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diff --git a/17768.txt b/17768.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..89ebb76 --- /dev/null +++ b/17768.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5722 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Hundred Best English Poems, by Various, +Edited by Adam L. Gowans + + +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: The Hundred Best English Poems + + +Author: Various + +Editor: Adam L. Gowans + +Release Date: February 15, 2006 [eBook #17768] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUNDRED BEST ENGLISH POEMS*** + + +E-text prepared by Brian Sogard, Diane Monico, and the Project Gutenberg +Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/) + + + +THE HUNDRED BEST ENGLISH POEMS + +Selected by + +ADAM L. GOWANS, M.A. + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Alfred, Lord Tennyson.] + + +[Illustration] + + + + +New York +Thomas Y. Crowell & Company +Publishers +Copyright, 1904, +By Thomas Y. Crowell & Co. + + + + + +THIS +LITTLE COLLECTION +IS DEDICATED TO +JAMES FITZMAURICE-KELLY, ESQ. +BY THE SELECTOR +AS A SLIGHT MARK OF A +DEEP ADMIRATION + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE. + + +Let me frankly admit, to begin with, that the attractiveness and +probable selling qualities of the title of this little book, "The +Hundred Best English Poems," proved, when it had been once thought of, +too powerful arguments for it to be abandoned. I am fully conscious of +the presumption such a title implies in an unknown selector, but at +the same time I submit that only a plebiscite of duly qualified lovers +of poetry could make a selection that could claim to deserve this +title beyond all question, and such a plebiscite is of course +impossible. I can claim no more than that my attempt to realize this +title is an honest one, and I can assert, without fear of +contradiction, that every one of the poems I have included is a "gem +of purest ray serene"; that none can be too often read or too often +repeated to one's self; that every one of them should be known by +heart by every lover of good literature, so that each may become, as +it were, a part of his inner being. + +I have not inserted any poems by living authors. + +I have taken the greatest care with the texts of the poems. The +editions followed have been mentioned in every case. I have +scrupulously retained the punctuation of these original editions, and +only modernized the spelling of the old copies; while I have not +ventured to omit any part of any poem. I have not supplied titles of +my own, but have adopted those I found already employed in the +editions used as models, or, in some of the cases in which I found +none, have merely added a descriptive one, such as "Song from 'Don +Juan.'" + +In conclusion, my very warmest thanks are due to Messrs. Macmillan & +Co., Ltd., for permission to include Tennyson's "Crossing the Bar"; to +Mr. D. Nutt for permission to insert W. E. Henley's "To R. T. H. B." +and "Margaritae Sorori"; to Messrs. Smith, Elder & Co. for a like +privilege in regard to Browning's "Epilogue," and to Mr. Lloyd +Osbourne and Messrs. Chatto & Windus for permission to reproduce +Stevenson's "Requiem." Without these poems the volume would have had a +much smaller claim to its title than it does possess, slight as that +may be. My thanks are also due to the following gentlemen who have +kindly allowed me to reproduce copyright texts of non-copyright poems +from editions published by them: Messrs. Bickers & Son (Ben Jonson), +Messrs. Chapman & Hall, Ltd. (Landor), Messrs. Chatto & Windus +(Herrick), Mr. Buxton Forman (Keats and Shelley), Mr. Henry Frowde +(Wordsworth), Mr. Alex. Gardner and the Rev. George Henderson, B.D. +(Lady Nairne), Messrs. T. C. & E. C. Jack (Burns), Messrs. Macmillan & +Co., Ltd. (Clough and Tennyson), Mr. John Murray (Byron), Messrs. +Smith, Elder & Co. (Browning), Messrs. Ward, Lock & Co., Ltd. +(Coleridge and Hood). + + A. L. G. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + +ANONYMOUS. + 1. Madrigal 1 + +ARNOLD (1822-1888). + 2. The Forsaken Merman 2 + +BARBAULD (1743-1825). + 3. Life 10 + +BROWNING (1812-1889). + 4. Song from "Pippa Passes" 12 + 5. Song from "Pippa Passes" 12 + 6. The Lost Mistress 13 + 7. Home-Thoughts, from the Sea 14 + 8. Epilogue 15 + +BURNS (1759-1796). + 9. The Silver Tassie 17 + 10. Of a' the Airts 18 + 11. John Anderson my Jo 19 + 12. Ae Fond Kiss 20 + 13. Ye Flowery Banks 21 + 14. A Red, Red Rose 22 + 15. Mary Morison 24 + +BYRON (1788-1824). + 16. She Walks in Beauty 26 + 17. Oh! Snatched Away in Beauty's Bloom 27 + 18. Song from "The Corsair" 28 + 19. Song from "Don Juan" 29 + +CAMPBELL (1777-1844). + 20. Hohenlinden 35 + +CLOUGH (1819-1861). + 21. Say not the Struggle Nought Availeth 37 + +COLERIDGE (1772-1834). + 22. Youth and Age 38 + +COLLINS (1721-1759). + 23. Written in the Year 1746 41 + +COWPER (1731-1800). + 24. To a Young Lady 42 + +CUNNINGHAM (1784-1842). + 25. A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea 43 + +DAVENANT (1606-1668). + 26. Song 45 + +DRYDEN (1631-1700). + 27. A Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687 46 + +GOLDSMITH (1728-1774). + 28. Song 50 + +GRAY (1716-1771). + 29. Elegy written in a Country Church-yard 51 + +HENLEY (1849-1903). + 30. To R. T. H. B. 59 + 31. I. M. Margaritae Sorori 60 + +HERBERT (1593-1632). + 32. Virtue 62 + +HERRICK (1591-1674). + 33. To the Virgins, to make much of Time 63 + 34. To Anthea, who may command him anything 64 + +HOOD (1798-1845). + 35. The Death Bed 66 + 36. The Bridge of Sighs 67 + 37. I Remember, I Remember 72 + +JONSON (1573-1637). + 38. To Celia 74 + +KEATS (1795-1821). + 39. On first looking into Chapman's Homer 75 + 40. Ode to a Nightingale 76 + 41. Ode on a Grecian Urn 80 + 42. To Autumn 83 + 43. Ode on Melancholy 85 + 44. La Belle Dame sans Merci 87 + 45. Sonnet 90 + +LAMB (1775-1834). + 46. The Old Familiar Faces 92 + +LANDOR (1775-1864). + 47. The Maid's Lament 94 + +LOVELACE (1618-1658). + 48. To Lucasta. Going to the Wars 96 + +MILTON (1608-1674). + 49. On the Morning of Christ's Nativity 97 + 50. L'Allegro 112 + 51. Il Penseroso 119 + 52. Lycidas 127 + 53. On his Blindness 137 + +NAIRINE (1766-1845). + 54. The Land o' the Leal 138 + +POPE (1688-1744). + 55. Ode on Solitude 140 + +RALEIGH (1552-1618). + 56. The Night before his Death 142 + +ROGERS (1763-1855). + 57. A Wish 143 + +SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616). + 58. Sonnets. XVII. Who will believe my verse? 144 + 59. XVIII. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 145 + 60. XXX. When to the sessions 145 + 61. XXXIII. Full many a glorious morning 146 + 62. LX. Like as the waves 147 + 63. LXVI. Tired with all these 148 + 64. LXXI. No longer mourn 149 + 65. LXXIII. That time of year 149 + 66. LXXIV. But be contented 150 + 67. CVI. When in the chronicle 151 + 68. CXVI. Let me not to the marriage 152 + 69. Song from "The Tempest" 152 + 70. Song from "Measure for Measure" 153 + 71. Song from "Much Ado about Nothing" 153 + 72. Song from "Cymbeline" 154 + +SHELLEY (1792-1822). + 73. Song from "Prometheus Unbound" 156 + 74. Ode to the West Wind 157 + 75. The Cloud 161 + 76. To a Skylark 165 + 77. Chorus from "Hellas" 171 + 78. Stanzas. Written in Dejection, near Naples 173 + 79. The Indian Serenade 176 + 80. To ---- 177 + 81. To Night 178 + +SHIRLEY (1596-1666). + 82. Song from "Ajax and Ulysses" 181 + +SOUTHEY (1774-1843). + 83. Stanzas 183 + +STEVENSON (1850-1894). + 84. Requiem 185 + +TENNYSON (1809-1892). + 85. Song from "The Miller's Daughter" 186 + 86. St. Agnes' Eve 187 + 87. Break, break, break 188 + 88. Song from "The Princess" 189 + 89. Song from "The Princess" 191 + 90. Crossing the Bar 192 + +WALLER (1606-1687). + 91. On a Girdle 193 + 92. Song 194 + +WORDSWORTH (1770-1850). + 93. She dwelt among the untrodden ways 195 + 94. She was a Phantom of delight 195 + 95. Sonnets. Part I.--XXXIII. The world is + too much with us 197 + 96. Part II.--XXXVI. Earth has not anything 198 + 97. To a Highland Girl, at Inversneyde, upon + Loch Lomond 198 + 98. The Solitary Reaper 202 + 99. Intimations of Immortality from + Recollections of Early Childhood 204 + +WOTTON (1568-1639). + 100. On his Mistress, the Queen of Bohemia 215 + + + + +THE HUNDRED BEST +ENGLISH POEMS. + + + + +ANONYMOUS. + + +1. _Madrigal._ + +Love not me for comely grace, +For my pleasing eye or face; +Nor for any outward part, +No, nor for my constant heart: + For those may fail or turn to ill, + So thou and I shall sever: +Keep therefore a true woman's eye, +And love me still, but know not why; + So hast thou the same reason still + To doat upon me ever. + + _1609 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +MATTHEW ARNOLD. + + +2. _The Forsaken Merman._ + +Come, dear children, let us away; + Down and away below. +Now my brothers call from the bay; +Now the great winds shorewards blow; +Now the salt tides seawards flow; +Now the wild white horses play, +Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. + Children dear, let us away. + This way, this way. + +Call her once before you go. + Call once yet. +In a voice that she will know: + "Margaret! Margaret!" +Children's voices should be dear +(Call once more) to a mother's ear: +Children's voices, wild with pain. + Surely she will come again. +Call her once and come away. + This way, this way. +"Mother dear, we cannot stay." +The wild white horses foam and fret. + Margaret! Margaret! + +Come, dear children, come away down. + Call no more. +One last look at the white-wall'd town, +And the little grey church on the windy shore. + Then come down. +She will not come though you call all day. + Come away, come away. + + Children dear, was it yesterday + We heard the sweet bells over the bay? + In the caverns where we lay, + Through the surf and through the swell, + The far-off sound of a silver bell? +Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep, +Where the winds are all asleep; +Where the spent lights quiver and gleam; +Where the salt weed sways in the stream; +Where the sea-beasts rang'd all round +Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground; +Where the sea-snakes coil and twine, +Dry their mail and bask in the brine; +Where great whales come sailing by, +Sail and sail, with unshut eye, +Round the world for ever and aye? + When did music come this way? + Children dear, was it yesterday? + + Children dear, was it yesterday + (Call yet once) that she went away? + Once she sate with you and me, + On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea, + And the youngest sate on her knee. +She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well, +When down swung the sound of the far-off bell. +She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea. +She said; "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray +In the little grey church on the shore to-day. +'Twill be Easter-time in the world--ah me! +And I lose my poor soul, Merman, here with thee." +I said; "Go up, dear heart, through the waves. +Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves." + She smil'd, she went up through the surf in the bay. + Children dear, was it yesterday? + + Children dear, were we long alone? +"The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan. +Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say. +Come," I said, and we rose through the surf in the bay. +We went up the beach, by the sandy down +Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-wall'd town. +Through the narrow pav'd streets, where all was still, +To the little grey church on the windy hill. +From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers, +But we stood without in the cold blowing airs. +We climb'd on the graves, on the stones, worn with rains, +And we gaz'd up the aisle through the small leaded panes. + She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: + "Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here. + Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone. + The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan." +But, ah, she gave me never a look, +For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book. + "Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door." +Come away, children, call no more. +Come away, come down, call no more. + + Down, down, down. + Down to the depths of the sea. + She sits at her wheel in the humming town, + Singing most joyfully. +Hark, what she sings: "O joy, O joy, +For the humming street, and the child with its toy. +For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well. + For the wheel where I spun, + And the blessed light of the sun." + And so she sings her fill, + Singing most joyfully, + Till the shuttle falls from her hand, + And the whizzing wheel stands still. + +She steals to the window, and looks at the sand; + And over the sand at the sea; + And her eyes are set in a stare; + And anon there breaks a sigh, + And anon there drops a tear, + From a sorrow-clouded eye, + And a heart sorrow-laden, + A long, long sigh. +For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden, + And the gleam of her golden hair. + + Come away, away children. + Come children, come down. + The hoarse wind blows colder; + Lights shine in the town. + She will start from her slumber + When gusts shake the door; + She will hear the winds howling, + Will hear the waves roar. + We shall see, while above us + The waves roar and whirl, + A ceiling of amber, + A pavement of pearl. + Singing, "Here came a mortal, + But faithless was she. + And alone dwell for ever + The kings of the sea." + + But, children, at midnight, + When soft the winds blow; + When clear falls the moonlight; + When spring-tides are low: + When sweet airs come seaward + From heaths starr'd with broom; + And high rocks throw mildly + On the blanch'd sands a gloom: + Up the still, glistening beaches, + Up the creeks we will hie; + Over banks of bright seaweed + The ebb-tide leaves dry. + We will gaze, from the sand-hills, + At the white, sleeping town; + At the church on the hill-side-- + And then come back down. + Singing, "There dwells a lov'd one, + But cruel is she. + She left lonely for ever + The kings of the sea." + + _1857 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +ANNA LAETITIA BARBAULD. + + +3. _Life._ + +_Animula, vagula, blandula._ + + Life! I know not what thou art, + But know that thou and I must part; + And when, or how, or where we met, + I own to me's a secret yet. + But this I know, when thou art fled, + Where'er they lay these limbs, this head, + No clod so valueless shall be, + As all that then remains of me. + + O whither, whither dost thou fly, + Where bend unseen thy trackless course, + And in this strange divorce, +Ah tell where I must seek this compound I? +To the vast ocean of empyreal flame, + From whence thy essence came, + Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed + From matter's base encumbering weed? + Or dost thou, hid from sight, + Wait, like some spell-bound knight, +Through blank oblivious years the appointed hour, +To break thy trance and reassume thy power? +Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be? +O say what art thou, when no more thou'rt thee? + + Life! we've been long together, + Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; + 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; + Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; + Then steal away, give little warning, + Choose thine own time; + Say not Good night, but in some brighter clime + Bid me Good morning. + + _1825 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + +4. _Song from "Pippa Passes."_ + +The year's at the spring +And day's at the morn; +Morning's at seven; +The hill-side's dew-pearled; +The lark's on the wing; +The snail's on the thorn: +God's in his heaven-- +All's right with the world! + + +5. _Song from "Pippa Passes."_ + +You'll love me yet!--and I can tarry + Your love's protracted growing: +June reared that bunch of flowers you carry, + From seeds of April's sowing. + +I plant a heartful now: some seed + At least is sure to strike, +And yield--what you'll not pluck indeed, + Not love, but, may be, like. + +You'll look at least on love's remains, + A grave's one violet: +Your look?--that pays a thousand pains. + What's death? You'll love me yet! + + +6. _The Lost Mistress._ + +I. + +All's over, then: does truth sound bitter + As one at first believes? +Hark, 'tis the sparrows' good-night twitter + About your cottage eaves! + +II. + +And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly, + I noticed that, to-day; +One day more bursts them open fully + --You know the red turns grey. + +III. + +To-morrow we meet the same then, dearest? + May I take your hand in mine? +Mere friends are we,--well, friends the merest + Keep much that I resign: + +IV. + +For each glance of the eye so bright and black, + Though I keep with heart's endeavour,-- +Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back, + Though it stay in my soul for ever!-- + +V. + +Yet I will but say what mere friends say, + Or only a thought stronger; +I will hold your hand but as long as all may, + Or so very little longer! + + +7. _Home-Thoughts, from the Sea._ + +Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to the North-west died away; +Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, reeking into Cadiz Bay; +Bluish 'mid the burning water, full in face Trafalgar lay; +In the dimmest North-east distance dawned Gibraltar grand and grey; +"Here and here did England help me: how can I help England?"--say, +Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn to God to praise and pray, +While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent over Africa. + + +8. _Epilogue._ + +At the midnight in the silence of the sleep-time, + When you set your fancies free, +Will they pass to where--by death, fools think, imprisoned-- +Low he lies who once so loved you, whom you loved so, + --Pity me? + +Oh to love so, be so loved, yet so mistaken! + What had I on earth to do +With the slothful, with the mawkish, the unmanly? +Like the aimless, helpless, hopeless, did I drivel + --Being--who? + +One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, + Never doubted clouds would break, +Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, +Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, + Sleep to wake. + +No, at noonday in the bustle of man's work-time + Greet the unseen with a cheer! +Bid him forward, breast and back as either should be, +"Strive and thrive!" cry "Speed,--fight on, fare ever + There as here!" + + _1896 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +ROBERT BURNS. + + +9. _The Silver Tassie._ + +I. + +Go, fetch to me a pint o' wine, + And fill it in a silver tassie, +That I may drink before I go + A service to my bonie lassie! +The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, + Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry, +The ship rides by the Berwick-Law, + And I maun leave my bonie Mary. + +II. + +The trumpets sound, the banners fly, + The glittering spears are ranked ready, +The shouts o' war are heard afar, + The battle closes deep and bloody. +It's not the roar o' sea or shore + Wad mak me langer wish to tarry, +Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar: + It's leaving thee, my bonie Mary! + + +10. _Of a' the Airts._ + +I. + +Of a' the airts the wind can blaw + I dearly like the west, +For there the bonie lassie lives, + The lassie I lo'e best. +There wild woods grow, and rivers row, + And monie a hill between, +But day and night my fancy's flight + Is ever wi' my Jean. + +II. + +I see her in the dewy flowers-- + I see her sweet and fair. +I hear her in the tunefu' birds-- + I hear her charm the air. +There's not a bonie flower that springs + By fountain, shaw, or green, +There's not a bonie bird that sings, + But minds me o' my Jean. + + +11. _John Anderson my Jo._ + +I. + +John Anderson my jo, John, + When we were first acquent, +Your locks were like the raven, + Your bonie brow was brent; +But now your brow is beld, John, + Your locks are like the snaw, +But blessings on your frosty pow, + John Anderson my jo! + +II. + +John Anderson my jo, John, + We clamb the hill thegither, +And monie a cantie day, John, + We've had wi' ane anither; +Now we maun totter down, John, + And hand in hand we'll go, +And sleep thegither at the foot, + John Anderson my jo! + + +12. _Ae Fond Kiss._ + +I. + +Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! +Ae farewell, and then forever! +Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, +Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. +Who shall say that Fortune grieves him, +While the star of hope she leaves him? +Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me, +Dark despair around benights me. + +II. + +I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy: +Naething could resist my Nancy! +But to see her was to love her, +Love but her, and love for ever. +Had we never lov'd sae kindly, +Had we never lov'd sae blindly, +Never met--or never parted-- +We had ne'er been broken-hearted. + +III. + +Fare-thee-weel, thou first and fairest! +Fare-thee-weel, thou best and dearest! +Thine be ilka joy and treasure, +Peace, Enjoyment, Love, and Pleasure! +Ae fond kiss, and then we sever! +Ae farewell, alas, for ever! +Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee, +Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee. + + +13. _Ye Flowery Banks._ + +I. + +Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon, + How can ye blume sae fair? +How can ye chant, ye little birds, + And I sae fu' o' care? + +II. + +Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird, + That sings upon the bough: +Thou minds me o' the happy days + When my fause Luve was true! + +III. + +Thou'll break my heart, thou bonie bird, + That sings beside thy mate: +For sae I sat, and sae I sang, + And wist na o' my fate! + +IV. + +Aft hae I rov'd by bonie Doon + To see the woodbine twine, +And ilka bird sang o' its luve, + And sae did I o' mine. + +V. + +Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose + Frae aff its thorny tree, +And my fause luver staw my rose, + But left the thorn wi' me. + + +14. _A Red, Red Rose._ + +I. + +O, my luve is like a red, red rose, + That's newly sprung in June. +O, my luve is like the melodie, + That's sweetly play'd in tune. + +II. + +As fair art thou, my bonie lass, + So deep in luve am I, +And I will luve thee still, my dear, + Till a' the seas gang dry. + +III. + +Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, + And the rocks melt wi' the sun! +And I will luve thee still, my dear, + While the sands o' life shall run. + +IV. + +And fare the weel, my only luve, + And fare the weel a while! +And I will come again, my luve, + Tho' it were ten thousand mile! + + +15. _Mary Morison._ + +I. + +O Mary, at thy window be! + It is the wish'd, the trysted hour. +Those smiles and glances let me see, + That make the miser's treasure poor. + How blythely wad I bide the stoure, +A weary slave frae sun to sun, + Could I the rich reward secure-- +The lovely Mary Morison! + +II. + +Yestreen, when to the trembling string + The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', +To thee my fancy took its wing, + I sat, but neither heard or saw: + Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, +And yon the toast of a' the town, + I sigh'd and said amang them a':-- +"Ye are na Mary Morison!" + +III. + +O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace + Wha for thy sake wad gladly die? +Or canst thou break that heart of his + Whase only faut is loving thee? + If love for love thou wilt na gie, +At least be pity to me shown: + A thought ungentle canna be +The thought o' Mary Morison. + + _Henderson and Henley's Text._ + + * * * * * + + + + +LORD BYRON. + + +16. _She Walks in Beauty._ + +I. + +She walks in Beauty, like the night + Of cloudless climes and starry skies; +And all that's best of dark and bright + Meet in her aspect and her eyes: +Thus mellowed to that tender light + Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. + +II. + +One shade the more, one ray the less, + Had half impaired the nameless grace +Which waves in every raven tress, + Or softly lightens o'er her face; +Where thoughts serenely sweet express, + How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. + +III. + +And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, + So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, +The smiles that win, the tints that glow, + But tell of days in goodness spent, +A mind at peace with all below, + A heart whose love is innocent! + + +17. _Oh! Snatched Away in Beauty's Bloom._ + +I. + + Oh! snatched away in beauty's bloom, + On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; + But on thy turf shall roses rear + Their leaves, the earliest of the year; +And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom: + +II. + + And oft by yon blue gushing stream + Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, + And feed deep thought with many a dream, + And lingering pause and lightly tread; +Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead! + +III. + + Away! we know that tears are vain, + That Death nor heeds nor hears distress: + Will this unteach us to complain? + Or make one mourner weep the less? + And thou--who tell'st me to forget, + Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. + + +18. _Song from "The Corsair."_ + +I. + +Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells, + Lonely and lost to light for evermore, +Save when to thine my heart responsive swells, + Then trembles into silence as before. + +II. + +There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp + Burns the slow flame, eternal--but unseen; +Which not the darkness of Despair can damp, + Though vain its ray as it had never been. + +III. + +Remember me--Oh! pass not thou my grave + Without one thought whose relics there recline: +The only pang my bosom dare not brave + Must be to find forgetfulness in thine. + +IV. + +My fondest--faintest--latest accents hear-- + Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove; +Then give me all I ever asked--a tear, + The first--last--sole reward of so much love! + + +19. _Song from "Don Juan."_ + +I. + +The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece! + Where burning Sappho loved and sung, +Where grew the arts of War and Peace, + Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung! +Eternal summer gilds them yet, +But all, except their Sun, is set. + +II. + +The Scian and the Teian muse, + The Hero's harp, the Lover's lute, +Have found the fame your shores refuse: + Their place of birth alone is mute +To sounds which echo further west +Than your Sires' "Islands of the Blest." + +III. + +The mountains look on Marathon-- + And Marathon looks on the sea; +And musing there an hour alone, + I dreamed that Greece might still be free; +For standing on the Persians' grave, +I could not deem myself a slave. + +IV. + +A King sate on the rocky brow + Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis; +And ships, by thousands, lay below, + And men in nations;--all were his! +He counted them at break of day-- +And, when the Sun set, where were they? + +V. + +And where are they? and where art thou, + My Country? On thy voiceless shore +The heroic lay is tuneless now-- + The heroic bosom beats no more! +And must thy Lyre, so long divine, +Degenerate into hands like mine? + +VI. + +'Tis something, in the dearth of Fame, + Though linked among a fettered race, +To feel at least a patriot's shame, + Even as I sing, suffuse my face; +For what is left the poet here? +For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear. + +VII. + +Must _we_ but weep o'er days more blest? + Must _we_ but blush?--Our fathers bled. +Earth! render back from out thy breast + A remnant of our Spartan dead! +Of the three hundred grant but three, +To make a new Thermopylae! + +VIII. + +What, silent still? and silent all? + Ah! no;--the voices of the dead +Sound like a distant torrent's fall, + And answer, "Let one living head, +But one arise,--we come, we come!" +'Tis but the living who are dumb. + +IX. + +In vain--in vain: strike other chords; + Fill high the cup with Samian wine! +Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, + And shed the blood of Scio's vine! +Hark! rising to the ignoble call-- +How answers each bold Bacchanal! + +X. + +You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet, + Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone? +Of two such lessons, why forget + The nobler and the manlier one? +You have the letters Cadmus gave-- +Think ye he meant them for a slave? + +XI. + +Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! + We will not think of themes like these! +It made Anacreon's song divine: + He served--but served Polycrates-- +A Tyrant; but our masters then +Were still, at least, our countrymen. + +XII. + +The Tyrant of the Chersonese + Was Freedom's best and bravest friend; +_That_ tyrant was Miltiades! + Oh! that the present hour would lend +Another despot of the kind! +Such chains as his were sure to bind. + +XIII. + +Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! + On Suli's rock, and Parga's shore, +Exists the remnant of a line + Such as the Doric mothers bore; +And there, perhaps, some seed is sown, +The Heracleidan blood might own. + +XIV. + +Trust not for freedom to the Franks-- + They have a king who buys and sells; +In native swords, and native ranks, + The only hope of courage dwells; +But Turkish force, and Latin fraud, +Would break your shield, however broad. + +XV. + +Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! + Our virgins dance beneath the shade-- +I see their glorious black eyes shine; + But gazing on each glowing maid, +My own the burning tear-drop laves, +To think such breasts must suckle slaves. + +XVI. + +Place me on Sunium's marbled steep, + Where nothing, save the waves and I, +May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; + There, swan-like, let me sing and die: +A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine-- +Dash down yon cup of Samian wine! + + _Coleridge's Text._ + + * * * * * + + + + +THOMAS CAMPBELL. + + +20. _Hohenlinden._ + +On Linden, when the sun was low, +All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow; +And dark as winter was the flow +Of Iser, rolling rapidly. + +But Linden saw another sight, +When the drum beat, at dead of night, +Commanding fires of death to light +The darkness of her scenery. + +By torch and trumpet fast array'd, +Each horseman drew his battle blade, +And furious every charger neigh'd, +To join the dreadful revelry. + +Then shook the hills with thunder riv'n, +Then rush'd the steed to battle driv'n, +And louder than the bolts of heaven, +Far flash'd the red artillery. + +But redder yet that light shall glow, +On Linden's hills of stained snow, +And bloodier yet the torrent flow +Of Iser, rolling rapidly. + +'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun +Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, +Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, +Shout in their sulph'rous canopy. + +The combat deepens. On, ye brave, +Who rush to glory, or the grave! +Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave! +And charge with all thy chivalry! + +Few, few, shall part where many meet! +The snow shall be their winding sheet, +And every turf beneath their feet, +Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. + + _1809 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. + + +21. _Say not the Struggle Nought Availeth._ + +Say not, the struggle nought availeth, + The labour and the wounds are vain, +The enemy faints not, nor faileth, + And as things have been they remain. + +If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; + It may be, in yon smoke concealed, +Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, + And, but for you, possess the field. + +For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, + Seem here no painful inch to gain, +Far back, through creeks and inlets making, + Comes silent, flooding in, the main. + +And not by eastern windows only, + When daylight comes, comes in the light, +In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, + But westward, look, the land is bright. + + _1869 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. + + +22. _Youth and Age._ + +Verse, a breeze mid blossoms straying, +Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee-- +Both were mine! Life went a maying + With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, + When I was young! + +When I was young?--Ah, woful when! +Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then! +This breathing house not built with hands, +This body that does me grievous wrong, +O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands, +How lightly then it flashed along:-- +Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, +On winding lakes and rivers wide, +That ask no aid of sail or oar, +That fear no spite of wind or tide! +Nought cared this body for wind or weather +When Youth and I liv'd in't together. +Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; +Friendship is a sheltering tree; +O! the joys, that came down shower-like, +Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, + Ere I was old. + +Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere, +Which tells me, Youth's no longer here! +O Youth! for years so many and sweet +'Tis known, that Thou and I were one, +I'll think it but a fond conceit-- +It cannot be, that Thou art gone! +Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd:-- +And thou wert aye a masker bold! +What strange disguise hast now put on, +To make believe, that Thou art gone? +I see these locks in silvery slips, +This drooping gait, this altered size: +But springtide blossoms on thy lips, +And tears take sunshine from thine eyes! +Life is but thought: so think I will +That Youth and I are house-mates still. + +Dew-drops are the gems of morning, +But the tears of mournful eve! +Where no hope is, life's a warning +That only serves to make us grieve, + When we are old: + +That only serves to make us grieve +With oft and tedious taking-leave, +Like some poor nigh-related guest, +That may not rudely be dismist. +Yet hath outstay'd his welcome while, +And tells the jest without the smile. + + _1869 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +WILLIAM COLLINS. + + +23. _Written in the Year 1746._ + +How sleep the brave, who sink to rest +By all their country's wishes bless'd! +When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, +Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, +She there shall dress a sweeter sod +Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. + +By fairy hands their knell is rung; +By forms unseen their dirge is sung; +There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, +To bless the turf that wraps their clay; +And Freedom shall a while repair, +To dwell a weeping hermit there. + + _1822 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +WILLIAM COWPER. + + +24. _To a Young Lady._ + +Sweet stream that winds through yonder glade, +Apt emblem of a virtuous maid-- +Silent and chaste she steals along, +Far from the world's gay busy throng, +With gentle, yet prevailing, force, +Intent upon her destin'd course; +Graceful and useful all she does, +Blessing and blest where'er she goes, +Pure-bosom'd as that wat'ry glass, +And heav'n reflected in her face. + + _1813 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. + + +25. _A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea._ + +A wet sheet and a flowing sea, + A wind that follows fast, +And fills the white and rustling sail, + And bends the gallant mast; +And bends the gallant mast, my boys, + While, like the eagle free, +Away the good ship flies, and leaves + Old England on the lee. + +O for a soft and gentle wind! + I heard a fair one cry; +But give to me the snoring breeze, + And white waves heaving high; +And white waves heaving high, my boys, + The good ship tight and free-- +The world of waters is our home, + And merry men are we. + +There's tempest in yon horned moon, + And lightning in yon cloud; +And hark the music, mariners! + The wind is piping loud; +The wind is piping loud, my boys, + The lightning flashing free-- +While the hollow oak our palace is, + Our heritage the sea. + + _1847 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. + + +26. _Song._ + +The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest, + And, climbing, shakes his dewy wings; +He takes this window for the east; + And to implore your light, he sings: +"Awake, awake! the morn will never rise, +Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes. + +"The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, + The ploughman from the sun his season takes; +But still the lover wonders what they are, + Who look for day before his mistress wakes. +Awake, awake! break thro' your veils of lawn! +Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn." + + _1810 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +JOHN DRYDEN. + + +27. _A Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687._ + +I. + +From harmony, from heav'nly harmony + This universal frame began: + When nature underneath a heap + Of jarring atoms lay, + And cou'd not heave her head, +The tuneful voice was heard from high, + Arise, ye more than dead. +Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, +In order to their stations leap, + And Music's power obey. +From harmony, from heavenly harmony + This universal frame began: + From harmony to harmony +Through all the compass of the notes it ran, +The diapason closing full in Man. + +II. + +What passion cannot Music raise and quell! + When Jubal struck the corded shell, + His list'ning brethren stood around, + And, wond'ring, on their faces fell + To worship that celestial sound. +Less than a God they thought there could not dwell + Within the hollow of that shell, + That spoke so sweetly and so well. +What passion cannot Music raise and quell! + +III. + + The trumpet's loud clangour + Excites us to arms, + With shrill notes of anger + And mortal alarms. + The double double double beat + Of the thund'ring drum + Cries, Hark! the foes come; + Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat. + +IV. + + The soft complaining flute + In dying notes discovers + The woes of hopeless lovers, +Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. + +V. + + Sharp violins proclaim + Their jealous pangs, and desperation, + Fury, frantic indignation, + Depth of pains, and height of passion, + For the fair, disdainful dame. + +VI. + + But oh! what art can teach, + What human voice can reach, + The sacred organ's praise? + Notes inspiring holy love, + Notes that wing their heavenly ways + To mend the choirs above. + +VII. + +Orpheus cou'd lead the savage race; +And trees uprooted left their place, + Sequacious of the lyre: +But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher: +When to her organ vocal breath was giv'n, +An angel heard, and straight appear'd, + Mistaking Earth for Heav'n. + +GRAND CHORUS. + + _As from the pow'r of sacred lays + The spheres began to move, + And sung the great Creator's praise + To all the Bless'd above; + So when the last and dreadful hour + This crumbling pageant shall devour, + The trumpet shall be heard on high, + The dead shall live, the living die, + And Music shall untune the sky._ + + _1743 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +OLIVER GOLDSMITH. + + +28. _Song._ + +The wretch condemn'd with life to part, + Still, still on hope relies; +And ev'ry pang that rends the heart, + Bids expectation rise. + +Hope, like the glimm'ring taper's light, + Adorns and cheers the way; +And still, as darker grows the night, + Emits a brighter ray. + + _1816 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +THOMAS GRAY. + + +29. _Elegy written in a Country Church-yard._ + +The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, + The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, +The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, + And leaves the world to darkness and to me. + +Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, + And all the air a solemn stillness holds, +Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, + And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: + +Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r, + The moping owl does to the moon complain +Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bow'r, + Molest her ancient solitary reign. + +Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, + Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, +Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, + The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. + +The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, + The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, +The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, + No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. + +For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, + Or busy housewife ply her evening care; +No children run to lisp their sire's return, + Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. + +Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, + Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: +How jocund did they drive their team afield! + How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke. + +Let not ambition mock their useful toil, + Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; +Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile + The short and simple annals of the poor. + +The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, + And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, +Await alike th' inevitable hour. + The paths of glory lead but to the grave. + +Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, + If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, +Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault + The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. + +Can storied urn, or animated bust, + Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? +Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, + Or flatt'ry soothe the dull cold ear of death? + +Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid + Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; +Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, + Or wak'd to ecstasy the living lyre: + +But knowledge to their eyes her ample page + Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; +Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, + And froze the genial current of the soul. + +Full many a gem of purest ray serene + The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: +Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, + And waste its sweetness on the desert air. + +Some village-Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, + The little tyrant of his fields withstood, +Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, + Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. + +Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, + The threats of pain and ruin to despise, +To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, + And read their history in a nation's eyes, + +Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone + Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd; +Forbade to wade thro' slaughter to a throne, + And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, + +The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, + To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, +Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride + With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. + +Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, + Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; +Along the cool sequester'd vale of life + They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. + +Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect + Some frail memorial still erected nigh, +With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, + Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. + +Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, + The place of fame and elegy supply: +And many a holy text around she strews, + That teach the rustic moralist to die. + +For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, + This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, +Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, + Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind? + +On some fond breast the parting soul relies, + Some pious drops the closing eye requires; +E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, + E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. + +For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, + Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; +If chance, by lonely contemplation led, + Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate,-- + +Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, + 'Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn +Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, + To meet the sun upon the upland lawn: + +'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, + That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, +His listless length at noontide would he stretch, + And pore upon the brook that babbles by. + +'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, + Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove; +Now drooping, woful-wan, like one forlorn, + Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. + +'One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, + Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree; +Another came; nor yet beside the rill, + Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he: + +'The next, with dirges due in sad array + Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne:-- +Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay + Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' + +THE EPITAPH. + +Here rests his head upon the lap of earth + A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown: +Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, + And melancholy mark'd him for her own. + +Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, + Heaven did a recompense as largely send: +He gave to mis'ry (all he had) a tear, + He gain'd from heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. + +No farther seek his merits to disclose, + Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, +(There they alike in trembling hope repose,) + The bosom of his Father and his God. + + _Mitford's Text._ + + * * * * * + + + + +WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY. + + +30. _To R. T. H. B._ + +Out of the night that covers me, + Black as the Pit from pole to pole, +I thank whatever gods may be + For my unconquerable soul. + +In the fell clutch of circumstance + I have not winced nor cried aloud. +Under the bludgeonings of chance + My head is bloody, but unbowed. + +Beyond this place of wrath and tears + Looms but the Horror of the shade, +And yet the menace of the years + Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. + +It matters not how strait the gate, + How charged with punishments the scroll, +I am the master of my fate: + I am the captain of my soul. + + +31. _I. M._ +_Margaritae Sorori_ +_(1886)_ + +A late lark twitters from the quiet skies; +And from the west, +Where the sun, his day's work ended, +Lingers as in content, +There falls on the old, grey city +An influence luminous and serene, +A shining peace. + +The smoke ascends +In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires +Shine, and are changed. In the valley +Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun, +Closing his benediction, +Sinks, and the darkening air +Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night-- +Night with her train of stars +And her great gift of sleep. +So be my passing! +My task accomplished and the long day done, +My wages taken, and in my heart +Some late lark singing, +Let me be gathered to the quiet west, +The sundown splendid and serene, +Death. + + _1898 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +GEORGE HERBERT. + + +32. _Virtue._ + +Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, +The bridal of the earth and sky: +The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; + For thou must die. + +Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave +Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye: +Thy root is ever in its grave, + And thou must die. + +Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, +A box where sweets compacted lie; +My music shows ye have your closes, + And all must die. + +Only a sweet and virtuous soul, +Like season'd timber, never gives; +But though the whole world turn to coal, + Then chiefly lives. + + _1633 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +ROBERT HERRICK. + + +33. _To the Virgins, to make much of Time._ + +1. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, + Old Time is still a-flying: + And this same flower that smiles to-day, + To-morrow will be dying. + +2. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, + The higher he's a-getting; + The sooner will his race be run, + And nearer he's to setting. + +3. That age is best, which is the first, + When youth and blood are warmer; + But being spent, the worse, and worst + Times, still succeed the former. + +4. Then be not coy, but use your time; + And while ye may, go marry: + For having lost but once your prime, + You may for ever tarry. + + +34. _To Anthea, who may command him anything._ + +1. Bid me to live, and I will live + Thy Protestant to be: + Or bid me love, and I will give + A loving heart to thee. + +2. A heart as soft, a heart as kind, + A heart as sound and free, + As in the whole world thou canst find, + That heart I'll give to thee. + +3. Bid that heart stay, and it will stay, + To honour thy decree: + Or bid it languish quite away, + And't shall do so for thee. + +4. Bid me to weep, and I will weep, + While I have eyes to see: + And having none, yet I will keep + A heart to weep for thee. + +5. Bid me despair, and I'll despair, + Under that cypress tree: + Or bid me die, and I will dare + E'en death, to die for thee. + +6. Thou art my life, my love, my heart, + The very eyes of me: + And hast command of every part, + To live and die for thee. + + _Grosart's Text._ + + * * * * * + + + + +THOMAS HOOD + + +35. _The Death Bed._ + +We watch'd her breathing through the night, + Her breathing soft and low, +As in her breast the wave of life + Kept heaving to and fro. + +So silently we seem'd to speak, + So slowly moved about, +As we had lent her half our powers + To eke her living out. + +Our very hopes belied our fears, + Our fears our hopes belied-- +We thought her dying when she slept, + And sleeping when she died. + +For when the morn came dim and sad, + And chill with early showers, +Her quiet eyelids closed--she had + Another morn than ours. + + +36. _The Bridge of Sighs._ + +"Drown'd! drown'd!"--_Hamlet._ + +One more Unfortunate, +Weary of breath, +Rashly importunate, +Gone to her death! + +Take her up tenderly, +Lift her with care; +Fashion'd so slenderly, +Young, and so fair! + +Look at her garments +Clinging like cerements; +Whilst the wave constantly +Drips from her clothing; +Take her up instantly, +Loving, not loathing.-- + +Touch her not scornfully; +Think of her mournfully, +Gently and humanly; +Not of the stains of her, +All that remains of her +Now is pure womanly. + +Make no deep scrutiny +Into her mutiny +Rash and undutiful: +Past all dishonour, +Death has left on her +Only the beautiful. + +Still, for all slips of hers, +One of Eve's family-- +Wipe those poor lips of hers +Oozing so clammily. + +Loop up her tresses +Escaped from the comb, +Her fair auburn tresses; +Whilst wonderment guesses +Where was her home? + +Who was her father? +Who was her mother? +Had she a sister? +Had she a brother? +Or was there a dearer one +Still, and a nearer one +Yet, than all other? + +Alas! for the rarity +Of Christian charity +Under the sun! +Oh! it was pitiful! +Near a whole city full, +Home she had none. + +Sisterly, brotherly, +Fatherly, motherly +Feelings had changed: +Love, by harsh evidence, +Thrown from its eminence; +Even God's providence +Seeming estranged. + +Where the lamps quiver +So far in the river, +With many a light +From window and casement, +From garret to basement, +She stood, with amazement, +Houseless by night. + +The bleak wind of March +Made her tremble and shiver; +But not the dark arch, +Or the black flowing river: +Mad from life's history, +Glad to death's mystery, +Swift to be hurl'd-- +Any where, any where +Out of the world! + +In she plunged boldly, +No matter how coldly +The rough river ran,-- +Over the brink of it, +Picture it--think of it, +Dissolute Man! +Lave in it, drink of it, +Then, if you can! + +Take her up tenderly, +Lift her with care; +Fashion'd so slenderly, +Young, and so fair! + +Ere her limbs frigidly +Stiffen too rigidly, +Decently,--kindly,-- +Smooth, and compose them; +And her eyes, close them, +Staring so blindly! + +Dreadfully staring +Thro' muddy impurity, +As when with the daring +Last look of despairing +Fix'd on futurity. + +Perishing gloomily, +Spurr'd by contumely, +Cold inhumanity, +Burning insanity, +Into her rest.-- +Cross her hands humbly, +As if praying dumbly, +Over her breast! + +Owning her weakness, +Her evil behaviour, +And leaving, with meekness, +Her sins to her Saviour! + + +37. _I Remember, I Remember._ + +I remember, I remember, +The house where I was born, +The little window where the sun +Came peeping in at morn; +He never came a wink too soon, +Nor brought too long a day, +But now, I often wish the night +Had borne my breath away! + +I remember, I remember, +The roses, red and white, +The violets, and the lily cups, +Those flowers made of light! +The lilacs where the robin built, +And where my brother set +The laburnum on his birth-day,-- +The tree is living yet! + +I remember, I remember +Where I was used to swing, +And thought the air must rush as fresh +To swallows on the wing; +My spirit flew in feathers then, +That is so heavy now, +And summer pools could hardly cool +The fever on my brow! + +I remember, I remember +The fir trees dark and high; +I used to think their slender tops +Were close against the sky: +It was a childish ignorance, +But now 'tis little joy +To know I'm farther off from Heav'n +Than when I was a boy. + + _1862-3 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +BEN JONSON + + +38. _To Celia._ + +Drink to me, only with thine eyes, + And I will pledge with mine; +Or leave a kiss but in the cup, + And I'll not look for wine. +The thirst, that from the soul doth rise, + Doth ask a drink divine: +But might I of Jove's nectar sup, + I would not change for thine. + +I sent thee late a rosy wreath, + Not so much honouring thee, +As giving it a hope, that there + It could not wither'd be. +But thou thereon didst only breathe, + And sent'st it back to me: +Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, + Not of itself, but thee. + + _Cunningham's Text._ + + * * * * * + + + + +JOHN KEATS + + +39. _On first looking into Chapman's Homer._ + +Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold, + And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; + Round many western islands have I been +Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. +Oft of one wide expanse had I been told + That deep-brow'd Homer rul'd as his demesne; + Yet did I never breathe its pure serene +Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: +Then felt I like some watcher of the skies + When a new planet swims into his ken; +Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes + He star'd at the Pacific--and all his men +Looked at each other with a wild surmise-- + Silent, upon a peak in Darien. + + +40. _Ode to a Nightingale._ + +1. + +My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains + My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, +Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains + One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: +'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, + But being too happy in thine happiness,-- + That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, + In some melodious plot + Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, + Singest of summer in full-throated ease. + +2. + +O for a draught of vintage! that hath been + Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, +Tasting of Flora and the country green, + Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! +O for a beaker full of the warm South, + Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, + With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, + And purple-stained mouth; + That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, + And with thee fade away into the forest dim: + +3. + +Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget + What thou among the leaves hast never known, +The weariness, the fever, and the fret + Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; +Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, + Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; + Where but to think is to be full of sorrow + And leaden-ey'd despairs, + Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, + Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. + +4. + +Away! away! for I will fly to thee, + Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, +But on the viewless wings of Poesy, + Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: +Already with thee! tender is the night, + And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, + Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays; + But here there is no light, + Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown + Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. + +5. + +I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, + Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, +But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet + Wherewith the seasonable month endows +The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; + White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; + Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; + And mid-May's eldest child, + The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, + The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. + +6. + +Darkling I listen; and, for many a time + I have been half in love with easeful Death, +Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, + To take into the air my quiet breath; +Now more than ever seems it rich to die, + To cease upon the midnight with no pain, + While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad + In such an ecstasy! + Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain-- + To thy high requiem become a sod. + +7. + +Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! + No hungry generations tread thee down; +The voice I hear this passing night was heard + In ancient days by emperor and clown: +Perhaps the self-same song that found a path + Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, + She stood in tears amid the alien corn; + The same that oft-times hath + Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam + Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. + +8. + +Forlorn! the very word is like a bell + To toll me back from thee to my sole self! +Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well + As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf. +Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades + Past the near meadows, over the still stream, + Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep + In the next valley-glades: + Was it a vision, or a waking dream? + Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep? + + +41. _Ode on a Grecian Urn._ + +1. + +Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, + Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, +Sylvan historian, who canst thus express + A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme: +What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape + Of deities or mortals, or of both, + In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? + What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? +What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? + What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy? + +2. + +Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard + Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; +Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, + Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: +Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave + Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare; + Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, +Though winning near the goal--yet, do not grieve; + She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, + For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! + +3. + +Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed + Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; +And, happy melodist, unwearied, + For ever piping songs for ever new; +More happy love! more happy, happy love! + For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, + For ever panting, and for ever young; +All breathing human passion far above, + That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, + A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. + +4. + +Who are these coming to the sacrifice? + To what green altar, O mysterious priest, +Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, + And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? +What little town by river or sea shore, + Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, + Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? +And, little town, thy streets for evermore + Will silent be; and not a soul to tell + Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. + +5. + +O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede + Of marble men and maidens overwrought, +With forest branches and the trodden weed; + Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought +As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! + When old age shall this generation waste, + Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe + Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, +'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,'--that is all + Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. + + +42. _To Autumn._ + +1. + +Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, + Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; +Conspiring with him how to load and bless + With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; +To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, + And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; + To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells + With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, +And still more, later flowers for the bees, +Until they think warm days will never cease, + For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells. + +2. + +Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? + Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find +Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, + Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; +Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, + Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook + Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: +And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep + Steady thy laden head across a brook; + Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, + Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours. + +3. + +Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? + Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-- +While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,-- + And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; +Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn + Among the river sallows, borne aloft + Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; +And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; + Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft + The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; + And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. + + +43. _Ode on Melancholy._ + +1. + +No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist + Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine; +Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd + By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine; +Make not your rosary of yew-berries, + Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be + Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl +A partner in your sorrow's mysteries; + For shade to shade will come too drowsily, + And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul. + +2. + +But when the melancholy fit shall fall + Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, +That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, + And hides the green hill in an April shroud; +Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose, + Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave, + Or on the wealth of globed peonies; +Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows, + Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave, + And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes. + +3. + +She dwells with Beauty--Beauty that must die; + And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips +Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh, + Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips: +Ay, in the very temple of Delight + Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine, + Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue + Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine; +His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, + And be among her cloudy trophies hung. + + +44. _La Belle Dame sans Merci._ + +1. + +Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, + Alone and palely loitering; +The sedge is wither'd from the lake, + And no birds sing. + +2. + +Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, + So haggard and so woe-begone? +The squirrel's granary is full, + And the harvest's done. + +3. + +I see a lily on thy brow, + With anguish moist and fever dew; +And on thy cheek a fading rose + Fast withereth too. + +4. + +I met a lady in the meads + Full beautiful, a faery's child; +Her hair was long, her foot was light, + And her eyes were wild. + +5. + +I set her on my pacing steed, + And nothing else saw all day long; +For sideways would she lean, and sing + A faery's song. + +6. + +I made a garland for her head, + And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; +She look'd at me as she did love, + And made sweet moan. + +7. + +She found me roots of relish sweet, + And honey wild, and manna dew; +And sure in language strange she said, + I love thee true. + +8. + +She took me to her elfin grot, + And there she gaz'd and sighed deep, +And there I shut her wild sad eyes-- + So kiss'd to sleep. + +9. + +And there we slumber'd on the moss, + And there I dream'd, ah woe betide, +The latest dream I ever dream'd + On the cold hill-side. + +10. + +I saw pale kings, and princes too, + Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; +Who cry'd--"La belle Dame sans merci + Hath thee in thrall!" + +11. + +I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam + With horrid warning gaped wide, +And I awoke, and found me here + On the cold hill-side. + +12. + +And this is why I sojourn here + Alone and palely loitering, +Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, + And no birds sing. + + +45. _Sonnet._ + +When I have fears that I may cease to be + Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, +Before high-piled books, in charactery, + Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; +When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, + Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, +And think that I may never live to trace + Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; +And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, + That I shall never look upon thee more, +Never have relish in the faery power + Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore +Of the wide world I stand alone, and think +Till love and fame to nothingness do sink. + + _Buxton Forman's Text._ + + * * * * * + + + + +CHARLES LAMB. + + +46. _The Old Familiar Faces._ + +Where are they gone, the old familiar faces? +I had a mother, but she died, and left me, +Died prematurely in a day of horrors-- +All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. + +I have had playmates, I have had companions, +In my days of childhood, in my joyful school days-- +All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. + +I have been laughing, I have been carousing, +Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies-- +All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. + +I lov'd a love once, fairest among women; +Clos'd are her doors on me, I must not see her-- +All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. + +I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man. +Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly; +Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. + +Ghost-like, I pac'd round the haunts of my childhood. +Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse, +Seeking to find the old familiar faces. + +Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother! +Why were not thou born in my father's dwelling? +So might we talk of the old familiar faces. + +For some they have died, and some they have left me, +_And some are taken from me_; all are departed; +All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. + + _1798 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. + + +47. _The Maid's Lament._ + +I loved him not; and yet now he is gone + I feel I am alone. +I check'd him while he spoke; yet could he speak, + Alas! I would not check. +For reasons not to love him once I sought, + And wearied all my thought +To vex myself and him: I now would give + My love, could he but live +Who lately lived for me, and when he found + 'Twas vain, in holy ground +He hid his face amid the shades of death. + I waste for him my breath +Who wasted his for me: but mine returns, + And this lorn bosom burns +With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, + And waking me to weep +Tears that had melted his soft heart: for years + Wept he as bitter tears. +_Merciful God!_ such was his latest prayer, + _These may she never share!_ +Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold, + Than daisies in the mould, +Where children spell, athwart the churchyard gate, + His name and life's brief date. +Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er you be, + And oh! pray too for me! + + _1868 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +RICHARD LOVELACE. + + +48. _To Lucasta. Going to the Wars._ + +Tell me not, (sweet,) I am unkind, + That from the nunnery +Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind + To war and arms I fly. + +True: a new Mistress now I chase, + The first foe in the field; +And with a stronger faith embrace + A sword, a horse, a shield. + +Yet this inconstancy is such, + As you too shall adore; +I could not love thee, dear, so much, + Lov'd I not Honour more. + + _Carew Hazlitt's Text._ + + * * * * * + + + + +JOHN MILTON. + + +49. _On the Morning of Christ's Nativity._ + +I. + + This is the month, and this the happy morn, + Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King, + Of wedded Maid and Virgin-Mother born, + Our great redemption from above did bring; + For so the holy sages once did sing, + That he our deadly forfeit should release, +And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. + +II. + + That glorious form, that light unsufferable, + And that far-beaming blaze of majesty, + Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table + To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, + He laid aside; and, here with us to be, + Forsook the courts of everlasting day, +And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. + +III. + + Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein + Afford a present to the Infant God? + Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, + To welcome him to this his new abode, + Now, while the heaven, by the Sun's team untrod, + Hath took no print of the approaching light, +And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? + +IV. + + See how from far upon the eastern road + The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet! + Oh! run, prevent them with thy humble ode, + And lay it lowly at his blessed feet; + Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, + And join thy voice unto the angel quire, +From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire. + +THE HYMN. + +I. + + It was the winter wild, + While the heaven-born child + All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; + Nature in awe to him + Had doffed her gaudy trim, + With her great Master so to sympathize. + It was no season then for her +To wanton with the Sun her lusty paramour. + +II. + + Only with speeches fair + She woos the gentle air + To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, + And on her naked shame, + Pollute with sinful blame, + The saintly veil of maiden-white to throw, + Confounded, that her Maker's eyes +Should look so near upon her foul deformities. + +III. + + But he, her fears to cease, + Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; + She, crowned with olive-green, came softly sliding + Down through the turning sphere, + His ready harbinger, + With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; + And, waving wide her myrtle wand, +She strikes an universal peace through sea and land. + +IV. + + No war or battle's sound + Was heard the world around; + The idle spear and shield were high up hung; + The hooked chariot stood, + Unstained with hostile blood; + The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; + And kings sat still with awful eye, +As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. + +V. + + But peaceful was the night, + Wherein the Prince of Light + His reign of peace upon the earth began. + The winds, with wonder whist, + Smoothly the waters kissed, + Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, + Who now hath quite forgot to rave, +While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. + +VI. + + The stars, with deep amaze, + Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, + Bending one way their precious influence, + And will not take their flight, + For all the morning-light, + Or Lucifer that often warned them thence; + But in their glimmering orbs did glow, +Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. + +VII. + + And, though the shady gloom + Had given day her room, + The sun himself withheld his wonted speed; + And hid his head for shame, + As his inferior flame + The new-enlightened world no more should need; + He saw a greater sun appear +Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear. + +VIII. + + The shepherds on the lawn, + Or ere the point of dawn, + Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; + Full little thought they than + That the mighty Pan + Was kindly come to live with them below. + Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, +Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. + +IX. + + When such music sweet + Their hearts and ears did greet, + As never was by mortal finger strook; + Divinely-warbled voice + Answering the stringed noise, + As all their souls in blissful rapture took. + The air, such pleasure loth to lose, +With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. + +X. + + Nature, that heard such sound, + Beneath the hollow round + Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling, + Now was almost won + To think her part was done, + And that her reign had here its last fulfilling. + She knew such harmony alone +Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union. + +XI. + + At last surrounds their sight + A globe of circular light, + That with long beams the shame-faced Night arrayed. + The helmed Cherubim, + And sworded Seraphim, + Are seen, in glittering ranks with wings displayed, + Harping, in loud and solemn quire, +With unexpressive notes to Heaven's new-born Heir. + +XII. + + Such music--as 'tis said-- + Before was never made, + But when of old the Sons of Morning sung; + While the Creator great + His constellations set, + And the well-balanced World on hinges hung, + And cast the dark foundations deep, +And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. + +XIII. + + Ring out, ye crystal spheres! + Once bless our human ears, + --If ye have power to touch our senses so-- + And let your silver-chime + Move in melodious time, + And let the base of heaven's deep organ blow; + And with your ninefold harmony +Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. + +XIV. + + For if such holy song + Enwrap our fancy long, + Time will run back, and fetch the Age of Gold; + And speckled Vanity + Will sicken soon and die, + And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; + And Hell itself will pass away, +And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. + +XV. + + Yea Truth and Justice then + Will down return to men, + Orbed in a rainbow, and like glories wearing; + Mercy will sit between, + Throned in celestial sheen, + With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; + And Heaven, as at some festival, +Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall. + +XVI. + + But wisest Fate says No, + This must not yet be so, + The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy, + That, on the bitter cross, + Must redeem our loss; + So both himself and us to glorify: + Yet first, to those ychained in sleep, +The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep. + +XVII. + + With such a horrid clang + As on Mount Sinai rang, + While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake, + The aged earth aghast, + With terror of that blast, + Shall from the surface to the centre shake; + When, at the world's last session, +The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. + +XVIII. + + And then at last our bliss + Full and perfect is, + But now begins; for from this happy day + The Old Dragon under ground, + In straiter limits bound, + Not half so far casts his usurped sway, + And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, +Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. + +XIX. + + The oracles are dumb, + No voice or hideous hum + Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. + Apollo from his shrine + Can no more divine, + With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. + No nightly trance, or breathed spell, +Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. + +XX. + + The lonely mountains o'er, + And the resounding shore, + A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; + From haunted spring, and dale + Edged with poplar pale, + The parting Genius is with sighing sent; + With flower-inwoven tresses torn +The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. + +XXI. + + In consecrated earth, + And on the holy hearth, + The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; + In urns and altars round, + A drear and dying sound + Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; + And the chill marble seems to sweat, +While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat. + +XXII. + + Peor and Baaelim + Forsake their temples dim, + With that twice battered god of Palestine; + And mooned Ashtaroth, + Heaven's queen and mother both, + Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; + The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn; +In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. + +XXIII. + + And sullen Moloch, fled, + Hath left in shadows dread + His burning idol all of blackest hue; + In vain with cymbals' ring + They call the grisly king, + In dismal dance about the furnace blue; + The brutish gods of Nile as fast, +Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis haste. + +XXIV. + + Nor is Osiris seen + In Memphian grove or green, + Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud; + Nor can he be at rest + Within his sacred chest, + Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud; + In vain, with timbrelled anthems dark, +The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipped ark. + +XXV. + + He feels, from Juda's land, + The dreaded Infant's hand, + The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; + Nor all the gods beside + Longer dare abide, + Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine. + Our Babe, to shew his Godhead true, +Can in his swaddling-bands control the damned crew. + +XXVI. + + So when the sun in bed, + Curtained with cloudy red, + Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, + The flocking shadows pale + Troop to the infernal jail, + Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave, + And the yellow-skirted fayes +Fly after the Night steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. + +XXVII. + + But see! the Virgin blest + Hath laid her Babe to rest, + Time is our tedious song should here have ending; + Heaven's youngest-teemed star + Hath fixed her polished car, + Her sleeping Lord with handmaid-lamp attending; + And all about the courtly stable +Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable. + + +50. _L'Allegro._ + + Hence, loathed Melancholy! +Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, + In Stygian cave forlorn, +'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy. + Find out some uncouth cell, +Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, + And the night-raven sings; +There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks + As ragged as thy locks, +In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. + But come, thou Goddess fair and free, + In Heaven yclept Euphrosyne, + And by men, heart-easing Mirth; + Whom lovely Venus, at a birth + With two sister Graces more, + To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore; + Or whether, as some sager sing, + The frolic wind that breathes the spring, + Zephyr, with Aurora playing, + As he met her once a-maying, + There, on beds of violets blue, + And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, + Filled her with thee, a daughter fair, + So buxom, blithe, and debonair. + Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee + Jest, and youthful Jollity, + Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, + Nods and Becks, and wreathed Smiles-- + Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, + And love to live in dimple sleek; + Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, + And Laughter, holding both his sides: + Come, and trip it as you go + On the light fantastic toe; + And in thy right hand lead with thee + The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty; + And, if I give thee honour due, + Mirth, admit me of thy crew + To live with her and live with thee, + In unreproved pleasures free; + To hear the lark begin his flight, + And singing startle the dull night + From his watch-tower in the skies, + Till the dappled dawn doth rise; + Then to come, in spite of sorrow, + And at my window bid good-morrow, + Through the sweet-briar, or the vine, + Or the twisted eglantine; + While the cock, with lively din, + Scatters the rear of darkness thin, + And, to the stack or the barn-door, + Stoutly struts his dames before: + Oft listening how the hounds and horn + Cheerly rouse the slumbering Morn, + From the side of some hoar hill, + Through the high wood echoing shrill. + Sometime walking, not unseen, + By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green, + Right against the eastern gate, + Where the great Sun begins his state, + Robed in flames and amber light, + The clouds in thousand liveries dight; + While the ploughman, near at hand, + Whistles o'er the furrowed land, + And the milkmaid singeth blithe, + And the mower whets his scythe, + And every shepherd tells his tale, + Under the hawthorn in the dale. + Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, + Whilst the landscape round it measures; + Russet lawns, and fallows gray, + Where the nibbling flocks do stray, + Mountains on whose barren breast + The labouring clouds do often rest, + Meadows trim with daisies pied, + Shallow brooks, and rivers wide, + Towers and battlements it sees, + Bosomed high in tufted trees, + Where perhaps some Beauty lies, + The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. + Hard by a cottage-chimney smokes + From betwixt two aged oaks, + Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, + Are at their savoury dinner set + Of herbs and other country messes, + Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; + And then in haste her bower she leaves, + With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; + Or, if the earlier season lead, + To the tanned haycock in the mead. + Sometimes, with secure delight, + The upland hamlets will invite, + When the merry bells ring round, + And the jocund rebecks sound, + To many a youth and many a maid, + Dancing in the chequered shade, + And young and old come forth to play + On a sunshine holiday, + Till the live-long daylight fail; + Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, + With stories told of many a feat, + How faery Mab the junkets eat; + She was pinched and pulled, she said; + And he, by Friar's lantern led, + Tells how the drudging goblin sweat, + To earn his cream-bowl duly set, + When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, + His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn + That ten day-labourers could not end; + Then lies him down, the lubber-fiend, + And, stretched out all the chimney's length, + Basks at the fire his hairy strength, + And crop-full out of doors he flings, + Ere the first cock his matin rings. + Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, + By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. + Towered cities please us then, + And the busy hum of men, + Where throngs of knights and barons bold, + In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold, + With store of ladies, whose bright eyes + Rain influence, and judge the prize + Of wit or arms, while both contend + To win her grace, whom all commend. + There let Hymen oft appear + In saffron robe, with taper clear, + And pomp, and feast, and revelry, + With mask and antique pageantry; + Such sights as youthful poets dream, + On summer-eves by haunted stream. + Then to the well-trod stage anon, + If Jonson's learned sock be on, + Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, + Warble his native wood-notes wild. + And ever, against eating cares, + Lap me in soft Lydian airs, + Married to immortal verse, + Such as the meeting soul may pierce, + In notes with many a winding bout + Of linked sweetness long drawn out, + With wanton heed and giddy cunning + The melting voice through mazes running + Untwisting all the chains that tie + The hidden soul of harmony; + That Orpheus' self may heave his head, + From golden slumber on a bed + Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear + Such strains as would have won the ear + Of Pluto, to have quite set free + His half-regained Eurydice. + These delights if thou canst give, + Mirth, with thee I mean to live. + + +51. _Il Penseroso._ + + Hence, vain deluding Joys, +The brood of Folly without father bred! + How little you bested, +Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! + Dwell in some idle brain, +And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, + As thick and numberless +As the gay motes that people the sunbeams, + Or likest hovering dreams, +The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. + But hail, thou Goddess sage and holy! + Hail, divinest Melancholy, + Whose saintly visage is too bright + To hit the sense of human sight, + And therefore to our weaker view + O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue; + Black, but such as in esteem + Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, + Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove + To set her beauty's praise above + The Sea-Nymphs', and their powers offended: + Yet thou art higher far descended. + Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore + To solitary Saturn bore; + His daughter she; in Saturn's reign + Such mixture was not held a stain. + Oft in glimmering bowers and glades + He met her, and in secret shades + Of woody Ida's inmost grove, + While yet there was no fear of Jove. + Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, + Sober, steadfast, and demure, + All in a robe of darkest grain, + Flowing with majestic train, + And sable stole of Cyprus lawn + Over thy decent shoulders drawn. + Come, but keep thy wonted state, + With even step, and musing gait, + And looks commercing with the skies, + Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes; + There, held in holy passion still, + Forget thyself to marble, till + With a sad, leaden, downward cast + Thou fix them on the earth as fast. + And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, + Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, + And hears the Muses in a ring + Aye round about Jove's altar sing; + And add to these retired Leisure, + That in trim gardens takes his pleasure. + But, first and chiefest, with thee bring + Him that yon soars on golden wing, + Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, + The Cherub Contemplation; + And the mute Silence hist along, + 'Less Philomel will deign a song, + In her sweetest, saddest plight, + Smoothing the rugged brow of Night; + While Cynthia checks her dragon-yoke, + Gently o'er the accustomed oak. + Sweet bird, that shunnest the noise of folly, + Most musical, most melancholy! + Thee, chantress, oft the woods among + I woo to hear thy even-song; + And missing thee I walk unseen, + On the dry, smooth-shaven green, + To behold the wandering moon, + Riding near her highest noon, + Like one that has been led astray + Through the heaven's wide pathless way, + And oft, as if her head she bowed, + Stooping through a fleecy cloud. + Oft, on a plat of rising ground, + I hear the far-off curfew sound, + Over some wide-watered shore, + Swinging slow with sullen roar; + Or, if the air will not permit, + Some still, removed place will fit, + Where glowing embers through the room + Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, + Far from all resort of mirth, + Save the cricket on the hearth, + Or the bellman's drowsy charm, + To bless the doors from nightly harm; + Or let my lamp, at midnight-hour, + Be seen in some high, lonely tower, + Where I may oft out-watch the Bear, + With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere + The spirit of Plato, to unfold + What worlds or what vast regions hold + The immortal mind, that hath forsook + Her mansion in this fleshly nook; + And of those demons that are found + In fire, air, flood, or underground, + Whose power hath a true consent + With planet, or with element. + Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy + In sceptred pall come sweeping by, + Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, + Or the tale of Troy divine, + Or what, though rare, of later age + Ennobled hath the buskined stage. + But, O sad Virgin! that thy power + Might raise Musaeus from his bower, + Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing + Such notes as warbled to the string + Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, + And made Hell grant what love did seek; + Or call up him that left half-told + The story of Cambuscan bold, + Of Camball, and of Algarsife, + And who had Canace to wife, + That owned the virtuous ring and glass; + And of the wondrous horse of brass, + On which the Tartar king did ride; + And if ought else great bards beside + In sage and solemn tunes have sung, + Of tourneys and of trophies hung, + Of forests and enchantments drear, + Where more is meant than meets the ear. + Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, + Till civil-suited Morn appear, + Not tricked and frounced, as she was wont + With the Attic boy to hunt, + But kerchiefed in a comely cloud, + While rocking winds are piping loud, + Or ushered with a shower still, + When the gust hath blown his fill, + Ending on the rustling leaves, + With minute-drops from off the eaves. + And when the sun begins to fling + His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring + To arched walks of twilight groves, + And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, + Of pine, or monumental oak, + Where the rude axe with heaved stroke + Was never heard the Nymphs to daunt, + Or fright them from their hallowed haunt + There, in close covert by some brook, + Where no profaner eye may look, + Hide me from day's garish eye, + While the bee with honeyed thigh, + That at her flowery work doth sing, + And the waters murmuring, + With such concert as they keep, + Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep. + And let some strange, mysterious dream + Wave at his wings, in aery stream + Of lively portraiture displayed, + Softly on my eyelids laid; + And, as I wake, sweet music breathe + Above, about, or underneath, + Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, + Or the unseen Genius of the wood. + But let my due feet never fail + To walk the studious cloisters pale, + And love the high embowed roof, + With antic pillars massy-proof + And storied windows richly dight, + Casting a dim religious light. + There let the pealing organ blow, + To the full-voiced quire below, + In service high, and anthems clear, + As may with sweetness, through mine ear, + Dissolve me into ecstasies, + And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. + And may at last my weary age + Find out the peaceful hermitage, + The hairy gown and mossy cell, + Where I may sit, and rightly spell + Of every star that heaven doth shew, + And every herb that sips the dew; + Till old experience do attain + To something like prophetic strain. + These pleasures, Melancholy, give, + And I with thee will choose to live. + + +52. _Lycidas._ + +_In this_ Monody _the author bewails a learned friend, +unfortunately drowned in his passage from Chester, on the Irish Sea, +1637; and by occasion foretells the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then +in their height._ + +Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more +Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never-sere, +I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, +And with forced fingers rude +Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. +Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, +Compel me to disturb your season due; +For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, +Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. +Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew +Himself to sing, and build the lofty rime. +He must not float upon his watery bier +Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, +Without the meed of some melodious tear. + Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well, +That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring; +Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. +Hence with denial vain, and coy excuse-- +So may some gentle Muse +With lucky words favour my destined urn, +And as he passes turn, +And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud-- +For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, +Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill; +Together both, ere the high lawns appeared +Under the opening eyelids of the Morn, +We drove a-field, and both together heard +What time the grey-fly winds her sultry horn, +Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, +Oft till the star that rose at evening, bright, +Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel. +Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, +Tempered to the oaten flute; +Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel +From the glad sound would not be absent long, +And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. + But oh! the heavy change, now thou art gone, +Now thou art gone, and never must return! +Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves, +With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, +And all their echoes mourn. +The willows, and the hazel-copses green, +Shall now no more be seen +Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. +As killing as the canker to the rose, +Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, +Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, +When first the white-thorn blows; +Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear. + Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep +Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas? +For neither were ye playing on the steep, +Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, +Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, +Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. +Ay me, I fondly dream! +Had ye been there ... for what could that have done? +What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, +The Muse herself for her enchanting son, +Whom universal Nature did lament, +When, by the rout that made the hideous roar, +His gory visage down the stream was sent, +Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? + Alas! what boots it with incessant care +To tend the homely, slighted shepherd's trade, +And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? +Were it not better done, as others use, +To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, +Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair? +Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise +--That last infirmity of noble mind-- +To scorn delights, and live laborious days; +But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, +And think to burst out into sudden blaze, +Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, +And slits the thin-spun life. 'But not the praise,' +Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears. +'Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, +Nor in the glistering foil +Set-off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies, +But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes, +And perfect witness of all-judging Jove; +As he pronounces lastly on each deed, +Of so much fame in Heaven expect thy meed.' + O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood, +Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds, +That strain I heard was of a higher mood. +But now my oat proceeds, +And listens to the herald of the sea, +That came in Neptune's plea. +He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds, +What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain? +And questioned every gust of rugged wings, +That blows from off each beaked promontory. +They knew not of his story; +And sage Hippotades their answer brings, +That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed; +The air was calm, and on the level brine +Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. +It was that fatal and perfidious bark, +Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, +That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. + Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, +His mantle hairy and his bonnet sedge, +Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge +Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. +'Ah! who hath reft,' quoth he, 'my dearest pledge?' +Last came, and last did go, +The pilot of the Galilean lake; +Two massy keys he bore of metals twain-- +The golden opes, the iron shuts amain. +He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake: +'How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, +Enow of such as, for their bellies' sake, +Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold! +Of other care they little reckoning make, +Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, +And shove away the worthy bidden guest. +Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold +A sheep-hook, or have learned aught else the least +That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! +What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; +And, when they list, their lean and flashy songs +Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; +The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, +But, swollen with wind and the rank mist they draw, +Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread; +Beside what the grim wolf with privy paw +Daily devours apace, and nothing said. +But that two-handed engine at the door +Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.' + Return, Alpheues, the dread voice is past, +That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse, +And call the vales, and bid them hither cast +Their bells, and flowerets of a thousand hues. +Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use +Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, +On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks; +Throw hither all your quaint-enamelled eyes, +That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers, +And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. +Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, +The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, +The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, +The glowing violet, +The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, +With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, +And every flower that sad embroidery wears; +Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, +And daffadillies fill their cups with tears, +To strew the laureate herse where Lycid lies. +For so, to interpose a little ease, +Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise, +Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas +Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled; +Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, +Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide +Visitest the bottom of the monstrous world; +Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, +Sleepest by the fable of Bellerus old, +Where the great Vision of the guarded mount +Looks towards Namancos and Bayona's hold.... +Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth; +And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. + Weep no more, woful shepherds, weep no more, +For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, +Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. +So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed, +And yet anon repairs his drooping head, +And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore +Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: +So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, +Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, +Where, other groves and other streams along, +With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, +And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, +In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. +There entertain him all the saints above, +In solemn troops, and sweet societies, +That sing, and singing in their glory move, +And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. +Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; +Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore, +In thy large recompense, and shalt be good +To all that wander in that perilous flood. + Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, +While the still Morn went out with sandals gray; +He touched the tender stops of various quills, +With eager thought warbling his Doric lay; +And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, +And now was dropped into the western bay. +At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue; +To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. + + +53. _On His Blindness._ + +When I consider how my light is spent + Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, + And that one talent, which is death to hide, + Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent +To serve therewith my Maker, and present + My true account, lest He, returning, chide; + 'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?' + I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent +That murmur, soon replies: 'God doth not need + Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best + Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state +Is kingly. Thousands, at his bidding, speed + And post o'er land and ocean, without rest; + They also serve who only stand and wait.' + + _Keightley's Text._ + + * * * * * + + + + +LADY NAIRNE. + + +54. _The Land o' the Leal._ + +I'm wearin' awa', John, +Like snaw when it's thaw, John, +I'm wearin' awa' + To the land o' the leal. + +There's nae sorrow there, John, +There's neither cauld nor care, John, +The day's aye fair + In the land o' the leal. + +Our bonnie bairn's there, John, +She was baith gude and fair, John, +And oh! we grudged her sair + To the land o' the leal. + +But sorrow's sel' wears past, John, +And joy is comin' fast, John, +The joy that's aye to last + In the land o' the leal. + +Sae dear's that joy was bought, John, +Sae free the battle fought, John, +That sinfu' man e'er brought + To the land o' the leal. + +Oh! dry your glist'ning e'e, John, +My soul langs to be free, John, +And angels beckon me + To the land o' the leal. + +Noo, haud ye leal and true, John, +Your day it's weel near through, John, +And I'll welcome you + To the land o' the leal. + +Noo, fare-ye-weel, my ain John, +This warld's cares are vain, John, +We'll meet, and we'll be fain, + In the land o' the leal. + + _Henderson's Text._ + + * * * * * + + + + +ALEXANDER POPE. + + +55. _Ode on Solitude._ + +Happy the man, whose wish and care + A few paternal acres bound, +Content to breathe his native air, + In his own ground. + +Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, + Whose flocks supply him with attire, +Whose trees in summer yield him shade, + In winter fire. + +Blest, who can unconcern'dly find + Hours, days, and years slide soft away, +In health of body, peace of mind, + Quiet by day. + +Sound sleep by night; study and ease, + Together mix'd; sweet recreation; +And innocence, which most does please + With meditation. + +Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, + Thus unlamented let me die, +Steal from the world, and not a stone + Tell where I lie. + + _1735 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH. + + +56. _The Night before his Death._ + +Even such is time, that takes on trust + Our youth, our joys, our all we have, +And pays us but with age and dust; + Who in the dark and silent grave, +When we have wandered all our ways, +Shuts up the story of our days! +But from this earth, this grave, this dust, +The Lord shall raise me up, I trust! + + _1829 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +SAMUEL ROGERS. + + +57. _A Wish._ + +Mine be a cot beside the hill; +A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; +A willowy brook, that turns a mill, +With many a fall shall linger near. + +The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch, +Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; +Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, +And share my meal, a welcome guest. + +Around my ivied porch shall spring +Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; +And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing +In russet-gown and apron blue. + +The village-church, among the trees, +Where first our marriage-vows were given, +With merry peals shall swell the breeze, +And point with taper spire to heaven. + + _1846 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. + + +58. _Sonnets._ + +XVII. + +Who will believe my verse in time to come, +If it were fill'd with your most high deserts? +Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb +Which hides your life and shows not half your parts. +If I could write the beauty of your eyes +And in fresh numbers number all your graces, +The age to come would say 'This poet lies; +Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.' +So should my papers, yellowed with their age, +Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue, +And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage +And stretched metre of an antique song: + But were some child of yours alive that time, + You should live twice, in it and in my rhyme. + + +59. XVIII. + +Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? +Thou art more lovely and more temperate: +Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, +And summer's lease hath all too short a date: +Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, +And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; +And every fair from fair sometime declines, +By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd; +But thy eternal summer shall not fade, +Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; +Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, +When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st: + So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, + So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. + + +60. XXX. + +When to the sessions of sweet silent thought +I summon up remembrance of things past, +I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, +And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: +Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, +For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, +And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe, +And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight: +Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, +And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er +The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, +Which I new pay as if not paid before. + But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, + All losses are restored and sorrows end. + + +61. XXXIII. + +Full many a glorious morning have I seen +Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye, +Kissing with golden face the meadows green, +Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; +Anon permit the basest clouds to ride +With ugly rack on his celestial face, +And from the forlorn world his visage hide, +Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: +Even so my sun one early morn did shine +With all-triumphant splendour on my brow; +But, out, alack! he was but one hour mine, +The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. + Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; + Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth. + + +62. LX. + +Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, +So do our minutes hasten to their end; +Each changing place with that which goes before, +In sequent toil all forwards do contend. +Nativity, once in the main of light, +Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, +Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, +And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. +Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth +And delves the parallels in beauty's brow, +Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, +And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: + And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, + Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. + + +63. LXVI. + +Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, +As, to behold desert a beggar born, +And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, +And purest faith unhappily forsworn, +And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, +And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, +And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, +And strength by limping sway disabled, +And art made tongue-tied by authority, +And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, +And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, +And captive good attending captain ill: + Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, + Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. + + +64. LXXI. + +No longer mourn for me when I am dead +Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell +Give warning to the world that I am fled +From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: +Nay, if you read this line, remember not +The hand that writ it; for I love you so, +That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, +If thinking on me then should make you woe. +O, if, I say, you look upon this verse +When I perhaps compounded am with clay, +Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, +But let your love even with my life decay; + Lest the wise world should look into your moan, + And mock you with me after I am gone. + + +65. LXXIII. + +That time of year thou mayst in me behold +When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang +Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, +Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. +In me thou see'st the twilight of such day +As after sunset fadeth in the west; +Which by and by black night doth take away, +Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. +In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, +That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, +As the death-bed whereon it must expire, +Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. + This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, + To love that well which thou must leave ere long. + + +66. LXXIV. + +But be contented: when that fell arrest +Without all bail shall carry me away, +My life hath in this line some interest, +Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. +When thou reviewest this, thou dost review +The very part was consecrate to thee: +The earth can have but earth, which is his due; +My spirit is thine, the better part of me: +So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, +The prey of worms, my body being dead; +The coward conquest of a wretch's knife, +Too base of thee to be remembered. + The worth of that is that which it contains, + And that is this, and this with thee remains. + + +67. CVI. + +When in the chronicle of wasted time +I see descriptions of the fairest wights, +And beauty making beautiful old rhyme +In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, +Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, +Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, +I see their antique pen would have express'd +Even such a beauty as you master now. +So all their praises are but prophecies +Of this our time, all you prefiguring; +And, for they look'd but with divining eyes, +They had not skill enough your worth to sing: + For we, which now behold these present days, + Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. + + +68. CXVI. + +Let me not to the marriage of true minds +Admit impediments. Love is not love +Which alters when it alteration finds, +Or bends with the remover to remove: +O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark, +That looks on tempests and is never shaken; +It is the star to every wandering bark, +Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. +Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks +Within his bending sickle's compass come; +Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, +But bears it out even to the edge of doom. + If this be error and upon me proved, + I never writ, nor no man ever loved. + + +69. _Song from 'The Tempest.'_ + +Full fathom five thy father lies; + Of his bones are coral made; +Those are pearls that were his eyes: + Nothing of him that doth fade, +But doth suffer a sea-change +Into something rich and strange. +Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: + Ding-dong. + Hark! now I hear them,-- + Ding-dong, bell. + + +70. _Song from 'Measure for Measure.'_ + +Take, O, take those lips away, + That so sweetly were forsworn; +And those eyes, the break of day, + Lights that do mislead the morn: +But my kisses bring again, bring again; +Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, seal'd in vain. + + +71. _Song from 'Much Ado about Nothing.'_ + +Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, + Men were deceivers ever, +One foot in sea and one on shore, + To one thing constant never: +Then sigh not so, but let them go, + And be you blithe and bonny, +Converting all your sounds of woe + Into Hey nonny, nonny. + +Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, + Of dumps so dull and heavy; +The fraud of men was ever so, + Since summer first was leavy: +Then sigh not so, but let them go, + And be you blithe and bonny, +Converting all your sounds of woe + Into Hey nonny, nonny. + + +72. _Song from 'Cymbeline.'_ + +Fear no more the heat o' the sun, + Nor the furious winter's rages; +Thou thy worldly task hast done, + Home art gone and ta'en thy wages: +Golden lads and girls all must, +As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. + +Fear no more the frown o' the great; + Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; +Care no more to clothe and eat; + To thee the reed is as the oak: +The sceptre, learning, physic, must +All follow this and come to dust. + +Fear no more the lightning-flash, + Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; +Fear not slander, censure rash; + Thou hast finish'd joy and moan: +All lovers young, all lovers must +Consign to thee and come to dust. + +No exorciser harm thee! +Nor no witchcraft charm thee! +Ghost unlaid forbear thee! +Nothing ill come near thee! +Quiet consummation have; +And renowned be thy grave! + + _Cambridge Shakespeare Text._ + + * * * * * + + + + +PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. + + +73. _Song from 'Prometheus Unbound.'_ + +On a poet's lips I slept +Dreaming like a love-adept +In the sound his breathing kept; +Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses +But feeds on the aerial kisses +Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses. +He will watch from dawn to gloom +The lake-reflected sun illume +The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, +Nor heed nor see, what things they be; +But from these create he can +Forms more real than living man, +Nurslings of immortality! +One of these awakened me, +And I sped to succour thee. + + +74. _Ode to the West Wind._ + +I. + +O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, +Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead +Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing, + +Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, +Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O, thou, +Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed + +The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, +Each like a corpse within its grave, until +Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow + +Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill +(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) +With living hues and odours plain and hill: + +Wild Spirit, which art moving every where; +Destroyer and preserver; hear, O, hear! + +II. + +Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion, +Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, +Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, + +Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread +On the blue surface of thine airy surge, +Like the bright hair uplifted from the head + +Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge +Of the horizon to the zenith's height +The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge + +Of the dying year, to which this closing night +Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, +Vaulted with all thy congregated might + +Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere +Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: O, hear! + +III. + +Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams +The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, +Lulled by the coil of his crystalline streams, + +Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, +And saw in sleep old palaces and towers +Quivering within the wave's intenser day, + +All overgrown with azure moss and flowers +So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou +For whose path the Atlantic's level powers + +Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below +The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear +The sapless foliage of the ocean, know + +Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear, +And tremble and despoil themselves: O, hear! + +IV. + +If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; +If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; +A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share + +The impulse of thy strength, only less free +Than thou, O, uncontroulable! If even +I were as in my boyhood, and could be + +The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, +As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed +Scarce seemed a vision; I would ne'er have striven + +As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. +O! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! +I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! + +A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed +One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud. + +V. + +Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is: +What if my leaves are falling like its own! +The tumult of thy mighty harmonies + +Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone, +Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, spirit fierce, +My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one! + +Drive my dead thoughts over the universe +Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! +And, by the incantation of this verse, + +Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth +Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! +Be through my lips to unawakened earth + +The trumpet of a prophecy! O, wind, +If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? + + +75. _The Cloud._ + +I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, + From the seas and the streams; +I bear light shade for the leaves when laid + In their noon-day dreams. +From my wings are shaken the dews that waken + The sweet buds every one, +When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, + As she dances about the sun. +I wield the flail of the lashing hail, + And whiten the green plains under, +And then again I dissolve it in rain, + And laugh as I pass in thunder. + +I sift the snow on the mountains below, + And their great pines groan aghast; +And all the night 'tis my pillow white, + While I sleep in the arms of the blast. +Sublime on the towers of my skiey bowers, + Lightning my pilot sits, +In a cavern under is fettered the thunder, + It struggles and howls at fits; +Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, + This pilot is guiding me, +Lured by the love of the genii that move + In the depths of the purple sea; +Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills, + Over the lakes and the plains, +Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, + The Spirit he loves remains; +And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile, + Whilst he is dissolving in rains. + +The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, + And his burning plumes outspread, +Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, + When the morning star shines dead, +As on the jag of a mountain crag, + Which an earthquake rocks and swings, +An eagle alit one moment may sit + In the light of its golden wings. +And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, + Its ardours of rest and of love, +And the crimson pall of eve may fall + From the depth of heaven above, +With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest, + As still as a brooding dove. + +That orbed maiden with white fire laden, + Whom mortals call the moon, +Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor, + By the midnight breezes strewn; +And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, + Which only the angels hear, +May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof, + The stars peep behind her and peer; +And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, + Like a swarm of golden bees, +When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, + Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, +Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high, + Are each paved with the moon and these. + +I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone, + And the moon's with a girdle of pearl; +The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, + When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. +From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, + Over a torrent sea, +Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof, + The mountains its columns be. +The triumphal arch through which I march + With hurricane, fire, and snow, +When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, + Is the million-coloured bow; +The sphere-fire above its soft colours wove, + While the moist earth was laughing below. + +I am the daughter of earth and water, + And the nursling of the sky; +I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; + I change, but I cannot die. +For after the rain when with never a stain, + The pavilion of heaven is bare, +And the winds and sunbeams with their convex gleams, + Build up the blue dome of air, +I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, + And out of the caverns of rain, +Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, + I arise and unbuild it again. + + +76. _To a Skylark._ + + Hail to thee, blithe spirit! + Bird thou never wert, + That from heaven, or near it, + Pourest thy full heart +In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. + + Higher still and higher + From the earth thou springest + Like a cloud of fire; + The blue deep thou wingest, +And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. + + In the golden lightning + Of the sunken sun, + O'er which clouds are brightning, + Thou dost float and run; +Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. + + The pale purple even + Melts around thy flight; + Like a star of heaven, + In the broad day-light +Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight, + + Keen as are the arrows + Of that silver sphere, + Whose intense lamp narrows + In the white dawn clear, +Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. + + All the earth and air + With thy voice is loud, + As, when night is bare, + From one lonely cloud +The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. + + What thou art we know not; + What is most like thee? + From rainbow clouds there flow not + Drops so bright to see, +As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. + + Like a poet hidden + In the light of thought, + Singing hymns unbidden, + Till the world is wrought +To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: + + Like a high-born maiden + In a palace tower, + Soothing her love-laden + Soul in secret hour +With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: + + Like a glow-worm golden + In a dell of dew, + Scattering unbeholden + Its aerial hue +Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view: + + Like a rose embowered + In its own green leaves, + By warm winds deflowered, + Till the scent it gives +Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves: + + Sound of vernal showers + On the twinkling grass, + Rain-awakened flowers, + All that ever was +Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass: + + Teach us, sprite or bird, + What sweet thoughts are thine: + I have never heard + Praise of love or wine +That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. + + Chorus Hymenaeal, + Or triumphal chaunt, + Matched with thine would be all + But an empty vaunt, +A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. + + What objects are the fountains + Of thy happy strain? + What fields, or waves, or mountains? + What shapes of sky or plain? +What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? + + With thy clear keen joyance + Languor cannot be: + Shadow of annoyance + Never came near thee: +Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. + + Waking or asleep, + Thou of death must deem + Things more true and deep + Than we mortals dream, +Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? + + We look before and after, + And pine for what is not: + Our sincerest laughter + With some pain is fraught; +Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. + + Yet if we could scorn + Hate, and pride, and fear; + If we were things born + Not to shed a tear, +I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. + + Better than all measures + Of delightful sound, + Better than all treasures + That in books are found, +Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! + + Teach me half the gladness + That thy brain must know, + Such harmonious madness + From my lips would flow, +The world should listen then, as I am listening now. + + +77. _Chorus from 'Hellas.'_ + +The world's great age begins anew, + The golden years return, +The earth doth like a snake renew + Her winter weeds outworn: +Heaven smiles, and faiths and empires gleam, +Like wrecks of a dissolving dream. + +A brighter Hellas rears its mountains + From waves serener far; +A new Peneus rolls his fountains + Against the morning-star. +Where fairer Tempes bloom, there sleep +Young Cyclads on a sunnier deep. + +A loftier Argo cleaves the main, + Fraught with a later prize; +Another Orpheus sings again, + And loves, and weeps, and dies. +A new Ulysses leaves once more +Calypso for his native shore. + +O, write no more the tale of Troy, + If earth Death's scroll must be! +Nor mix with Laian rage the joy + Which dawns upon the free: +Although a subtler Sphinx renew +Riddles of death Thebes never knew. + +Another Athens shall arise, + And to remoter time +Bequeath, like sunset to the skies, + The splendour of its prime; +And leave, if nought so bright may live, +All earth can take or Heaven can give. + +Saturn and Love their long repose + Shall burst, more bright and good +Than all who fell, than One who rose, + Than many unsubdued: +Not gold, not blood, their altar dowers, +But votive tears and symbol flowers. + +O cease! must hate and death return? + Cease! must men kill and die? +Cease! drain not to its dregs the urn + Of bitter prophecy. +The world is weary of the past, +O might it die or rest at last! + + +78. _Stanzas. Written in Dejection, near Naples._ + +I. + + The sun is warm, the sky is clear, + The waves are dancing fast and bright, + Blue isles and snowy mountains wear + The purple noon's transparent might, + The breath of the moist earth is light, + Around its unexpanded buds; + Like many a voice of one delight, + The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, +The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's. + +II. + + I see the Deep's untrampled floor + With green and purple seaweeds strown; + I see the waves upon the shore, + Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown: + I sit upon the sands alone, + The lightning of the noon-tide ocean + Is flashing round me, and a tone + Arises from its measured motion, +How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. + +III. + + Alas! I have nor hope nor health, + Nor peace within nor calm around, + Nor that content surpassing wealth + The sage in meditation found, + And walked with inward glory crowned-- + Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. + Others I see whom these surround-- + Smiling they live and call life pleasure;-- +To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. + +IV. + + Yet now despair itself is mild, + Even as the winds and waters are; + I could lie down like a tired child, + And weep away the life of care + Which I have borne and yet must bear, + Till death like sleep might steal on me, + And I might feel in the warm air + My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea +Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. + +V. + + Some might lament that I were cold, + As I, when this sweet day is gone, + Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, + Insults with this untimely moan; + They might lament--for I am one + Whom men love not,--and yet regret, + Unlike this day, which, when the sun + Shall in its stainless glory set, +Will linger, though enjoyed, like joy in memory yet. + + +79. _The Indian Serenade._ + +I. + +I arise from dreams of thee +In the first sweet sleep of night, +When the winds are breathing low, +And the stars are shining bright: +I arise from dreams of thee, +And a spirit in my feet +Hath led me--who knows how? +To thy chamber window, Sweet! + +II. + +The wandering airs they faint +On the dark, the silent stream-- +And the Champak's odours fail +Like sweet thoughts in a dream; +The nightingale's complaint, +It dies upon her heart;-- +As I must on thine, +O! beloved as thou art! + +III. + +O lift me from the grass! +I die! I faint! I fail! +Let thy love in kisses rain +On my lips and eyelids pale. +My cheek is cold and white, alas! +My heart beats loud and fast;-- +Oh! press it to thine own again, +Where it will break at last. + + +80. _To ----._ + +I. + +I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden, + Thou needest not fear mine; +My spirit is too deeply laden + Ever to burthen thine. + +II. + +I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion, + Thou needest not fear mine; +Innocent is the heart's devotion + With which I worship thine. + + +81. _To Night._ + +I. + +Swiftly walk over the western wave, + Spirit of Night! +Out of the misty eastern cave, +Where all the long and lone daylight, +Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, +Which make thee terrible and dear,-- + Swift be thy flight! + +II. + +Wrap thy form in a mantle gray, + Star-inwrought! +Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day; +Kiss her until she be wearied out, +Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land, +Touching all with thine opiate wand-- + Come, long sought! + +III. + +When I arose and saw the dawn, + I sigh'd for thee; +When light rode high, and the dew was gone, +And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, +And the weary Day turned to his rest, +Lingering like an unloved guest, + I sighed for thee. + +IV. + +Thy brother Death came, and cried, + Wouldst thou me? +Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, +Murmured like a noon-tide bee, +Shall I nestle near thy side? +Wouldst thou me?--And I replied, + No, not thee! + +V. + +Death will come when thou art dead, + Soon, too soon-- +Sleep will come when thou art fled; +Of neither would I ask the boon +I ask of thee, beloved Night-- +Swift be thine approaching flight, + Come soon, soon! + + _Buxton Forman's Text._ + + * * * * * + + + + +JAMES SHIRLEY. + + +82. _Song from 'Ajax and Ulysses.'_ + +The glories of our blood and state + Are shadows, not substantial things; +There is no armour against fate; + Death lays his icy hand on kings: + Sceptre and crown + Must tumble down, +And in the dust be equal made +With the poor crooked scythe and spade. + +Some men with swords may reap the field, + And plant fresh laurels where they kill; +But their strong nerves at last must yield; + They tame but one another still: + Early or late, + They stoop to fate, +And must give up their murmuring breath, +When they, pale captives, creep to death. + +The garlands wither on your brow, + Then boast no more your mighty deeds; +Upon Death's purple altar now, + See, where the victor-victim bleeds: + Your heads must come + To the cold tomb, +Only the actions of the just +Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. + + _Dyce's Text._ + + * * * * * + + + + +ROBERT SOUTHEY. + + +83. _Stanzas._ + +1. + +My days among the Dead are past; + Around me I behold, +Where'er these casual eyes are cast + The mighty minds of old; +My never failing friends are they, +With whom I converse day by day. + +2. + +With them I take delight in weal, + And seek relief in woe; +And while I understand and feel + How much to them I owe, +My cheeks have often been bedew'd +With tears of thoughtful gratitude. + +3. + +My thoughts are with the Dead, with them + I live in long-past years, +Their virtues love, their faults condemn, + Partake their hopes and fears, +And from their lessons seek and find +Instruction with an humble mind. + +4. + +My hopes are with the Dead, anon + My place with them will be, +And I with them shall travel on + Through all Futurity; +Yet leaving here a name, I trust, +That will not perish in the dust. + + _1837 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. + + +84. _Requiem._ + +Under the wide and starry sky, +Dig the grave and let me lie. + Glad did I live and gladly die, +And I laid me down with a will. + +This be the verse you grave for me: +_Here he lies where he longed to be; +Home is the sailor, home from sea, + And the hunter home from the hill._ + + _1887 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +LORD TENNYSON. + + +85. _Song from 'The Miller's Daughter.'_ + +It is the miller's daughter, + And she is grown so dear, so dear, +That I would be the jewel + That trembles in her ear: +For hid in ringlets day and night, +I'd touch her neck so warm and white. + +And I would be the girdle + About her dainty dainty waist, +And her heart would beat against me, + In sorrow and in rest: +And I should know if it beat right, +I'd clasp it round so close and tight. + +And I would be the necklace, + And all day long to fall and rise +Upon her balmy bosom, + With her laughter or her sighs, +And I would lie so light, so light, +I scarce should be unclasp'd at night. + + +86. _St. Agnes' Eve._ + +Deep on the convent-roof the snows + Are sparkling to the moon: +My breath to heaven like vapour goes: + May my soul follow soon! +The shadows of the convent-towers + Slant down the snowy sward, +Still creeping with the creeping hours + That lead me to my Lord: +Make Thou my spirit pure and clear + As are the frosty skies, +Or this first snowdrop of the year + That in my bosom lies. + +As these white robes are soil'd and dark, + To yonder shining ground; +As this pale taper's earthly spark, + To yonder argent round; +So shows my soul before the Lamb, + My spirit before Thee; +So in mine earthly house I am, + To that I hope to be. +Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far, + Thro' all yon starlight keen, +Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star, + In raiment white and clean. + +He lifts me to the golden doors; + The flashes come and go; +All heaven bursts her starry floors, + And strows her lights below, +And deepens on and up! the gates + Roll back, and far within +For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits, + To make me pure of sin. +The sabbaths of Eternity, + One sabbath deep and wide-- +A light upon the shining sea-- + The Bridegroom with his bride! + + +87. _Break, break, break._ + +Break, break, break, + On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! +And I would that my tongue could utter +The thoughts that arise in me. + +O well for the fisherman's boy, + That he shouts with his sister at play! +O well for the sailor lad. + That he sings in his boat on the bay! + +And the stately ships go on + To their haven under the hill; +But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, + And the sound of a voice that is still! + +Break, break, break, + At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! +But the tender grace of a day that is dead + Will never come back to me. + + +88. _Song from 'The Princess.'_ + + Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, +Tears from the depth of some divine despair +Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, +In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, +And thinking of the days that are no more. + + Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, +That brings our friends up from the underworld, +Sad as the last which reddens over one +That sinks with all we love below the verge; +So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. + + Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns +The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds +To dying ears, when unto dying eyes +The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; +So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. + + Dear as remember'd kisses after death, +And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd +On lips that are for others; deep as love, +Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; +O Death in Life, the days that are no more. + + +89. _Song from 'The Princess.'_ + +Ask me no more: the moon may draw the sea; + The cloud may stoop from heaven and take the shape + With fold to fold, of mountain or of cape; +But O too fond, when have I answer'd thee? + Ask me no more. + +Ask me no more: what answer should I give? + I love not hollow cheek or faded eye: + Yet, O my friend, I will not have thee die! +Ask me no more, lest I should bid thee live; + Ask me no more. + +Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal'd: + I strove against the stream and all in vain: + Let the great river take me to the main: +No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield; + Ask me no more. + + +90. _Crossing the Bar._ + +Sunset and evening star, + And one clear call for me! +And may there be no moaning of the bar, + When I put out to sea, + +But such a tide as moving seems asleep, + Too full for sound and foam, +When that which drew from out the boundless deep + Turns again home. + +Twilight and evening bell, + And after that the dark! +And may there be no sadness of farewell, + When I embark; + +For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place + The flood may bear me far, +I hope to see my Pilot face to face + When I have crost the bar. + + _1902 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +EDMUND WALLER. + + +91. _On a Girdle._ + +That which her slender waist confined, +Shall now my joyful temples bind: +No monarch but would give his crown, +His arms might do what this has done. + +It was my heaven's extremest sphere, +The pale which held that lovely deer. +My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, +Did all within this circle move! + +A narrow compass! and yet there +Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair: +Give me but what this ribbon bound, +Take all the rest the sun goes round. + + +92. _Song._ + + Go, lovely Rose! +Tell her that wastes her time and me, + That now she knows, +When I resemble her to thee, +How sweet and fair she seems to be. + + Tell her that's young, +And shuns to have her graces spied, + That hadst thou sprung +In deserts, where no men abide, +Thou must have uncommended died. + + Small is the worth +Of beauty from the light retired: + Bid her come forth, +Suffer herself to be desired, +And not blush so to be admired. + + Then die! that she +The common fate of all things rare + May read in thee, +How small a part of time they share +That are so wondrous sweet and fair! + + _1822 Edition._ + + * * * * * + + + + +WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. + + +93. _She dwelt among the untrodden ways_ + +She dwelt among the untrodden ways + Beside the springs of Dove, +A Maid whom there were none to praise + And very few to love: + +A violet by a mossy stone + Half hidden from the eye! +--Fair as a star, when only one + Is shining in the sky. + +She lived unknown, and few could know + When Lucy ceased to be; +But she is in her grave, and, oh, + The difference to me! + + +94. _She was a Phantom of delight_ + +She was a Phantom of delight +When first she gleamed upon my sight; +A lovely Apparition, sent +To be a moment's ornament; +Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; +Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; +But all things else about her drawn +From May-time and the cheerful Dawn; +A dancing Shape, an Image gay, +To haunt, to startle, and way-lay. + +I saw her upon nearer view, +A Spirit, yet a Woman too! +Her household motions light and free, +And steps of virgin-liberty; +A countenance in which did meet +Sweet records, promises as sweet; +A Creature not too bright or good +For human nature's daily food; +For transient sorrows, simple wiles, +Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. + +And now I see with eye serene +The very pulse of the machine; +A Being breathing thoughtful breath, +A Traveller between life and death; +The reason firm, the temperate will, +Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; +A perfect Woman, nobly planned, +To warn, to comfort, and command; +And yet a Spirit still, and bright +With something of angelic light. + + +95. _Sonnets._ + +PART I.--XXXIII. + +The world is too much with us; late and soon, +Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: +Little we see in Nature that is ours; +We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! +This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; +The winds that will be howling at all hours, +And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; +For this, for everything, we are out of tune; +It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be +A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; +So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, +Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; +Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; +Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. + + +96. PART II.--XXXVI. + +_Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802._ + +Earth has not anything to show more fair: +Dull would be he of soul who could pass by +A sight so touching in its majesty: +This City now doth, like a garment, wear +The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, +Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie +Open unto the fields, and to the sky; +All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. +Never did sun more beautifully steep +In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; +Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! +The river glideth at his own sweet will: +Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; +And all that mighty heart is lying still! + + +97. _To a Highland Girl, at Inversneyde, upon Loch Lomond._ + +Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower +Of beauty is thy earthly dower! +Twice seven consenting years have shed +Their utmost bounty on thy head: +And these gray rocks; that household lawn; +Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn; +This fall of water that doth make +A murmur near the silent lake; +This little bay; a quiet road +That holds in shelter thy Abode-- +In truth together do ye seem +Like something fashioned in a dream; +Such Forms as from their covert peep +When earthly cares are laid asleep! +But, O fair Creature! in the light +Of common day, so heavenly bright, +I bless Thee, Vision as thou art, +I bless thee with a human heart; +God shield thee to thy latest years! +Thee, neither know I, nor thy peers; +And yet my eyes are filled with tears. + + With earnest feeling I shall pray +For thee when I am far away: +For never saw I mien, or face, +In which more plainly I could trace +Benignity and home-bred sense +Ripening in perfect innocence. +Here scattered, like a random seed, +Remote from men, Thou dost not need +The embarrassed look of shy distress, +And maidenly shamefacedness: +Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear +The freedom of a Mountaineer: +A face with gladness overspread! +Soft smiles, by human kindness bred! +And seemliness complete, that sways +Thy courtesies, about thee plays; +With no restraint, but such as springs +From quick and eager visitings +Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach +Of thy few words of English speech: +A bondage sweetly brooked, a strife +That gives thy gestures grace and life! +So have I, not unmoved in mind, +Seen birds of tempest-loving kind-- +Thus beating up against the wind. + + What hand but would a garland cull +For thee who art so beautiful. +O happy pleasure! here to dwell +Beside thee in some heathy dell; +Adopt your homely ways, and dress, +A Shepherd, thou a Shepherdess! +But I could frame a wish for thee +More like a grave reality: +Thou art to me but as a wave +Of the wild sea; and I would have +Some claim upon thee, if I could, +Though but of common neighbourhood. +What joy to hear thee, and to see! +Thy elder Brother I would be, +Thy Father--anything to thee! + + Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace +Hath led me to this lonely place. +Joy have I had; and going hence +I bear away my recompense. +In spots like these it is we prize +Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes: +Then, why should I be loth to stir? +I feel this place was made for her; +To give new pleasure like the past, +Continued long as life shall last. +Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart, +Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part; +For I, methinks, till I grow old, +As fair before me shall behold, +As I do now, the cabin small, +The lake, the bay, the waterfall; +And Thee, the Spirit of them all! + + +98. _The Solitary Reaper._ + +Behold her, single in the field, +Yon solitary Highland Lass! +Reaping and singing by herself; +Stop here, or gently pass! +Alone she cuts and binds the grain, +And sings a melancholy strain; +O listen! for the Vale profound +Is overflowing with the sound. + +No Nightingale did ever chaunt +More welcome notes to weary bands +Of travellers in some shady haunt, +Among Arabian sands: +A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard +In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, +Breaking the silence of the seas +Among the farthest Hebrides. +Will no one tell me what she sings?-- +Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow +For old, unhappy, far-off things, +And battles long ago: +Or is it some more humble lay, +Familiar matter of to-day? +Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, +That has been, and may be again? + +Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang +As if her song could have no ending; +I saw her singing at her work, +And o'er the sickle bending;-- +I listened, motionless and still; +And, as I mounted up the hill, +The music in my heart I bore, +Long after it was heard no more. + + +99. _Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood._ + +The Child is father of the Man; +And I could wish my days to be +Bound each to each by natural piety. + +I. + +There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, + The earth, and every common sight, + To me did seem + Apparelled in celestial light, +The glory and the freshness of a dream. +It is not now as it hath been of yore;-- + Turn wheresoe'er I may, + By night or day, +The things which I have seen I now can see no more. + +II. + + The Rainbow comes and goes, + And lovely is the Rose, + The Moon doth with delight + Look round her when the heavens are bare, + Waters on a starry night + Are beautiful and fair; + The sunshine is a glorious birth; + But yet I know, where'er I go, +That there hath past away a glory from the earth. + +III. + +Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, + And while the young lambs bound + As to the tabor's sound, +To me alone there came a thought of grief: +A timely utterance gave that thought relief, + And I again am strong: +The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; +No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; +I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng, +The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, + And all the earth is gay; + Land and sea + Give themselves up to jollity, + And with the heart of May + Doth every Beast keep holiday; + Thou Child of Joy, +Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy! + +IV. + +Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call + Ye to each other make; I see +The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; + My heart is at your festival, + My head hath its coronal, +The fulness of your bliss, I feel--I feel it all. + O evil day! if I were sullen + While Earth herself is adorning, + This sweet May-morning, + And the Children are culling + On every side, + In a thousand valleys far and wide, + Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, +And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm:-- + I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! + --But there's a Tree, of many, one, +A single Field which I have looked upon, +Both of them speak of something that is gone: + The Pansy at my feet + Doth the same tale repeat: +Whither is fled the visionary gleam? +Where is it now, the glory and the dream? + +V. + +Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: +The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, + Hath had elsewhere its setting, + And cometh from afar: + Not in entire forgetfulness, + And not in utter nakedness, +But trailing clouds of glory do we come + From God, who is our home: +Heaven lies about us in our infancy! +Shades of the prison-house begin to close + Upon the growing Boy, +But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, + He sees it in his joy; +The Youth, who daily farther from the east + Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, + And by the vision splendid + Is on his way attended; +At length the Man perceives it die away, +And fade into the light of common day. + +VI. + +Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; +Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, +And, even with something of a Mother's mind, + And no unworthy aim, + The homely Nurse doth all she can +To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, + Forget the glories he hath known, +And that imperial palace whence he came. + +VII. + +Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, +A six years' Darling of a pigmy size! +See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, +Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, +With light upon him from his father's eyes! +See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, +Some fragment from his dream of human life, +Shaped by himself with newly-learned art; + A wedding or a festival, + A mourning or a funeral; + And this hath now his heart, + And unto this he frames his song: + Then will he fit his tongue +To dialogues of business, love, or strife; + But it will not be long + Ere this be thrown aside, + And with new joy and pride +The little Actor cons another part; +Filling from time to time his 'humorous stage' +With all the Persons, down to palsied Age, +That Life brings with her in her equipage; + As if his whole vocation + Were endless imitation. + +VIII. + +Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie + Thy Soul's immensity; +Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep +Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, +That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, +Haunted for ever by the eternal mind,-- + Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! + On whom those truths do rest, +Which we are toiling all our lives to find, +In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; +Thou, over whom thy Immortality +Broods like the Day, a Master o'er a Slave, +A Presence which is not to be put by; + To whom the grave +Is but a lonely bed without the sense or sight + Of day or the warm light, +A place of thought where we in waiting lie; +Thou little Child, yet glorious in the might +Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height, +Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke +The years to bring the inevitable yoke, +Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? +Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, +And custom lie upon thee with a weight +Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! + +IX. + + O joy! that in our embers + Is something that doth live, + That nature yet remembers + What was so fugitive! +The thought of our past years in me doth breed +Perpetual benediction: not indeed +For that which is most worthy to be blest; +Delight and liberty, the simple creed +Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, +With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:-- + Not for these I raise + The song of thanks and praise; + But for those obstinate questionings + Of sense and outward things, + Fallings from us, vanishings; + Blank misgivings of a Creature +Moving about in worlds not realised, +High instincts before which our mortal Nature +Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprised: + But for those first affections, + Those shadowy recollections, + Which, be they what they may, +Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, +Are yet a master-light of all our seeing; + Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make +Our noisy years seem moments in the being +Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, + To perish never: +Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, + Nor Man nor Boy, +Nor all that is at enmity with joy, +Can utterly abolish or destroy! + Hence in a season of calm weather + Though inland far we be, +Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea + Which brought us hither, + Can in a moment travel thither, +And see the Children sport upon the shore, +And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. + +X. + +Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! + And let the young Lambs bound + As to the tabor's sound! +We in thought will join your throng, + Ye that pipe and ye that play, + Ye that through your hearts to-day + Feel the gladness of the May! +What though the radiance which was once so bright +Be now for ever taken from my sight, + Though nothing can bring back the hour +Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; + We will grieve not, rather find + Strength in what remains behind; + In the primal sympathy + Which having been must ever be; + In the soothing thoughts that spring + Out of human suffering; + In the faith that looks through death, +In years that bring the philosophic mind. + +XI. + +And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, +Forebode not any severing of our loves! +Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; +I only have relinquished one delight +To live beneath your more habitual sway. +I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, +Even more than when I tripped lightly as they; +The innocent brightness of a new-born Day + Is lovely yet; +The Clouds that gather round the setting sun +Do take a sober colouring from an eye +That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; +Another race hath been, and other palms are won. +Thanks to the human heart by which we live, +Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, +To me the meanest flower that blows can give +Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. + + _Hutchinson's Text._ + + * * * * * + + + + +SIR HENRY WOTTON. + + +100. _On his Mistress, the Queen of Bohemia._ + +You meaner beauties of the night, +That poorly satisfy our eyes, +More by your number, than your light, +You common people of the skies; + What are you when the moon shall rise? + +You curious chanters of the wood, +That warble forth Dame Nature's lays, +Thinking your passions understood +By your weak accents; what's your praise, + When Philomel her voice shall raise? + +You violets that first appear, +By your pure purple mantles known, +Like the proud virgins of the year, +As if the spring were all your own; + What are you when the rose is blown? + +So, when my mistress shall be seen +In form and beauty of her mind, +By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, +Tell me if she were not design'd + Th' eclipse and glory of her kind? + + _1845 Edition._ + + + + + * * * * * + + + +Transcriber's Note + + Sonnet numbers found in the original text have been added + in the Table of Contents for consistency. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUNDRED BEST ENGLISH POEMS*** + + +******* This file should be named 17768.txt or 17768.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/7/7/6/17768 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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