silence  accompanied  ;  for  beast  and  bird, 
They  to  their  grassy  couch,  these  to  their  nests 
Were  slunk,  all  but  the  wakeful  nightingale  ; 
She  all  night  long  her  amorous  descant  *ung  ; 
Silence  was  pleased  ;  Now  glowed  the  firmament 
With  living  sapphires :  Hesperus,  that  led 
The  starry  host,  rode  brightest,  till  the  moon. 
Rising  in  clouded  majesty,  at  length 
Apparent  queen,  unveiled  her  peerless  light, 
And  o'er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw. 

MILTON 


ODE    TO     EVENING 

IF  aught  of  oaten  stop,  or  pastoral  song. 

May  hope,  chaste  Eve.  to  soothe  thy  modest  ear. 

Like  thy  own  solemn  springs, 

Thy  springs,  and  dying  gales ; 

O  Nymph  reserved,  while  now  the  bright-haired  sun 
Sits  in  yon  western  tent,  whose  cloudy  skirts. 

With  brede  ethereal  wove, 

O'erhang  his  wavy  bed ; 


430  N  A  T  U  R  K 

Now  air  is  hushed,  save  where  the  weak-eyed  bat, 
With  short  shrill  shriek,  flits  by  on  leathern  wing, 

Or  where  the  beetle  winds 

His  small  but  sullen  horn, 

As  oft  he  rises  midst  the  twilight  path, 
Against  the  pilgrim  borne  in  heedless  hum  ; 

Now  teach  me,  Maid  composed, 

To  breathe  some  softened  strain, 

Whose  numbers,  stealing  through  thy  darkening  vale, 
May  not  unseemly  with  its  stillness  suit ; 

As,  musing  slow,  I  hail 

Thy  genial  loved  return  ! 

For,  when  thy  folding-star  arising  shows 
His  paly  circlet,  at  his  warning  lamp 

The  fragrant  Hours,  and  Elves 

Who  slept  in  buds  the  day, 

And  many  a  Nymph  who  wreathes  her  brows  with 

sedge, 
And  sheds  the  freshening  dew,  and,  lovelier  still, 

The  pensive  Pleasures  sweet, 

Prepare  thy  shadowy  car. 

Then  let  me  rove  some  wild  and  heathy  scene ; 
Or  find  some  ruin  midst  its  dreary  dells, 

Whose  walls  more  awful  nod 

By  thy  religious  gleams. 

Or,  if  chill  blustering  winds  or  driving  rain 
Prevent  my  willing  feet,  be  mine  the  hut, 

That,  from  the  mountain's  side, 

Views  wilds,  and  swelling  floods, 


A    NOCTURNAL    REVKCft  431 

And  hamlets  brown,  and  dim-discovered  spires ; 
And  bears  their  simple  IxJl ;  and  marks  o'er  all 

Thy  dewy  fingers  draw 

The  gradual  dusky  veil 

While  Spring  shall  pour  his  showers,  as  oft  he  wont, 
And  bathe  thy  breathing  tresses,  meekest  Eve  I 

While  Summer  loves  to  sport 

Beneath  thy  lingering  light  ; 

While  sallow  Autumn  fills  thy  lap  with  leaves  ; 
Or  Winter,  yelling  through  the  troublous  air. 

Affrights  thy  shrinking  train, 

And  rudely  rends  thy  robes ; 

So  long,  regardful  of  thy  quiet  rule, 

Shall  Fancy,  Friendship,  Science,  smiling  Peace. 

Thy  gentlest  influence  own. 

And  love  thy  favourite  name  I 

COLLINS 


A     NOCTURNAL     REVERIE 

IN  such  a  night,  when  every  louder  wind 

Is  to  its  distant  cavern  safe  confined. 

And  only  gentle  Zephyr  fans  his  wings. 

And  lonely  Philomel,  still  waking,  sings ; 

Or  from  some  tree,  framed  for  the  owl's  delight, 

She,  hollowing  clear,  directs  the  wanderer  right. 

In  such  a  night,  when  passing  clouds  give  place, 

Or  thinly  veil  the  heaven's  mysterious  face, 

When  in  some  river,  overhung  with  green. 

The  waving  moon  and  trembling  leaves  are  seen. 

When  freshened  graso  now  bears  itself  upright. 

And  makes  cool  banks  to  pleasing  rest  invite, 


432  NATURE 

Whence  spring  the  woodbine  and  the  bramble-rose, 

And  where  the  sleepy  cowslip  sheltered  grows, 

Whilst  now  a  paler  hue  the  foxglove  takes, 

Yet  chequers  still  with  red  the  dusky  brakes, 

Where  scattered  glowworms,  but  in  twilight  fine, 

Shew  trivial  beauties,  watch  their  hour  to  shine, 

While  Salisb'ry  stands  the  test  of  every  light, 

In  perfect  charms  and  perfect  beauty  bright  ; 

When  odours,  which  declined  repelling  day, 

Thro'  temperate  air  uninterrupted  stray  ; 

When  darkened  groves  their  softest  shadows  wear, 

And  falling  waters  we  distinctly  hear  ; 

When  through  the  gloom  more  venerable  shows 

Some  ancient  fabric  awful  in  repose  ; 

While  sunburnt  hills  their  swarthy  looks  conceal, 

And  swelling  haycocks  thicken  up  the  vale  ; 

When  the  loosed  horse  now,  as  his  pasture  leads, 

Comes  slowly  grazing  thro'  th'  adjoining  meads, 

Whose  stealing  pace  and  lengthened  shade  we 

fear, 

Till  torn-up  forage  in  his  teeth  we  hear  ; 
When  nibbling  sheep  at  large  pursue  their  food, 
And  unmolested  kine  rechew  the  cud ; 
When  curlews  cry  beneath  the  village- walls, 
And  to  her  straggling  brood  the  partridge  calls ; 
Their  short-lived  jubilee  the  creatures  keep, 
Which  but  endures  whilst  tyrant  Man  does  sleep  j 
When  a  sedate  content  the  spirit  feels, 
And  no  fierce  light  disturbs,  whilst  it  reveals  ; 
But  silent  musings  urge  the  mind  to  seek 
Something  too  high  for  syllables  to  speak  ; 
Till  the  free  soul  to  a  composedness  charm'd, 
Finding  the  elements  of  rage  disarm'd, 
O'er  all  below  a  solemn  quiet  grown, 
Joys  in  th'   inferior  world,   and  thinks  it    like  her 

own  ; 


•  LUMBtt-SONGt  433 

In  such  a  night  let  me  abroad  remain. 
Til)  morning  breaks  and  all 's  confused  again  ; 
Our  cares,  our  toils,  our  clamours  are  renewed, 
Our  pleasures,  seldom  reached,  again  pursued. 

LADY  WINCHIL&fcA 


SLUMBER -SON  OS 


CARE-CHARMING  Me«p.  them  caser  of  all  woe?. 
Brother  to  Death,  sweetly  thyself  dispose 
On  this  afflicted  prince ;  fall  like  a  cloud 
In  gentle  showers ;  give  nothing  that  is  loud 
Or  painful  to  his  slumbers  ;— easy,  sweet, 
And  as  a  put  ling  stream,  ihou  son  of  Night, 
Pass  by  his  troubled  senses :—  sing  his  pain 
Like  hollow  murmuring  wind,  or  silver  rain. 
Into  this  prince  gently,  oh,  gently  slide, 
And  kiss  him  into  slumbers  like  a  I  nde  I 


COMB,  Sleep,  and  with  thy  sweet  deceiving 
"Lock  me  in  delight  awhile  : 
Let  some  pleasing  dreams  beguile 
All  my  fancies,  that  from  thence 
I  may  eel  an  influence 

All  my  powers  of  care  bereaving  I 
a  B 


434  NATURE 

Though  but  a  shadow,  but  a  sliding, 

Let  me  know  some  little  joy  ! 

We  that  suffer  long  annoy 

Are  contented  with  a  thought 

Through  an  idle  fancy  wrought  : 
O  let  my  joys  have  some  abiding. 

FLETCHER 


SPRING 

WHEN  daffodils  begin  to  peer, 

With  heigh  !  the  doxy  over  the  dale, 

Why  then  comes  in  the  sweet  of  the  year  ; 
For  the  red  blood  reigns  in  the  winter's  pale. 

SHAKESPEARE 


SPRING,  the  sweet  Spring,  is  the  year's  pleasant  king ; 
Then  blooms  each  thing,  then  maids  dance  in  a  ring, 
Cold  doth  not  sting,  the  pretty  birds  do  sing, 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo  ! 

The  palm  and  may  make  country  houses  gay, 
Lambs  frisk  and  play,  the  shepherds  pipe  all  day, 
And  we  hear  aye  birds  tune  this  merry  lay, 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo. 

The  fields  breathe  sweet,  the  daisies  kiss  our  feet, 
Young  lovers  meet,  old  wives  a-sunning  sit, 
In  every  street  these  tunes  our  ears  do  greet, 
Cuckoo,  jug-jug,  pu-we,  to-witta-woo  ! 
Spring  !  the  sweet  Spring  ! 

NASH 


•  PEtito  435 


Now  each  creature  joys  the  other 
Fusing  happy  days  and  hours, 

One  bird  reports  unto  another, 
In  the  fall  of  silent  showers ; 

Whilst  the  earth,  our  common  mother, 
Hath  her  bosom  decked  with  flowers. 

DANIEL 


Nor  Iris  in  her  pride  and  bravery 

Adorns  her  arch  with  such  variety  ; 

Nor  doth  the  milk-white  way  in  frosty  night. 

Appear  so  (air  and  beautiful  in  sight 

As  do  these  fields,  and  groves,  and  swectc&t 

bowers. 

Bestrewed  and  decked  with  parti  -colour  'd  flowcis. 
Along  the  bubbling  brooks  and  silver  glide, 
That  at  the  bottom  doth  in  silence  slide  ; 
The  water-flowers  and  lilies  on  the  banks. 
Like  blazing  comets,  burgcn  all  in  ranks  ; 
Under  the  hawthorn  and  the  poplar-tree. 
Where  sacred  Phoebe  may  delight  to  be, 
The  primrose  and  the  purple  hyacinth. 
The  dainty  violet  and  the  wholesome  minth. 
The  double  daisy,  and  the  cowslip,  queen 
Of  summer  flowers,  do  overpeer  the  green  ; 
And  round  about  the  valley  as  ye  pass 
Ye  may  ne  see  for  peeping  flowers  the  grass. 

PKELE 


436  NATURE 


TO     DAFFODILS 

FAIR  daffodils,  we  weep  to  see 

You  haste  away  so  soon  ; 
As  yet  the  early  rising  sun 
Has  not  attained  his  noon. 

Stay,  stay, 
Until  the  hasting  day 

Has  run 

But  to  the  even-song  ! 
And,  having  prayed  together,  we 
Will  go  with  you  along. 

We  have  short  time  to  stay,  as  you, 

We  have  as  short  a  spring, 
As  quick  a  growth  to  meet  decay, 
As  you,  or  any  thing. 

We  die 
As  your  hours  do,  and  diy 

Away, 

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

HERRICK 


ON     A     BANK     AS     I     SAT     A-FISHING 

AND  now  all  nature  seemed  in  love  ! 
The  lusty  sap  began  to  move  ; 
New  juice  did  stir  th'  embracing  vines  ; 
And  birds  had  drawn  their  valentines 
The  jealous  trout,  that  low  did  lie 


•  UKSHIKF.    AFTKR    RAIN  437 

Rose  at  a  well  dissembled  fly  . 

There  Mood  my  friend,  with  patient  skill. 

Attending  of  his  trembling  quilt 

Already  were  the  eaves  possess'd 

With  the  swift  pilgrim's  daubed  nest ; 

The  groves  already  did  rejoice 

In  Philomel's  triumphing  voice  ; 

The  showers  were  sho.t ;  the  we.nther  mild  ; 

The  morning  fresh  ;  the  evening  smiled. 

Joan  takes  her  neat-rut>bed  pa  I.  and  now 
She  trips  to  milk  the  sand-mi  cow, 
Where,  for  some  sturdy  foot-ball  swain, 
Joan  strokes  a  syllabub  or  twain. 
The  fields  and  garden  were  beset 
With  tulip,  crocus,  violet ; 
And  now,  though  late,  the  modest  rose 
Did  more  than  half  a  blush  disclose. 

Thus  all  looked  gay,  all  fuM  of  cheer. 

To  welcome  the  new-liveried  year. 

WOTTON 


SUNSHINE     AFTFR     RAIN 

THK  rapid  radiance  instantaneous  strikes 

The  illumined  mountain  ;  through  the  forest  streams, 

Shakes  on  the  floods,  and  in  a  yellow  mitt, 

Far-smoking  o'er  the  interminable  plain. 

In  twinkling  myriads  lights  the  dewy  gems. 

Moist,  bright  and  green,  the  landscape  laughs  around, 

Full  swell  the  woods ;  their  every  music  wake<. 

Mixed  in  wild  concert  with  the  warbling  brooks 

Increased,  the  distant  bleatings  of  the  hills, 

And  hollow  lows  responsive  from  the  vales. 


438  NATURE 

Whence,  blending  all,  the  sweetened  Zephyr  springs. 
Meantime,  refracted  from  yon  eastern  cloud, 
Bestriding  earth,  the  grand  ethereal  bow 
Shoots  up  immense  and  every  hue  unfolds 
In  fair  proportion,  running  from  the  red 
To  where  the  violet  fades  into  the  sky. 

THOMSON 


MY  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 

A  rainbow  in  the  sky  ; 

So  was  it  when  my  life  began, 

So  is  it  now  I  am  a  man, 

So  be  it  when  I  shall  grow  old, 

Or  let  me  die  ! 

The  Child  is  father  of  the  Man  ; 

And  I  could  wish  my  days  to  be 

Bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety. 

WORDSWORTH 


SONG    ON     MAY     MORNING 

Now  the  bright  morning-star,  day's  harbinger 
Comes  dancing  from  the  east,  and  leads  with  her 
The  flowery  May,  who  from  her  green  lap  throws 
The  yellow  cowslip,  and  the  pale  primrose. 
Hail,  bounteous  May,  that  dost  inspire 
Mirth  and  youth  and  warm  desire  ; 
Woods  and  groves  are  of  thy  dressing 

Hill  and  dale  doth  boast  thy  blessing  ! 
Thus  we  salute  thee  with  our  early  song, 

And  welcome  thee,  and  wish  thee  long. 

MILTON 


JUNE    AND    JANUARY  439 


Now  that  the  winter  's  gone,  ihe  earth  has  lost 
Her  snow-white  robes :  and  now  no  more  the  fro«t 
Candies  the  grass,  or  outs  an  icy  cream 
Upon  the  silver  lake  or  crystal  stream  : 
But  the  warm  sun  thaws  the  benumbed  earth 
And  makes  it  tender  ;  gives  a  sacred  birth 
To  the  dead  swallow  ;  wakes  in  hollow  tree 
The  drowsy  cuckoo  and  the  humble  bee. 
Now  do  a  choir  of  chirping  Minstrels  bring. 
In  triumph  to  the  world,  the  youthful  Spring  ; 
The  valleys,  hills,  and  woods,  in  rich  array. 
Welcome  the  coming  of  the  longed-for  May. 
Now  all  things  smile— only  my  love  doth  lour  : 
Nor  hath  the  scalding  noon-day  sun  the  power 
To  melt  that  marble  ice  which  still  doth  hold 
Her  heart  congealed,  and  makes  her  pity  cold 
The  ox  which  lately  did  for  shelter  fly 
Into  the  stall,  doth  now  securely  lie 
In  open  fields  ;  and  love  no  more  is  made 
By  the  fireside  ;  but  in  the  cooler  shade 
Amyntas  now  doth  with  his  Chloris  sleep 
Under  a  sycamore,  and  all  things  keep 
Time  with  the  season— only  she  doth  carry 
June  in  her  eyes,  in  her  bean  January. 

CAirw 


TO    BLOSSOMS 

FAIR  pledges  of  a  fruitful  trre. 
Why  do  ye  fall  so  fast  ? 
Your  date  is  not  so  past. 


440  NATURE 


Bat  5-011  may  stay  yet  here  awhile 
To  blush  and  gently  smile, 
And  go  at  last 

What,  were  ye  born  to  be 

An  hour  or  half's  delight, 

And  so  to  bid  good-night  ? 
*T\vas  pity  Nature  brought  ye  forth 

Merely  to  show  your  worth, 
And  lose  you  quite. 

But  you  are  lovely  leaves,  where  we 
May  read  how  soon  things  have 
Their  end,  though  ne'er  so  brave  : 

And  after  they  have  shown  their  pride. 
Like  you,  awhile,  they  glide 
Into  the  grave. 

HERRICK 


MORNING     BIRDS     IN     SPRING 

WHEN  Phoebus  lifts  his  head  out  of  the  winter's  wave, 
No  sooner  doth  the  earth  her  flowery  bosom  brave1 
At  such  time  as  the  year  brings  on  the  pleasant  spring. 
But  hunts-up  to  the  morn  the  feathered  sylvans  sing : 
And  in  the  lower  grove,  as  on  the  rising  knoll, 
Upon  the  highest  spray  of  every  mounting  pole, 
Those  quiristers  are  percht  with  many  a  speckled  breasL 
Then  from  her  burnisht  gate  the  goodly  glitt'ring  east 
Gilds  every  lofty  top,  which  late  the  humorous  night 
Bespangled  had   with   pearl,  to  please  the  morning's 

sight : 
On  which  the  mirthful  quires,  with   their  dear  open 

throats, 

i  Make  fine. 


MOINTNG    BIRDS    III    8PRIVC  (|l 

Unto  the  joyful  morn  to  strain  their  warMirg  nutcs. 
That  hills  and  valley*  ring,  and  even  the  echoing  air 
Seems  all  composed  of  sounds  about  them  everywhere ; 
The  throstle  with  shrill  sharps,  as  purpo»cly  he  sung 
T'  awake  the  Unties*  sun  ;  or  chiding  that  so  long 
He  xv.is  in  coming  forth,  that  should  the  thickets  thrill ; 
The  ousel '  near  at  hand,  that  hath  a  golden  bill  ; 
As  nature  him  had  markt  of  purpose  t'  let  us  sec 
That  from  all  other  birds  his  tunes  should  different  I* : 
For  with  their  vocal  sounds  they  sing  to  pleasant  May  ; 
Upon  his  dulcet  pipe  the  merle1  doth  only  p!ay. 
When  in  the  lower  brake  the  nightingale  hard  by 
In  such  lamenting  strains  the  joyful  hours  doth  ply, 
As  though  thr  other  birds  she  to  her  tunes  would  draw  ; 
And  but  that  Nature  by  her  all-constraining  law 
Each  bird  to  her  own  kind  this  season  doth  invite. 
They  else,  alone  to  hear  that  charmer  of  the  night. 
The  more  to  use  their  ears,  their  voices  sure  would 

spare, 

That  moduleth  her  tunes  so  admirably  rare, 
As  man  to  set  in  parts  at  first  had  learned  of  her. 
To  Philomel  the  next,  the  linnet  we  prefer  ; 
And  by  that   warbling  bird,  the  woodlark    place  \»« 

then, 
The  red-sparrow,  the   nope.*  the  red-breast,   and   the 

wren. 
The  >cllo\v  pate,  which  though  she  hurt  the  blooming 

tree, 

Yet  scarce  hath  any  bird  a  finer  pipe  than  she. 
And  of  these  chanting  fowls  the  goldfinch  not  behind, 
That  hath  so  many  sorts  descending  from  her  kind. 
The  tydy  *  for  her  notes  as  delicate  as  they, 
The  laughing  hecco*  then,  the  counterfeiting  jay. 
The  softer  with  the  shrill,  some  hid  among  the  leaves. 
Some  in  the  taller  trees,  some  in  the  lower  greaves.4 
1  Blackbird.        •  Bull-finch.        >  See  Note.        «  Groves. 


442  NATURE 

Thus  sing  away  the  morn  until  the  mounting  sun 
Through  thick  exhaled  fogs  his  golden  head  hath  run, 
And  through  the  twisted  tops  of  our  close  covert  creeps 
To  kiss  the  gentle  shade  this  while  that  sweetly  sleeps. 

DRAYTON 


TO   THE    CUCKOO 

0  BLITHE  new-comer  !  I  have  heard, 

1  hear  thee  and  rejoice ; 

0  Cuckoo  !  shall  I  call  thee  bird, 
Or  but  a  wandering  Voice  ? 

While  I  am  lying  on  the  grass 
Thy  twofold  shout  I  hear  ; 
From  hill  to  hill  it  seems  to  pass, 
At  once  far  off  and  near. 

Though  babbling  only  to  the  vale 
Of  sunshine  and  of  flowers, 
Thou  bringest  unto  me  a  tale 
Of  visionary  hours. 

Thrice  welcome,  darling  of  the  Spring  ! 

Even  yet  thou  art  to  me 

No  bird,  but  an  invisible  thing, 

A  voice,  a  mystery  ; 

The  same  whom  in  my  school-boy  days 

1  listened  to  ;  that  Cry 

Which  made  me  look  a  thousand  ways 
In  bush,  and  tree,  and  sky. 


TO    A    SKYLARK  443 

To  seek  ihee  did  I  often  rove 
Through  woods  and  on  the  green  , 
And  thou  wert  still  a  hope,  a  love ; 
Still  longed  for,  never  seen  I 

And  I  can  listen  to  thce  yet, 
Can  He  upon  the  plain 
And  listen,  till  1  do  beget 
That  golden  time  nga-n. 

O  blessed  bird  !  the  earth  we  pnoe 
Again  appears  to  be 
An  unsubstantial,  faery  place. 
That  is  fit  home  for  Thee ! 

WORDSWOR  ui 


TO   A    SKYLARK 

HAIL  to  thee,  blithe  Spirit  I 

Bird  thou  never  wert. 
That  from  heaven,  or  near  it 

Pourest  thy  full  heart 
In  profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 

Higher  still  and  higher 
From  the  earth  thou  springest 

Like  a  cloud  of  fire  ; 

The  blue  deep  thou  wingrst. 
And  singing  still  dost  soar,  and  soaring  ever  s  ingest. 

In  the  golden  lightning 

Of  the  sunken  sun 
O'er  which  clouds  are  brightening. 

Thou  dost  float  and  run, 
Like  an  unbodied  joy  whose  race  is  just  begun. 


444  NATURE 

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  delight : 

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  over- 
flow'd. 

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  : 

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  not : 

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  : 


TO    A    SKYLARK  44$ 

Like  a  glow-worm  golden. 

In  a  dell  of  dew, 
Scattering  unbeholden 

Its  aerial  hue 

Among  the  flowers  and  grass,  which  screen  it  from 
the  view : 


Like  a  rose  embowered 

In  its  own  green  leaves, 
By  warm  winds  deflowered, 

Till  the  scent  it  gives 

Makes  faint  with   too   much    sweet   these   heavy- 
winged  thieves. 


Sound  of  wrnal  showers 

On  the  twinkling  grass, 
Rain  awakened  flowers, 

All  that  ever  was 
Joyous,  and  clear,  and  fresh,  thy  music  doth  sin- 


Teach  us,  sprite  or  bird, 

What  sweet  thoughts  are  thine : 
I  have  never  heard 

Praise  of  love  or  wine 
That  panted  forth  a  flood  of  rapture  so  divine. 


Chorus  hymeneal 

Or  triumphal  chaunt. 
Matched  with  thine,  would  be  all 

But  an  empty  vaunt — 
A  thing  wherein  we  feel  there  is  some  hi  Iden  want 


NATURE 

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? 

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  or  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 
thought. 

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  near. 

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  ! 


ODE    TO    A    NIGHTINGALE  44? 

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 ! 

SHKLLKY 


ODE  TO    A    NIGHTINGALE 

MY  heart  aches,  and  a  drowsy  numbness  pains 
My  sense,  as  though  of  hemlock  I  had  drunk, 
Or  emptied  some  dull  opiate  to  the  drains 

One  minute  past,  and  Lethe-ward-*  had  sunk  : 
Tis  not  through  envy  of  thy  happy  lot, 
But  being  too  happy  in  thine  happiness, — 
That  thou.  light  winged  Dryad  of  the  trees. 

In  some  melodious  plot 
Of  beechen  green,  and  shadows  numberless. 
Singest  of  summer  in  full-throated  ease. 

O  for  a  draught  of  vintage,  that  bath  been 

Cooled  a  long  age  in  the  deep-delved  earth. 
Tasting  of  Flora  and  the  country  green. 

Dance,  and  Provencal  song,  and  sun- burnt  mirth ! 
O  for  a  beaker  full  of  the  warm  South, 
Full  of  the  true,  the  blushful  Hippociene, 
With  beaded  bubbles  winking  at  the  brim 

And  purple-stained  mouth  ; 
That  I  might  drink,  and  leave  the  world  unseen. 
And  with  thee  fade  awry  into  the  forest  dim  : 

Fade  far  away,  dissolve,  and  quite  forget 

What  thou  among  the  leaves  hast  never  known, 

The  weariness,  the  fever,  and  the  fret 

Here,  where  men  sit  and  hear  each  other  groan ; 


448  NATURE 

Where  palsy  shakes  a  few,  sad,  last  grey  hairs, 
Where  youth  grows  pale,  and  spectre-thin,  and  dies; 
Where  but  to  think  is  to  be  full  of  sorrow 

And  leaden-eyed  despairs  ; 
Where  Beauty  cannot  keep  her  lustrous  eyes, 
Or  new  Love  pine  at  them  beyond  to-morrow. 


Away  !  away  !  for  I  will  fly  to  thee, 

Not  charioted  by  Bacchus  and  his  pards, 
But  on  the  viewless  wings  of  Poesy, 

Though  the  dull  brain  perplexes  and  retards  : 
Already  with  thee  !  tender  is  the  night, 

And  haply  the  Queen-Moon  is  on  her  throne, 
Clustered  around  by  all  her  starry  Fays ; 

But  here  there  is  no  light 

Save  what  from  heaven  is  with  the  breezes  blown 
Through  verdurous  glooms  and  winding  mossy 
ways. 


I  cannot  see  what  flowers  are  at  my  feet, 

Nor  what  soft  incense  hangs  upon  the  boughs, 
But,  in  embalmed  darkness,  guess  each  sweet 

Wherewith  the  seasonable  month  endows 
The  grass,  the  thicket,  and  the  fruit-tree  wild  ; 
White  hawthorn,  and  the  pastoral  eglantine  ; 
Fast-fading  violets  covered  up  in  leaves  ; 

And  mid-May's  eldest  child 
The  coming  musk-rose,  full  of  dewy  wine, 

The  murmurous  haunt  of  flies  on  summer  eves. 


Darkling  I  listen  ;  and  for  many  a  time 
1  have  been  half  in  love  with  easeful  Death, 

Called  him  soft  names  in  many  a  mused  rhyme, 
To  take  into  the  air  my  quiet  breath  ; 


ODK    TO    A    NIGHTINGALE  UO 

Now  more  than  ever  seems  it  rich  to  die, 
To  erase  upon  the  midnight  with  no  pain. 
While  thou  art  pouring  forth  thy  soul  abroad 

In  such  an  ecstasy  ! 

Still  wouldst  thou  sing,  and  I  have  ears  in  vain 
To  thy  high  requiem  become  a  sod. 

Thou  wast  not  born  for  death,  immortal  Bird  ! 

No  hungry  generations  tread  thee  down  ; 
The  voice  I  hear  this  passing  night  was  heard 

In  ancient  days  by  cm  per  or  and  clown  : 
Perhaps  the  selfsame  song  that  found  a  path 
Through  the  sad  hrart  of  Ruth,  when,  sick  for  home 
She  stood  in  tears  amid  thr  alien  corn  ; 

The  same  that  oftiimcs  hath 
Charmed  magic  casements,  opening  on  the  foam 
Of  perilous  seas,  in  faery  lands  forlorn. 

Forlorn  !  thr  very  word  is  like  a  bell 

To  toll  mr  back  from  thee  to  my  sole  *elf  I 
Adieu  I  the  fancy  cannot  cheat  so  well 
As  she  is  famed  to  do,  deceiving  elf. 
Adieu  !  adieu  !  thy  plaintive  anthem  fades 
Past  the  near  meadows,  over  the  still  stream. 
Up  the  hill -side  ;  and  now  'tis  buried  deep 

In  the  next  valley-glades  : 
Was  it  a  vision,  or  a  waking  dream  ? 
Fled  is  that  musk  :— do  I  wake  or  sleep  ? 

KEATS 


THE   NIGHTINGALE 

No  cloud,  no  relique  of  the  sunken  day 
Distinguishes  the  West,  no  long  thin  slip 
Of  sullen  light,  no  obscure  trembling  hues. 

•  f 


45°  NATURE 

Come,  we  will  rest  on  this  old  mossy  bridge  ! 

You  see  the  glimmer  of  the  stream  beneath, 

But  hear  no  murmuring :  it  flows  silently, 

O'er  its  soft  bed  of  verdure.     All  is  still, 

A  balmy  night !  and  though  the  stars  be  dim, 

Yet  let  us  think  upon  the  vernal  showers 

That  gladden  the  green  earth,  and  we  shall  find 

A  pleasure  in  the  dimness  of  the  stars. 

And  hark  !  the  Nightingale  begins  its  song, 

'  Most  musical,  most  melancholy'  bird  ! 

A  melancholy  bird  !     Oh  !  idle  thought ! 

In  nature  there  is  nothing  melancholy. 

But  some  night- wandering  man  whose  heart  was 

pierced 

With  the  remembrance  of  a  grievous  wrong, 
Or  slow  distemper,  or  neglected  love, 
(And  so,  poor  wretch  !  filled  all  things  with  himself, 
And  made  all  gentle  sounds  tell  back  the  tale 
Of  his  own  sorrow)  he,  and  such  as  he, 
First  named  these  notes  a  melancholy  strain  ; 
And  many  a  poet  echoes  the  conceit. 

My  Friend,  and  thou,  our  Sister  !  we  have  learnt 
A  different  lore  :  we  may  not  thus  profane 
Nature's  sweet  voices,  always  full  of  love 
And  joyance  !     'Tis  the  merry  Nightingale 
That  crowds,  and  hurries,  and  precipitates 
With  fast  thick  warble  his  delicious  notes, 
As  he  were  fearful  that  an  April  night 
Would  be  too  short  for  him  to  utter  forth 
His  love-chant,  and  disburthen  his  full  soul 
Of  all  its  music  ! 


And  1  know  a  grove 
Of  large  extent,  hard  by  a  castle  huge, 


THE    NIGHTINGALE  451 

Which  the  great  lord  inhabits  not ;  and  so 

This  grove  is  wild  with  tangling  underwood. 

And  the  trim  walks  are  broken  up.  and  gnus. 

Thin  grass  and  kingcups  grow  within  the  paths 

But  never  elsewhere  in  one  place  I  knew 

So  many  nightingales  ;  and  far  and  nrar. 

In  wood  and  thicket,  over  the  wide  grove. 

They  answer  and  provoke  each  other's  song. 

With  skirmish  and  capricious  passaging*. 

And  murmurs  musical  and  swift  jug-jug. 

And  one  low  piping  sound  more  sweet  than  all  - 

Stirring  the  air  with  such  a  harmony, 

That  should  you  close  your  ryes,  you  might  alimnt 

Forget  it  was  not  Hay  !    On  moon-lit  bushes. 

Whose  dewy  leaflets  are  but  half  disclosed, 

You  might  perchance  behold  them  on  the  twigs. 

Their  bright,  bright  eyes,  their  eyes  both  bright  and 

full. 

Glistening,  while  many  a  glow-worm  in  the  shade 
Lights  up  her  love-torch. 

COLERIDOK 


HER  supple  breast  thrills  out 
Sharp  airs,  and  staggers  in  a  warbling  doubt 
Of  d.xllying  sweetness,  hovers  o'er  her  skin, 
And  folds  in  waved  notes,  with  a  trembling  biil, 
The  pliant  series  of  her  slippery  song ; 
Then  starts  she  suddenly  into  a  throng 
Of  short  thick  sobs,  whose  thund'ring  vo.leys  float 
And  roll  themselves  over  her  lubric  throat 
In  panting  murmurs,  'stilled  out  of  her  breast. 
That  ever-bubbling  spring,  the  sugared  nest 


452  NATURE 

Of  her  delicious  soul,  that  there  does  lie 
Bathing  in  streams  of  liquid  melody ; 
In  that  sweet  soil  it  seems  a  holy  quire, 
Founded  to  th'  name  of  great  Apollo's  lyre  ; 
Whose  silver  roof  rings  with  the  sprightly  notes 
Of  sweet-lipped  angel-imps,  that  swill  their  throat- 
In  cream  of  morning  Helicon,  and  then 
Prefer  soft  anthems  to  the  ears  of  men, 
To  woo  them  from  their  beds,  still  murmuring 
That  men  can  sleep  while  they  their  matins  sing  ; 
Most  divine  service  !  whose  so  early  lay 
Prevents  the  eyelids  of  the  blushing  day. 


As  it  fell  upon  a  day 
In  the  merry  month  of  May 
Sitting  in  a  pleasant  shade 
Which  a  grove  of  myrtles  made, 
Beasts  did  leap  and  birds  did  sing, 
Trees  did  grow  and  plants  did  spring 
Everything  did  banish  moan 
Save  the  nightingale  alone. 
She,  poor  bird,  as  all  forlorn, 
Leaned  her  breast  up-till  a  thorn, 
And  there  sung  the  dolefull'st  ditty 
That  to  hear  it  was  great  pity. 
Fie,  fie,  fie,  now  would  she  cry  ; 
Tereu,  tereu,  by  and  by : 
That  to  hear  her  so  complain 
Scarce  I  could  from  tears  refrain  ; 
For  her  griefs  so  lively  shown 
Made  me  think  upon  mine  own. 


A    SUMMKK'S    MUKNINO  453 

— Ah.  thought  I,  ihou  mourn'st  ir  vain. 

None  takes  pity  on  thy  pain  ; 

Senseless  trees,  they  cannot  hear  thce. 

Ruthless  beasts,  thry  will  not  cheer  thee 

King  Pundion,  he  is  dead. 

All  thy  friends  are  Lipped  in  lead  : 

Ail  thy  fellow  birds  do  sing 

Careless  of  thy  sorrowing  : 

Even  so.  poor  bird,  like  ihee 

None  alive  will  pity  me. 

HAKNKHKLU 


As  one  who  long  in  populous  city  pent. 
Where  houses  thick  and  sewers  annoy  the  air, 
Forth  issuing  on  a  summer's  morn  to  breathe 
Among  the  pleasant  villages  and  (arms 
Adjoined,  from  each  thing  met  conceives  delight ; 
The  smrll  of  grain,  or  tedded  grass  or  kine. 
Or  dairy,  each  rural  sight,  each  rural  sound  ; 
If  chance,  with  nymphhke  step,  fair  virgin  pass. 
What  pleasing  seemed,  for  her  now  pleases  more 
She  most,  and  in  her  look  sums  all  delight. 

MILTON 


A  SUMMER'S  EVE 

CLEAR  had  the  day  been  from  the  dawn, 

All  chequered  was  the  sky, 
Thin  clouds,  like  scarfs  of  cobweb  lawn, 

Veiled  heaven'*  most  glorious  eye. 


454  NATURE 

The  wind  had  no  more  strength  than  this, 

That  leisurely  it  blew. 
To  make  one  leaf  the  next  to  kiss, 

That  closely  by  it  grew. 


The  flowers,  like  brave  embroidered  girls, 

Looked  as  they  most  desired 
To  see  whose  head  with  orient  pearls 

Most  curiously  was  tyred. 

The  rills,  that  on  the  pebbles  played, 

Might  now  be  heard  at  will ; 
This  world  the  only  music  made, 

Else  everything  was  still. 

And  to  itself  the  subtle  air 

Such  sovereignty  assumes, 
That  it  receive  too  large  a  share 

From  nature's  rich  perfumes. 

DRAYTON 


THE  rarer  pleasure  is,  it  is  more  sweet, 

And  friends  are  kindest  when  they  seldom  meet. 

Who  would  not  hear  the  nightingale  still  sing, 

Or  who  grew  ever  weary  of  the  spring? 

The  day  must  have  her  night,  the  spring  her  fall, 

All  is  divided,  none  is  lord  of  all. 

It  were  a  most  delightful  thing, 

To  live  in  a  perpetual  spring. 

ANON. 


A   NIGHT  STOXM  455 


A    NIOHT   STORM 

AND  either  tropic  now 

'Gan  thunder,  and  both  ends  of  Heaven  ;  the  clouds. 
From  many  a  horrid  rift,  abortive  poured 
Fierce  rain  with  lightning  mixed,  water  with  fire 
In  ruin  reconciled :  nor  slept  the  winds 
Within  their  stony  caves,  but  rushed  abroad 
From  the  four  hinges  of  the  world,  and  fell 
On  the  vexed  wilderness,  whose  tallest  pines. 
Though  rooted  deep  as  high,  and  sturdiest  oaks, 
Bowed  their  stiff  necks,  loaden  with  stormy  blasts 
Or  torn  up  sheer  .  .  . 

Thus  pas*cd  the  night  so  foul,  till  Morning  fair 
Came  forth,  with  pilgrim  steps,  in  amice  grey  ; 
Who  with  her  radiant  finger  stilled  the  roar 
Of  thunder,  chased  the  clouds,  and  laid  the  winds. 
And  now  the  sun  with  more  effectual  beams 
Had  cheered  the  face  of  earth,  and  dried  the  wet 
From  drooping  plant,  or  dropping  tree  ;  the  birds, 
Who  all  things  now  behold  more  fresh  and  green. 
After  a  night  of  storm  so  ruinous. 
Cleared  up  their  choicest  notes  in  bush  and  spray. 
To  gratnlate  the  sweet  return  of  morn. 

MILTON 


THOUGHTS    IN    A   GARDEN 

How  vainly  men  themselves  amaze 
To  win  the  palm,  the  oak,  or  bays, 
And  their  incessant  labours  see 
Crowned  from  some  single  herb  or  tree 


456  NATURE 

Whose  short  and  narrow- verged  shade 
Does  prudently  their  toils  upbraid  ; 
While  all  the  flowers  and  trees  do  close 
To  weave  the  garlands  of  Repose. 

Fair  Quiet,  have  I  found  thee  here, 
And  Innocence  thy  sister  dear? 
Mistaken  long,  I  sought  you  then 
In  busy  companies  of  men  : 
Your  sacred  plants,  if  here  Lelow, 
Only  among  the  plants  will  grow  : 
Society  is  all  but  rude 
To  this  delicious  solitude. 

No  white  nor  red  was  ever  seen 

So  amorous  as  this  lovely  green. 

Fond  lovers,  cruel  as  their  flame, 

Cut  in  these  trees  their  mistress'  name  : 

Little,  alas,  they  know  or  heed 

How  far  these  beauties  her's  exceed  ! 

Fair  trees  !  wheres'e'er  your  barks  I  wound, 

No  name  shall  but  your  own  be  found. 

When  we  have  run  our  passion's  heat 
Love  hither  makes  his  best  retreat 
The  gods,  that  mortal  beauty  chase, 
Still  in  a  tree  did  end  their  race  : 
Apollo  hunted  Daphne  so 
Only  that  she  might  laurel  grow  : 
And  Pan  did  after  Syrinx  speed      -^.m- 
Not  as  a  nymph,  but  for  a  reed. 

What  wondrous  life  is  this  I  lead  ! 
Ripe  apples  drop  about  my  head  ; 
The  luscious  clusters  of  the  vine 
Upon  my  mouth  do  crush  their  wine ; 


THOUGHTS    IN    A    GAIDEN  4<? 

l"he  nectarine  and  curious  peach 
Into  my  hands  themselves  do  rearh  ; 
Stumbling  on  melons,  as  I  pass, 
Ensnared  with  flowers,  I  fall  on  grata. 

Meanwhile  the  mind  from  pleasure  less 

Withdraws  into  its  happiness  ; 

The  mind,  that  ocean  where  each  kind 

Does  straight  its  own  resemblance  find  ; 

Yet  it  creates,  transcending  these, 

Far  other  worlds,  and  other  seas  ; 

Annihilating  all  that 's  made 

To  a  green  thought  in  a  green  shade. 

Here  at  the  fountain's  sliding  foot 
Or  at  some  fruit-tree's  mossy  root, 
Casting  the  body's  vest  aside 
My  soul  into  the  boughs  does  glide ; 
There,  like  a  bird,  it  sits  and  sings, 
Then  whets  and  combs  its  silver  wings, 
And,  till  prepared  for  long,  r  flight. 
Waves  in  its  plumes  the  various  light. 

Such  was  that  happy  Garden-state 
While  man  there  walked  without  a  mate  • 
After  a  place  so  pure  and  sweet, 
What  other  help  could  yet  be  meet  I 
But  'twas  beyond  a  mortal's  share 
To  wander  solitary  there : 
Two  paradises  'twere  in  one. 
To  live  in  Paradise  alone. 

How  well  the  skilful  gardener  drew 
Of  flowers  and  herbs  this  dial  new  ! 
Where,  from  above,  the  milder  sun 
Does  through  a  fragrant  zodiac  run 


458  NATURE 

And,  as  it  works,  th*  industrious  bee 
Computes  its  time  as  well  as  we. 
How  could  such  sweet  and  wholesome  hours 
Be  reckoned,  but  with  herbs  and  flowers  ! 

MARVELL 


ROSES 

Go,  lovely  Rose, 

Tell  her  that  wastes  her  time  and  me, 

That  now  she  knows 

When  I  resemble  her  to  thee 

How  sweet  and  fair  she  seems  to  be. 

Tell  her  that 's  young, 

And  shuns  to  have  her  graces  spied, 

That  hadst  thou  sprung 

In  deserts  where  no  men  abide, 

Thou  must  have  uncommended  died. 

Small  is  the  worth 

Of  beauty  from  the  light  retired  ; 

Bid  her  come  forth, 

Suffer  herself  to  be  desired, 

And  not  blush  so  to  be  admired. 

Then  die,  that  she 

The  common  fate  of  all  things  rare 

May  read  in  thee, 

How  small  a  part  of  time  they  share 

Who  are  so  wondrous  sweet  and  fair. 

WALLEK 


R  o  «;  r  s  459 


THOU  blushing  Rose,  within  whose  virgin  leave* 
The  wanton  wind  to  sport  himself  presumes, 
Whilst  from  their  rifled  wardrobe  he  receives 
For  his  wings  purple,  for  his  breath  perfumes : 
Blown  in  the  morning,  thou  shall  fade  ere  noon  ; 
What  boots  a  life  which  in  such  haste  forsakes  tbec ! 
Thou  'it  wondrous  frolic,  being  to  die  so  soon, 
And  passing  proud  a  little  colour  makes  thee. 

PAN6HAWI 


O  ROSE,  thou  art  sick  1 

The  invisible  worm 
That  flies  in  the  night, 

In  the  howling  stunn, 
Has  found  out  thy  bed 

Of  crimson  joy, 
And  his  dark  secret  love 

Does  thy  life  destroy 

BLAKE 


THE    BUTTERFLY 

HE  the  gay  garden  round  about  doth  fly, 
From  bed  to  bed.  from  one  to  other  border. 
And  takes  survey  with  curious  busy  eye 
Of  every  flower  and  herb  there  set  in  order  ; 
Now  this,  now  ihat,  he  ta&teth  tenderly, 
Ye  none  of  them  he  ruddy  doth  disorder, 


460  N  A  f  U  i?  R 

Ne  with  his  feet  their  silken  leaves  deface, 
But  pastures  on  the  pleasures  of  each  place, 

And  evermore  with  most  variety 
And  change  of  sweetness  (for  all  change  is  sweet), 
He  casts  his  glutton  sense  to  gratify  ; 
Now  sucking  of  the  sap  of  herb  most  meet, 
Or  of  the  dew  which  yet  on  them  does  lie, 
Now  in  the  same  bathing  his  tender  feet ; 
And  then  he  percheth  on  some  branch  thereby 
To  weather  him,  and  his  moist  wings  to  dry. 

SPENSER 


TO    THE     GRASSHOPPER 

OH,  thou  that  swing'st  upon  the  waving  ear 

Of  some  well-filled  oaten  beard, 
Drunk  every  night  with  a  delicious  tear 

Dropt  thee  from  heaven  where  thou  wert  reared 

The  joys  of  earth  and  air  are  thine  entire, 

That  with  thy  feet  and  wings  dost  hop  and  fly, 

And  when  thy  poppy  works,  thou  dost  retire, 
To  thy  carved  acorn-bed  to  lie. 

Up  with  the  day,  the  Sun  thou  welcom'st  then, 
Sport'st  in  the  gilt  plaits  of  his  beams, 

And  all  these  merry  days  mak'st  merry  men, 
Thyself,  and  melancholy  streams. 

But  ah,  the  sickle  !  golden  ears  are  cropped ; 

Ceres  and  Bacchus  bid  good  night ; 
Sharp  frosty  fingers  all  your  flowers  have  topped, 

And  what  scythes  spared,  winds  shave  off  quite. 

LOVELACE 


TO    MEADOWS 


TO    MEADOWS 

Vt  have  been  fresh  and  green. 

Ye  have  been  filled  with  floweis , 
And  ye  the  walks  have  been 

Where  maids  have  spent  their  houis 

You  have  beheld  how  th-v 

With  wicker  arks  did  come 
To  kiss  and  bear  away 

The  richer  cowslips  home. 

You  've  heard  them  sweetly  sing, 

And  seen  them  in  a  round  ; 
Bach  virgin,  like  a  Spring. 

With  honeysuckles  crowned. 

But  now  we  see  none  here 

Whose  silvery  feet  did  trrad 
And  with  dishevelled  hair 

Adorned  this  smoother  mead. 

Like  unthrifts,  baring  spent 

Your  stock,  and  needy  grown. 
You  're  left  here  to  lament 

Your  poor  estates  alone, 

HBRRICK 


No  scene  that  turns  with  engines  strange. 
Does  oftener  than  these  meadows  change  ; 
For  when  the  Sun  the  grass  hath  vexed. 
The  tawny  mowers  enter  next  ; 
Who  <eem  like  Israelites  to  be 
Walking  on  foot  through  a  green  sea. 


NATURE 

To  them  the  grassy  deeps  divide 
And  crowd  a  lane  to  either  side. 

MARVELT, 


ODE     TO     AUTUMN 

SEASON  of  mists  and  mellow  fruitfulness  ! 

Close  bosom-friend  of  the  maturing  sun  ; 
Conspiring  with  him  how  to  load  and  bless 
With  fruit  the  vines  that  round  the  thatch-eaves 

run  ; 

To  bend  with  apples  the  mossed  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  Summer  has  o'erbrimmed  their  clammy  cells. 

Who  hath  not  seen  thee  oft  amid  thy  store? 

Sometimes  whoever  seeks  abroad  may  find 
Thee  sitting  careless  on  a  granary  floor, 

Thy  hair  soft-lifted  by  the  winnowing  wind  ; 
Or  on  a  half-reaped  furrow  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  hours. 

Where  are  the  songs  of  Spring  ?  Ay,  where  are  they? 

Think  not  of  them, — thou  hast  thy  music  too, 
While  barred  clouds  bloom  the  soft-dying  day 

And  touch  the  stubble-plains  with  rosy  hue  ; 
Then  in  a  wailful  choir  the  small  gnats  mourn 


ODE   TO   THE    WEST    WIMD  463 

Among  the  river-sallows,  borne  aloft 

Or  sinking  as  the  light  wind  lives  or  dies  ; 
And  full-grown  lambs  loud  bleat  from  hilly  bourn  . 
Hedge-crickets  sing,  and  now  with  treble  soft. 
The  redbreast  whistles  from  a  garden -croft. 

And  gathering  swallows  twitter  in  the  skies. 

KEATS 


ODK     TO    THE    WEST    WIND 

O  WILD  West  Wind,  thou  breath  of  Autumn's  being. 
Thou,  from  whose  unseen  presence  the  leaves  dead 
Are  driven,  like  ghosts  from  an  enchanter  fleeing. 
Yellow,  and  black,  and  pale,  and  hectic  red, 
Pestilence-stricken  multitudes  :  O  thou 
Who  chmiotest  to  their  dark  wintry  bed 
The  winged  seed*,  where  they  lie  cold  and  low. 
Each  like  a  corpse  within  its  grave,  until 
Thine  azure  sister  of  the  spring  shall  blow 
Her  clarion  o'er  the  dreaming  earth,  and  fill 
(Driving  sweet  buds  like  flocks  to  feed  in  air) 
With  living  hues  and  odours  plain  and  hill  • 
Wild  Spirit,  which  art  moving  everywhere ; 
Destroyer  and  Preserver  ;  Hear.  O  hear  ! 

Thou  on  whose  stream,  'mid  the  steep  sky's  commotion. 

Loose  clouds  like  earth's  decaying  leaves  are  shed 

Shook  from  the  tangled  boughs  of  Heaven  and  Ocean. 

Angels  of  rain  and  lightning  ;  there  are  spread 

On  the  blue  surface  of  thine  airy  surge. 

Like  the  bright  hair  uplifted  from  the  head 

Of  some  fierce  Maenad,  even  from  the  dim  verge 

Of  the  horizon  to  the  zenith's  height  — 

The  locks  of  the  approaching  storm.     Thou  dirge 

Of  the  dying  year,  to  which  this  closing  night 


464  NATURE 

Will  be  the  dome  of  a  vast  sepulchre, 

Vaulted  with  all  thy  congregated  might 

Of  vapours,  from  whose  solid  atmosphere 

Black  rain,  and  fire,  and  hail,  will  burst :   O  hear ! 

Thou  who  didst  waken  from  his  summer-dreams 

The  blue  Mediterranean,  where  he  lay 

Lulled  by  the  coil  of  his  crystalline  streams 

Beside  a  pumice  isle  in  Baiae's  bay, 

And  saw  in  sleep  old  palaces  and  towers 

Quivering  within  the  wave's  intenser  day, 

All  overgrown  with  azure  moss  and  flowers 

So  sweet,  the  sense  faints  picturing  them  !     Thou 

For  whose  path  the  Atlantic's  level  powers 

Cleave  themselves  into  chasms,  while  far  below 

The  sea-blooms  and  the  oozy  woods  which  weai 

The  sapless  foliage  of  the  ocean,  know 

Thy  voice,  and  suddenly  grow  grey  with  fear, 

And  tremble  and  despoil  themselves  :  O  hear  ! 

If  I  were  a  dead  leaf  thou  mightest  bear  ; 

If  I  were  a  swift  cloud  to  fly  with  thee  ; 

A  wave  to  pant  beneath  thy  power,  and  share 

The  impulse  of  thy  strength,  only  less  free 

Than  Thou,  O  uncontrollable  !     If  even 

I  were  as  in  my  boyhood,  and  could  be 

The  comrade  of  thy  wanderings  over  heaven, 

As  then,  when  to  outstrip  the  skyey  speed 

Scarce  seemed  a  vision,  I  would  ne'er  have  striven 

As  thus  with  thee  in  prayer  in  my  sore  need. 

0  lift  me  as  a  wave,  a  leaf,  a  cloud  ! 

1  fall  upon  the  thorns  of  life  !  I  bleed  ! 

A  heavy  weight  of  hours  has  chained  and  bowed 
One  too  like  thee  :  tameless,  and  swift,  and  proud. 

Make  me  thy  lyre,  even  as  the  iorest  is  : 
What  if  my  leaves  are  falling  like  its  own  ! 


THE    TIM  lit  K  465 

The  tumult  of  thy  mighty  harmonies 
Will  take  from  both  a  deep  autumnal  tone, 
Sweet  though  in  sadness.     Be  thou,  Spirit  fierce, 
My  spirit  !  be  thou  me.  impetuous  one  ! 
Drive  my  dead  thoughts  over  the  universe 
Like  withered  leaves  to  quicken  a  new  birth  ; 
And,  by  the  incantation  of  this  verse, 
Scalier,  as  from  an  unextingiiished  hearth 
A*he<  and  spark*,  my  words  among  mankind  ! 
Be  through  my  lips  to  unawakcned  earth 
The  trumpet  of  a  prophecy  !    O  Wind. 
If  Winter  comes,  can  Spring  I*  far  behind  ? 

SHKLLin 


THK    TIMBER 

SURE  thou  didst  flourish  once  !  and  many  springs, 
Many  bright  mornings,  much  dew,  many  showers 

Fast  o'er  thy  head  :  many  light  hearts  and  wings. 
Which  now  are  dead,  lodged  in  thy  living  bowers. 

And  still  ft  new  succession  sings  and  tlics  ; 

Fresh  groves  grow  up,  and  their  green  branches 

shoot 
Towards  the  old  and  still  enduring  skies, 

While  the  tow  violet  thrives  at  their  root. 

But  thou  beneath  the  sad  and  heavy  line 
Of  death  doth  waste,  all  senseless,  cold,  and  dark 

Where  not  so  much  as  dreams  of  light  may  shine, 
Nor  any  thought  of  greenness,  leaf  or  baik. 

YAUGHAN 


A  WIDOW  bird  sate  mourning  lor  her  Love 
Upon  a  wintry  bough  ; 
ac 


466  NATURE 

The  frozen  wind  crept  on  above, 
The  freezing  stream  below. 

There  was  no  leaf  upon  the  forest  bare, 

No  flower  upon  the  ground, 
And  little  motion  in  the  air 

Except  the  mill-wheel's  sound. 

SHELLEY 


A     SNOW    SCENE 

THE  keener  tempests  come  ;  and  fuming  dun 
From  all  the  livid  east,  or  piercing  north, 
Thick  clouds  ascend — in  whose  capacious  womb 
A  vapoury  deluge  lies,  to  snow  congealed. 
Heavy  they  roll  their  fleecy  world  along  ; 
And  the  sky  saddens  with  the  gathered  storm. 
Through  the  hushed  air  the  whitening  shower  descends, 
At  first  thin  wavering  ;  till  at  last  the  flakes 
Fall  broad,  and  wide,  and  fast,  dimming  the  day 
With  a  continual  flow.     The  cherished  fields 
Put  on  their  winter-robe  of  purest  white. 
"Tis  brightness  all,  save  where  the  new  snow  melts 
Along  the  mazy  current.     Low  the  woods 
Bow  their  hoar  head  ;  and,  ere  the  languid  sun 
Faint  from  the  west  emits  his  evening  ray, 
Earth's  universal  face,  deep-hid  and  chill, 
Is  one  wild  dazzling  waste,  that  buries  wide 
The  works  of  man.     Drooping,  the  labourer-ox 
Stands  covered  o'er  with  snow,  and  then  demands 
The  fruit  of  all  his  toil.     The  fowls  of  heaven, 
Tamed  by  the  cruel  season,  crowd  around 
The  winnowing  store,  and  claim  the  little  boon 
Which  Providence  assigns  them.     One  alone, 
The  redbreast,  sacred  to  the  household  gods, 


A    SNOW    SCKNE  4', 

WJMlj  regardful  of  the  embroiling  sky, 
In  joyless  fields  and  thorny  thickets  leaves 
His  shivering  mates,  and  pays  to  trusted  man 
His  annual  visit.     Half-afraid,  he  first 
Against  the  window  beats  ;  then,  brisk,  alights 
On  the  warm  hearth  ;  then,  hopping  o'er  the  floor, 
Eyes  all  the  smiling  family  askance, 
And  pecks,  and  starts,  and  wonders  «  here  he  is  - 
Till,  more  familiar  grown,  the  table-crumbs 
Attract  his  slender  feet.     The  food  less  wilds 
Pour  forth  their  brown  inhabitants.      Pic  hare, 
Though  timorous  of  heart,  and  hard  I--  «-t 
By  death  in  various  forms,  dark  snares,  and  dogs. 
And  more  unpitying  men.  the  garden  seeks. 
Urged  on  by  fearless  want,     lite  bleating  kind 
Eye  the  black  heavm.  and  next  the  glistening  earth. 
With  looks  of  dumb  despair  ;  then,  sad  dispersed. 
Dig  for  the  withered  herb  through  heaps  of  sno-v. 

THOMSON 


Now  winter  nights  enlarge 

The  number  of  their  hours  ; 
And  clouds  their  storms  discharge 

Upon  the  airy  towers. 
Let  now  the  chimneys  blase 

And  cups  o'erflow  with  wine, 
Let  well-tuned  words  amaze 

With  harmony  divine. 
Now  yellow  waxen  lights 

Shall  wait  on  honey  love, 
While  youthful  revels,  masques,  and  courtly 
sights 

Sleep's  leaden  spells  remove 


468  NATURE 

This  time  doth  well  dispense 

With  lovers'  long  discourse  ; 
Much  speech  hatli  some  defence, 

Though  beauty  no  remorse. 
All  do  not  all  things  well ; 

Some  measures  comely  tread, 
Some  knotted  riddles  tell, 

Some  poems  smoothly  read. 
The  summer  hath  his  joys, 

And  winter  his  delights. 
Though  love  and  all  his  pleasures  are  but  toys 

They  shorten  tedious  nights. 

CAMPION 


THE    OCEAN 

THERE  is  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods. 

There  is  a  rapture  on  the  lonely  shore, 
There  is  society  where  none  intrudes, 

By  the  deep  sea,  and  music  in  its  roar  ; 

I  love  not  man  the  less,  but  Nature  more, 
From  these  our  interviews,  in  which  I  steal 

From  all  I  may  be,  or  have  been  before, 
To  mingle  with  the  universe,  and  feel, 
What  I  can  ne'er  express,  yet  cannot  all  conceal. 

Roll  on,  thou  deep,  and  dark  blue  Ocean— roll ! 

Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain  ; 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin,— his  control 

Stops  with  the  shore  ;— upon  the  watery  plain, 

The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  his  own, 

When,  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain, 
Ae  sinks  into  thy  depths,  with  bubbling  groan, 
Without  a  grave,  unknelled  uncoffined,  and  unknown. 


THE    OCEAN  469 

The  armaments  which  thunder-strike  the  wal's 

Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake. 
And  monarch*  tremble  in  their  capitals, 

The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 

Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 
Of  lord  of  thee.  and  arbiter  of  war ; 

These  are  thy  toys,  and.  as  the  snowy  flake. 
They  melt  into  thy  yeast  of  waves,  which  mar 
Alike  the  Armada's  pride,  or  spoils  of  Trafalgar. 

Thy  shores  are  empires,  changed  in  all  save  thee— 
Assyria.  Greece,  Rome,  Carthage,  what  arc  they  > 

Thy  waters  washed  them  power  while  they  were  fire. 
And  many  .1  tyrant  since  ;  their  shores  obey 
The  stranger,  slave,  or  savage ,  their  drcay 

Has  dried  up  realms  to  deserts : — not  so  thou. 
Unchangeable,  save  to  thy  wild  waves'  play. — 

Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thine  azure  brow,— 

Such  as  creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollcbt  now. 

Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty's  form 

Glasses  itself  in  tempests  ;  in  all  time. 
Calm  or  convulsed— in  breeze,  or  gale,  or  storm. 

Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime, 

Dark-heaving  ; — boundless,  endless,  and  sublime— 
The  image  of  eternity— the  throne 

Of  the  Invisible  ;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made ;  each  zone 
Obeys  thee ;  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

BYRON 


INSCRIPTION    FOR    A    FOUNTAIN    ON   A   HEATH 

THIS  Sycamore,  oft  musical  with  bees.— 

Such  tents  the  Patriarchs  loved  !    O  long  unharmed 


47°  NATURE 

May  all  its  aged  boughs  o'ercanopy 

The  small  round  basin,  which  this  jutting  stone 

Keeps  pure  from  falling  leaves !   Long  may  the  Spring 

Quietly  as  a  sleeping  infant's  breath 

Send  up  cold  waters  to  the  traveller 

With  soft  and  even  pulse  !     Nor  ever  cease 

Yon  tiny  cone  of  sand  its  soundless  dance, 

Which  at  the  bottom  like  a  fairy's  page, 

As  merry  and  no  taller,  dances  still, 

Nor  wrinkles  the  smooth  surface  of  the  fount. 

Here  twilight  is  and  coolness  :  here  is  moss, 

A  soft  seat,  and  a  deep  and  ample  shade. 

Thou  may'st  toil  far  and  find  no  second  tree. 

Drink,  pilgrim,  here  ;  here  rest  !  and  if  thy  heart 

Be  innocent,  here  too  shalt  thou  refresh 

Thy  spirit,  listening  to  some  gentle  sound, 

Or  passing  gale  or  hum  of  murmuring  bees. 

COLERIDGE 


THE    DELL 

A  GREEN  and  silent  spot  amid  the  hills, 
A  small  and  silent  dell  !     O'er  stiller  place 
No  singing  sky-lark  ever  poised  himself. 
The  hills  are  heathy,  save  that  swelling  slope 
Which  hath  a  gay  and  gorgeous  covering  on, 
All  golden  with  the  never-bloomless  furze, 
Which  now  blooms  most  profusely  :  but  the  dell 
Bathed  by  the  mist  is  fresh  and  delicate 
As  vernal  corn-field,  or  the  unripe  flax, 
When  through  its  half-transparent  stalks  at  eve 
The  level  sunshine  glimmers  with  green  light. 

COLERIDGE 


A    FRAGRANT   GROVC  471 


A     FRAGRANT    GROVE 

THEN  walked  they  to  a  grove  but  near  at  hand. 

Where  fiery  Titan  had  but  small  command, 

Because  the  leavrs  conspiring  kept  his  beams 

For  fear  of  hurting,  when  he  is  in  extremes. 

The  urider-flowrrs.  which  did  enrich  tbe  ground 

With  sweeter  scents  than  in  Arabia  found. 

The  e.mh   doth   yield,  which   they   through    pores 

exhale. 

Earth's  best  of  odours,  th*  aromatica) : 
Like  to  that  smell,  which  oft  our  sense  descries 
Within  a  field  which  long  unploughed  lies, 
Somewhat  before  the  setting  of  the  sun  ; 
And  where  the  rainbow  in  the  horizon 
Doth  pitch  her  tips  :  or  as  when  in  the  prime 
The  earth  being    troubled  with  a  drought    long 

time, 
The    hand    of    heaven    his    spongy    clouds    doth 

strain. 

And  throws  into  her  lap  a  shower  of  rain  ; 
She  sendeth  up  (conceived  from  the  sun) 
A  sweet  perfume  and  exhalation. 
Not  all  the  ointments  brought  from  Delos  isle. 
Nor  from  the  confines  of  seven-headrd  Nile. 
Nor  that  brought  whence  Phoenicians  have  ntxxies, 
Nor  Cyprus  wild  vine-Mowers,  nor  that  of  Rhodes ; 
Nor  rose's  oil  from  Naples,  Capua, 
Saffron  confectrd  in  Cilicia, 
Nor  that  of  quinces,  nor  of  marjoram, 
That  ever  from  the  isle  of  Coos  came ; 
Nor  these,  nor  any  else,  though  ne'er  so  rare 
Could  with  this  place  for  sweetest  smells  compare. 


472  NATURE 


IN    A    FOREST 

DARK  all  without  it  knits  ;  within 

It  opens  passable  and  thin  ; 

And  in  as  loose  an  order  grows 

As  the  Corinthian  porticoes. 

The  arching  boughs  unite  between 

The  columns  of  the  temple  green  ; 

And  underneath  the  winged  quires 

Echo  about  their  tuned  fires. 

The  nightingale  does  here  make  choice 

To  sing  the  trials  of  her  voice  ; 

Low  shrubs  she  sits  in,  and  adorns 

With  music  high  the  squatted  thorns. 

But  highest  oaks  stoop  down  to  hear 

And  listening  elders  prick  the  ear. 

The  thorn,  lest  it  should  hurt  her,  draws 

Within  the  skin  its  shrunken  claws. 

But  I  have  for  my  music  found 

A  sadder,  yet  more  pleasing  sound  ; 

The  stock-doves,  whose  fair  necks  are  graced 

With  nuptial  rings,  their  ensigns  chaste  ; 

Yet  always,  for  some  cause  unknown, 

Sad  pair,  unto  the  elms  they  moan. 

O  why  should  such  a  couple  mourn, 

That  in  so  equal  flames  do  burn  ! 

Then  as  I  careless  on  the  bed 

Of  gelid  strawberries  do  tread, 

And  through  the  hazels  thick  espy 

The  hatching  throstle's  shining  eye. 

The  heron  from  the  ash's  top 

The  eldest  of  its  young  lets  drop, 

As  if  it  stork-like  did  pretend 

That  tribute  to  its  lord  to  send. 


IN  A  roursT  473 

dot  most  the  hewd's  >  wondeis  are, 
Who  here  has  the  holt-felster's'  care. 
He  walks  still  upright  from  the  root. 
Measuring  the  limber  with  his  foot. 
Aad  all  the  way.  to  keep  it  clean. 
Doth  from  the  bark  the  wood-moihs  glean 
He.  with  his  beak,  examines  well 
Which  fit  to  stand,  and  which  to  fell. 
The  good  he  numbers  up.  and  hacks, 
As  if  he  marked  them  with  the  axe. 
But  where  he,  tinkling  with  his  beak. 
Does  find  the  hollow  oak  to  speak. 
That  for  his  building  he  designs. 
And  through  the  tainted  side  he  mine*. 
Who  could  have  thought  the  tallest  oak 
Should  fall  by  such  a  feeble  stroke  ? 
Nor  would  it  had  the  tree  not  fed 
A  traitor-worm,  within  it  bred. 
(As  first  our  flrsh,  corrupt  within. 
Tempts  impotent  and  b.is-hful  sin. ) 
And  yet  that  worm  triumphs  not  long. 
But  serves  to  feed  the  hewel's  young. 
Whiles  the  oak  seems  to  fall  content. 
Viewing  the  treason's  punishment 
Thus  I,  easy  philosopher, 
Among  the  birds  and  trees  con  in 
And  little  now  to  make  me  wants 
Or  of  the  fowls,  or  of  the  plants. 
Already  I  begin  to  call 
In  their  most  learned  original  ; 
And  where  I  language  want,  my  signs 
The  bird  upon  the  hough  divines. 
No  leaf  does  tremble  in  the  wind. 
Which  I  returning  cannot  find. 

Wood-pecker.  »  Forester. 


474 


NATURE 

Out  of  these  scattered  Sibyl's  leaves 

Strange  prophecies  my  fancy  weaves  ; 

And  in  one  history  consumes, 

Like  Mexique  paintings,  all  the  plumes. 

What  Rome,  Greece,  Palestine  e'er  said, 

I  in  this  light  mosaic  read. 

Thrice  happy  he  who,  not  mistook, 

Hath  read  in  Nature's  mystic  book. 

And  see  how  Chance's  better  wit 

Could  with  a  mask  my  studies  hit ! 

The  oak-leaves  me  embroider  all, 

Between  which  caterpillars  crawl : 

And  ivy,  with  familiar  trails, 

Me  licks  and  clasps  and  curls  and  hales, 

Under  this  antic  cope  I  move 

Like  some  great  prelate  of  the  grove. 

Then  languishing  with  ease  I  toss 

On  pallets  swoln  of  velvet  moss  ; 

While  the  wind,  cooling  through  the  boughs, 

Flatters  with  air  my  panting  brows. 

Thanks  for  my  rest,  ye  mossy  banks, 

And  unto  you,  cool  zephyrs,  thanks, 

Who,  as  my  hair,  my  thoughts  too  shed, 

And  winnow  from  the  chaff  my  head. 

MARVELL 


A    FOREST 

THE  path  through  which  that  lovely  twain 
Have  passed,  by  cedar,  pine,  and  yew, 
And  each  dark  tree  that  ever  grew, 
Is  curtained  out  from  heaven's  wide  blue. 
Nor  sun  nor  moon  nor  wind  nor  rain 
Can  pierce  its  interwoven  bowers  ; 

Nor  aught  save  where  some  cloud  of  dew 


AH  BAETBLY  PARADISE  475 

Drifted  along  the  earth -creeping  breetc 
Between  the  trunks  of  the  hoar  trees, 

Hangs  each  a  pearl  in  the  pale  flowers 
Of  the  green  laurel  blown  anew, 

And  bends,— and  then  fades  silently  - 

One  frail  and  fair  anemone. 

Or  when  some  star,  of  many  a  one, 
That  climbs  and  wanders  through  steep  night, 

Has  found  the  cleft  through  which  alone 

Reams  fall  from  high  those  depths  upon.-  - 

Ere  it  is  borne  away— away, 

By  the  swift  heavens  that  cannot  stay,— 

It  scatters  drops  of  golden  light. 

Like  lines  of  rain  that  ne'er  unite : 
And  the  gloom  divine  is  all  around, 
And  underneath  is  the  mossy  ground. 

SHFl.t.KY 


AN     EARTHLY     PARADISE 

A  SHIP  is  floating  in  the  harbour  now ; 

A  wind  is  hovering  o'er  the  mountain's  brow  ; 

There  is  a  path  on  the  sea's  azure  floor.— 

No  keel  has  ever  ploughed  that  path  before ; 

The  halcyons  brood  around  the  foam  less  isles ; 

The  treacherous  ocean  has  forsworn  its  wiles  ; 

The  merry  mariners  are  bold  and  free : 

Say,  my  bean's  sister,  wilt  thou  sail  with  me? 

Our  bark  is  as  an  albatross  whose  nest 

Is  a  far  Eden  of  the  purple  east  ; 

And  we  between  her  wings  will  s  t.  while  Night 

And  Day  and  Storm  and  Calm  pursue  their  flight, 

Our  ministers,  along  the  boundless  sea. 

Treading  each  other's  heels,  unheededly. 


47^  NATURE 

It  is  an  isle  under  Ionian  skies, 

Beautiful  as  a  wreck  of  paradise  ; 

And,  for  the  harbours  are  not  safe  and  good, 

This  land  would  have  remained  a  solitude 

But  for  some  pastoral  people  native  there, 

Who  from  the  elysian,  clear  and  golden  air 

Draw  the  last  spirit  of  the  age  of  gold, — 

Simple  and  spirited,  innocent  and  bold  ; 

The  blue  ^Egean  girds  this  chosen  home, 

With  ever-changing  sound  and  light  and  foam 

Kissing  the  sifted  sands  and  caverns  hoar  ; 

And  all  the  winds  wandering  along  the  shore 

Undulate  with  the  undulating  tide. 

fhere  are  thick  woods  where  sylvan  forms  abide  ; 

And  many  a  fountain,  rivulet,  and  pond, 

As  clear  as  elemental  diamond, 

Or  serene  morning  air.     And  far  beyond, 

The  mossy  tracks  made  by  the  goats  and  deer 

(Which  the  rough   shepherd  treads  but   once  a 

year) 

Pierce  into  glades,  caverns,  and  bowers',  and  halls 
Built  round  with  ivy,  which  the  waterfalls 
Illumining,  with  sound  that  never  fails, 
Accompany  the  noonday  nightingales. 
And  all  the  place  is  peopled  with  sweet  airs, 
The  light  clear  element  which  the  isle  wears 
Is  heavy  with  the  scent  of  lemon-flowers, 
Which  floats  like  mist  laden  with  unseen  showers, 
And  falls  upon  the  eyelids  like  faint  sleep  ; 
And  from  the  moss  violets  and  jonquils  peep, 
And  dart  their  arrowy  odour  through  the  brain, 
Till  you  might  faint  with  that  delicious  pain. 
And  every  motion,  odour,  beam,  and  tone, 
With  that  deep  music  is  in  unison  ; 
Which  is  a  soul  within  the  soul,— they  seem 
Like  echoes  of  an  antenatal  dream. 


AN    EARTHLY    PARADISE  477 

It  is  an  isle  'iwixt  heaven,  air,  earth,  and  sea, 

Cradled,  and  hung  in  dear  tranquillity ; 

Bright  as  that  wandering  Eden,  Lucifer. 

Washed  by  the  soft  blue  oceans  of  young  air. 

It  is  a  favoured  place.     Famine  or  blight. 

Pestilence,  war,  and  earthquake,  never  light 

Upon  its  mountain-peaks  ;  Mind  vultures,  they 

Sail  onward  far  upon  their  fatal  way. 

The  winged  storms,  chaunting  their  thunder-psalm 

To  other  lands,  leave  azure  chasms  of  calm 

Over  this  isle,  or  weep  themselves  in  dew, 

From  which  its  fields  and  woods  ever  renew 

Their  grern  and  golden  immortality. 

And  from  the  sea  there  rise,  and  from  the  sky 

There  fall,  clear  exhalations,  soft,  and  bright, 

Veil  after  veil,  each  hiding  some  delight ; 

Which  sun  or  moon  or  zephyr  draw  aside, 

Till  the  isle's  beauty,  like  a  naked  bride 

Glowing  at  once  with  love  and  loveliness, 

Blushes  and  trembles  at  its  own  excess. 

Yet,  like  a  buried  lamp,  a  soul  no  less 

Burns  in  the  heart  of  this  delicious  isle, 

An  atom  of  the  Eternal,  whose  own  smile 

Unfolds  itself,  and  may  be  felt,  not  seen. 

O'er  the  grey  rocks,  blue  waves,  and  forests  green, 

Filling  their  bare  and  void  interstices. 

SHELLKY 


UNDER  the  greenwood  tree 
Who  loves  to  lie  with  me 
And  tune  his  merry  note 
Unto  the  sweet  bird'*  throat, 


478  NATURE 

Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither ; 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Who  doth  ambition  shun 
And  loves  to  lie  in  the  sun 
Seeking  the  food  he  eats 
And  pleased  with  what  he  gets, 
Come  hither,  come  hither ,  come  hither ; 
Here  shall  he  see 
No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

SHAKESPEARE 


'A     PASSION     OF     MY     LORD     OF     ESSEX' 

HAPPY  were  he  could  finish  forth  his  fate 

In  some  unhaunted  desert,  most  obscure 
From  all  societies,  from  love  and  hate 

Of  worldly  folk  ;  then  might  he  sleep  secure : 
Then  wake  again,  and  ever  give  God  praise, 

Content  with  hips  and  haws  and  bramble-berry ; 
In  contemplation  spending  all  his  days 

And  change  of  holy  thoughts  to  make  him  merry; 
Where  when  he  dies  his  tomb  may  be  a  bush, 
Where  harmless  robin  dwells  with  gentle  thrush. 


THE  COUNTRY'S  RECREATIONS 

QUIVERING  fears,  heart-tearing  cares, 
Anxious  sighs,  untimely  tears, 


THE  COUNTRY'S  ••CREATIONS    479 

Fly,  fly  to  courts ! 

Fly  to  fond  worldlings'  sport*. 
Where  strained  sardonic  smiles  are  glozing  still. 
And  grief  is  forced  to  laugh  against  her  will ; 

Where  mirth '»  but  mummery, 

And  sorrows  only  real  be  1 


Fly  from  our  country  pastimes,  fly, 
Sad  troop  of  human  misery  ! 

Come,  serene  looks. 

Clear  as  the  crystal  brooks. 
Or  the  pure  azured  heaven,  that  smiles  to  see 
The  rich  attendance  of  our  poverty  ! 

Peace,  and  a  secure  mind, 

Which  all  men  seek,  we  only  find 


Abused  mortal*  I  did  you  know 

Where  joy,  heart's  ease,  and  comforts  grow, 

You  'd  scorn  proud  towers, 

And  seek  them  in  these  bowers. 
Where  winds  sometimes  our  woods  perhaps  may 

shake 
But  blustering  care  could  never  tempest  make. 

Nor  murmurs  e'er  come  nigh  us 

Saving  of  fountains  that  glide  by  us. 

Here's  no  fantastic  mask,  nor  dance 
But  of  our  kids,  that  frisk  and  prance : 

Nor  wars  are  seen, 

Unless  upon  the  green 

Two  harmless  lambs  are  butting  one  the  other  : 
Which  done,  both  bleating  run,  each  to  his  mother: 

And  wounds  are  never  found, 

Save  what  the  ploughshare  gives  the  ground. 


480  NAtURtt 

Here  are  no  false  entrapping  baits, 
To  hasten  too-too  hasty  Fates  ; 

Unless  it  be 

The  fond  credulity 

Of  silly  fish,  which  worldling-like  still  look 
Upon  the  bait,  but  never  on  the  hook  : 

Nor  envy,  unless  among 

The  birds,  for  prize  of  their  sweet  song. 

Go,  let  the  diving  negro  seek 

For  gems  hid  in  some  forlorn  creek  ; 

We  all  pearls  scorn 

Save  what  the  dewy  morn 
Congeals  upon  each  little  spire  of  grass, 
Which  careless  shepherds  beat  down  as  they  pass  , 

And  gold  ne'er  here  appears, 

Save  what  the  yellow  Ceres  bears. 

Blest  silent  groves  !     O  may  ye  be 
For  ever  mirth's  best  nursery  ! 

May  pure  contents 

For  ever  pitch  their  tents 
Upon  these  downs,  these  meads,  these  rocks,  these 

mountains, 
And  peace  still  slumber  by  these  purling  fountains  ; 

Which  we  may  every  year 

Find  when  we  come  a-fishing  here. 

ANON. 


THE    COUNTRY     LIFE 

SWEET  country  life,  to  such  unknown 
Whose  lives  are  others',  not  their  own. 
But,  serving  courts  and  cities,  be 
Less  happy,  less  enjoying  thee :— 


THE   COUMT1Y    LIFE  481 

Thou  never  plough's!  the  ocean's  foam 
To  seek  and  bring  rough  pepper  home ; 
Nor  to  the  Eastern  Ind  dost  rove 
To  bring  from  thence  the  scorched  dove ; 
Nor,  with  the  loss  of  thy  loved  rest. 
Bring'st  home  the  ingot  from  the  west : 
No  I  thy  ambition's  masterpiece 
Flies  no  thought  higher  than  a  fleece ; 
Or  how  to  pay  thy  hinds,  and  clear 
All  scores,  and  so  to  end  the  year : 
But  walk'st  about  thine  own  dear  bounds. 
Not  envying  others'  larger  grounds ; 
For  well  tbou  know'st  'tis  not  the  extent 
Of  land  makes  life,  but  sweet  content. 
When  now  the  cock,  the  ploughman's  horn, 
Calls  forth  the  lily- wrist ed  morn, 
Then  to  thy  cornfields  them  dost  go. 
Which  though  well  soiled,  yet  thou  dost 

know 

That  the  best  compost  for  the  lands 
Is  the  wise  master's  feet  and  hands  : 
There  at  the  plough  thou  find'st  thy  team. 
With  a  hind  whistling  there  to  them  ; 
And  cheer' st  them  up,  by  singing  how 
The  kingdom's  portion  is  the  plough  : 
This  done,  then  to  th*  enamelled  meads 
Thou  go'st,  and  as  thy  foot  there  urarti. 
Thou  seest  a  present  God-like  power 
Imprinted  in  each  herb  and  flower ; 
And  smell'st  the  breath  of  great-eyed  kine, 
Sweet  as  the  blossoms  of  the  vine : 
Here  thou  behold'st  thy  large  sleek  neat 
Unto  the  dew-laps  up  in  meat ; 
And  as  thou  look'st,  the  wanton  steer, 
The  heifer,  cow,  and  ox  draw  near, 
To  make  a  pleasing  pastime  there  :— 
a  H 


482  NATURE 

These  seen,  thou  go'st  to  view  thy  flocks 

Of  sheep,  safe  from  the  wolf  and  fox, 

And  find'st  their  bellies  there  as  full 

Of  short  sweet  grass,  as  backs  with  wool ; 

And  leav'st  them,  as  they  feed  and  fill, 

A  shepherd  piping  on  a  hill. 

For  sports,  for  pageantry  and  plays, 

Thou  hast  thy  eves  and  holydays ; 

On  which  the  young  men  and  maids 

meet 

To  exercise  their  dancing  feet, 
Tripping  the  comely  country  round, 
With  daffodils  and  daisies  crowned. 
Thy  wakes,  thy  quintels,  here  thou  hast, 
Thy  May-poles  too  with  garlands  graced, 
Thy  morris-dance,  thy  Whitsun-ale, 
Thy  shearing-feast,  which  never  fail, 
Thy  harvest  home,  thy  wassail  bowl, 
That 's  tossed  up  after  Fox'  i'  th'  hole, 
Thy  mummeries,  thy  twelfth-tide  kings 
And  queens,  thy  Christmas  revellings, — 
Thy  nut-brown  mirth,  thy  russet  wit, 
And  no  man  pays  too  dear  for  it : — 
To  these,  thou  hast  thy  times  to  go 
And  trace  the  hare  i'  th'  treacherous  snow  : 
Thy  witty  wiles  to  draw,  and  get 
The  lark  into  the  trammel  net 
Thou  hast  thy  cockrood  and  thy  glade 
To  take  the  precious  pheasant  made  ; 
Thy  lime-twigs,  snares,  and  pitfalls  then 
To  catch  the  pilfering  birds,  not  men. 

O  happy  life !  if  that  their  good 
The  husbandmen  but  understood  ; 
Who  all  the  day  themselves  do  please 
And  younglings,  with  such  sports  as  these 


COUMTBY    D1EAMS  4*3 

And,  lying  down,  have  nought  f  affright 
Sweet  sleep,  that  make*  more  ihort  the  night. 

HEBE1CK 


COUNTRY  DREAMS 

THE  damask  meadows  and  the  crawling  streams 

Sweeten  and  make  soft  thy  dreams  ; 
The  purling   springs,  groves,  birds,  and  well-weaved 
bowers, 

With  fields  enamelled  with  flowers. 
Present  thee  shapes,  while  phantasy  discloses 

Millions  of  lilies  mixt  with  roses. 
Then  dream  thou  hearest  the  lamb  with  many  a  blcai 

Woo'd  to  come  suck  the  milky  teat ; 
Whilst  Faunus  in  the  vision  vows  to  keep 

From  ravenous  wolf  the  woolly  shoep ; 
With  thousand  such  enchanting  dreams,  which  meet 

To  make  sleep  not  so  sound  as  sweet 
Nor  can  these  figures  so  thy  rest  endear, 

As  not  to  up  when  chaunticleer 
Speaks  the  last  watch,  but  with  the  dawn  dost  rise 

To  work,  but  first  to  sacrifice  : 
Making  thy  peace  with  Heaven  for  some  late  fault, 

With  holy  meal,  and  crackling  salt. 

CORBET 


THE   WISH 

WELL  then  !  I  now  do  plainly  see 
This  busy  world  and  I  shall  ne'er  agree. 
The  very  honey  of  all  earthly  joy 
Does  of  all  meats  the  soonest  cloy  ; 


484  NATURE 

And  they,  methinks,  deserve  my  pity 
Who  for  it  can  endure  the  stings, 
The  crowd,  and  buzz,  and  murmurings, 

Of  this  great  hive,  the  city. 


Ah  !  yet  ere  I  descend  to  the  grave, 
May  I  a  small  house  and  large  garden  have ; 
And  a  few  friends,  and  many  books,  both  true, 
Both  wise,  and  both  delightful  too ! 

And,  since  love  ne'er  will  from  me  flee, 
A  Mistress  moderately  fair, 
And  good  as  guardian  angels  are, 

Only  beloved  and  loving  me. 

O  fountains  !  when  in  you  shall  I 

Myself  eased  of  unpeaceful  thoughts  espy  ? 

O  fields !  O  woods  !  when,  when  shall  I  be  made 

The  happy  tenant  of  your  shade? 

Here 's  the  spring-head  of  pleasure's  flood : 
Here 's  wealthy  Nature's  treasury, 
Where  all  the  riches  lie  that  she 

Has  coined  and  stamped  for  good ! 

Pride  and  ambition  here 

Only  in  far-fetched  metaphors  appear ; 

Here  nought  but  winds  can  hurtful  murmurs  scatter, 

And  nought  but  Echo  flatter. 

The  gods,  when  they  descended,  hither 
From  heaven  did  always  choose  their  way : 
And  therefore  we  may  boldly  say 

That  'tis  the  way  too  thither. 


How  happy  here  should  I 

And  one  dear  She  live,  and  embracing  die  ! 


THE    WISH 

She  who  is  all  the  world,  and  can  exclude 
In  deserts  solitude. 

I  should  have  then  this  only  fear : 
Lest  men,  when  they  my  pleasure  see. 
Should  hither  throng  to  live  like  me  ; 

And  so  make  a  City  here. 

COWLEY 


HAPPY  the  man.  whose  wish  and  care 

A  few  paternal  acres  bound, 
Content  to  breathe  his  native  air 
In  his  own  ground. 

Whose  herds  with  milk,  whose  fields  with 

Whose  flocks  supply  him  with  attire ; 

Whose  trees  in  summer  yield  him  shade, 

In  winter  fire. 

Blest  who  can  unconcern'dly  find 

Hours,  days,  and  years  slide  soft  away, 
In  health  of  body,  peace  of  mind, 
Quiet  by  day, 

Sound  sleep  by  night ;  study  and  ease 
Together  mixed ;  sweet  recreation. 
And  innocence,  which  most  does  please. 
With  meditation. 

Thus  let  me  live,  unseen,  unknown ; 

Thus  unlamented  let  me  die, 
Steal  from  the  world,  and  not  a  stone 
Tell  where  I  lie. 


486  NATURE 


AT  the  corner  of  Wood  Street,  when  daylight  appears, 
Hangs  a  thrush  that  sings  loud,  it  has  sung  for  three 

years : 

Poor  Susan  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  mountain  ascending,  a  vision  of  trees ; 
Bright  volumes  of  vapour  through  Lothbury  glide, 
And  a  river  flows  on  through  the  vale  of  Cheapside. 

Green  pastures  she  views  in  the  midst  of  the  dale, 
Down  which  she  so  often  has  tripped  with  her  pail ; 
And  a  single  small  cottage,  a  nest  like  a  dove's, 
The  one  only  dwelling  on  earth  that  she  loves. 

She  looks,   and  her  heart  is  in  heaven :    but  they 

fade, 

The  mist  and  the  river,  the  hill  and  the  shade  ; 
The  stream  will  not  flow,  and  the  hill  will  not  rise, 
And  the  colours  have  all  passed  away  from  her  eyes  ! 

WORDSWORTH 


FROST   AT   MIDNIGHT 

THE  frost  performs  its  secret  ministry, 
Unhelped  by  any  wind.     The  owlet's  cry 
Came  loud — and  hark,  again !  loud  as  before. 
The  inmates  of  my  cottage,  all  at  rest, 
Have  left  me  to  that  solitude,  which  suits 


FROST    AT   MIDNIGHT  4 

Abstruser  musings :  save  that  at  my  side 
My  cradled  infant  slumbers  peacefully. 
Its  calm  indeed  !  so  calm,  that  it  disturbs 
And  vexes  meditation  with  its  strange 
And  extreme  silentness.    Sea.  hill,  and  wood. 
With  aU  the  numberless  goings  on  of  life. 
Inaudible  as  dreams !  the  thin  blue  flame 
Lies  on  my  low-burnt  fire,  and  quivers  not : 
Only  that  film,  which  fluttered  on  the  grate, 
Still  flutters  there,  the  sole  unquiet  thing. 
Methinks.  its  motion  in  this  hush  of  nature 
Gives  it  dim  sympathies  with  me  who  live. 
Mn^C  it  a  companionable  form, 
Whose  puny  flaps  and  freaks  the  idling  Spirit 
By  its  own  moods  interprets,  every  where 
Echo  or  mirror  seeking  of  itself. 
And  makes  a  toy  of  Thought. 

Dear  Babe,  that  steepest  cradled  by  my  side. 
Whose  gentle  breathings,  heard  in  this  deep 

calm. 

Fill  up  the  interspersed  vacancies 
And  momentary  pauses  of  the  thought ! 
My  babe  so  beautiful  I  it  thrills  my  heart 
With  tender  gladness,  thus  to  look  at  thee. 
And  think  that  thou  shah  learn  far  other  lore. 
And  in  far  other  scenes !    For  I  was  reared 
In  the  great  city,  pent  'mid  cloisters  dim. 
And  saw  nought  lovely  but  the  sky  and  stars. 
But  thou.  my  babe  t  shah  wander  like  a  breeze 
By  lakes  and  sandy  shores,  beneath  the  cngs 
Of  ancient  mountain,  and  beneath  the  clouds. 
Which  image  in  their  bulk  both  lakes  and  shores 
And  mountain  crags :  so  shalt  thou  see  and  hear 
The  lovely  shapes  and  sounds  intelligible 
Of  that  eternal  language,  which  thy  God 
Utters,  who  from  eternity  doth  teach 


NATURE 

Himself  in  all,  and  all  things  in  himself. 
Great  universal  Teacher !  he  shall  mould 
Thy  spirit,  and  by  giving  make  it  ask. 

Therefore  all  seasons  shall  be  sweet  to  thee, 
Whether  the  summer  clothe  the  general  earth 
With  greenness,  or  the  redbreast  sit  and  sing 
Betwixt  the  tufts  of  snow  on  the  bare  branch 
Of  mossy  apple-tree,  while  the  nigh  thatch 
Smokes  in  the  sun-thaw ;  whether  the  eve-drops 

fall, 

Heard  only  in  the  trances  of  the  blast, 
Or  if  the  secret  ministry  of  frost 
Shall  hang  them  up  in  silent  icicles. 
Quietly  shining  to  the  quiet  Moon, 

COLERIDGE 


ON     REVISITING    THE    BANKS    OF 
THE    WYE 

.  .  .  THESE  beauteous  Forms 
Through  a  long  absence,  have  not  been  to  me 
As  is  a  landscape  to  a  blind  man's  eye : 
But  oft,  in  lonely  rooms,  and  'mid  the  din 
Of  towns  and  cities,  I  have  owed  to  them, 
In  hours  of  weariness,  sensations  sweet, 
Felt  in  the  blood,  and  felt  along  the  heart ; 
And  passing  even  into  my  purer  mind, 
With  tranquil  restoration  : — feelings  too 
Of  un remembered  pleasure  :  such,  perhaps, 
As  have  no  slight  and  trivial  influence 
On  that  best  portion  of  a  good  man's  life, 
His  little,  nameless,  unremembered  acts 


ON  BEVISITING  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  WYE     4*9 

Of  kindness  and  of  lore.     Nor  less.  I  trust, 
To  them  I  may  have  owed  another  gift, 
Of  aspect  more  sublime  ;  that  blessed  mood. 
In  which  the  burthen  of  the  mystery. 
In  which  the  heavy  and  the  weary  weight 
Of  all  this  unintelligible  world, 
Is  lightened :  that  serene  and  blessed  mood 
In  which  the  affections  gently  lead  us  on, — 
Until,  the  breath  of  this  corporeal  frame 
And  even  the  motion  of  our  human  blood 
Almost  suspended,  we  are  laid  asleep 
In  body,  and  become  a  living  soul : 
While  with  an  eye  made  quiet  by  the  power 
Of  harmony,  and  the  deep  power  of  joy, 
We  see  into  the  life  of  things.     If  this 
Be  but  a  vain  belief,  yet  oh,  how  oft 
In  darkness,  and  amid  the  many  shapes 
Of  joyless  daylight ;  when  the  fretful  stir 
Unprofitable,  and  the  fever  of  the  world. 
Have  hung  upon  the  beatings  of  my  heart. 
How  oft  in  spirit  have  I  turned  to  thce, 

0  sylvan  Wye  1     Thou  wanderer  thro'  the 

woods. 
How  often  has  my  spirit  turned  to  thee ! 

And  now,  with  gleams  of  half-extinguished 

thought. 

With  many  recognitions  dim  and  faint. 
And  somewhat  of  a  sad  perplexity. 
The  picture  of  the  mind  revives  again 
While  here  I  stand  : 
Though  changed,  no  doubt,  from  what  I  was  when 

first 

1  came  among  these  hills  ;  when  like  a  roe 
I  bounded  o'er  the  mountains,  by  the  sides 
Of  the  deep  rivers  and  the  lonely  streams. 
Wherever  Nature  led :  more  like  a  man 


490  NATURE 

Flying  from  something  that  he  dreads,  than  one 

Who  sought  the  thing  he  loved.    For  Nature  then 

To  me  was  all  in  all.  — I  cannot  paint 

What  then  I  was.     The  sounding  cataract 

Haunted  me  like  a  passion :  the  tall  rock, 

The  mountain,  and  the  deep  and  gloomy  wood, 

Their  colours  and  their  forms,  were  then  to  me 

An  appetite  ;  a  feeling  and  a  love 

That  had  no  need  of  a  remoter  charm 

By  thought  supplied,  or  any  interest 

Unborrowed  from  the  eye.— That  time  is  past, 

And  all  its  aching  joys  are  now  no  more, 

And  all  its  dizzy  raptures.     Not  for  this 

Faint  I,  nor  mourn,  nor  murmur.  .  .  .  For  I  have 

learned 

To  look  on  Nature,  not  as  in  the  hour 
Of  thoughtless  youth,  but  hearing  oftentimes 
The  still,  sad  music  of  humanity, 
Nor  harsh,  nor  grating,  though  of  ample  power 
To  chasten  and  subdue.     And  I  have  felt 
A  presence  that  disturbs  me  with  the  joy 
Of  elevated  thoughts  :  a  sense  sublime 
Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  is  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean,  and  the  living  air, 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man : 
A  motion  and  a  spirit  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things. 

WORDSWORTH 


PASTORALS 


Through  enamelled  meads  they  went. 
Quiet  she,  he  passion-rent. 

Brook* 


Where  flowers,  and  founts,  and  nymphs  and 

semi-gods, 
And  all  the  graces  find  their  old  abodes. 

Chapman 


MORNING    SONG 

SHEPHERDS,  rise  and  shake  off  sleep 
See  the  blushing  morn  doth  peep 
Through  the  window,  while  the  sun 
To  the  mountain  tops  is  run, 
Gilding  all  the  vales  below 
With  his  rising  flames,  which  grow 
Greater  by  his  climbing  still. 
Up,  ye  laity  grooms,  and  nil 
Bag  and  bottle  for  the  field  ; 
Clasp  your  cloaks  last,  lest  they  yield 
To  the  bitter  north-east  wind. 
Call  the  maidens  up,  and  find 
Who  lay  longest,  that  she  may 
Go  without  a  friend  all  day  ; 
Then  reward  your  dogs,  and  pray 
Pan  to  keep  you  from  decay  : 
So  unfold  and  then  away. 


HYMN    TO    PAN 

SlNO  his  praises  that  doth  keep 

Our  flocks  from  harm, 
Pan,  the  father  of  our  sheep  ; 

And  arm  in  arm 
Tread  we  softly  in  a  round, 
Whilst  the  hollow  neighbouring  ground 
Fills  the  music  with  her  sound. 


494  PASTORALS 

Pan,  oh  great  god  Pan,  to  thee 

Thus  do  we  sing  ! 
Thou  that  keep'st  us  chaste  and  free 

As  the  young  spring ; 
Ever  be  thy  honour  spoke, 
From  that  place  the  morn  is  broke, 
To  that  place  day  doth  unyoke  5 


AMORET 

THE    SATYR 
I 

THROUGH  yon  same  bending  plain 

That  flings  his  arms  down  to  the  main, 

And  through  these  thick  woods,  have  I  run, 

Whose  bottom  never  kissed  the  sun 

Since  the  lusty  spring  began  ; 

All  to  please  my  Master  Pan, 

Have  I  trotted  without  rest 

To  get  him  fruit  ;  for  at  a  feast 

He  entertains,  this  coming  night 

His  paramour,  the  Syrinx  bright. 

But  behold  a  fairer  sight ! 

By  that  heavenly  form  of  thine, 

Brightest  fair,  thou  art  divine, 

Sprung  from  great  immortal  race 

Of  the  gods ;  for  in  thy  face 

Shines  more  awful  majesty 

Than  dull  weak  mortality 

Dare  with  misty  eyes  behold, 

And  live.     Therefore  on  this  mould 

Lowly  do  I  bend  my  knee 

In  worship  of  thy  deity. 


AMORBT  4 

Deign  it,  goddess,  from  my  hand 

To  receive  whate'er  this  land 

From  her  fertile  womb  doth  lend 

Of  her  choice  fruits  ;  and  but  lead 

Belief  to  that  the  Satyr  tells : 

Fairer  by  the  famous  wells 

To  this  present  day  ne'er  grew. 

Never  better  nor  more  true. 

Here  be  grapes,  whose  lusty  blood 

Is  the  learned  poet's  good  ; 

Sweeter  yet  did  never  crown 

The  head  of  Bacchus  ;  nuts  more  brown 

Than  the  squirrel's  teeth  that  crack  them  , 

Deign,  oh  fairest  fair,  to  lake  them  ! 

For  these  black-eyed  Dryope 

Hath  often -times  commanded  me 

With  my  clasped  knee  to  climb : 

See  how  well  the  lusty  time 

Hath  decked  their  rising  cheeks  in  red. 

Such  as  on  your  lips  is  spread  ! 

Here  he  berries  for  a  queen. 

Some  be  red,  some  be  green  ; 

These  are  of  that  luscious  meat, 

The  great  god  Pan  himself  doth  cat : 

All  these,  and  what  the  woods  can  yield 

The  hanging  mountain,  or  the  field. 

I  freely  offer,  and  ere  long 

Will  bring  you  more,  more  sweet  and  strong 

Till  when,  humbly  leave  I  take 

Lest  the  great  Pan  do  awake, 

That  sleeping  lies  in  a  deep  glade 

Under  a  broad  beech's  shade. 

I  must  go.  I  must  run 

Swifter  than  the  fiery  sun. 


496  PASTORALS 


Thou  divinest,  fairest,  brightest, 
Thou  most  powerful  maid  and  whitest, 
Thou  most  virtuous  and  most  blessed, 
Eyes  of  stars  and  golden -tressed 
Like  Apollo  !  tell  me,  sweetest, 
What  new  service  now  is  meetest 
For  the  Satyr  ?    Shall  I  stray 
In  the  middle  air,  and  stay 
The  sailing  rack,  or  nimbly  take 
Hold  by  the  moon,  and  gently  make 
Suit  to  the  pale  queen  of  night 
For  a  beam  to  give  thee  light  ? 
Shall  I  dive  into  the  sea 
And  bring  thee  coral,  making  way 
Through  the  rising  waves  that  fall 
In  snowy  fleeces  ?    Dearest,  shall 
I  catch  thee  wanton  fawns,  or  flies 
Whose  woven  wings  the  summer  dyes 
Of  many  colours  ?  get  thee  fruit, 
Or  steal  from  heaven  old  Orpheus'  lute  ? 
All  these  I  '11  venture  for,  and  more 
To  do  her  service  all  these  woods  adore. 


THE    RIVER    GOD 

I  AM  this  fountain's  god.     Below, 
My  waters  to  a  river  grow, 
And  'twixt  two  banks  with  osiers  set, 
That  only  prosper  in  the  wet, 
Through  the  meadows  do  they  glide, 
Wheeling  still  on  every  side, 


AM01ET 

Sometimes  \\inding  round  about, 

To  find  the  cvcncst  channel  out. 

And  if  thcu  wilt  go  with  me 

Leaving  mortal  company, 

la  ihe  cool  streams  >halt  thou  lie, 

Freo  from  harm  as  well  as  I : 

I  will  give  thee  Tor  thy  food 

No  fish  that  usrth  in  the  mud 

But  trout  and  pike,  that  love  to  suim 

Where  the  gravel  from  the  brim 

Through  the  pure  streams  may  be  seen: 

Orient  pear!  fit  for  a  queen 

Will  I  give  thy  love  to  win. 

And  a  shell  to  keep  them  in  ; 

Not  a  fish  in  all  my  brook. 

That  shall  disobey  thy  look, 

Rut  when  thou  wilt  come  sliding  by, 

And  from  thy  white  hand  take  a  My : 

And  to  make  thee  understand 

How  I  can  my  waves  command, 

They  -hall  bubble  whibt  I  sing, 

Sweeter  than  the  silver  string. 


THE  SONG 

I>o  not  fear  to  put  thy  feet 
Naked  in  the  river  sweet ; 
Think  not  leech,  or  newt,  or  toad. 
Wiil  bite  thy  foot,  when  thou  hast  trod  ; 
Nor  let  the  water  rising  high 
As  thou  wad'st  in,  make  thee  cry 
And  sob  ;  but  ever  live  with  me. 
And  not  a  wave  *haU  trouble  thee. 

•mean 

a  i 


PASTORALS 


FANCY    AND    DESIRE 

COME  hither,  shepherd's  swain. 

Sir,  what  do  you  require? 
I  pray  thee  shew  to  me  thy  name. 

My  name  is  Fond  Desire. 

When  wert  thou  born,  Desire? 

In  pomp  and  prime  of  May. 
By  whom,  sweet  boy,  wert  thou  begot 

By  Fond  Conceit,  men  say. 

Tell  me,  who  was  thy  nurse  ? 

Fresh  youth  in  sugared  joy. 
What  was  thy  meat  and  daily  food  ? 

Sad  sighs  with  great  annoy. 

What  hadst  thou  then  to  drink  ? 

Unfeigned  lovers'  tears. 
What  cradle  wert  thou  rocked  in  ? 

In  hope  devoid  of  fears. 

What  lulled  thee  then  asleep  ? 

Sweet  speech  which  likes  me  best. 
Tell  me,  where  is  thy  dwelling-place  ? 

In  gentle  hearts  I  rest. 

What  thing  doth  please  thee  most  ? 

To  gaze  on  beauty  still. 
Whom  dost  thou  think  to  be  thy  foe? 

Disdain  of  my  good  will. 

Doth  company  displease? 

Yes,  surely,  many  one. 
Where  doth  Desire  delight  to  live  ? 

He  loves  to  live  alone. 


i 

FANCY    AND    DESIRE  499 

Doth  cither  lime  or  age 

Bring  him  unto  decay  ? 
Mo,  no  ;  Desire  both  lives  and  diet 

A  thousand  times  a  day. 

Then,  food  Desire,  farewell, 

Thou  art  no  mate  for  me  ; 
I  should  be  loath,  methinks.  to  dwell 

With  such  a  one  as  thee. 

OXFORD 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  DESCRIPTION  OF  tovh. 

Mtlibaut.  bHKPHERD.  what  s  love,  1  pray  thee  (elL 
Fauslus.     It  is  that  fountain  and  that  well 

Where  Pleasure  and  Repentance  dwell ; 

It  is  perhaps  that  sauncing-brll  * 

That  tolls  all  into  heaven  or  hell ; 

And  this  is  love,  as  I  heard  tell. 

Mtlibenu.  Yet  what  is  love?  good  shepherd,  sain. 
Faiuhts.     It  is  a  sunshine  mixed  with  rain ; 

It  is  a  toothache  or  like  pain  ; 

It  is  a  game  where  none  can  gain ; 

The  lass  saith  no,  and  would  full  fain, 

And  this  is  love,  as  I  hear  sain 

Melibatu.  Yet,  shepherd,  what  is  love,  1  pray  ? 
It  is  a  yea,  it  is  a  nay, 
A  pretty  kind  of  sporting  fray  ; 
It  is  a  thing  will  soon  away  ; 
Then  nymphs,  take  vantage  while  ye  may  ; 
And  this  is  love,  as  I  hear  say. 
1  Sacriog-bcU. 


500  PASTORALS 

Melibasus.  Yet  what  is  love,  good  shepherd,  shew. 
Fa^lst^ls.     A  thing  that  creeps,  it  cannot  go  ; x 

A  prize  that  passeth  to  and  fro  ; 

A  thing  for  one,  a  thing  for  moe  ; 

And  he  that  proves  shall  find  it  so ; 

And  shepherd,  this  is  love,  I  trow. 

RALEGH 


THE  SHEPHERD'S  WIFE'S  SONG 

AH,  what  is  love?    It  is  a  pretty  thing, 
As  sweet  unto  a  shepherd  as  a  king  ; 

And  sweeter  too  ; 

For  kings  have  cares  that  wait  upon  a  crown, 
And  cares  can  make  the  sweetest  love  to  frown  : 

Ah  then,  ah  then, 

If  country  loves  such  sweet  desires  do  gain, 
What  lady  would  not  love  a  shepherd  swain? 

His  flocks  are  folded,  he  comes  home  at  night, 
As  merry  as  a  king  in  his  delight ; 

And  merrier  too  ; 

For  kings  bethink  them  what  the  state  require, 
Where  shepherds  careless  carol  by  the  fire : 

Ah  then,  ah  then, 

If  country  loves  such  sweet  desires  do  gain, 
What  lady  would  not  love  a  shepherd  swain? 

He  kisseth  first,  then  sits  as  blithe  to  eat 

His  cream  and  curds  as  doth  the  king  his  meat ; 

And  blither  too ; 

For  kings  have  often  fears  when  they  do  sup, 
Where  shepherds  dread  no  poison  in  their  cup : 

Ah  then,  ah  then, 

i  Walk. 


TRK    5IIRP  HERD'S    WIPES    SON  O          5»l 

If  country  loves  such  sweet  desires  do  gain. 
What  lady  would  not  love  a  shepherd  swain  ? 

Upon  his  couch  of  straw  he  sleeps  as  sound. 
As  doth  the  king  upon  bis  beds  of  down. 

More  rounder  too ; 

For  cares  cause  kings  full  oft  their  sleep  to  spill. 
Where  weary  shepherds  lie  and  snort  their  fill : 

Ah  then,  ah  then, 

If  country  loves  such  sweet  desires  do  gain. 
What  lady  would  not  love  a  shepherd  swain  ? 

Thus  with  hi*  wife  he  spends  the  year  as  blithe 
As  doth  the  king  at  every  tide  or  sithe  . 

And  blither  too ; 

For  kings  have  wars  and  broils  to  take  in  hand 
Where  shepherds  laugh  and  love  upon  the  land  ; 

Ah  then,  ah  then, 

If  country  loves  such  sweet  desires  do  gain. 
What  lady  would  not  love  a  shepherd  swain  ? 


THE   WANT 

TliR  budding  floweret  blushes  at  the  light. 
The  meads  are  sprinkled  with  the  yrllow  hue, 

In  daisied  mantles  is  the  mountain  dight, 
The  ncsh  1  young  cowslip  bendeth  with  the  dew ; 

The  trees  cnleafed.  unto  heaven  straught 

When  gentle  winds  do  blow,  to  whistling  din  are  brouifh1 

The  evening  comes  and  brings  the  dew  along ; 

The  ruddy  welkin  shincth  to  the  eyne ; 
Around  the  ale-stake  minstrels  sing  the  song, 

Young  ivy  round  the  doorpost  doth  entwine  ; 
1  Soft 


502  PASTORALS 

I  lay  me  on  the  grass  ;  yet,  to  my  will, 
Albeit  all  is  fair,  there  lacketh  something  still. 

When  Autumn  blakei  and  sunburnt  doth  appear, 
With  his  gold  hand  gilding  the  falling  leaf, 

Bringing  up  Winter  to  fulfil  the  year, 
Bearing  upon  his  back  the  ripened  sheaf, 

When  all  the  hills  with  woody  seed  are  white, 

Whenlevin-fires2and  gleams  do  meet  from  far  the  sight; 

When  the  fair  apples  red  as  evening  sky 
Do  bend  the  tree  unto  the  fruitful  ground, 

When  juicy  pears  and  berries  of  black  dye 
Do  dance  in  air  and  call  the  eyes  around  ; 

Then,  be  the  evening  foul  or  be  it  fair, 

Methinks  my  heartes  joy  is  stained  with  some  care. 

CHATTERTON 

GOOD  Muse,  rock  me  asleep 
With  some  sweet  harmony ; 

The  weary  eye  is  not  to  keep 
Thy  wary  company. 

Sweet  Love,  begone  awhile, 
Thou  knowest  my  heaviness ; 

Beauty  is  born  but  to  beguile 
My  heart  of  happiness. 

The  bushes  and  the  trees 

That  were  so  fresh  and  green, 

Do  all  their  dainty  colour  leese. 
And  not  a  leaf  is  seen. 

The  blackbird  and  the  thrush 
That  made  the  woods  to  ring, 

With  all  the  rest  are  now  at  hush, 
And  not  a  note  they  sing. 

l  Yellow  (?),  2  Lightning. 


COOD    MUSE,    ROCK    MR    A  S  I.  B  I  P         ?>3 

Sweet  Philomel,  the  bird 
That  hath  the  heavenly  throat, 

Doth  now,  alas,  not  once  afford 
Recording  of  a  note. 

The  flowers  have  had  n  frost. 
Each  herb  hath  lost  her  savour, 

And  Phyllida  the  fair  hath  lost 
The  comfort  of  hrr  favour. 

And  therefore,  my  sweet  Muse, 
Thou  know'st  what  help  is  best ; 

Do  now  thy  heavenly  cunning  use, 
To  set  my  heart  at  rest. 

And  in  a  drenm  bewray 
What  fate  shall  be  my  friend, 

Whether  my  life  shall  suli  decay, 
Or  when  my  sorrow  end. 

BBETON 


SONG 

5V    FAIR  and  fair  and  twice  so  fair 

As  fair  as  any  m*y  be. — 
The  fairest  shepherd  on  our  green 
A  love  for  any  lady. 

Ht.    Fair  and  fair  and  twice  so  fair 

As  fair  as  any  may  be,— 
Thy  love  is  fair  for  thee  alone 
And  for  no  other  lady. 

sk*.  My  love  is  fair,  my  love  is  gay, 

As  fresh  as  bin  the  flowers  in  May  . 
And  of  my  love  my  roundelay, 
My  merry,  merry,  merry  roundelny. 


504  PASTORALS 

Concludes  with  Cupid's  curse  : 
They  that  do  change  old  love  for  new, 
Pray  gods  they  change  for  worse. 

PEELE 


THE     PASSIONATE     SHEPHERD 
TO     HIS     LOVE 

COME  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love, 
And  we  will  all  the  pleasures  prove, 
That  hills  and  valleys,  dales  and  fields, 
Woods  or  steepy  mountain  yields. 

And  we  will  sit  upon  the  rocks, 
Seeing  the  shepherds  feed  their  flocks, 
By  shallow  rivers  to  whose  falls 
Melodious  birds  sing  madrigals. 

And  I  will  make  thee  beds  of  roses  ; 
And  a  thousand  fragrant  posies  ; 
A  cap  of  flowers,  and  a  kirtle 
Embroidered  all  with  leaves  of  myrtle ; 

A  gown  made  of  the  finest  wool, 
Which  from  our  pretty  lambs  we  pmi  i 
Fair-lined  slippers  for  the  cold, 
With  buckles  of  the  purest  gold  ; 

A  belt  of  straw  and  ivy-buds, 
With  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs  ; 
And  if  these  pleasures  may  thee  move, 
Come  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love. 

The  shepherd-swains  shall  dance  and  sing, 
For  thy  delight  each  May  morning  , 
If  these  delights  thy  mind  may  move, 
Then  live  with  me  and  be  my  love. 

MARLOWE 


THF.    NYMPH'S    REPLY 


THK     NYMPH   S     RRPI.Y 

Ir  all  the  world  and  love  were  young, 
And  truth  in  every  shepherd's  tongue. 
These  pretty  pleasures  might  me  move 
To  lire  with  thee  and  be  thy  love. 

Rut  time  drives  flocks  from  field  to  fold, 
When  rivers  rage  and  rocks  grow  cold  ; 
And  Philomel  hccometh  dumb  ; 
The  rest  compUins  of  cnn-s  to  come. 

The  flowers  do  fade,  and  wanton  fields 
To  wayward  winter  reckoning  yields  , 
A  honey  tongue,  a  heart  of  gall. 
Is  fancy's  spring,  but  sorrow's  fall 

Thy  gowns,  thy  shoes,  thy  beds  of  roses. 
Thy  cap,  thy  kirtle,  and  thy  posies. 
Soon  break,  soon  wither,  soon  forgotten, 
In  folly  ripe,  in  reason  rotten. 

Thy  bell  of  straw  and  ivy-buds, 
Thy  coral  clasps  and  amber  studs ; 
All  these  in  me  no  means  can  move 
To  come  to  thce.  and  he  thy  love. 

But  could  \outh  last,  and  love  still  breed, 
Had  joys  no  date,  nor  age  no  need, 
Then  these  delights  my  mind  might  move 
To  live  with  thee  and  be  thy  love. 

RALEGH 


So6 


PASTORALS 

COLIN   CLOUT'S   SONGS 
i 

IN    PRAISE   OF   ELISA,    QUEEN    OF    SHEPHERDS 

SEE,  where  she  sits  upon  the  grassy  green, 

0  seemly  sight ! 

Yclad  in  scarlet,  like  a  maiden  Queen, 

And  ermines  white : 
Upon  her  head  a  Crimson  coronet, 
With  Damask  roses  and  Daffadillies  set : 

Bay  leaves  between 

And  Primroses  green 
Embellish  the  sweet  Violet. 

Tell  me,  have  ye  seen  her  angelic  face, 

Like  Phoebe  fair  ! 
Her  heavenly  haveour,  her  princely  grace, 

Can  you  well  compare  ? 

The  Red  rose  medled1  with  the  White  yfere.a 
In  either  cheek  depainten  lively  cheer : 

Her  modest  eye, 

Her  majesty, 
Where  have  you  seen  the  like  but  there  ? 

I  saw  Calliope  speed  her  to  the  place 

Where  my  Goddess  shines  ; 
And  after  her  the  other  Muses  trace 

With  their  Violines. 

Be  they  not  bay  branches  which  they  do  bear, 
All  for  Elisa  in  her  hand  to  wear  ? 

So  sweetly  they  play, 

And  sing  all  the  way, 
That  it  a  heaven  is  to  hear. 

Lo,  how  finely  the  Graces  can  it  foot 
'  To  the  instrument  : 

1  Mixed.  2  Together. 


COLIN  CLOUT'S  SONGS  507 

They  dancen  deftly,  and  singcn  soot* 

In  their  merriment. 

Wants  not  a  fourth  Grace  to  make  the  dance  even  ? 
Let  that  room  to  my  Lady  be  given  : 

She  shall  be  a  Grace 

To  fill  th«-  fourth  place, 
And  reign  with  the  rest  in  heaven. 

Bring  hither  the  Pink  and  purple  Columbine 

With  Gilliflowen  : 
Bring  Coronations,  and  Sops-in-wine 

Worn  of  Paramourv 

Strow  me  the  gro>  nd  »ith  Daffadowndillies, 
And  Cowslips.  »n«l  Kingcups,  and  lov.-d  Lilies  : 

The  pretty  Paunce* 

And  the  Chevisaunce  « 
Shall  match  with  the  fair  flower -dclice.* 


MAY 

Is  not  this  the  merry  month  of  May, 
When  love-lads  ma&kcn  in  fresh  array  ? 
How  fall"  it,  then,  we  no  merrirr  been, 
Ylike  as  others,  girt  in  gaudy  green  ? 
Our  blanket  liveries  been  all  too  sad 
For  this  same  season,  when  all  is  yclad 
With  pleasaunce  ;  the  ground  »  hh  grass,  the  woods 
With  green  leaves,  the  bushes  with  blossoming  bu<U 
Young  folk  now  flocken  in  every  wl  ere, 
To  gather  May  buskets  and  smelling  Lrere  ; 
And  home  they  hasten  the  posts  to  dight, 
And  all  the  kirk  pillars  «T*-  daylight, 
With  hawthorn  buds  and  sweet  eglantine, 
And  garlands  of  roses  and  sops-in-wine. 
1  Swe«t.      3  See  Note.      *  Pansy.      *  Wall-flower.      *  IrU. 


5°8  PASTORALS 

III 

THE     WINTER    OF     LOVE 

THOU    barren   ground,    whom   winter's   wrath    hath 

wasted, 

Art  made  a  mirror  to  behold  my  plight : 
Whilome  thy  fresh  spring  flowered,  and  after  hasted 
Thy  summer  proud,  with  Daffadillies  dight ; 
And  now  is  come  thy  winter's  stormy  state, 
Thy  mantle  marred,  wherein  thou  maskedst  1a^. 

Such  rage  as  winter's  reigneth  in  my  heart, 
My  life-blood  freezing  with  unkindly  cold  ; 
Such  stormy  stours  do  breed  my  baleful  smart, 
As  if  my  year  were  waste  and  waxen  old  ; 

And  yet,  alas  !  but  now  my  spring  begun, 

And  yet,  alas  !  it  is  already  done. 

You  naked  trees,  whose  shady  leaves  are  lost, 
Wherein  the  birds  were  wont  to  build  their  bower, 
And  now  are  clothed  with  moss  and  hoary  frost, 
Instead  of  bloss'ms,  wherewith  your  buds  did  flower  ; 

I  see  your  tears  that  from  your  boughs  do  rain, 

Whose  drops  in  dreary  icicles  remain. 

All  so  my  lustful  leaf  is  dry  and  sere, 
My  timely  buds  with  wailing  all  are  wasted  ; 
The  blossom  which  my  branch  of  youth  did  bear 
With  breathed  sighs  is  blown  away  and  blasted  : 
And  from  mine  eyes  the  drizzling  tears  descend, 
As  on  your  boughs  the  icicles  depend. 

SPENSER 


WOftLDL*    PARADISB  505 

ON     A     DAY 

ON  a  day  (alack  the  day  I), 
Love,  whose  month  is  ever  May. 
Spied  a  blossom,  passing  fair, 
Playing  in  the  wanton  air : 
Through  the  velvet  leaves  the  wind. 
All  unseen,  'gan  passage  find  ; 
That  the  shepherd  (sick  to  death) 
Wished  himself  the  heaven's  bns.th. 
Air.  quoth  he.  thy  cheeks  may  blow 
Air,  would  I  might  triumph  so  I 
Rut,  alack,  my  hand  hath  sworn 
Ne'er  to  pluck  thee  from  thy  thorn. 
Vow,  alack,  for  youth  unmeet, 
Youth,  so  apt  to  pluck  a  sweet ; 
Do  not  call  it  sin  in  me, 
That  I  am  forsworn  for  thec. 
Thou  for  whom  Jove  would  near 
Juno  but  an  Eihiope  were, 
And  deny  himself  for  Jove, 
Turning  mortal  for  thy  love. 

SHAKESPEARE 


WORLDLY     PARADISE 

WHO  can  live  in  heart  so  glad 
As  the  merry  country  lad  ? 
Who  upon  a  fair  green  balk 
May  at  pleasure  sit  and  walk. 
And  amid  the  azure  skies, 
See  the  morning  sun  arise ; 
While  be  hears  in  every  spring. 
How  the  birds  do  chirp  and  sing : 
Or  before  the  hounds  in  cry 
See  the  hare  go  stealing  by : 


510  PASTORALS 

Or  along  the  shallow  brook, 

Angling  with  a  baited  hook, 

See  the  fishes  leap  and  play 

In  a  blessed  sunny  day  : 

Or  to  hear  the  partridge  call, 

Till  she  have  her  covey  all : 

Or  to  see  the  subtle  fox, 

How  the  villain  plies  the  box. 

After  feeding  on  his  prey, 

How  he  closely  sneaks  away, 

Through  the  hedge  and  down  the 

furrow 

Till  he  gets  into  his  burrow  : 
Then  the  bee  to  gather  honey, 
And  the  little  black-haired  coney 
On  a  bank  for  sunny  place 
With  her  forefeet  wash  her  face  ; 
Are  not  these,  with  thousands  moe 
Than  the  courts  of  kings  do  know, 
The  true  pleasing  spirit's  sights, 
That  may  breed  true  love's    de 
lights? 

But  with  all  this  happiness 
To  behold  that  shepherdess, 
To  whose  eyes  all  shepherds  yield 
All  the  fairest  of  the  field, 
Fair  Aglaia,  in  whose  face 
Lives  the  shepherd's  highest  grace : 
For  whose  sake  I  say  and  swear, 
By  the  passions  that  I  bear, 
Had  I  got  a  kingly  grace, 
I  would  leave  my  kingly  place 
And  in  heart  be  truly  glad 
To  become  a  country  lad  ; 
Hard  to  lie,  and  go  full  bare. 
And  to  feed  on  hungry  fare : 


WORLDLY    FAIADISB 

So  I  might  but  live  to  be, 
Where  I  might  but  wt  to  see. 
Once  a  day,  or  all  day  long, 
The  sweet  subject  of  my  song : 
In  A  vhia's  only  ryes 
All  my.  worldly  paradise. 

utrroN 


PHYLLIDA     AND    CORYDON 

IN  the  merry  month  of  May, 
In  a  morn  by  break  of  day, 
Forth  I  walked  by  the  wood  side. 
Wbenas  May  was  in  his  pride  : 
There  I  spied  all  alone. 
Phyllida  and  Coryd  n. 
Much  ado  there  was.  God  wot ! 
He  would  love  and  she  would  not 
She  said  never  man  was  true  . 
He  said,  none  was  f.«lse  t<>  you. 
He  said,  he  bad  loved  her  long  ; 
She  said,  Love  should  have  no  wrung 
Corydon  would  kiss  her  then ; 
She  said,  maids  must  kiss  no  men, 
Till  they  did  for  good  and  all ; 
Then  she  made  the  shepherd  call 
All  the  heavens  to  witness  truth 
Never  loved  a  truer  youth. 
Thus  with  many  a  pretty  oath, 
Yea  and  nay,  and  faith  and  troth, 
Such  as  silly  shepherds  use 
When  they  will  not  Love  abuse, 
Ix>ve  which  had  been  long  deluded, 
Was  with  kisses  sweet  concluded  , 


PASTORALS 

And  Phyllida,  with  garlands  gay, 
Was  made  the  Lady  of  the  May. 

BRETON 


THE     NYMPH  S     FAWN 

I  HAVE  a  garden  of  my  own, 

But  so  with  roses  overgrown, 

And  lilies,  that  you  would  it  guess 

To  be  a  little  wilderness, 

And  all  the  spring-time  of  the  year 

It  only  loved  to  be  there. 

Among  the  beds  of  lilies  I 

Have  sought  it  oft,  where  it  should  lie, 

Yet  could  not,  till  itself  would  rise, 

Find  it,  although  before  mine  eyes  ; 

For,  in  the  flaxen  lilies'  shade, 

It  like  a  bank  of  lilies  laid. 

Upon  the  roses  it  would  feed, 

Until  its  lips  e'en  seemed  to  bleed, 

And  then  to  me  'twould  boldly  trip, 

And  print  those  roses  on  my  lip. 

But  all  its  chief  delight  was  still 

On  roses  thus  itself  to  fill, 

And  its  pure  virgin  limbs  to  fold 

In  whitest  sheets  of  lilies  cold  : 

Had  it  lived  long,  it  would  have  been 

Lilies  without,  roses  within. 

MARVELL 


D1APHKNIA 

DIAPHKNIA  like  the  daffadowndilly, 
White  as  the  sun,  fair  as  the  lily, 
Heigh-ho,  how  I  do  love  thee  ! 


DIAPHBNIA  513 

I  do  love  tbee  as  my  l.uub* 
Are  beloved  of  their  dams ; 
How  blest  were  I  if  ibou  wotild'st  prove  me  ' 

Diaphenia  like  the  spreading  loses. 

Thai  in  thy  sweets  all  sweets  enclovs. 

Fair  sweet,  how  I  do  love  thee  ! 
I  do  love  thee  as  each  flower 
Loves  the  sun's  life-giving  power  ; 

For  dead,  thy  breath  to  life  might  mo\e  me. 

Diaphenia  like  to  all  things  blessed 
When  all  thy  praises  are  expressed, 
Dear  joy.  how  I  do  love  thee  ! 

As  the  birds  do  love  the  spring. 

Or  the  bees  their  careful  king  : 
Then  in  requite,  sweet  virgin,  love  me  ! 

CONSTABLE 


SAMfcl.A 

LIKE  to  Diana  in  hrr  summer  need, 
Girt  with  a  crimson  robe  of  brightest  d\ e. 

Goes  fair  Samrl.i. 

Whiter  than  be  the  flocks  that  straggling  feed. 
When  washed  by  Arelhusa  fount  they  lie, 

Is  fair  Sauiela. 

As  fair  Aurora  in  her  morning  gray. 
Decked  with  the  ruddy  glister  of  her  love. 

Is  fair  Same  la. 

Like  lovely  Thetis  on  a  calmed  day. 
Whenas  her  brightness  Neptune's  fancy  move, 

Shines  fair  Samela. 

Her  tresses  gold,  her  eyes  like  glassy  streams. 
Her  teeth  ore  pearl,  the  breasts  are  ivory 

Of  fair  Samela, 
s  K 


514  PASTORALS 

Her  cheeks,  like  rose  and  lily,  yield  forth  gleams; 
Her  brows  bright  arches  framed  of  ebony  : 

Thus  fair  Samela 

Passeth  fair  Venus  in  her  bravest  hue, 
And  Juno  in  the  show  of  majesty, 

For  she 's  Samela. 

Pallas  in  wit,— all  three,  if  you  will  view, 
For  beauty,  wit,  and  matchless  dignity, 

Yield  to  Samela. 

GREENE 


ROSALINE 

LIKE  to  the  clear  in  highest  sphere 
Where  all  imperial  glory  shines, 
Of  selfsame  colour  is  her  hair 
Whether  unfolded,  or  in  twines  : 

Heigh-ho,  fair  Rosaline  ! 
Her  eyes  are  sapphires  set  in  snow, 
Resembling  heaven  by  every  wink  ; 
The  gods  do  fear  whenas  they  glow, 
And  I  do  tremble  when  I  think — 

Heigh -ho,  would  she  were  mine  ! 

Her  cheeks  are  like  the  blushing  cloud 
That  beautifies  Aurora's  face, 
Or  like  the  silver  crimson  shroud 
That  Phoebus'  smiling  looks  doth  grace  ; 

Heigh-ho,  fair  Rosaline  ! 
Her  lips  are  like  two  budded  roses 
Whom  ranks  of  lilies  neighbour  nigh, 
Within  which  bounds  she  balm  encloses 
Apt  to  entice  a  deity  : 

Heigh-ho,  would  she  were  mine  ! 


ROSALINE  515 

Her  neck  is  like  a  stately  tower 
Where  Love  himself  imprisoned  lies, 
To  watch  for  glances  rvery  hour 
From  her  divine  and  sacred  eyes  : 

Heigh-ho,  fair  Rosaline  i 
Her  paps  are  centres  of  delight, 
Her  breasts  are  orbs  of  heavmly  frame. 
Where  Nature  moulds  the  dew  of  light 
To  feed  perfection  with  the  same  : 

Heigh-ho,  would  she  were  mine  ! 

With  orient  pearl,  with  ruby  red. 
With  marble  white,  with  sapphire  blue 
Her  body  every  way  is  fed. 
Yet  soft  in  touch,  and  sweet  in  view  : 

Heigh-ho,  fair  Rosaline ! 
Nature  herself  her  shape  admires ; 
The  gods  are  wounded  in  her  sight  . 
And  Love  forsakes  his  heavenly  tires 
And  at  her  eyes  his  brand  doth  light : 

Heigh-ho,  would  she  were  mine  1 

Then  muse  not.  Nymphs,  though  I  bemoan 
The  absence  of  fair  Rosaline. 
Since  for  a  fair  there 's  fairer  none. 
Nor  for  her  virtues  so  divine  . 
Heigh-ho,  fair  Rosaline ; 
Heigh-ho,  my  bean  !  would  God  that  &hc 
were  mine ! 

LODGE 


ROSALIND'S  MADRIGAL 

LOVR  in  my  bosom  like  a  bee 

Doth  suck  his  sweet : 
Now  with  his  wings  he  plays  with  me 

Now  with  his  feet 


PASTORALS 

Within  mine  eyes  he  makes  his  nest, 
His  bed  amidst  my  tender  breast, 
My  kisses  are  his  daily  feast : 
And  yet  he  robs  me  of  my  rest. 
Ah,  wanton,  will  ye  ? 

And  if  I  sleep,  then  percheth  he 

With  pretty  flight, 
And  makes  his  pillow  of  my  knee 

The  livelong  night : 
Strike  I  my  lute,  he  tunes  the  string, 
He  mu:  ic  plays  if  so  I  sing, 
He  lends  me  every  lovely  thing, 
Yet  cruel  he  my  heart  doth  sting. 

Whist,  wanton,  still  ye  ! 

Else  I  with  roses  every  day 

Will  whip  you  hence  ; 
And  bind  you  when  you  long  to  play, 

For  your  offence : 
I  '11  shut  mine  eyes  to  keep  you  in, 
I  '11  make  you  fast  it  for  your  sin, 
I  '11  count  your  power  not  worth  a  pin  : 
Alas  !  what  hereby  shall  I  win, 

If  he  gainsay  me  ? 

What  if  I  beat  the  wanton  boy 

With  many  a  rod  ? 
He  will  repay  me  with  annoy, 

Because  a  god. 

Then  sit  thou  safely  on  my  knee, 
And  let  thy  bower  my  bosom  be ! 
Look  in  mine  eyes  !  I  like  of  thee : 
O  Cupid  !  so  thou  pity  me, 

Spare  not,  but  play  thee  ! 

LODGE 


;,7 


DAFFADILL 

Baltt.  GORBO,  as  thou  cam'st  thi<  way 
By  yonder  little  hUl. 

Or  as  thou  through  the  fields  didst  stray 
Saw'st  thou  my  darTadill  ? 

She's  in  a  frock  of  Lincoln  preen, 
Which  colour  likes  her  sight. 
And  never  hath  her  beauty  s^en 
But  through  a  veil  of  white. 

Than  roses  richer  to  behold 
That  trim  up  lovers'  bowers. 
The  pansy  and  the  marigoUl, 
Tho*  PhoebuV  paramours. 

Gcrbo.  1  hou  well  describ'st  the  daffadill  ! 
It  is  not  full  an  hour 
Since  by  the  spring  near  yonder  hill 
I  saw  that  lovely  flower. 

/fa//*.  Yet  my  fair  flower  thou  didst  not  meet 
Nor  news  of  her  didst  bring. 
And  yet  my  dafTadill's  more  sweet 
Than  that  by  yonder  spring. 

Gtrbo.  I  saw  a  shepherd  that  doth  keep. 
In  yonder  field  of  lilies. 
Was  making  (as  he  fed  his  sheep) 
A  wreath  of  daffodillies, 

/fa//*.  Yet.  Gorbo,  thou  delud'st  me  still  ; 
My  flower  ihou  didst  not  see. 
For.  know,  my  pretty  daffadill 
Is  worn  of  none  but  me. 

To  show  itself  but  near  her  feet 
No  lily  is  so  bold. 


518  PASTORALS 

Except  to  hide  her  from  the  heat 
Or  keep  her  from  the  cold. 

Gorbo.  Through  yonder  vale  as  I  did  pass, 
Descending  from  the  hill, 
I  met  a  smirking  bonny  lass  ; 
They  call  her  Daffadill. 

Whose  presence  as  along  she  went 

The  pretty  flowers  did  greet 

As  though  their  heads  they  downward  bent 

With  homage  to  her  feet. 

And  all  the  shepherds  that  were  nigh, 

From  top  of  every  hill 

Unto  the  valleys  loud  did  cry, 

'  There  goes  sweet  Daffadill.' 

Batte.  Ay,  gentle  shepherd,  now  with  joy 
Thou  all  my  flocks  dost  fill ; 
That 's  she  alone,  kind  shepherd  boy  , 
Let  us  to  Daffadill. 

DRAYTON 

EPITHALAMIUM 

LET  Mother  Earth  now  deck  herself  in  flowers, 
To  see  her  offspring  seek  a  good  increase, 
Where  justest  love  doth  vanquish  Cupid's  powers, 
And  war  of  thoughts  is  swallowed  up  in  peace, 
Which  never  may  decrease, 
But,  like  the  turtles  fair, 
Live  one  in  two,  a  well-united  pair  : 

Which  that  no  chance  may  stain 
O  Hymen,  long  their  coupled  joys  maintain  ! 

O  Heaven  awake,  show  forth  thy  stately  face  ; 
Let  not  these  slumbering  clouds  thy  beauties  hide, 
But  with  thy  cheerful  presence  help  to  grace 


EFITff  ALAMIUM  519 

The  honest  Bridegroom  and  the  bashful  Bride. 

Whose  loves  may  ever  bide. 

Like  to  the  elm  and  vine. 
With  mutual  t  mbracements  them  to  twire : 

In  which  delightful  pain. 
O  Hymen,  long  their  coupled  joys  maintain  ! 

Ye  Muses  all,  which  chaste  affects  allow. 
And  have  to  Thyrsis  showed  your  secret  skill. 
To  this  chaste  love  your  sacred  favours  bow  ; 
And  so  to  him  and  her  your  gifts  distil 
That  they  all  vice  may  kill. 
And,  like  to  lilies  pure. 
May  please  all  eyes,  and  spotless  may  endure : 

Where  that  all  bliss  may  reign, 
O  Hymen,  long  their  coupled  joys  maintain  I 

Ye  nymphs  which  in  the  waters  empire  have, 
Since  Thyrsis'  music  oft  doth  yield  you  praise. 
Grant  to  the  thing  which  we  for  Thyrsis  crave : 
Let  one  time— but  long  first — close  up  their  days. 
One  grave  their  bodies  seize. 
And  like  two  rivers  sweet 
When  they,  though  diverse,  do  together  me  t. 

One  stream  both  streams  contain  ! 
O  Hymen,  long  their  coupled  joys  maintain  ! 

Pan.  father  Pan.  the  god  of  silly  sherp ! 
Whose  love  is  cause  that  they  in  number  grow, — 
Have  much  more  care  of  them  that  them  do  keep, 
Since  from  these  good  the  others'  good  doth  flow ; 
And  make  their  issue  show 
In  number  like  the  herd 
Of  younglings  which  thyself  *ilh  love  hast  reared, 

Or  like  the  drops  of  rain  ! 
O  Hyimn.  long  their  coupled  joys  maintain  ! 


J20  PASTORALS 

Virtue,  if  not  a  god,  yet  God's  chief  part ! 
Be  thou  the  knot  of  this  their  open  vow  : 
That  still  he  be  her  head,  she  be  his  heart ; 
He  lean  to  her,  she  unto  him  do  bow  ; 
Each  other  still  allow  ; 
Like  oak  and  mistletoe, 
Her  strength  from  him,  his  praise  from  her  do  grow, 

In  which  most  lovely  train, 
O  Hymen,  long  their  coupled  joys  maintain. 

But  thou,  foul  Cupid,  sire  to  lawless  lust ! 
Be  thou  far  hence  with  thy  empoisoned  dart, 
Which  though  of  glittering  gold,  shall  here  take  rust, 
Where  simple  love  which  chasteness  doth  impart, 
Avoids  thy  hurtful  art, 
Not  needing  charming  skill 
Such  minds  with  sweet  affections  for  to  fill : 

Which  being  pure  and  plain, 
O  Hymen,  long  their  coupled  joys  maintain  ! 

All  churlish  words,  shrewd  answers,  crabbed  looks, 
All  privateness,  self-seeking,  inward  spite, 
All  waywardness  which  nothing  kindly  brooks, 
All  strife  for  toys,  and  claiming  master's  right, 
Be  hence  aye  put  to  flight  ; 
All  stirring  husband's  hate, 
'Gainst  neighbours  good,  for  womanish  debate, 

Be  fled,  as  things  most  vain  ! 
O  Hymen,  long  their  coupled  joys  maintain  ! 

All  peacock  pride  and  fruits  of  peacock's  pride, 
Longing  to  be  with  loss  of  substance  gay, 
With  recklessness  what  may  the  house  betide 
So  that  you  may  on  higher  slippers  stay, 

For  ever  hence  away  ! 

Yet  let  not  sluttery, 


EPITHALAMIUM  591 

The  sink  of  filth,  be  counted  housewifery. 

But  keeping  wholesome  mean  ! 
O  Hymen,  long  their  coupled  joys  maintain  I 

But  above  all.  away  vile  jealousy. 
The  evil  of  evils,  just  cause  to  be  unjust  I 
How  can  he  love,  suspecting  treachery  ? 
How  can  she  love,  where  love  cnn  not  win  trust? 
Go,  snake,  hide  thee  in  dust ; 
Nor  dare  once  show  thy  face 
Where  open  hearts  do  hold  so  constant  place 

That  they  thy  sting  restrain  ! 
O  Hymen,  long  their  coupled  joys  maintain  ! 

The  Earth  is  decked  with  flowers,  the  Heavens  dis 
played, 

Musrs  grant  gifts,  Nymphs  long  and  joined  life. 
Pan  store  of  babes.  Virtue  their  thoughts  well  stayed, 
Cupid's  lust  gone,  and  gone  is  bitter  strife. 
Happy  man  !  happy  wife  ! 
No  pride  shall  them  oppress, 
Nor  yet  shall  yield  to  loathsome  sluttishness : 

And  jealousy  is  slain, 
For  Hvmen  will  their  coupled  joys  maintain. 

SIDNEY 


A    MASQUE 
Enter  IRIS 

/ris.  Ceres,  most  bounteous  lady,  thy  rich  leas 
Of  wheat,  rye.  barley,  vetches,  omts.  and  pease ; 
Thy  turfy  mountains,  where  live  nibbling  sheep, 
And  flat  meads  thatch' d  with  stover,  them  to  keep 
Thy  banks  with  pioned  and  twilled  brims. 
Which  spongy  April  at  thy  hest  betrims, 


522  PASTORAL 

To  make  cold  nymphs  chaste  crowns  ;  and  thy  broom 

groves, 

Whose  shadow  the  dismissed  bachelor  loves, 
Being  lass-lorn  ;  thy  pole-clipped  vineyard  ; 
And  thy  sea-marge,  steril,  and  rocky-hard, 
Where  thou  thyself  dost  air  :  The  queen  o'  the  sky, 
Whose  watery  arch,  and  messenger,  am  I, 
Bids  thee  leave  these  ;  and  with  her  sovereign  grace, 
Here  on  this  grass-plot,  in  this  very  place, 
To  come  and  sport :  her  peacocks  fly  amain  : 
Approach,  rich  Ceres,  her  to  entertain 

Enter  CERES 

Cer.   Hail  many-coloured  messenger,  that  ne'er 
Dost  disobey  the  wife  of  Jupiter  ; 
Who,  with  thy  saffron  wings,  upon  my  flowers 
Diffuses!  honey-drops,  refreshing  showers  ; 
And  with  each  end  of  thy  blue  bow  dost  crown 
My  bosky  acres,  and  my  unshrubbed  down, 
Rich  scarf  to  my  proud  earth  :  Why  hath  thy  queen 
Summoned  me  hither,  to  this  short-grassed  green  ? 

Iris.  A  contract  of  true  love  to  celebrate  ; 
And  some  donation  freely  to  estate 
On  the  bless 'd  lovers. 

Cer.  Tell  me,  heavenly  bow, 

If  Venus,  or  her  son,  as  thou  dost  know, 
Do  now  attend  the  queen?    Since  they  did  plot 
The  means  that  dusky  Dis  my  daughter  got, 
Her  and  her  blind  boy's  scandal'd  company 
I  have  forsworn. 

Iris.  t  Of  her  society 

Be  not  afraid  ;  I  met  her  deity 
Cutting  the  clouds  towards  Paphos  ;  and  her  son 
Dove-drawn  with  her :  here  thought  they  to  have  done 
Some  wanton  charm  upon  this  man  and  maid, 


A    MASQUR  523 

Whole  vows  are  that  no  bed-rite  shall  be  paid 
Till  Hymen's  torch  be  lighted  :  but  in  vain  ; 
Mars'  8  hot  minion  is  returned  again  ; 
Her  waspish-headed  son  has  broke  his  arrows, 
Swears  he  will  shoot  no  more,  but  play  with  sparrows, 
And  be  a  boy  right  out. 

Or.  Highest  queen  of  state, 

Great  Juno  comes  :  I  know  her  by  her  gait. 

Emter  JuNO 

/«*.  How  does  my  bounteous  sister  ?    Go  with  mr. 
To  bless  this  twain,  that  they  may  prosperous  be, 
And  honoured  in  their  issue. 


/urn.  Honour,  riches,  marriage  blessing, 
Long  continuance  and  increasing 
Hourly  joys  be  still  upon  you  ! 
Juno  sings  her  b'e»sings  on  you. 

Ctr.   Earth's  increase,  foison  plenty, 
Barns  and  garners  never  empty  ; 
Vines,  with  clust'ring  bunches  growing  ; 
Plants  with  goodly  burthen  bowing; 
Spring  come  to  you,  at  the  farthest, 
In  the  very  end  of  harvest  ! 
Scarcity  and  want  shall  shun  you  ; 
Ceres'  blessing  so  is  on  you. 

[JUNO  and  CERES  whisper.  and  tend  IRIS 
on  employment. 

Iris.  You  nymphs  called  Naiads  of  the  winding 

brooks, 

With  your  sedged  crowns,  and  ever  harmless  looks, 
Lemfg  your  crisp  channels,  and  on  this  green  land. 
Answer  your  summons  :  Juno  does  command. 
Come,  temperate  nymphs,  and  help  to  celebrate 
A  contract  of  true  love  ;  be  not  too  late. 


524  PASTORALS 

Rnter  cei  tain  Nymphs 

You  sunburnt  sicklemen,  of  August  weary, 
Come  hither  from  the  furrow,  and  be  merry  : 
Make  holiday  :  your  rye-straw  hats  put  on, 
And  these  fresh  nymphs  encounter  every  on<» 
In  country  footing. 

Enter  certain  Reapers  properly  habited ,  they  join 
•with  the  Nymphs  in  a  graceful  dance. 


AT     A     SHEEP-SHEARING 
(PERDITA— POLIXENES— CAMILLO— FLORIZEL— 

and  OTHERS) 

Per.  Give  me  those  flowers  there,  Dorcas. — Reverend 

sirs, 

For  you  there 's  rosemary,  and  rue,  these  keep 
Seeming,  and  savour,  all  the  winter  long  : 
Grace,  and  remembrance,  be  to  you  both, 
And  welcome  to  our  shearing  ! 

Pol.  Shepherdess, 

(A  fair  one  are  you,)  well  you  fit  our  ages 
With  flowers  of  winter. 

Per.  Sir,  the  year  growing  ancient, 

Not  yet  on  summer's  death,  nor  on  the  birth 
Of  trembling  winter, — the  fairest  flowers  o'  the  season 
Are  our  carnations,  and  streaked  gillyvors, 
Which  some  call  nature's  bastards  :  of  that  kind 
Our  rustic  garden 's  barren  ;  and  I  care  not 
To  get  slips  of  them. 

Pol.  Wherefore,  gentle  maiden, 

Do  you  neglect  them  ? 

Per.  For  I  have  heard  it  said, 

There  is  an  art  which,  in  their  piedness,  shares 
With  great  creating  nature. 


AT    A    SHEEF-SH  EA  R  ING  535 

Pol.  Say.  there  be  ; 

Yet  nature  is  made  belter  by  no  mean, 
But  nature  makes  that  mean  :  so.  over  that  art. 
Which,  you  say,  adds  to  nature,  is  an  art 
That  nature  makes.     You  see,  sweet  maid,  we  marry 
A  gentler  scion  to  the  wildest  stock  : 
And  make  conceive  a  bark  of  baser  kind 
By  bud  of  nobler  race :  This  is  an  art 
Which  does  mend  nature,— change  it  rather  :  but 
The  art  itself  is  nature. 

Per.  So  it  is. 

Pol.  Then  make  your  garden  rich  in  gillyvors. 

Per.  I  '11  not  put 

The  dibble  in  earth  to  set  one  slip  of  them 
Here 's  flowers  for  you  ; 
Hot  lavender,  mints,  savory,  marj<  ram  ; 
The  marigold,  that  goes  to  bed  with  the  sun, 
And  with  him  rises  weeping  ;  these  are  flowers 
Of  middle  summer,  and,  I  think,  they  are  given 
To  men  of  middle  age  :  You  are  very  welcome. 

Cam.  I  should  leave  grazing,  were  I  of  your  flock. 
And  only  live  by  gating 

Per.  Out,  alas  ! 

You  'd  be  so  lean,  thai  blasts  of  January 
Would  blow  you  through  and  through.— Now,  my 

fair'st  friend, 
I  would  I  had  some  flowers  o*  the  spring,  that 

might 

Become  your  time  of  day  ;  and  yours,  and  yours ; 
That  wear  upon  your  virgin  branches  yet 
Your  maidenheads  growing : — O.  Proserpina, 
For  the  flowers  now,  that,  frighted,  thou  lett'st  fall 
From  Dis's  waggon  I  daffodils. 
That  come  before  the  swallow  dares,  and  take 
The  winds  of  March  with  beauty  ;  viol.  ts.  dim, 
But  sweeter  than  the  lids  of  Juno's  eyes 


526  PASTORALS 

Or  Cytherea's  breath  ;  pale  primroses, 
That  die  unmarried,  ere  they  can  behold 
Bright  Phoebus  in  his  strength,  a  malady 
Most  incident  to  maids  ;  bold  oxlips,  and 
The  crown-imperial ;  lilies  of  all  kinds, 
The  flower-de-luce  being  one  !     O  !  these  I  lack, 
To  make  you  garlands  of  ;  and,  my  sweet  friend, 
To  strew  him  o'er  and  o'er. 

Flo.  What  !  like  a  corse  ? 

Per.   No,  like  a  bank,  for  love  to  lie  and  play  on  ; 
Not  like  a  corse  :  or  if, — not  to  be  buried, 
But  quick,  and  in  mine  arms.     Come,  take  your  flowers: 
Methinks  I  play  as  I  have  seen  them  do, 
In  Whitsnn  pastorals. 

Flo.  What  you  do 

Still  betters  what  is  done.     When  you  speak,  sweet, 
I  'd  have  you  do  it  ever  ;  when  you  sing, 
I  'd  have  you  buy  and  sell  so  ;  so  give  alms  , 
Pray  so  ;  and,  for  the  ordering  your  affairs, 
To  sing  them  too  :  When  you  do  dance,  I  wish  you 
A  wave  o*  the  sea,  that  you  might  ever  do 
Nothing  but  that ;  move  still,  still  so, 
And  own  no  other  function  :  Each  your  doing, 
So  singular  in  each  particular, 
Crowns  what  you  are  doing  in  the  present  deeds, 
That  all  your  acts  are  queens.     But  come,  our  dance. 
Your  hand,  my  Perdita  :  so  turtles  pair 
That  never  mean  to  part. 

Per.  I  '11  swear  for  'em. 

[Music.     A  dance  of  Shepherds  and  Shepherdesses. 


THE     MISTRESS     OF     PHILARETE 

I 

ME  so  oft  my  fancy  drew 
Here  and  there,  that  I  ne'er  knew 


THE    MISTRESS    OP    PHILARETE          537 

Where  to  place  dcs  re  before 
So  that  range  it  might  no  more ; 
But  as  he  that  passe th  by 
Where,  in  all  her  Jollity, 
Flora's  riches  in  a  row 
Doth  in  seemly  order  grow. 
And  a  thousand  flowers  stand 
Bending  as  to  kiss  hh  hand  : 
Out  of  which  delightful  store 
One  he  may  take  and  no  morr. 
lx>ng  h«*  pausing  dotibtcth  « briber 
Of  those  fair  ones  he  should  gatix-r. 

First  the  primrose  courts  his  eyes, 
Then  the  cowslip  he  r*pies ; 
Next  the  pansy  seems  to  woo  him. 
*I  hen  carnations  bow  unto  him  ; 
Which  whilst  that  ennmourrd  sw.u.. 
From  the  stalk  intends  to  strain. 
As  half  fearing  to  be  s-  en 
Prettily  her  leaves  between 
Peeps  the  violet,  pale  to  see 
That  her  virtues  slighted  be  . 
Which  so  much  his  liking  wins. 
That  to  seize  her  he  begins. 
Yet  before  he  stooped  so  low 
He  his  wanton  eye  did  throw 
On  a  stem  that  giew  more 

high. 

And  the  rose  did  there  espy. 
Who  besides  her  ptecious  scent 
To  procure  his  eyes  content 
Did  display  her  goodly  breast, 
Where  he  found  at  full  expresi 
All  the  good  that  nature  sho*eis 
On  a  thousand  other  flowers  ; 


528  PASTORALS 

Wherewith  he  affected  takes  it, 
His  beloved  flower  he  makes  it, 
And  without  desire  of  more 
Walks  through  all  he  saw  before. 

So  I  wandering  but  erewhile 

Through  the  garden  of  this  isle, 

Saw  rich  beauties,  I  confess, 

And  in  number  numberless. 

Yea,  so  differing  lovely  too, 

That  I  had  a  world  to  do, 

Ere  1  could  set  up  my  rest, 

Where  to  choose  and  choose  the  best. 

Thus  I  fondly  feared,  till  fate, 

(Which  I  must  confess  in  that 

Did  a  greater  favour  to  me 

Than  the  world  can  malice  do  me) 

Showed  to  me  that  matchless  flower, 

Subject  for  this  song  of  our  ; 

Whose  perfection  having  eyed, 

Reason  instantly  espied 

That  desire,  which  ranged  abroad 

There  would  find  a  period, 

And  no  marvel  if  it  might, 

For  it  there  hath  all  delight, 

And  in  her  hath  nature  placed 

What  each  several  fair  one  graced. 

Let  who  list  for  me  advance 
The  admired  flowers  of  France  ; 
Let  who  will  praise  and  behold 
The  reserved  Marigold  ; 
Let  the  sweet-breathed  Violet  now 
Unto  whom  she  pleaseth  bow  ; 
And  the  fairest  Lily  spread 


THF.    MISTRESS    OP    PHII.ARETB          599 

Where  she  will  her  golden  head  ; 
I  have  such  a  flower  to  wear. 
That  for  thoie  I  do  not  care. 

Let  the  young  and  happy  swains, 
Playing  on  the  Britain'  plains, 
Court  unblnmed  their  shepherdesses. 
And  with  their  gold  curled  tresses 
Toy  unoensured,  until  I 
Grudge  at  their  prosperity. 

Let  all  times  both  present,  past. 
And  the  age  that  shall  be  last, 
Vaunt  the  beauties  they  bring  forth. 
I  have  found  in  one  such  worth, 
That  content  I  neither  care 
What  the  best  before  me  were  ; 
Nor  desire  to  live  and  see 
Who  shall  fair  hereafter  be. 
For  I  know  the  hand  of  nature 
Will  not  make  a  fairer  creature. 


II 

There's  her  hair  with  which  Love  angles 
And  beholders'  eyes  entangles  ; 
For  in  those  fair  curled  snares 
They  are  hampered  unawares. 
And  compelled  to  swear  a  duty 
To  her  sweet,  enthralling  beauty. 
In  my  mind  'tis  the  most  fair 
That  was  ever  called  hair ; 
Somewhat  brighter  than  a  brown, 
And  her  tresses  waving  down 
At  full  length,  and  so  dispread, 
Mantle  her  from  foot  to  head, 
at 


53°  PASTORALS 

If  you  saw  her  arched  brow, 
Ten  me,  pray,  what  art  knows  how 
To  have  made  it  in  a  line 
More  exact  or  more  divine. 
Beauty  there  may  be  descried 
In  the  height  of  all  her  pride, 
'Tis  a  meanly1  rising  plain, 
Whose  pure  white  hath  many  a  vein 
Interlacing,  like  the  springs 
In  the  earth's  enamellings. 
If  the  tale  be  not  a  toy 
Of  the  little  winged  boy,— 
When  he  means  to  strike  a  heart, 
Thence  he  throws  the  fatal  dart ; 
Which  of  wounds  still  makes  a 

pair, 
One  of  love,  one  of  despair. 

Short  her  chin  is,  and  yet  so 
As  it  is  just  long  enow ; 
Loveliness  doth  seem  to  glory 
In  that  circling  promontory. 
Pretty  moving  features  skip 
'Twixt  the  hillock  and  the  lip, 
If  you  note  her  but  the  while 
She  is  pleased  to  speak  or  smile. 
And  her  lips,  that  show  no  dullness 
Full  are  in  the  meanest1  fulness  ; 
Those  the  leaves  be,  whose  unfolding 
Brings  sweet  pleasures  to  beholding  • 
For  such  pearls  they  do  disclose 
Both  the  Indies  match  not  those  ; 
Yet  are  so  in  order  placed, 
As  their  whiteness  is  more  graced 

1  Moderate 


THE    MISTRESS    OP    P  H  1 1.  A  I:  E  T  E          531 

When  her  ivory  teeth  she  buries 
Twin  her  two  enticing  cherries. 
There  appear  such  pleasures  hidden 
As  might  tempi  what  were  forbidden. 
If  you  look  again,  the  whiles 
She  doth  pan  those  lips  in  smiles, 
'Tis  as  when  a  flash  of  light 
Breaks  from  heaven  to  glad  the  nigl  t. 

Others  may  my  pencil  crave. 

But  those  lips  1  cannot  leave  ; 

For  mclhinks  if  I  should  go. 

And  forsake  those  cherries  so. 

There 's  a  kind  of  excellence 

Would  hold  me  from  departing  hr nee, 

I  would  tell  you  what  it  were. 

But  my  cunning  fails  me  here. 

They  are  like  in  their  discloses 

To  the  morning's  dewy  roses, 

That  beside  the  name  of  fair 

Cast  perfumes  that  fill  the  air. 

Melting  soft  her  kisses  be, 

And  had  I  now  two  or  three. 

More  inspired  by  their  touch, 

I  had  praised  them  twice  as  much, 

But.  sweet  Muses,  mark  ye,  how 
Her  fair  eyes  do  check  me  now, 
That  I  seemed  to  pass  them  so. 
And  their  praises  overgo  ! 
And  yet  blame  me  not,  that  I 
Would  so  fain  have  passed  them  by. 
For  I  feared  to  have  seen  them 
Lest  there  were  some  danger  in  them, 
Yet  such  gentle  looks  they  lend 
As  might  make  her  foe  a  friend 


PASTORALS 

And  by  their  allurings  move 
All  beholders  unto  love. 
Such  a  power  is  also  there, 
As  will  keep  those  thoughts  in  fea\ 
And  command  enough  I  saw 
To  hold  impudence  in  awe. 
Whilst  she  me  beholding  is, 
My  heart  dare  not  think  amiss, 
For  her  sight  most  piercing  clear, 
Seems  to  see  what's  written  there. 

Then,  almost  obscured,  appears 
Those  her  jewel-gracing  ears, 
Through  the  voice  in  love's  meanders 
Those  their  pretty  circlings  wanders, 
Whose  rare  turnings  will  admit 
No  rude  speech  to  enter  it. 

Stretching  from  Mount  Forehead  lies 
Beauty  cape  betwixt  her  eyes  ; 
Which  two  crystal-passing  lakes 
Love's  delightful  isthmus  makes. 
Neither  more  or  less  extending 
Than  most  meriteth  commending. 
On  the  either  side  of  this, 
Love's  most  lovely  prospect  is  ; 
Those  her  smiling  cheeks  whose  colour 
Comprehends  true  beauty  fuller 
Than  the  curious' t  mixtures  can 
That  are  made  by  art  of  man  ; 
It  is  beauty's  garden-plot, 
Where,  as  in  a  true  love's  knot, 
So  the  snowy  lily  grows 
Mixed  with  the  crimson  rose, 
That  as  friends  they  joined  be  ; 
Yet  they  seem  to  disagree 


THE    MISTRESS    OF    PHII.ARUTR 

Whether  of  the  two  shall  reign . 
And  the  lilies  oft  obtain 
Greater  sway,  unless  a  blush 
Helps  the  roses  at  a  push. 
Hollow  fallings  none  there  are 
There's  no  wrinkle,  there's  no  scar ; 
Only  there 's  a  little  mole 
Which  from  Venus'  check  was  stole. 

But  descend  awhile,  mine  eye, 
See  if  polished  ivory, 
Or  the  finest  fleece*!  flocks. 
Or  the  whitest  Albion  rocks. 
For  com  par isc -is  may  stand 
To  express  that  snowy  hand. 
Whrn  she  draws  it  from  her  glove, 
It  halh  virtue  to  remove, 
Or  disperse,  if  there  be  aught 
Cloudeth  the  t>eholder's  thought. 
If  that  palm  but  toucheth  your, 
You  shall  feel  a  secret  power 
Cheer  your  heart,  and  glad  it  more. 
Though  it  drooped  with  grief  before. 
Through  the  veins,  disposed  true, 
Crimson  yields  a  sapphire  hue. 
Which  adds  grace  and  more  delight 
By  embracing  with  the  white. 
Smooth  and  moist  and  soft  and  tender 
Are  her  palms;  the  fingers  slender. 
Tipt  with  mollified  pearl : 
As  if  that  transformed  girl, 
Whose  much  cunning  made  her  dare 
With  Jove's  daughter  to  compare, 
Had  that  hand  worn,  maugrc1  spite. 

»  In  spite  of. 


533 


534  PASTORALS 

She  had  shamed  the  goddess  quite  ; 
For  there  is  in  every  part, 
Nature  perfecter  than  art. 


This  a  servant  made  me  sworn 

Who  before-time  held  in  scorn 

To  yield  vassalage,  or  duty, 

Though  unto  the  queen  of  beauty, 

Yet  that  I  her  servant  am 

It  shall  more  be  to  my  fame 

Than  to  own  these  woods  and  downs 

Or  be  lord  of  fifty  towns ; 

And  my  mistress  to  be  deemed 

Shall  more  honour  be  esteemed 

Than  those  titles  to  acquire 

Which  most  women  most  desire. 

Yea,  when  you  a  woman  shall 

Countess  or  a  duchess  call 

That  respect  it  shall  not  move, 

Neither  gain  her  half  such  love 

As  to  say,  lo  !  this  is  she 

That  supposed  is  to  be 

Mistress  to  Philarete" 

And  that  lovely  nymph,  which  he, 

In  a  pastoral  poem  famed, 

And  Fair  Virtue  there  hath  named. 

WITHER 


A    QUEEN     OF     ENGLISH     SHEPHERDS 

O'ER  the  smooth  enamelled  green 
Where  no  print  of  step  hath  been, 


A    QUEEN    OF    ENGLISH    StlKPHERDb     535 

Follow  me,  as  I  sing 

And  touch  the  warbled  string, 
Under  the  shady  roof 
Of  branching  elm  star-proof. 

Follow  me. 

I  will  bring  you  where  she  sits 
Clad  in  splendour  as  befits 

Her  deity. 
Such  a  rural  queen 
All  Arcadia  hath  not 


Nymphs  and  Shepherds,  dance  no  more 
By  sandy  Ladon's  lilied  hanks. 

On  old  Lycojus  or  Cyllene  hoar 
Trip  no  more  in  twilight  ranks  ; 

though  Erymanth  your  loss  deplore, 
A  better  soil  shall  give  ye  thanks. 

From  the  stony  Mxnalus 

Bring  your  flocks,  and  live  with  us ; 

Here  ye  shall  have  greater  grace. 

To  serve  the  I  .ndy  of  this  place. 

Though  Syrinx  your  Fan's  mistress  were, 

Yet  Syrinx  well  might  wait  on  her. 
Such  a  rural  Queen 
All  Arcadia  hath  not  seen. 

MILTON 


MAY-DAY 

GKT  up,  get  up  for  shame  !  the  blooming  mom 
Upon  her  wings  presents  the  god  unshorn. 
See  how  Aurora  throws  her  fair 
Fresh-quilted  colours  through  the  air  1 
Gel  up,  sweet  slug-a-bcd  !  and  sec 
The  dew  bespangling  herb  and  tree. 


536  PASTORALS 

Each  flower  has  wept  and  bowed  toward  the  east, 
Above  an  hour  since,  yet  you  are  not  drest — 

Nay,  not  so  much  as  out  of  bed, 

When  all  the  birds  have  matins  said, 

And  sung  their  thankful  hymns  :  'tis  sin, 

Nay,  profanation,  to  keep  in, 
Whenas  a  thousand  virgins  on  this  day 
Spring  sooner  than  the  lark  to  fetch  in  May. 

Rise,  and  put  on  your  foliage,  and  be  seen 

To  come  forth,  like  the  spring-time,  fresh  and  green 

And  sweet  as  Flora.     Take  no  care 

For  jewels  for  your  gown  or  hair : 

Fear  not,  the  leaves  will  strew 

Gems  in  abundance  upon  you  ; 
Besides,  the  childhood  of  the  day  has  kept, 
Against  you  come,  some  orient  pearls  unwept. 

Come,  and  receive  them  while  the  light 

Hangs  on  the  dew-locks  of  the  night ; 

And  Titan  on  the  eastern  hill 

Retires  himself,  or  else  stands  still 
Till  you  come  forth.    Wash,  dress,  be  brief  in  praying : 
Few  beads  are  best,  when  once  we  go  a-Maying. 

Come,  my  Corinna,  come !  and,  coming,  mark 
How  each  field  turns  a  street,  each  street  a  park 

Made  green,  and  trimmed  with  trees  ;  see  how 

Devotion  gives  each  house  a  bough, 

Or  branch  ;  each  porch,  each  door,  ere  this 

An  ark,  a  tabernacle  is, 
Made  up  of  white-thorn  neatly  interwove  ; 
As  if  here  were  those  cooler  shades  of  love. 

Can  such  delights  be  in  the  street 

And  open  fields,  and  we  not  see 't  ? 

Come !  we'll  abroad,  and  let's  obey 

The  proclamation  made  for  May  ; 


MAY-DAY  537 

And  sin  no  more,  as  we  have  done,  by  staying. 
But,  my  Corinna,  come !  let 's  go  .1- Maying. 

There's  not  a  budding  boy  or  girl,  this  day, 
But  is  got  up.  and  gone  to  bring  in  Mny. 

A  deal  of  youth,  ere  this,  is  come 

Buck,  and  with  white-thorn  laden  home. 

Some  have  despatched  their  cakes  and  en-am 

Before  that  we  have  left  to  dream  ; 
And  some  have  wept  and  wooed  and  plighted  troth. 
And  chose  their  priest,  ere  we  can  caM  off  sloth. 

Many  a  green-gown  has  been  given  ; 

Many  a  kiss,  both  odd  and  even  ; 

Many  a  glance,  too,  has  been  sent 

From  out  the  eye,  love's  firmament ; 
Many  a  jest  told  of  the  key's  betraying 
This  night,   and  locks  picked:    yet  we're  nut   a- 
Maying. 


Come  I  let  us  go  while  we  are  in  our  prime. 
And  take  the  harmless  folly  of  the  time  ; 

We  shall  grow  old  apace,  and  die 

Before  we  know  our  liberty. 

Our  life  is  short,  and  our  days  run 

As  fast  away  as  does  the  sun  ; 
And  as  a  vapour,  or  a  drop  of  rain 
Once  lost,  can  ne'er  be  found  again  : 

So  when  or  you  or  I  are  made 

A  fable,  song,  or  fleeting  shade. 

All  love,  all  liking,  all  delight 

Lies  drowned  with  us  in  endless  night. 
Then,  while  time  serves,  and  we  are  but  decaying. 
Come,  my  Corinna.  come  I  let 's  go  a-Maying. 

HERRICK 


538  PASTORALS 

A     PASTORAL     DIALOGUE 

(SHEPHERD— NYMPH — CHORUS) 

Shep.  THIS  mossy   bank   they   pressed.       Nym.    That 

aged  oak 

Did  canopy  the  happy  pair 
All  night  from  the  damp  air. 

Cho.     Here  let  us  sit,  and  sing  the  words  they  spoke, 
Till  the  day  breaking  their  embraces  broke. 

Shep.  See,  Love,  the  blushes  of  the  morn  appear, 
And  now  she  hangs  her  pearly  store, 
Robbed  from  the  eastern  shore, 
I*  th'  cowslip's  bell  and  roses  rare ; 
Sweet,  I  must  stay  no  longer  here  ! 

Nym.  Those  streaks  of  doubtful  light  usher  not  day, 
But  show  my  sun  must  set ;  no  morn 
Shall  shine  till  thou  return  ; 

The  yellow  planets  and  the  grey 

Dawn  shall  attend  thee  on  thy  way. 

Shep.  If  thine  eyes  gild  my  paths,  they  may  forbear 

Their  useless  shine.     Nym.    My  tears  will 

quite 

Extinguish  their  faint  light. 

Shep.  Those  drops  will  make  their  beams  more  clear, 
Love's  flames  will  shine  in  every  tear. 

Cho.    They  kissed  and  wept,  and  from  their  lips  and 

eyes, 

In  a  mixed  dew,  of  briny  sweet 
Their  joys  and  sorrows  meet ; 
But  she  cries  out : — Nym.  Shepherd,  arise, 
The  sun  betrays  us  else  to  spies. 


A    PASTORAL    DIALOGUE  539 

Tl.c  w  inged  hours  fly  fast  whiUl  we  rmbracc. 
But  when  we  want  their  help  to  meet. 
They  move  with  leaden  feeL 
Nym.  Then  let  us  pinion  time,  and  ch.i»c 
The  day  for  ever  from  this  place. 

Sktp.  Hark!    Nym.  Ay  roe!  stay  I    Sktf.  For  ever : 

Nym.  No !  arise ! 

We  must  be  gone !    Sktf.  My  nest  of  spice  ! 
Nym.  My  soul !    Skep.  My  Paradise  ! 
Cto.    Neither  could  say  farewell,  but  through  their  eyes 
Grief  interrupted  speech  with  tears'  supplies. 

CAREW 


CI.ORINDA    AND     DAMON 

Clorinda 
DAMON  !  come  drive  thy  flocks  this  way  I 

Damon 

No !     "1  is  too  l.i ic  they  went  astray. 
Clorinda 

\  have  a  grassy  'scutcheon  spied. 
Where  Flora  blazons  all  her  pride. 
The  grass  I  aim  to  feast  thy  sheep. 
The  flowers  I  for  thy  temples  keep. 

Damon 

Grass  withers  and  the  flowers  too  fade. 
Clorinda 

Seize  the  short  joys  then  ere  they  vade  I 
Seest  thou  that  unfrequented  cave  ? 

Damon 
That  den? 


PASTORALS 

Clorinda 

Love's  shrine. 

Damon 

But  virtue's  grave. 
Clorinda 

In  whose  cool  bosom  we  may  lie, 
Safe  from  the  sun. 

Damon 

Not  heaven's  eye. 
Clorinda 

Near  this  a  fountain's  liquid  bell 
Tinkles  within  the  concave  shell. 

Damon 

Might  a  soul  bathe  there  and  be  clean, 
Or  slake  its  drought  ? 

Clorinda 

What  is't  you  mean? 
Damon 

Clorinda  !  pastures,  caves,  and  springs, — 
These  once  had  been  enticing  things. 

Clorinda 

And  what  late  change? 
Damon 

The  other  day 
Pan  met  me. 

Clorinda 

What  did  great  Pan  say  ? 


CLOIINDA    AND    DAMON  e,r 

Da  mom 

Words  that  transcend  poor  shepherd's  skill . 
But  he  e'er  since  my  songs  does  fill, 
And  his  name  swells  my  slender  omt. 

ClorimJa 
Sweet  mtiii  Pan  sound  in  Damon's  note 

Damon 
Clorinda's  voice  might  make  ii  sweet. 

Otn'mJa 

Who  would  not  in  Pan's  praises  meet  ? 

Ckorut 

Of  Pan  the  flowery  pastures  sing, 
Caves  echo,  and  the  fountains  ring. 
Sing  then  while  he  doth  us  inspire  I 
For  all  the  world  is  our  Pan's  quire. 

UARVtl.l 

A    DIALOGUE    BETWEEN    THYRSIS 
AND    DOR1NDA 

Dorimda 

When  death  shall  snatch  us  from  these  kids 
And  shut  up  our  divided  lids. 
Tell  me,  Thyrsis,  prithee  do, 
Whither  thou  and  I  must  go. 

Tkynit 
To  the  Elisium. 

D.    O  where  is 't? 
T.    A  chaste  soul  can  never  miss 't. 
D.     I  know  no  way  but  one ;  our  home 
Is  our  Elisium  ? 


542  PASTORALS 

T.     Cast  thine  eye  to  yonder  sky, 

There  the  milky  way  doth  lie  ; 

'Tis  a  sure  but  rugged  way 

That  leads  to  everlasting  day. 
D.     There  birds  may  nest,  but  how  can  I, 

That  have  no  wings  and  cannot  fly  ? 
T.     Do  not  sigh,  fair  nymph.     For  fire 

Hath  no  wings,  yet  doth  aspire 

Till  it  hit  against  the  pole. 

Heaven 's  the  centre  of  the  soul. 
D.     But  in  Elisium  how  do  they 

Pass  eternity  away  ? 
T.     O,  there 's  neither  hope  nor  fear, 

There 's  no  wolf,  no  fox,  no  bear, 

No  need  of  dog  to  fetch  our  stray, 

Our  Light  foot  we  may  give  away. 

And  there  most  sweetly,  thine  ear 

May  feast  with  music  of  the  sphere. 
D.     How  I  my  future  state 

By  silent  thinking  antedate. 

I  prithee  let 's  spend  our  time,  come, 

In  talking  of  Elisium. 
T.     Then  I  '11  go  on  :  There  sheep  are  full 

Of  softest  grass,  and  softest  wool ; 

There  birds  sing  concerts,  garlands  grow, 

Cold  winds  do  whisper,  springs  do  flow. 

There  always  is  a  rising  sun, 

And  day  is  ever  but  begun. 

Shepherds  there  bear  equal  sway, 

And  every  nymph  's  a  Queen  of  May. 
D.     Ah  me  !  ah  me  ! 

T.  Dorinda,  why  dost  cry  ? 

D.     I  'm  sick,  I  'm  sick,  and  fain  would  die. 

Convince't  me  now  that  this  is  true, 

By  bidding  with  me  all  adieu. 


A    DIALOGUE  543 

T.     1  cannot  live  without  thec,  I 

Will  for  thee,  much  more  with  thce.  die. 

D.    Then  let  us  give  Corcllia  charge  o*  ih*  sheep. 
And  thou  and  I  '11  pluck  poppies,  and  them  steep 
In  wine,  and  drink  on  'I  even  till  we  weep, 
So  shall  we  smoothly  pass  away  in  sleep. 

MARVEL!. 


ECLOGUE 
(A    MAN- A    WOMAN-SIR    ROGF.R) 

Man. 

Bur  whither,  fair  Maid,  do  yc  go? 

0  where  do  ye  bend  your  way? 
1  will  know  whither  you  go, 

1  will  not  be  answered  nay. 

Woman 

To  Robin  and  Nell,  all  down  in  the  dell. 
To  help  them  at  making  of  hay. 

Man 
Sir  Roger  the  parson  hath  hired  me  there ; 

Come,  come,  let  us  trip  it  away  : 
We'll  work,  and  we'll  sing,  and  we'll  drink  of 

strong  beer, 
As  long  as  the  merry  summer's  day. 

Woman 

How  hard  is  my  doom  to  wurch  1 1 
Great  is  my  woe ! 
Dame  Agnes  who  lies  in  the  church 

With  birlet »  gold 

With  gilded  aumeres,3  strong,  untold. 
What  was  she  more  than  me,  to  be  so  ? 
>  Work.  2  Coif.  a  Border* 


544  PASTORALS 

Man 

I  ken  Sir  Roger  from  afar, 

Tripping  over  the  lea  ; 
I  will  ask  why  the  lorde's  son 

Is  more  than  me. 

Sir  Roger 

The  sultry  sun  doth  hie  1  apace  his  wain, 

From  every  beam  a  seed  of  life  doth  fall. 
Quickly  heap  up  the  hay  upon  the  plain, 

Methinks  the  cocks  beginneth  to  grow  tall. 
This  is  aye  like  our  doom  ;  the  great,  the  small, 

Must  wither  and  be  forwined  2  by  death's  dart. 
See,  the  sweet  floweret  hath  no  sweet  at  all ; 

It  with  the  rank  weed  beareth  equal  part. 

The  craven,  warrior,  and  the  wise  be  blent, 
Alike  to  dry  away  with  those  they  did  lament. 

Man 

All-a-boon,  Sir  Priest,  all-a-boon  ! 
By  your  priestship  now  say  unto  me  ; 

Sir  Gaufrid  the  knight,  who  liveth  hard  by, 
Why  should  he  than  me  be  more  great, 
In  honour,  knighthood,  and  estate? 

Sir  Roger 

Atturn  thine  eye  around  this  hayed  lea, 

Attentively  look  o'er  the  sun-parched  dell, 
An  answer  to  thy  barganet  3  here  see  ; 

This  withered  floweret  will  a  lesson  tell  ; 

It  rose,  it  blew,  it  flourished,  it  did  well, 
Looking  askance  upon  the  neighbour  green, 

Yet  with  the  'dained*  green  its  glory  fell, 
Eftsoons  it  shrank  upon  the  day-burnt  plain, 

I  Hasten.        2  "Withered.        3  Ballad.       •*  Disdained, 


ECLOGUE  545 

Did  not  its  look,  whitest  it  there  did  stand. 
To  crop  it  in  the  bud  move  some  drrad  hand. 
Such  is  (be  way  of  life  ;  the  loverd's  eote » 

Moveth  the  robber  him  therefor  to  slee  ; 
If  ihou  bast  rase,  the  shadow  of  content, 

Believe  the  truth,  there's  none  more  hale  than  thee. 
Thou  workest :  well,  can  that  a  trouble  be? 
Sloth  more  would  jade  thee  than  the  roughest  day. 

Couldst  ihou  the  kiverclcd  *  of  soules  see 
Thou  wouldst  eftsoons  see  truth  in  what  I  say. 

But  let  me  hear  thy  way  of  life,  and  then 

Hear  thou  from  me  the  lives  of  other  men. 

Man 

I  rise  with  the  sun. 
Like  him  to  drive  the  wain, 
And  ere  my  work  is  done 
1  sing  a  song  or  twain. 
I  follow  the  plough-tail 
With  a  long  jub»  of  ale. 

On  every  saint's  high-day 
With  the  minstrel  I  am  seen, 
All  a-footing  it  away 
With  maidens  on  the  green. 
But  oh,  I  wish  to  be  more  great 
In  glory,  tenure,  and  estate. 

Sir  JKoger 
Hast  thou  not  seen  a  tree  upon  a  hill, 

Whose  boundless  branches  reachen  far  to  sight  ? 
When  furi&l  tempests  do  the  heaven  fill. 
It  shaJceth  dire,  in  dole  and  much  affright ; 
Whilst  the  poor  lowly  floweret,  humbly  dight, 
Standeth  unhurt,  unquashetl  by  the  storm. 

Such  is  a  pict're  of  life  ;  the  man  of  might 
Lord'f  pun*.  •  Covered  part.  •  Bottle. 

tM 


546  PASTORALS 

Is  tempest-chafed,  his  woe  great  as  his  form : 

Thyself,  a  floweret  of  a  small  account, 
Wouldst  harder  feel  the  wind,  as  thou  didst  higher 
mount. 

CHATTERTON 


F^ESULAN     IDYL 

HERE,  when  precipitate  Spring  with  one  light  bound 

Into  hot  Summer's  lusty  arms  expires  ; 

And  where  go  forth  at  morn,  at  eve,  at  night, 

Soft  airs,  that  want  the  lute  to  play  with  them, 

And  softer  sighs,  that  know  not  what  they  want ; 

Under  a  wall,  beneath  an  orange  tree 

Whose  tallest  flowers  could  tell  the  lowlier  ones 

Of  sights  in  Fiesole  right  up  above, 

While  I  was  gazing  a  few  paces  off 

At  what  they  seemed  to  show  me  with  their  nods, 

Their  frequent  whispers  and  their  pointing  shoots, 

A  gentle  maid  came  down  the  garden  steps 

And  gathered  the  pure  treasure  in  her  lap. 

I  heard  the  branches  rustle,  and  slept  forth 

To  drive  the  ox  away,  or  mule,  or  goat, 

(Such  I  believed  it  must  be)  ;  for  sweet  scents 

Are  the  swift  vehicles  of  still  sweeter  thoughts, 

And  nurse  and  pillow  the  dull  memory 

That  would  let  drop  without  them  her  best  stores. 

They  bring  me  tales  of  youth  and  tones  of  love, 

And  'tis  and  ever  was  my  wish  and  way 

To  let  all  flowers  live  freely,  and  all  die, 

Whene'er  their  genius  bids  their  souls  depart, 

Among  their  kindred  in  their  native  place. 

I  never  pluck  the  rose  ;  the  violet's  head 

Hath  shaken  with  my  breath  upon  its  bank 

And  not  reproacht  me  ;  the  ever  sacred  cup 


FASULAN    IDTL  547 

Of  the  pure  lily  hath  between  my  hards 
Felt  safe,  unsoiled,  nor  lost  one  grain  of  gold. 
I  saw  the  light  that  made  the  glossy  leaves 
More  glossy  ;  the  fair  arm,  the  fairer  cheek 
Wanned  by  the  eye  intent  on  its  pursuit ; 
I  saw  the  foot,  that  although  half-erect 
From  its  grey  slippers,  could  not  lift  her  up 
To  what  she  wanted  ;  I  held  down  a  branch, 
And  gathered  her  some  blossoms,  since  thrir  hour 
Was  come,  and  bees  had  wounded  them,  and  flirs 
Of  harder  wing  were  working  their  way  through  ' 
And  scattering  them  in  fragments  under  foot. 
So  crisp  were  some,  they  rattled  unevolvcd, 
Others,  ere  broken  off,  fell  into  shells. 
Unbending,  brittle,  lucid,  white  like  snow. 
And  like  snow  not  seen  through,  by  rye  or  sun  ; 
Yet  every  one  her  gown  received  from  me 
Was  fairer  than  the  first ;  .  .  .  I  thought  not  so. 
But  so  she  praised  them  to  reward  my  care. 
I  said:   You  find  tht  largest. 

7*ii,  imdted, 
Cried  she.  is  large  and  tweet. 

She  held  one  forth. 
Whether  for  me  to  look  at  or  to  take 
She  knew  not,  nor  did  1  ;  but  taking  it 
Would  best  have  solved  (and  this  she  felt)  her  doubts. 
I  dared  not  touch  it ;  for  it  seemed  a  part 
Of  her  own  self ;  fresh,  full,  the  most  mature 
Of  blossoms,  yet  a  blossom  ;  with  a  touch 
To  fall,  and  yet  unfallen. 

She  drew  back 

The  boon  she  tendered,  and  then,  finding  not 
The  ribbon  at  her  waist  to  fix  it  in, 
Dropt  it,  as  loth  to  drop  it,  on  the  rest. 

LAN DO a 


548  PASTORALS 

EVENING   SONG 
SHEPHERDS  all,  and  maidens  fair, 
Fold  your  flocks  up,  for  the  air 
'Gins  to  thicken,  and  the  sun 
Already  his  great  course  hath  run. 
See  the  dew-drops  how  they  kiss 
Every  little  flower  that  is, 
Hanging  on  their  velvet  heads, 
Like  a  rope  of  crystal  beads  : 
See  the  heavy  clouds  low  falling, 
And  bright  Hesperus  down  calling 
The  dead  Night  from  under  ground  ; 
At  whose  rising,  mists  unsound, 
Damps  and  ^vapours  fly  apace, 
Hovering  o'er  the  wanton  face 
Of  these  pastures,  where  they  come, 
Striking  dead  both  bud  and  bloom  : 
Therefore,  from  such  danger  lock 
Every  one  his  loved  flock  ; 
And  let  your  dogs  lie  loose  without, 
Lest  the  wolf  come  as  a  scout 
From  the  mountain,  and,  ere  day, 
Bear  a  lamb  or  kid  away  ; 
Or  the  crafty  thievish  fox 
Break  upon  your  simple  flocks. 
To  secure  yourselves  from  these, 
Be  not  too  secure  in  ease  ; 
Let  one  eye  his  watches  keep, 
Whilst  the  other  eye  doth  sleep  ; 
So  you  shall  good  shepherds  prove, 
And  for  ever  hold  the  love 
Of  our  great  god.     Sweetest  slumbers, 
And  soft  silence,  fall  in  numbers 
On  your  eyelids  !     So,  farewell ! 
Thus  I  end  my  evening's  knell. 


FLETCHER 


DEATH 


Death  with  most  grim  and  grisly  visage  seen, — 
Yet  is  he  nought  but  parting  oj  the  breath. 

Spenser 


Men  must  endure 
Their  going  hence,  ev'n  as  their  coming  hither. 

Shakespeare 


THE  glories  of  our  blood  and  state 

Are  shadows,  not  substantial  things  ; 
There  is  no  armour  against  fate : 
Death  lays  his  icy  hand  on  kings. 
Sceptre  and  crown 
Must  tumble  down, 
And  in  the  dust  be  equal  made 
With  the  poor  crooked  scythe  and  spade. 

Some  men  with  swords  may  reap  the  field, 
And  plant  fresh  laurels  where  they  kill ; 
But  their  strong  nerves  at  last  must  yield, 
They  tame  but  one  another  still ; 
Early  or  late 
They  stoop  to  fate, 

And  must  give  up  their  murmuring  breath. 
When  they,  pale  capiivcs,  creep  to  deaib. 

The  garlands  wither  on  your  brow  ; 

Then  boast  no  more  your  mighty  deeds ; 
Upon  death's  purple  altar,  now. 
See  where  the  victor-victim  bleeds  ! 
Your  heads  must  come 
To  the  cold  tomb. 
Only  the  actions  of  the  just 
Smell  sweet  and  blos<om  in  their  dust. 

SHIRLEY 
561 


552  DEATH 

THE  FEAR  OF  DEATH 

COWARDS  die  many  times  before  their  deaths ; 

The  valiant  never  taste  of  death  but  once. 

Of  all  the  wonders  that  I  yet  have  heard, 

It  seems  to  me  most  strange  that  men  should  fear ; 

Seeing  that  death,  a  necessary  end, 

Will  come  when  it  will  come. 

* 

Ay,  but  to  die,  and  go  we  know  not  where  ; 
To  lie  in  cold  obstruction,  and  to  rot ; 
This  sensible  warm  motion  to  become 
A  kneaded  clod  ;  and  the  delighted  spirit 
To  bathe  in  fiery  floods,  or  to  reside 
In  thrilling  region  of  thick-ribbed  ice; 
To  be  imprisoned  in  the  viewless  winds, 
And  blown  with  restless  violence  round  about 
The  pendent  world  ;  or  to  be  worse  than  worst 
Of  those  that  lawless  and  incertain  thoughts 
Imagine  howling  ! — 'tis  too  horrible.! 
The  weariest  and  most  loathed  worldly  life, 
That  age,  ache,  penury,  and  imprisonment 
Can  lay  on  nature,  is  a  paradise 
To  what  we  fear  of  death. 

SHAKESPEARE 


THOUGHTS    ON    DEATH 

From  an  Elegy  on  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Drury. 

THINK  then,  my  soul,  that  death  is  but  a  groom, 
Which  brings  a  taper  to  the  outward  room, 
Whence  thou  spy'st  first  a  little  glimmering  light, 
And  after  brings  it  nearer  to  thy  sight : 
For  such  approaches  doth  Heav'n  make  in  death 
Think  thyself  labouring  now  with  broken  breath, 


THOUGHTS   ON    DEATH  553 

And  think  those  broken  and  soft  notes  to  be 

Division,  and  thy  happiest  harmony. 

Think  that  thou  hear'st  thy  knell,  and  think  no  more 

But  that,  as  bells  called  thee  to  church  before, 

So  this  to  the  triumphant  church  calls  thee. 

Think  these  things  cheerfully,  and  if  thou  be 

Drowsy  or  slack,  remember  then  that  she. 

She  hath  taught  us,  that  though  a  good  man  hath 

Title  to  heaven,  and  plead  it  by  his  faith, 

And  though  he  may  pretend  a  conquest,  since 

Heaven  was  content  to  suffer  violence  : 

Yea,  though  he  plead  a  long  possession  too, 

For  they're  in  Heaven  on  Earth,  who  Heaven's  works 

do; 

Though  he  had  right  and  power  and  place  before, 
Yet  Death  must  usher  and  unlock  the  door. 
This  must,  my  soul,  thy  long-short  progress  be 
To  advance  these  thoughts ;  remember  then  that  she. 
She,  whose  fair  body  no  such  prison  was 
But  that  a  soul  might  well  be  pleased  to  pass 
Ah  age  in  her :  she.  whose  rich  beauty  lent 
Mintage  to  other  beauties,  for  they  went 
But  for  so  much  as  they  were  like  to  her  ; 
She  in  whose  body  (if  we  dare  prefer 
This  low  world  to  so  high  a  mark  as  she) 
The  western  treasure,  eastern  spicery, 
Europe  and  Afric  and  the  unknown  rest 
Were  easily  found  or  what  in  them  was  best ; 
She,  of  whose  soul  if  we  may  say  'twas  gold, 
Her  body  was  th*  electrum.  and  did  hold 
Many  degrees  of  that ;  we  understood 
Her  by  her  sight ;  her  pure  and  eloquent  blood 
Spoke  in  her  cheeks,  and  so  distinctly  wrought 
That  one  might  almost  say,  her  body  thought ; 
She,  she  thus  richly  and  largely  housed,  is  gone, 
And  chides  us,  slow-paced  snails,  who  crawl  upon 


554 


DEATH 


Our  prison's  prison,  Earth,  nor  think  us  well 
Longer  than  whilst  we  bear  our  brittle  shell. 
But  'twere  but  little  to  have  changed  our  room 
If  as  we  were  in  this  our  living  tomb 
Oppressed  with  ignorance,  we  still  were  so. 
Poor  soul,  in  this  thy  flesh  what  dost  thou  know  ? 
And  yet  one  watches,  starves,  freezes,  and  sweats 
To  know  but  catechisms  and  alphabets 
Of  unconcerning  things,  matters  of  fact ; 
How  others  on  our  stage  their  parts  did  act : 
What  Caesar  did,  yea,  or  what  Cicero  said. 
Why  grass  is  green,  or  why  our  blood  is  red, 
Are  mysteries  which  none  have  reached  unto  ; 
In  this  low  form,  poor  soul,  what  wilt  thou  do? 
Oh,  when  wilt  thou  shake  off  this  pedantry 
Of  being  taught  by  sense  and  fantasy? 
Thou  look'st  through  spectacles ;  small  things  seem 

great 

Below ;  but  up  into  the  watch-tower  get, 
And  see  all  things  despoiled  of  fallacies  : 
Thou  shall  not  peep  through  lattices  of  eyes, 
Nor  hear  through  labyrinths  of  ears,  nor  learn 
By  circuit  or  collections  to  discern  : 
In  Heaven  thou  straight  know'st  all  concerning  it, 
And  what  concerns  it  not  shall  straight  forget. 

DONNE 


A    LAMENT 
IN  TIME   OF   PLAGUE 

ADIEU,  farewell  earth's  bliss, 
This  world  uncertain  is : 
Fond  are  life's  lustful  joys, 
Death  proves  them  all  bul  toys. 


A   LAMENT  555 

None  from  his  darts  can  fly : 
I  am  sick,  I  must  die. 

Lord,  have  mercy  on  MI! 

Rich  men,  trust  not  in  wealth, 
Gold  cannot  buy  you  health ; 
Physic  himself  must  fade ; 
All  things  to  end  are  made ; 
The  plague  full  swift  goes  by ; 
I  am  sick,  I  must  die ! 

Lord,  kai't  mercy  on  tit  I 

Beauty  is  but  a  flower, 
Which  wrinkles  will  devour : 
Brightness  falls  from  the  air ; 
Queens  have  died  young  and  fair 
Dust  hath  closed  Helen's  eye : 
I  am  sick,  I  must  die ! 

Lord,  k<n*  mercy  on  us  / 

Strength  stoops  unto  the  grave, 
Worms  feed  on  Hector  brave : 
Swords  may  not  fight  with  fate  : 
Earth  still  holds  ope  her  gate. 
Come,  come,  the  bells  do  cry  ; 
I  am  sick,  I  must  die. 

Lord,  have  mercy  on  utl 

Wit  with  his  wantonness 
Tasteth  death's  bitterness: 
Hell's  executioner 
Hath  no  ears  for  to  hear 
What  vain  art  can  reply : 
I  am  sick,  I  must  die. 

Lord,  have  mercy  on  *>/ 

NASH 


556  DEATH 


ELEGIES 
ON    GEORGE    TALBOT,    ESQ. 

LET  me  contemplate  thee  (fair  soul),  and  though 
I  cannot  track  the  way  which  thou  didst  go 
In  thy  celestial  journey  ;  and  my  heart 
Expansion  wants,  to  think  what  now  thou  art, 
How  bright  and  wide  thy  glories  ;  yet  I  may 
Remember  thee  as  thou  wert  in  thy  clay. 

Sad  midnight  whispers  with  a  greedy  ear 
I  catch  from  lonely  graves,  in  hope  to  hear 
News  from  the  dead,  nor  can  pale  visions  fright 
His  eye,  who  since  thy  death  feels  no  delight 
In  man's  acquaintance.     Mem'ry  of  thy  fate 
Doth  in  me  a  sublimer  soul  create. 
And  now  my  sorrow  follows  thee,  I  tread 
The  milky  way,  and  see  the  snowy  head 
Of  Atlas  far  below,  while  all  the  high 
Swoln  buildings  seem  but  atoms  to  my  eye. 

How  small  seems  greatness  here !    How  not  a  span 

His  empire  who  commands  the  ocean. 

Both  that  which  boasts  so  much  its  mighty  ore, 

And  th'  other  which  with  pearl  hath  paved  its  shore. 

Nor  can  it  greater  seem,  when  this  great  All 

For  which  men  quarrel  so  is  but  a  ball 

Cast  down  into  the  air  to  sport  the  stars  ; 

And  all  our  general  ruins,  mortal  wars, 

Depopulated  states,  caused  by  their  sway  ; 

And  man's  so  reverend  wisdom  but  their  play. 

Chaste  as  the  nun's  first  vow,  as  fairly  bright 
As  when  by  death  her  soul  shines  in  full  light 


•  LEG  ttS  557 

Freed  from  the  eclipse  of  earth,  each  word  that  came 

From  thee  (dear  Talbot)  did  beget  a  flame 

T'  enkindle  virtue  :  which  so  fair  by  thee> 

Became,  man— that  blind  mole— her  face  did  see. 

But  now  t*  our  eye  she 's  lost,  and  if  she  dwell 

Yet  on  the  earth,  she's  coffin'd  in  the  cell 

Of  some  cold  hermit,  who  so  keeps  her  there 

As  if  of  her  the  old  man  jealous  were. 

Nor  ever  shows  her  beauty  but  to  some 

Carthusian,  who  even  by  his  vow  is  dumb. 

So  'mid  the  ice  of  the  far  northern  tea 

A  star  about  the  arctic  circle  may 

Than  ours  yield  clearer  light,  yet  thai  but  shaL 

Serve  at  the  frozen  pilot's  funcraL 

UABINCTON 


ON    THE    DEATH    Of     MR.     WILLIAM    HERVBY 

IT  was  a  dismal  and  a  fearful  night 

Scarce  could  the  Morn  drive  on  th'  unwilling  light. 

When  sleep,  death's  image,  left  my  troubled  breast 

By  something  more  like  death  possesu 
My  eyes  with  tears  did  uncommanded  flow, 

And  on  my  soul  hung  the  dull  weight 

Of  some  intolerable  fate. 
What  bell  was  that  ?    Ah,  roe  !  too  much  1  know. 

My  sweet  companion,  and  my  gentle  peer, 
Why  hast  thou  left  me  thus  unkindly  here, 
Thy  end  for  ever,  and  my  life  to  moan  ? 

O  thou  hast  left  me  all  alone ! 
Thy  soul  and  body  when  death's  agony 

Besieged  around  thy  noble  heart, 

Did  not  with  more  reluctance  part 
Than  I,  my  dearest  friend,  do  part  from  thee. 


558 


Ye  fields  of  Cambridge,  our  dear  Cambridge,  say, 

Have  ye  not  seen  us  walking  every  day  ? 

Was  there  a  tree  about  which  did  not  know 
The  love  betwixt  us  two  ? 

Henceforth,  ye  gentle  trees,  for  ever  fade, 
Or  your  sad  branches  thicker  join, 
And  into  darksome  shades  combine, 

Dark  as  the  grave  wherein  my  friend  is  laid. 

Large  was  his  soul ;  as  large  a  soul  as  e'er 

Submitted  to  inform  a  body  here ; 

High  as  the  place  'twas  shortly  in  heav'n  to  have, 

But  low,  and  humble  as  his  grave  ; 
So  high  that  all  the  virtues  there  did  come 

As  to  their  chiefest  seat 

Conspicuous,  and  great ; 
So  low  that  for  me  too  it  made  a  room. 

He  scorned  this  busy  world  below,  and  all 
That  we,  mistaken  mortals,  pleasure  call ; 
Was  filled  with  innocent  gallantry  and  truth, 

Triumphant  o'er  the  sins  of  youth. 
He  like  the  stars,  to  which  he  now  is  gone, 

That  shine  with  beams  like  flame, 

Yet  burn  not  with  the  same, 
Had  all  the  light  of  youth,  of  the  fire  none. 

Knowledge  he  only  sought,  and  so  soon  caught, 
As  if  for  him  knowledge  had  rather  sought ; 
Nor  did  more  learning  ever  crowded  lie 

In  such  a  short  mortality. 
When  e'er  the  skilful  youth  discoursed  or  writ. 

Still  did  the  notions  throng 

About  his  eloquent  tongue, 
Nor  could  his  ink  flow  faster  than  his  wit. 


ELEGIES  559 

His  mirth  was  the  pore  spirits  of  various  wit. 

Yet  never  did  his  God  or  friends  forget. 

And  when  deep  talk  and  wisdom  came  in  view. 

Retired  and  gave  to  them  their  due. 
For  the  rich  help  of  books  he  always  took, 

Though  his  own  searching  mind  before 

Was  so  with  notions  written  o'er 
As  if  wise  nature  had  made  th.it  her  book. 

With  as  much  teal,  devotion,  piety. 
He  always  lived,  as  other  saints  do  die. 
Still  with  his  soul  severe  account  he  kept. 

Weeping  all  debts  out  ere  he  slrpt. 
Then  down  in  peace  and  innocence  he  lay. 

Like  the  sun's  laborious  light. 

Which  still  in  water  sets  at  night. 
Unsullied  with  his  journey  of  the  day. 

COW  LET 


UPON  THE  DEATH  OF  SIR  A1.BERTUS 
MORTON'S  WIFE 

HE  first  deceased  ;  she  for  a  little  tried 
To  live  without  him,  liked  it  not,  and  died. 

WOTTON 


ON    TUB    COUNTESS    OF    PEMBROKE 

UNDERNEATH  this  sable  hearse 
Lies  the  subject  of  all  verse 
SIDNEY'S  sister,  PEMBROKE'S  mother ; 
Death,  ere  thou  hast  slain  another, 
Learn'd  and  fair  and  good  as  she, 
Time  shall  throw  a  dart  at  thee. 


560  DEATH 


ON    ELIZABETH    L.    H. 

WOULDST  thou  hear  what  man  can  say 
In  a  little  ?    Reader,  stay. 

Underneath  this  stone  doth  lie 
As  much  beauty  as  could  die  : 
Which  in  life  did  harbour  give 
To  more  virtue  than  doth  live. 
If  at  all  she  had  a  fault, 
Leave  it  buried  in  this  vault. 
One  name  was  Elizabeth  ; 
The  other,  let  it  sleep  in  death, 
Fitter  where  it  died  to  tell 
Than  that  it  lived  at  all.     Farewell ! 


ON     SALATHIEL     PAVY 

A  child  of  Queen  Elizabeths  Chapei 

WEEP  with  me,  all  you  that  read 

This  little  story  ; 
And  know,  for  whom  a  tear  you  shed 

Death's  self  is  sorry. 
Twas  a  child  that  so  did  thrive 

In  grace  and  feature, 
As  Heaven  and  Nature  seemed  to  strive 

Which  owned  the  creature. 
Years  he  numbered  scarce  thirteen 

When  Fates  turned  cruel, 
Yet  three  filled  zodiacs  had  he  been 

The  stage's  jewel  ; 
And  did  act,  what  now  we  moan, 

Old  men  so  duly, 


•  LBCIEf  561 

As,  sooth,  the  Parcac  thought  him  one. 

He  played  so  truly. 
So,  by  error  to  his  fate 

They  all  consented ; 
Bat  viewing  him  since,  alas,  too  late 

They  have  repented ; 
And  have  sought  to  give  new  birth 

In  baths  to  steep  him ; 
Bat  being  so  much  too  good  for  earth, 

Heaven  vows  to  keep  him. 

JON SOU 


ON    HIS    ROYAL    PATRON 

Or  jet,  or  porphyry,  or  that  white  stone 
Paros  affords  alone, 
Or  those  in  azure  dye 
Which  seem  to  scorn  the  sky, 
Here  Memphis  wondets  do  not  set ; 
Nor  Artemisia's  huge  frame 
1  hat  keeps  so  long  her  lover's  name : 
Make  no  great  marble  Atlas  tremble  with  gold 
To  please  a  vulgar  eye  that  doth  behold : 
The  Muses.  Phoebus,  Love,  have  raised  of  their  tears 
A  crystal  tomb  to  him  through  which  his  worth  appear  . 

DRUMMOND 


EPITAPH 

THINK  not,  reader,  me  less  blest 
Sleeping  in  this  narrow  chest, 
Than  if  my  ashes  did  lie  bid 
Under  some  stately  pyramid. 


562  DEATH 

If  a  rich  tomb  makes  happy,  then 
That  Bee  was  happier  far  than  men 
Who  busy  in  the  thymy  wood 
Was  fettered  by  the  golden  flood, 
Which  from  the  amber-weeping  tree 
Distilleth  down  so  plenteously  ; 
For  so  this  little  wanton  elf 
Most  gloriously  enshrined  itself. 
A  tomb  whose  beauty  might  compare 
With  Cleopatra's  sepulchre. 

In  this  little  bed  my  dust 

Incurtained  round  I  here  intrust, 

While  my  more  pure  and  nobler  part 

Lies  entombed  in  every  heart. 

Then  pass  on  gently,  ye  that  mourn, 

Touch  not  this  mine  hallowed  urn  : 

These  ashes  which  do  here  remain 

A  vital  tincture  still  retain  ; 

A  seminal  form  within  the  deeps 

Of  this  little  chaos  sleeps. 

The  thread  of  life  untwisted  is 

Into  its  first  consistencies  ; 

Infant  nature  cradled  here 

In  its  principles  appear  ; 

This  plant  thus  calcined  into  dust 

In  its  ashes  rest  it  must, 

Until  sweet  Psyche  shall  inspire 

A  softening  and  prolific  fire, 

And  in  her  fostering  arms  enfold 

This  heavy  and  this  earthy  mould. 

Then  as  I  am  I  '11  be  no  more, 

But  bloom  and  blossom  as  before. 

When  this  cold  numbness  shall  retreat 

By  a  more  than  chymick  heat. 

ANON, 


AN    EPITAPH  <-v 


AN    RPITAPH   ON   THE    MARCH  ION  CSS 

OF    WINCHESTER 

THIS  neb  marble  doth  inter 

The  honoured  wife  of  Winchester. 

A  Viscount's  daughter,  an  Earl's  hru 

Besides  what  her  virtues  lair 

Added  to  her  noble  birth. 

More  than  she  could  own  from  eaith. 

Summers  three  times  eight  save  one 

She  had  told  :  alas,  too  soon 

After  so  short  time  of  breath, 

To  house  with  darkness,  and  with  death 

Yet  bad  the  number  of  her  days 

Been  as  complete  as  was  her  praise, 

Nature  and  fate  had  had  no  strife 

In  giving  limit  to  her  life. 

Her  high  birth,  and  her  graces  swcrt. 
Quickly  found  a  lover  meet ; 
The  virgin  quire  for  her  request 
The  god  that  sits  at  marriage  feast  : 
He  at  their  invoking  came. 
But  with  a  scarce  well-lighted  flame ; 
And  in  his  garland,  as  he  stood. 
Ye  might  discern  a  cypress  bud. 
Once  had  the  early  mat  runs  run 
To  greet  hrr  of  a  lovely  son. 
And  now  with  second  hope  she  goes. 
And  calls  Lucina  to  her  throes : 
But,  whether  by  mischance  or  blame. 
Atropos  for  Lucina  came  ; 
And  with  remorseless  cruelty 
Spoiled  at  once  both  fruit  and  tree : 


DEATH 

The  hapless  babe,  before  his  birth, 
Had  burial,  yet  not  laid  in  earth  ; 
And  the  languished  mother's  womb 
Was  not  long  a  living  tomb. 

So  have  I  seen  some  tender  slip 
Saved  with  care  from  winter's  nip, 
The  pride  of  her  carnation  train, 
Plucked  up  by  some  unheedy  swain, 
Who  only  thought  to  crop  the  flower 
New  shot  up  from  vernal  shower : 
But  the  fair  blossom  hangs  the  head 
Sideways,  as  on  a  dying  bed, 
And  those  pearls  of  dew  she  wears, 
Prove  to  be  presaging  tears, 
Which  the  sad  morn  had  let  fall 
On  her  hastening  funeral. 

Gentle  Lady,  may  thy  grave 
Peace  and  quiet  ever  have  ; 
After  this  thy  travail  sore 
Sweet  rest  seize  thee  evermore, 
That,  to  give  the  world  increase, 
Shortened  hast  thy  own  life's  lease, 
Here,  besides  the  sorrowing 
That  thy  noble  house  doth  bring, 
Here  be  tears  of  perfect  moan 
Wept  for  thee  in  Helicon  ; 
And  some  flowers,  and  some  bays, 
For  thy  hearse,  to  strew  the  ways, 
Sent  thee  from  the  banks  of  Came. 
Devoted  to  thy  virtuous  name  ; 
Whilst  thou,  bright  Saint,  high  sitt'st  in 

glory, 

Next  her,  much  like  to  thee  in  story, 
That  fair  Syrian  shepherdess 
Who,  after  years  of  barrenness, 
The  highly  favoured  Joseph  bore 


ANBPITAPH  56$ 

To  him  that  setved  for  her  before, 
And  at  her  next  birth,  much  like  thce, 
Through  pangs  fled  to  felicity. 
Far  within  the  bosom  bright 
Of  blazing  Majesty  and  Light. 

MILTON 


ON    THE    DEATH    OF    RICHARD    WEST 

IN  vain  to  me  the  smiling  mornings  shine. 

And  reddening  Phorbus  lifts  hi*  golden  fire ; 
The  birds  in  vain  their  amorous  descant  join  ; 

Or  cheerful  fields  resume  their  green  attire  ; 
These  ears,  alas  I  for  other  notes  repine  . 

A  different  object  do  these  eyes  require  ; 
My  lonely  anguish  melts  no  heart  but  mine  ; 

And  in  my  breast  the  imperfect  joys  expire. 
Yet  morning  smiles  the  busy  race  to  cheer. 

And  new-born  pleasure  brings  to  happier  men ; 
The  fields  to  all  their  wonted  tribute  bear ; 

To  warm  their  little  loves  the  birds  complain  ; 
I  fruitless  mourn  to  him  that  cannot  hear, 

And  weep  the  more  because  I  weep  m  vain. 

OKAY 


ON    THE    DEATH    OF    MR.    ROBERT    LEVET 
A   PRACTISE*   IN    PHYSIC 

CONDEMNED  to  Hope's  delusive  mine, 

As  on  we  toil  from  day  to  day. 
By  sudden  blasts  or  slow  decline. 

Our  social  comforts  drop  away. 


566  DEATH 

Well  tried  through  many  a  varying  year. 
See  Level  to  the  grave  descend, 

Officious,  innocent,  sincere, 

Of  every  friendless  name  the  friend. 

Yet  still  he  fills  affection's  eye, 
Obscurely  wise  and  coarsely  kind, 

Nor,  lettered  Arrogance,  deny 
Thy  praise  to  merit  unrefined. 

When  fainting  nature  called  for  aid, 
And  hovering  death  prepared  the  blow. 

His  vigorous  remedy  displayed 
The  power  of  art  without  the  show. 

In  Misery's  darkest  cavern  known, 
His  useful  care  was  ever  nigh, 

Where  hopeless  Anguish  poured  lus  groan, 
And  lonely  Want  retired  to  die. 

No  summons  mocked  by  chill  delay, 
No  petty  gain  disdained  by  pride ; 

The  modest  wants  of  every  day 
The  toil  of  every  day  supplied. 

His  virtues  walked  their  narrow  round, 
Nor  made  a  pause,  nor  left  a  void ; 

And  sure  the  Eternal  Master  found 
The  single  talent  well  employed. 

The  biiby  day,  the  peaceful  night, 
Unfelt,  uncounted,  glided  by  ; 

His  frame  was  firm,  his  powers  were  bright, 
Though  now  his  eightieth  year  was  nigh. 


LUCY  567 

Then,  with  no  fiery,  throbbing  pain, 

No  cold  gradations  of  decay, 
Death  broke  at  once  the  vital  chain. 

And  (reed  his  soul  the  nearest  way. 

JOHNSON 


I  UCY 

i 

THREE  years  she  ^rew  in  son  and  shower ; 
Then  Nature  said,  '  A  lovelier  flower 
On  earth  was  never  sown : 
This  child  I  to  myself  will  take  ; 
She  shall  be  mine,  and  I  will  make 
A  lady  of  my  own. 

Myself  will  to  my  darling  l>- 
Both  law  and  impulse :  and  with  me 
The  girl,  in  rock  and  plain, 
In  earth  and  heaven,  in  glade  and  bower 
Shall  feel  an  overseeing  power 
I  o  kindle  or  restrain. 

She  shall  be  sportive  as  the  fawn 
That  wild  with  glee  aero**  the  lawn 
Or  up  the  mountain  springs  ; 
And  hers  shall  be  the  breathing  balm 
And  hers  the  silence  and  the  calm 
Of  mute  insensate  things, 

The  floating  clouds  their  state  shall  lend 

To  her  ;  for  her  the  willow  bend  ; 

Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see 

E'en  in  the  motions  of  Uic  storm 

Grace  that  shall  mould  the  maiden  s  form 

By  silent  sympathy. 


568 


Fhe  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 

To  her  ;  and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 

In  many  a  secret  place 

Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round; 

And  beauty  born  of  murmuring  sound 

Shall  pass  into  her  face. 

And  vital  feelings  of  delight 

Shall  rear  her  form  to  stately  height, 

Her  virgin  bosom  swell  ; 

Such  thoughts  to  Lucy  I  will  give 

While  she  and  I  together  live 

Here  in  this  happy  dell.' 

Thus  Nature  spake—  The  work  was  done  — 

How  soon  my  Lucy's  race  was  run  1 

She  died,  and  left  to  me 

This  heath,  this  calm,  and  quiet  scene; 

The  memory  of  what  has  been, 

And  never  more  will  be. 


SHE  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 

Beside  the  springs  of  Dove  ; 
A  maid  whom  there  were  none  to  praise, 

And  very  few  to  love. 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone 

Half-hidden  from  the  eye ! 
—Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 

Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 

When  Lucy  ceased  to  be  ; 
But  she  is  in  her  grave,  and,  0 1 

The  difference  to  me  ! 


LUCY  569 

III 
A  M.UMBKK  did  my  spirit  seal  ; 

1  had  no  human  fear* : 
She  seemed  a  thing  that  could  not  feel 

The  touch  of  earthly  years. 

No  motion  has  she  now,  no  force  ; 

She  neither  hears  nor  sres  ; 
Rolled  round  in  earth's  diurnal  course 

With  rocks,  and  siones,  and  trees  ! 

IV 

I  TRAVELLED  among  unknown  men 

In  lands  beyond  the  va  ; 
Nor,  England  I  did  I  know  till  then 

What  love  I  bore  to  thee. 

'Tis  past,  that  melancholy  dream  ! 

Nor  will  I  quit  thy  shore 
A  second  time,  for  still  I  seem 

To  love  tbee  more  and  more. 

Among  thy  mountains  did  I  feel 

The  joy  of  my  desire ; 
And  she  1  cherished  turned  her  wheel 

Beside  an  English  fire. 

Thy  mornings  showed,  thy  nights  concealed, 

The  bowers  where  Lucy  played  ; 
Aad  thine  too  is  the  last  green  field 

That  Lucy's  eyes  surveyed. 

WOKUSWOKTH 


THK  voice  which  I  did  more  esteem 
Than  music  in  her  sweetest  key, 

Those  eyes  which  unto  me  did  seem 
More  conu'oi  table  than  the  day, 


b  E  A  T  H 

Those  now  by  me,  as  they  have  been, 
Shall  never  more  be  heard  or  seen  ; 
But  what  I  once  enjoyed  in  them 
Shall  seem  hereafter  as  a  dream. 

WITHER 


AH,  what  avails  the  sceptred  race? 

Ah,  what  the  form  divine? 
What  every  virtue,  every  grace  ? 

Rose  Aylmer,  all  were  thine. 

Rose  Aylmer,  whom  these  wakeful  eyes 

May  weep,  but  never  see, 
A  night  of  memories  and  sighs 

I  consecrate  to  thee. 

LANDOR 


WE  watched  her  breathing  thro'  the  night, 

Her  breathing  soft  and  low, 
As  in  her  breast  the  wave  of  life 

Kept  heaving  to  and  fro. 

So  silently  we  seemed  to  speak, 

So  slowly  moved  about, 
As  we  had  lent  her  half  our  powers 

To  eke  her  living  out. 

Our  very  hopes  belied  our  fears, 

Our  fears  our  hopes  belied — 
We  thought  her  dying  when  she  slept, 

And  sleeping  when  she  died. 

For  when  the  morn  came  dim  and  sad 

And  chill  with  early  showers, 
Her  quiet  eyelids  closed — she  had 

Another  morn  than  ours. 

HOOD 


ON    AN    INFANT  571 


ON     AN     INFANT     DYING 
AS  SOON    AS   BORN 

I  SAW  where  in  the  shroud  did  lurk 

A  curious  frame  of  Nature'*  work ; 

A  flow'ret  crushed  to  the  bud, 

A  nameless  piece  of  Babyhood, 

Was  in  her  cradle-coffin  lying  ; 

Extinct,  with  scarce  the  sense  of  d>  ing  : 

So  soon  to  exchange  the  imprisoning  womb 

For  darker  closets  of  the  tomb  I 

She  did  but  ope  an  eye,  and  put 

A  clear  beam  forth,  then  straight  up  shut 

For  the  long  dark  :  ne'er  more  to  see 

Through  glasses  of  mortality. 

Riddle  of  destiny,  who  can  show 

Whit  thy  short  visit  meant,  or  know 

What  thy  etraud  here  below  ? 

Shall  we  say.  that  Nature  blind 

Checked  her  hand,  nnd  changed  her  mind 

just  when  she  had  exactly  wrought 

A  finished  pattern  without  fault  ? 

Could  she  flag,  or  could  she  tire, 

Or  lacked  she  the  Promethean  fire 

(With  her  nine  moons'  long  workings  sickened) 

That  should  thy  little  limbs  have  quickened  ? 

Limbs  so  firm,  they  scem'd  to  assuie 

Life  of  health,  and  days  mature : 

Woman's  self  in  miniature  ! 

Limbs  so  fair,  they  might  supply 

(Themselves  now  but  cold  imagery) 

The  sculptor  to  make  Beauty  by. 


572  DEATH 

Or  did  the  stern-eyed  Fate  descry 

That  babe  or  mother,  one  must  die 

So  in  mercy  left  the  stock 

And  cut  the  branch  ;  to  save  the  shock 

Of  young  years  widowed,  and  the  pain  * 

When  single  state  comes  back  again 

To  the  lone  man  who,  reft  of  wife, 

Thenceforward  drags  a  maimed  life? 

The  economy  of  Heaven  is  dark, 

And  wisest  clerks  have  missed  the  mark 

Why  human  buds,  like  this,  should  fall 

More  brief  than  fly  ephemeral 

That  has  his  day  ;  while  shrivelled  crones 

Stiffen  with  age  to  stocks  and  stones  ; 

And  crabbed  use  the  conscience  sears 

In  sinners  of  an  hundred  years. 

--Mother's  prattle,  mother's  kiss, 

Baby  fond,  thou  ne'er  wilt  miss  : 

Rites,  which  custom  does  impose, 

Silver  bells,  and  baby 'clothes  ; 

Coral  redder  than  those  lips 

Which  pale  death  did  late  eclipse ; 

Music  framed  for  infants'  glee, 

Whistle  never  tuned  for  thee ; 

Though  thou  want'st  not,  thou  shall  have 

them, 

Loving  hearts  were  they  which  gave  them. 
Let  not  one  be  missing  ;  nurse, 
See  them  laid  upon  the  hearse 
Of  infant  slain  by  doom  perverse. 
Why  should  kings  and  nobles  have 
Pictured  trophies  to  their  grave^ 
And  we,  churls,  to  thee  deny 
Thy  pretty  toys  with  thee  to  lie — 
A  more  harmless  vanity. 

LAMB 


DIRGES  573 

DIRGES 

I 

FULL  fathom  five  thy  father  lies  : 
Of  his  bones  are  coral  made ; 

Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes : 
Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 

But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 

Into  something  rich  and  strange ; 

Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell : 

Hark  I  now  I  hear  them.— 
Ding,  dong,  belt 

•HAKKSPKARK 
II 

CALL  for  the  robin-redbrr*st  and  the  wrm 

Since  o'er  shady  groves  they  hover, 

And  with  leaves  and  flowers  do  cover 

The  friendless  bodies  of  unburied  men. 

Call  unto  his  funeral  dole 

The  ant,  the  field-mouse,  and  the  mole 

To  rear  him  hillocks  that  shall  keep  him  warm 

And  (when  gay  tombs  are  robt>  d)  sustain  no  harm  ; 

Hut  keep  the  wolf  far  thence,  that  s  foe  to  men. 

For  with  his  nails  he  '11  dig  them  up  again. 

WEBSTER 


ALL  the  flowers  of  the  Spring 
Meet  to  perfume  our  burying : 
These  have  but  their  growing  prime 
And  man  doth  flourish  but  his  time. 
Survey  our  progress  from  our  birth  : 
We  are  set,  we  grow,  we  turn  to  earth. 


574 


DEATH 

Sweetest  breath  and  clearest  eye 
(Like  perfumes)  go  out  and  die. 
And  consequently  this  is  done 
As  shadows  wait  upon  the  sun. 

WEBSTER 


LAY  a  garland  on  my  hearse 

Of  the  dismal  yew  ; 
Maidens,  willow  branches  bear ; 

Say  I  died  true. 

My  love  was  false,  but  I  was  firm 

From  my  hour  of  birth. 
Upon  my  buried  body  lie 

Lightly,  gentle  earth. 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER 


GLIDE  soft,  ye  silver  floods, 

And  every  spring : 
Within  the  shady  woods 

Let  no  bird  sing ! 
Nor  from  the  grove  a  turtle  dove 
Be  seen  to  couple  with  her  love  ; 
But  silence  on  each  dale  and  mountain  dwell, 
Whilst  Willy  bids  his  friend  and  joy  farewell 

But  of  great  Thetis'  train 

Ye  mermaids  fair, 
That  on  the  shores  do  plain 

Your  sea-green  hair, 
As  ye  in  trammels  knit  your  locks 
Weep  ye  ;  and  so  enforce  the  rocks 
In  heavy  murmurs  through  the  broad  shores  tell 
How  Willy  bade  his  friend  and  joy  farewell. 


DIRGES  575 

Cense,  cease,  ye  murmuring  » inds. 

To  move  a  wave  ; 
But  if  with  tioubled  minds 

You  seek  his  grave. 
Know  'tis  as  various  as  yourselves, 
Now  in  the  deep,  then  on  the  shelves. 
His  coffin  towed  by  fish  and  surges  fell, 
Whilst  Willy  weeps  and  bids  all  joy  farewell. 

Had  he.  Arion-like. 

Been  judged  to  drown. 
He  on  his  mte  could  strike 

So  rare  a  sown. 

A  thousand  dolphins  would  have  come. 
And  jointly  strove  to  bring  him  home. 
Rut  he  on  shipboard  died,  by  sickness  fell. 
Since  »  hen  his  Willy  bade  all  joy  farewell 

Great  Neptune,  hear  a  swain  I 

His  coffin  take. 
And  with  a  golden  chain 

(For  pity)  make 
It  fast  unto  a  rock  near  land ! 
Where  ev'ry  calmy  morn  1 11  stand. 
And  ere  one  sheep  out  of  my  fold  I  tell. 
Sad  Willy's  pipe  shall  bid  his  friend  farewell 

BROWNK 


O  SING  unto  my  roundelay, 

O  drop  the  briny  tear  with  me ; 
Dance  no  more  at  holyday, 
Like  a  running  river  be : 
My  lore  is  dead. 
Gone  to  his  death-bed. 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 


576  DEATH 

Black  his  locks  as  the  winter  night, 

White  his  rode*  as  the  summer  snow, 
Red  his  face  as  the  morning  light, 
Cold  he  lies  in  the  grave  below  : 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed, 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 

Sweet  his  tongue  as  the  throstle's  note, 

Quick  in  dance  as  thought  can  be, 
Deft  his  tabor,  cudgel  stout ; 
O  !  he  lies  by  the  willow-tree  : 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed, 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 

Hark  !  the  raven  flaps  his  wing 

In  the  briered  dell  below  ; 
Hark  !  the  death-owl  loud  doth  sing 
To  the  night-mares  as  they  go  : 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed, 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 

See  !  the  white  moon  shines  on  hk'h  ; 

Whiter  is  my  true  love's  shroud, 
Whiter  than  the  morning  sky, 
Whiter  than  the  evening  cloud  : 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death-bed, 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 

Here  upon  my  true  love's  grave 
Shall  the  barren  flowers  be  laid, 

i  Skin, 


DIRGES  577 


Not  one  holy  Saint  to  save 
All  the  coldness  of  a  maid  : 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death  -bed, 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 


With  my  hands  I  'II  dent  >  the  brier* 

Round  his  holy  corse  to  gree  *  ; 
Ouph  and  fairy,  light  your  fii 
Here  my  body  still  shall  be  : 
My  love  is  dead, 

Gone  to  his  death-bed, 
All  under  the  willow-tree. 


Come,  with  acorn-cup  and  thorn, 
Drain  my  henrtc's  blood  away  ; 
Life  and  all  its  goods  I  scorn, 
Dance  by  night,  or  feast  by  day : 
My  love  is  dead, 
Gone  to  his  death  bed, 
All  under  the  willow- tree, 

CHATTMTON 


LAMENT     FOR     ASTROPHEL 

WOODS,  hills,  and  rivers,  now  are  desolate, 
Sith  he  is  gone,  the  which  them  all  did  grace ; 
And  all  the  fields  do  wail  their  widow  state, 
Sith  death  their  fairest  flower  did  late  deface : 
The  fairest  flower  in  field  that  ever  grew 
Was  Astrophel ;  that  '  was '  we  all  may  rue. 

*  Fatten.  *  Grew. 

•  O 


578  DEATH 

What  cruel  hand  of  cursed  foe  unknown 
Hath  cropt  the  stalk  which  bore  so  fair  a  flowei 
Untimely  cropt,  before  it  well  were  grown, 
And  clean  defaced  in  untimely  hour  ; 
Great  loss  to  all  that  ever  him  did  see, 
Great  loss  to  all,  but  greatest  loss  to  me. 

Break  now  your  girlonds,  O  ye  shepherds'  lasses  ! 
Sith  the  fair  flower  which  them  adorned  is  gone  : 
The  flower  which  them  adorned  is  gone  to  ashes, 
Never  again  let  lass  put  girlond  on  : 
Instead  of  girlond  wear  sad  cypress  now, 
And  bitter  elder  broken  from  the  bough. 

Ne  ever  sing  the  love-lays  which  he  made  ; 
Who  ever  made  such  lays  of  love  as  he  ? 
Ne  ever  read  the  riddles  which  he  said 
Unto  yourselves  to  make  you  merry  glee : 
Your  merry  glee  is  now  laid  all  abed, 
Your  merry  maker  now,  alas !  is  dead. 

Death,  the  devourer  of  all  world's  delight, 
Hath  robbed  you,  and  reft  fro  me  my  joy  ; 
Both  you  and  me,  and  all  the  world,  he  quite 
Hath  robbed  of  joyance,  and  left  sad  annoy. 
Joy  of  the  world,  and  shepherds'  pride,  was  he  ; 
Shepherds,  hope  never  like  again  to  see. 

O  Death !  thou  hast  us  of  such  riches  reft, 
Tell  us  at  least,  what  hast  thou  with  it  done? 
What  is  become  of  him  whose  flower  here  left 
Is  but  the  shadow  of  his  likeness  gone? 
Scarce  like  the  shadow  of  that  which  he  was, 
Nought  like,  but  that  he  like  a  shade  did  pass. 

But  that  immortal  spirit,  which  was  decked 
With  all  the  dowries  of  celestial  grace, 


LAMENT   FOB    ASTROPIIKL  579 

By  sovereign  choice  from  tb'  heavenly  quret  selen. 
And  lineally  derived  from  angels'  race, 
O  what  is  now  of  it  become  ?  aread  : 
Aye  roe  I  can  so  divine  a  thing  be  dead  ? 

Ah  I  no :  it  is  not  dead,  ne  can  it  die. 
But  lives  for  aye  in  blissful  paradise, 
Where  like  a  new-born  babe  it  soft  doth  lie 
In  bed  of  lilies  wrapt  in  tender  wise, 
And  compassed  all  about  with  roses  sweet. 
And  dainty  violets  from  head  to  feet. 

There  thousand  birds,  all  of  celestial  bi  ood. 
To  him  do  sweetly  carol  day  and  night, 
And  with  strange  notes,  of  him  well  understood. 
Lull  him  asleep  in  angelic  delight ; 
Whilst  in  sweet  dream  to  him  presented  he 
Immortal  beauties,  which  no  eye  may  see. 

But  he  them  sees,  and  takes  exceeding  pleasure 
Of  their  divine  aspects,  appearing  plain, 
And  kindling  love  in  him  above  all  measure  ; 
Sweet  love,  still  joyous,  never  feeling  pain  : 
For  what  so  goodly  form  he  there  doth  see 
He  may  enjoy,  from  jealous  rancour  free. 

There  liveth  he  in  everlasting  bliss, 
Sweet  Spirit !  never  fearing  more  to  die, 
Ne  dreading  barm  from  any  foes  of  his. 
Ne  fearing  savage  beasts'  more  cruelty, 
Whilst  we  heie  wretches  wail  his  private  lack. 
And  with  vain  vows  do  often  call  him  back. 

But  live  thou  there  still,  happy,  happy  Spirit  1 
And  give  us  leave  thee  here  thus  to  lament ; 


Not  thee  that  dost  thy  heaven's  joy  inherit, 
But  our  own  selves,  that  here  in  dole  are  drent. 
Thus  do  we  weep  and  wail,  and  wear  our  eyes, 
Mourning  in  others  our  own  miseries. 

LADY   PEMBROKE 

LYCIDAS 

YET  once  more,  O  ye  laurels,  and  once  more 
Ye  myrtles  brown,  with  ivy  never-sere, 
I  come  to  pluck  your  berries  harsh  and  crude  ; 
And,  with  forced  fingers  rude, 
Shatter  your  leaves  before  the  mellowing  year : 
Bitter  constraint,  and  sad  occasion  dear, 
Compels  me  to  disturb  your  season  due  : 
For  Lycidps  is  dead,  dead  ere  his  prime, 
Young  Lycidas,  and  hath  not  left  his  p<  er  : 
Who  would  not  sing  for  Lycidas?     He  knew 
Himself  to  sing,  and  build  the  lofty  rhyme. 
He  must  not  float  upon  his  watery  bier 
Unwept,  and  welter  to  the  parching  wind, 
Without  the  meed  of  some  melodious  tear. 

Begin  then,  Sisters  of  the  sacred  well, 
That  from  beneath  the  seat  of  Jove  doth  spring  ; 
Begin,  and  somewhat  loudly  sweep  the  string. 
Hence  with  denial  vain,  and  coy  excuse  : 
So  may  some  gentle  Muse 
With  lucky  words  favour  my  destined  urn  ; 
And,  as  he  passes,  turn, 
And  bid  fair  peace  be  to  my  sable  shroud. 

For  we  were  nursed  upon  the  selfsame  hill, 
Fed  the  same  flock  by  fountain,  shade,  and  rill. 
Together  both,  ere  the  high  lawns  appeared 
Under  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  morn, 
We  drove  afield,  and  both  together  heard 
What  time  the  grey-fly  winds  her  sultry  horn, 


LYCIDAS  581 

Rattening  our  flocks  with  the  fresh  dews  of  night. 

Oft  till  the  star,  that  rose  at  evening  bright. 

Toward  heaven's  descent  had  sloped  his  westering 

wheel, 

Meanwhile  the  rural  ditties  were  not  mute, 
Tempered  to  the  oaten  flute ; 
Rough  Satyrs  danced,  and  Fauns  with  cloven  heel 
From  the  glad  sound  would  not  be  absent  long  ; 
And  old  Damaetas  loved  to  hear  our  song. 

But,  O  the  heavy  change,  now  thou  art  gone, 
Now  thou  art  gone,  and  never  must  return  ! 
Thee,  Shepherd,  thee  the  woods,  and  desert  caves 
With  wi'd  thyme  and  the  gadding  vine  o'crgrown, 
And  all  their  echoes  mourn  : 
1*he  willows,  and  the  hazd  copses  green, 
Shall  now  no  more  be  seen 
Fanning  their  joyous  leaves  to  thy  soft  lays. 
As  killi"g  as  the  canker  to  the  rose, 
Or  taint-worm  to  the  weanling  herds  that  graze. 
Or  frost  to  flowers,  that  their  gay  wardiobe  wear. 
When  first  the  white-thorn  blows ; 
Such,  Lycidas,  thy  loss  to  shepherds'  ear. 
Where  were  ye,  Nymphs,  when   the  remorseless 

deep 

Closed  o'er  the  head  of  your  lovrd  Lycidas  ? 
For  neither  were  ye  playing  on  the  steep. 
Where  your  old  Bards,  the  famous  Diuids,  lie, 
Nor  on  the  shaggy  top  of  Mona  high, 
Nor  yet  where  Dev.i  spreads  her  wizard  stream  : 
Ay  me !  I  fondly  dream  ! 
Had  ye  been  there— for  what  could  that  have 

done? 

What  could  the  Muse  herself  that  Orpheus  bore. 
The  Muse  herself,  for  her  enchanting  son, 
Whom  universal  Nature  did  lament. 
When,  by  the  rout  that  made  the  hideous  roar, 


3  DEATH 

His  gory  visage  down  the  stream  was  sent, 
Down  the  swift  Hebrus  to  the  Lesbian  shore? 

Alas  !  what  boots  it  with  incessant  caie 
To  tend  the  homely,  slighted  shepherd's  trade. 
And  strictly  meditate  the  thankless  Muse? 
Were  it  not  better  done,  as  others  use, 
To  sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade, 
Or  with  the  tangles  of  Neaera's  hair? 
Fame  is  the  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise 
(That  last  infirmity  of  noble  mind) 
To  scorn  delights,  and  live  laborious  days  : 
But  the  fair  guerdon  when  we  hope  to  find, 
And  think  to  burst  out  into  sudden  blaze, 
Comes  the  blind  Fury  with  the  abhorred  shears, 
And  slits  the  thin-spun  life.     '  But  not  the  praise' 
Phoebus  replied,  and  touch'd  my  trembling  ears  ; 
'  Fame  is  no  plant  that  grows  on  mortal  soil, 
Nor  in  the  glistering  foil 

Set  off  to  the  world,  nor  in  broad  rumour  lies  ; 
But  lives  and  spreads  aloft  by  those  pure  eyes, 
And  perfect  witness  of  all-judging  Jove  ; 
As  he  pronounces  lastly  on  each  deed, 
Of  so  much  fame  in  heaven  expect  thy  meed.' 

O  fountain  Arethuse,  and  thou  honoured  flood, 
Smooth-sliding  Mincius,  crowned  with  vocal  reeds  ! 
That  strain  I  heard  was  of  a  higher  mood  : 
But  now  my  oat  proceeds, 
And  listens  to  the  herald  of  the  sea 
That  came  in  Neptune's  plea  ; 
He  asked  the  waves,  and  asked  the  felon  winds, 
\\  hat  hard  mishap  hath  doomed  this  gentle 

swain  ? 

And  questioned  every  gust  of  rugged  wings 
That  blows  from  off  each  beaked  promontory : 
They  knew  not  of  his  story  ; 
And  sage  Hippotades  their  answer  brings, 


LTCIDAt  5$3 

That  not  a  blast  was  from  bis  dungeon  strayed  ; 

The  air  was  calm,  and  on  the  level  brine 

Sleek  Panope  with  all  her  sisters  played. 

It  was  that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark, 

Built  in  the  eclipse,  and  rigged  with  curses  dark, 

That  sank  so  low  that  sacred  head  of  thine. 

Next  Camus,  reverend  sire,  went  footing  slow, 
His  mantle  hairy,  and  his  bonnet  sedge, 
Inwrought  with  figures  dim,  and  on  the  edge 
Lake  to  that  sanguine  flower  inscribed  with  woe. 
'  Ah !    Who  hath  reft  (quoth  he)  my  dearest  pledge?' 
I*ast  came,  and  last  did  go, 
The  pilot  of  the  Galilean  lake ; 
Two  massy  keys  he  bore  of  metals  twain 
(The  golden  opes,  the  iron  shuts  amain), 
He  shook  his  mitred  locks,  and  stern  bespake  : 
'  How  well  could  I  have  spared  for  thee,  young  swain, 
Enow  of  such,  as  for  their  bellies'  sake 
Creep,  and  intrude,  and  climb  into  the  fold  I 
Of  other  care  they  little  reckoning  make. 
Than  how  to  scramble  at  the  shearers'  feast, 
And  shove  away  the  worthy  bidden  guest ; 
Blind  mouths!  that  scarce  themselves  know  how  to 

hold 

A  sheep-hook,  or  have  learned  aught  else  the  lent 
That  to  the  faithful  herdman's  on  belongs  ! 
What  recks  it  them?  Whnt  need  they  ?  They  are  sped; 
And  when  they  list,  their  lean  and  flashy  songs 
Grate  on  their  scrannel  pipes  of  wretched  straw ; 
The  hungry  sheep  look  up,  and  are  not  fed, 
But,  swoln  with  wind  and  the  rank  mist  they  draw, 
Rot  inwardly,  and  foul  contagion  spread  :       * 
Besides  what  the  grim  wolf  with  privy  paw 
Daily  devours  apace,  and  nothing  said  : 
Hut  that  two-handed  engine  at  the  door 
bunds  ready  to  smite  once,  and  smite  no  more.' 


584  DEATH 

Return,  Alpheus,  the  dread  voice  is  past, 
That  shrunk  thy  streams  ;  return,  Sicilian  Muse, 
And  call  the  vales,  and  bid  them  hither  cast 
Their  bells  and  flowrets  of  a  thousand  hues. 
Ye  valleys  low,  where  the  mild  whispers  use 
Of  shades,  and  wanton  winds,  and  gushing  brooks, 
On  whose  fresh  lap  the  swart- star  sparely  looks  ; 
Throw  hither  all  your  quaint  enamelled  eyes, 
That  on  the  green  turf  suck  the  honeyed  showers, 
And  purple  all  the  ground  with  vernal  flowers. 
Bring  the  rathe  primrose  that  forsaken  dies, 
The  tufted  crow-toe,  and  pale  jessamine, 
The  white  pink,  and  the  pansy  freaked  with  jet, 
The  glowing  vio'.et, 

The  musk-ro  e,  and  the  well-attired  woodbine, 
With  cowslips  wan  that  hang  the  pensive  head, 
And  every  flower  that  sad  embroidery  wears  : 
Bid  amaranthus  all  his  beauty  shed, 
And  daffadillies  fill  their  cups  with  tears, 
To  strew  the  laureat  hearse  where  Lycid  lies. 
For,  so  to  interpose  a  little  ease, 
Let  our  frail  thoughts  dally  with  false  surmise  ; 
Ay  me  !     Whilst  thee  the  shores  and  sounding 

seas 

Wash  far  away,  where'er  thy  bones  are  hurled, 
Whether  beyond  the  stormy  Hebrides, 
Where  thou  perhaps,  under  the  whelming  tide, 
Visit'st  the  bottom  of  the  monstrous  world  ; 
Or  whether  thou  to  our  moist  vows  denied, 
Sleep' st  by  the  fable  of  Bellerus  old, 
Where  the  great  Vision  of  the  guarded  Mount 
Looks  towards  Namancos  and  Bayona's  hold  ; 
Look  homeward,  Angel,  now,  and  melt  with  ruth  : 
And,  O  ye  dolphins,  waft  the  hapless  youth. 

Weep  no  more,  woful  Shepherds,  weep  no  more, 
For  Lycidas  your  sorrow  is  not  dead, 


LTCIDAt  5§5 

Sunk  though  be  be  beneath  the  watery  floor  ; 

So  sinks  the  day-star  in  the  ocean  bed. 

And  yet  anon  repairs  his  drooping  hod. 

And  tricks  his  beams,  and  with  new-spangled  ore 

Flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky : 

So  Lycidas  sunk  low.  but  mounted  high. 

Through  the  dear  might  of  him  that  walked  the  waves ; 

Where,  other  groves  and  other  streams  along. 

With  nectar  pure  his  oozy  locks  he  laves. 

And  hears  the  unexpressivc  nuptial  song. 

In  the  blest  kingdoms  meek  of  joy  and  love. 

There  entertain  him  all  the  saints  above. 

In  solemn  troops,  and  sweet  societies. 

That  sing,  and,  singing,  in  their  glory  move, 

And  wipe  the  tears  for  ever  from  his  eyes. 

Now,  Lycidas,  the  shepherds  weep  no  more  ; 

Henceforth  thou  art  the  Genius  of  the  shore. 

In  thy  large  recompense,  and  shalt  be  good 

To  all  that  wander  in  that  perilous  flood. 

Thus  sang  the  uncouth  swain  to  the  oaks  and  rills, 
While  the  still  morn  went  out  with  sandals  grey  ; 
He  touched  the  tender  stops  nf  various  quills. 
With  eager  thought  warbling  his  Doric  lay  : 
And  now  the  sun  had  stretched  out  all  the  hills. 
And  now  was  dropt  into  the  western  bay  : 
At  last  he  rose,  and  twitched  his  mantle  blue  : 
To-morrow  to  fresh  woods,  and  pastures  new. 

MILTON 


COMFORT   TO    A   YOUTH   THAT    HAD    LOST 
HIS    LOVB 

WHAT  needs  complaints. 
When  she  a  place 
Has  with  the  race 
Of  saints  ? 


«86  DEATH 


In  endless  mirth, 
She  thinks  not  on 
What 's  said  or  done 

In  earth. 

She  sees  no  tears, 
Or  any  tone 
Of  thy  deep  groan 

She  hears : 
Nor  does  she  mind, 
Or  think  on't  now, 
That  ever  thou 

Wast  kind  ; 
But  changed  above, 
She  likes  not  there, 
As  she  did  here 

Thy  love. 
Forbear  therefore, 
And  lull  asleep 
Thy  woes,  and  weep 

No  more. 

HERRICK 


A    DREAM    OF    IMMORTALITY 

I  LAY  as  dead,  but  scarce  chained  were  my  cares 
And  slaked  scarce  my  sighs,  scarce  dried  my  tears, 
Sleep  scarce  the  ugly  figures  of  the  day 
Had  with  his  sable  pencil  put  away, 
And  left  me  in  a  still  and  calmy  mood, 
When  by  my  bed  methought  a  virgin  stood, 
A  virgin  in  the  blooming  of  her  prime 
If  such  rare  beauty  measured  be  by  time. 
Her  head  a  garland  wore  of  opals  bright, 
About  her  flowed  a  gown  as  pure  as  light, 


A    DREAM    OF    IMMORTALITY  587 

Dear  amlxr  locks  gave  umbrage  to  her  face 
Where  modesty  high  majesty  did  grace ; 
Her  eyes  such  beams  sent  forth  that  but  with  pain 
Here  weaker  sights  their  sparkling  could  sustain. 
No  deity  feigned  which  haunts  the  silent  woods 
Is  like  to  her,  nor  siren  of  the  floods  ; 
Such  is  the  golden  planet  of  the  year, 
When  blushing  in  the  East  he  doth  appear. 
Her  grace  did  beauty,  voice  yet  grace  did  pass. 
Which  thus  through  pearls  and  rubies  broken  was. 
'  How  long  wilt  thou,  said  she,  estranged  from 

joy, 

Paint  shadows  to  thyself  of  false  annoy  ? 

How  long  thy  mind  with  horrid  shapes  affright 

And  in  imaginary  ills  delight ; 

Esteem  that  loss  which,  well  when  viewed,  is  gain. 

Or  if  a  loss,  yet  not  a  loss  to  plain  ? 

O  leave  thy  tired  soul  more  to  molest. 

And  think  that  woe  when  shortest  then  is  besu 

If  she  for  whom  thou  deafnest  thus  the  sky 

Be  dead,  what  then  ?    Was  she  not  born  to  die  ? 

Was  she  not  mortal  born  ?    If  thou  dost  grieve 

That  times  should  be  in  which  she  should  not  live. 

Ere  e'er  she  was  weep  that  day's  wheel  was  rolled. 

• 

But  why  wouldst  thou  here  longer  wish  to  be ? 

One  year  doth  serve  all  nature's  pomp  to  see, 

Nay,  even  one  day  and  night:    this  moon,   that 

sun. 

Those  lesser  fires  about  this  round  which  run. 
Be  but  the  same  which,  under  Saturn's  reign, 
Did  the  serpent  ing  seasons  interchain  : 
How  oft  doth  life  grow  less  by  living  long  ? 
And  what  excelleth  but  what  dieth  young  ? 
For  age.  which  nil  abhor,  yet  would  embrace, 
Whiles  makes  the  mind  as  wrinkled  as  the  face ; 


588  DEATH 

And  when  that  destinies  conspire  with  worth, 
That  years  not  glory  wrong,  life  soon  goes  forth. 
But  what  if  she  for  whom  thou  spend'st    those 

groans, 

And  wastest  life's  dear  torch  in  ruthful  moans, 
.She  for  whose  sake  thou  hat'st  the  joyful  light, 
Court'st  solitary  shades,  and  irksome  night, 
Doth  live?     Oh!    if  thou  canst,  through  tears,  a 

space 

Lift  thy  dimmed  lights,  and  look  upon  this  face, 
Look  if  those  eyes,  which,  fool,  thou  didst  adore, 
Shine  not  more  light  than  they  were  wont  before  ; 
Look  if  those  roses  death  could  aught  impair, 
Those  roses  to  thee  once  which  seemed  so  fair ; 
And  if  those  locks  have  lost  aught  of  that  gold, 
Which  erst  they  had  when  thou  them  didst  behold. 
I  live,  and  happy  live,  but  thou  art  dead, 
And  still  shalt  be,  till  thou  be  like  me  made. 

Above  this  vast  and  admirable  frame, 
This  temple  visible  which  world  we  name, 
There  is  a  world,  a  world  of  perfect  bliss, 
Pure,  immaterial,  bright,  more  far  from  this 
Than  that  high  circle,  which  the  rest  enspheres, 
Is  from  this  dull  ignoble  vale  of  tears ; 
A  world,  where  all  is  found,  that  here  is  found, 
But  further  discrepant  than  heaven  and  ground. 
It  hath  an  earth,  as  hath  this  world  of  yours, 
With  creatures  peopled,  stored  with  trees  and  flowers ; 
It  hath  a  sea,  like  sapphire  girdle  cast, 
Which  decketh  of  harmonious  shores  the  waist ; 
It  hath  pure  fire,  it  hath  delicious  air, 
Moon,  sun,  and  stars,  heavens  wonderfully  fair  ; 
But  there  flowers  do  not  fade,  trees  grow  not  old, 
The. creatures  do  not  die  through  heat  nor  cold  ; 
Sea  there  not  tossed  is,  nor  air  made  black, 
Fire  doth  not  nurse  itself  on  others'  wrack  ; 


A    DREAM    OF    IMMORTALITY  589 

There  heavens  be  not  constrained  about  to  rang**, 
For  this  world  hnth  no  need  of  any  change  ; 
The  minutes  grow  not  hours,  hours  rise  not  days, 
Days  make  no  month',  but  ever-blooming  Mays. 

Mere  I  rem.iin,  but  hitherward  do  tend 
All  who  their  span  of  days  in  virtue  spend  : 
Whatever  pleasure  this  low  place  contains 
It  is  a  glance  but  of  what  high  remains. 
Those  who  perchance  think  there  can  nothing  be 
Without1  this  wide  expansion  which  they  see 
Feel  such  a  case,  as  one  whom  some  abime 
Of  the  deep  ocean  kept  had  all  his  time  ; 
Who  born  and  nourished  there,  can  scarcely  dream 
That  aught  can  live  without '  that  briny  stream  ; 
Cannot  believe  that  there  be  temples,  towers. 
That  go  beyond  his  caves  and  dampish  bowers, 
Or  there  be  other  people,  manners,  laws 
Than  them  he  finds  within  the  roaring  wawes  ' 
That  sweeter  flowers  do  spring  than  grow  on  rocks. 
Or  beasts  be  which  excel  the  scaly  flocks. 
But  think  that  man  from  those  abimcs  were  brought. 
And  saw  what  curious  nature  here  hath  wrought, 
Did  see  the  meads,  the  tall  and  shady  woods, 
The  hills  did  see,  the  clear  and  amb  ing  floods; 
The  diverse  shapes  of  beasts  which  kinds  forth 

bring. 

The  feathered  troops  that  fly  and  sweetly  sing : 
Did  see  the  palaces,  the  cities  fair, 
The  form  of  human  Hfe.  the  fire,  the  air, 
The  brightness  of  the  sun  that  dims  his  sight ; 
The  moon,  the  ghastly  splendours  of  the  night : 
What  uncouth  rapture  would  his  mind  surprise ! 
How  would  he  his  late  dear  resort  despise  i 
How  would  he  muse  how  foolish  he  had  been 
To  think  nought  be,  but  what  he  there  had  seen  ! 
'  Outside.  »  Wares. 


590  DEATH 

Why  did  we  get  this  high  and  vast  desire, 
Unto  immortal  things  still  to  aspire? 
Why  doth  our  mind  extend  it  beyond  time 
And  to  that  highest  happiness  even  climb, 
If  we  be  nought  but  what  to  sense  we  seem, 
And  dust,  as  most  of  worldlings  us  esteem  ? 
We  be  not  made  for  earth,  though  here  we  come, 
More  than  the  Embryon  for  the  mother's  womb  ; 
Tt  weeps  to  be  made  free,  and  we  complain 
To  leave  this  loathsome  gaol  of  care  and  pain. ' 

Here  did  she  pause,  and  with  a  mild  aspect 
Did  towards  me  those  lamping  twins  direct ; 
The  wonted  rays  I  knew,  and  thrice  essayed 
To  answer  make,  thrice  falt'ring  tongue  it  stayed : 
And  while  upon  that  face  I  fed  my  sight, 
Methought  she  vanished  up  in  Titan's  light, 
Who  gilding  with  his  rays  each  hill  and  plain, 
Seemed  to  have  brought  the  goldsmith's  wo:  Id  again. 

DRUMMOND 


LINES    ON    THE    TOMBS 
IN    WESTMINSTER    ABBEY 

MORTALITY,  behold  and  fear ! 

What  a  change  of  flesh  is  here ! 

Think  how  many  royal  bones 

Sleep  within  this  heap  of  stones  ; 

Here  they  lie  had  realms  and  lands, 

Who  now  want  strength  to  stir  their  hands  ; 

Where  from  their  pulpits  sealed  with  dust 

They  preach,  '  In  greatness  is  no  trust.' 

Here 's  an  acre  sown  indeed 

With  the  richest  royall'st  seed 

That  the  earth  did  e'er  suck  in, 

Since  the  first  nv.n  died  for  sin ; 


OLEN    ALMA  I*  591 

Here  the  bones  of  birth  have  cried, 

'  Though  gods  they  were,  as  men  they  died ; ' 

Here  are  sands,  ignoble  things, 

Dropt  from  the  ruined  sides  of  kings  ; 

Here 's  a  world  of  pomp  and  state. 

Buried  in  dust,  once  dead  by  fate. 

H*Al   M.iN  I 


GLEN    ALMAIN 
Ol    THE    NARROW    GLEN 

IN  this  still  place,  remote  from  men, 

Sleeps  Ossion,  in  the  Narrow  Glen  ; 

In  this  still  place.  wh«  re  murmurs  on 

But  one  meek  streamlet,  only  one  : 

He  sang  of  battles,  and  the  breath 

Of  stormy  war,  and  violent  death  ; 

And  should,  methinks,  when  all  was  past, 

Have  rightfully  been  laid  at  last 

Where  rocks  were  rudely  heaped,  and  rent 

As  by  a  spirit  turbulent ; 

Where  sights  were  rough,  and  sounds  were  wild, 

And  everything  unreconciled ; 

In  some  complaining,  dim  retreat 

For  fear  and  melancholy  meet ; 

But  this  is  calm  ;  there  cannot  be 

A  more  entire  tranquillity. 

Does  then  the  Bard  sleep  here  indeed? 
Or  is  it  but  a  groundless  creed  ? 
What  matters  it  ?  I  blame  them  not 
Whose  fancy  in  this  lonely  spot 
Was  moved  ;  and  in  such  way  expressed 
Their  notion  of  its  perfect  rest. 
A  convent,  even  a  hermit's  cell, 
Would  break  the  silence  of  this  dell ; 


5Q2  DEATH 

It  is  not  quiet,  is  not  ease  ; 
But  something  deeper  far  than  these  • 
The  separation  that  is  here 
Is  of  the  grave  ;  and  of  austere 
Yet  happy  feelings  of  the  dead  : 
And  therefore  was  it  rightly  said 
That  Ossian,  last  of  all  his  race, 
Lies  buried  in  this  lonely  place. 

WORDSWORTH 


ELEGY   WRITTEN    IN    A   COUNTRY 
CHURCHYARD 

THE  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day, 
The  lowing  herd  winds  slowly  o'er  the  lea, 
The  ploughman  homeward  plods  his  weary  way, 
And  leaves  the  world  to  darkness  and  to  me. 

Now  fades  the  glimmering  landscape  on  the  sight, 
And  all  the  air  a  solemn  stillness  holds, 
Save  where  the  beetle  wheels  his  droning  flight, 
And  drowsy  tinklings  lull  the  distant  folds  ; 

Save  that  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower 
The  moping  owl  does  to  the  moon  complain 
Of  such  as,  wandering  near  her  secret  bower, 
Molest  her  ancient  solitary  reign. 

Beneath  those  rugged  elms,  that  yew-tree's  shade, 
Where  heaves  the  turf  in  many  a  mouldering  heap, 
Each  in  his  narrow  cell  for  ever  laid, 
The  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet  sleep. 

The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn, 

The  swallow  twittering  from  the  straw-built  shed, 


A   COUNTRY    CHURCHYARD  593 

The  cock's  thrill  clarion,  or  the  echoing  horn, 
No  more  shall  rouse  them  from  their  lowly  bed. 

For  them  no  more  the  bbuing  hearth  shall  burn. 
Or  busy  housewife  ply  her  evening  care ; 
No  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return. 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

Oft  did  the  harvest  to  their  sickle  yield. 
Their  furrow  oft  the  stubborn  glclxr  has  broke  . 
How  jocund  did  they  drive  their  team  afield  I 
How  bowed  the  woods  beneath  their  sturdy  strok< 

Let  not  Ambition  mock  their  useful  toil, 
Their  homely  joys,  and  destiny  obsc  uic ; 
Nor  Grandeur  hear  with  a  disdainful  smile 
The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  |xx>r. 

The  boast  of  heraldry,  the  pomp  of  power. 
And  all  that  beauty,  all  that  wealth  e'er  gave. 
Awaits  alike  the  inevitable  hour  ; — 
The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

Nor  you,  ye  Proud,  impute  to  these  the  fault 
If  Memory  o'er  their  tomb  no  trophies  raise. 
Where  through  the  long-drawn  aisle  and  fret  .11. 

vault 
The  pealing  anthem  swells  the  note  of  praise. 

Can  storied  urn  or  animated  bust 
Back  to  its  mansion  call  the  Beet  ing  breath  ? 
Can  Honour's  voice  provoke  the  silent  dust, 
Or  Flattery  soothe  the  dull  cold  ear  of  Death  ? 

Perhaps  in  this  neglected  spot  is  laid 
Some  heart  once  pregnant  with  celestial  fire  ; 
Hands,  that  the  rod  of  empire  might  have  swayed, 
Or  waked  to  ecstasy  the  living  lyre ; 

•r 


DEATH 

But  Knowledge  to  their  eyes  her  ample  page, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,  did  ne'er  unroll ; 
Chill  Penury  repressed  their  noble  rage, 
And  froze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul. 

Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene 
The  dark  unfathomed  caves  of  ocean  bear  ; 
Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air. 

Some  village  Hampden,  that  with  dauntless  b;east 
The  little  tyrant  of  his  fields  withstood, 
Some  mute  inglorious  Milton  here  may  rest, 
Some  Cromwell  guiltless  of  his  country's  blood. 

The  applause  of  listening  senates  to  command, 
The  threats  of  pain  and  ruin  to  despise, 
To  scatter  plenty  o'er  a  smiling  land, 
And  read  their  history  in  a  nation's  eyes, 

Their  lot  forbade  ;  nor  circumscribed  alone 
Their  growing  virtues,  but  their  crimes  confined  ; 
Forbade  to  wade  through  slaughter  to  a  throne, 
And  shut  the  gates  of  mercy  on  mankind ; 

The  struggling  pangs  of  conscious  Truth  to  hide 
To  quench  the  blushes  of  ingenuous  Shame, 
Or  heap  the  shrine  of  Luxury  and  Pride 
With  incense  kindled  at  the  Muse's  flame. 

Far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife, 
Their  sober  wishes  never  learned  to  stray  ; 
Along  the  cool  sequestered  vale  of  life 
They  kept  the  noiseless  tenor  of  their  way. 

Yet  ev'n  these  bones  from  insult  to  protect 
Some  frail  memorial  still  erected  nigh, 


A    COUNTRY    CHURCHYARD  595 

With  uncouth  rhymes  and  shapeless  sculpture  decked. 
Implores  the  passing  tribute  of  a  sigh. 

Their   name,   their  years,   spelt    by   the   unlettered 

Muse, 

The  place  of  fame  and  elegy  supply  ; 
And  many  a  holy  text  around  she  strews. 
Thai  teach  the  rustic  moralist  to  die. 

For  who,  to  dumb  forget  fulness  a  prey. 
This  pleasing  anxious  being  e'er  resigned. 
Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day. 
Nor  cast  one  longing  lingering  look  behind? 

On  some  fond  breast  the  parting  sotil  relies. 
Some  pious  drops  the  closing  eye  requires ; 
Ev'n  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  Nature  cries, 
Ev'n  in  our  ashes  live  their  wonted  fires. 

For  thee.  who,  mindful  of  the  unhonoured  dead, 
Dost  in  these  lines  their  artless  tale  relate  ; 
If  chance,  by  lonely  Contemplation  led. 
Some  kindred  spirit  shall  inquire  thy  fate.— 

Haply  some  hoary-headed  swam  may  say, 
'  Oft  have  we  seen  him  at  the  peep  of  dawn 
Brushing  with  hasty  steps  the  dews  away. 
To  meet  the  sun  upon  the  upland  lawn  ; 

1  There  at  the  foot  of  yonder  nodding  beech. 
That  wreathes  its  old  fantastic  roots  so  high. 
His  listless  length  at  noon-tide  would  he  stretch. 
And  pore  upon  the  brook  that  babbles  by. 

'  Hard  by  yon  wood,  now  smiling  as  in  scorn, 
Muttering  his  wayward  fancies  would  he  rove ; 
Now  drooping,  woeful-wan,  like  one  forlorn, 
Or  crazed  with  care,  or  crossed  in  hopeless  love, 


5g6  ELEGY 

1  One  morn  I  missed  him  on  the  'customed  hill, 
Along  the  heath,  and  near  his  favourite  tree ; 
Another  came  ;  nor  yet  beside  the  rill, 
Nor  up  the  lawn,  nor  at  the  wood  was  he ; 

'  The  next  with  dirges  due  in  sad  array 

Slow  through  the   church-way  path  we   saw  him 

borne, — 

Approach  and  read  (for  thou  canst  read)  the  lay 
Graved  on  the  stone  beneath  yon  aged  thorn.' 

The  Epitaph. 

Here  rests  his  head  upon  the  lap  of  Earth 
A  Youth,  to  Fortune  and  to  Fame  unknown  ; 
Fair  Science  frowned  not  on  his  humble  bii  th, 
And  Melancholy  marked  him  for  her  own. 

Large  was  his  bounty,  and  his  soul  sincere ; 
Heaven  did  a  recompense  as  largely  send ; 
He  gave  to  misery,  all  he  had,  a  tear, 
He  gained  from  Heaven,  'twas  all  he  wished,  a 
friend. 

No  farther  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 
Or  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode, 
(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose,) 
The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God. 

GRAY 


RELIGION 


Every  man  has  business  and  desire, 

Such  as  it  is  ;  and  for  mine  own  poor  part ', 

Look  you,  I  'II  go  pray. 


MORNING     HYMN 

THRSE  are  thy  glorious  works,  Parent  of  good. 
Almighty  I  Thine  this  universal  frame, 
Thus  wondious  fair ;  Thyself  how  wondrous  then  ! 
Unspeakable,  who  sitt'st  above  these  heavens 
To  us  invisible,  or  dimly  seen 
In  these  thy  lowest  works ;  yet  these  declare 
Thy  goodness  hryond  thought,  and  power  divine. 
Speak,  ye  who  brst  can  tell,  ye  sons  of  light, 
Angels  ;  for  ye  behold  him.  and  with  songs 
And  choral  symphonies,  day  without  night. 
Circle  his  throne  rejoicing ;  ye  in  Heaven. 
On  Earth  join,  nil  ye  creatures,  to  extol 
Him  first,  him  last,  him  midst,  and  without  end. 
Fairest  of  stirs,  last  in  the  train  of  night, 
If  better  thou  belong  not  to  the  dawn, 
Sure  pledge  of  day,  that  crown'st  the  smiling  morn 
With  thy  bright  circlet,  praise  him  in  tl>y  sphere, 
While  day  arises,  tt  at  sweet  hour  of  prime. 
Thou  Sun.  of  this  great  world  both  eye  and  soul. 
Acknowledge  him  thy  greater ;  sound  his  praise 
In  thy  eternal  course,  both  when  thou  climb' st, 
And  when  high  noon  hast  gained,  and  when  thou 

fall'st. 

Moon,  that  now  meet'st  the  ori<  nl  sun,  now  fli'st. 
With  the  fixed  Stars,  fixed  in  their  orb  that  flies  ; 
And  ye,  five  other  wandering  Fires,  that  move 
In  mystic  dance  not  without  song,  resound 
His  prais'-.  who  out  of  darkness  called  up  light. 
Air,  and,  ye  Elements,  the  eldest  birth 


6oo  RELIGION 

Of  Nature's  womb,  that  in  quaternion  run 

Perpetual  circle,  multiform  ;  and  mix 

And  nourish  all  things  ;  let  your  ceaseless  change 

Vary  to  our  great  Maker  still  new  praise. 

Ye  Mists  and  Exhalations,  that  now  rise 

From  hill  or  steaming  lake,  dusky  or  grey, 

Till  the  sun  paint  your  fleecy  skirts  with  gold, 

In  honour  to  the  world's  great  Author  rise ; 

Whether  to  deck  with  clouds  the  uncoloured  sky, 

Or  wet  the  thirsty  earth  with  falling  showers, 

Rising  or  falling  still  advance  his  praise. 

His  praise,  ye  Winds,  that  from  four  quarters  blow, 

Breathe  soft  or  loud  ;  and,  wave  your  tops,  ye  Pines, 

With  every  plant,  in  sign  of  worship  wave. 

Fountains,  and  ye  that  warble,  as  ye  flow, 

Melodious  murmurs,  warbling  tune  his  praise. 

Join  voices,  all  ye  living  Souls  :  Ye  Birds, 

That  singing  up  to  Heaven-gate  ascend, 

Bear  on  your  wings  and  in  your  notes  his  praise. 

Ye  that  in  waters  glide,  and  ye  that  walk 

The  earth,  and  stately  tread,  or  lowly  creep ; 

Witness  if  I  be  silent,  morn  or  even, 

To  hill,  or  valley,  fountain,  or  fresh  shade, 

Made  vocal  by  my  song,  and  taught  his  praise. 

Hail,  Universal  Lord,  be  bounteous  still 

To  give  us  only  good ;  and  if  the  night 

Have  gathered  aught  of  evil,  or  concealed, 

Disperse  it,  as  now  light  dispels  the  dark ! 

MILTON 


ON    A    DROP    OF    DEW 

SEE  how  the  orient  dew 
Shed  from  the  bosom  of  the  morn 
Into  the  blowing  roses, 


ON    A    DROP    OF    DEW  floi 

(Yet  careless  of  its  mansion  new. 
For  the  clear  region  where  'twas  born,) 

Round  in  itself  incloses : 

And  in  its  little  globe's  extent 

Frames  as  it  can  its  native  element. 

How  it  the  purple  flower  docs  slight 
Scarce  touching  where  it  lies, 
But  gazing  back  upon  the  skies 
Shines  with  a  mournful  light ; 

Like  its  own  tear, 
Because  so  long  divided  from  the  sphere. 

Restless  it  rolls  and  un  secure 

Trembling  lest  it  grow  impure : 

Till  the  warm  sun  pity  its  pain, 
And  to  the  skies  exhale  it  back  again. 

So  the  soul,  that  drop,  that  ray 
Of  the  clear  fountain  of  eternal  day, 
Could  it  within  the  human  flower  be  seen, 

Rememb'ring  still  its  former  height, 

Shuns  the  sweet  leaves  and  blossoms  green  ; 

And  recollecting  its  own  light 
Does  in  its  pure  and  circling  thoughts  ex  cress 
The  greater  heaven  in  an  heaven  less. 

In  how  coy  a  figure  wound 
Every  way  it  turns  away : 
So  the  world  excluding  round 
Yet  receiving  in  the  day : 
Dark  beneath,  but  bright  above : 
Here  disdaining,  there  in  love. 
How  loose  and  easy  hence  to  go. 
How  girt  and  ready  to  ascend. 
Moving  but  on  a  point  below, 
It  all  about  does  upwards  bend. 


602  RELIGION 

Such  did  the  Manna's  sacred  dew  distil ; 
White  and  entire  though  congealed  and  chill ; 
Congealed  on  earth,  but  does  dissolving  run 
Into  the  glories  of  th'  Almighty  Sun. 

MARVELL 


MATINS 

I  CANNOT  ope  mine  eyes 
But  thou  art  ready  there  to  catch 
My  morning  soul  and  sacrifice : 
Then  we  must  needs  for  that  day  make  a  match. 

My  God,  what  is  a  heart  ? 
Silver,  or  gold,  or  precious  stone, 
Or  star,  or  rainbow,  or  a  part 
Of  all  these  things,  or  all  of  them  in  one? 

My  God,  what  is  a  heart, 
That  thou  should' st  it  so  eye  and  woo, 
Pouring  upon  it  all  thy  art, 
As  if  that  thou  hadst  nothing  else  to  do  ? 

Indeed  man's  whole  estate 
Amounts  (and  richly)  to  serve  thee : 
He  did  not  heaven  and  earth  create, 
Yet  studies  them,  not  Him  by  whom  they  be. 

Teach  me  thy  love  to  know  ; 
That  this  new  light  which  now  I  see, 
May  both  the  work  and  workman  show  ; 
Then  by  a  sun-beam  I  will  climb  to  thee. 

HERBERT 


WALK  with  thy  fellow-creatures  :  note  the  hush 
And  whispers  amongst  them.     There's  not  a  sp-ing 


lit  OUT  ff\ 

Or  leaf  but  hath  his  morning  hymn  ;  each  bush 
And  oak  doth  know  I  AM.     Canst  thou  not  sing? 

O  leave  thy  cares  and  follies !  go  this  way. 

And  thou  art  sure  to  prosper  all  the  day. 

VAUGIIAN 


NOX     NOCTI     1NDICAT     SCIENTIAM 

WHEN  I  survey  the  bright 

Celestial  sphere: 
So  rich  with  jewels  hung,  that  night 

Doth  like  an  .f.thiop  bride  appear  . 

My  soul  her  wings  doth  spread 

And  heavenward  flicv 
Th*  Almighty's  mysteries  to  read 

in  the  large  volumes  of  the  skies 

For  the  bright  firmament 

Shoots  forth  no  flame 
>o  silent,  but  is  eloquent 

.•n  sp  aking  the  Creator's  name. 

No  unregarded  star 

Contracts  it»  light 
Into  so  small  a  character 

Removed  far  from  our  human  sight. 

But  if  we  strdfast  look 

We  shall  discern 
In  it  as  in  some  holy  book. 

How  man  may  heavenly  knowledge  learn. 

It  tells  the  conqueror 

That  far-strttchl  power 
Which  his  proud  dangers  traffic  for. 

Is  but  the  triumph  of  an  hour. 


RELIGION 

That  from  the  farthest  North 

Some  nation  may 
Yet  undiscovered  issue  forth 

And  o'er  his  new-got  conquest  sway. 

Some  nation  yet  shut  in 

With  hills  of  ice 
May  be  let  out  to  scourge  his  sin, 

Till  they  shall  equal  him  in  vice. 

And  then  they  likewise  shall 

Their  ruin  have, 
For  as  your  selves  your  empires  fall, 

And  every  kingdom  hath  a  grave. 

Thus  those  celestial  fires, 

Though  seeming  mute, 
The  fallacy  of  our  desires 

And  all  the  pride  of  life  confute. 

For  they  have  watched  since  first 

The  world  had  birth  : 
And  found  sin  in  itself  accurst, 

And  nothing  permanent  on  earth. 

HABINGTON 


ETENIM  RES  CREATE  EXERTO  CAPITE 

OBSERVANTES  EXPECTANT  REVELATIONEM 

FILIORUM  DEI— (ROM.  viii.  19) 

AND  do  they  so  ?  have  they  a  sense 

Of  aught  but  influence  ? 
Can  they  their  heads  lift,  and  expect, 
And  groan  too  ?    Why,  the  Elect 
Can  do  no  more  ;  my  volumes  said 
They  were  all  dull  and  dead  ; 


AN    ODE  605 

They  judged  them  senseless  and  their  state 

Wholly  inanimate. 

Go,  go ;  seal  up  thy  looks 

And  burn  thy  books  ! 

I  would  I  were  a  stone,  or  tree. 

Or  flower,  by  pedigree. 

Or  some  poor  highway-herb,  or  spring 

To  flow,  or  bird  to  sing  ! 

Then  should  I  tied  to  one  sure  state 

All  day  expect  my  dale  : 

But  I  am  sadly  loose  and  stray 

A  giddy  blast  each  way  ; 

O  let  me  not  thus  range ! 

Thou  canst  not  change. 

VAUGHAN 


AN    ODE 

THK  spacious  armament  on  high, 

With  all  the  blue  ethereal  sky. 

And  spangled  heavens,  a  shining  frame, 

Their  great  Original  proclaim. 

Th'  unwearied  sun,  from  day  to  day. 

Does  his  Creator's  power  display  ; 

And  publishes  to  every  land 

The  work  of  an  Almighty  hand. 

Soon  as  the  evening  shades  prevail, 
The  moon  takes  up  the  wondrous  tale ; 
And  nightly,  to  the  listening  earth, 
Repeats  the  story  of  her  birth  : 
Whilst  all  the  stars  that  round  her  burn. 
And  all  the  planets  in  their  turn, 
Confirm  the  tidings  as  they  roll, 
And  spread  the  truth  from  pole  to  pole. 


6o6  RELIGION 

What  though  in  solemn  silence  all 
Move  round  the  dark  terrestrial  ball  ? 
What  though  no  real  voice,  nor  sound, 
Amidst  their  radiant  orbs  be  found  ? — 
In  Reason's  ear  they  all  rejoice, 
And  utter  forth  a  glorious  voice  ; 
For  ever  singing,  as  they  shine, 
'  The  hand  that  made  us  is  divine." 

ADDISON 


ALL  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole, 

Whose  body  Nature  is,  and  God  the  soul ; 

That  changed  through  all,  and  yet  in  all  the  same, 

Great  in  the  earth,  as  in  the  ethereal  frame, 

Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 

Glows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the  trees, 

Lives  through  all  life,  extends  through  all  extent, 

Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent  ; 

Breathes  in  our  soul,  informs  our  mortal  part, 

As  full,  as  perfect,  in  a  hair  as  heart ; 

As  full,  as  perfect,  in  vile  man  that  mourns, 

As  the  rapt  seraph,  that  adores  and  burns  : 

To  him  no  high,  no  low,  no  great,  no  small ; 

He  fills,  he  bounds,  connects,  and  equals  all. 

POPE 


'GOD   S     PROVIDENCE 

MANY  are  the  sayings  of  the  wise, 
In  ancient  and  in  modern  books  enrolled, 
Extolling  patience  as  the  truest  fortitude  ; 
And  to  the  beating  well  of  all  calamities, 
All  chances  inciden   to  man's  frail  life, 


COD'S    PROVIDENCE  607 

Consolatories  writ 

With  studied  argument,  and  much  pctsu.iHon 

sought 

Lenient  of  grief  and  anxious  thought : 
Bui  with  the  afflicted  in  his  pangs  their  sound 
Little  prevails,  or  rather  seems  a  lune 
Harsh,  and  of  dissonant  mood  from  his  complaint ; 
Unless  he  feel  within 
Some  source  of  consolation  from  above. 
Secret  refreshings,  that  rrpair  his  strength, 
And  fainting  spirits  uphold. 

God  of  our  fathers !  what  is  man. 
That  thou  towards  him  with  hand  so  various, 
Or  might  I  say  conirarious. 
Temper  si  thy  providence  through  Ins  short 

course 

Not  evenly,  as  thou  rul'st 
The    angelic    orders,   and   inferior  creatures 

mute, 

Irrational  and  brute  ? 
Nor  do  1  name  of  men  the  common  rout, 
That,  wandering  loose  at  out, 
Grow  up  and  perish,  as  the  summer-fly. 
Holds  without  name,  no  more  remembered  ; 
But  such  as  thou  ha-t  solemnly  elected, 
With  gifts  and  graces  eminently  adorned, 
To  some  great  work,  thy  glory, 
And  people's  safety,  which  in  part  they  effect  : 
Yet  toward  these  thus  dignified,  thou  oft. 
Amidst  their  highih  of  noon, 
Cbangest  thy  countenance,  and  thy  hand,  with 

no  regard 

Of  highest  favours  past 
From  thee  on  them,  or  them  to  thee  of  service. 

Nor  only  dost  degrade  them,  or  remit 
To  life  obscured,  which  were  a  fair  dismission, 


608  RELIGION 

But  throw's!  them  lower  than  thou  didst  exalt 

them  high  ; 

Unseemly  falls  in  human  eye, 
Too  grievous  for  the  trespass  or  omission  ; 
Oft  leavest  them  to  the  hostile  sword 
Of  heathen  and  profane,  their  carcasses 
To  dogs  and  fowls  a  prey,  or  else  captived  ; 
Or  to  the  unjust  tribunals,  under  change  of  times, 
And  condemnation  of  the  ingrateful  multitude. 
If  these  they  'scape,  perhaps  in  poverty 
With  sickness  and  disease  thou  bow'st  them  down, 
Painful  diseases  and  deformed, 
In  crude  old  age  ; 

Though  not  disordinate,  yet  causeless  suffering 
The  punishment  of  dissolute  days  :  in  fine, 
Just,  or  unjust,  alike  seem  miserable, 
Fpr  oft  alike  both  come  to  evil  end. 

•it- 
Just  are  the  ways  of  God, 
And  justifiable  to  men, 
Unless  there  be,  who  think  not  God  at  all : 
If  any  be,  they  walk  obscure  ; 
For  of  such  doctrine  never  was  there  school, 
But  the  heart  of  the  fool, 
And  no  man  therein  doctor  but  himself. 

* 

All  is  best,  though  we  oft  doubt 
What  the  unsearchable  dispose 
Of  highest  Wisdom  brings  about, 
And  ever  best  found  in  the  close. 

MILTON 


0  YOUNGE  freshe'  folkes,  he  or  she, 

In  which  that  love  upgroweth  with  your  age, 

Repaireth  home  from  worldly  vanity, 


QUIA    AMORB    LANCUEO  609 

And  of  your  heart  upcas-eth  the  visage 
To  thilke  God,  that  after  his  image 
You  made,  and  thinketh  all  nis  but  a  fair 
This  world  that  passeth  soon,  as  fiowres  fair. 

And  loveth  Him  the  which  that,  right  for  love. 
Upon  a  cross,  our  soules  for  to  buy, 
First  starf  *  and  rose,  and  sits  in  heaven  above  ; 
For  he  nil  falsen  no  wight,  dare  I  say. 
That  will  his  heart  all  wholly  on  him  lay  ; 
And  since  he  best  to  love  is,  and  most  meek, 
What  needeth  feigned  loves  for  to  serk  ? 

CHAUCSB 


QUIA     AMORE    LANGUEO 

IN  a  valley  of  this  restless  mind 
I  sought  in  mountain  and  in  mead. 
Trusting  a  true  love  for  to  find. 
Upon  an  hill  then  took  I  heed  ; 
A  voice  I  heard  (and  near  I  yede  ) ; 
In  great  dolour  complaining  tho : 
See,  dear  soul,  how  my  sides  bleed 
Qttia  amort  iangitto. 

Upon  this  hill  I  found  a  tree, 
Under  the  tree  a  man  sitting ; 
From  head  to  foot  wounded  was  he. 
His  heart e  blood  I  saw  bleeding. 
A  seemly  man  to  be  a  king. 
A  gracious  face  to  look  unto. 
I  asked  why  he  had  paining  ; 
[He  said,]  Quia  amort  languto. 

I  am  true  love  that  false  was  never  ; 
My  sister,  man's  soul.  I  loved  her  thus. 
1  Died.  *  Went. 

•  q 


RELIGION 

Because  we  would  in  no  wise  dissever 
i  left  my  kingdom  glorious. 
I  purveyed  her  a  palace  full  precious : 
She  fled,  I  followed,  I  loved  her  so 
That  I  suffered  this  pain  piteous 
Quia  amort  langueo. 

My  fair  love  and  my  spouse  bright ! 
I  saved  her  fro  beating,  and  she  hath  me  bet ; 
I  clothed  her  in  grace  and  heavenly  light, 
This  bloody  shirt  she  hath  on  me  set ; 
For  longing  of  love  yet  would  I  not  let ; 
Sweete  strokes  are  these :  lo  ! 
I  have  loved  her  ever  as  I  her  het 
Quia  amore  langueo. 

I  crowned  her  with  bliss  and  she  me  with  thorn ; 

I  led  her  to  chamber  and  she  me  to  die  ; 

I  brought  her  to  worship  and  she  me  to  scorn  ; 

I  did  her  reverence  and  she  me  villany. 

To  love  that  loveth  is  no  maistry  ; 

Her  hate  made  never  my  love  her  foe — 

Ask  me  then  no  question  why— 

Quia  amore  langueo. 

Look  unto  mine  handes,  man  ! 

These  gloves  were  given  me  when  I  her  sought ; 

They  be  not  white,  but  red  and  wan  ; 

Embroidered  with  blood  my  spouse  them  brought 

They  will  not  off,  I  loose  them  nought, 

I  woo  her  with  them  wherever  she  go, 

These  hands  for  her  so  friendly  fought 

Quia  amore  langueo. 

Marvel  not,  man,  though  I  sit  still : 
See,  love  hath  shod  me  wonder  strait, 
i  Promised. 


QUIA    A  M  O  E  E    I.  A  N  O  u  r.  O  6M 

Buckled  my  feet,  as  was  her  will 

With  sharp  nails  (well  tbou  mayest  wait !) 

In  my  love  was  never  desait. 

All  my  members  I  have  opened  her  to  ; 

My  body  I  made  her  hearie's  bail ' 

(Jitu  amort  Ia*gut0. 

In  my  side  I  have  made  her  nest ; 
Look  in.  how  wide  a  wound  is  here ! 
This  is  her  chamber,  here  shall  she  rest. 
That  sl>e  and  I  may  sleep  in  fere.1 
Here  may  she  wash,  if  any  filth  were, 
Here  is  succour  for  all  her  woe  ; 
Come  when  shr  will  she  shall  have  chert 
Quia  amort  languto. 

I  will  abide  till  she  be  ready. 
I  will  her  sue  or  she  say  nay  ; 
If  she  be  retchless  I  will  be  greedy. 
If  she  be  dangerous  I  will  her  pray  ; 
If  she  do  weep,  then  bide  I  ne  may  : 
Mine  arms  been  spread  to  clip  her  me  to 
Cry  once.  I  come  :  now,  soul,  assay 
Quia  amort  langmeo. 

Fair  love,  let  us  go  play  : 

Apples  been  ripe  in  my  gar  dine, 

I  shall  thee  clothe  in  a  new  array. 

Thy  meat  shall  be  milk,  honey,  and  wine 

Fair  love,  let  us  go  dine  : 

Thy  sustenance  is  in  my  scrip,  lo ! 

Tarry  not  now.  my  fair  spouse  mine. 

Quia  amort  languto. 

If  thou  be  foul  I  shall  thee  make  clean, 
If  thou  be  sick  I  shall  thee  heal. 
If  thou  mourn  ought  I  shall  thee  roene  :  •' 
Spouse,  why  wilt  thou  not  with  me  deal  ? 
Resting-place  >  Together.  »  Care  for 


6l2  RELIGION 

Foundest  thou  ever  love  so  leal  ? 
What  wilt  thou,  soul,  that  I  shall  do? 
I  may  not  unkindly  thee  appeal 
Quia  aniore  langueo. 

What  shall  I  do  now  with  my  spouse 
But  abide  her  of  my  gentleness, 
Till  that  she  look  out  of  her  house 
Of  fleshly  affection  ?  love  mine  she  is  ; 
Her  bed  is  made,  her  bolster  is  bliss, 
Her  chamber  is  chosen  ;  is  there  none  mo. 
Look  out  at  the  window  of  kindeness 
Quia  amorc  langueo. 

My  love  is  in  her  chamber  :  hold  your  peace ! 

Make  no  noise,  but  let  her  sleep. 

My  babe  shall  suffer  no  disease, 

I  may  not  hear  my  dear  child  weep. 

With  my  pap  I  shall  her  keep, 

Ne  marvel  ye  not  though  I  tend  her  to  : 

This  hole  in  my  side  had  never  been  so  deep. 

But  quia  aniore  langueo. 

Long  and  love  thou  never  so  high, 

My  love  is  more  than  thine  may  be. 

Thou  gladdest,  thou  weepest,  I  sit  thee  by  : 

Yet  wouldst  thou  once,  love,  look  at  me  ! 

Should  I  always  feede  thee 

With  children's  meat  ?  nay,  love,  not  so  ! 

I  will  prove  thy  love  with  adversity, 

Quia  amore  langueo. 

Wax  not  weary,  mine  own  wife  ! 
What  meed  is  aye  to  live  in  comfort  ? 
In  tribulation  I  reign  more  rife 
Qfter  times  than  in  disport- 


THE    BURNING    BABE  613 

In  weal  and  in  woe  I  am  aye  to  support ; 
Mine  own  wife,  go  not  me  fro  I 
Thy  meed  is  marked,  when  ihou  art  mort : 
Quia  amort  languto. 

ANON. 


THE    BURNING    BABE 

As  I  in  hoary  winter's  night  stood  shivering  in  the  snow. 
Surprised  I  was  with  sudden  heat  which  made  my  hr.it  t 

to  glow, 

And  lifting  up  a  fearful  eye  to  view  what  fire  was  near. 
A  pretty  i«abe  all  burning  bright  did  in  the  air  appear. 
Who  scorched  with  excessive  heat  such  floods  of  tears 

did  shed, 
As  though  his  floods  should  quench  his  flames  which 

with  his  tears  were  fed ; 

AUs.  quoth  he,  but  newly  born  in  fiery  heats  I  fry, 
Yet  none  approach  to  warm  their  hearts  or  feel  my  fire 

but  II 
My  faultless  breast  the  furnace  is,  the  fuel  wounding 

thorns; 
Love  is  the  fire  and  sighs  the  smoke,  the  ashes  shamr 

and  scoins; 

The  fuel  Justice  la)  eth  on,  and  Mrrcy  b'ows  the  coals  ; 
The  metal  in  this  furnace  wrought  are  men's  defileJ 

souls; 
For  which,  as  now  on  fire  I  am,  to  work  them  to  their 

good, 

So  will  I  melt  into  a  bath,  to  wash  them  in  my  blood. 
With  this  he  vanished  out  of  sight,  and  swiftly  shrunk 

away; 
And  straight  I  called  unto  mind,  that  it  was  Christinas 

day. 

SOUTHWELL 


614  RELIGION 


YET  if  His  Majesty,  our  sovereign  lord 

Should  of  his  own  accord 

Friendly  himself  invite, 

And  say,  '  I  '11  be  your  guest  to-morrow  night,' 

How  should  we  stir  ourselves,  call  and  command 

All  hands  to  work !  '  Let  no  man  idle  stand. 

Set  me  fine  Spanish  tables  in  the  hall, 

See  they  be  fitted  all ; 

Let  there  be  room  to  eat, 

And  order  taken  that  there  want  no  meat, 

See  every  sconce  and  candlestick  made  bright, 

That  without  tapers  they  may  give  a  light. 

Look  to  the  presence  ;  are  the  carpets  spread, 

The  dais  o'er  the  head, 

The  cushions  in  the  chairs, 

And  all  the  candles  lighted  on  the  stairs? 

Perfume  the  chambers,  and  in  any  case 

Let  each  man  give  attendance  in  his  place.' 

Thus  if  the  king  were  coming  would  we  do, 

And  'twere  good  reason  too  ; 

For  'tis  a  dateous  thing 

To  show  all  honour  to  an  earthly  king, 

And  after  all  our  travail  and  our  cost, 

So  he  be  pleased,  to  think  no  labour  lost. 

But  at  the  coming  of  the  King  of  Heaven 

All 's  set  at  six  and  seven  : 

We  wallow  in  our  sin, 

Christ  cannot  find  a  chamber  in  the  inn, 

We  entertain  him  always  like  a  stranger, 

And  as  at  first  still  lodge  him  in  the  manger. 

ANON. 


CHRIST'S  NATIVITY  615 

ON   THE    MORNING   OF  CHRIST'S 
NATIVITY 


THIS  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy 
Wherein  the  Son  of  Heaven's  eternal  King, 
Of  wedded  Maid,  and  Virgin  Mother  born, 
Our  great  redemption  from  above  did  bring ; 
For  so  the  holy  sages  once  did  sing, 

That  he  our  deadly  forfeit  should  release, 
And  with  his  Father  work  us  a  perpetual  peace. 

That  glorious  form,  that  light  unsufferable, 
And  that  far-beaming  blaze  of  majesty, 
Wherewith  he  wont  at  Heaven's  high  council-table 
To  sit  the  midst  of  Trinal  Unity, 
He  laid  aside ;  and.  here  with  us  to  be, 
Forsook  the  courts  of  everlasting  day. 
And  chose  with  us  a  darksome  house  of  mortal  clay. 

Say.  heavenly  Muse,  shall  not  thy  sacred  vein 

Afford  a  present  to  the  Infant  God  ? 

Hast  thou  no  verse,  no  hymn,  or  solemn  strain, 

To  welcome  him  to  this  his  new  abode, 

Now,  while  the  heaven,  by  the  sun's  team  untrod, 

Hath  took  no  print  of  the  approaching  light. 
And  all  the  spangled  host  keep  watch  in  squadrons 
bright/ 

See  how  from  far  upon  the  eastern  road 

The  star  led  wizards  haste  with  odours  sweet ; 

Oh  !  run,  prevent  them  with  thy  humble  ode, 

And  lay  it  lowly  at  his  blessed  feet ; 

Have  thou  the  honour  first  thy  Lord  to  greet, 

And  join  thy  voice  unto  the  angel  choir, 
From  out  his  secret  altar  touched  with  hallowed  fire. 


6l6  RELIGION 

THE  HYMN 

It  was  the  winter  wild, 
While  the  Heaven-born  child 

All  meanly  wrapt  in  the  rude  manger  lies ; 
Nature  in  awe  to  him 
Had  doffed  her  gaudy  trim, 

With  her  great  Master  so  to  sympathise ; 
It  was  no  season  then  for  her 
To  wanton  with  the  sun,  her  lusty  paramour. 

Only,  with  speeches  fair, 
She  woos  the  gentle  air, 

To  hide  her  guilty  front  with  innocent  snow, 
And  on  her  naked  shame, 
Pollute  with  sinful  blame, 

The  saintly  veil  of  maiden  white  to  throw ; 
Confounded,  that  her  Maker's  eyes 
Should  look  so  near  upon  her  foul  deformities. 

But  he,  her  fears  to  cease, 

Sent  down  the  meek-eyed  Peace  ; 

She,  crowned  with  olive  green,  came  softly-sliding 
Down  through  the  turning  sphere, 
His  ready  harbinger, 

With  turtle  wing  the  amorous  clouds  dividing  ; 
And,  waving  wide  her  myrtle  wand, 
She  strikes  an  universal  peace  through  sea  and  land. 

No  war,  or  battle's  sound, 
Was  heard  the  world  around  ; 

The  idle  spear  and  shield  were  high  up  hung ; 
The  hooked  chariot  stood 
Unstained  with  hostile  blood ; 

The  trumpet  spake  not  to  the  armed  throng ; 
And  kings  sat  still  with  awful  eye, 
As  if  they  surely  knew  their  sovran  Lord  was  by. 


CHMIST't    WAT1VITT  Ai 

But  peaceful  was  the  night 
Wherein  the  Prince  of  Light 

His  reign  of  peace  upon  the  earth  began  ; 
The  winds,  with  wonder  whist, 
Smoothly  the  waters  kissed, 

Whispering  new  joys  to  the  mild  ocean, 
Who  now  hath  quite  forgot  to  rave. 
While  birds  of  calm  sit  brooding  on  the  ch.u  med  wave. 

The  stars,  with  deep  amaze. 
Stand  fixed  in  steadfast  gaze. 

Mending  one  way  their  precious  influence. 
And  will  not  take  their  flight 
For  all  the  morning  light, 

Or  Lucifer  that  often  warned  them  thence  ; 
Bui  in  th-ir  glimmering  orbs  did  glow, 
Until  their  Lord  himself  bespake,  and  bid  them  go. 

And.  though  the  shady  gloom 
Had  given  day  her  room, 

The  son  himself  withheld  his  wonted  speed. 
And  hid  his  hrad  for  shame, 
As  his  inferior  flame 

The  new  enlightened  world  no  more  should  need  ; 
He  saw  a  greater  Sun  appear 
Than  his  bright  throne  or  burning  axle-tree  could  bear. 

The  shepherds  on  the  lawn, 
Or  ere  the  point  of  dawn, 

Sat  simply  chatting  in  a  rustic  row; 
Full  little  thought  they  then, 
That  the  mighty  Pan 

Was  kindly  come  to  live  with  them  below  ; 
Perhaps  their  loves,  or  else  their  sheep, 
Was  all  that  did  their  silly  thoughts  so  busy  keep. 


618  RELIGION 

When  such  music  sweet 

Their  hearts  and  ears  did  greet, 

As  never  was  by  mortal  finger  strook  ; 
Divinely-warbled  voice 
Answering  the  stringed  noise, 

As  all  their  souls  in  blissful  rapture  took 
The  air,  such  pleasure  loth  to  lose, 
With  thousand  echoes  still  prolongs  each  heavenly  close. 

Nature,  that  heard  such  sound, 
Beneath  the  hollow  round 

Of  Cynthia's  seat,  the  airy  region  thrilling, 
Now  was  almost  won 
To  think  her  part  was  done, 

And  that  her  reign  had  here  its  last  fulfilling  ; 
She  knew  such  harmony  alone 
Could  hold  all  Heaven  and  Earth  in  happier  union. 

At  last  surrounds  their  sight 
A  globe  of  circular  light, 

That  with  long  beams  the  shame-faced  Night  arrayed ; 
The  helmed  Cherubim, 
And  sworded  Seraphim, 

Are  seen  in  glittering  ranks  with  wings  displayed, 
Harping  in  loud  and  solemn  choir, 
With  unexpressive  notes,  to  Heaven's  new-born  Heir. 

Such  music  as  ('tis  said) 
Before  was  never  made, 

But  when  of  old  the  Sons  of  Morning  sung, 
While  the  Creator  great 
His  constellations  set, 

And  the  well-balanced  world  on  hinges  hung, 
And  cast  the  dark  foundations  deep, 
And  bid  the  weltering  waves  their  oozy  channel  keep. 


CHRIST'S    NATIVITY  619 

Ring  out,  ye  crystal  Spheres  I 
Once  bless  our  human  ears 

(If  ye  have  power  to  touch  our  senses  so), 
And  let  your  silver  chime 
Move  in  melodious  time ; 

And  let  the  bass  of  Heaven's  deep  organ  blow, 
And  with  your  ninefold  harmony. 
Make  up  full  consort  to  the  angelic  symphony. 

For  if  such  holy  song 
Enwrap  our  fancy  long, 

Time  will  run  back,  and  fetch  the  age  of  gold  ; 
And  speckled  Vanity 
Will  sicken  soon  and  die  ; 

And  leprous  Sin  will  tnc.i  from  eatthly  mould  ; 
And  Hell  itself  will  pass  away, 
And  leave  her  dolorous  mansions  to  the  peering  day. 

Yra,  Truth  and  Justice  then 
Will  down  return  to  men. 

Orbed  in  a  rainbow  ;  and,  like  glories  wearing. 
Mercy  will  sit  between, 
Throned  in  celestial  sheen, 

With  radiant  feet  the  tissued  clouds  down  steering  : 
And  Heaven,  as  at  some  festival, 
Will  open  wide  the  gates  of  her  high  palace  hall 

But  wisest  Fate  says  No, 
Tim  must  not  yet  be  so, 

The  Babe  lies  yet  in  smiling  iniancy, 
That  on  the  bitter  cross 
Must  redeem  our  loss, 

So  both  himself  and  us  to  glorify  ; 
Yet  first,  to  those  ychained  in  sleep, 
The  wakeful  trump  of  doom  must  thunder  through  the 
deep, 


620  RELIGION 

With  such  a  horrid  clang 
As  on  Mount  Sinai  rang, 

While  the  red  fire  and  smouldering  clouds  outbrake ; 
The  aged  earth  aghast, 
With  terror  of  that  blast, 

Shall  from  the  surface  to  the  centre  shake ; 
When,  at  the  world's  last  session, 
The  dreadful  Judge  in  middle  air  shall  spread  his  throne. 

And  then  at  last  our  bliss 
Full  and  perfect  is, 

But  now  begins  ;  for  from  this  happy  day 
The  old  Dragon,  under  ground 
In  straiter  limits  bound, 

Not  half  so  far  casts  his  usurped  sway, 
And,  wroth  to  see  his  kingdom  fail, 
Swindges  the  scaly  horror  of  his  folded  tail. 

The  oracles  are  dumb, 
No  voice  or  hideous  hum 

Runs  through  the  arched  roof  in  words  deceiving. 
Apollo  from  his  shrine 
Can  no  more  divine, 

With  hollow  shriek  the  steep  of  Delphos  leaving. 
No  nightly  trance,  or  breathed  spell, 
Inspires  the  pale-eyed  priest  from  the  prophetic  cell. 

The  lonely  mountains  o'er 
And  the  resounding  shore, 

A  voice  of  weeping  heard  and  loud  lament ; 
From  haunted  spring  and  dale, 
Edged  with  poplar  pale, 

The  parting  Genius  is  with  sighing  sent  ; 
With  flower-inwoven  tresses  torn 
The  Nymphs  in  twilight  shade  of  tangled  thickets  mourn. 


CHRIST   S    NATIVITY  6ai 

In  con  ccrated  earth, 
And  on  the  holy  hearth. 

The  Lars  and  Lcmnres  moan  with  midnight  plaint  , 
In  urns  and  altars  round, 
A  drear  and  dying  sound 

Affrights  the  Flamens  at  their  service  quaint ; 
And  the  chill  marble  seems  to  sweat, 
While  each  peculiar  Power  foregoes  his  wonted  seal. 

Peor  and  liaaiim 
Forsake  their  temples  dim, 

With  that  twice  battered  god  of  Palestine ; 
And  mooned  Ashtaroih, 
Heaven's  queen  and  mother  both, 

Now  sits  not  girt  with  tapers'  holy  shine ; 
The  Lybic  Hammon  shrinks  his  horn, 
In  nun  the  Tynan  maids  their  wounded    Thammuz 


And  sullen  Moloch,  fled, 
Hath  left  in  shadows  dread 

His  burning  idol  all  of  blackest  hue ; 
In  vain,  with  cymbals'  ring, 
They  call  the  grisly  king. 

In  dismal  dance  about  the  furnace  blue, 
The  brutish  gods  of  Nile  as  fast, 
Isis  and  Orus.  and  the  dog  Anubis,  haste. 

Nor  b  Osiris  seen 

In  Memphian  grove  or  green, 

Trampling  the  unshowered  grass  with  lowings  loud  ; 
Nor  can  he  be  at  rest 
Within  his  sacred  chest ; 

Nought  but  profoundest  Hell  can  be  his  shroud  ; 
In  vain  with  timbreled  anthems  dark 
The  sable-stoled  sorcerers  bear  his  worshipped  ark. 


622  RELIGION 

He  feels  from  Judah's  land 
The  dreaded  Infant's  hand, 

The  rays  of  Bethlehem  blind  his  dusky  eyn  ; 
Nor  all  the  gods  beside 
Longer  dare  abide, 

Nor  Typhon  huge  ending  in  snaky  twine  ; 
Our  Babe,  to  show  his  Godhead  true, 
Can  in  his  swaddling  bands  control  the  damned  crew. 

So  when  the  sun  in  bed, 
Curtained  with  cloudy  red, 

Pillows  his  chin  upon  an  orient  wave, 
The  flocking  shadows  pale 
Troop  to  the  infernal  jail, 

Each  fettered  ghost  slips  to  his  several  grave  ; 
And  the  yellow-skirted  fays 
Fly  after  the  night-steeds,  leaving  their  moon-loved  maze. 

But  see,  the  Virgin  blest 
Hath  laid  her  Babe  to  rest ; 

Time  is,  our  tedious  song  should  here  have  ending  ; 
Heaven's  youngest- teemed  star 
Hath  fixed  her  polished  car, 

Her  sleeping  Lord  with  handmaid  lamp  attending  ; 
And  all  about  the  courtly  stable 
Bright-harnessed  angels  sit  in  order  serviceable. 

MILTON 


GOOD     FRIDAY 

RIDING    WESTWARD 

HENCE  is't  that  I  am  carried  towards  the  west 
This  day,  when  my  soul's  form  bends  to  the  east 
Yet  dare  I  almost  be  glad,  I  do  not  see 
That  spec'acle  of  too  much  weight  for  me. 


GOOD    FRIDAY  6aj 

Who  sees  God's  face,  that  is  self-life,  must  die : 
What  a  death  were  it  then  to  see  God  die  t 
It  made  his  own  lieutenant.  Nature,  shrink  ; 
It  made  his  footstool  crack,  and  the  sun  wink. 
Could  I  behold  those  hands  which  span  (he  poles 
And  tune  all  spheres  at  once,  pierced  with  those 

holes? 

Could  I  behold  that  endless  height,  which  is 
Zenith  to  us  and  our  Antipodes, 
Humbled  below  us?  or  that  blood,  which  if 
The  teat  of  all  our  souls,  if  not  of  his, 
Made  dirt  of  dust?  or  that  flesh,  which  was  worn 
By  God  for  his  apparel,  ragged  and  torn  ? 
'Plough  these  things  as  I  ride  be  from  mine  eye. 
They  're  present  yet  unto  my  memory. 
For  that  looks  towards  them  ;  and  Thou  look's! 

towards  me, 

0  Saviour,  as  Thou  hang'&t  upon  the  tree. 

1  turn  my  back  to  thrc,  but  to  receive 
Corrections  ;  till  thy  mercies  bid  thee  leave. 
O  think  me  worth  thine  anger,  punish  me, 
Burn  off  my  rust,  and  my  deformity ; 
Restore  thine  image  so  much  by  thy  grace, 

That  thou  may'st  know  me,  and  I  '11  turn  my  face. 

DONNE 


RASTER     DAY 

SLEEP,  sleep,  old  Sun.  thou  canst  not  have  re-past 
As  yet  the  wound,  thou  took'&t  on  Friday  last ; 
Sleep  then,  and  rest :  the  world  may  bear  thy  stay, 
A  better  Sun  rose  before  thee  to-day  ; 
Who.  not  content  t*  enlighten  all  that  dwell 
On  the  Earth's  face  as  thou,  enlightened  Hell ; 


RELIGION 

And  made  the  dark  fires  languish  in  that  vale, 
As  at  tny  presence  here  our  fires  grow  pale  : 
Whose  body  having  walked  on  Earth,  and  now 
Hast'ning  to  Heav'n,  would,  that  he  might  allow 
Himself  unto  all  stations  and  fill  all, 
For  these  three  days  become  a  mineral. 
He  was  all  gold,  when  he  lay  down,  but  rose 
All  tincture  ;  and  doth  not  alone  dispose 
Leaden  and  iron  wills  to  good,  but  is 
Of  pow'r  to  make  ev'n  sinful  flesh  like  his. 

DONNE 

AWAKE,  sad  heart,  whom  sorrow  ever  drowns ; 

Take  up  thine  eyes,  which  feed  on  earth  ; 
Unfold  thy  forehead  gathered  into  frowns : 

Thy  Saviour  comes,  and  with  him  mirth  : 

Awake,  awake  ; 
And  with  a  thankful  heart  his  comforts  take. 

/  got  me  flowers  to  straw  thy  way  ; 
I  got  me  boughs  off  many  a  tree  : 
But  thou  wast  up  by  break  of  day, 
And  brought' st  thy  sweets  along  with  thee. 
HERBERT 

THE    SECOND    ADVENT 

AH,  what  time  wilt  thou  come  ?  when  shall 

that  cry, 

The  Bridegroom 's  coming,  fill  the  sky  ? 
Shall  it  in  the  evening  run 
When  our  words  and  works  are  done? 
Or  will  thy  all-surprising  light 
Break  at  midnight  ? 
Or  shall  these  early  fragrant  hours 
Unlock  thy  bowers, 


THE    SECOND    ADVENf 

And  with  their  blush  of  light  descry 
Thy  locks  crowned  with  eternity  ? 
Indeed  it  is  the  only  time 
That  with  thy  glory  doth  best  chin* ; 
All  now  are  stirring,  ev'ry  field 

Full  hymns  doth  yield  ; 
The  whole  creation  shakes  offnigM, 
And  for  thy  sh.ulow  looks  the  light ; 
Stars  now  vanish  without  number, 
.Sleepy  planets  set  and  slumber, 
The  pursy  clouds  disband  and  scatter. 
All  expect  some  sudden  matter. 
Not  one  beam  triumphs,  but  from  far 

That  morning  star. 

O  at  what  time  soever  Thou 

Unknown  to  us  the  heavens  wilt  bow, 

And  with  thy  Angels  in  the  van 

Descend  to  judge  poor  careless  man, 

Grant  I  may  not  like  puddle  lie 

In  a  corrupt  security  : 

Where  if  a  traveller  water  crave 

He  finds  it  dead,  and  in  a  grave. 

But  as  this  restless  vocal  spring 

All  day  and  night  doth  run  and  sing, 

And  though  here  born,  yet  is  acquainted 

Elsewhere,  and  flowing  keeps  untainted  ; 

So  let  me  all  my  busy  age 

In  thy  free  services  engage. 

VAUGHAN 


MAN'S    MEDLEY 

HARK,  how  the  birds  do  »mg. 
And  woods  do  ring. 


6*6  RELIGION 

All  creatures  have  their  joy,  and  man  hath  his. 
Yet  if  we  rightly  measure, 

Man's  joy  and  pleasure 
Rather  hereafter  than  in  present  is. 

To  this  life  things  of  sense 

Make  their  pretence ; 
In  th'  other  Angels  have  a  right  by  birth  ; 
Man  ties  them  both  alone 
And  makes  them  one 

With  th'  one  hand  touching  heaven,  with  th'  other 
earth. 

But  as  his  joys  are  double, 

So  is  his  trouble  ; 

He  hath  two  winters,  other  things  but  one  ; 
Both  frosts  and  thoughts  do  nip, 

And  bite  his  lip  ; 
And  he  of  all  things  fears  two  deaths  alone. 

Yet  ev'n  the  greatest  griefs 

May  be  reliefs, 

Could  he  but  take  them  right  and  in  their  ways 
Happy  is  he,  whose  heart 

Hath  found  the  art 
To  turn  his  double  pains  to  double  praise. 

HERBERT 


EMPLOYMENT 

HE  that  is  weary,  let  him  sit. 

My  soul  would  stir 
And  trade  in  courtesies  and  wit, 

Quitting  the  fur 
To  cold  complexions  needing  it, 

Man  is  no  star,  but  a  quick  coa1 
Of  mortal  fire  : 


EMPLOYMENT 

Who  blows  it  not.  nor  doth  control 

A  faint  desire. 
Lets  his  own  ashes  choke  his  soul. 

When  th*  elements  did  for  place  content 
With  him.  whose  will 

Ordained  the  highest  to  be  best ; 
The  earth  sat  still. 

And  by  the  others  is  opprest. 

Life  is  a  business,  not  good  cheer ; 

Ever  in  wars, 
The  sun  still  shinrth  there  or  here, 

Whereas  the  stars 
Watch  an  advantage  to  appear. 

Oh.  that  I  were  an  orange-tree. 

That  busy  plant ! 
Then  should  I  ever  laden  be. 
And  never  want 
Some  fruit  for  him  that  dressed  me. 

But  we  are  still  too  young  or  old  ; 

The  man  is  gone, 
Before  we  do  our  wares  unfold  : 

So  we  freeze  on. 
Until  the  grave  increase  our  cold. 

HERBERl 


THE    PULLEY 

WHEN  God  at  first  made  Man, 
Having  a  glass  of  blessings  standing  by ; 
Let  us  (said  he)  pour  on  him  all  we  can : 
Let  the  world's  riches,  which  dispersed  lie. 

Contract  into  a  span. 


6*8  RELIGION 

So  strength  first  made  a  way  ; 
Then  beauty  flowed ;  then  wisdom,  honour, 

pleasure  : 

When  almost  all  was  out,  God  made  a  stay, 
Perceiving  that  alone,  of  all  his  treasure, 

Rest  in  the  bottom  lay. 

For  if  I  should  (said  he) 
Bestow  this  jewel  also  on  my  creature, 
He  would  adore  my  gifts  instead  of  me, 
And  rest  in  Nature,  not  the  God  of  Nature  : 

So  both  should  losers  be. 

Yet  let  him  keep  the  rest, 
But  keep  them  with  repining  restlessness  : 
Let  him  be  rich  and  weary,  that  at  least, 
If  goodness  lead  him  not,  yet  weariness 

May  toss  him  to  my  breast. 

HERBERT 


THE     MINISTRY     OF     ANGELS 

AND  is  there  care  in  heaven?    And  is  there  love 
In  heavenly  spirits  to  these  creatures  base 
That  may  compassion  of  their  evils  move  ? 
There  is  :  else  much  more  wretched  were  the  case 
Of  men  than  beasts.     But  O,  th'  exceeding  grace 
Of  highest  God  that  loves  his  creatures  so 
And  all  his  works  with  mercy  doth  embrace 
That  blessed  angels  he  sends  to  and  fro 
To  serve  to  wicked  man,  to  serve  his  wicked  foe. 

How  oft  do  they  their  silver  bowers  leave 
To  come  to  succour  us  that  succour  want ! 
How  oft  do  they  with  golden  pinions  cleave 
The  flitting  skies,  like  flying  Pursuivant 
Against  foul  fiends  to  aid  u^  militant  1 


A    ft  Y  M  N  A»9 

They  for  us  fight,  they  watch  and  duly  ward 
And  their  bright  squadrons  round  about  us  plant ; 
And  all  for  love  and  nothing  for  reward. 
O  why  should  heavrnly  God  to  man  have  such 
regard  ? 

SPENSkK 


A    HYMN    TO   THE    NAME    AND    HONOUR 
OF   THE  ADMIRABLE   SAINT   TKRKSA 

LOVK.  thou  art  absolute,  sole  Lord 

Of  life  and  death.     To  prove  the  word, 

We'll  now  appeal  to  none  of  all 

Those  thy  old  soldiers,  grrnt  and  tall. 

Ripe  men  of  martyrdom,  that  could  rrach  dow.i 

With  strong  arms  their  triumphant  crown  : 

Such  as  could  with  lusty  breath 

Speak  loud,  unto  the  face  of  death. 

Their  great  Lord's  glorious  name  ;  to  none 

Of  those  whose  spacious  bosoms  spread  a  throne 

For  love  at  large  to  fill ;  spare  blood  and  sweat : 

We'll  see  Him  take  a  private  seat, 

And  make  His  mansion  in  the  mild 

And  milky  soul  of  a  soft  child. 

Scarce  has  s>  e  learnt  to  lisp  a  name 

Of  martyr,  yet  she  thinks  it  shame 

Life  should  so  long  play  with  that  breath 

Which  spent  can  buy  so  brave  a  death. 

She  never  undertook  to  know 

What  death  with  love  should  have  to  do. 

Nor  has  she  e'er  yet  understood 

Why,  to  show  love,  she  should  shed  blood  ; 

Yet,  though  she  cannot  tell  you  why, 

She  can  love,  and  she  can  die. 


630  RELIGION 

Scarce  has  she  blood  enough  to  make 
A  guilty  sword  blush  for  her  sake  ; 
Yet  has  a  heart  dares  hope  to  prove 
How  much  less  strong  is  death  than  love. 

Since  'tis  not  to  be  had  at  home,, 

She'll  travel  for  a  martyrdom. 

No  home  for  her,  confesses  she, 

But  where  she  may  a  martyr  be. 

She'll  to  the  Moors,  and  trade  with  them, 

For  this  unvalued  diadem  ; 

She  offers  them  her  dearest  breath, 

With  Christ's  name  in 't,  in  change  for  death 

She'll  bargain  with  them,  and  will  give 

Them  God,  and  teach  them  how  to  live 

In  Him  ;  or,  if  they  this  deny, 

For  Him  she'll  teach  them  how  to  die. 

So  shall  she  leave  amongst  them  sown 

Her  Lord's  blood,  or  at  least  her  own. 

Farewell  then,  all  the  world,  adieu  ! 
Teresa  is  no  more  for  you. 
Farewell  all  pleasures,  sports,  and  joys, 
Never  till  now  esteemed  toys  ! 
Farewell  whatever  dear  may  be, 
Mother's  arms,  or  father's  knee  ! 
Farewell  house,  and  farewell  home  ! 
She 's  for  the  Moors  and  Martyrdom. 

Sweet,  not  so  fast ;  lo  1  thy  fair  spouse, 
Whom  thou  seek'st  with  so  swift  vows, 
Calls  thee  back,  and  bids  thee  come 
T'  embrace  a  milder  martyrdom. 

O,  how  oft  shalt  thou  complain 
Of  a  sweet  and  subtle  pain  ! 


A    HYMN  631 

Of  intolerable  joys  I 

Of  a  drath.  in  which  who  diet 

Loves  his  death,  and  dies  again. 

And  would  for  ever  so  be  slain  ; 

And  lives  and  dies,  and  knows  not  why 

To  live,  but  that  he  still  may  die. 

How  kindly  will  thy  gentle  heart 

Kiss  the  sweetly-killing  dart ! 

And  close  in  his  embraces  keep 

Those  delicious  wounds,  that  weep 

Balsam,  to  hral  themselves  with  thus. 

When  these  thy  deaths,  so  numerous. 

Shall  all  at  once  die  into  one, 

And  melt  thy  soul's  sweet  mansion  ; 

Like  a  soft  lump  of  incense,  hasted 

By  too  hot  a  fire,  and  wasted 

Into  perfuming  clouds,  so  fast 

Shalt  thou  exhale  to  heaven  at  last 

In  a  resolving  sigh,  and  then,— 

O,  what?    Ask  not  the  tongues  of  men. 


Angels  cannot  tell ;  suffice, 
Thyself  shall  feel  thine  own  full  joys, 
And  hold  them  fast  for  ever  there. 
So  soon  as  thou  shall  first  appear, 
The  moon  of  maiden  stars,  thy  white 
Mistress,  attended  by  such  bright 
Souls  as  thy  shining  self,  shall  come. 
And  in  her  fir*t  ranks  make  thee  room ; 
Wbeie,  'mongst  her  snowy  family. 
Immortal  welcomes  wait  for  thee. 
O,  what  delight,  when  she  shall  stand 
And  teach  tby  lips  heaven,  with  her  band, 
On  which  thou  now  may'st  to  thy  wishes 
Heap  up  thy  consecrated  kisses. 


632  RELICT  OW 

What  joy  shall  seize  thy  soul,  when  she, 
Bending  her  blessed  eyes  on  thee, 
Those  second  smiles  of  heaven,  shall  dart 
Her  mild  rays  through  thy  melting  heart ! 

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, 

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 

As  keep  account  of  the  Lamb's  wars. 

Those  rare  works,  where  thou  shall  leave  writ 
Love's  noble  history,  with  wit 
Taught  thee  by  none  but  Him,  while  here 
They  feed  our  souls,  shall  clothe  thine  there. 
Each  heavenly  word  by  whose  hid  flame 
Our  hard  hearts  shall  strike  fire,  the  same 
Shall  flourish  on  thy  brows  ;  and  be 
Both  fire  to  us  and  flame  to  thee  ; 
Whose  light  shall  live  bright  in  thy  face 
By  glory,  in  our  hearts  by  grace. 
Thou  shall  look  round  about,  and  see 
Thousands  of  crowned  souls  throng  to  be 


A    HYMN  6 

Themselves  ihy  crown,  sons  of  thy  rows. 
'I  he  virgin-births  with  which  thy  spouse 
Made  fruitful  thy  fair  soul ;  go  now, 
And  with  them  all  about  thee  taw 
To  Him  ;  put  on,  He'll  say,  put  on, 
My  rosy  love,  that  thy  rich  zone, 
Sparkling  with  the  sacred  flames 
Of  thousand  souls,  whose  happy  names 
Heaven  keeps  upon  thy  score  :  thy  bright 
I  jfe  brought  them  first  to  kiss  the  light 
That  kindled  them  to  stars  ;  and  so 
Thou  with  the  Lamb,  thy  Lord,  shall  go. 
And,  wheresoe'er  He  sets  His  white 
Steps,  walk  with  Him  tho<*  ways  of  light. 
Which  who  in  death  would  live  to  see. 
Must  learn  in  life  to  die  like  thee. 

CBASHAW 


UPON    THK    BOOK    AND    PICTURE    OF   THE 

SKRAPHICAI.   SAINT   TKRESA 

Ft 0m  Tkt  Hatnimt  Ht*rt. 

O  THOU  undaunted  daughter  of  desires  I 

By  all  thy  dower  of  lights  and  fires  ; 

By  all  the  eagle  in  thee,  all  the  dove  ; 

By  all  thy  lives  and  deaths  of  love ; 

By  thy  large  draughts  of  intellectual  day, 

And  by  thy  thirsts  of  love  more  large  than  they  ; 

By  all  thy  brim-fillrd  bowls  of  fierce  desire. 

By  thy  last  morning's  draught  of  liquid  fire ; 

By  the  full  kingdom  of  that  final  kiss 

That  seized  thy  parting  soul,  and  sealed  thee  His ; 

By  all  the  Heav'n  thou  hast  in  Him 

(Fair  sister  of  the  seraphim  !) 

By  all  of  Him  we  have  in  thre ; 


634  RELIGION 

Leave  nothing  of  myself  in  me. 
Let  me  so  read  thy  life,  that  I 
Unto  all  life  of  mine  may  die. 

CRASHAW 


AT    A    SOLEMN    MUSIC 

BLEST  pair  of  Syrens,  pledges  of  Heaven's  joy, 

Sphere-born  harmonious  sisters,  Voice  and  Verse, 

Wed  your  divine  sounds,  and  mixed  power  employ, 

Dead  things  with  inbreathed  sense  able  to  pierce  ; 

And  to  our  high-raised  phantasy  present 

That  undisturbed  song  of  pure  concent, 

Aye  sung  before  the  sapphire-coloured  throne 

To  Him  that  sits  thereon, 

With  saintly  shout,  and  solemn  jubilee  ; 

Where  the  bright  Seraphim,  in  burning  row, 

Their  loud  up-lifted  angel  trumpets  blow  ; 

And  the  cherubic  host,  in  thousand  quires, 

Touch  their  immortal  harps  of  golden  wires, 

With  those  just  Spirits  that  wear  victorious  palms, 

Hymns  devout  and  holy  psalms 

Singing  everlastingly : 

That  we  on  earth,  with  undiscording  voice, 

May  rightly  answer  that  melodious  noise  ; 

As  once  we  did,  till  disproportioned  sin 

Jarred  against  Nature's  chime,  and  with  harsh  din 

Broke  the  fair  music  that  all  creatures  made 

To  their  great  Lord,  whose  love  their  motion  swayed 

In  perfect  diapason,  whilst  they  stood 

In  first  obedience,  and  their  state  of  good. 

O,  may  we  soon  again  renew  that  song, 

And  keep  in  tune  with  Heaven,  till  God  ere  long 

To  his  celestial  concert  us  unite 

To  live  with  Him,  and  sing  in  endless  morn  of  light. 

MILTON 


THE    RE TREAT  635 


CHURCH    MUSIC 

SWEETEST  of  sweets,  I  thank  you  :  when  displeasure 
Did  through  my  body  wound  my  mind, 

Yon  took  me  thence,  and  in  your  house  of  plrasuie 
A  dainty  lodging  me  assigned. 

Now  I  in  you  without  a  body  move. 

Rising  and  falling  with  your  wings  : 
We  both  together  sweetly  live  and  love. 

Yet  say  sometimes,  God  ktlf  poor  king*. 

UEKBfcKT 


THE    RETREAT 

HAPPY  those  early  days,  when  I 
Shined  in  my  angel-infancy  I 
Before  I  understood  this  place 
Appointed  for  my  second  race. 
Or  taught  my  soul  to  fancy  ought 
But  a  white,  celestial  thought  . 
When  yet  I  had  not  walked  above 
A  mile  or  two  from  my  first  love. 
And  looking  back— at  that  short  spice — 
Could  see  a  glimpse  of  His  t>right  face ; 
When  on  some  gilded  cloud  or  flower 
My  gazing  soul  would  dwell  an  hour, 
And  in  those  weaker  glories  spy 
Some  shadows  of  eternity  ; 
Before  I  taught  my  tongue  to  wound 
My  conscience  with  a  sinful  sound, 
Or  had  the  black  an  to  dispense. 
A  sev'ral  sin  to  every  sense, 
But  felt  through  all  this  fleshly 
Bright  shoots  of  everla  lingness. 


636  RELIGION 

O  how  I  long  to  travel  back, 
And  tread  again  that  ancient  track  ! 
That  I  might  once  more  reach  that  plain, 
Where  first  I  left  my  glorious  train  ; 
From  whence  th'  enlightened  spirit  sees 
That  shady  city  of  palm  trees. 
But  ah  !  my  soul  with  too  much  stay 
Is  drunk,  and  staggers  in  the  way  ! 
Some  men  a  forward  motion  love, 
But  I  by  backward  steps  would  move  ; 
And  when  this  dust  falls  to  the  urn, 
In  that  state  I  came,  return. 

VAUGHAN 


GIVE  me  my  scallop-shell  of  quiet. 

My  staff  of  faith  to  walk  upon, 
My  scrip  of  joy,  immortal  diet, 

My  bottle  of  salvation, 
My  gown  of  glory,  hope's  true  gage  ; 
And  thus  I  "11  take  my  pilgrimage. 


Blood  must  be  my  body's  balmer  ; 

No  other  balm  will  there  be  given  ; 
Whilst  my  soul,  like  quiet  palmer, 

Travelleth  towards  the  land  of  heaven  : 
Over  the  silver  mountains, 
Where  spring  the  nectar  fountains : 
There  will  I  kiss 
The  bowl  of  bliss ; 
And  drink  mine  everlasting  fill 
Upon  every  milken  hill, 
My  soul  will  be  a-dry  before  ; 
But  after,  it  will  thirst  no  more. 

RALEGH 


•  ESTLKSSNESS  637 


WEIGHING  the  steadfastness  and  state 
Of  tome  mean  things  which  here  below  reside. 

Where  birds  like  watchful  clocks  the  noiseless  dale 
And  intercourse  of  limes  divide, 

Where  bees  at  night  get  home  and   hive,  and 


Early  as  well  as  late, 
Rise  with  the  sun.  and  set  in  the  same  bowers  ; 

I  would,  said  1,  my  God  would  give 

The  staidness  of  these  things  to  man  !  for  these 
To  His  divine  appointments  ever  cleave, 

And  no  new  business  breaks  their  peace ; 
The  birds  nor  sow  nor  reap,  yet  sup  and  dine. 

The  flowers  without  clothes  live, 
Yet  Solomon  was  never  drest  so  fine. 

Man  hath  still  either  toys  or  care  ; 

He  hath  no  root,  nor  to  one  place  is  tied, 
But  ever  restless  and  irregular 

About  this  earth  doth  run  and  ride. 
He  knows  he  hath  a  home,  but  scarce  know> 
where; 

He  says  it  is  so  far 
That  he  hath  quite  forgot  how  to  go  there. 

He  knocks  at  all  doors,  strays  and  roams ; 

Nay  bath  not  so  much  wit  as  some  stones  have 
Which  in  the  darkest  nights  point  to  their  homes. 

By  some  hid  sense  their  Maker  gave  ; 
Man  is  the  shuttle  to  whose  winding  quest 

And  passage  through  these  looms 
God  ordered  motion,  but  ordained  no  rest. 

VAUGHAN 


638  RELIGION 


THE  COLLAR 

I  STRUCK  the  board,  and  cried,  No  more; 

I  will  abroad. 

What,  shall  I  ever  sigh  and  pine? 
My  lines  and  life  are  free,  free  as  the  road, 
Loose  as  the  wind,  as  large  as  store. 

Shall  I  be  still  in  suit  ? 
Have  I  no  harvest  but  a  thorn 
To  let  me  blood,  and  not  restore 
What  I  have  lost  with  cordial  fruit  ? 

Sure  there  was  wine 

Before  my  sighs  did  dry  it ;  there  was  corn 
Before  my  tears  did  drown  it. 
Is  the  year  only  lost  to  me  ? 
Have  I  no  bays  to  crown  it  ? 
No  flowers,  no  garlands  gay  ?    All  blasted  ? 

All  wasted  ? 
Not  so,  my  heart  ;  but  there  is  fruit, 

And  thou  hast  hands. 
Recover  all  thy  sigh-blown  age 
On  double  pleasures  :  leave  thy  cold  dispute 
Of  what  is  fit,  and  not ;  forsake  thy  cage, 

Thy  rope  of  sands, 

Which  petty  thoughts  have  made,  and  made  to  thee 
Good  cable  to  enforce  and  draw, 

And  be  thy  law, 
While  thou  didst  wink  and  wouldst  not  see. 

Away :  take  heed, 

I  will  abroad. 
Call  in  thy  death's-head  there :  tie  up  thy  fears. 

He  that  forbears 

To  suit  and  serve  his  need 
Deserves  his  load. 


A    DIALOGUE  639 

But  as  I  raved  and  grew  more  fierce  and  wild 

At  every  word, 
Methought  I  beard  one  calling  Child, 

And  I  replied  My  Urd. 

HEKBEK7 


A    DIALOGUE 

SWEETEST  Saviour,  if  my  soul 

Were  but  worth  the  having. 

Quickly  should  1  then  control 

Any  thought  of  waving. 
But  when  all  my  care  and  pains 
Cannot  give  the  name  of  gams 
To  thy  wretch  so  full  of  stains  ; 
What  delight  or  hope  remains? 

What,  child,  is  tkt  balance  tkine. 

Tkint  tkt  foist  and  mtasurt  t 
If  I  lay,  Tkou  skalt  ot  mint, 

Fi*g*r  not  my  trtasurt. 
Wkat  tkt  gains  in  kaving  tktt 
Do  amount  to.  only  kt, 
Wkofor  man  was  sold,  can  set; 
Tkat  transferred  tk'  Of  counts  to  m 

But  I  can  see  no  merit, 

Leading  to  this  favour. 
So  the  way  to  fit  me  for  it 

Is  beyond  my  savour. 
As  the  reason  then  is  thine. 
So  the  way  is  none  of  mine ; 
I  disclaim  the  whole  design. 
Sin  disclaims  and  I  resign. 


640  RELIGION 

That  is  all,  if  that  I  could 

Get  without  repining  ; 

And  my  clay  my  creature  would 

Follow  my  resigning. 
That  as  I  did  freely  part 
With  my  glory  and  desert, 
Left  all  joys  to  feel  all  smart — 

Ah,  no  more  ;  thou  break'st  my  heart. 

HERBERT 


A    DIALOGUE 
BETWEEN    THE   SOUL   AND    THE    BODY 

Soul.    AY  me,  poor  soul,  whom  bound  in  sinful  chains 
This  wretched  body  keeps  against  my  will ! 

Body.   Ay  me,  poor  body,  whom  for  all  my  pains, 

This  froward  soul  causeless  condemneth  still. 

Soul.    Causeless  ?  whenas  thou  striv'st  to  sin  each  day ! 

Body.    Causeless  ,  whenas  I  strive  thee  to  obey. 

Soul.  Thou  art  the  means  by  which  I  fall  to  sin. 

Body.  Thou  art  the  cause  that  sett'st  this  means  a-work. 

Soul.  No  part  of  thee  that  hath  not  faulty  bin. 

Body.  I  shew  the  poison  that  in  thee  doth  lurk. 

Soul.  I  shall  be  pure  whenso  I  part  from  thee. 

Body.  So  were  I  now  but  that  thou  stainest  me. 

A.  w. 

A    DIALOGUE    BETWEEN    THE    RESOLVED    SOUL 
AND    CREATED    PLEASURE 

Courage,  my  soul  /  now  learn  to  wield 
The  weight  of  thine  immortal  shield  / 
Close  on  thy  head  thy  helmet  bright/ 
Balance  thy  sword  against  the  fight! 


A    DIALOGUE  64! 

Set  u-ktre  an  army,  itrong  at  fair, 
With  silken  banner  i  threads  tkt  air! 
Now  iftkou  titt  that  thing  tiivine, 
In  tkis  day  i  tomoat,  Itt  it  skint/ 
And  skew  that  Naturt  wants  an  art 
To  conquer  ont  resolved  heart. 

Pleasure 

Welcome,  the  Creation's  guest 
Lord  of  Earth.  and  Heaven's  Heir. 
Lay  aside  that  warlike  crest, 
And  of  Nature's  banquet  share  ! 
Where  the  souls  of  fruits  and  flowers 
Stand  prepared  to  heighten  yours  ! 

Soul 

1  sup  above  :  and  cannot  slay 
To  bait  so  long  upon  the  way. 

Plmnart 

On  these  downy  pillows  lie  I 
Whose  soft  plumes  will  thither  fly  : 
On  these  roses  I  strewed  so  plain, 
Lest  one  leaf  thy  side  should  strain. 


My  gentler  rest  is  on  a  thought  ; 
Conscious  of  doing  what  I  ought. 

Pleasure 

Hark,  how  Music  then  prepares 
For  thy  stay  these  charming  airs  I 
Which  the  posting  winds  recall, 
And  suspend  the  river's  fall 

3ml 

Had  I  but  any  time  to  lose, 
On  this  I  would  it  all  dispose. 
as 


RELIGION 

Cease  Tempter  !  None  can  chain  a  mind 
Whom  this  sweet  chordage  cannot  bind. 

Chorus 

Earth  cannot  show  so  brave  a  sight 
As  when  a  single  soul  does  fence 
The  batteries  of  alluring  sense  ; 
And  Heaven  views  it  with  delight. 
Then  persevere  !  for  still  new  charges  sound  ; 
And  ifthou  overcomst,  thou  shall  be  crowned! 

Pleasure 

All  that's  costly,  fair,  and  sweet 

Which  scatteringly  doth  shine, 
Shall  within  one  Beauty  meet  • 

And  she  be  only  thine  ' 

Soul 

If  things  of  sight  such  heavens  be, 
What  heavens  are  those  we  cannot  see  ? 

Pleasure 

Wheresoe'er  thy  foot  shall  go, 

The  minted  gold  shall  lie  ; 
Till  thou  purchase  all  below, 

And  want  new  worlds  to  buy  ! 

Soul 

Were 't  not  a  price,  who  'Id  value  gold  ? 
And  that 's  worth  nought  that  can  be  sold. 

Pleasure 
Wilt  thou  all  the  glory  have, 

That  war  or  peace  commend  ? 
Half  the  world  shall  be  thy  slave, 

The  other  half  thy  friend  ! 


AN    HYMN    TO    COD    THE    FATHE1          643 

8ml 

What  friends !  if  to  myself  untrue  ? 
What  slave*  1  unless  I  captive  you  ? 

Pita  t*rt 

Thou  shall  know  each  hidden  cause, 

And  see  the  future  time. 
Try  what  depth  the  centre  draws, 

And  then  to  Heaven  climb ! 

Soul 

None  thither  mounts  by  the  degree 
Of  Knowledge  but  Humility. 

Cfanu 

Triumph/   Triumphs!  victorious  soul t 
The  world  has  not  out  pleasurt  more. 
Ik*  rest  does  lit  beyond  tkt  pole, 
And  is  tkime  everlasting  store/ 

MABVBLL 


AN    HYMN    TO   GOD   THE    FATHER 

HEAR  me,  O  God, 

A  broken  heart 

Is  my  best  part : 
Use  still  thy  rod, 

That  I  may  prove 

Therein  thy  love. 

If  thuu  hadst  not 
Been  stern  to  me 
But  left  me  free. 


644 


RELIGION 

I  had  forgot 

Myself  and  thee. 

For  sin 's  so  sweet 

As  minds  ill  bent 

Rarely  repent 
Until  they  meet 

Their  punishment. 

Who  more  can  crave 

Than  thou  hast  done? 

That  gav'st  a  son 
To  free  a  slave  : 

First  made  of  nought : 

With  all  since  bought. 

Sin,  death,  and  hell, 

His  glorious  name 

Quite  overcame : 
Yet  I  rebel 

And  slight  the  same. 

But  I  '11  come  in, 

Before  my  loss 

Me  farther  toss, 
As  sure  to  win 

Under  his  cross. 

JON SON 


DISCIPLINE 

THROW  away  thy  rod, 
Throw  away  thy  wrath  : 
O  my  God, 
Take  the  gentle  path. 


DISCIPLINE  f> 

For  my  heart's  desire 
Unto  thine  is  bent: 

I  aspire 
To  a  full  consent. 

Not  a  word  or  look 
I  affect  to  own, 

But  by  book. 
And  thy  book  alone. 

Though  I  fail,  I  weep : 
Though  I  lull  in  pace. 

Yet  I  creep 
To  the  throne  of  grace. 

Then  let  wrath  remove  ; 
Ixnre  will  do  the  dred : 

For  with  love 
Stony  hearts  will  bleed. 

Lore  is  swift  of  foot ; 
Ixjvr  's  a  man  of  war. 

And  c.in  shoot, 
And  can  hit  from  far. 

Who  can  'scape  his  bou  ? 
That  which  wrought  on  ihee. 

Brought  thee  low, 
Needs  must  work  on  me. 

Throw  away  thy  rod  ; 
Though  man  frailties  hath 
Thou  art  God 
Throw  away  thy  wrath. 

HEKBKKT 


646  RELIGION 


THE    FAVOUR 

O  THY  bright  looks  !     Thy  glance  of  love 

Shown,  and  but  shown,  me  from  above  ! 

Rare  looks,  that  can  dispense  such  joy 

As  without  wooing  wins  the  coy, 

And  makes  him  mourn  and  pine  and  die, 

Like  a  starved  eaglet  for  thine  eye. 

Some  kind  herbs  here,  though  low  and  far, 

Watch  for  and  know  their  loving  star. 

O  let  no  star  compare  with  thee  ! 

Nor  any  herb  out-duty  me. 

So  shall  my  nights  and  mornings  be 

Thy  time  to  shine  and  mine  to  see. 

VAUGHAN 

THE-    FLOWER 

How  fresh,  O  Lord,  how  sweet  and  clean 
Are  thy  returns  !  ev'n  as  the  flowers  in  spring  ; 

To  which,  besides  their  own  demean, 
The  late-past  frosts  tributes  of  pleasure  bring. 
Grief  melts  away 
Like  snow  in  May, 
As  if  there  were  no  such  cold  thing. 

Who  would  have  thought  my  shrivel'd  heart 
Could  have  recovered  greenness  ?     It  was  gone 

Quite  under  ground  ;  as  flowers  depart 
To  see  their  mother-root,  when  they  have  blown ; 
Where  they  together 
All  the  hard  weather, 
Dead  to  the  world,  keep  house  unknown. 

These  are  thy  wonders,  Lord  of  power, 
Killing  and  quick'ning,  bringing  down  to  hell 


THK    FLOWER  647 

And  up  to  heaven  in  an  hour  ; 
Making  a  chiming  of  a  passing-bell. 

We  «iy  amiss, 
This  or  that  is  ; 
Thy  word  is  all,  if  we  could  spell. 

0  that  I  once  past  changing  were. 

Fast  in  thy  Paradise,  where  no  flower  can  wither ! 

Many  a  spring  I  shoot  up  fair, 
Offering  at  heav'n,  growing  and  groaning  tKithcr : 
Nor  doth  my  Mower 
Want  a  spring-shower, 
My  sins  and  I  joining  together. 

But  while  I  grow  in  a  straight  line. 
Still  upwards  bent,  as  if  heav'n  were  mine  own. 

Thy  anger  comes,  and  I  decline  : 
What  frost  to  that  ?  what  pole  is  not  the  zone 
Where  all  things  burn. 
When  thuu  dosi  turn, 
And  the  least  frown  of  thine  is  shown  ? 

And  now  in  age  I  bud  again, 
After  so  many  deaths  I  live  and  write  ; 

1  once  more  smell  the  dew  and  rain, 
And  relish  versing  :  O  my  only  light, 

It  cannot  be 
That  I  am  he 
On  whom  thy  tempests  fell  all  night. 

These  arc  thy  wonders,  Lord  of  love, 
To  make  us  see  we  a-e  but  flowers  that  glide  : 

Which  when  we  once  can  find  and  (rove, 
Thou  hast  a  garden  for  us.  where  to  bide. 

Who  would  be  more. 
Swelling  through  store. 
Forfeit  their  Paradise  by  their  pride. 

HtKHKKT 


648 


RELIGION 


THE     LITANY 

IN  the  hour  of  my  distress, 
When  temptations  me  oppress, 
And  when  I  my  sins  confess, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  I  lie  within  my  bed 
Sick  in  heart,  and  sick  in  head, 
And  with  doubts  discomforted, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  house  doth  sigh  and  weep, 
And  the  world  is  drowned  in  sleep, 
Yet  mine  eyes  the  watch  do  keep, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me ! 

When  the  passing-bell  doth  toll, 
And  the  furies  in  a  shoal 
Come  to  fright  a  parting  soul, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  tapers  now  burn  blue, 
And  the  comforters  are  few, 
And  that  number  more  than  true, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  priest  his  last  hath  prayed. 
And  I  nod  to  what  is  said, 
Cause  my  speech  is  now  decayed, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When,  God  knows,  I'm  tost  about, 
Either  with  despair  or  doubt  ; 
Yet,  before  the  glass  be  out, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  tempter  me  pursu'th 
With  the  sins  of  all  my  youth, 


TH«    LITANY  649 

And  half  damns  me  with  untruth, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  flames  and  hellish  cries 
Fright  mine  ears,  and  fright  mine  eyes, 
And  all  terrors  me  surprise. 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

When  the  judgment  is  revealed. 
And  that  opened  which  was  sealed. 
When  10  Thee  1  hare  appealed, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me  ! 

IIP.KKK  K 


NEVER  weather-beaten  sail  more  willing  l*nt  to  shoie. 
Never  tired  pilgrim's  limbs  affected  slumlier  more, 
Than  my  wearied  sprite  now  longs  to  fly  out  of  my 

troubled  breast. 
O  come  quickly,  sweetest   Lord,  and  take  my  soul  to 

rest ! 

Ever  blooming  are  the  joys  of  heaven's  high  Paradise. 
Cold  age  deafs  not  there  our  ears,  nor  vapour  dims  o'ir 

eyes: 
Glory  there  the  sun  outshines  ;  whose  beams  the  bless*- 1 

only  see, 
O  come  quickly,  glorious  Lord,  and  raise  my  sprite  to 

Thee! 

CAMPION 


LAST     LINES 

No  coward  soul  is  mine. 
No  trembler  in  the  world's  storm -troubled  sphere ; 

I  see  Heaven's  glories  shine, 
And  faith  shines  equal,  arming  me  from  fear. 


650 


RELIGION 

O  God  within  my  breast, 
Almighty,  ever-present  Deity ! 

Life,  that  in  me  has  rest, 
As  I — undying  Life — have  power  in  Thee  ! 

Vain  are  the  thousand  creeds 
That  move  men's  hearts  :  unutterably  vain  ; 

Worthless  as  withered  weeds, 
Or  idlest  froth  amid  the  boundless  main, 

To  waken  doubt  in  one 
Holding  so  fast  by  thine  infinity  ; 

So  surely  anchored  on 
The  steadfast  rock  of  immortality. 

With  wide-embracing  love 
Thy  spirit  animates  eternal  years, 

Pervades  and  broods  above, 
Changes,  sustains,  dissolves,  creates,  and  rears. 

Though  earth  and  man  were  gone, 
And  suns  and  universes  ceased  to  be, 

And  Thou  were  left  alone, 
Every  existence  would  exist  in  Thee. 

There  is  not  room  for  Death, 
Nor  atom  that  his  might  could  render  void  : 

Thou— THOU  art  Being  and  Breath, 
And  what  THOU  art  may  never  be  destroyed. 

EMILY   BRONT6 


THE     WORLD 

I  SAW  Eternity  the  other  night 
Like  a  great  ring  of  pure  and  endless  light, 
All  calm,  as  it  was  bright ; 


THE    WORLD  651 

And  round  beneath  it.  Time  in  noun,  days,  years. 

Driven  by  the  spheres 
Like  a  vast  shadow  moved,  in  which  the  world 

And  all  her  train  were  hurled 

• 

Yet  some,  who  all  this  while  did  wcrp  and  sing. 
And  sing,  and  weep,  soared  up  into  the  ring ; 

But  most  would  use  no  wing. 
O  fools,  said  I,  thus  to  prefer  dark  night 

Before  true  light ! 
I'o  live  in  grots,  and  caves,  and  hate  (he  day 

Because  it  shews  the  way, 
'I  he  way,  which  from  this  dead  and  dark  abode 

Leads  up  to  God  ; 
A  way  where  you  might  tread  thr  sun.  and  be 

More  bright  than  he ! 
But  as  I  did  their  madness  so  discuss 

One  whispered  thus, 
'This  ring  the  Bridegroom  did  for  none  provide. 

But  for  Hi-  bride.' 

VAUGHAN 


THE    WHITE     ISLAND 

IN  this  world,  the  Isle  of  Dreams. 
While  we  sit  by  sorrow's  streams, 
Tears  and  terrors  are  our  themes. 
Reciting  : 

But  when  once  from  hence  we  fly 
More  and  more  approaching  nigh 
Unto  young  eternity. 

Uniting. 


652  RELIGION 

In  that  whiter  island,  where 
Things  are  evermore  sincere  ; 
Candour  here,  and  lustre  there, 

Delighting : — 

There  no  monstrous  fancies  shall 
Out  of  hell  an  horror  call, 
To  create,  or  cause  at  all, 

Affrighting. 

There  in  calm  and  cooling  sleep, 
We  our  eyes  shall  never  steep, 
But  eternal  watch  shall  keep, 
Attending 

Pleasures  such  as  shall  pursue 
Me  immortalised,  and  you  ; 
And  fresh  joys,  as  never  too 

Have  ending. 

HERRICK 


BEYOND     THE     VEIL 

THEY  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  Light ! 

And  I  alone  sit  lingering  here  ; 
Their  very  memory  is  fair  and  bright, 

And  my  sad  thoughts  doth  clear. 

It  glows  and  glitters  in  my  cloudy  breast, 
Like  stars  upon  some  gloomy  grove, 

Or  those  faint  beams  in  which  this  hill  is  drest, 
After  the  sun's  remove. 

I  see  them  walking  in  an  air  of  glory, 
Whose  light  doth  trample  on  my  days  : 

My  days,  which  are  at  best  but  dull  and  hoary, 
Mere  glimmering  and  decays, 


BEYOND   THE    VEIL  653 

O  holy  Hope  !  and  high  Humility, 

High  as  the  heavens  above ! 
These  are  your  walks,  and  you  have  shewed  them 
me. 

To  kindle  my  cold  love. 

Dear,  beauteous  Death  !  the  jewel  of  the  just. 

Shining  no  where,  but  in  the  dark ; 
What  mysteries  do  lie  beyond  thy  dust ; 

Could  man  outlook  that  mark  ! 

He  that  hath  found  some  fledged  l»ml's  nest,  may 
know 

At  first  sight,  if  the  bird  be  flown  ; 
But  what  fair  well  or  grove  he  sings  in  now, 

That  is  to  him  unknown. 

And  yet  as  angels  in  some  brighter  dreams 
Call  to  the  soul,  when  man  doth  sleep : 

So  some  strange  thoughts  transcend  our  won'.cd 

themes. 
And  into  glory  peep. 

If  a  star  were  confined  into  a  tomb, 
Her  captive  flames  must  needs  burn  there  ; 

But  when  the  hand  that  locked  her  up  gives  room. 
She'll  shine  through  all  the  sphere. 

O  Father  of  eternal  life,  and  all 

Created  glories  under  Thee  ! 
Resume  Thy  spirit  from  this  world  of  ihiall 

Into  tine  liberty. 

Either  disperse  these  mists,  which  blot  and  hll 

My  perspective,  still  as  they  pass : 
Or  else  remove  me  hence  unto  that  hill. 

Where  I  shall  need  no  glass. 

VAUGHAN 


654  RELIGION" 


ETERNITY 

WHEN  I  bethink  me  on  that  speech  whilere 
Of  Mutability,  and  well  it  weigh, 
Me  seems,  that  though  she  all  unworthy  were 
Of  the  Heav'ns'  Rule  ;  yet,  very  sooth  to  say, 
In  all  things  else  she  bears  the  greatest  sway : 
Which  makes  me  loathe  this  state  of  life  so  tickle, 
And  love  of  things  so  vain  to  cast  away  ; 
Whose  flowering  pride,  so  fading  and  so  fickle, 

Short  Time  shall  soon  cut  down  with  his  consuming 
sickle. 

Then  gin  I  think  on  that  which  Nature  said, 
Of  that  same  time  when  no  more  Change  shall  be, 
But  steadfast  rest  of  all  things,  firmly  stay'd 
Upon  the  pillars  of  Eternity, 
That  is  contrair  to  Mutability  ; 
For  all  that  moveth  doth  in  Change  delight : 
But  thence-forth  all  shall  rest  eternally 
With  him  that  is  the  God  of  Sabbaoth  hight : 

O!  that  great  Sabbaoth  God,  grant  me  that  Sab 
baoth's  sight. 

. SPENSER 


FLY,  envious  Time,  till  thou  run  out  thy  race  ; 
Call  on  the  lazy  leaden-stepping  hours, 
Whose  speed  is  but  the  heavy  plummet's  pace  ; 
And  glut  thyself  with  what  thy  womb  devours, 
Which  is  no  more  than  what  is  false  and  vain, 
And  merely  mortal  dross  ; 
So  little  is  our  loss, 


STERN  IT  V  655 

So  little  is  thy  gain  ! 

For  when  as  each  thing  bad  thou  hast  entombed. 
And  last  of  all  thy  greedy  self  consumed, 
Then  long  Eternity  shall  greet  our  bliss 
With  an  individual  kiss ; 
And  Joy  shall  overtake  us  as  a  flood, 
When  every  thing  that  is  sincerely  good 
And  perfectly  divine, 

With  Truth,  and  Peace,  and  Ix>ve.  shall  ever  shin* 
About  the  supreme  throne 
Of  Him,  to  whose  happy-making  sight  alone 
When  once  our  heavenly-guided  soul  shall  climb, 
Then,  all  this  earthy  grossncss  quit, 
Attired  with  stars,  we  shall  for  ever  sit, 
Triumphing  over  Death,  and  Chance,  and  tl>e»-. 
O  Time. 


NOTES 


P.  3.  L*M'I  L*t**r'i  L*tt,  iv.  j.  394-354- 
iftmMi,  etc.  The  sena«  of  this  difficult  passage  seem*  to  be 
that  Love  posiasMi  all  the  attributes  of  the  individual  deitiet, 
and  his  voice  is  a  harmony  of  all  their  voice*. 

P.  7.  WaUingham  was,  next  to  St.  Thomas's  tomb  at  Car> 
terbury,  the  favourite  ihrine  ol  pilgrimage  in  old  England 
the  milky  way  was  sometimes  called  the  Walungham  way. 

P.  9.  '  The  Heart's  Venture  '  is  not  a  sonnet,  but  an  extract 
from  a  song  in  Brit+mmta*  P*st*rm/t  \  from  which  comes  alto 
1  Shall  I  tell  you  whom  1  love?  '  (p.  4.)  Keatt  found  Browne 
full  of  inspiration  ;  hi*  debt  to  him  Is  one  which  critics  have  yet 
to  recognise  and  estimate. 

P.  10.  The  anonymous  lyrics,  unless  it  n  otherwise  stated, 
are  borrowed  from  Mr.  Bullen's  volume*  of  l.yriu  front 
EliiAtxtk**  S*tC'D<M>k»  '  My  love  in  her  attire  '  is  from 
Davison's  Poetical  Rk»ft«dy. 

P.  la.  Gfnitt  •*  AtltffH.  '  Falcon-genile,  so  called  for  her 
gentle  and  courteous  condition  and  fashions.'  —  Turbervile, 
quoted  by  Dycc  iu  bis  edition  of  Skelton.  He  explains  '  hawk 
of  the  tower  '  to  mean  a  hawk  that  towers  aloft.  /*«//«///  is 
Hypsipyle,  a  queen  of  Lemnos  who  saved  her  father's  life, 
when  the  other  men  on  the  island  were  murdered  by  the 
women.  Coliamitr  U  coriander,  an  aromatic  ;  Pomandtr,  a 
ball  of  perfumes;  Casuuukr,  Cassandra,  quoted  for  her 
chastity.  In  I.  ao  the  texts  read,  '  As  patient  and  as  still,' 
which  spoils  the  rhythm. 

P.  13.  Marftrmim  is  marjoram  ;  primerose  is  written  with  a 
central  *  for  the  metre's  sake,  although  Dyce  does  not  record 
such  a  spelling. 

3T 


658  NOTES 

P.  14,  1.  15.  Staineth.  To  '  stain '  is  to  take  out  colour ; 
Stella's  brightness  is  at  once  the  glory  and  despair  of  her  sex. 
(Cf.  the  refrain  of  Chaucer's  ballade,  p.  307.) 

P.  15,  1.  10.  I  venture  to  print  thorough  instead  of  through, 
to  match  the  metre  of  the  last  line  in  the  other  stanzas. 

P.  16.  It  may  be  noted  here  once  more  that  this  spontaneous 
little  song,  'To  Celia,'  is  carefully  composed  from  various 
scraps  of  the  Love  Letters  of  Philostratus,  a  Greek  rhetorician 
of  the  second  century  A.D. 

P.  17.  This  order  of  the  stanzas  in  '  Ask  me  no  more '  is 
found  in  the  Academy  of  Compliments,  and  it  has  the  advan 
tage  of  removing  the  weakest  verse  from  the  beginning,  and 
placing  May  before  June. 

P.  19.  It  should  be  remembered  to  the  credit  of  Archbishop 
Trench  that  he  discovered  and  printed  in  his  Household  Book 
of  Poetry  the  beautiful  lyric  'To  Laura'  before  Mr.  Bullen 
revived  Campion's  fame  in  this  generation. 

P.  20.  It  still  remains  a  mystery  who  A.  W.  may  be.  His 
verses  appeared  in  Davison's  Poetical  Rhapsody. 

P.  22.  The  text  of  Drummond  is  from  the  Maitland  Club 
reprint  of  the  1616  edition,  which  was  the  last  published  in  the 
poet's  lifetime.  Memnon's  Mother  is  Aurora,  but  the  expres 
sion  has  no  special  aptness.  The  eyes  '  by  Peneus*  streams ' 
were  Daphne's,  who  was  the  daughter  of  the  River-god.  The 
reference  in  the  lines  that  follow  is  to  the  recorded  appearance 
at  Rome  of  two  suns  at  once  ;  on  which  see  Pliny,  Natural 
History,  ii.  31.  The  '  purple  ports  (i.e.  gates)  of  death '  must 
mean  lips,  the  bliss  of  kissing  which  makes  the  lover  swoon. 

P.  23.  The  metre  of  this  serenade  of  Herrick's  is  borrowed 
from  some  verses  in  Jonson's  masque,  The  Gipsies  Meta 
morphosed. 

'  The  faery  beam  upon  you. 
The  stars  to  glister  on  you, 
A  moon  of  light 
In  the  noon  of  night 
Till  the  fire-drake  hath  o'eigone  you 
The  wheel  of  Fortune  guide  you, 
The  boy  with  the  bow  beside  you 
Run  aye  in  the  way 
Till  the  bird  of  day 
And  the  luckier  lot  betide  you  | 


WOTEi  6^9 

P.  96. 1.  j.  It  b  hard  to  believe  that  Mr.  Allingham  U  not  right 
in  altering  '  fail '  to  '  pin* '  ;  in  to  symmetrical  a  »tanx»  a  MM 
rhyme  is  a  blot,  and  '  fail '  occur*  in  the  rhyme  subsequently. 

P.  35,  L  8.    Audi  mint  *+*,  i.e.  And  I  bt  mine  own. 

P.  37.  The  text  of  these  verse*  of  Montnxe  is  taken  fr  m 
U»e  Appendix  to  Napier'*  Mtm*in\  certain  stanus  are 
•ruitted. 

P.  4*,  I.  3.  *  Ckimtuyt'  it  for  'chimney-pie  •-.'  Cotgrave  h«\ 
'chemine'e,  a  chimney,  also  a  chimney. pine  0  taputne  or  of 
mason's  work;'  her*  of  tapestry,  into  which  Myia  worked  her 
lover's  name. 

P.  49.  This  interesting  poem  is  printed  in  Underwoods 
among  Laureate  verges.  As  the  text  can  hardly  be  correct  «t 
U  stands  there,  a  word  hat  been  omitted  T  >m  c.tch  of  the  t*.> 
lines,  'My  thought*  t*9  feel  the  influence  and  '  hy  /.•* / 
imagination.' 

P.  61.  The  verse*  enttled  'Sorrow*  are  from  S*i*t  Mary 
Mffdmltm  ;  but  their  sentiment  sec-ned  more  appropriate  to 
this  than  to  the  religious  section  01  the  anthology. 

P.  6$,  L  7.  The  reading  '  birds '  for  '  gods  '  was  due  to  a 
suggestion  of  Dr.  Percy  ;  it  is  not  judicious  because  it  would 
anticipate  the  third  stanza,  and  it  mi\%e*  the  pocfs  meaning. 
that  the  servant  of  the  'divine  Althea*  knows  even  greater 
freedom  than  the  god  of  love  himself  and  all  the  Cupids. 

P.  67.  Donne  has  paid  the  natural  penalty  of  putting  hi« 
learning  into  his  poetry  ;  the  learning  has  Jrjgce-l  the  poetry 
with  it  to  oblivion.  But  few  poet*.  who»e  restoration  to  light 
ha*  been  in  these  last  days  attempted,  so  well  repay  the  devrent 
into  limbo.  For  '  the  trepidation  of  the  sphere*'  cC  Purmdit* 
Lett,  iil  483. 

P.  69.  Ftgty  Qttttmt,  iv.  6.  *o ;  v.  6.  5. 

P.  79,  I.  a8.  Barmmby  tkt  brigkt  U  St.  Ba^naba*'  Day,  June 
n.  There  was  an  old  saying,  '  Baruaby  Bright,  the  longest 
day  and  the  shortest  night.' 

P.  8a,  1.  15.  Mr.  Bullen  conjectures  'harebell*  dim' ;  in  that 
case  the  'spring-time'*  harbinger'  will  be  the  primrose,  as  in. 
fact  it  U. 


660  NOTES 

P.  87.  Hymerfs  Triumph,  i.  i  ;  Paradise  Lost,  iv.  641-656. 

P.  90.  To  Miss  Charlotte  Pulteney.  This  and  other  poems 
upon  children  in  the  same  seven-syllable  metre  earned  for 
Philips  the  contemptuous  nickname  Q{  Namby-pamby,  his  name 
being  Ambrose.  It  was  coined  by  Carey,  author  of  Sally  in 
put  Alley,  and  has  survived  in  the  language. 

P.  91.  From  Poems  for  Children  by  Charles  and  Mary 
Lamb  ;  assigned  by  Professor  Palgrave,  no  doubt  rightly,  to 
the  latter. 

P.  97.  'A  Sister.'  To  these  verses  Wordsworth  refers  in 
A  Farewell  (1802)— 

1  And  in  this  bush  our  sparrow  built  her  nest, 
Of  which  I  sang  one  song  that  will  not  die." 

P.  98.  Winter ' s  Tale,  i.  2.  62-75  ;  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream,  iii.  2.  198-214  ;  As  You  Like  It,  i.  3.  69-72  ;  Hamlet, 
iii.  2.  68-79. 

P.  zoo.  Katherine  Philips  was  known  in  her  own  day  as  '  the 
matchless  Orinda.'  For  an  account  of  her  sentimental  coterie, 
see  Mr.  Gosse's  Seventeenth-Century  Studies 

P.  102.  Coleridge's  Christabel. 

P.  no.  The  subject  of  these  lines  of  Donne  is  said  by  Isaak 
Walton  to  have  been  the  mother  of  George  Herbert. 

P.  115.  It  may  seem  an  unpardonable  sacrilege  to  omit  any 
portion  of  Wordsworth's  great  ode,  but  only  so  much  as  was 
general  in  sentiment  seemed  appropriate  to  this  anthology  ; 
and  both  first  and  last  sections  deal  with  particular  experiences. 
The  opening  was  composed  two  years  before  the  rest  of  the 
poem.  In  regard  to  the  doctrine  of  pre-existence  it  should  be 
remarked  that  the  poet  himself  protests  against  the  idea  that  he 
meant  to  inculcate  it  as  a  belief.  '  It  is  far  too  shadowy  a 
notion  to  be  recommended  to  faith  as  more  than  an  element  in 
our  instincts  of  immortality.  I  took  hold  of  the  notion  as 
having  sufficient  foundation  in  humanity  for  authorising  me  to 
make  for  my  purpose  the  best  use  I  could  of  it  as  a  poet.' 

P.  124.  The  last  paragraph  of  'Verse  and  Age'  was  pub 
lished  four  years  after  the  others,  i.e.  in  1832,  and  under  a 
different  title  ;  but  it  seems  to  belong  to  them 


MOTEt  66, 

P.  1*7.  From  Scud's  Bridt  »/  l.ammomeir  and  Old  .Mor 
tality. 

P.  is*.  It  would  b«  out  of  place  here  to  annotate  Milton. 
The  reader  who  requires  help  will  find  stores  of  note*  ia 
Todd  ;  and.  for  the  lyric*,  in  Wartoo  and  Prof.  Hales'  Longer 
Enf  luh  Poems.  The  chief  difficulties  of  L'Alltfr*  and  // 
Pt**tr*tf  arise  from  the  necessary  terseness  of  the  octosyllabic 
metre,  which  sometimes  obscures  the  syntax,  sometime*  the 
image.  Thus,  of  the  first  kind  of  ob**.urily,  it  is  not  ilear  t»-A* 
b  'to  come  in  spite  of  sorrow*  to  the  poet's  window,  Mirth  or 
the  lark,  or  u-ka  tells  the  goblin  story,  or  wkfn  '  tower-d  cities' 
are  pleasing.  Of  the  other  class  of  difficulties,  the  best  instance 
is  the  description  of  a  dream  towards  the  end  of  //  Pnunvto. 
The  poet  has  not  made  it  plain  to  us  of  wliat  tutxtance  the 
dream  is  imagined  to  be,  and  so  we  miss  the  connection  ex 
pressed  by  '«/  his  wings.'  Warton  proposed  to  omit  at,  and 
take  the  wings  to  be  the  Dream's,  not  Sleep's  ;  another  proposal 
is  to  read  '  a*  aery  stream.' 

P.  138.  'Self-  Ignorance,'  and  the  passage  from  Davits  on 
p.  140,  are  from  Afoer  Ttift*m.  By  '  the  wisest  of  all  moral 
men.'  and  '  the  great  mocking  matter.'  are  meant  Socrates  an  I 
Democritut,  The  last  stanra  suggests  a  passage  in  Matthew 
Arnold's  A  Se*thtn  Si 


•Wewho 
Omt  bosteew  wtta  eastacswitef  stri.«* 

Traverse  la  troops  with  care-all  a 
The  «oft  M«.Uterrmn*»a  «)oa. 

Tte  N»e.  tlM  East, 
Aad  ss*  el  s%kss  freai  pels  to  pofc. 

And  Klsac*.  and  aod.  apd  buttle  by. 


P.  139.   I  T+mburltUHtt  iL  7. 

P.  141.  A  Trt*iit  ifHummnt  L«*mimf,  \\  54,  64,  199,  13*. 
133,  M> 

P.  148.  The  ballaeU,  through  its  revival  some  time  since 
in  France  and  England,  is  oow  a  familiar  form  of  verse;  an 
other  of  Chaucer's  will  be  found  on  p.  307.  A  few  words  have 
been  modernised  \-tickUmtu  means  'instability';  imvcur, 


662  NOTES 

1  live  the  life  of  pleasure ' ;  rede,   '  advise ' ;  dauntc,  '  tame ' ; 
buxomness,  '  obedience  ' ;  it  is  no  dread,  'there  is  no  doubt.' 

P.  143.  Sir  Thomas  More's  verse  has  been  curiously  over 
looked  ;  manuals  and  antholoaies  of  English  literature  know  it 
not.  If  the  reader  will  compare  More's  handling  of  the  rime 
royal  With  Sackville's  (ii.  64),  he  will  agree  that  More  is  nearer 
Spenser  than  Sackville  (who  is  generally  called  his  forerunner), 
although  More  is  some  half-century  the  senior.  A  roughness 
to .  ur  ears  in  More's  lines  arises  from  his  practice  of  eliding  the 
vowel  ;n  the  termination  -eth  ;  this  must  point  to  a  pronunciation 
of  his  day ;  cf.  in  Chaucer's  ballade  on  the  previous  page,  standt 
for  '  standeth."  The  fourth  line  of  the  tenth  stanza  reads  in  the 
folio,  'instead  of  pillows  lieth  after  on  the  block.'  The  reader 
will  not  fail  to  note  that  More  was  himself  a  more  than  usually 
pathetic  instance  of  the  fortune  he  thus  deplores. 

P.  146.  Soothsay.  These  stanzas  are  from  various  letters  : 
the  first  two  to  Sir  Henry  Goodere  ;  the  third  to  Sir  Henry 
Wotton  ;  the  fourth  to  Sir  Edward  Herbert,  afterwards  Lord 
Herbert  of  Cherbury  ;  the  fifth  and  sixth  to  the  Countess  of 
Bedford  ;  the  last  to  the  Lady  Carey.  They  are  probably  less 
well  known  than  Herbert's  Church  Porch,  of  which  they  were 
the  model.  To  understand  the  last  quotation  it  must  be 
recollected  that  man  was  supposed  to  be  made  up  of  four  ele 
ments  (see  the  quotation  from  Marlowe,  p.  139),  each  of  which 
contributed  a  humour  to  his  body,  from  the  preponderance  of 
any  ^ne  of  which  arose  his  settled  '  humour'  or  '  complexion.' 

P.  150.  Daniel's  lines  are  from  an  'Epistle  to  the  Countess 
of  Cumberland  '  ;  those  on  p.  157  are  from  Musophilus.  Except 
the  p  'Ssage  printed  on  p.  87  very  little  of  Daniel's  verse  is 
generally  known;  but  it  well  deserves  a  modern  edition. 
Coleridge  says  of  him  : — '  Read  Daniel,  the  admirable  Daniel ; 
the  *•  yle  and  language  are  just  such  as  any  very  pure  and  manly 
writer  of  the  present  day — Wordsworth,  for  example — would 
use;  it  seems  quite  modern  in  comparison  with  the  style  of 
Shakespeare.'— (Table- 7 'alk,  Bohn'sed.,  p.  278.) 

P.  153.  Chapman's  Byron's  Conspiracy,  quoted  by  Lamb; 
Fletcher's  Upon  an  Honest  Man's  Fortune  ;  the  whole  of  this 
last  is  a  very  spirited  piece,  aimed  at  astrology.  A  great  deal 


NOTES  663 

of  Browning's  teaching,  for  instance,   i»  condensed  in  these 

•  AOctioa  whe»  I  kaow  It  h  bot  thfc. 
A  deep  alloy. hereby  «a.  toother  fc 
T«  bear  tfw  BMMMV.  aad  the  deeper  ttfl. 
I  arise  More  teace  of  hi*  wuL* 


P.  156.  Sjrcurtifm,  Book  iv.  Compare  a  line  of  Vaughan, 
which  per hap*  was  the  germ  of  this  pasaage— 

•MattS  ma*  but  triumph*  for  the  day.'      * 

Pp.  158-9.  Troiltn  mmJ  Crttti**,  iii.  3.  145-179;  '  3-  3'*« 
la  the  last  line  'return*'  is  Pope's  conjecture  for  the  foiiu 
'  retiies ' ;  Djrce  read*  '  retoru,'  which  U  the  x-n*r  wanted. 

P.  161.   Trnlut  -W  CrtuiJ*,  \.  3.  85-1*4. 

Pp.  i6»-5-  ^fitlimm*ttr  Xifkt't  Drtttm.  v.  i.  4  »a  ;  J/McA 
X</*,  iv.  I.  919-333  ;  RickmrJ  U.  L  3.  175-303  ;  the  play  of 
Ntro\  and  TVwr/r//,  iv.  i.  148  158. 

P.  167.  Lncrtcft  939^59- 

P.  169.  This  ode  was  apparently  never  finished,  since  a 
quatrain  is  found  in  the  text*  after  the  second  »tan<a.  and 
another  with  various  fragmentary  line*  at  the  end.  But  the 
poem  is  complete  without  them. 

P.  177.  From  Tkt  Pa**dut  e/ Dainty  Dcvict*. 

P.  178.  .t/M* /«/*«.    In  I.  16  it  should  probably  be  we. 

P.  179.  'The  Lie'  i»  printed  from  the  text  of  Canon  Hannah  ; 
he  disposes  of  the  legend  that  it,  was  written  the  night  before 
Ralegh's  execution  by  showing  that  it  was  in  print  in  1608, 
and  in  MS.  probably  tec  yean  earlier  (Courtly  Poftt,  pp.  73, 
aao).  The  verse*  he  did  write  the  night  before  his  death  are 
the  following  ;  they  were  written  in  the  Bible  which  he  gave  t« 
Dean  Tcunson— 

•Lveanchb  TUM.  that  take*  m  trust 
Oar  youth,  our  jovs.  our  *D  we  tutw. 
And  pays  M  but  »uh  «*rth  ami  dust ; 
Who  in  the  dark  and  silent  Kra*e. 
When  ••  have  wandered  all  our  wars. 
Stats  up  the  story  of  our  days ; 
But  tnm  this  •anb.  iMijMH.  this  dust. 
M)  Cod  Shan  raise  •*  up.  I  truit. 


664  K  o  T  E  g 

P.  181.  Macttth,  v.  5.  19-28 ;  Night  Thoughts,  \.  390-433. 
P.  183.  Not  quite  half  of  Shelley's  poem  is  here  printed. 
P.  205.  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  Canto  vi. 

P.  206.  Samson  Agonistes,  1268-1286;  Ode  to  Liberty,  i,  ; 
Ode  to  France,  i. 

P.  210.  Henry  V.  Act  iv.  Prologue ;  iii.  18-67. 

P.  217.  Marmion,  Canto  vi.,  part  of  xxxiii.,  xxxiv. 

P.  219.   From  Britannia's  Pastorals, 

P.  219.  'An  expedition  sent  by  Sir  Walter  Ralegh  explored 
Pamlico  Sound ;  and  the  country  they  discovered,  a  country 
where  in  their  poetic  fancy  "men  lived  after  the  manner  of  the 
Golden  Age,"  received  from  Elizabeth,  the  Virgin  Queen,  the 
name  of  Virginia.  But  the  first  permanent  settlement  on  the 
Chesapeake  was  effected  in  the  beginning  of  the  reign  of 
James  i.,  and  its  success  was  due  to  the  conviction  of  the  settlers 
that  the  secret  of  the  New  World's  conquest  lay  simply  in 
labour.  Among  the  hundred  and  five  colonists  who  originally 
landed,  forty-eight  were  gentlemen,  and  only  twelve  were  tillers 
of  the  soil.  Their  leader,  John  Smith,  however,  not  only  ex 
plored  the  vast  bay  of  Chesapeake,  and  discovered  the  Potoma 
and  Susquehannah,  but  held  the  little  company  together  in  the 
face  of  famine  and  desertion  till  the  colonists  had  learnt  the 
lesson  of  toil.  In  fifteen  years  the  colony  numbered  five 
thousand  souls.' — (Green's  Short  History,  p.  491.)  Industrious 
Hackluit  is  the  Rev.  Richard  Hakluyt,  author  of  The  Prin 
cipal  Navigations,  Voyages,  a>vd  Discoveries  oj  the  English 
Nation,  etc.  He  was  '  one  or  the  chief  promoters  of  the  peti 
tion  to  the  King  for  patents  for  the  colonisation  of  Virginia,  and 
was  afterwards  one  of  the  chief  adventurers  in  the  London  or 
South  Virginian  Company.'— (Diet.  Nat.  Biog.) 

P.  222.  Richard  II.  iii.  2.  155-177  ;  2  Henry  IV.  iii.  i.  4-31 ; 
Henry  V.  iv.  i.  250-301 ;  3  Henry  VI.  ii.  5.  1-54.  These 
parallel  passages  on  'Ceremony'  supply  a  study  in  kingship. 
Richard's  idea  of  kingship  is  that  of  divine  right — '  the  right 
divine  of  kings  to  govern  wrong ' ;  and  when  this  is  disregarded, 
nothing  is  left.  Henry  iv.,  his  supplanter,  substitutes  might 
for  right,  but  retains  the  idea  of  kingship-  as  that  which  has  a 


NOTtf  66$ 

claim  on  other  men  rather  than  that  on  which  they  have  a  claim. 
His  too,  Henry  v.,  joins  right  with  might ;  be  inherits  the 
traditional  idea  of  kingship,  but  by  his  self-denying  conduct 
contradicts  it  t  bis  son,  again,  '  the  royal  saint,'  has  more  than 
all  his  father's  food  intentions,  but  none  of  his  power,  and  so 
relapses  Into  the  evil  fortune  of  Richard.  He  is  king  'by  the 
wrath  of  God ' ;  be  is  the  only  one  of  the  four  who  would 
willingly  have  exchanged  conditions  with  the  'homely  swain.' 

P.  9*9.  Ralegh'*  long  unfinished  poem  'To  Cynthi*,'  from 
which  this  is  an  extract,  was  first  published  from  (he  Hatfield 
us*,  in  Hannah's  Courtly  Pett$. 

P.  931,  1.  97    Cf.  Spenser,  Fmtry  Qtutmt,  iv.  13.  a§— 

•  It  •»  late  ta  dee*  of  dancer  to  »d rte*. 
Or  love  forbid  W»  ih*t  U  l.ft  dowy'd.' 

P.  ajj.  See  Napier's  Mtmtin  »/M*mtrttt,  App.  pp  17-9. 

P.  134.  Mr.  Aitken,  in  bis  welcome  edition  of  Marvell's 
Poems,  paraphrases  the  foui  th  and  fifth  stanras  thus :  '  Restless 
Cromwell  first  broke  his  fiery  way  through  his  own  party ;  for 
to  ambition  rivals  and  enemies  are  the  »ame,  and  with  ambi 
tious  men  to  restrain  their  energies  is  more  than  to  oppose 
them.' 

P.  338.  AMlttf*  H***tt  309-334. 

P.  941.   Tkt  DtuHttl  yillaft,  341  36*;  Trmvtlltr,  317-334 

P.  742.  Windsor  Ftrrtt,  385-409. 

P.  944. 1.  15.  The  first  edition  bad  '  where  Blake,  the  boast  of 
beedom,'  Nelson  being  still  alive. 

P.  250.  The  original  title  of  this  piece  was  '  Ode  written  in 
the  beginning  of  the  year  1746.' 

P.  755    Mtrckmnt  ofVtnict,  v.  54-88. 

P.  956.  Ccmta,  344-164  ;  5S3-5««- 

P.  971,  s.  Tmmfar.'aJHf,  v.  i.  Lamb,  who  speaks  of  the  diffi 
culty  of  'culling  a  few  sane  lines'  from  this  play  must  have  lost 
patience  before  reaching  the  fifth  act,  for  he  could  never  have 
missed  seeing  the  beauty  of  this  passage. 


$66 

P.  273.  The  Shepherds  Hunting,  4th  Eclogue. 

Pp.  274-5.  From  '  Musophilus,  containing  a  general  defence 
of  learning.' 

P.  276,  1.  14.  William  Basse  (whose  name  is  familiar  to 
readers  of  Walton's  Angler)  had  written  an  elegy  on  Shake 
speare,  beginning — 

'  Renowned  Spenser,  lie  a  thought  more  nigh 
To  learned  Chaucer  ;  and  rare  Beaumont  lie 
A  little  nearer  Spenser,  to  make  room 
For  Shakespeare  in  your  threefold,  fourfold  tomb. 

These  lines  of  Jonson  were  among  the  commendatory  verses 
prefixed  to  the  first  folio  edition  of  Shakespeare's  works.  '  What 
Ben  Jonson  did  for  Shakespeare,'  says  Archbishop  Trench, 
'  Cartwright,  and  more  briefly  Cleveland,  have  done  in  turn  for 
Jonson ;  Denham  for  Cowley  ;  Cowley  for  Crashaw  ;  Carew  for 
Donne;  Marvell  for  Milion  ;  Dryden  for  Oldham.  There  is 
not  one  of  these  that  may  not  be  read  with  profit  by  the  careful 
student  of  English  literature.'  This  is  quite  true  ;  but  it  is  no 
less  true  that  very  few  of  all  these  panegyrics  are  inspired  by 
the  Muse.  The  Archbishop  calls  Dryden's  lines  on  Oldham 
'  the  finest  and  most  affecting  epitaph  in  the  English  language.' 
The  opening  couplet  is  fine — 

'  Farewell,  too  little  and  too  lately  known, 
Whom  I  began  to  think  and  call  my  own  '— 

but  there  the  fineness  and  the  pathos  end.     One  interesting 
passage  from  Carew  on  Donne  may  be  quoted  here  : — 

'  Thou  mayst  claim 

From  so  great  disadvantage  greater  fame. 
Since  to  the  awe  of  thy  imperious  wit 
uur  troublesome  language  bends,  made  only  fit 
With  her  tough  thick-rib'd  hoops  to  gird  about 
Thy  giant  fancy,  which  had  proved  too  stout 
For  their  soft  melting  phrases.    .    .     . 

"  Here  lies  a  king  that  ruled  as  he  thought  fit 
The  universal  monarchy  of  wit."' 

P.  279.  Paradise  Lost,  iii.  1-55 ;  vii.  1-39. 

P.  282, 1.  16.  Her,  the  nightingale;  Electrons  Poet,  Sophocles. 
Two  verses  are  omitted. 


NOTIfc  667 

P.  387.  This  Richard  Bendey  was  the  ton  of  the  great  classi- 
caJ  scholar ;  he  was  the  friend  of  Walpole  and  Gray,  and  helped 
the  former  in  hit  decoration  of  Strawberry  Hill.  It  was  for 
Walpole'*  edition  of  Cray's  Poems  '1753)  that  he  furnished  the 
set  of  six  drawing*  her*  eulogUed. 

P  »88.  To  the**  poems  of  Word*worth  about  hi*  art  the 
reader  may  add,  if  he  pleases,  A  Pot  ft  £>i/«/A  and  Extemfvrt 
/•Jutit*  M/M  tkf  Jtmtk  0/J*m«t  H*ff. 

P.  29*.  1.  13.  The  lots  was  of  hi*  brother  John,  whose  ve**el 
•truck  on  a  rock  on  the  voyage  to  India.  Sir  George  Beaumont, 
although  a  connoisseur  of  fine  taste,  will  probably  be  immor 
talised  by  Word*worth  rather  than  by  hit  own  picture*.  He 
mav  be  remembered,  too,  at  one  of  the  founder*  of  the  National 
Gallery,  and  the  donor  of  the  Michael  Aogcto  relief  to  the 
Royal  Academy. 

P.  to*.  Shelley'*  AJ*m*it  it  too  long  to  be  printed  here 
entire ;  the  more  personal  verse*  on  Keats  and  on  lumself  nrc 
extracted. 

P.  303.  Btkt  o/tk*  Dtuktttf,  991-343,  with  omissions. 
P.  304.  Ltfrndt  0/Goodt  W'omtm,  40969,  with  omiuionv 

*  P.  308.  Knifkttt  T*b,  1033-1334.  It  should  be  noted  tliat 
Chaucer's  text  has  been  modernised  as  far  as  it  wat  powible  to 
do  so  without  destroying  the  rhythm. 

P.  317.  Fmerit  Quttnt,  vii.  6,  8-9. 

P.  323.  ThU  extract  is  from  the  first  '  Sestiad '  of  Htrg  mtui 
Lt**drrt  of  which  Marlowe  wrote  two  and  Chapman  four. 

P.  3*7.  Tkt  Trmficml  Hitttry  oj  Dr.  f-mtuttut  v.  3. 

P.  3*8.  The  passages  from  Tkt  Fmtrit  Quttnt  are  to  be 
found  as  follows :— Cave  of  Despair,  I.  ix.  33-44  ;  House  of 
Morpheus,  I.  i.  39-41 ;  House  of  Cupid,  ill.  xi.  a8,  29,  46-48, 
53,  xii.  3,  4,  6-13,  19;  Gardens  of  Adonis,  ill.  vi.  43-50;  Bower 
of  Bliss,  ii.  xii.  43-48,  so-6»,  70,  71,  74-75  \  House  of  Pride,  i. 
iv.  4-6,  8-13,  16,  17 ;  House  of  Ate,  itr.  i.  ao-23,  34  :  Temple  of 
Venus,  iv.  x.  11.17,  »9.  3».  34.  35.  37'¥>,  4»-44.  47'53.  5^.  57- 


668  NOTES 

P.  332.  With  this  may  be  compared   Chaucer's  description 
(Boke  of  the  Duchesse,  153-169) — 

•  This  messager  took  leave  and  went 
Upon  his  way,  and  never  ne  stent 
Till  he  come  to  the  dark  valley 
That  stant  betwexe  rockes  tway. 
There  never  yet  grew  corn  ne  grass 
Ne  tree,  ne  nought  that  ought?  was, 
Beaste,  ne  man,  ne  nought  ell^s 
Save  that  there  were  a  few  welles 
Come  running  fro  the  cliffs  adown 
That  made  a  deadly  sleeping  soun 
And  ronnen  down  right  by  a  care, 
That  was  under  a  rock  ygrave 
Amid  the  valley,  wonder  deep. 
There  these  goddes  lay  and  sleep, 
Morpheus  and  Eclympasteyre, 
That  was  the  god  of  slope's  heir, 
That  slepe,  and  did  none  other  work.' 

P.  361.  Orchestra,  or  a  Poem  of  Dancing. 

P.  364.  Induction  to  the  Mirror  for  Magistrates. 

P.  366.  Euthymice  Radius,  the  Tears  of  Peace,  conclusio. 

P.  367.  The  passages  from  Paradise  Lost  will  be  found  as, 
follows  :— Paradise,  iv.  223,  258-281 ;  Hell,  ii.  574-614 ;  Satan 
Compared,  i.  192-209,  283-298,  589-599 ;  "•  629-643 ;  704-720 ; 
939-950;  ioii-j.022,  1034-1053;  iii.  543-566;  iv.  977-987  ;  ix. 
494-510,  631-643 ;  A  Magical  Palace,  i.  710-730.  From  Paradise 
Regained :— A  Magical  Banquet,  ii.  339-365  ;  A  Vision  of  Rome 
and  Athens,  iv.  44-79,  236-280. 

P.  380.  Angels,  Faerie  Quetne,  n.  viii.  5,  6 ;  Paradise  Lost, 
v.  247-287. 

P.  382.  Arcades,  44-73. 

P.  383.  Fairy  Songs,  Tempest,  v.  I.  89 ;  i.  2.  376 ;  Mid. 
summer  Night's  Dream,  ii.  i.  a ;  ii.  2.  9. 

P.  385.  Romeo  and  Juliet^  i.  4.  53-91. 

P.  397.  It  is  perhaps  unnecessary  to  point  out  that  the  prose 
arguments  which  connect  the  several  extracts  from  The  Ancient 
Mariner  are  Coleridge's  own. 


NOTES  669 

P.  0$.  At  ne*V/«  Lf*f,  01.  S7»,  577-587.  S9»-*»*. 

P.  4*6.  Eight  verses  are  here  printed  of  Owley'*  Hymn  to 
Lifkt,  out  of  twenty-six. 

P.  4*7.  Knifktti  Tal<,  633-638  ;  Farrit  Qmttm*,  I.  ii.  i. 

Some  of  the  finest  descriptions  of  daybreak  are  given  in  a  line 
or  two,  which  are  scarcely  separable  from  their  context.  Such, 
for  instance,  are  Shakespeare's  :— 


•  Tlie  gt«r«y«d  »W»  wine*  on  tb«  frowning  night. 
CtoaMrt«  *•  eaMn  ekMd*  wtta  straslu  of  U(hi  ( 
And  lUckfcd  dat  kne«e  like  •  drunkard  fees* 
From  forth  day  »  p«th  snd  Ttaan'*  ftvy  wttwh.' 

(^»»«  •« 

•  Look,  the  e«ntU  d«y 
•WoreCk*  wkedsofPlMsbasromd  about 
ftapptas  the  drow»y  «*>t  with  »pot»<rffT 

To  which  may  be  added  two  from  Marston— 

•  It  not  yo«  (team    he  thuddwiaff  mon.  that  A«ke« 
Wkk  slhrer  doctuie  th«  east  verge  ef  aeeven  T  ' 

(/f**Mfe  mni  .Mr  ::•.{*.  I    v  I  ) 

•  For  see,  (hedappto  fieyeeenen  of  the  mom 
Beat  op  the  light  with  their  bright  wl»«  hooves 
And  cha«e  It  through  the  «ky  '-{M4.  U.  i.  t.) 

P.  439.  P*rmdiu  Lett,  iv.  598-609. 

The  first  stanza  of  the  OJt  to  Eveming  reads  in  the  first 
edition,  '  O  pensive  Eve,  to  soothe  thine  ear,'  and  '  brawling 
for  'solemn/ 

P.  431.  'It  is  remarkable  that,  excepting  the  Xocturtu* 
Rtvtrit  of  Lady  Winchilsea  and  a  passage  or  two  in  the 
Wimdttr  Ffrtit  of  Pope,  the  poetry  of  the  period  intervening 
between  the  publication  of  the  P*raJitt  Lott  and  the  State** 
does  not  contain  a  single  new  image  of  external  nature,  and 
scarcely  presents  a  familiar  one  from  which  it  can  be  inferred 
that  the  eye  of  the  poet  had  been  steadily  fixed  upon  his 
object/—  (Wordsworth,  Essay  in  Lyrical  Bailed*.)  . 

P.  434.  Spring,   H'iHftr't   Tmb,  iv.   3.    i  ;  Summtf't  Last 


670  NOTES 

Will  and  Testament;  opening  lines  of  An  Ode;  Arraignment 
of  Paris. 

P.  440.  Polyolbion,  Song  xiii.  For  the  following  note  I  am 
indebted  to  my  friend  Mr.  W.  Warde  Fowler,  Sub-Rector  of 
Lincoln  College,  Oxford,  author  of  A  Year  with  the  Birds,  etc. 
'  The  Red  Sparrow  is  the  Reed  Sparrow,  i.e.  either  the  Reed 
warbler  or  Sedge  warbler.  The  Reed  Bunting  is  also  called 
Reed  sparrow,  but  I  expect  that  Drayton  meant  one  or  both  of 
the  others.  The  Nope  is  no  doubt  the  Bullfinch  ;  the  word  is 
still  used  in  Staffordshire,  and  takes  the  form  of  Hope,  Mwope, 
and  Pope  in  several  counties.  The  Yellow-pate  must  in  my 
opinion  be  the  Yellow-hammer.  His  song  is  not  excellent,  but 
there  is  no  other  bird  that  will  answer.  The  Tydie  is  more 
difficult  to  identify,  because  the  word  tit,  which  it  is  obviously 
connected  with,  is  used  of  several  small  birds,  and  is  supposed 
to  mean  "small."  Here  one  of  the  Tits  may  be  meant,  but 
beyond  that  I  cannot  go.  The  Hecco  is  the  Green  Wood 
pecker  ;  the  word  survives  in  all  sorts  of  forms,  and  even  in 
New  England.' 

P.  451.  Crashaw's  Music's  Duel. 

P.  453.  Paradise  Lost,  ix.  445-454. 

P.  455.  Paradise  Regained,  iv.  409-438. 

P.  459.  These  eight  lines  from  Fanshawe  are  really  two 
quatrains  from  different  sonnets ;  but  I  find  them  so  put 
together  in  Trench's  Household  Book.  '  The  Butterfly '  is 
from  Spenser's  Muiopotmos. 

P.  461.  Appleton  House,  385-392. 

P.  468.  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,  iv.  178,  179, 181-3. 

P.  470.  Fears  in  Solnude,  i-n. 

P.  471.  Britannia's  Pastorals,  Book  i.  Song  a. 

P.  472.  Appleton  House,  505-600. 

P.  474.  Prometheus  Unbound,  ii.  2. 

P.  475.  A  passage  from  Epipsychidion. 
P.  477.  As  You  Like  It,  ii.  5. 


NOTES  671 

P.  478.  These  verses  of  the  unfortunate  Earl  of  Essex  are 
Mid  to  have  been  cncloMd  in  a  letter  to  Queen  ElUabeth  from 
Ireland  in  1599  (Hannah's  Cntrlly  Putt,  p.  177).  *Tli» 
Country's  Recreation*'  is  quoted  in  Walton's  Angltr. 

P.  488.  This  passage  from  'Lines  composed  a  few  mile« 
above  Tintern  Abbey*  is  perhaps  the  mo*i  typical  of  Words 
worth's  theory  of  the  influence  of  Nature  on  the  Mind.  With 
it  should  be  read  'There  was  a  boy—  ye  knew  him  well,  >« 
cliff*,'  and  '  Wisdom  and  Spirit  of  the  Universe."  hoth  writtet 
in  the  year  following  (1799). 

P-  493-7-  Tkt  F*itk/*i  XktfktiAu,  v.  i.  i.  i  ;  iii.  i. 


P.  506-8.  Tkt  Sktpktarts  Caltnat,  ;  utractt  from  April, 
May,  and  January. 

P.  sts.  From  '  The  Nymph  complaining  for  the  Death  of 
her  Fawn.' 

P.  s«    Ttmtttt,  iv.  i.  60-118,  1*8.138. 

P.  s»4.  H^imtff't  TmJt,  iv.  4,  73'«4*,  «S3-»55- 

P.  534.  ArrmJet,  84-100. 

P.  548.   Tkt  Faith/ml  Sktpturdfn,  ii.  i 

P.  55».  Julius  C+*ar,  ii.  a,  33-37  ;  .\femtute  f#r  Mt«t*n, 
iii.  i.  118*133. 

P.  561.  Thu   Epitaph   »^s  first  printed   by  Professor    H. 

Morley. 

P.  563.  F-nir  lines  are  omitted  from  the  close  of  Milton's 
*/,/-/*. 

P.  565.  An  interesting  discussion  on  this  poem  of  Gray's  will 
be  found  in  Wordsworth's  Preface  to  the  Lyrical  Ballads,  and 
Coleridge's  Bifgrmpkia  Littrmria,  chap,  xviii. 

P.  573.  Dirges,  Ttm^ftt,  Tkt  Wkitt  Devil,  Tkt  DeviFs 
Law  Cast,  Tkt  Maid's  Tragedy,  Britannia's  Pastorals,  ii.  i  ; 
.'.tlla.  In  the  Chatterton  a  few  words  have  been  modernised  : 


672  K  O  T  E  S 

thus   'coldness*  is  printed  for  calness;  ana  'ouph  and  fairy 
has  been  substituted  for  oufhant fairy. 

P.  592.  The  first  edition  of  Gray's  Elegy  was  entitled  '  Elegy 
wrote  in  a  Country  Churchyard; '  in  the  second  edition  'wrote1 
was  altered  to  written  ;  perhaps  in  consequence  of  a  squib  of 
Byrom's,  '  The  Passive  Participles'  Petition  to  the  Printer  of  the 
Gentleman's  Magazine.'  One  verse,  which,  after  long  hesita 
tion,  was  excised,  may  be  quoted  here ;  it  stood  just  before 
The  Epitaph  — 

•  There  scattered  oft.  the  earliest  of  the  year, 

By  hands  unseen,  are  showers  of  violets  found ; 
The  redbreast  loves  to  build  and  warble  there, 
And  little  footsteps  lightly  print  the  ground.' 

P.  599.  Paradise  Lost,  v.  153-208.  With  this  may  be  com 
pared  Thomson's  'Hymn'  on  the  Seasons,  and  Coleridge's 
Hymn  before  Sunrise  in  the  Vale  ofChamouni. 

P.  602.  From  Rules  and  Lessons  in  Vaughan's  Silex 
Scintillans. 

P.  606.  Essay  on  Man,  i.  267-280  ;  Samson  Agonistes,  652- 
704 ;  293-299  ;  1745-8. 

P.  608.   Troylus  and  Criseyde,  v.  ad  fin. 

P.  609.  From  a  collation  of  the  two  texts  printed  by  the 
Early  English  Text  Society. 

P.  614.  Mr.  A.  H.  Bullen  discovered  this  beautiful  fragment 
in  a  MS.  in  Christ  Church  Library,  and  printed  it  in  his  More 
Lyrics  from  Elizabethan  Sons-Books. 

P.  624.  These  two  verses  of  Herbert  are  borrowed,  the  one 
from  The  Dawning,  the  other  from  Easter ;  the  rest  of  each 
poem  is  marred  by  frigid  conceits, 

P.  628.  Faerie  Queene,  n.  viii.  x.  a. 

P.  635.  We  cannot  but  recognise  in  this  poem  of  Vaughan's 
the  germ  of  Wordsworth's  great  ode. 

P.  636.  The  rest  of  Ralegh's  Pilgrimage  is  omitted,  as  not 
chiming  with  modern  experience  of  courts  of  law. 


NOTES  673 

P.  654.  Fmtrii  Qtuttu,  coocluding  stanzas ;  possibly  tbt  last 
verses  Spenser  wrote.  By  '  Sabbaoth '  be  means  '  Sabbath. 

Tranilations  do  not  come  within  the  scope  of  this  Anthology, 
or  several  fine  versions  of  Psalms  might  have  been  included  in 
this  section,  soch  as  Sidney's  9yd  or  i>oth,and  Vaugh.n's  io4tb. 


INDEX   OF  WRITERS 

ANON.,  10,  ii,  28,  29,  30,  61,  126,  164,  165,  166.  177,  428,  454. 

478,  561,  609-13,  614. 
A  W.,  19,  150,  640. 
Addison,  Joseph  (i67 


BACON,  SIR  FRANCIS,  Viscount  St.  Albans  (1561-1626),  175. 

Barnfield,  Richard  (1574-1627),  452. 

Beaumont,  Francis  (1586-1616),  174,  59°- 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  574. 

Beddoes,  Thomas  Lovell  (1803-1849),  386. 

Blake,  William  (1757-1827),  31,  32,  46,  90,  173,  205,  299,  459. 

Breton,  Nicholas  (1545  ?-i626),  20,  502,  509,  511. 

Bronte,  Emily  Jane  (1818-1848),  649. 

Brooke,  Fulk  Greville,  Lord  (1554-1628),  42,  178. 

Browne,  William  (1591-1643?),  4,  6,  9,70,  219,  320,  471,  574 

Burton,  Robert  (i577-l639)>  !7*- 

Byron,  George  Gordon,  Lord  (1788-1824),  18,  468. 

CAMPBELL,  Thomas  (1777-1844),  244-7. 

Campion,  Thomas  (1567-1620),  5,  19,  26,  31,  44,  81,   124,  125, 

148,  467,  649. 

Carew,  Thomas  (1589-1639),  17,  51.  63,  439,  538. 
Chapman,  George  (1559  ?-i634),  153. 
Chatterton,  Thomas  (i752-i77°)>  I4I>  543>  575- 
Chaucer,  Geoffrey  (1340-1400),  142,  304-15,  427,  608. 
Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor  (1772-1834),  72,  96,  102,  123,  191,  3S8- 

95.  397-408,  449,  469,  470,  486. 

Collins,  William  (1720-1756),  205,  207,  250,  264-8,  282,  429- 
Constable,  Henry  (1562-1613),  512. 
Corbet,  Richard,  Bishop  (1582-1635),  483. 
Cowley,  Abraham  (1618-1667),  n,  30,  257,  426,  483,  557- 
674 


INDEX    OP    WRITERS  675 

Cowper,  William  (1731-  i8ooX  too,  106,  208,  247- 
Cnuhaw,  Richard  (i6i3?-i649),  61,  451,  6*943+ 

DANIEL,  SAMUEL  (i562-i6t9X  »9.  *7.  »S°,  »S7,  »74.  »7S 

LVAvenant,  Sir  William  (1606-1688),  ti. 

Davies,  Sir  John  (tS69-i6»M,  138,  140,  361. 

Davuon,  Walter  (1581  -  IX  45- 

Dekker,  Tboma*(i57o?-i6j7TX  166. 

Donne,  John  (i573'«63«X  9,  38,  57,  6a,  66,  67,  70,  89,  1  10,  146, 

55»,  ow,  6*3. 

Drayton,  Michael  (i563-i63iX  47,  ti3,  no,  440,  453.  5«7- 
Drumraood,  William  (1585-1649),  *a.  174,  5*i.  586-90. 
Drydeo,  John  (i63t-i7OoX 


EU.IOTT,  EBBHEZE*  (1781-1849),  149. 

EaM«,  Robert  Devereux,  Earl  of  (1567-1601),  47«- 

FANSHAWK,  SIR  RICHARD  (1608-  1666),  459. 
Fletcher,  John  (iS76-i6*sX  8a,  153,  173,  176,  t$4.  433.  493  7. 
548. 

GOLDSMITH,  OLIVER  (17*8-1774),  340. 
Gray,  Thomas  (i7i6-i77iX  i«o,  »6o,  883-8,  565,  59*-*. 
Greene,  Robert  (isooT-isgaX  166,  500,  513. 
Greville,  Mrs.  (i8th  cent.),  50. 

HABINGTON,  WILLIAM  (  1  605-1  654  X  60,  556,  603. 

Herbert,  Edward,  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury  (1583-1648),  in. 

Herbert,  George  (i593-«63a\  15*.  &».  6a4'«i  ^35.  638,  639,  644, 

646. 
Herrick,  Robert  (1^91-1674),  13,  36.  43«,  439,  4«',  480,  535.  $85- 

648,651. 

Heywood,  Thomas  (  -  1641),  ai. 
Hood,  Thomas  (i7o8-i84sX  119,  57* 

JOHNSON,  SAMUEL  (i709-i784X  5*5- 
Jones,  Ebenezer  (1820-1860),  493. 

Jonsoo,  Benjamin  (i573^-'637),  15,  16,  48.   58,  i5»,  »7S,  3i«. 
}>9i  5S9-6I,  643* 


676  INDEX     OF     WRITERS 

KEATS,  JOHN  (1795-1821),  59,  71,  253,  299,  408-416,  447,  462. 
King,  Henry  (1591-1669),  60. 

LAMB,  CHARLES  (1775-1835),  102,  571. 

Lamb,  Mary  (1765-1847),  91. 

Landor,  Walter  Savage  (1775-1864),  299,  546,  570. 

Lodge,  Thomas  (?  1556-1625),  27,  33,  514-515. 

Lovelace,  Richard  (1618-1658),  63-64,  65,  460. 

Lylye,  John  (?  1553-1606),  16. 

MABBE,  JAMES  (c.  1631),  58. 

Marlowe,  Christopher  (1563-1593),  139,  271,  323-8,  504. 

Marvell,  Andrew  (1621-1678),  53,  92,  234-240,  455,  461, 472,  512, 

539,  541,  600,  640. 
Mayne,  Jasper  (1604-1672),  50. 
Milton,  John  (1608-1674),   87,  127-37,   2o6>   256,   278-81,    319, 

321-3,  367-80,  381-3,  425,  429,  438,  453,  455,  534,  563,  580-5, 

599,  606,  615-22,  634,  654. 

Montrose,  James  Graham,  Marquis  of  (1612-1650),  37,  49,  233. 
Moore,  Thomas  (1780-1852),  103. 
More,  Sir  Thomas  (1478-1535),  143,  315. 

NASH,  THOMAS  (1567-1601?),  434,  554. 

OXFORD,  EDWARD  VERB,  Earl  of  (1534-1604),  498. 

PEELE,  GEORGE  (?  1558-1598),  228,  435,  503. 
Pembroke,  Mary,  Countess  of  (?  1555-1621),  577. 
Philips,  Ambrose  (?  1671-1749),  go. 
Philips,  Katherine  (1631-1664),  100. 
Pope,  Alexander  (1688-1744),  242>  48S>  606. 
Prior,  Matthew  (1664-1721),  93. 

RALEGH,  SIR  WALTER  (1552-1618),  7,  178,  229-233,  499,  505, 
636. 

SACKVILLE,  THOMAS,  Earl  of  Dorset  (?  1536-1608),  364. 
Scott,  Sir  Walter  (1771-1832),  46,  127,  205,  217. 
Sedley,  Sir  Charles  (1639-1701),  33,  95. 


INDEX     OF     WRITERS  677 

Shakespeare,  William  (1564-1616),  3,  10,  13,  ai,  44,  69,  98,  99, 

lot,  158-64,  165,  167,  181,  tio,  t»»-7,  855,  383-*,  434,  477, 

S09,  5"4»  SS».  57> 
Shelley,  Percy  Bysahe  (i79a-j8jj),  15,  56,  57,  58,  83,  iia,  183- 

go,  *68,  t93-8,  387,  4i6-»,  443-7,  4*3,  4*5,  474,  47S- 
Shirley,  James  (i596-i666X  SS»- 
Sidney,  Sir  Philip  (1554-1586),  14, 14,  35,  73,  5«* 
Skehon,  John  (?  1460-1539).  «,  »3- 
Southwell,  Robert  (1560-1593),  137,  168,  613. 
Spenser,   Edmund  (i5S3-»59*X  «9,  73,  3»7,  3»«-««,   380,   450, 

506-8,  6*8,  654- 
Surrey,  Henry  Howard,  Earl  of  (1520- 1546),  43 

THOMSON,  JAMES  (1700-1748),  437,  467. 

VAUCMAN,  HENRY  (i6ai*s69sX   "8,  465,  6oa,  604,  634,  635, 
637,  646,  650,  65.. 

WALL**,  EDMUND  (1605-1687),  94,  458. 

Webster,  John  (i7th  c.),  573- 

Wither,  George  (i 583-1667),  35,  »73,  526-34,  5^9- 

Wolfe,  Charles  ( 1 79i-i8a3X  343. 

Wordsworth,  William  (1770-1850),  88,  97,  104,  115,  154,  156, 

195-aoa,  188-93,  39*.  438,  44*.  4*6, 488,  567-9,  591. 
Wotton,  Sir  Henry  Os68-i639X  40,  149,  237,  436,  559. 
Wyatt,  Sir  Thomas  (1503-1 54 aX  4,  34.  39,  4°- 

YOUNG,  EDWARD  (1684  1765),  181. 


INDEX   OF   FIRST   LINES 

PAGE 

Absence,  hear  thou  my  protestation,        ....  62 

A  child 's  a  plaything  for  an  hour, 91 

Adieu,  farewell,  earth's  bliss, 554 

A  face  that  should  content  me  wondrous  well,         .        .  4 

A  green  and  silent  spot  amid  the  hills,     ....  470 

Ah  !  Chloris,  that  I  now  could  sit, 95 

Ah!  I  remember  well,  and  how  can  I,     ....  87 
Ah  no.     To  distant  climes,  a  dreary  scene,       .        .        .240 

Ah,  what  avails  the  sceptred  race? 57° 

Ah,  what  is  love?     It  is  a  pretty  thing,    ....  500 

Ah,  what  time  wilt  thou  come?  when  shall  that  cry,        .  624 

Alas  !  they  had  been  friends  in  youth,      ....  102 

All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  whole,       .        .        .  606 

All  glory  else  besides  ends  with  our  breath,     .        .        .  157 

All  kings  and  all  their  favourites, 89 

All  places  that  the  eye  of  heaven  visits,    ....  163 

All  the  flowers  of  the  Spring, 573 

All  thoughts,  all  passions,  all  delights,     ....  392 

And  did  those  feet  in  ancient  time, 205 

And  do  they  so?  have  they  a  sense, 604 

And  either  tropic  now, 455 

And  first  within  the  porch  and  jaws  of  hell,      .        .  364 

And  for  the  few  that  only  lend  their  ear,  ....  274 

And  is  there  care  in  heaven?    And  is  there  love,     .        .  628 

And  now  all  nature  seemed  in  love  !          ....  436 

And  now  the  storm-blast  came,  and  he,    ....  397 

And  truly  I  would  rather  be  struck  dumb,  59 

And  wilt  thou  leave  me  thus  ?   .        •        .         .        .        •  39 

And  would  you  see  my  mistress'  face  ?  5 

Anon,  out  of  the  earth,  a  fabric  huge,       ....  376 

April  is  in  my  mistress'  face, 30 

678 


INDEX     OF     FIRST    LINES  679 

Ariel  10  MmuxU:  Take, *t68 

Art  thou  poor,  yet  bast  thov  golden  slumbers  7  .  .  166 
As  careful  merchants  do  exiting  ttand,  .  .  .9 

A  ship  is  floating  in  the  harbour  now,  ....  475 
At  I  in  hoary  winter'*  night  stood  shivering  in  the 

•now 613 

As  it  fell  upon  a  day 4  -,.- 

Ask  roe  no  more  whither  do  stray, 17 

A  slumber  did  my  spirit  seal 569 

As  one  who  loog  in  populous  city  pent,    ....  453 

A  stately  palace  built  of  squared  brick,    ....  349 

As  virtuous  men  pass  mildly  away 67 

As  when  a  scout  through  dark  and  desert  way*,      .        .  374 

As  you  came  from  the  holy  land, y 

At  her  fair  hands  bow  have  1  grace  entreated,         .        .  44 

At  but  a  soft  and  solemn  breathing  sound,      .        .        .  956 

At  midnight  by  the  stream  I  roved,          ....  390 

At  the  corner  of  Wood  Street,  when  daylight  appear*,    .  486 

Awake,  jColian  lyre,  awake,             .                ...  383 

Awake,  awake,  my  Lyre  I 257 

Awake,  sad  heart,  whom  sorrow  ever  drowns,          .        .  634 

A  widow  bird  sate  mourning  for  her  Love,       .        .        .  465 

Ay  me,  poor  soul,  whom  bound  in  sinful  chains,      .        .  640 

Before  her  flew  affliction  gin  in  storms,  ....  366 

Behold  her,  single  in  the  held, 396 

Behold,  within  the  leafy  shade 97 

Beside  his  head  there  sat  a  fair  young  man.     ...  380 

Be  wise  to-day  I  'tis  madness  to  defer 181 

Bid  me  to  live,  and  I  will  live, 36 

Blest  pair  of  Syrens,  pledges  of  Heaven's  joy,         .        .  634 

Blow,  blow,  thou  winter  wind 101 

Breathes  there  the  man,  with  soul  so  dead,      .        .        .  205 

Brown  is  my  love,  but  graceful,        .        .        .        .        .  30 

But  whither,  fair  Maid,  do  you  go?         ....  543 

By  this  the  Northern  waggoner  had  set,  ....  427 

By  this,  though  deep  the  evening  fell,     ....  117 

Call  for  the  robin  redbreast  and  the  wren,  .  -  •  573 
Care-charming  Sleep,  thou  easer  of  all  woes,  .  .  .433 
Cere*,  most  bounteous  lady,  thy  rich  leas,  .  .  -5" 


680  INDEX     OF    FIRST     LINES 

PAGE 
Clear  had  the  day  been  from  the  dawn,     .        .        .        .453 

Come  hither,  shepherd's  swain, 498 

Come  live  with  me,  and  be  my  love, .....  504 

Come,  O  come,  my  life's  delight, 26 

Come,  Sleep,  and  with  thy  sweet  deceiving,      .        .         .  433 

Come  unto  these  yellow  sands, 384 

Condemned  to  Love's  delusive  mine,         ....  565 
Courage,  my  soul !  now  learn  to  wield,     .         .        .        .640 

Cowards  die  many  times  before  their  deaths,     .         .        .  552 

Cupid  and  my  Campaspe  played, 16 

Damon  !  come  drive  thy  flocks  this  way  1          .  539 

Dark  all  without  it  knits  ;  within,      .....  472 

Day,  like  our  souls,  is  fiercely  dark, .....  249 

Dear,  if  you  change,  I'll  never  choose  again,    ...  28 

Deep  in  the  shady  sadness  of  a  vale,          ....  410 

Departing  Summer  hath  assumed, 288 

Descend  from  heaven,  Urania,  by  that  name,  .        .        .  280 

Diaphenia  like  the  daffodowndilly, $I2 

Do  not  fear  to  put  thy  feet, 497 

Doubt  you  to  whom  my  Muse  these  notes  intendeth,       .  14 

Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, ,g 

Dry  those  fair,  those  crystal  eyes, go 

Ere  long  they  come  where  that  same  wicked  wight,         .  328 
Exert  thy  voice,  sweet  harbinger  of  Spring  !     .        .         .272 

Fain  would  I  change  that  note,          -         ....  28 

Fair  and  fair  and  twice  so  fair,  ......  503 

Fair  daffodils,  we  weep  to  see, 436 

Fair  friend,  'tis  true,  your  beauties  move,         ...  49 

Fair  pledges  of  a  fruitful  tree ,  439 

Fair  stood  the  wind  for  France, 213 

First  shall  the  heav'ns  want  starry  light,  .         .         .        .    •    *ji  - 

First  you  see  fixt  in  this  huge  mirror  blue,        .        .        .  361 

Flee  from  the  press,  and  dwell  with  soothfastness,  .        .  142 

Fly,  envious  Time,  till  thou  run  out  thy  race,  .        .        .  654 

Follow  your  saint,  follow  with  accents  sweet,  ...  44 

Forget  not  yet  the  tried  intent,         .        .        .        .        .  34 

For  heaven's  sake,  let  us  sit  upon  the  ground,  .        .        .  222 

For  know,  by  lot  from  Jove  I  am  the  Power,    .         .         .  38? 

For  love's  sake,  kiss  me  once  again, g 


INDEX    OF    FIRST    LINES  681 

PACK 

For  round  about  the  walk  yclotbed  were,        .                .  333 

Four  ways  they  flying  march,  along  the  hanks,        .        .  369 

From  Harmony,  from  heavenly  Harmony,       ...  158 

From  unremembered  age*  we, 417 

Full  fathom  five  thy  lather  lie*. 573 

Get  up,  get  op  for  shame,  the  blooming  mom.          .  535 

Give  me  a  spirit  that  on  life's  rough  sea,.        .  153 

Give  me  my  scallop-shell  of  quiet 636 

Give  me  those  flowers  there,  Dorcas— Reverend  Sin,  .  594 
Glide  soft,  ye  silver  flood*  .  .  .574 
Go,  lovely  Rose,  .  ....  -458 

Good  Muse,  rock  me  asleep,     ...  509 

Gorbo,  as  thou  cam'st  this  way.        ...                .  517 

Go,  Soul,  the  body's  guest, 178 

Great,  good,  and  just !  could  I  but  rate,  ....  933 

Had  we  but  world  enough  and  time,         ....  53 

Hail,  holy  Light,  offspring  of  Heaven  first-born,  .  .  179 
Hail  thou,  my  native  soil !  thou  blessed  plot,  .  .  .219 
Hail  to  thee,  blithe  Spirit  I  ....  .443 

Happy  the  man,  whose  wish  and  care,      ....  485 

Happy  those  early  days,  when  I,  .  635 
Happy  were  he  could  finish  forth  his  fate,  .  .  .478 

Hard  by  the  gates  of  bell  her  dwelling  b,        ...  331 

Hark !  hark !  the  lark  at  heaven's  gate  sings.  .                .  at 

Hark,  how  the  birds  do  sing,    ....  695 

He  above  the  rest  in  shape  and  gesture,   .        .        .  371 

Hear  me,  O  God, 643 

He  has  outsoared  the  shadow  of  our  night,      .                .  293 

He  making  speedy  way  through  spersed  air,    .        .        .  331 

Hence,  all  you  vain  delights,    ...                .        .  173 

Hence  is't  that  I  am  carried  towards  the  west,         .        .  622 

Hence,  loathed  Melancholy,     ...                         .  127 

Hence,  vain  deluding  joys.       ....                .  13* 

He  or  she  that  hopes  to  gain 29 

Here,  when  precipitate  Spring  with  one  light  bound,      .  546 

Her  eyes  the  glow-worm  lend  thee, 23 

Her  supple  breast  thrills  out,     .....  45« 

He  scarce  had  ceased  when  the  superior  fiend,         .        .  37« 

H«  that  b  weary,  let  him  sit,    .        .       ......  629 


682  INDEX     OF     FIRST     LINES 

PAGE 

He  that  of  such  a  height  hath  built  his  mind,          .        .  150 

He  the  gay  garden  round  about  doth  fly,         .         .        .  459 

His  golden  locks  time  hath  to  silver  turned,    .        .        .  228 

How  fresh,  O  Lord,  how  sweet  and  clean,       .         .        .  646 

How  happy  is  he  born  and  taught, 149 

How  ill  doth  he  deserve  a  Lover's  name,          ...  63 

How  many  thousand  of  my  poorest  subjects,  .         .         .  223 

How  sleep  the  brave  who  sink  to  rest,      ....  250 

How  sweet  I  roamed  from  field  to  field,  ....  31 

How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank  !    .        .  255 

How  vainly  men  themselves  amaze,          ....  455 

I  am  called  Childhood,  in  play  is  all  my  mind,        .        .  315 

I  am  this  fountain's  God.     Below, 496 

I  arise  from  dreams  of  thee,       ......  25 

I  ask  no  kind  return  of  love, 50 

I  cannot  ope  mine  eyes,     .......  602 

I  cannot  reach  it ;  and  my  striving  eye,   .        .        .        .117 

I  dreamed  that  as  I  wandered  by  the  way,       .        .        .  388 

If  all  the  pens  that  ever  poets  held,  .        .                 .        .  271 

If  all  the  world  and  love  were  young,       ....  505 

If  as  I  have,  you  also  do,  .......  38 

If  aught  of  oaten  stop,  or  pastoral  song,  ....  429 

If  I  had  but  two  little  wings, 72 

If  there  were  dreams  to  sell, 386 

If  to  be  absent  were  to  be 63 

I  have  a  garden  of  my  own, 512 

I  have  examined  and  do  find, 100 

I  have  had  playmates,  I  have  had  companions,        .         .  102 

I  lay  as  dead,  but  scarce  chained  were  my  ears,      .         .  586 

In  a  drear-nighted  December, 70 

In  ample  space  under  the  broadest  shade,        .        .        .  377 

In  a  valley  of  this  restless  mind, 609 

In  crystal  towers  and  turrets  richly  set,    ....  166 

In  lapse  to  God  though  thus  the  world  remains,      .         .  141 

In  my  former  days  of  bliss, 273 

I  now  think  Love  is  rather  deaf  than  blind,      ...  48 

In  silent  gaze  the  tuneful  choir  among,     ....  287 

In  such  a  night,  when  every  louder  wind,         .        .  431 

In  the  hour  of  my  distress,        .        .        .        . "       .        •  648 


INDEX    OF    FIRST    LINES  683 

fACB 

In  the  merry  month  of  May 511 

In  thi*  Mill  place,  remote  from  men,         .         .  501 

In  this  world,  the  Isle  of  Dreams,    .                                 .  651 

In  vain  to  me  the  uniling  morning*  thine,        .        .  565 

In  Xanadu  did  Kubla  Khan,    .                                        .  388 

1  pray  thee  leave,  love  me  no  more, .  47 

I  remember,  I  remember 119 

Is  all  the  countel  that  we  two  have  shared.      .                .  98 

I  saw  Eternity  the  other  night, 650 

I  saw  fair  Chloris  walk  alone,  .  7 

I  saw  my  Lady  weep 6t 

I  taw  where  in  the  shroud  did  lurk,          .        .        .  57 1 

Is  not  this  the  merry  month  of  May,        .  507 

I  strove  with  none,  for  none  was  worth  my  strife,    .  909 

I  struck  the  board,  and  cried,  No  more,  . 

It  is  not  growing  like  a  tree,     .  153 

I  travelled  among  unknown  men,      . 

1  trowc  men  would  deem  it  negligence,    ....  308 

It  so  falls  out,  that  what  we  have  we  prize  not,  163 

It  was  a  dismal  and  a  fearful  night,  557 

I  wa«  thy  neighbour  once,  thou  rugged  pile  !  .  391 

1,  with  whose  colours  Myra  dressed  her  head,  43 

Kind  arc  her  answers,       .                                                  .  31 

Lay  a  garland  on  my  hearse,    .  -574 

Let  me  contemplate  thee  (fair  *oul),  and  though,    . 

Let  Mother  Eanh  now  deck  herself  in  flowers,       .        .  518 

Life  of  Life  1  Thy  lips  enkindle, 416 

Like  as  the  moisture,  which  the  thirsty  eatth,          .        .  140 

Like  to  Diana  in  her  summer  weed,          .                         .  513 

Like  to  the  clear  in  highest  sphere,  .        .                .        .  514 

I  jke  to  the  falling  of  a  star,      ...  174 

Little  think'st  thou,  poor  flower,                       ...  70 

Look  not  thou  on  beauty's  charming,       ....  127 

Lords,  knights,  and  squires,  the  numerous  band,     .        .  93 
Love  guards  the  roses  of  thy  lips,     ...                -33 

Love  in  her  sunny  eyes  does  basking  play,              .        .  30 

Love  in  my  bosom  like  a  bee,   .                                        •  5«5 

Love  is  a  sickness  full  of  woes,                                           •  »9 
Lovely  kind,  and  kindly  loving,       .       .                       .20 


684  INDEX    OF    FIRST    LINES 

PACE 

Love  not  me  for  comely  grace, 1 1 

Lovers  and  madmen  have  such  seething  brains,        .         .  162 

Love  seeketh  not  itself  to  plea.e,        .....  46 

Love,  thou  art  absolute,  sole  Lord,   .....  629 

Madam,  withouten  many  words,       .....  34 

Man  is  his  own  star,  and  the  soul  that  can,       .                 .  153 

Many  a  green  isle  needs  must  be, 183 

Many  are  the  sayings  of  the  wise, 606 

Meanwhile  the  adversary  of  God  and  man,       .        .        .  372 

Memory,  hither  come, 173 

Merry  Margaret, n 

Me  so  oft  my  fancy  drew 526 

Me  thoughte  thus  that  it  was  May 303 

Midst  others  of  less  note  came  one  frail  form,    .         .         .  298 

Mortality,  behold  and  fear  ! 590 

Mother  of  Hermes  and  still  youthful  Maia !      .        .        .  299 

My  dear  and  only  love,  I  pray, 37 

My  genius  spreads  her  wing, 241 

My  heart  aches,  and  a  drowsy  numbness  pains,        .        .  447 

My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold, 438 

My  love  in  her  attire  doth  shew  her  wit,  10 

My  lute,  awake,  perform  the  last 40 

My  silks  and  fine  array, 32 

My  true  love  hath  my  heart,  and  I  have  his,    ...  73 
Music,  when  soft  voices  die,       .        .        .         ,        .        ,112 

Nature,  that  framed  us  of  four  elements,  ....  139 

Never  weather-beaten  sail  more  willingly  bent  to  shore,  .  649 

No  cloud,  no  relique  of  the  sunken  day 449 

No  coward  soul  is  mine, 649 

Nor  delay'd  the  winged  Saint, 381 

No  scene  that  turns  with  engines  strange,         .        .        .  461 

No  spring,  nor  summer's  beauty,  hath  such  grace,  .  no 

Now  came  still  Evening  on,  and  Twilight  gray,       .         .  429 

Now  each  creature  joys  the  other, 435 

Now  entertain  conjecture  of  a  time,  .        ....  210 

Now  hath  Flora  robbed  her  bowers,          .                 .        .  81 

Now  have  I  then  such  a  condition, 304 

Now  sleep,  and  take  thy  rest 58 

Now  that  the  winter 's  gone,  the  earth  has  lost,       .         .  439 


INDEX    OP    FIRST    LINES  685 

PACE 

Now  the  bright  morning  tur,  day's  harbinger,  .  .  438 
Now  the  golden  Mom  aloft,  ....  .169 

Now  winter  nights  enlarge,      ...  .        .      467 

Not  a  drum  was  beard,  not  a  funeral  note,  .  .  -943 
Not  Iris  in  her  pride  and  bravery,  ...  435 

O  blessed  letters  I  that  combine  in  one,     .  975 

O  blithe  new-comer  !  I  have  heard,  443 

O'er  the  smooth  enamelled  green,      .  534 

O  faithless  world,  and  thy  most  faithless  part.  .  .  40 
Of  jet,  or  porphyry,  or  that  white  none,  .  ...  561 

Of  Nelson  and  the  North, •      »4S 

OA  in  the  stilly  night,        .  103 

Oh.  Friendship,  cordial  of  the  human  breast,   .  too 

O  hard  condition !  twin-bom  with  greatness,  .        .374 

Oh  how  comely  it  is,  and  how  reviving,  ....  206 
O  mistress  mine,  where  are  you  roaming  T  .  10 

On  a  day  (alack  the  day!), 509 

One  word  is  too  often  profaned,  .        .        .        56 

On  Hellespont,  guilty  of  true  love's  blood,  .  .  .  313 
O  no,  belov'd,  I  am  most  sore,  .  .  .  .  1 1 1 

O  Rose,  thou  art  sick  ! -459 

Orpheus  with  his  lute  made  trees,     .  254 

O  sing  unto  my  roundelay,        .  -575 

O  that  those  lips  bad  language  I  Life  has  passed,  .  .  106 
O,  then,  I  see  Queen  Mab  hath  been  with  you,  .  .  385 

Other  slow  arts  entirely  keep  the  brain 3 

O  Thou  by  Nature  taught, ?8a 

Oh,  thou  that  swing's!  upon  the  waving  ear,    ...      460 
O  thou  whose  fancies  from  afar  are  brought,    .  .        96 

O  thou  undaunted  daughter  of  desires  I    .        .        .        -633 
O  thy  bright  looks !  thy  glance  of  love,     .  .646 

Over  hill,  over  dale,  ......  .      384 

O  wearisome  condition  of  humanity  I       .        .       .        .178 

O  what  can  ail  thee,  Knight-at-arms  I      ....      408 

O  wild  west  wind,  thou  breath  of  Autumn's  being,  .        .      463 
O  World  I  O  Life  1  O  Time  I    .  .       .        .      188 

Our  birth  is  but  a  sleep,  and  a  forgetting,  .  .  .  ITS 
Our  revels  now  are  ended  ;  these  our  actors,  .  .  .165 
O  young*  frwhf  folkcs,  he  or  she, 608 


686  INDEX    OF    FIRST    LINES 

PAGE 

Pack  clouds  away,  and  welcome  day,        ....  21 

Phillis  is  my  only  ioy, 33 

Phoebus,  arise  1 22 

Queen  and  huntress,  chaste  and  fair 318 

Quivering  fears,  heart-tearing  cares,          ....  478 

Retired  thoughts  enjoy  their  own  delights,       .         .         -  137 

Ring  out  your  bells,  let  mourning  shows  be  spread,          .  55 

Rose-cheeked  Laura,  come, 19 

Roses,  their  sharp  spines  being  gone         ....  82 

Sacred  Religion  1  mother  of  form  and  fear  !      .         .         •  157 

Season  of  mists  and  mellow  fruitfulness,   ....  462 

See  how  the  flowers  as  at  parade,      c        .         .        .         .  238 

See  how  the  orient  dew, 600 

See  the  chariot  at  band  here  of  Love 15 

See,  where  she  sits  upon  the  grassy  green,        .         •        •  5°6 

See  with  what  simplicity,  .,.«..•  92 

Shall  I  tell  you  whom  I  love?    ...  4 

Shall  I,  w?sting  in  despair,         .         .  35 

She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways,  568 

She  was  a  phantom  of  delight,  ....••  88 

Shepherds  all,  and  maidens  fair,        .....  548 

Shepherds,  rise  and  shake  off  sleep,           ...        •  493 

Shepherd,  what  's  love,  I  pray  thee  tell,  ....  499 

Silly  boy,  'tis  full  moon  yet *25 

Since  my  dear  soul  was  mistress  of  my  choice,          .        .  99 

Sing  his  praises  that  doth  keep, 493 

Sleep,  sleep,  old  Sun,  thou  canst  not  have  re-past,   .        .  623 

Slow,  slow,  fresh  fount,  keep  time  with  my  salt  tears,      .  319 

Soon  as  she  heard  the  name  ofArtegall 69 

So  shuts  the  marigold  her  leaves, 7° 

So  spake  the  grisly  terror  and  in  shape,    ....  372 
So  spake  the  enemy  of  mankind  enclosed,         .                 -375 

Sound,  sound  the  clarion,  fill  the  fife  !  127 
Southward  through  Eden  went  a  river  large,   .        .        .367 

Spring,  the  sweet  Spring,  is  the  year's  pleasant  king,       .  434 

Steer,  hither  steer  your  winged  pines,       .  32(3 

Sweet  are  the  thoughts  that  savour  of  content,        .        .  166 

Sweet  country  life,  to  such  unknown,       ....  480 

Sweet  Echo,  sweetest  nymph,  that  liv'st  unseen,      .         .  319 


INDEX    OP    FIRST    LINES  667 

PAGB 

Sweetest  love,  I  do  not  go,        .        .        .        .        .        .  66 

Swe«|  u  the  breath  of  morn,  her  rising  sweet, .        .        .  87 

Sweet  love  mine  only  treasure,         ,  19 

Sweetest  of  sweets,  I  thank  you :  when  displeasure,         .  635 

Sweetest  Saviour,  if  my  soul, 639 

Sweet  dreams  form  a  shade.      ....  -90 

Swifter  far  than  summer's  flight,      .  195 

Stern  Daughter  of  the  Voice  of  God!       .        .  190 

Sure  thou  didst  flourish  once !  and  many  springs,    .  465 

Take,  oh  take  those  lip*  away 44 

Tell  me  not,  Sweet.  I  am  unkind,      .  64 

The  ample  proposition  that  hope  makes 1 59 

The  busy  lark*,  meisager  of  d>y.      ...  427 

The  budding  floweret  blushes  at  the  light,        .                .  sot 

The  city  which  thou  seest,  no  other  deem,        .                 .  378 

The  curfew  tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day,          .        .  594 

The  current,  that  with  gentle  murmur  glides,  ...  69 

The  damask  meadows  and  the  crawling  streams,     .        .  483 

The  dew  no  more  will  weep, 6t 

The  forward  youth  that  would  appear,                             .  134 

The  frost  performs  its  secret  ministry,       .        .  486 

The  fountains  mingle  with  the  river,         .  58 

The  glories  of  our  blood  and  state, 55* 

The  golden  gates  of  Sleep  unbar 83 

The  golden  Sun,  in  splendour  likest  Heaven,  .  4 '5 

The  heavens  themselves,  the  planets  and  this  centre,       .  161 

The  keener  tempests  come ;  and  fuming  dun,  .        .        .  466 

The  lark  now  leaves  his  wat'ry  nest.         ...  at 

The  lopped  tree  in  time  may  grow  again,  »68 

The  man  of  life  upright 148 

Thence  passing  forth,  they  shortly  do  arrive,  ...  344 

Thence  to  the  circle  of  the  moon  she  clamb,     .  3x7 

Then  walked  they  to  a  grove,  but  near  at  band,      .  47' 
The  path  through  which  that  lovely  twain,      .        .        .474 

The  rapid  radiance  instantaneous  strikes, ....  437 

The  rarer  pleasure  is  it  is  more  »weet,      .                         .  454 

There  be  none  of  Beauty's  daughters,       .        ...  18 

There  is  a  jewel  which  no  Indian  mines,  ....  165 

There  i«  a  pleasure  in  the  pathless  woods,       ...  468 


688  INDEX     OF     FIRST     LINES 

PAGE 

There  is  continual  spring,  and  harvest  there,    .        .        .  339 

There  's  her  hair  with  which  Love  angles,        .        .        .  9  529 

There  was  a  roaring  in  the  wind  all  night,       .        .        .  197 
The  sea  hath  many  thousand  sands,          .        .        .        .126 

These  are  thy  glorious  works,  Parent  of  good,         .         .  599 

These  beauteous  forms, 488 

The  sun  is  warm,  the  sky  is  clear, 188 

The  sun,  when  he  hath  spread  his  rays 428 

The  spacious  firmament  on  high, 605 

The  star  that  bids  the  shepherd  fold,        ....  321 

The  sturdy  rock,  for  all  his  strength,        ....  177 

The  virtuous  man  is  free,  though  bound  in  chains,  .         .  150 

The  voice  which  I  did  more  esteem,          ....  569 

The  world  "s  a  bubble,  and  the  life  of  man,      .        .        .  175 

They  are  all  gone  into  the  world  of  Light  !  652 

Think  not,  'cause  men  flatt'ring  say,        ....  51 

Think  not,  reader,  me  less  blest 561 

Think  then,  my  soul,  that  death  is  but  a  groom,      .        .  552 

This  a  servant  made  me  sworn, 534 

This  battle  fares  like  to  the  morning's  war,       .        .        .  225 

This  is  the  month,  and  this  the  happy  morn,            .        .  615 

This  life,  which  seems  so  fair 174 

This  mossy  bank  they  pressed.     That  aged  oak,     .        .  538 

This  rich  marble  doth  inter, 563 

This  sycamore,  oft  musical  with  bees,      ....  469 

Thou  barren  ground,  whom  winter's  wrath  hath  wasted,  508 

Thou  blushing  Rose,  within  whose  virgin  leaves,    .        .  459 

Thou  divinest,  fairest,  brightest, 496 

Thou  joyest,  fond  boy,  to  be  by  many  loved,    .        .        .124 

Thou  sent'st  to  me  a  heart  was  crowned,          •        •        •  57 

Thou  still  unravished  bride  of  quietness,  ....  253 

Thou  that  art  proud  of  honour,  shape,  or  kin,          .         .  143 

Three  years  she  grew  in  sun  and  shower,         .         .        .  567 

Through  yon  same  bending  plain, 494 

Throw  away  thy  rod, 644 

Thus  having  past  all  peril,  I  was  come,    ....  353 

Thus  Satan,  talking  to  his  nearest  mate,  ....  370 

Thy  trees,  fair  Windsor,  now  shall  leave  their  woods,     .  242 

Time  hath,  my  lord,  a  wallet  at  his  back,        .         .        .  158 


INDEX     OF     FIRST     LINKS  689 

PAGB 

Time  U  the  feathered  thing 90 

Timely  blossom,  infant  Cur, 90 

Time'*  glory  U  to  calm  contending  kings,        .  167 

Tis  better  in  a  play  be  Agamemnon,       .                .        .  164 

Ttt  the  middle  of  night  by  the  cattle  clock,    .  403 

To  draw  no  envy,  Shakespeare,  on  thy  name,         .  275 

Toll  for  the  Brave  I  .                                        .        .        .  >47 

To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to  morrow,    .  181 

To  the  ocean  now  I  fly, yn 

Twas  at  the  royal  feast  for  Persia  won,  a6o 

Twice  or  thrice  bad  I  loved  tbce,     .        .  9 

Tynan  dye  why  do  you  wear,  .  1 1 

Underneath  this  sable  hearse.  559 

Under  the  greenwood  tree.       .  477 

Verse,  a  breexe  'mid  blossoms  straying,    .  123 

Walk  with  thy  fellow-creatures:  note  the  hu*h.      .  6oa 

Was  this  tb«  face  that  launched  a  thousand  ships,  327 

Weep  no  more,  nor  sigh,  nor  groan,          .  176 

Weep  with  me,  all  you  that  read,      ...  S°o 

Weighing  (he  steadfastness  and  state,       .  637 

Welcome,  welcome !  do  I  sing,         ....  6 

Well  I     If  the  Bard  was  weatber-wuc  who  made,    .  191 

Well  then  !  I  now  do  plainly  see 483 

We  watched  her  breathing  thro*  the  night,       .        .  57° 

We  were  two  lads,  that  thought  there  was  no  more.  98 

What  needs  complaints, '-'5 

What  needs  my  Shakespeare  for  his  honoured  bones,      .  278 

What's  b«  that  wishes  so? •"' 

When  daffodils  begin  to  peer,  .  434 

When  death  shall  snatch  us  from  these  kids,  .        .  54* 

When  God  at  first  made  man 627 

When,  goddess,  tbou  lift'st  up  thy  wakened  bead,  .  4*6 
When  I  bethink  me  on  that  speech  whilere,     .        .        .654 

When  I  go  musing  all  alone,     ..'...  I7> 

When  I  survey  the  bright 603 

When  love  with  onconnued  wings, 6$ 

When  Music,  heavenly  maid,  was  young,                         .  264 

When  raging  love  with  extreme  pain,       .  43 

When  Rravxi's  lamp,  which  like  the  sun  in  sky,  138 

ax 


690  INDEX     OF     FIRST     LINES 

PAGE 

When  passion's  trance  is  overpast,     .....  56 

When  Phoebus  lifts  his  head  out  of  the  winter's  wave,      .  440 

When  the  British  warrior  queen, 208 

When  the  world  is  burning, 422 

Where  art  thou,  my  beloved  son,      .....  104 

Where  the  remote  Bermudas  ride,     .                 ...  239 

Where  shall  the  lover  rest,          .        .                  ...  46 

Where  sleeps  the  north  wind  when  the  south  inspires,      .  60 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I, 383 

Whether  on  Ida's  shady  brow 299 

While  thus  he  spake  the  angelic  squadron  bright,     .        .  375 

Who  can  live  in  heart  so  glad, 509 

Who  is  it  that  this  dark  night, 24 

Who  is  the  happy  warrior?     Who  is  he,    ...  .154 

Who  is  the  honest  man ? IS1 

Who  is  Silvia?  what  is  she,       .         .                 ...  13 
Who  makes  the  last  a  pattern  for  next  year,     .        .        .146 

Who  shall  awake  the  Spartan  pipe, 207 

Why  came  I  so  untimely  forth, 94 

With  margerain  gentle, 13 

Within  the  soul  a  faculty  abides,       .                          .         ,  156 

Woods,  hills,  and  rivers  now  are  desolate,        .                 .  577 

Wouldst  thou  hear  what  man  can  say,       .        .                 .  560 

Ye  Clouds  ;  that  far  above  me  float  and  pause,         .        .  207 
Ye  distant  spires,  ye  antique  towers,          .        .        .         .120 

Ye  have  been  fresh  and  green, 461 

Ye  learned  sisters,  which  have  oftentimes,        •        •         •  73 

Ye  mariners  of  England, 244 

Yet  have  these  wonders  want,  which  want  compassion,  .  229 
Yet  if  His  Majesty,  our  sovereign  lord,     .        .        .        .614 

Yet  once  more,  O  ye  laurels,  and  once  more,     .         .        .  580 

You  brave  heroic  minds, 219 

You  meaner  beauties  of  the  night 227 

You  spotted  snakes,  with  double  tongue 385 


PLEASE  DO  NOT  REMOVE 
CARDS  OR  SUPS  FROM  THIS  POCKET 

UNIVERSITY  OF  TORONTO  UBRARY 


PR  Beaching,  Henry  Charles 
1175        A  paradise  of  English 

B45  poetry 
1899