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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets, and Sonnets on English Dramatic
+Poets (1590-1650), by Algernon Charles Swinburne
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Sonnets, and Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650)
+       Taken from The Collected Poetical Works of Algernon Charles
+       Swinburne, Vol V.
+
+Author: Algernon Charles Swinburne
+
+Release Date: December 18, 2005 [EBook #17347]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Paul Murray, Annika Feilbach and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Sonnets
+
+Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650)
+
+
+By Algernon Charles Swinburne
+
+
+Taken from
+The Collected Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne, Vol V.
+
+
+
+
+SWINBURNE'S POETICAL
+WORKS
+
+
+  I. POEMS AND BALLADS (First Series).
+
+ II. SONGS BEFORE SUNRISE, and SONGS OF TWO NATIONS.
+
+III. POEMS AND BALLADS (Second and Third Series), and SONGS OF THE
+     SPRINGTIDES.
+
+ IV. TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE, THE TALE OF BALEN, ATALANTA IN CALYDON,
+     ERECHTHEUS.
+
+  V. STUDIES IN SONG, A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS, SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC
+     POETS, THE HEPTALOGIA, ETC.
+
+ VI. A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY, ASTROPHEL, A CHANNEL PASSAGE AND OTHER POEMS.
+
+
+_First printed (Chatto), 1904_
+_Reprinted 1904, '09, '10, '12_
+_(Heinemann), 1917_
+
+
+_London: William Heinemann, 1917_
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS:
+
+
+HOPE AND FEAR                                                        227
+AFTER SUNSET                                                         228
+A STUDY FROM MEMORY                                                  230
+TO DR. JOHN BROWN                                                    231
+TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT                                                232
+A DEATH ON EASTER DAY                                                233
+ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT                     234
+AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLE'S REMINISCENCES                           235
+A LAST LOOK                                                          237
+DICKENS                                                              238
+ON LAMB'S SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC POETS                                239
+TO JOHN NICHOL                                                       241
+DYSTHANATOS                                                          243
+EUONYMOS                                                             244
+ON THE RUSSIAN PERSECUTION OF THE JEWS                               245
+BISMARCK AT CANOSSA                                                  246
+QUIA NOMINOR LEO                                                     247
+THE CHANNEL TUNNEL                                                   249
+SIR WILLIAM GOMM                                                     250
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS
+
+1590-1650
+
+
+    I. Christopher Marlowe                                           297
+   II. William Shakespeare                                           298
+  III. Ben Jonson                                                    299
+   IV. Beaumont and Fletcher                                         300
+    V. Philip Massinger                                              301
+   VI. John Ford                                                     302
+  VII. John Webster                                                  303
+ VIII. Thomas Decker                                                 304
+   IX. Thomas Middleton                                              305
+    X. Thomas Heywood                                                306
+   XI. George Chapman                                                307
+  XII. John Marston                                                  308
+ XIII. John Day                                                      309
+  XIV. James Shirley                                                 310
+   XV. The Tribe of Benjamin                                         311
+  XVI. Anonymous Plays: "Arden of Feversham"                         312
+ XVII. Anonymous Plays                                               313
+XVIII. Anonymous Plays                                               314
+  XIX. The Many                                                      315
+   XX. The Many                                                      316
+  XXI. Epilogue                                                      317
+
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS
+
+
+
+
+HOPE AND FEAR
+
+
+Beneath the shadow of dawn's aerial cope,
+  With eyes enkindled as the sun's own sphere,
+  Hope from the front of youth in godlike cheer
+Looks Godward, past the shades where blind men grope
+Round the dark door that prayers nor dreams can ope,
+  And makes for joy the very darkness dear
+  That gives her wide wings play; nor dreams that fear
+At noon may rise and pierce the heart of hope.
+Then, when the soul leaves off to dream and yearn,
+May truth first purge her eyesight to discern
+  What once being known leaves time no power to appal;
+Till youth at last, ere yet youth be not, learn
+  The kind wise word that falls from years that fall--
+  "Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all."
+
+
+
+
+AFTER SUNSET
+
+"Si quis piorum Manibus locus."
+
+
+I
+
+Straight from the sun's grave in the deep clear west
+  A sweet strong wind blows, glad of life: and I,
+  Under the soft keen stardawn whence the sky
+Takes life renewed, and all night's godlike breast
+Palpitates, gradually revealed at rest
+  By growth and change of ardours felt on high,
+  Make onward, till the last flame fall and die
+And all the world by night's broad hand lie blest.
+Haply, meseems, as from that edge of death,
+Whereon the day lies dark, a brightening breath
+  Blows more of benediction than the morn,
+So from the graves whereon grief gazing saith
+  That half our heart of life there lies forlorn
+  May light or breath at least of hope be born.
+
+
+II
+
+The wind was soft before the sunset fled:
+  Now, while the cloud-enshrouded corpse of day
+  Is lowered along a red funereal way
+Down to the dark that knows not white from red,
+A clear sheer breeze against the night makes head,
+  Serene, but sure of life as ere a ray
+  Springs, or the dusk of dawn knows red from grey,
+Being as a soul that knows not quick from dead.
+From far beyond the sunset, far above,
+  Full toward the starry soundless east it blows
+  Bright as a child's breath breathing on a rose,
+Smooth to the sense as plume of any dove;
+  Till more and more as darkness grows and glows
+Silence and night seem likest life and love.
+
+
+III
+
+If light of life outlive the set of sun
+  That men call death and end of all things, then
+  How should not that which life held best for men
+And proved most precious, though it seem undone
+By force of death and woful victory won,
+  Be first and surest of revival, when
+  Death shall bow down to life arisen again?
+So shall the soul seen be the self-same one
+That looked and spake with even such lips and eyes
+As love shall doubt not then to recognise,
+  And all bright thoughts and smiles of all time past
+Revive, transfigured, but in spirit and sense
+None other than we knew, for evidence
+  That love's last mortal word was not his last.
+
+
+
+
+A STUDY FROM MEMORY
+
+
+If that be yet a living soul which here
+  Seemed brighter for the growth of numbered springs
+  And clothed by Time and Pain with goodlier things
+Each year it saw fulfilled a fresh fleet year,
+Death can have changed not aught that made it dear;
+  Half humorous goodness, grave-eyed mirth on wings
+  Bright-balanced, blither-voiced than quiring strings;
+Most radiant patience, crowned with conquering cheer;
+A spirit inviolable that smiled and sang
+  By might of nature and heroic need
+  More sweet and strong than loftiest dream or deed;
+A song that shone, a light whence music rang
+  High as the sunniest heights of kindliest thought;
+  All these must be, or all she was be nought.
+
+
+
+
+TO DR. JOHN BROWN
+
+
+Beyond the north wind lay the land of old
+  Where men dwelt blithe and blameless, clothed and fed
+  With joy's bright raiment and with love's sweet bread,
+The whitest flock of earth's maternal fold.
+None there might wear about his brows enrolled
+  A light of lovelier fame than rings your head,
+  Whose lovesome love of children and the dead
+All men give thanks for: I far off behold
+A dear dead hand that links us, and a light
+The blithest and benignest of the night,
+  The night of death's sweet sleep, wherein may be
+A star to show your spirit in present sight
+  Some happier island in the Elysian sea
+  Where Rab may lick the hand of Marjorie.
+
+_March 1882._
+
+
+
+
+TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT
+
+
+The larks are loud above our leagues of whin
+  Now the sun's perfume fills their glorious gold
+  With odour like the colour: all the wold
+Is only light and song and wind wherein
+These twain are blent in one with shining din.
+  And now your gift, a giver's kingly-souled,
+  Dear old fast friend whose honours grow not old,
+Bids memory's note as loud and sweet begin.
+Though all but we from life be now gone forth
+Of that bright household in our joyous north
+Where I, scarce clear of boyhood just at end,
+  First met your hand; yet under life's clear dome,
+Now seventy strenuous years have crowned my friend,
+  Shines no less bright his full-sheaved harvest-home.
+
+_April 20, 1882._
+
+
+
+
+A DEATH ON EASTER DAY
+
+
+The strong spring sun rejoicingly may rise,
+  Rise and make revel, as of old men said,
+  Like dancing hearts of lovers newly wed:
+A light more bright than ever bathed the skies
+Departs for all time out of all men's eyes.
+  The crowns that girt last night a living head
+  Shine only now, though deathless, on the dead:
+Art that mocks death, and Song that never dies.
+Albeit the bright sweet mothlike wings be furled,
+  Hope sees, past all division and defection,
+    And higher than swims the mist of human breath,
+The soul most radiant once in all the world
+  Requickened to regenerate resurrection
+    Out of the likeness of the shadow of death.
+
+_April 1882._
+
+
+
+
+ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT
+
+
+Two souls diverse out of our human sight
+  Pass, followed one with love and each with wonder:
+  The stormy sophist with his mouth of thunder,
+Clothed with loud words and mantled in the might
+Of darkness and magnificence of night;
+  And one whose eye could smite the night in sunder,
+  Searching if light or no light were thereunder,
+And found in love of loving-kindness light.
+Duty divine and Thought with eyes of fire
+Still following Righteousness with deep desire
+  Shone sole and stern before her and above,
+Sure stars and sole to steer by; but more sweet
+Shone lower the loveliest lamp for earthly feet,
+  The light of little children, and their love.
+
+
+
+
+AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLE'S REMINISCENCES
+
+
+I
+
+Three men lived yet when this dead man was young
+  Whose names and words endure for ever: one
+  Whose eyes grew dim with straining toward the sun,
+And his wings weakened, and his angel's tongue
+Lost half the sweetest song was ever sung,
+  But like the strain half uttered earth hears none,
+  Nor shall man hear till all men's songs are done:
+One whose clear spirit like an eagle hung
+Between the mountains hallowed by his love
+And the sky stainless as his soul above:
+  And one the sweetest heart that ever spake
+The brightest words wherein sweet wisdom smiled.
+These deathless names by this dead snake defiled
+  Bid memory spit upon him for their sake.
+
+
+II
+
+Sweet heart, forgive me for thine own sweet sake,
+  Whose kind blithe soul such seas of sorrow swam,
+  And for my love's sake, powerless as I am
+For love to praise thee, or like thee to make
+Music of mirth where hearts less pure would break,
+  Less pure than thine, our life-unspotted Lamb.
+  Things hatefullest thou hadst not heart to damn,
+Nor wouldst have set thine heel on this dead snake.
+Let worms consume its memory with its tongue,
+The fang that stabbed fair Truth, the lip that stung
+  Men's memories uncorroded with its breath.
+Forgive me, that with bitter words like his
+I mix the gentlest English name that is,
+  The tenderest held of all that know not death.
+
+
+
+
+A LAST LOOK
+
+
+Sick of self-love, Malvolio, like an owl
+  That hoots the sun rerisen where starlight sank,
+  With German garters crossed athwart thy frank
+Stout Scottish legs, men watched thee snarl and scowl,
+And boys responsive with reverberate howl
+  Shrilled, hearing how to thee the springtime stank
+  And as thine own soul all the world smelt rank
+And as thine own thoughts Liberty seemed foul.
+Now, for all ill thoughts nursed and ill words given
+Not all condemned, not utterly forgiven,
+  Son of the storm and darkness, pass in peace.
+Peace upon earth thou knewest not: now, being dead,
+Rest, with nor curse nor blessing on thine head,
+  Where high-strung hate and strenuous envy cease.
+
+
+
+
+DICKENS
+
+
+Chief in thy generation born of men
+  Whom English praise acclaimed as English-born,
+  With eyes that matched the worldwide eyes of morn
+For gleam of tears or laughter, tenderest then
+When thoughts of children warmed their light, or when
+  Reverence of age with love and labour worn,
+  Or godlike pity fired with godlike scorn,
+Shot through them flame that winged thy swift live pen:
+Where stars and suns that we behold not burn,
+  Higher even than here, though highest was here thy place,
+    Love sees thy spirit laugh and speak and shine
+With Shakespeare and the soft bright soul of Sterne
+  And Fielding's kindliest might and Goldsmith's grace;
+    Scarce one more loved or worthier love than thine.
+
+
+
+
+ON LAMB'S SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC POETS
+
+
+I
+
+If all the flowers of all the fields on earth
+  By wonder-working summer were made one,
+  Its fragrance were not sweeter in the sun,
+Its treasure-house of leaves were not more worth
+Than those wherefrom thy light of musing mirth
+  Shone, till each leaf whereon thy pen would run
+  Breathed life, and all its breath was benison.
+Beloved beyond all names of English birth,
+More dear than mightier memories; gentlest name
+That ever clothed itself with flower-sweet fame,
+Or linked itself with loftiest names of old
+  By right and might of loving; I, that am
+Less than the least of those within thy fold,
+  Give only thanks for them to thee, Charles Lamb.
+
+
+II
+
+So many a year had borne its own bright bees
+  And slain them since thy honey-bees were hived,
+  John Day, in cells of flower-sweet verse contrived
+So well with craft of moulding melodies,
+Thy soul perchance in amaranth fields at ease
+  Thought not to hear the sound on earth revived
+  Of summer music from the spring derived
+When thy song sucked the flower of flowering trees.
+But thine was not the chance of every day:
+  Time, after many a darkling hour, grew sunny,
+    And light between the clouds ere sunset swam,
+Laughing, and kissed their darkness all away,
+  When, touched and tasted and approved, thy honey
+    Took subtler sweetness from the lips of Lamb.
+
+
+
+
+TO JOHN NICHOL
+
+
+I
+
+Friend of the dead, and friend of all my days
+  Even since they cast off boyhood, I salute
+  The song saluting friends whose songs are mute
+With full burnt-offerings of clear-spirited praise.
+That since our old young years our several ways
+  Have led through fields diverse of flower and fruit,
+  Yet no cross wind has once relaxed the root
+We set long since beneath the sundawn's rays,
+The root of trust whence towered the trusty tree,
+  Friendship--this only and duly might impel
+    My song to salutation of your own;
+More even than praise of one unseen of me
+  And loved--the starry spirit of Dobell,
+    To mine by light and music only known.
+
+
+II
+
+But more than this what moves me most of all
+  To leave not all unworded and unsped
+  The whole heart's greeting of my thanks unsaid
+Scarce needs this sign, that from my tongue should fall
+His name whom sorrow and reverent love recall,
+  The sign to friends on earth of that dear head
+  Alive, which now long since untimely dead
+The wan grey waters covered for a pall.
+Their trustless reaches dense with tangling stems
+  Took never life more taintless of rebuke,
+    More pure and perfect, more serene and kind,
+Than when those clear eyes closed beneath the Thames,
+  And made the now more hallowed name of Luke
+    Memorial to us of morning left behind.
+
+_May 1881._
+
+
+
+
+DYSTHANATOS
+
+_Ad generem Cereris sine cæde et vulnere pauci
+Descendunt reges, aut siccâ morte tyranni._
+
+
+By no dry death another king goes down
+  The way of kings. Yet may no free man's voice,
+  For stern compassion and deep awe, rejoice
+That one sign more is given against the crown,
+That one more head those dark red waters drown
+  Which rise round thrones whose trembling equipoise
+  Is propped on sand and bloodshed and such toys
+As human hearts that shrink at human frown.
+The name writ red on Polish earth, the star
+That was to outshine our England's in the far
+  East heaven of empire--where is one that saith
+Proud words now, prophesying of this White Czar?
+  "In bloodless pangs few kings yield up their breath,
+Few tyrants perish by no violent death."
+
+_March 14, 1881._
+
+
+
+
+EUONYMOS
+
+[Greek: eu mên hê timên edidou nikêphoros alkê
+ek nikês onom' esche phobou kear aien athiktos.]
+
+
+A year ago red wrath and keen despair
+  Spake, and the sole word from their darkness sent
+  Laid low the lord not all omnipotent
+Who stood most like a god of all that were
+As gods for pride of power, till fire and air
+  Made earth of all his godhead. Lightning rent
+  The heart of empire's lurid firmament,
+And laid the mortal core of manhood bare.
+But when the calm crowned head that all revere
+For valour higher than that which casts out fear,
+  Since fear came near it never, comes near death,
+Blind murder cowers before it, knowing that here
+  No braver soul drew bright and queenly breath
+  Since England wept upon Elizabeth.
+
+_March 8, 1882._
+
+
+
+
+ON THE RUSSIAN PERSECUTION OF
+THE JEWS
+
+
+O son of man, by lying tongues adored,
+  By slaughterous hands of slaves with feet red-shod
+  In carnage deep as ever Christian trod
+Profaned with prayer and sacrifice abhorred
+And incense from the trembling tyrant's horde,
+  Brute worshippers or wielders of the rod,
+  Most murderous even of all that call thee God,
+Most treacherous even that ever called thee Lord;
+Face loved of little children long ago,
+  Head hated of the priests and rulers then,
+    If thou see this, or hear these hounds of thine
+    Run ravening as the Gadarean swine,
+Say, was not this thy Passion, to foreknow
+  In death's worst hour the works of Christian men?
+
+_January 23, 1882._
+
+
+
+
+BISMARCK AT CANOSSA
+
+
+Not all disgraced, in that Italian town,
+  The imperial German cowered beneath thine hand,
+  Alone indeed imperial Hildebrand,
+And felt thy foot and Rome's, and felt her frown
+And thine, more strong and sovereign than his crown,
+  Though iron forged its blood-encrusted band.
+  But now the princely wielder of his land,
+For hatred's sake toward freedom, so bows down,
+No strength is in the foot to spurn: its tread
+Can bruise not now the proud submitted head:
+  But how much more abased, much lower brought low,
+And more intolerably humiliated,
+  The neck submissive of the prosperous foe,
+  Than his whom scorn saw shuddering in the snow!
+
+_December 31, 1881._
+
+
+
+
+QUIA NOMINOR LEO
+
+
+I
+
+What part is left thee, lion? Ravenous beast,
+  Which hadst the world for pasture, and for scope
+  And compass of thine homicidal hope
+The kingdom of the spirit of man, the feast
+Of souls subdued from west to sunless east,
+  From blackening north to bloodred south aslope,
+  All servile; earth for footcloth of the pope,
+And heaven for chancel-ceiling of the priest;
+Thou that hadst earth by right of rack and rod,
+Thou that hadst Rome because thy name was God,
+  And by thy creed's gift heaven wherein to dwell;
+Heaven laughs with all his light and might above
+That earth has cast thee out of faith and love;
+  Thy part is but the hollow dream of hell.
+
+
+II
+
+The light of life has faded from thy cause,
+  High priest of heaven and hell and purgatory:
+  Thy lips are loud with strains of oldworld story,
+But the red prey was rent out of thy paws
+Long since: and they that dying brake down thy laws
+  Have with the fires of death-enkindled glory
+  Put out the flame that faltered on thy hoary
+High altars, waning with the world's applause.
+This Italy was Dante's: Bruno died
+Here: Campanella, too sublime for pride,
+  Endured thy God's worst here, and hence went home.
+And what art thou, that time's full tide should shrink
+For thy sake downward? What art thou, to think
+  Thy God shall give thee back for birthright Rome?
+
+_January 1882._
+
+
+
+
+THE CHANNEL TUNNEL
+
+
+Not for less love, all glorious France, to thee,
+  "Sweet enemy" called in days long since at end,
+  Now found and hailed of England sweeter friend,
+Bright sister of our freedom now, being free;
+Not for less love or faith in friendship we
+  Whose love burnt ever toward thee reprehend
+  The vile vain greed whose pursy dreams portend
+Between our shores suppression of the sea.
+Not by dull toil of blind mechanic art
+Shall these be linked for no man's force to part
+  Nor length of years and changes to divide,
+But union only of trust and loving heart
+  And perfect faith in freedom strong to abide
+  And spirit at one with spirit on either side.
+
+_April 3, 1882._
+
+
+
+
+SIR WILLIAM GOMM
+
+
+I
+
+At threescore years and five aroused anew
+  To rule in India, forth a soldier went
+  On whose bright-fronted youth fierce war had spent
+Its iron stress of storm, till glory grew
+Full as the red sun waned on Waterloo.
+  Landing, he met the word from England sent
+  Which bade him yield up rule: and he, content,
+Resigned it, as a mightier warrior's due;
+And wrote as one rejoicing to record
+That "from the first" his royal heart was lord
+  Of its own pride or pain; that thought was none
+Therein save this, that in her perilous strait
+England, whose womb brings forth her sons so great,
+  Should choose to serve her first her mightiest son.
+
+
+II
+
+Glory beyond all flight of warlike fame
+  Go with the warrior's memory who preferred
+  To praise of men whereby men's hearts are stirred,
+And acclamation of his own proud name
+With blare of trumpet-blasts and sound and flame
+  Of pageant honour, and the titular word
+  That only wins men worship of the herd,
+His country's sovereign good; who overcame
+Pride, wrath, and hope of all high chance on earth,
+For this land's love that gave his great heart birth.
+  O nursling of the sea-winds and the sea,
+Immortal England, goddess ocean-born,
+What shall thy children fear, what strengths not scorn,
+  While children of such mould are born to thee?
+
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS
+
+ON
+
+ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS
+
+(1590-1650)
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE
+
+
+Crowned, girdled, garbed and shod with light and fire,
+  Son first-born of the morning, sovereign star!
+  Soul nearest ours of all, that wert most far,
+Most far off in the abysm of time, thy lyre
+Hung highest above the dawn-enkindled quire
+  Where all ye sang together, all that are,
+  And all the starry songs behind thy car
+Rang sequence, all our souls acclaim thee sire.
+
+"If all the pens that ever poets held
+  Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts,"
+  And as with rush of hurtling chariots
+The flight of all their spirits were impelled
+  Toward one great end, thy glory--nay, not then,
+  Not yet might'st thou be praised enough of men.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
+
+
+Not if men's tongues and angels' all in one
+  Spake, might the word be said that might speak Thee.
+  Streams, winds, woods, flowers, fields, mountains, yea, the sea,
+What power is in them all to praise the sun?
+His praise is this,--he can be praised of none.
+  Man, woman, child, praise God for him; but he
+  Exults not to be worshipped, but to be.
+He is; and, being, beholds his work well done.
+All joy, all glory, all sorrow, all strength, all mirth,
+Are his: without him, day were night on earth.
+  Time knows not his from time's own period.
+All lutes, all harps, all viols, all flutes, all lyres,
+Fall dumb before him ere one string suspires.
+  All stars are angels; but the sun is God.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+BEN JONSON
+
+
+Broad-based, broad-fronted, bounteous, multiform,
+  With many a valley impleached with ivy and vine,
+  Wherein the springs of all the streams run wine,
+And many a crag full-faced against the storm,
+The mountain where thy Muse's feet made warm
+  Those lawns that revelled with her dance divine
+  Shines yet with fire as it was wont to shine
+From tossing torches round the dance aswarm.
+
+Nor less, high-stationed on the grey grave heights,
+High-thoughted seers with heaven's heart-kindling lights
+  Hold converse: and the herd of meaner things
+Knows or by fiery scourge or fiery shaft
+When wrath on thy broad brows has risen, and laughed
+  Darkening thy soul with shadow of thunderous wings.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER
+
+
+An hour ere sudden sunset fired the west,
+  Arose two stars upon the pale deep east.
+  The hall of heaven was clear for night's high feast,
+Yet was not yet day's fiery heart at rest.
+Love leapt up from his mother's burning breast
+  To see those warm twin lights, as day decreased,
+  Wax wider, till when all the sun had ceased
+As suns they shone from evening's kindled crest.
+Across them and between, a quickening fire,
+Flamed Venus, laughing with appeased desire.
+  Their dawn, scarce lovelier for the gleam of tears,
+Filled half the hollow shell 'twixt heaven and earth
+With sound like moonlight, mingling moan and mirth,
+  Which rings and glitters down the darkling years.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+PHILIP MASSINGER
+
+
+Clouds here and there arisen an hour past noon
+  Chequered our English heaven with lengthening bars
+  And shadow and sound of wheel-winged thunder-cars
+Assembling strength to put forth tempest soon,
+When the clear still warm concord of thy tune
+  Rose under skies unscared by reddening Mars
+  Yet, like a sound of silver speech of stars,
+With full mild flame as of the mellowing moon.
+Grave and great-hearted Massinger, thy face
+High melancholy lights with loftier grace
+  Than gilds the brows of revel: sad and wise,
+The spirit of thought that moved thy deeper song,
+Sorrow serene in soft calm scorn of wrong,
+  Speaks patience yet from thy majestic eyes.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+JOHN FORD
+
+
+Hew hard the marble from the mountain's heart
+  Where hardest night holds fast in iron gloom
+  Gems brighter than an April dawn in bloom,
+That his Memnonian likeness thence may start
+Revealed, whose hand with high funereal art
+  Carved night, and chiselled shadow: be the tomb
+  That speaks him famous graven with signs of doom
+Intrenched inevitably in lines athwart,
+As on some thunder-blasted Titan's brow
+  His record of rebellion. Not the day
+    Shall strike forth music from so stern a chord,
+Touching this marble: darkness, none knows how,
+  And stars impenetrable of midnight, may.
+    So looms the likeness of thy soul, John Ford.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+JOHN WEBSTER
+
+
+Thunder: the flesh quails, and the soul bows down.
+  Night: east, west, south, and northward, very night.
+  Star upon struggling star strives into sight,
+Star after shuddering star the deep storms drown.
+The very throne of night, her very crown,
+  A man lays hand on, and usurps her right.
+  Song from the highest of heaven's imperious height
+Shoots, as a fire to smite some towering town.
+Rage, anguish, harrowing fear, heart-crazing crime,
+Make monstrous all the murderous face of Time
+  Shown in the spheral orbit of a glass
+Revolving. Earth cries out from all her graves.
+Frail, on frail rafts, across wide-wallowing waves,
+  Shapes here and there of child and mother pass.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+THOMAS DECKER
+
+
+Out of the depths of darkling life where sin
+  Laughs piteously that sorrow should not know
+  Her own ill name, nor woe be counted woe;
+Where hate and craft and lust make drearier din
+Than sounds through dreams that grief holds revel in;
+  What charm of joy-bells ringing, streams that flow,
+  Winds that blow healing in each note they blow,
+Is this that the outer darkness hears begin?
+
+O sweetest heart of all thy time save one,
+Star seen for love's sake nearest to the sun,
+  Hung lamplike o'er a dense and doleful city,
+Not Shakespeare's very spirit, howe'er more great,
+Than thine toward man was more compassionate,
+  Nor gave Christ praise from lips more sweet with pity.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+THOMAS MIDDLETON
+
+
+A wild moon riding high from cloud to cloud,
+  That sees and sees not, glimmering far beneath,
+  Hell's children revel along the shuddering heath
+With dirge-like mirth and raiment like a shroud:
+A worse fair face than witchcraft's, passion-proud,
+  With brows blood-flecked behind their bridal wreath
+  And lips that bade the assassin's sword find sheath
+Deep in the heart whereto love's heart was vowed:
+A game of close contentious crafts and creeds
+  Played till white England bring black Spain to shame:
+A son's bright sword and brighter soul, whose deeds
+  High conscience lights for mother's love and fame:
+Pure gipsy flowers, and poisonous courtly weeds:
+  Such tokens and such trophies crown thy name.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+THOMAS HEYWOOD
+
+
+Tom, if they loved thee best who called thee Tom,
+  What else may all men call thee, seeing thus bright
+  Even yet the laughing and the weeping light
+That still thy kind old eyes are kindled from?
+Small care was thine to assail and overcome
+  Time and his child Oblivion: yet of right
+  Thy name has part with names of lordlier might
+For English love and homely sense of home,
+Whose fragrance keeps thy small sweet bayleaf young
+  And gives it place aloft among thy peers
+    Whence many a wreath once higher strong Time has hurled:
+And this thy praise is sweet on Shakespeare's tongue--
+  "O good old man, how well in thee appears
+    The constant service of the antique world!"
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+GEORGE CHAPMAN
+
+
+High priest of Homer, not elect in vain,
+  Deep trumpets blow before thee, shawms behind
+  Mix music with the rolling wheels that wind
+Slow through the labouring triumph of thy train:
+Fierce history, molten in thy forging brain,
+  Takes form and fire and fashion from thy mind,
+  Tormented and transmuted out of kind:
+But howsoe'er thou shift thy strenuous strain,
+Like Tailor[1] smooth, like Fisher[2] swollen, and now
+  Grim Yarrington[3] scarce bloodier marked than thou,
+  Then bluff as Mayne's[4] or broad-mouthed Barry's[5] glee;
+Proud still with hoar predominance of brow
+  And beard like foam swept off the broad blown sea,
+  Where'er thou go, men's reverence goes with thee.
+
+    [1] Author of _The Hog hath lost his Pearl_.
+
+    [2] Author of _Fuimus Troes, or the True Trojans_.
+
+    [3] Author of _Two Tragedies in One_.
+
+    [4] Author of _The City Match_.
+
+    [5] Author of _Ram-Alley, or Merry Tricks_.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+JOHN MARSTON
+
+
+The bitterness of death and bitterer scorn
+  Breathes from the broad-leafed aloe-plant whence thou
+  Wast fain to gather for thy bended brow
+A chaplet by no gentler forehead worn.
+Grief deep as hell, wrath hardly to be borne,
+  Ploughed up thy soul till round the furrowing plough
+  The strange black soil foamed, as a black beaked prow
+Bids night-black waves foam where its track has torn.
+Too faint the phrase for thee that only saith
+Scorn bitterer than the bitterness of death
+  Pervades the sullen splendour of thy soul,
+Where hate and pain make war on force and fraud
+And all the strengths of tyrants; whence unflawed
+  It keeps this noble heart of hatred whole.
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+JOHN DAY
+
+
+Day was a full-blown flower in heaven, alive
+  With murmuring joy of bees and birds aswarm,
+  When in the skies of song yet flushed and warm
+With music where all passion seems to strive
+For utterance, all things bright and fierce to drive
+  Struggling along the splendour of the storm,
+  Day for an hour put off his fiery form,
+And golden murmurs from a golden hive
+Across the strong bright summer wind were heard,
+  And laughter soft as smiles from girls at play
+  And loud from lips of boys brow-bound with May
+Our mightiest age let fall its gentlest word,
+When Song, in semblance of a sweet small bird,
+  Lit fluttering on the light swift hand of Day.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+JAMES SHIRLEY
+
+
+The dusk of day's decline was hard on dark
+  When evening trembled round thy glowworm lamp
+  That shone across her shades and dewy damp
+A small clear beacon whose benignant spark
+Was gracious yet for loiterers' eyes to mark,
+  Though changed the watchword of our English camp
+  Since the outposts rang round Marlowe's lion ramp,
+When thy steed's pace went ambling round Hyde Park.
+
+And in the thickening twilight under thee
+Walks Davenant, pensive in the paths where he,
+The blithest throat that ever carolled love
+  In music made of morning's merriest heart,
+Glad Suckling, stumbled from his seat above
+  And reeled on slippery roads of alien art.
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+THE TRIBE OF BENJAMIN
+
+
+Sons born of many a loyal Muse to Ben,
+  All true-begotten, warm with wine or ale,
+  Bright from the broad light of its presence, hail!
+Prince Randolph, nighest his throne of all his men,
+Being highest in spirit and heart who hailed him then
+  King, nor might other spread so blithe a sail:
+  Cartwright, a soul pent in with narrower pale,
+Praised of thy sire for manful might of pen:
+Marmion, whose verse keeps alway keen and fine
+The perfume of their Apollonian wine
+  Who shared with that stout sire of all and thee
+The exuberant chalice of his echoing shrine:
+  Is not your praise writ broad in gold which he
+  Inscribed, that all who praise his name should see?
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+ANONYMOUS PLAYS:
+
+"ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM"
+
+
+Mother whose womb brought forth our man of men,
+  Mother of Shakespeare, whom all time acclaims
+  Queen therefore, sovereign queen of English dames,
+Throned higher than sat thy sonless empress then,
+Was it thy son's young passion-guided pen
+  Which drew, reflected from encircling flames,
+  A figure marked by the earlier of thy names
+Wife, and from all her wedded kinswomen
+Marked by the sign of murderess? Pale and great,
+  Great in her grief and sin, but in her death
+  And anguish of her penitential breath
+Greater than all her sin or sin-born fate,
+  She stands, the holocaust of dark desire,
+  Clothed round with song for ever as with fire.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+ANONYMOUS PLAYS
+
+
+Ye too, dim watchfires of some darkling hour,
+  Whose fame forlorn time saves not nor proclaims
+  For ever, but forgetfulness defames
+And darkness and the shadow of death devour,
+Lift up ye too your light, put forth your power,
+  Let the far twilight feel your soft small flames
+  And smile, albeit night name not even their names,
+Ghost by ghost passing, flower blown down on flower:
+That sweet-tongued shadow, like a star's that passed
+Singing, and light was from its darkness cast
+  To paint the face of Painting fair with praise:[1]
+And that wherein forefigured smiles the pure
+Fraternal face of Wordsworth's Elidure
+  Between two child-faced masks of merrier days.[2]
+
+    [1] _Doctor Dodypol._
+
+    [2] _Nobody and Somebody._
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+ANONYMOUS PLAYS
+
+
+More yet and more, and yet we mark not all:
+  The Warning fain to bid fair women heed
+  Its hard brief note of deadly doom and deed;[1]
+The verse that strewed too thick with flowers the hall
+Whence Nero watched his fiery festival;[2]
+  That iron page wherein men's eyes who read
+  See, bruised and marred between two babes that bleed,
+A mad red-handed husband's martyr fall;[3]
+The scene which crossed and streaked with mirth the strife
+Of Henry with his sons and witchlike wife;[4]
+And that sweet pageant of the kindly fiend,
+  Who, seeing three friends in spirit and heart made one,
+Crowned with good hap the true-love wiles he screened
+  In the pleached lanes of pleasant Edmonton.[5]
+
+    [1] _A Warning for Fair Women._
+
+    [2] _The Tragedy of Nero._
+
+    [3] _A Yorkshire Tragedy._
+
+    [4] _Look about you._
+
+    [5] _The Merry Devil of Edmonton._
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+THE MANY
+
+
+I
+
+Greene, garlanded with February's few flowers,
+  Ere March came in with Marlowe's rapturous rage:
+  Peele, from whose hand the sweet white locks of age
+Took the mild chaplet woven of honoured hours:
+Nash, laughing hard: Lodge, flushed from lyric bowers:
+  And Lilly, a goldfinch in a twisted cage
+  Fed by some gay great lady's pettish page
+Till short sweet songs gush clear like short spring showers:
+Kid, whose grim sport still gambolled over graves:
+  And Chettle, in whose fresh funereal verse
+  Weeps Marian yet on Robin's wildwood hearse:
+Cooke, whose light boat of song one soft breath saves,
+  Sighed from a maiden's amorous mouth averse:
+Live likewise ye: Time takes not you for slaves.
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+THE MANY
+
+
+II
+
+Haughton, whose mirth gave woman all her will:
+  Field, bright and loud with laughing flower and bird
+  And keen alternate notes of laud and gird:
+Barnes, darkening once with Borgia's deeds the quill
+Which tuned the passion of Parthenophil:
+  Blithe burly Porter, broad and bold of word:
+  Wilkins, a voice with strenuous pity stirred:
+Turk Mason: Brewer, whose tongue drops honey still:
+Rough Rowley, handling song with Esau's hand:
+  Light Nabbes: lean Sharpham, rank and raw by turns,
+  But fragrant with a forethought once of Burns:
+Soft Davenport, sad-robed, but blithe and bland:
+  Brome, gipsy-led across the woodland ferns:
+Praise be with all, and place among our band.
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+Our mother, which wast twice, as history saith,
+  Found first among the nations: once, when she
+  Who bore thine ensign saw the God in thee
+Smite Spain, and bring forth Shakespeare: once, when death
+Shrank, and Rome's bloodhounds cowered, at Milton's breath:
+  More than thy place, then first among the free
+  More than that sovereign lordship of the sea
+Bequeathed to Cromwell from Elizabeth,
+More than thy fiery guiding-star, which Drake
+Hailed, and the deep saw lit again for Blake,
+  More than all deeds wrought of thy strong right hand,
+This praise keeps most thy fame's memorial strong
+That thou wast head of all these streams of song,
+  And time bows down to thee as Shakespeare's land.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets, and Sonnets on English
+Dramatic Poets (1590-1650), by Algernon Charles Swinburne
+
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Sonnets, by Algernon Charles Swinburne.
+    </title>
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets, and Sonnets on English Dramatic
+Poets (1590-1650), by Algernon Charles Swinburne
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Sonnets, and Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650)
+       Taken from The Collected Poetical Works of Algernon Charles
+              Swinburne, Vol V.
+
+Author: Algernon Charles Swinburne
+
+Release Date: December 18, 2005 [EBook #17347]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Paul Murray, Annika Feilbach and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
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+Character set for HTML: ISO-8859-1
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+</pre>
+
+
+
+<h1>Sonnets</h1>
+
+<h1>Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650)</h1>
+
+
+<h2>By Algernon Charles Swinburne</h2>
+
+<h4>Taken from</h4>
+<h3>The Collected Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne, Vol V.</h3>
+
+
+<hr />
+
+<h2>SWINBURNE'S POETICAL WORKS</h2>
+
+<ul style="list-style-type: upper-roman; margin-left: 20%;">
+<li><span class="smcap">Poems and Ballads</span> (First Series).</li>
+<li><span class="smcap">Songs before Sunrise</span>, and <span class="smcap">Songs of Two Nations</span>.</li>
+<li><span class="smcap">Poems and Ballads</span> (Second and Third Series), and <span class="smcap">Songs
+     of The Springtides</span>.</li>
+<li><span class="smcap">Tristram of Lyonesse, The Tale of Balen, Atalanta in Calydon,
+     Erechtheus.</span></li>
+<li><span class="smcap">Studies in Song, A Century of Roundels, Sonnets on English
+     Dramatic Poets, The Heptalogia, Etc.</span></li>
+<li><span class="smcap">A Midsummer Holiday, Astrophel, A Channel Passage and Other
+     Poems</span>.</li>
+</ul>
+
+
+
+<p class="centre">
+<i>First printed (Chatto), 1904</i><br />
+<i>Reprinted 1904, '09, '10, '12</i><br />
+<i>(Heinemann), 1917</i><br />
+</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p class="centre"><i>London: William Heinemann, 1917</i></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><a href="#part1"><span class="smcap">Sonnets:</span></a></h2>
+
+
+<table summary="Table of Contents">
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem1"><span class="smcap">Hope and Fear</span></a></td><td></td><td align="right">      <a href="#page227">227</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem2"><span class="smcap">After Sunset</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right">     <a href="#page228">228</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem3"><span class="smcap">A Study from Memory</span></a>   </td><td></td><td align="right">   <a href="#page230">230</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem4"><span class="smcap">To Dr. John Brown</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right">     <a href="#page231">231</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem5"><span class="smcap">To William Bell Scott</span></a>  </td><td></td><td align="right">    <a href="#page232">232</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem6"><span class="smcap">A Death on Easter Day</span></a>   </td><td></td><td align="right">   <a href="#page233">233</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem7"><span class="smcap">On the Deaths of Thomas Carlyle and George
+Eliot</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right">    <a href="#page234">234</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem8"><span class="smcap">After Looking into Carlyle's Reminiscences</span></a></td><td></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#page235">235</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem9"><span class="smcap">A Last Look</span></a>  </td><td></td><td align="right">    <a href="#page237">237</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem10"><span class="smcap">Dickens</span></a>   </td><td></td><td align="right">   <a href="#page238">238</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem11"><span class="smcap">On Lamb's Specimens of Dramatic Poets</span></a> </td><td></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#page239">239</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem12"><span class="smcap">To John Nichol</span></a>  </td><td></td><td align="right">    <a href="#page241">241</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem13"><span class="smcap">Dysthanatos</span></a>  </td><td></td><td align="right">    <a href="#page243">243</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem14"><span class="smcap">Euonymos</span></a>   </td><td></td><td align="right">   <a href="#page244">244</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem15"><span class="smcap">On the Russian Persecution of the Jews</span></a></td><td></td>
+<td align="right"><a href="#page245">245</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem16"><span class="smcap">Bismarck at Canossa</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right">     <a href="#page246">246</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem17"><span class="smcap">Quia Nominor Leo</span></a>  </td><td></td><td align="right">    <a href="#page247">247</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem18"><span class="smcap">The Channel Tunnel</span></a> </td><td></td><td align="right">     <a href="#page249">249</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem19"><span class="smcap">Sir William Gomm</span></a>  </td><td></td><td align="right">    <a href="#page250">250</a></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td colspan="3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+<tr><td colspan="3">&nbsp;</td></tr>
+
+<tr><td colspan="3"><h2><a href="#part2">SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS</a></h2></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td colspan="3"><h3>1590-1650</h3></td></tr>
+
+<tr><td><a href="#poem20">I. Christopher Marlowe</a>    </td><td></td><td align="right">  <a href="#page297">297</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td> <a href="#poem21">II. William Shakespeare</a> </td><td></td><td align="right">     <a href="#page298">298</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td> <a href="#poem22">III. Ben Jonson</a>     </td><td></td><td align="right">        <a href="#page299">299</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#poem23">IV. Beaumont and Fletcher</a>  </td><td></td><td align="right">    <a href="#page300">300</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td> <a href="#poem24">V. Philip Massinger</a>   </td><td></td><td align="right">   <a href="#page301">301</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td> <a href="#poem25">VI. John Ford</a>   </td><td></td><td align="right">   <a href="#page302">302</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td> <a href="#poem26">VII. John Webster</a>   </td><td></td><td align="right">   <a href="#page303">303</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#poem27">VIII. Thomas Decker</a>   </td><td></td><td align="right">   <a href="#page304">304</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td>  <a href="#poem28">IX. Thomas Middleton</a> </td><td></td><td align="right">     <a href="#page305">305</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td> <a href="#poem29">X. Thomas Heywood</a> </td><td></td><td align="right">     <a href="#page306">306</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td> <a href="#poem30">XI. George Chapman</a>  </td><td></td><td align="right">    <a href="#page307">307</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#poem31">XII. John Marston</a> </td><td></td><td align="right">     <a href="#page308">308</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#poem32">XIII. John Day</a>  </td><td></td><td align="right">    <a href="#page309">309</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td> <a href="#poem33">XIV. James Shirley</a> </td><td></td><td align="right">    <a href="#page310">310</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#poem34">XV. The Tribe of Benjamin</a>  </td><td></td><td align="right">    <a href="#page311">311</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td> <a href="#poem35">XVI. Anonymous Plays: "Arden of Feversham"</a> </td><td></td><td align="right">     <a href="#page312">312</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#poem36">XVII. Anonymous Plays</a>   </td><td></td><td align="right">   <a href="#page313">313</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#poem37">XVIII. Anonymous Plays</a>  </td><td></td><td align="right">    <a href="#page314">314</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#poem38">XIX. The Many</a>   </td><td></td><td align="right">        <a href="#page315">315</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td><a href="#poem39">XX. The Many</a>   </td><td></td><td align="right">        <a href="#page316">316</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td> <a href="#poem40">XXI. Epilogue</a>  </td><td></td><td align="right">         <a href="#page317">317</a></td></tr>
+</table>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><a name="page225" id="page225"><span class="pageno">[225]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="part1" id="part1"></a>SONNETS</h2>
+
+<p><a name="page226" id="page226"><span class="pageno">[226]</span></a></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page227" id="page227"><span class="pageno">[227]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem1" id="poem1"></a>HOPE AND FEAR</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beneath the shadow of dawn's aerial cope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With eyes enkindled as the sun's own sphere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hope from the front of youth in godlike cheer<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Looks Godward, past the shades where blind men grope<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Round the dark door that prayers nor dreams can ope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And makes for joy the very darkness dear<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That gives her wide wings play; nor dreams that fear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At noon may rise and pierce the heart of hope.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then, when the soul leaves off to dream and yearn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May truth first purge her eyesight to discern<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What once being known leaves time no power to appal;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till youth at last, ere yet youth be not, learn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The kind wise word that falls from years that fall&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page228" id="page228"><span class="pageno">[228]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem2" id="poem2"></a>AFTER SUNSET</h2>
+
+<div class="centre">
+<span class="i0">"Si quis piorum Manibus locus."</span>
+</div>
+
+<h5>I</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Straight from the sun's grave in the deep clear west<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A sweet strong wind blows, glad of life: and I,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Under the soft keen stardawn whence the sky<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Takes life renewed, and all night's godlike breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Palpitates, gradually revealed at rest<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By growth and change of ardours felt on high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Make onward, till the last flame fall and die<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the world by night's broad hand lie blest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Haply, meseems, as from that edge of death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whereon the day lies dark, a brightening breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Blows more of benediction than the morn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So from the graves whereon grief gazing saith<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That half our heart of life there lies forlorn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May light or breath at least of hope be born.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h5>II</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The wind was soft before the sunset fled:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Now, while the cloud-enshrouded corpse of day<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is lowered along a red funereal way<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Down to the dark that knows not white from red,<br /></span><a name="page229" id="page229"><span class="pageno">[229]</span></a>
+<span class="i0">A clear sheer breeze against the night makes head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Serene, but sure of life as ere a ray<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Springs, or the dusk of dawn knows red from grey,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Being as a soul that knows not quick from dead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From far beyond the sunset, far above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Full toward the starry soundless east it blows<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bright as a child's breath breathing on a rose,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Smooth to the sense as plume of any dove;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Till more and more as darkness grows and glows<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Silence and night seem likest life and love.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h5>III</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If light of life outlive the set of sun<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That men call death and end of all things, then<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">How should not that which life held best for men<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And proved most precious, though it seem undone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By force of death and woful victory won,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Be first and surest of revival, when<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Death shall bow down to life arisen again?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So shall the soul seen be the self-same one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That looked and spake with even such lips and eyes<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As love shall doubt not then to recognise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And all bright thoughts and smiles of all time past<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Revive, transfigured, but in spirit and sense<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None other than we knew, for evidence<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That love's last mortal word was not his last.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page230" id="page230"><span class="pageno">[230]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem3" id="poem3"></a>A STUDY FROM MEMORY</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If that be yet a living soul which here<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Seemed brighter for the growth of numbered springs<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And clothed by Time and Pain with goodlier things<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Each year it saw fulfilled a fresh fleet year,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Death can have changed not aught that made it dear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Half humorous goodness, grave-eyed mirth on wings<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bright-balanced, blither-voiced than quiring strings;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Most radiant patience, crowned with conquering cheer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A spirit inviolable that smiled and sang<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By might of nature and heroic need<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">More sweet and strong than loftiest dream or deed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A song that shone, a light whence music rang<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">High as the sunniest heights of kindliest thought;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All these must be, or all she was be nought.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page231" id="page231"><span class="pageno">[231]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem4" id="poem4"></a>TO DR. JOHN BROWN</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beyond the north wind lay the land of old<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where men dwelt blithe and blameless, clothed and fed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With joy's bright raiment and with love's sweet bread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The whitest flock of earth's maternal fold.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None there might wear about his brows enrolled<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A light of lovelier fame than rings your head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose lovesome love of children and the dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All men give thanks for: I far off behold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A dear dead hand that links us, and a light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blithest and benignest of the night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The night of death's sweet sleep, wherein may be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A star to show your spirit in present sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Some happier island in the Elysian sea<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where Rab may lick the hand of Marjorie.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="citation"><i>March 1882.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page232" id="page232"><span class="pageno">[232]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem5" id="poem5"></a>TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The larks are loud above our leagues of whin<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Now the sun's perfume fills their glorious gold<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With odour like the colour: all the wold<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is only light and song and wind wherein<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These twain are blent in one with shining din.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And now your gift, a giver's kingly-souled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Dear old fast friend whose honours grow not old,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bids memory's note as loud and sweet begin.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though all but we from life be now gone forth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of that bright household in our joyous north<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where I, scarce clear of boyhood just at end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">First met your hand; yet under life's clear dome,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now seventy strenuous years have crowned my friend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shines no less bright his full-sheaved harvest-home.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="citation"><i>April 20, 1882.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page233" id="page233"><span class="pageno">[233]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem6" id="poem6"></a>A DEATH ON EASTER DAY</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The strong spring sun rejoicingly may rise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rise and make revel, as of old men said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Like dancing hearts of lovers newly wed:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A light more bright than ever bathed the skies<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Departs for all time out of all men's eyes.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The crowns that girt last night a living head<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shine only now, though deathless, on the dead:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Art that mocks death, and Song that never dies.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Albeit the bright sweet mothlike wings be furled,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hope sees, past all division and defection,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And higher than swims the mist of human breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The soul most radiant once in all the world<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Requickened to regenerate resurrection<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Out of the likeness of the shadow of death.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="citation"><i>April 1882.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page234" id="page234"><span class="pageno">[234]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem7" id="poem7"></a>ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Two souls diverse out of our human sight<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pass, followed one with love and each with wonder:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The stormy sophist with his mouth of thunder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clothed with loud words and mantled in the might<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of darkness and magnificence of night;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And one whose eye could smite the night in sunder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Searching if light or no light were thereunder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And found in love of loving-kindness light.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Duty divine and Thought with eyes of fire<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still following Righteousness with deep desire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shone sole and stern before her and above,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sure stars and sole to steer by; but more sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shone lower the loveliest lamp for earthly feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The light of little children, and their love.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page235" id="page235"><span class="pageno">[235]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem8" id="poem8"></a>AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLE'S REMINISCENCES</h2>
+
+
+<h5>I</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Three men lived yet when this dead man was young<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose names and words endure for ever: one<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose eyes grew dim with straining toward the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And his wings weakened, and his angel's tongue<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lost half the sweetest song was ever sung,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But like the strain half uttered earth hears none,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor shall man hear till all men's songs are done:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One whose clear spirit like an eagle hung<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between the mountains hallowed by his love<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the sky stainless as his soul above:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And one the sweetest heart that ever spake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The brightest words wherein sweet wisdom smiled.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">These deathless names by this dead snake defiled<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bid memory spit upon him for their sake.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h5>II</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweet heart, forgive me for thine own sweet sake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose kind blithe soul such seas of sorrow swam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And for my love's sake, powerless as I am<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For love to praise thee, or like thee to make<br /></span><a name="page236" id="page236"><span class="pageno">[236]</span></a>
+<span class="i0">Music of mirth where hearts less pure would break,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Less pure than thine, our life-unspotted Lamb.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Things hatefullest thou hadst not heart to damn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor wouldst have set thine heel on this dead snake.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let worms consume its memory with its tongue,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fang that stabbed fair Truth, the lip that stung<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Men's memories uncorroded with its breath.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Forgive me, that with bitter words like his<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I mix the gentlest English name that is,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The tenderest held of all that know not death.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page237" id="page237"><span class="pageno">[237]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem9" id="poem9"></a>A LAST LOOK</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sick of self-love, Malvolio, like an owl<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That hoots the sun rerisen where starlight sank,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With German garters crossed athwart thy frank<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stout Scottish legs, men watched thee snarl and scowl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And boys responsive with reverberate howl<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shrilled, hearing how to thee the springtime stank<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And as thine own soul all the world smelt rank<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And as thine own thoughts Liberty seemed foul.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now, for all ill thoughts nursed and ill words given<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not all condemned, not utterly forgiven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Son of the storm and darkness, pass in peace.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Peace upon earth thou knewest not: now, being dead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rest, with nor curse nor blessing on thine head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where high-strung hate and strenuous envy cease.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page238" id="page238"><span class="pageno">[238]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem10" id="poem10"></a>DICKENS</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Chief in thy generation born of men<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whom English praise acclaimed as English-born,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With eyes that matched the worldwide eyes of morn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For gleam of tears or laughter, tenderest then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When thoughts of children warmed their light, or when<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Reverence of age with love and labour worn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Or godlike pity fired with godlike scorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shot through them flame that winged thy swift live pen:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where stars and suns that we behold not burn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Higher even than here, though highest was here thy place,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Love sees thy spirit laugh and speak and shine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Shakespeare and the soft bright soul of Sterne<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Fielding's kindliest might and Goldsmith's grace;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Scarce one more loved or worthier love than thine.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page239" id="page239"><span class="pageno">[239]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem11" id="poem11"></a>ON LAMB'S SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC
+POETS</h2>
+
+
+<h5>I</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If all the flowers of all the fields on earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By wonder-working summer were made one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its fragrance were not sweeter in the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its treasure-house of leaves were not more worth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than those wherefrom thy light of musing mirth<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shone, till each leaf whereon thy pen would run<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Breathed life, and all its breath was benison.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beloved beyond all names of English birth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More dear than mightier memories; gentlest name<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That ever clothed itself with flower-sweet fame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or linked itself with loftiest names of old<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By right and might of loving; I, that am<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Less than the least of those within thy fold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Give only thanks for them to thee, Charles Lamb.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h5>II</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So many a year had borne its own bright bees<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And slain them since thy honey-bees were hived,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">John Day, in cells of flower-sweet verse contrived<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So well with craft of moulding melodies,<br /></span><a name="page240" id="page240"><span class="pageno">[240]</span></a>
+<span class="i0">Thy soul perchance in amaranth fields at ease<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thought not to hear the sound on earth revived<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of summer music from the spring derived<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When thy song sucked the flower of flowering trees.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But thine was not the chance of every day:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Time, after many a darkling hour, grew sunny,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And light between the clouds ere sunset swam,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Laughing, and kissed their darkness all away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When, touched and tasted and approved, thy honey<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Took subtler sweetness from the lips of Lamb.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page241" id="page241"><span class="pageno">[241]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem12" id="poem12"></a>TO JOHN NICHOL</h2>
+
+
+<h5>I</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Friend of the dead, and friend of all my days<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Even since they cast off boyhood, I salute<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The song saluting friends whose songs are mute<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With full burnt-offerings of clear-spirited praise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That since our old young years our several ways<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Have led through fields diverse of flower and fruit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet no cross wind has once relaxed the root<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We set long since beneath the sundawn's rays,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The root of trust whence towered the trusty tree,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Friendship&mdash;this only and duly might impel<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">My song to salutation of your own;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More even than praise of one unseen of me<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And loved&mdash;the starry spirit of Dobell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To mine by light and music only known.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h5>II</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But more than this what moves me most of all<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To leave not all unworded and unsped<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The whole heart's greeting of my thanks unsaid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scarce needs this sign, that from my tongue should fall<br /></span>
+<a name="page242" id="page242"><span class="pageno">[242]</span></a>
+<span class="i0">His name whom sorrow and reverent love recall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The sign to friends on earth of that dear head<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Alive, which now long since untimely dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wan grey waters covered for a pall.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their trustless reaches dense with tangling stems<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Took never life more taintless of rebuke,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">More pure and perfect, more serene and kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than when those clear eyes closed beneath the Thames,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And made the now more hallowed name of Luke<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Memorial to us of morning left behind.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="citation"><i>May 1881.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page243" id="page243"><span class="pageno">[243]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem13" id="poem13"></a>DYSTHANATOS</h2>
+
+<div style="margin-left: 35%;">
+<span class="i0"><i>Ad generem Cereris sine c&aelig;de et vulnere pauci</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Descendunt reges, aut sicc&acirc; morte tyranni.</i><br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">By no dry death another king goes down<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The way of kings. Yet may no free man's voice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For stern compassion and deep awe, rejoice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That one sign more is given against the crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That one more head those dark red waters drown<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which rise round thrones whose trembling equipoise<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is propped on sand and bloodshed and such toys<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As human hearts that shrink at human frown.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The name writ red on Polish earth, the star<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That was to outshine our England's in the far<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">East heaven of empire&mdash;where is one that saith<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Proud words now, prophesying of this White Czar?<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"In bloodless pangs few kings yield up their breath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Few tyrants perish by no violent death."<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="citation"><i>March 14, 1881.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page244" id="page244"><span class="pageno">[244]</span></a></p>
+
+<p class="note">[Transcriber's note: Please hover your mouse over the Greek text below to see a transcription.]
+</p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem14" id="poem14"></a>EUONYMOS</h2>
+
+<div style="margin-left: 35%;">
+<span class="i0"><ins title="eu mên ê timên edidou nikêphoros alkê
+ek nikês onom' esche phobou kear aien athiktos.">&#949;&#8022;
+&#956;&#8052;&#957;
+&#8087;
+&#964;&#953;&#956;&#8052;&#957;
+&#7952;&#948;&#8055;&#948;&#959;&#965; &#957;&#953;&#954;&#951;&#966;&#8057;&#961;&#959;&#962;
+&#7936;&#955;&#954;&#8052;</ins><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><ins title="eu mên ê timên edidou nikêphoros alkê
+ek nikês onom' esche phobou kear aien athiktos.">&#7952;&#954;
+&#957;&#8055;&#954;&#951;&#962;
+&#8004;&#957;&#959;&#956;&#8217;
+&#7956;&#963;&#967;&#949;
+&#966;&#8057;&#946;&#959;&#965;
+&#954;&#8051;&#945;&#961;
+&#945;&#7984;&#8050;&#957;
+&#7940;&#952;&#953;&#954;&#964;&#959;&#962;.</ins><br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A year ago red wrath and keen despair<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Spake, and the sole word from their darkness sent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Laid low the lord not all omnipotent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who stood most like a god of all that were<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As gods for pride of power, till fire and air<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Made earth of all his godhead. Lightning rent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The heart of empire's lurid firmament,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And laid the mortal core of manhood bare.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when the calm crowned head that all revere<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For valour higher than that which casts out fear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Since fear came near it never, comes near death,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blind murder cowers before it, knowing that here<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No braver soul drew bright and queenly breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Since England wept upon Elizabeth.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="citation"><i>March 8, 1882.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page245" id="page245"><span class="pageno">[245]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem15" id="poem15"></a>ON THE RUSSIAN PERSECUTION OF
+THE JEWS</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O son of man, by lying tongues adored,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">By slaughterous hands of slaves with feet red-shod<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In carnage deep as ever Christian trod<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Profaned with prayer and sacrifice abhorred<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And incense from the trembling tyrant's horde,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Brute worshippers or wielders of the rod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Most murderous even of all that call thee God,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Most treacherous even that ever called thee Lord;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Face loved of little children long ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Head hated of the priests and rulers then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">If thou see this, or hear these hounds of thine<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Run ravening as the Gadarean swine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say, was not this thy Passion, to foreknow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In death's worst hour the works of Christian men?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="citation"><i>January 23, 1882.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page246" id="page246"><span class="pageno">[246]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem16" id="poem16"></a>BISMARCK AT CANOSSA</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not all disgraced, in that Italian town,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The imperial German cowered beneath thine hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Alone indeed imperial Hildebrand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And felt thy foot and Rome's, and felt her frown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And thine, more strong and sovereign than his crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though iron forged its blood-encrusted band.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But now the princely wielder of his land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For hatred's sake toward freedom, so bows down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No strength is in the foot to spurn: its tread<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can bruise not now the proud submitted head:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But how much more abased, much lower brought low,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And more intolerably humiliated,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The neck submissive of the prosperous foe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than his whom scorn saw shuddering in the snow!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="citation"><i>December 31, 1881.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page247" id="page247"><span class="pageno">[247]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem17" id="poem17"></a>QUIA NOMINOR LEO</h2>
+
+
+<h5>I</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What part is left thee, lion? Ravenous beast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which hadst the world for pasture, and for scope<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And compass of thine homicidal hope<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The kingdom of the spirit of man, the feast<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of souls subdued from west to sunless east,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From blackening north to bloodred south aslope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All servile; earth for footcloth of the pope,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And heaven for chancel-ceiling of the priest;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou that hadst earth by right of rack and rod,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou that hadst Rome because thy name was God,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And by thy creed's gift heaven wherein to dwell;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heaven laughs with all his light and might above<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That earth has cast thee out of faith and love;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy part is but the hollow dream of hell.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h5>II</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The light of life has faded from thy cause,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">High priest of heaven and hell and purgatory:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy lips are loud with strains of oldworld story,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the red prey was rent out of thy paws<br /></span><a name="page248" id="page248"><span class="pageno">[248]</span></a>
+<span class="i0">Long since: and they that dying brake down thy laws<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Have with the fires of death-enkindled glory<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Put out the flame that faltered on thy hoary<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">High altars, waning with the world's applause.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This Italy was Dante's: Bruno died<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Here: Campanella, too sublime for pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Endured thy God's worst here, and hence went home.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And what art thou, that time's full tide should shrink<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thy sake downward? What art thou, to think<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy God shall give thee back for birthright Rome?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="citation"><i>January 1882.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page249" id="page249"><span class="pageno">[249]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem18" id="poem18"></a>THE CHANNEL TUNNEL</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not for less love, all glorious France, to thee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"Sweet enemy" called in days long since at end,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Now found and hailed of England sweeter friend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bright sister of our freedom now, being free;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not for less love or faith in friendship we<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose love burnt ever toward thee reprehend<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The vile vain greed whose pursy dreams portend<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Between our shores suppression of the sea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not by dull toil of blind mechanic art<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall these be linked for no man's force to part<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor length of years and changes to divide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But union only of trust and loving heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And perfect faith in freedom strong to abide<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And spirit at one with spirit on either side.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p class="citation"><i>April 3, 1882.</i></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page250" id="page250"><span class="pageno">[250]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem19" id="poem19"></a>SIR WILLIAM GOMM</h2>
+
+
+<h5>I</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">At threescore years and five aroused anew<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To rule in India, forth a soldier went<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">On whose bright-fronted youth fierce war had spent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Its iron stress of storm, till glory grew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full as the red sun waned on Waterloo.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Landing, he met the word from England sent<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which bade him yield up rule: and he, content,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Resigned it, as a mightier warrior's due;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And wrote as one rejoicing to record<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That "from the first" his royal heart was lord<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of its own pride or pain; that thought was none<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Therein save this, that in her perilous strait<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">England, whose womb brings forth her sons so great,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Should choose to serve her first her mightiest son.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h5>II</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Glory beyond all flight of warlike fame<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Go with the warrior's memory who preferred<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To praise of men whereby men's hearts are stirred,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And acclamation of his own proud name<br /></span><a name="page251" id="page251"><span class="pageno">[251]</span></a>
+<span class="i0">With blare of trumpet-blasts and sound and flame<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of pageant honour, and the titular word<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That only wins men worship of the herd,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His country's sovereign good; who overcame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pride, wrath, and hope of all high chance on earth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For this land's love that gave his great heart birth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">O nursling of the sea-winds and the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Immortal England, goddess ocean-born,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What shall thy children fear, what strengths not scorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">While children of such mould are born to thee?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<p><a name="page295" id="page295"><span class="pageno">[295]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="part2" id="part2"></a>SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS</h2>
+
+<h3>(1590-1650)</h3>
+
+<p><a name="page296" id="page296"><span class="pageno">[296]</span></a></p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page297" id="page297"><span class="pageno">[297]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem20" id="poem20"></a>I</h2>
+
+
+<h3>CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Crowned, girdled, garbed and shod with light and fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Son first-born of the morning, sovereign star!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Soul nearest ours of all, that wert most far,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Most far off in the abysm of time, thy lyre<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hung highest above the dawn-enkindled quire<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where all ye sang together, all that are,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And all the starry songs behind thy car<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rang sequence, all our souls acclaim thee sire.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"If all the pens that ever poets held<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And as with rush of hurtling chariots<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The flight of all their spirits were impelled<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Toward one great end, thy glory&mdash;nay, not then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Not yet might'st thou be praised enough of men.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page298" id="page298"><span class="pageno">[298]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem21" id="poem21"></a>II</h2>
+
+<h3>WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not if men's tongues and angels' all in one<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Spake, might the word be said that might speak Thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Streams, winds, woods, flowers, fields, mountains, yea, the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What power is in them all to praise the sun?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His praise is this,&mdash;he can be praised of none.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Man, woman, child, praise God for him; but he<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Exults not to be worshipped, but to be.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He is; and, being, beholds his work well done.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All joy, all glory, all sorrow, all strength, all mirth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are his: without him, day were night on earth.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Time knows not his from time's own period.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All lutes, all harps, all viols, all flutes, all lyres,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fall dumb before him ere one string suspires.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All stars are angels; but the sun is God.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page299" id="page299"><span class="pageno">[299]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem22" id="poem22"></a>III</h2>
+
+<h3>BEN JONSON</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Broad-based, broad-fronted, bounteous, multiform,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With many a valley impleached with ivy and vine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wherein the springs of all the streams run wine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And many a crag full-faced against the storm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mountain where thy Muse's feet made warm<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Those lawns that revelled with her dance divine<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shines yet with fire as it was wont to shine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From tossing torches round the dance aswarm.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nor less, high-stationed on the grey grave heights,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">High-thoughted seers with heaven's heart-kindling lights<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hold converse: and the herd of meaner things<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Knows or by fiery scourge or fiery shaft<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When wrath on thy broad brows has risen, and laughed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Darkening thy soul with shadow of thunderous wings.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page300" id="page300"><span class="pageno">[300]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem23" id="poem23"></a>IV</h2>
+
+<h3>BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">An hour ere sudden sunset fired the west,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Arose two stars upon the pale deep east.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The hall of heaven was clear for night's high feast,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet was not yet day's fiery heart at rest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Love leapt up from his mother's burning breast<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To see those warm twin lights, as day decreased,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wax wider, till when all the sun had ceased<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As suns they shone from evening's kindled crest.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Across them and between, a quickening fire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Flamed Venus, laughing with appeased desire.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Their dawn, scarce lovelier for the gleam of tears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Filled half the hollow shell 'twixt heaven and earth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With sound like moonlight, mingling moan and mirth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which rings and glitters down the darkling years.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page301" id="page301"><span class="pageno">[301]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem24" id="poem24"></a>V</h2>
+
+<h3>PHILIP MASSINGER</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Clouds here and there arisen an hour past noon<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Chequered our English heaven with lengthening bars<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And shadow and sound of wheel-winged thunder-cars<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Assembling strength to put forth tempest soon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When the clear still warm concord of thy tune<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Rose under skies unscared by reddening Mars<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet, like a sound of silver speech of stars,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With full mild flame as of the mellowing moon.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grave and great-hearted Massinger, thy face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">High melancholy lights with loftier grace<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Than gilds the brows of revel: sad and wise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The spirit of thought that moved thy deeper song,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sorrow serene in soft calm scorn of wrong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Speaks patience yet from thy majestic eyes.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page302" id="page302"><span class="pageno">[302]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem25" id="poem25"></a>VI</h2>
+
+<h3>JOHN FORD</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Hew hard the marble from the mountain's heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where hardest night holds fast in iron gloom<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Gems brighter than an April dawn in bloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That his Memnonian likeness thence may start<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Revealed, whose hand with high funereal art<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Carved night, and chiselled shadow: be the tomb<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That speaks him famous graven with signs of doom<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Intrenched inevitably in lines athwart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As on some thunder-blasted Titan's brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">His record of rebellion. Not the day<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Shall strike forth music from so stern a chord,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Touching this marble: darkness, none knows how,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And stars impenetrable of midnight, may.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">So looms the likeness of thy soul, John Ford.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page303" id="page303"><span class="pageno">[303]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem26" id="poem26"></a>VII</h2>
+
+<h3>JOHN WEBSTER</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thunder: the flesh quails, and the soul bows down.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Night: east, west, south, and northward, very night.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Star upon struggling star strives into sight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Star after shuddering star the deep storms drown.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The very throne of night, her very crown,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A man lays hand on, and usurps her right.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Song from the highest of heaven's imperious height<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shoots, as a fire to smite some towering town.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rage, anguish, harrowing fear, heart-crazing crime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Make monstrous all the murderous face of Time<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shown in the spheral orbit of a glass<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Revolving. Earth cries out from all her graves.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Frail, on frail rafts, across wide-wallowing waves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Shapes here and there of child and mother pass.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page304" id="page304"><span class="pageno">[304]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem27" id="poem27"></a>VIII</h2>
+
+<h3>THOMAS DECKER</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Out of the depths of darkling life where sin<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Laughs piteously that sorrow should not know<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Her own ill name, nor woe be counted woe;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where hate and craft and lust make drearier din<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than sounds through dreams that grief holds revel in;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What charm of joy-bells ringing, streams that flow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Winds that blow healing in each note they blow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is this that the outer darkness hears begin?<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O sweetest heart of all thy time save one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Star seen for love's sake nearest to the sun,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hung lamplike o'er a dense and doleful city,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not Shakespeare's very spirit, howe'er more great,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than thine toward man was more compassionate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Nor gave Christ praise from lips more sweet with pity.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page305" id="page305"><span class="pageno">[305]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem28" id="poem28"></a>IX</h2>
+
+<h3>THOMAS MIDDLETON</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A wild moon riding high from cloud to cloud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That sees and sees not, glimmering far beneath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Hell's children revel along the shuddering heath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With dirge-like mirth and raiment like a shroud:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A worse fair face than witchcraft's, passion-proud,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With brows blood-flecked behind their bridal wreath<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And lips that bade the assassin's sword find sheath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Deep in the heart whereto love's heart was vowed:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A game of close contentious crafts and creeds<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Played till white England bring black Spain to shame:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A son's bright sword and brighter soul, whose deeds<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">High conscience lights for mother's love and fame:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pure gipsy flowers, and poisonous courtly weeds:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Such tokens and such trophies crown thy name.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page306" id="page306"><span class="pageno">[306]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem29" id="poem29"></a>X</h2>
+
+<h3>THOMAS HEYWOOD</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tom, if they loved thee best who called thee Tom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">What else may all men call thee, seeing thus bright<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Even yet the laughing and the weeping light<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That still thy kind old eyes are kindled from?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Small care was thine to assail and overcome<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Time and his child Oblivion: yet of right<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Thy name has part with names of lordlier might<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For English love and homely sense of home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose fragrance keeps thy small sweet bayleaf young<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And gives it place aloft among thy peers<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Whence many a wreath once higher strong Time has hurled:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this thy praise is sweet on Shakespeare's tongue&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">"O good old man, how well in thee appears<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The constant service of the antique world!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page307" id="page307"><span class="pageno">[307]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem30" id="poem30"></a>XI</h2>
+
+<h3>GEORGE CHAPMAN</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">High priest of Homer, not elect in vain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Deep trumpets blow before thee, shawms behind<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mix music with the rolling wheels that wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Slow through the labouring triumph of thy train:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fierce history, molten in thy forging brain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Takes form and fire and fashion from thy mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Tormented and transmuted out of kind:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But howsoe'er thou shift thy strenuous strain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like
+Tailor<a name="anchor1_1" id="anchor1_1"></a><a href="#footnote1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> smooth,
+like Fisher<a name="anchor1_2" id="anchor1_2"></a><a href="#footnote1_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> swollen, and now<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Grim
+Yarrington<a name="anchor1_3" id="anchor1_3"></a><a href="#footnote1_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> scarce bloodier marked than thou,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Then bluff as
+Mayne's<a name="anchor1_4" id="anchor1_4"></a><a href="#footnote1_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> or broad-mouthed
+Barry's<a name="anchor1_5" id="anchor1_5"></a><a href="#footnote1_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> glee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Proud still with hoar predominance of brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And beard like foam swept off the broad blown sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Where'er thou go, men's reverence goes with thee.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="footnote1_1" id="footnote1_1"></a><a href="#anchor1_1">[1]</a> Author of <i>The Hog hath lost his Pearl</i>.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="footnote1_2" id="footnote1_2"></a><a href="#anchor1_2">[2]</a> Author of <i>Fuimus Troes, or the True Trojans</i>.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="footnote1_3" id="footnote1_3"></a><a href="#anchor1_3">[3]</a> Author of <i>Two Tragedies in One</i>.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="footnote1_4" id="footnote1_4"></a><a href="#anchor1_4">[4]</a> Author of <i>The City Match</i>.</p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="footnote1_5" id="footnote1_5"></a><a href="#anchor1_5">[5]</a> Author of <i>Ram-Alley, or Merry Tricks</i>.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page308" id="page308"><span class="pageno">[308]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem31" id="poem31"></a>XII</h2>
+
+<h3>JOHN MARSTON</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The bitterness of death and bitterer scorn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Breathes from the broad-leafed aloe-plant whence thou<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wast fain to gather for thy bended brow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A chaplet by no gentler forehead worn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Grief deep as hell, wrath hardly to be borne,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ploughed up thy soul till round the furrowing plough<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The strange black soil foamed, as a black beaked prow<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bids night-black waves foam where its track has torn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Too faint the phrase for thee that only saith<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Scorn bitterer than the bitterness of death<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Pervades the sullen splendour of thy soul,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where hate and pain make war on force and fraud<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the strengths of tyrants; whence unflawed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">It keeps this noble heart of hatred whole.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page309" id="page309"><span class="pageno">[309]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem32" id="poem32"></a>XIII</h2>
+
+<h3>JOHN DAY</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Day was a full-blown flower in heaven, alive<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">With murmuring joy of bees and birds aswarm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When in the skies of song yet flushed and warm<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With music where all passion seems to strive<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For utterance, all things bright and fierce to drive<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Struggling along the splendour of the storm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Day for an hour put off his fiery form,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And golden murmurs from a golden hive<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Across the strong bright summer wind were heard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And laughter soft as smiles from girls at play<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And loud from lips of boys brow-bound with May<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our mightiest age let fall its gentlest word,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Song, in semblance of a sweet small bird,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Lit fluttering on the light swift hand of Day.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page310" id="page310"><span class="pageno">[310]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem33" id="poem33"></a>XIV</h2>
+
+<h3>JAMES SHIRLEY</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The dusk of day's decline was hard on dark<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">When evening trembled round thy glowworm lamp<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That shone across her shades and dewy damp<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A small clear beacon whose benignant spark<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was gracious yet for loiterers' eyes to mark,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Though changed the watchword of our English camp<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Since the outposts rang round Marlowe's lion ramp,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When thy steed's pace went ambling round Hyde Park.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And in the thickening twilight under thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Walks Davenant, pensive in the paths where he,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The blithest throat that ever carolled love<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In music made of morning's merriest heart,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Glad Suckling, stumbled from his seat above<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And reeled on slippery roads of alien art.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page311" id="page311"><span class="pageno">[311]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem34" id="poem34"></a>XV</h2>
+
+<h3>THE TRIBE OF BENJAMIN</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sons born of many a loyal Muse to Ben,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">All true-begotten, warm with wine or ale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Bright from the broad light of its presence, hail!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Prince Randolph, nighest his throne of all his men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Being highest in spirit and heart who hailed him then<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">King, nor might other spread so blithe a sail:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Cartwright, a soul pent in with narrower pale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Praised of thy sire for manful might of pen:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Marmion, whose verse keeps alway keen and fine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The perfume of their Apollonian wine<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who shared with that stout sire of all and thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The exuberant chalice of his echoing shrine:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Is not your praise writ broad in gold which he<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Inscribed, that all who praise his name should see?<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page312" id="page312"><span class="pageno">[312]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem35" id="poem35"></a>XVI</h2>
+
+<h3>ANONYMOUS PLAYS:</h3>
+
+<h3>"ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM"</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Mother whose womb brought forth our man of men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Mother of Shakespeare, whom all time acclaims<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Queen therefore, sovereign queen of English dames,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Throned higher than sat thy sonless empress then,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was it thy son's young passion-guided pen<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Which drew, reflected from encircling flames,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A figure marked by the earlier of thy names<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wife, and from all her wedded kinswomen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Marked by the sign of murderess? Pale and great,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Great in her grief and sin, but in her death<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And anguish of her penitential breath<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Greater than all her sin or sin-born fate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">She stands, the holocaust of dark desire,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Clothed round with song for ever as with fire.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page313" id="page313"><span class="pageno">[313]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem36" id="poem36"></a>XVII</h2>
+
+<h3>ANONYMOUS PLAYS</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ye too, dim watchfires of some darkling hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whose fame forlorn time saves not nor proclaims<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For ever, but forgetfulness defames<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And darkness and the shadow of death devour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Lift up ye too your light, put forth your power,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Let the far twilight feel your soft small flames<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And smile, albeit night name not even their names,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ghost by ghost passing, flower blown down on flower:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sweet-tongued shadow, like a star's that passed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Singing, and light was from its darkness cast<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">To paint the face of Painting fair with
+praise:<a name="anchor2_1" id="anchor2_1"></a><a href="#footnote2_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that wherein forefigured smiles the pure<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fraternal face of Wordsworth's Elidure<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Between two child-faced masks of merrier
+days.<a name="anchor2_2" id="anchor2_2"></a><a href="#footnote2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="footnote2_1" id="footnote2_1"></a><a href="#anchor2_1">[1]</a> <i>Doctor Dodypol.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="footnote2_2" id="footnote2_2"></a><a href="#anchor2_2">[2]</a> <i>Nobody and Somebody.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page314" id="page314"><span class="pageno">[314]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem37" id="poem37"></a>XVIII</h2>
+
+<h3>ANONYMOUS PLAYS</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">More yet and more, and yet we mark not all:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The Warning fain to bid fair women heed<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Its hard brief note of deadly doom and
+deed;<a name="anchor3_1" id="anchor3_1"></a><a href="#footnote3_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The verse that strewed too thick with flowers the hall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whence Nero watched his fiery
+festival;<a name="anchor3_2" id="anchor3_2"></a><a href="#footnote3_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That iron page wherein men's eyes who read<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">See, bruised and marred between two babes that bleed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A mad red-handed husband's martyr
+fall;<a name="anchor3_3" id="anchor3_3"></a><a href="#footnote3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The scene which crossed and streaked with mirth the strife<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Henry with his sons and witchlike
+wife;<a name="anchor3_4" id="anchor3_4"></a><a href="#footnote3_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that sweet pageant of the kindly fiend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who, seeing three friends in spirit and heart made one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Crowned with good hap the true-love wiles he screened<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">In the pleached lanes of pleasant
+Edmonton.<a name="anchor3_5" id="anchor3_5"></a><a href="#footnote3_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="footnote3_1" id="footnote3_1"></a><a href="#anchor3_1">[1]</a> <i>A Warning for Fair Women.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="footnote3_2" id="footnote3_2"></a><a href="#anchor3_2">[2]</a> <i>The Tragedy of Nero.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="footnote3_3" id="footnote3_3"></a><a href="#anchor3_3">[3]</a> <i>A Yorkshire Tragedy.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="footnote3_4" id="footnote3_4"></a><a href="#anchor3_4">[4]</a> <i>Look about you.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="footnote">
+<p><a name="footnote3_5" id="footnote3_5"></a><a href="#anchor3_5">[5]</a> <i>The Merry Devil of Edmonton.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page315" id="page315"><span class="pageno">[315]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem38" id="poem38"></a>XIX</h2>
+
+<h3>THE MANY</h3>
+
+
+<h5>I</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Greene, garlanded with February's few flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Ere March came in with Marlowe's rapturous rage:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Peele, from whose hand the sweet white locks of age<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Took the mild chaplet woven of honoured hours:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nash, laughing hard: Lodge, flushed from lyric bowers:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Lilly, a goldfinch in a twisted cage<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Fed by some gay great lady's pettish page<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till short sweet songs gush clear like short spring showers:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Kid, whose grim sport still gambolled over graves:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And Chettle, in whose fresh funereal verse<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Weeps Marian yet on Robin's wildwood hearse:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cooke, whose light boat of song one soft breath saves,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Sighed from a maiden's amorous mouth averse:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Live likewise ye: Time takes not you for slaves.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page316" id="page316"><span class="pageno">[316]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem39" id="poem39"></a>XX</h2>
+
+<h3>THE MANY</h3>
+
+
+<h5>II</h5>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Haughton, whose mirth gave woman all her will:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Field, bright and loud with laughing flower and bird<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And keen alternate notes of laud and gird:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Barnes, darkening once with Borgia's deeds the quill<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which tuned the passion of Parthenophil:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Blithe burly Porter, broad and bold of word:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Wilkins, a voice with strenuous pity stirred:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turk Mason: Brewer, whose tongue drops honey still:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rough Rowley, handling song with Esau's hand:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Light Nabbes: lean Sharpham, rank and raw by turns,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But fragrant with a forethought once of Burns:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Soft Davenport, sad-robed, but blithe and bland:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Brome, gipsy-led across the woodland ferns:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Praise be with all, and place among our band.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p><a name="page317" id="page317"><span class="pageno">[317]</span></a></p>
+
+<h2><a name="poem40" id="poem40"></a>XXI</h2>
+
+<h3>EPILOGUE</h3>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Our mother, which wast twice, as history saith,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Found first among the nations: once, when she<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Who bore thine ensign saw the God in thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Smite Spain, and bring forth Shakespeare: once, when death<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shrank, and Rome's bloodhounds cowered, at Milton's breath:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">More than thy place, then first among the free<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">More than that sovereign lordship of the sea<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bequeathed to Cromwell from Elizabeth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">More than thy fiery guiding-star, which Drake<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hailed, and the deep saw lit again for Blake,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">More than all deeds wrought of thy strong right hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This praise keeps most thy fame's memorial strong<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That thou wast head of all these streams of song,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">And time bows down to thee as Shakespeare's land.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets, and Sonnets on English
+Dramatic Poets (1590-1650), by Algernon Charles Swinburne
+
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diff --git a/17347.txt b/17347.txt
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets, and Sonnets on English Dramatic
+Poets (1590-1650), by Algernon Charles Swinburne
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Sonnets, and Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650)
+       Taken from The Collected Poetical Works of Algernon Charles
+       Swinburne, Vol V.
+
+Author: Algernon Charles Swinburne
+
+Release Date: December 18, 2005 [EBook #17347]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Paul Murray, Annika Feilbach and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Sonnets
+
+Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets (1590-1650)
+
+
+By Algernon Charles Swinburne
+
+
+Taken from
+The Collected Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne, Vol V.
+
+
+
+
+SWINBURNE'S POETICAL
+WORKS
+
+
+  I. POEMS AND BALLADS (First Series).
+
+ II. SONGS BEFORE SUNRISE, and SONGS OF TWO NATIONS.
+
+III. POEMS AND BALLADS (Second and Third Series), and SONGS OF THE
+     SPRINGTIDES.
+
+ IV. TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE, THE TALE OF BALEN, ATALANTA IN CALYDON,
+     ERECHTHEUS.
+
+  V. STUDIES IN SONG, A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS, SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC
+     POETS, THE HEPTALOGIA, ETC.
+
+ VI. A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY, ASTROPHEL, A CHANNEL PASSAGE AND OTHER POEMS.
+
+
+_First printed (Chatto), 1904_
+_Reprinted 1904, '09, '10, '12_
+_(Heinemann), 1917_
+
+
+_London: William Heinemann, 1917_
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS:
+
+
+HOPE AND FEAR                                                        227
+AFTER SUNSET                                                         228
+A STUDY FROM MEMORY                                                  230
+TO DR. JOHN BROWN                                                    231
+TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT                                                232
+A DEATH ON EASTER DAY                                                233
+ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT                     234
+AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLE'S REMINISCENCES                           235
+A LAST LOOK                                                          237
+DICKENS                                                              238
+ON LAMB'S SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC POETS                                239
+TO JOHN NICHOL                                                       241
+DYSTHANATOS                                                          243
+EUONYMOS                                                             244
+ON THE RUSSIAN PERSECUTION OF THE JEWS                               245
+BISMARCK AT CANOSSA                                                  246
+QUIA NOMINOR LEO                                                     247
+THE CHANNEL TUNNEL                                                   249
+SIR WILLIAM GOMM                                                     250
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS ON ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS
+
+1590-1650
+
+
+    I. Christopher Marlowe                                           297
+   II. William Shakespeare                                           298
+  III. Ben Jonson                                                    299
+   IV. Beaumont and Fletcher                                         300
+    V. Philip Massinger                                              301
+   VI. John Ford                                                     302
+  VII. John Webster                                                  303
+ VIII. Thomas Decker                                                 304
+   IX. Thomas Middleton                                              305
+    X. Thomas Heywood                                                306
+   XI. George Chapman                                                307
+  XII. John Marston                                                  308
+ XIII. John Day                                                      309
+  XIV. James Shirley                                                 310
+   XV. The Tribe of Benjamin                                         311
+  XVI. Anonymous Plays: "Arden of Feversham"                         312
+ XVII. Anonymous Plays                                               313
+XVIII. Anonymous Plays                                               314
+  XIX. The Many                                                      315
+   XX. The Many                                                      316
+  XXI. Epilogue                                                      317
+
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS
+
+
+
+
+HOPE AND FEAR
+
+
+Beneath the shadow of dawn's aerial cope,
+  With eyes enkindled as the sun's own sphere,
+  Hope from the front of youth in godlike cheer
+Looks Godward, past the shades where blind men grope
+Round the dark door that prayers nor dreams can ope,
+  And makes for joy the very darkness dear
+  That gives her wide wings play; nor dreams that fear
+At noon may rise and pierce the heart of hope.
+Then, when the soul leaves off to dream and yearn,
+May truth first purge her eyesight to discern
+  What once being known leaves time no power to appal;
+Till youth at last, ere yet youth be not, learn
+  The kind wise word that falls from years that fall--
+  "Hope thou not much, and fear thou not at all."
+
+
+
+
+AFTER SUNSET
+
+"Si quis piorum Manibus locus."
+
+
+I
+
+Straight from the sun's grave in the deep clear west
+  A sweet strong wind blows, glad of life: and I,
+  Under the soft keen stardawn whence the sky
+Takes life renewed, and all night's godlike breast
+Palpitates, gradually revealed at rest
+  By growth and change of ardours felt on high,
+  Make onward, till the last flame fall and die
+And all the world by night's broad hand lie blest.
+Haply, meseems, as from that edge of death,
+Whereon the day lies dark, a brightening breath
+  Blows more of benediction than the morn,
+So from the graves whereon grief gazing saith
+  That half our heart of life there lies forlorn
+  May light or breath at least of hope be born.
+
+
+II
+
+The wind was soft before the sunset fled:
+  Now, while the cloud-enshrouded corpse of day
+  Is lowered along a red funereal way
+Down to the dark that knows not white from red,
+A clear sheer breeze against the night makes head,
+  Serene, but sure of life as ere a ray
+  Springs, or the dusk of dawn knows red from grey,
+Being as a soul that knows not quick from dead.
+From far beyond the sunset, far above,
+  Full toward the starry soundless east it blows
+  Bright as a child's breath breathing on a rose,
+Smooth to the sense as plume of any dove;
+  Till more and more as darkness grows and glows
+Silence and night seem likest life and love.
+
+
+III
+
+If light of life outlive the set of sun
+  That men call death and end of all things, then
+  How should not that which life held best for men
+And proved most precious, though it seem undone
+By force of death and woful victory won,
+  Be first and surest of revival, when
+  Death shall bow down to life arisen again?
+So shall the soul seen be the self-same one
+That looked and spake with even such lips and eyes
+As love shall doubt not then to recognise,
+  And all bright thoughts and smiles of all time past
+Revive, transfigured, but in spirit and sense
+None other than we knew, for evidence
+  That love's last mortal word was not his last.
+
+
+
+
+A STUDY FROM MEMORY
+
+
+If that be yet a living soul which here
+  Seemed brighter for the growth of numbered springs
+  And clothed by Time and Pain with goodlier things
+Each year it saw fulfilled a fresh fleet year,
+Death can have changed not aught that made it dear;
+  Half humorous goodness, grave-eyed mirth on wings
+  Bright-balanced, blither-voiced than quiring strings;
+Most radiant patience, crowned with conquering cheer;
+A spirit inviolable that smiled and sang
+  By might of nature and heroic need
+  More sweet and strong than loftiest dream or deed;
+A song that shone, a light whence music rang
+  High as the sunniest heights of kindliest thought;
+  All these must be, or all she was be nought.
+
+
+
+
+TO DR. JOHN BROWN
+
+
+Beyond the north wind lay the land of old
+  Where men dwelt blithe and blameless, clothed and fed
+  With joy's bright raiment and with love's sweet bread,
+The whitest flock of earth's maternal fold.
+None there might wear about his brows enrolled
+  A light of lovelier fame than rings your head,
+  Whose lovesome love of children and the dead
+All men give thanks for: I far off behold
+A dear dead hand that links us, and a light
+The blithest and benignest of the night,
+  The night of death's sweet sleep, wherein may be
+A star to show your spirit in present sight
+  Some happier island in the Elysian sea
+  Where Rab may lick the hand of Marjorie.
+
+_March 1882._
+
+
+
+
+TO WILLIAM BELL SCOTT
+
+
+The larks are loud above our leagues of whin
+  Now the sun's perfume fills their glorious gold
+  With odour like the colour: all the wold
+Is only light and song and wind wherein
+These twain are blent in one with shining din.
+  And now your gift, a giver's kingly-souled,
+  Dear old fast friend whose honours grow not old,
+Bids memory's note as loud and sweet begin.
+Though all but we from life be now gone forth
+Of that bright household in our joyous north
+Where I, scarce clear of boyhood just at end,
+  First met your hand; yet under life's clear dome,
+Now seventy strenuous years have crowned my friend,
+  Shines no less bright his full-sheaved harvest-home.
+
+_April 20, 1882._
+
+
+
+
+A DEATH ON EASTER DAY
+
+
+The strong spring sun rejoicingly may rise,
+  Rise and make revel, as of old men said,
+  Like dancing hearts of lovers newly wed:
+A light more bright than ever bathed the skies
+Departs for all time out of all men's eyes.
+  The crowns that girt last night a living head
+  Shine only now, though deathless, on the dead:
+Art that mocks death, and Song that never dies.
+Albeit the bright sweet mothlike wings be furled,
+  Hope sees, past all division and defection,
+    And higher than swims the mist of human breath,
+The soul most radiant once in all the world
+  Requickened to regenerate resurrection
+    Out of the likeness of the shadow of death.
+
+_April 1882._
+
+
+
+
+ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT
+
+
+Two souls diverse out of our human sight
+  Pass, followed one with love and each with wonder:
+  The stormy sophist with his mouth of thunder,
+Clothed with loud words and mantled in the might
+Of darkness and magnificence of night;
+  And one whose eye could smite the night in sunder,
+  Searching if light or no light were thereunder,
+And found in love of loving-kindness light.
+Duty divine and Thought with eyes of fire
+Still following Righteousness with deep desire
+  Shone sole and stern before her and above,
+Sure stars and sole to steer by; but more sweet
+Shone lower the loveliest lamp for earthly feet,
+  The light of little children, and their love.
+
+
+
+
+AFTER LOOKING INTO CARLYLE'S REMINISCENCES
+
+
+I
+
+Three men lived yet when this dead man was young
+  Whose names and words endure for ever: one
+  Whose eyes grew dim with straining toward the sun,
+And his wings weakened, and his angel's tongue
+Lost half the sweetest song was ever sung,
+  But like the strain half uttered earth hears none,
+  Nor shall man hear till all men's songs are done:
+One whose clear spirit like an eagle hung
+Between the mountains hallowed by his love
+And the sky stainless as his soul above:
+  And one the sweetest heart that ever spake
+The brightest words wherein sweet wisdom smiled.
+These deathless names by this dead snake defiled
+  Bid memory spit upon him for their sake.
+
+
+II
+
+Sweet heart, forgive me for thine own sweet sake,
+  Whose kind blithe soul such seas of sorrow swam,
+  And for my love's sake, powerless as I am
+For love to praise thee, or like thee to make
+Music of mirth where hearts less pure would break,
+  Less pure than thine, our life-unspotted Lamb.
+  Things hatefullest thou hadst not heart to damn,
+Nor wouldst have set thine heel on this dead snake.
+Let worms consume its memory with its tongue,
+The fang that stabbed fair Truth, the lip that stung
+  Men's memories uncorroded with its breath.
+Forgive me, that with bitter words like his
+I mix the gentlest English name that is,
+  The tenderest held of all that know not death.
+
+
+
+
+A LAST LOOK
+
+
+Sick of self-love, Malvolio, like an owl
+  That hoots the sun rerisen where starlight sank,
+  With German garters crossed athwart thy frank
+Stout Scottish legs, men watched thee snarl and scowl,
+And boys responsive with reverberate howl
+  Shrilled, hearing how to thee the springtime stank
+  And as thine own soul all the world smelt rank
+And as thine own thoughts Liberty seemed foul.
+Now, for all ill thoughts nursed and ill words given
+Not all condemned, not utterly forgiven,
+  Son of the storm and darkness, pass in peace.
+Peace upon earth thou knewest not: now, being dead,
+Rest, with nor curse nor blessing on thine head,
+  Where high-strung hate and strenuous envy cease.
+
+
+
+
+DICKENS
+
+
+Chief in thy generation born of men
+  Whom English praise acclaimed as English-born,
+  With eyes that matched the worldwide eyes of morn
+For gleam of tears or laughter, tenderest then
+When thoughts of children warmed their light, or when
+  Reverence of age with love and labour worn,
+  Or godlike pity fired with godlike scorn,
+Shot through them flame that winged thy swift live pen:
+Where stars and suns that we behold not burn,
+  Higher even than here, though highest was here thy place,
+    Love sees thy spirit laugh and speak and shine
+With Shakespeare and the soft bright soul of Sterne
+  And Fielding's kindliest might and Goldsmith's grace;
+    Scarce one more loved or worthier love than thine.
+
+
+
+
+ON LAMB'S SPECIMENS OF DRAMATIC POETS
+
+
+I
+
+If all the flowers of all the fields on earth
+  By wonder-working summer were made one,
+  Its fragrance were not sweeter in the sun,
+Its treasure-house of leaves were not more worth
+Than those wherefrom thy light of musing mirth
+  Shone, till each leaf whereon thy pen would run
+  Breathed life, and all its breath was benison.
+Beloved beyond all names of English birth,
+More dear than mightier memories; gentlest name
+That ever clothed itself with flower-sweet fame,
+Or linked itself with loftiest names of old
+  By right and might of loving; I, that am
+Less than the least of those within thy fold,
+  Give only thanks for them to thee, Charles Lamb.
+
+
+II
+
+So many a year had borne its own bright bees
+  And slain them since thy honey-bees were hived,
+  John Day, in cells of flower-sweet verse contrived
+So well with craft of moulding melodies,
+Thy soul perchance in amaranth fields at ease
+  Thought not to hear the sound on earth revived
+  Of summer music from the spring derived
+When thy song sucked the flower of flowering trees.
+But thine was not the chance of every day:
+  Time, after many a darkling hour, grew sunny,
+    And light between the clouds ere sunset swam,
+Laughing, and kissed their darkness all away,
+  When, touched and tasted and approved, thy honey
+    Took subtler sweetness from the lips of Lamb.
+
+
+
+
+TO JOHN NICHOL
+
+
+I
+
+Friend of the dead, and friend of all my days
+  Even since they cast off boyhood, I salute
+  The song saluting friends whose songs are mute
+With full burnt-offerings of clear-spirited praise.
+That since our old young years our several ways
+  Have led through fields diverse of flower and fruit,
+  Yet no cross wind has once relaxed the root
+We set long since beneath the sundawn's rays,
+The root of trust whence towered the trusty tree,
+  Friendship--this only and duly might impel
+    My song to salutation of your own;
+More even than praise of one unseen of me
+  And loved--the starry spirit of Dobell,
+    To mine by light and music only known.
+
+
+II
+
+But more than this what moves me most of all
+  To leave not all unworded and unsped
+  The whole heart's greeting of my thanks unsaid
+Scarce needs this sign, that from my tongue should fall
+His name whom sorrow and reverent love recall,
+  The sign to friends on earth of that dear head
+  Alive, which now long since untimely dead
+The wan grey waters covered for a pall.
+Their trustless reaches dense with tangling stems
+  Took never life more taintless of rebuke,
+    More pure and perfect, more serene and kind,
+Than when those clear eyes closed beneath the Thames,
+  And made the now more hallowed name of Luke
+    Memorial to us of morning left behind.
+
+_May 1881._
+
+
+
+
+DYSTHANATOS
+
+_Ad generem Cereris sine caede et vulnere pauci
+Descendunt reges, aut sicca morte tyranni._
+
+
+By no dry death another king goes down
+  The way of kings. Yet may no free man's voice,
+  For stern compassion and deep awe, rejoice
+That one sign more is given against the crown,
+That one more head those dark red waters drown
+  Which rise round thrones whose trembling equipoise
+  Is propped on sand and bloodshed and such toys
+As human hearts that shrink at human frown.
+The name writ red on Polish earth, the star
+That was to outshine our England's in the far
+  East heaven of empire--where is one that saith
+Proud words now, prophesying of this White Czar?
+  "In bloodless pangs few kings yield up their breath,
+Few tyrants perish by no violent death."
+
+_March 14, 1881._
+
+
+
+
+EUONYMOS
+
+[Greek: eu men he timen edidou nikephoros alke
+ek nikes onom' esche phobou kear aien athiktos.]
+
+
+A year ago red wrath and keen despair
+  Spake, and the sole word from their darkness sent
+  Laid low the lord not all omnipotent
+Who stood most like a god of all that were
+As gods for pride of power, till fire and air
+  Made earth of all his godhead. Lightning rent
+  The heart of empire's lurid firmament,
+And laid the mortal core of manhood bare.
+But when the calm crowned head that all revere
+For valour higher than that which casts out fear,
+  Since fear came near it never, comes near death,
+Blind murder cowers before it, knowing that here
+  No braver soul drew bright and queenly breath
+  Since England wept upon Elizabeth.
+
+_March 8, 1882._
+
+
+
+
+ON THE RUSSIAN PERSECUTION OF
+THE JEWS
+
+
+O son of man, by lying tongues adored,
+  By slaughterous hands of slaves with feet red-shod
+  In carnage deep as ever Christian trod
+Profaned with prayer and sacrifice abhorred
+And incense from the trembling tyrant's horde,
+  Brute worshippers or wielders of the rod,
+  Most murderous even of all that call thee God,
+Most treacherous even that ever called thee Lord;
+Face loved of little children long ago,
+  Head hated of the priests and rulers then,
+    If thou see this, or hear these hounds of thine
+    Run ravening as the Gadarean swine,
+Say, was not this thy Passion, to foreknow
+  In death's worst hour the works of Christian men?
+
+_January 23, 1882._
+
+
+
+
+BISMARCK AT CANOSSA
+
+
+Not all disgraced, in that Italian town,
+  The imperial German cowered beneath thine hand,
+  Alone indeed imperial Hildebrand,
+And felt thy foot and Rome's, and felt her frown
+And thine, more strong and sovereign than his crown,
+  Though iron forged its blood-encrusted band.
+  But now the princely wielder of his land,
+For hatred's sake toward freedom, so bows down,
+No strength is in the foot to spurn: its tread
+Can bruise not now the proud submitted head:
+  But how much more abased, much lower brought low,
+And more intolerably humiliated,
+  The neck submissive of the prosperous foe,
+  Than his whom scorn saw shuddering in the snow!
+
+_December 31, 1881._
+
+
+
+
+QUIA NOMINOR LEO
+
+
+I
+
+What part is left thee, lion? Ravenous beast,
+  Which hadst the world for pasture, and for scope
+  And compass of thine homicidal hope
+The kingdom of the spirit of man, the feast
+Of souls subdued from west to sunless east,
+  From blackening north to bloodred south aslope,
+  All servile; earth for footcloth of the pope,
+And heaven for chancel-ceiling of the priest;
+Thou that hadst earth by right of rack and rod,
+Thou that hadst Rome because thy name was God,
+  And by thy creed's gift heaven wherein to dwell;
+Heaven laughs with all his light and might above
+That earth has cast thee out of faith and love;
+  Thy part is but the hollow dream of hell.
+
+
+II
+
+The light of life has faded from thy cause,
+  High priest of heaven and hell and purgatory:
+  Thy lips are loud with strains of oldworld story,
+But the red prey was rent out of thy paws
+Long since: and they that dying brake down thy laws
+  Have with the fires of death-enkindled glory
+  Put out the flame that faltered on thy hoary
+High altars, waning with the world's applause.
+This Italy was Dante's: Bruno died
+Here: Campanella, too sublime for pride,
+  Endured thy God's worst here, and hence went home.
+And what art thou, that time's full tide should shrink
+For thy sake downward? What art thou, to think
+  Thy God shall give thee back for birthright Rome?
+
+_January 1882._
+
+
+
+
+THE CHANNEL TUNNEL
+
+
+Not for less love, all glorious France, to thee,
+  "Sweet enemy" called in days long since at end,
+  Now found and hailed of England sweeter friend,
+Bright sister of our freedom now, being free;
+Not for less love or faith in friendship we
+  Whose love burnt ever toward thee reprehend
+  The vile vain greed whose pursy dreams portend
+Between our shores suppression of the sea.
+Not by dull toil of blind mechanic art
+Shall these be linked for no man's force to part
+  Nor length of years and changes to divide,
+But union only of trust and loving heart
+  And perfect faith in freedom strong to abide
+  And spirit at one with spirit on either side.
+
+_April 3, 1882._
+
+
+
+
+SIR WILLIAM GOMM
+
+
+I
+
+At threescore years and five aroused anew
+  To rule in India, forth a soldier went
+  On whose bright-fronted youth fierce war had spent
+Its iron stress of storm, till glory grew
+Full as the red sun waned on Waterloo.
+  Landing, he met the word from England sent
+  Which bade him yield up rule: and he, content,
+Resigned it, as a mightier warrior's due;
+And wrote as one rejoicing to record
+That "from the first" his royal heart was lord
+  Of its own pride or pain; that thought was none
+Therein save this, that in her perilous strait
+England, whose womb brings forth her sons so great,
+  Should choose to serve her first her mightiest son.
+
+
+II
+
+Glory beyond all flight of warlike fame
+  Go with the warrior's memory who preferred
+  To praise of men whereby men's hearts are stirred,
+And acclamation of his own proud name
+With blare of trumpet-blasts and sound and flame
+  Of pageant honour, and the titular word
+  That only wins men worship of the herd,
+His country's sovereign good; who overcame
+Pride, wrath, and hope of all high chance on earth,
+For this land's love that gave his great heart birth.
+  O nursling of the sea-winds and the sea,
+Immortal England, goddess ocean-born,
+What shall thy children fear, what strengths not scorn,
+  While children of such mould are born to thee?
+
+
+
+
+
+SONNETS
+
+ON
+
+ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS
+
+(1590-1650)
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE
+
+
+Crowned, girdled, garbed and shod with light and fire,
+  Son first-born of the morning, sovereign star!
+  Soul nearest ours of all, that wert most far,
+Most far off in the abysm of time, thy lyre
+Hung highest above the dawn-enkindled quire
+  Where all ye sang together, all that are,
+  And all the starry songs behind thy car
+Rang sequence, all our souls acclaim thee sire.
+
+"If all the pens that ever poets held
+  Had fed the feeling of their masters' thoughts,"
+  And as with rush of hurtling chariots
+The flight of all their spirits were impelled
+  Toward one great end, thy glory--nay, not then,
+  Not yet might'st thou be praised enough of men.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
+
+
+Not if men's tongues and angels' all in one
+  Spake, might the word be said that might speak Thee.
+  Streams, winds, woods, flowers, fields, mountains, yea, the sea,
+What power is in them all to praise the sun?
+His praise is this,--he can be praised of none.
+  Man, woman, child, praise God for him; but he
+  Exults not to be worshipped, but to be.
+He is; and, being, beholds his work well done.
+All joy, all glory, all sorrow, all strength, all mirth,
+Are his: without him, day were night on earth.
+  Time knows not his from time's own period.
+All lutes, all harps, all viols, all flutes, all lyres,
+Fall dumb before him ere one string suspires.
+  All stars are angels; but the sun is God.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+BEN JONSON
+
+
+Broad-based, broad-fronted, bounteous, multiform,
+  With many a valley impleached with ivy and vine,
+  Wherein the springs of all the streams run wine,
+And many a crag full-faced against the storm,
+The mountain where thy Muse's feet made warm
+  Those lawns that revelled with her dance divine
+  Shines yet with fire as it was wont to shine
+From tossing torches round the dance aswarm.
+
+Nor less, high-stationed on the grey grave heights,
+High-thoughted seers with heaven's heart-kindling lights
+  Hold converse: and the herd of meaner things
+Knows or by fiery scourge or fiery shaft
+When wrath on thy broad brows has risen, and laughed
+  Darkening thy soul with shadow of thunderous wings.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER
+
+
+An hour ere sudden sunset fired the west,
+  Arose two stars upon the pale deep east.
+  The hall of heaven was clear for night's high feast,
+Yet was not yet day's fiery heart at rest.
+Love leapt up from his mother's burning breast
+  To see those warm twin lights, as day decreased,
+  Wax wider, till when all the sun had ceased
+As suns they shone from evening's kindled crest.
+Across them and between, a quickening fire,
+Flamed Venus, laughing with appeased desire.
+  Their dawn, scarce lovelier for the gleam of tears,
+Filled half the hollow shell 'twixt heaven and earth
+With sound like moonlight, mingling moan and mirth,
+  Which rings and glitters down the darkling years.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+PHILIP MASSINGER
+
+
+Clouds here and there arisen an hour past noon
+  Chequered our English heaven with lengthening bars
+  And shadow and sound of wheel-winged thunder-cars
+Assembling strength to put forth tempest soon,
+When the clear still warm concord of thy tune
+  Rose under skies unscared by reddening Mars
+  Yet, like a sound of silver speech of stars,
+With full mild flame as of the mellowing moon.
+Grave and great-hearted Massinger, thy face
+High melancholy lights with loftier grace
+  Than gilds the brows of revel: sad and wise,
+The spirit of thought that moved thy deeper song,
+Sorrow serene in soft calm scorn of wrong,
+  Speaks patience yet from thy majestic eyes.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+JOHN FORD
+
+
+Hew hard the marble from the mountain's heart
+  Where hardest night holds fast in iron gloom
+  Gems brighter than an April dawn in bloom,
+That his Memnonian likeness thence may start
+Revealed, whose hand with high funereal art
+  Carved night, and chiselled shadow: be the tomb
+  That speaks him famous graven with signs of doom
+Intrenched inevitably in lines athwart,
+As on some thunder-blasted Titan's brow
+  His record of rebellion. Not the day
+    Shall strike forth music from so stern a chord,
+Touching this marble: darkness, none knows how,
+  And stars impenetrable of midnight, may.
+    So looms the likeness of thy soul, John Ford.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+JOHN WEBSTER
+
+
+Thunder: the flesh quails, and the soul bows down.
+  Night: east, west, south, and northward, very night.
+  Star upon struggling star strives into sight,
+Star after shuddering star the deep storms drown.
+The very throne of night, her very crown,
+  A man lays hand on, and usurps her right.
+  Song from the highest of heaven's imperious height
+Shoots, as a fire to smite some towering town.
+Rage, anguish, harrowing fear, heart-crazing crime,
+Make monstrous all the murderous face of Time
+  Shown in the spheral orbit of a glass
+Revolving. Earth cries out from all her graves.
+Frail, on frail rafts, across wide-wallowing waves,
+  Shapes here and there of child and mother pass.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+THOMAS DECKER
+
+
+Out of the depths of darkling life where sin
+  Laughs piteously that sorrow should not know
+  Her own ill name, nor woe be counted woe;
+Where hate and craft and lust make drearier din
+Than sounds through dreams that grief holds revel in;
+  What charm of joy-bells ringing, streams that flow,
+  Winds that blow healing in each note they blow,
+Is this that the outer darkness hears begin?
+
+O sweetest heart of all thy time save one,
+Star seen for love's sake nearest to the sun,
+  Hung lamplike o'er a dense and doleful city,
+Not Shakespeare's very spirit, howe'er more great,
+Than thine toward man was more compassionate,
+  Nor gave Christ praise from lips more sweet with pity.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+THOMAS MIDDLETON
+
+
+A wild moon riding high from cloud to cloud,
+  That sees and sees not, glimmering far beneath,
+  Hell's children revel along the shuddering heath
+With dirge-like mirth and raiment like a shroud:
+A worse fair face than witchcraft's, passion-proud,
+  With brows blood-flecked behind their bridal wreath
+  And lips that bade the assassin's sword find sheath
+Deep in the heart whereto love's heart was vowed:
+A game of close contentious crafts and creeds
+  Played till white England bring black Spain to shame:
+A son's bright sword and brighter soul, whose deeds
+  High conscience lights for mother's love and fame:
+Pure gipsy flowers, and poisonous courtly weeds:
+  Such tokens and such trophies crown thy name.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+THOMAS HEYWOOD
+
+
+Tom, if they loved thee best who called thee Tom,
+  What else may all men call thee, seeing thus bright
+  Even yet the laughing and the weeping light
+That still thy kind old eyes are kindled from?
+Small care was thine to assail and overcome
+  Time and his child Oblivion: yet of right
+  Thy name has part with names of lordlier might
+For English love and homely sense of home,
+Whose fragrance keeps thy small sweet bayleaf young
+  And gives it place aloft among thy peers
+    Whence many a wreath once higher strong Time has hurled:
+And this thy praise is sweet on Shakespeare's tongue--
+  "O good old man, how well in thee appears
+    The constant service of the antique world!"
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+GEORGE CHAPMAN
+
+
+High priest of Homer, not elect in vain,
+  Deep trumpets blow before thee, shawms behind
+  Mix music with the rolling wheels that wind
+Slow through the labouring triumph of thy train:
+Fierce history, molten in thy forging brain,
+  Takes form and fire and fashion from thy mind,
+  Tormented and transmuted out of kind:
+But howsoe'er thou shift thy strenuous strain,
+Like Tailor[1] smooth, like Fisher[2] swollen, and now
+  Grim Yarrington[3] scarce bloodier marked than thou,
+  Then bluff as Mayne's[4] or broad-mouthed Barry's[5] glee;
+Proud still with hoar predominance of brow
+  And beard like foam swept off the broad blown sea,
+  Where'er thou go, men's reverence goes with thee.
+
+    [1] Author of _The Hog hath lost his Pearl_.
+
+    [2] Author of _Fuimus Troes, or the True Trojans_.
+
+    [3] Author of _Two Tragedies in One_.
+
+    [4] Author of _The City Match_.
+
+    [5] Author of _Ram-Alley, or Merry Tricks_.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+JOHN MARSTON
+
+
+The bitterness of death and bitterer scorn
+  Breathes from the broad-leafed aloe-plant whence thou
+  Wast fain to gather for thy bended brow
+A chaplet by no gentler forehead worn.
+Grief deep as hell, wrath hardly to be borne,
+  Ploughed up thy soul till round the furrowing plough
+  The strange black soil foamed, as a black beaked prow
+Bids night-black waves foam where its track has torn.
+Too faint the phrase for thee that only saith
+Scorn bitterer than the bitterness of death
+  Pervades the sullen splendour of thy soul,
+Where hate and pain make war on force and fraud
+And all the strengths of tyrants; whence unflawed
+  It keeps this noble heart of hatred whole.
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+JOHN DAY
+
+
+Day was a full-blown flower in heaven, alive
+  With murmuring joy of bees and birds aswarm,
+  When in the skies of song yet flushed and warm
+With music where all passion seems to strive
+For utterance, all things bright and fierce to drive
+  Struggling along the splendour of the storm,
+  Day for an hour put off his fiery form,
+And golden murmurs from a golden hive
+Across the strong bright summer wind were heard,
+  And laughter soft as smiles from girls at play
+  And loud from lips of boys brow-bound with May
+Our mightiest age let fall its gentlest word,
+When Song, in semblance of a sweet small bird,
+  Lit fluttering on the light swift hand of Day.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+JAMES SHIRLEY
+
+
+The dusk of day's decline was hard on dark
+  When evening trembled round thy glowworm lamp
+  That shone across her shades and dewy damp
+A small clear beacon whose benignant spark
+Was gracious yet for loiterers' eyes to mark,
+  Though changed the watchword of our English camp
+  Since the outposts rang round Marlowe's lion ramp,
+When thy steed's pace went ambling round Hyde Park.
+
+And in the thickening twilight under thee
+Walks Davenant, pensive in the paths where he,
+The blithest throat that ever carolled love
+  In music made of morning's merriest heart,
+Glad Suckling, stumbled from his seat above
+  And reeled on slippery roads of alien art.
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+THE TRIBE OF BENJAMIN
+
+
+Sons born of many a loyal Muse to Ben,
+  All true-begotten, warm with wine or ale,
+  Bright from the broad light of its presence, hail!
+Prince Randolph, nighest his throne of all his men,
+Being highest in spirit and heart who hailed him then
+  King, nor might other spread so blithe a sail:
+  Cartwright, a soul pent in with narrower pale,
+Praised of thy sire for manful might of pen:
+Marmion, whose verse keeps alway keen and fine
+The perfume of their Apollonian wine
+  Who shared with that stout sire of all and thee
+The exuberant chalice of his echoing shrine:
+  Is not your praise writ broad in gold which he
+  Inscribed, that all who praise his name should see?
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+ANONYMOUS PLAYS:
+
+"ARDEN OF FEVERSHAM"
+
+
+Mother whose womb brought forth our man of men,
+  Mother of Shakespeare, whom all time acclaims
+  Queen therefore, sovereign queen of English dames,
+Throned higher than sat thy sonless empress then,
+Was it thy son's young passion-guided pen
+  Which drew, reflected from encircling flames,
+  A figure marked by the earlier of thy names
+Wife, and from all her wedded kinswomen
+Marked by the sign of murderess? Pale and great,
+  Great in her grief and sin, but in her death
+  And anguish of her penitential breath
+Greater than all her sin or sin-born fate,
+  She stands, the holocaust of dark desire,
+  Clothed round with song for ever as with fire.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+ANONYMOUS PLAYS
+
+
+Ye too, dim watchfires of some darkling hour,
+  Whose fame forlorn time saves not nor proclaims
+  For ever, but forgetfulness defames
+And darkness and the shadow of death devour,
+Lift up ye too your light, put forth your power,
+  Let the far twilight feel your soft small flames
+  And smile, albeit night name not even their names,
+Ghost by ghost passing, flower blown down on flower:
+That sweet-tongued shadow, like a star's that passed
+Singing, and light was from its darkness cast
+  To paint the face of Painting fair with praise:[1]
+And that wherein forefigured smiles the pure
+Fraternal face of Wordsworth's Elidure
+  Between two child-faced masks of merrier days.[2]
+
+    [1] _Doctor Dodypol._
+
+    [2] _Nobody and Somebody._
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+ANONYMOUS PLAYS
+
+
+More yet and more, and yet we mark not all:
+  The Warning fain to bid fair women heed
+  Its hard brief note of deadly doom and deed;[1]
+The verse that strewed too thick with flowers the hall
+Whence Nero watched his fiery festival;[2]
+  That iron page wherein men's eyes who read
+  See, bruised and marred between two babes that bleed,
+A mad red-handed husband's martyr fall;[3]
+The scene which crossed and streaked with mirth the strife
+Of Henry with his sons and witchlike wife;[4]
+And that sweet pageant of the kindly fiend,
+  Who, seeing three friends in spirit and heart made one,
+Crowned with good hap the true-love wiles he screened
+  In the pleached lanes of pleasant Edmonton.[5]
+
+    [1] _A Warning for Fair Women._
+
+    [2] _The Tragedy of Nero._
+
+    [3] _A Yorkshire Tragedy._
+
+    [4] _Look about you._
+
+    [5] _The Merry Devil of Edmonton._
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+THE MANY
+
+
+I
+
+Greene, garlanded with February's few flowers,
+  Ere March came in with Marlowe's rapturous rage:
+  Peele, from whose hand the sweet white locks of age
+Took the mild chaplet woven of honoured hours:
+Nash, laughing hard: Lodge, flushed from lyric bowers:
+  And Lilly, a goldfinch in a twisted cage
+  Fed by some gay great lady's pettish page
+Till short sweet songs gush clear like short spring showers:
+Kid, whose grim sport still gambolled over graves:
+  And Chettle, in whose fresh funereal verse
+  Weeps Marian yet on Robin's wildwood hearse:
+Cooke, whose light boat of song one soft breath saves,
+  Sighed from a maiden's amorous mouth averse:
+Live likewise ye: Time takes not you for slaves.
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+THE MANY
+
+
+II
+
+Haughton, whose mirth gave woman all her will:
+  Field, bright and loud with laughing flower and bird
+  And keen alternate notes of laud and gird:
+Barnes, darkening once with Borgia's deeds the quill
+Which tuned the passion of Parthenophil:
+  Blithe burly Porter, broad and bold of word:
+  Wilkins, a voice with strenuous pity stirred:
+Turk Mason: Brewer, whose tongue drops honey still:
+Rough Rowley, handling song with Esau's hand:
+  Light Nabbes: lean Sharpham, rank and raw by turns,
+  But fragrant with a forethought once of Burns:
+Soft Davenport, sad-robed, but blithe and bland:
+  Brome, gipsy-led across the woodland ferns:
+Praise be with all, and place among our band.
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+Our mother, which wast twice, as history saith,
+  Found first among the nations: once, when she
+  Who bore thine ensign saw the God in thee
+Smite Spain, and bring forth Shakespeare: once, when death
+Shrank, and Rome's bloodhounds cowered, at Milton's breath:
+  More than thy place, then first among the free
+  More than that sovereign lordship of the sea
+Bequeathed to Cromwell from Elizabeth,
+More than thy fiery guiding-star, which Drake
+Hailed, and the deep saw lit again for Blake,
+  More than all deeds wrought of thy strong right hand,
+This praise keeps most thy fame's memorial strong
+That thou wast head of all these streams of song,
+  And time bows down to thee as Shakespeare's land.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sonnets, and Sonnets on English
+Dramatic Poets (1590-1650), by Algernon Charles Swinburne
+
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