CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY FROM Mrs. A.. D.White arV12111 The lady's oracle Cornell University Library 3 1924 031 251 923 ohn.anx Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 924031 251 923 ^Tktx ejx >-^IUtfl Jjkr£fJ ■Be'" "''k&'VN^S^ ' Get you gone, you cauldrife wooer." Lady's Oracle, p. 23. PHILADELPHIA THE LADY'S ORACLE AS ELEGANT PASTIME Inrtnl garths unit i\ft #imtlij duirrlt. Br HENRIETTA DUMONT. PHILADELPHIA: 0, whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad; Tho' father, and mother, and a' should gae mad, 0, whistle and I'll come to you, my lad. Bruce. I 2. 0, Sandy is a braw lad, An' Sandy is a fine, An' Sandy is a bonnie lad, An' best of a', he's mine! HetJierington. 3. Gae, get you gone, you cauldrife wooer, Ye sour-looking, cauldrife wooer! Herd. 4. I ha'e a wooer o' my ain, They ca' him souple Sandy, And weel I wat his bonnie mou' Is sweet like sugar-candy. Old Scotch Song. 23 24 gt!j{ SUirj's ©ml*. 5. For all the gold and all the gear, And all the lands, both far and near, That ever valour lost or won, I will not wed the Earlie's son. W. Scott.' 6. Amazed was the laird when the lady said, Na, And wi' a laigh curtsie she turned awa\ Miss Ferrier. 7. I read thy letters sent from far, And aft I kiss thy name, And ask my Maker, frae the war If ever thou'lt come hame, Willie. WUson. Sae licht's he jumped up the stair, And tirled at the pin; And wha sae ready as hersel' To let the laddie in 1 Old Jacobite Song* 9. For the sake of somebody, For the sake of somebody, I could wake a winter nicht, For the sake of somebody. 10. But blythely will I bide Whato'er may yet betide, When ane is by my side. Ramsay. Smibert. ©i)£ JU&j'k ®ra*It. 25 11. Maggie cuist her head fa' heich, Looked asklant, and unco skeigh, "While puir Duncan stood abeigh — Ha, ha, the wooing o't. Burns. 12. But old Rob Morris I never will ha'e, His hack is so stiff, and his beard is grown gray; I had rather die than live wi' him a year; Sae mair o' Rob Morris I never will hear. Ramsay. 13. The maiden blushed and bing'd fu' law, She hadna will to say him na, But to her daddy she left it a', As they twa cou'd agree. Ramsay. 14. My minnie does constantly warn me, And bids me beware o' young men; They flatter, she says, to deceive me — But wha can think sae o' Tarn Glen? Burns. 15. Houtawa'! I winna ha'e him ! Na, forsooth, I winna ha'e him! For a' his beard new-shaven, Ne'er a bit o' me will ha'e him. 16. When day, expiring in the west, The curtain draws o' Nature's rest, I'll flee to his arms I lo'e best, And that's my dainty Davie. Ramsay. Burns. 26 ®ij« iairj's ©rarft. 17. And though ye vowed ye wad be mine, The tear o' grief aye dims my e'e, For, ! I'm feared that I may tyne The love that ye ha'e promis'd me! Tannahill. 18. My father has baith gowd and gear, Forby a bonnie mailen free: My mither spins wi' eident care, An' dochtors they ha'e nane but me. But what care I for gowd and gear, Or what care I for tnailens free? I wadna gi'e a bonnie lad For a' the gowd in Chrisendie. W. Paul. 19. come, my love, the branches link Above our bed of blossoms new, The stars behind their curtains wink, To spare thine eyes so soft and blue. No human eye nor heavenly gem, With envious smile, our bliss shall see; The mountain ash his diadem Shall spread to shield the dews from thee. James Hogg 20. 0, how can I be blithe and glad, Or how can I gang brisk and braw, When the bonnie lad that I lo'e best Is o'er the hills and far awa' 1 Burns SCf)* 3U1>2'5 ®x«iU. 27 21. His words sae sweet gaed to my heart, And fain I wad ha'e gi'en my han\ Hamilton. 22. Were I young for thee, as I ha'e been, We should ha'e been gallopin' down on yon green, And linkin' it on yon lilie-white lea; And wow ! gin I were but young for thee ! Some. 23. He's on the seas to meet his foe! - Let me wander, let me rove, Still my heart is with my love; Nightly dreams and thoughts by day Are with him that's far away. Burns. 24. My head is like to rend, Willie, My heart is like to break — I'm wearin' aff my feet, Willie, I'm dyin' for your sake! 25. But, gin you really do insist That I should suffer to be kiss'd, Gae, get a license frae the priest, And mak' me yours before folk. Rodger. 26. Ye've heard o' my tocher in gear an' good brass, An' ye ken that ilk pound gi'es a charm to a lass ; But if pounds be my beauties, your love's unco chill; Lad! I'll awa' hame to my mither, I will. Rodger. 28 ©$* 3Labs's ©tatlu 27. I've lo'ed thee o'er truly to seek a new dearie, I've lo'ed thee o'er fondly, through life e'er to weary, I've lo'ed thee o'er lang, love, at last to deceive thee : Look cauldly or kindly, but bid me not leave thee." Macgregor. 28. Never wedding, ever wooing, Still a love-torn heart pursuing; Read you not the wrongs you're doing, In my cheek's pale hue? All my life with sorrow strewing, Wed — or cease to woo. Campbell. 29. Love is timid, Love is shy, Can you tell me, tell me why? Ah! tell me, why true love should be Afraid to meet the kindly smile Of him she loves, from him would flee, Yet thinks upon him all the while? Weir. 30. Somebody's words are wonderfu' words, They're wonderfu' words to hear; Somebody's words can lighten the heart, Or fill the e'e wi' a tear. They may say's they like, they may do's they like,. An' somebody I may tine ; But I'll live's I am, an' I'll die's I am, If somebody mayna be mine. Gibson. Qtit 3U&a's ©rati*. 29 31. Young Donald is the blithest lad That e'er made love to me ; Whene'er he's by my heart is glad, He seems so gay and free. Anon. 32. Tam I esteem, like him there's few, His gait and looks entice me. Lochore. 33. Thou canst lave another jo, While my heart is breaking: Soon my weary e'en I'll close, Never more to waken, Jamie. Burns. 34. Never, Henry, could I leave thee, Never could this heart deceive thee ; Why then, laddie, me forsake, And sae wi' cruel absence grieve me? Stirrat. 35. I swear and vow that only thou Shall ever be my dearie. Only thou, I swear and vow, Shall ever be my dearie. Burns. 36. She said, If that your heart be true, If constantly you'll love me, I heed not care nor fortune's frowns, For naught but death shall move me. TyUer. Missing Page Missing Page 32 Q[lj£ SLsbs's ©iKtle. 49. A slight blush, a soft tremor, a calm kind Of gentle feminine delight, and shown More in the eyelids than the eyes, resigned Bather to his what pleases, most unknown, Are the best tokens to a modest mind Of Love, when seated on his loveliest throne, A sincere woman's heart. Byron. 50. The shaken tree grows faster at the root; And Love grows firmer for some blasts of doubt Carcanet. ijsrrito tju ^nmmi flpitraiir* nf qmtr ■Catoj-lnitt. Sns&jmb Ij a (Etntltmait. 'vjff^pER yellow hair, beyond compare, Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck; e#ClC "^nd ^ er tW0 e y eS ' '^ e StarS 1U S ^' eS ' ' Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. Burns. 2. Her poutin' lips sae rosy red 'Mong laughin' dimples dwell ; Nae journey-work were they, I trow, But made by love himsel'. Her voice was like a linty's sang, Her een were bo'nnie blue, And mine drank in the livin' light That sparkled through the dew. 3. She is a winsome wee thing, She is a handsome wee thing, She is a bonnie wee thing, This sweet wee wife o' mine. Latto. Burns. 33 34 gpif 3La&a'jsr ©rati*. 4. Her neck was o' the snaw-drap hue, Her lips like roses wet wi' dew: But oh ! her e'e, o' azure blue, Was past expressin' bonnie, 0. 5. A fairer face I may have seen, And passed it lightly by; Louisa's in her tartan sheen Has fixed my wandering eye. Nicholson. Clwrles Gray. 6. When teddin' out the hay, Bareheaded on the green, Love mid her locks did play, And wantoned in her een. Ramsay. 7. Her eyes divine more bright did shine Than the most clear unclouded ether; A fairer form did ne'er adorn A brighter scene than blooming heather. Lewis. 8. Her brow was like a lily flower, Smiling 'neath a balmy bower, An' glistening i' the mornin' hour Amang the dew o' May. Her e'e was like the bonnie bell, That dances on a sparklin' well, When daylight fa's o'er mulr an' fell, An' wakes the well to play. Macdonald. W)t 3Lairj'« ©xstlt. 86 9. Oh Nancy's hair is yellow like gowd, An' her een, like the lift, are blue ; Her face is the image o' heavenly love, An' her heart is leal and true. Old Scotch Song. 10. I saw, while gazing on her face, The rose and lily close allied ; And on each bloomin' cheek could trace The scented apple's sunny side. Her lips were like the red-rose hud, Before the sun has sipped its dew; Her bosom like the snawy cloud Reflected in the loch sae blue. Carmichael. 11. Ah no! her form's too heavenly fair, Her love the gods above must share; While mortals with despair explore her, And at distance due adore her. Ramsay. 12. Her look was like the morning's eye, Her air like nature's vernal smile; Perfection whispered, passing by, Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle I Alexander. 13. Grace w.is in all her steps, : heaven in her eye, In every gesture dignity and love. Milton's Paradise Lost. 86 — , 14 Oh! sho has beauty might ensnare A conqueror's soul, and make him tear his crown At random, to be scuffled for by slaves. Otway's Orphan. 15 Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, Might hide her faults, if belles had faults to hide; If to her share some female errors fall, Look on her face and you'll forget 'em all. Pope's Rape of the Lock. 16. What tender force, what dignity divine, What virtue consecrating every feature ! Around that neck what dross are gold and pearl! Young's Busiris. 17. She was a form of life and light, That, seen, became a part of sight; And rose, where'er I turned mine eye, The morning-star of memory. Byron's Giaour. 18. Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn. Goldsmith. 19. The parting lip, Like the red rosebud, moist with morning dew, Breathing delight. Thomson. 20. She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete ; And for her eyes, what could such eyes do there, But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair? Keats. t< 3Uirj's ®rwl*. 37 21. Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. Shakspeare. 22. I see thee graceful, straight, and tall, I see thee sweet and bonnie; But, oh! what will my torments be, If thou refuse thy Johnnie ! 23. My love is like the red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: Oh! my love's like the melody That's sweetly played in tune. 24. Wi' eager look upon a book, You'll aft see lady Ann, Wi' jetty locks, an' lily neck Bent like a stately swan. Burns. Burns. Holmes. 25. Oh! was she but as true as fair, 'Twad put an end to my despair; Instead of that, she is unkind, And wavers like the winter wind. Jockey and Jenny. 26. Her hair is the wing o' the blackbird, Her eye is the eye o' the dove, Her lips are the ripe blushing rose-bud, Her bosom's the palace of love. Robert Burns, Jr. 88 ffi&t 3LaJrj'« ffiiwl*. 27. As bonnie lasses I ha'e seen, And mony full as braw, But for a modest graoefu' mien The like I never saw. Burns. 28. Her eyes' dark charm 'twere vain to tell, But gaze on that of the gazelle, It will assist thy fancy well, As large, as languishingly dark, But soul beamed forth in every spark. Byron. 29. Her glossy hair was clustered o'er a brow Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth; Her eyebrow's shape was like the aerial bow, Her cheek all purple with the beam of youth, Mounting at times to a transparent glow, As if her veins ran lightning; she, in sooth, Possessed an air and grace by no means common: Her stature tall — I hate a dumpy woman. Byron. 30. Here, I can trace the locks of gold, Which round thy snowy forehead wave; The cheeks, which sprung from Beauty's mould, The lips, which made me Beauty's slave. Here, I can trace; ah no! that eye, Whose azure floats in liquid fire, Must all the painter's art defy, And bid him from the task retire. Byron. etfre 3La&a'j5 ®ttult. 39 31. There was an Irish lady, to whose bust I ne'er saw justice done, and yet she was A frequent model; and if e'er she must Yield to stern Time and Nature's wrinkling lawa. They will destroy a face which mortal thought Ne'er compassed, nor less mortal chisel wrought. Byron. 32. That form, with eye so dark, and cheek so fair, And auburn waves of gemmed and braided hair; "With shape of fairy lightness. Byron. 33. Thy cheek is o' the rose's hue, My only jo and dearie, 0; Thy neck is o' the siller dew Upon the bank sae brierie, 0. Thy teeth are o' the ivory; sweet's the twinkle o' thine e'e: Nae joy, nae pleasure, blinks on me, My only jo and dearie, 0. Gall. 34. I wat he ga'e her monie a kiss, And Maggie took them nae amiss: 'Tween ilka smack pleased her wi' this, That Bess was but a gawkie. Muirhead. 35. Sae flaxen were her ringlets, Her eyebrows of a darker hue, ■Bewitehingly o'erarching Twa laughing een o' bonnie blue. Burns. 40 ®ljt 3Lalrj'« ©rwlt. 36. Nelly's gawsy, saft and gay, Fresh as the lueken flowers in May; Ilk ane that sees her, cries, Ah hey, She's bonny ! I wonder at her. The dimples of her-chin and cheek, And limbs sae plump invite to dawt her; Her lips sae sweet, and skin sae sleek, Make many mouths beside mine water. Ramsay. 37. Our Girzy was now thirty-six, Though some rather mair did her ca'; And ane quite sae auld to get married Has little or nae chance ava. And Girzy, aft thinking on this, Lang sighs frae her bosom wad draw; Oh, is it not awful to think I may not be married aval Anon. 38. Miss Bridget Adair lived up one pair of stairs, In a street leading out of Soho; And though lovely and fair, had seen thirty years, Without being blest with a beau. Old Song. 39. Colour and shape, fair limbs and face, Sweetness and wit in all you'll find; In motion, speech, in voice, in grace, A model here of woman-kind 1 Cherry. 8ti« SUirj'a ®x■'■ ' . " ■ JT _ ffl&t 3Lsij's ©xaxl*. 67 22. The ghost of many a veteran bill Shall hover around his slumbers. 0. W. Holmes. 23. The politic, the factious fool, The busy, buzzing, talking, hardened knave; The quaint smooth rogue, that sins against his reason, Calls saucy loud sedition public zeal: And mutiny the dictates of his spirit. Otway. 24. If at home, sir, He's all my exercise, my mirth, my matter: Now my sworn friend, and then mine enemy: My parasite, my soldier, statesman, all. ShaJcspeare. 25. Behold! his breakfasts shine with reputation I His dinners are the wonder of the nation ! "With these he treats both commoners and quality, Who praise, where'er they go, his hospitality. Wolcot. 26. His words are bonds, his oaths are oracles ; His love sincere, his thoughts immaculate; His tears pure messengers sent from his heart; His heart as far from fraud as heaven and earth. ShaJcspeare. 27. His fiery temper brooks not opposition, And must be met with soft and supple arts, "With crouching courtesy, and honied words, Such as assuage the fierce, and bend the strong. Howe. 68 g[f)* 3Laij'js ffiiwlt. 28. Nothing exceeds in ridicule, no .doubt, A fool in fashion, but a fool that's out; His passion for absurdity's so strong, He cannot bear a rival in the wrong. Young. 29. Lord Angelo is precise; Stands at a guard with envy; scarce confesses That his blood flows, that his appetite Is more to bread than stone. Shalcspeare. 30. She hath sealed thee for herself: for thou hast been As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; A man, that fortune's buffets and rewards Hast ta'en with equal thanks. Shalcspeare. 31. They say that he has genius. I but see That he gets wisdom as the flower gets hue, While others hive it like the toiling bee; That with him all things beautiful keep new. Willis. 32. He is a noble gentleman ; withal Happy in's endeavours: the general voice Sounds him for courtesy, behaviour, language, And every fair demeanour, an example. John Ford. 33. Fat paunches have lean pates; and dainty bits Make rich the ribs, but bankrupt quite the wits. Shakspeare. -==J ®lji 3Uirs's ffiratlt. 69 34. God gave him reverence of laws, Yet stirring blood in freedom's cause — A spirit to the rocks akin, The eye of the hawk and the fire therein. Coleridge. 35. I know thee for a man of many thoughts, And deeds of good and ill, extreme in both Fatal and fated in thy sufferings. Byron. 36. His honour's linked Unto his life ; he that will seek the one Must venture for the other or lose both. Tatham. 37. My master is of churlish disposition, And little recks to find the way to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality. ShaJcspeare. 38. A villain with a smiling cheek: A goodly apple, rotten at the heart: 0, what a goodly outside falsehood hathl Shakspeare. 39. From worldly cares himself he did esloin, And greatly shunned manly exercise ; From every work he challenged essoin, For contemplation' sake. Spenser. 70 ®jjt Sta&j'a ©rati*. 40. He that has but impudence, To all things has a fair pretence; And put among his wants but shame, To all the world may lay his claim, v Butler. 41. He hath a person, and a smooth dispose, To be suspected; framed to make women false. Shakspeare. 42. He cannot e'en essay to walk sedate, But in his very gait one sees a jest, That's ready to break out in spite of all His seeming. 43. A man of law, a man of peace, To frame a contract or a lease. Knowles. Crabbe, 44. This fellow's of exceeding honesty, And knows all qualities, with a learned spins, Of human things. Shakspeare. 45. Merit like his, the fortune of the mind, Beggars all wealth. Thomson. 46. I pity bashful men, who feel the pain Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain, And bear the marks upon a blushing face Of needless shame and self-imposed disgrace. Cowper. gttj* 3U&2'.s ®rwl*. 71 47. I do remember an apothecary, — And hereabouts he dwells, — whom late I noted In tattered weeds, with overwhelming brows, Culling of simples ; meagre were his looks, Sharp misery had worn him to the bones. Shakspeare. 48. My purse is very slim, and very few The acres that I number; But I am seldom stupid, never blue; My riches are an honest heart and true, And quiet slumber. Epes Sargent. 49. 'Tis much he dares; And, to that dauntless temper of his mind, He hath a wisdom that doth guide his valour To act in safety. Shahspeart 50. Ah! sly deceiver; branded o'er and o'er, Yet still believed! emlting o'er the wreck Of sober vows. Armstrong. Inm fa nm pm iprar €\m? Slnjafomil 5j a (KtnOtmait. WHY do you keep alone, Of sorriest fancies your companions making; Using those thoughts, which should indeed have died With them they think on? S7iakspearfc. 2. Nor the sail high heaving waters o'er, Nor the rural dance on the moonlight shore, — Can the wild and fearless joy exceed Of a fearless leap on a fiery steed. Sara J. Clarke. 3. Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, And always, e'er he mounted, kissed his horse. Cowper. 4. Unhappy man! whom sorrow thus and rage To different ills alternately engage; "Who drinks, alas ! but to forget. 72 Prior. Wl* 3La&a's ®xzth. 73 5. From worldly cares himself he did esloin, And greatly shunned manly exercise ; From every work he challenged essoin, For contemplation' sake. Spenser. 6. 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. Milton. 7. I've pored o'er many a yellow page Of ancient wisdom, and have won, Perchance, a scholar's name. G. W.Bethune. 8. Give me some music; music moody food Foe us that trade in love. Shaksjpeare. 9. He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber, To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. SJiakspeare. 10. Here the rude clamour of the sportman's joy, The gun fast thundering, and the winded horns, Would tempt the muse to sing the rural game. Thomson. 11. There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreaths its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that bubbles by. Gray. 74 at* 2,a&j'js ©xziU. 12. But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men. - Byron. 13. He goes to the river side, — Nor hook nor line hath he: He stands in the meadows wide, — Nor gun nor scythe to see. fialph W. Emerson. 14. Shun such as lounge through afternoons and eves, And on thy dial write — "Beware of thieves!" Felon of minutes, never taught to feel The worth of treasures which thy fingers steal. O. W. Holmes. 15. This is a traveller, sir; knows men and manners. Beaumont and Fletcher. 16. My book o' grace I'll try to read, Though conned wi' little skill. Joanna Baillie. 17. I rather would entreat thy company, To see the wonders of the world abroad, Than living dully sluggardized at home. Shakspeare. 18. I've trod the glittering way Of the land through, and lived in brightest halls. G. Mellen. SEIjt 3U&s'je ©ml*. 75 19. Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, Have no delight to pass away the time; , Unless to spy my shadow in the sun. Shakspeare. 20. Not sleeping, to engross his idle body, But praying, to enrich his watchful soul. Shakspeare 21. To-night, we'll wander through the streets, and note The qualities of people. Shakspeare. 22. He fishes, drinks, and wastes The lamps of night in revel. Shakspeare. 23. Let the world heave on with its ocean-noise, I ask but friends and home. G. Mellen. 24. No care, no stop: so senseless of expense, That he will neither know how to maintain it, Nor cease his flow of riot; takes no account How tilings go from him. Shakspeare. 25. Breaks scurril jests; And with ridiculous and awkward action (W nich, slanderer, he imitation calls) He pageants us. Shakspeare. 7<3 tRlt 3U&J'* ®ra*It. 26. I veil my brow from this dim earth, And dream of brighter spheres; I muse by my forsaken hearth Of time unmarked by years. Sisters of the West. 27. Gazing on thy blue eyes, and tendril hair; Here, even here, my spirit's depths unclosing, I'll breathe to thee the tale of my despair. Sisters of the West. 28. We'll watch the white and leaping spray, Hurled from our cleaving prow; And the wild breeze shall kiss away The soft locks from each brow. Sisters of the West. 29. Oh ! love like mine hath lonely dreams, And clinging doubts and fears. Sisters qfthi West. 30. And thou art like that God-struck man, Forever wandering on; Thy spirit's doom is weird and wan; Alone! alone! alone! Sisters offfie West 31. Inspiring, bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us scorn. Burns. 32. Beneath the silver-gleaming ray, 'To mark the mutual kindling eye. Burns. ®Iji lairs'* ®rficl«. 77 33. Would you be a man of fashion, Would you lead a life divine, Take a little dram of passion In a lusty dose of wine. Anon. 34. The fat shining glutton looks up to his shelf. Oarrick. 35. Oh! sweet 'tis to list to the nightingale's note, Or watch the moon play through yon bushes, Or hark to the sound of the silver-toned lute, Or the white wave, down the rough steep that gushes. Bruton. 36. He'll drink and he'll fight, and a joke's his delight; Good humour attends him. Beuler. 37. I make all look so handsome, so charming my trade is, And neatly I tickle the taste of the ladies. Crow. o^. May the pedant be lost in his phantom pursuit, While I revel in wine, and with bumpers recruit; Since the wisest can never perfection attain, Why should life proffer sweets and enjoyments in vain? Old Song. 78 ©St 3Lafts*» ®tsttt. 39. To the woods and the fields, my brave boys, haste away! Our sport is to follow the hare ; For the morning is clear, and delightfully gay, Sure nothing with this can compare ! Old Song. 40. Electioneering, privateering — Auctioneering, volunteering. Old Song. 41. I've seen some balls and revels in my time, And staid them over for some silly reason, And then I looked (I hope it was no crime) To see what lady best stood out the season. Byron. 42. Sermons he read, and lectures he endured, And homilies, and lives of all the saints ; To Jerome and to Chrysostom inured, He did not take such studies for restraints. Byron. 43. He pored upon the leaves, and on the flowers, And heard a voice in all the winds; and then He thought of wood-nymphs and immortal bowers, And how the goddesses came down to men. Byron. 44. For my part, I'm a moderate minded bard, Fond of a little love, (which I call leisure;) I care not for new pleasures, as the old Are quite enough for me, so they but hold. Byon. Stfre dais's ffitadi. 79 45. Here was no lack of innocent diversion For the imagination or the senses, Song, dance, wine, music, stories from the Persian, All pretty pastime in which no offence is. Byron. 46. He always is complaining of his lot, Forsooth, scarce fit for ballads in the street. Byron. 47. A neat, snug study on a winter's night, A book, friend, single lady, or a glass Of claret, sandwich, and an appetite, Are things which make a pleasant evening pass. Byron. 48. He now was growing up like a green tree, able For love, war, or ambition, which reward Their luckier votaries, till old age's tedium Make some prefer the circulating medium. Byron. 49. An old maid of threescore For cats and birds more penchant ne'er displayed. Although he was not old, nor even a maid- Byron. Inttt to ijnn pass pir j. S^v Y day she seeks some melancholy shade, To hide her sorrow from the prying world; At night she watches all the long, long hours, And listens to the winds and beating rain, With sighs as loud, and tears that fall as fast. Bowe. 2. I will wash my ploughman's hose, And I will dress his o'erlay, I will make my ploughman's bed, And cheer him late and early. Burns. But we maun ha'e linen, and that maun ha'e we, And how get we that but by spyinin' o't? How can we ha'e face for to seek a great fee, Except wo can help at the winnin' o't? Boss. 80 ©Ije 3U&i'a ©twit. 81 4. Wi' love and mirth and social glee We'll still keep up the jovial spree, While time on wings o' joy shall flee. Stirrat. 5. When tired wi' her cantraps, she lies in her bed, The wark a' neglecket, the house ill up-red, When a' our guid neighbours are stirring right early. Baillie. 6. The dearest enjoyments of home are there, The chat and the laugh by the hearth's cheering glare, When day and its labours are done. Smibert. Now I am at my last prayers, I pray on baith nicht and day ; And, oh! if a beggar wad come, With that same beggar I'd gae. And, oh! and what'll come o' me? And, oh! and what'll I do? That sic a braw lassie as I Should die for a wooer, I trow I 8. When evening brings its shady hour Then who so blithe as we? The lamp of love in barn and bower Lights up a scene of glee; Old Time forgets his running sand And joins our roundelay. Macdonald. 82 5t5« lulls'* ©twit- 9. Hale books I've wrote, both prose and verse, And many a rousing de lication. Chambers' Journal. 10. As Jenny sat down wi' her wheel by the fire, An' thought o' the time that was fast fleein' by'er, She said to hersel' wi' a heavy hoch hie, Ohl a' body's like to be married but me. Gray. 11. Tear my bright hair, and scratch my praised cheeks ; Crack my clear voice with sobs and break my heart. Shahspeare. 12. I must not think of him: I'll call Around me dance and song; Until this lone dismantled hall Shakes with the motley throng. Sisters of the West. 13. I love those legends, gray With venerable years ; They have a power to sway My mood to smiles and tears, Sisters of the West. 14. Touch thou this lute, That, o'er land and sea, Its chords, though mute, May be signs of thee. Sisters of the West. Stf)* 3U&s's ffirwlt. 83 15. Even as I sit and dream alone Within tliis antique hall, With its dim echoing floor of stone, Its dark empanelled wall. Sisters of {he West. 16. In the hall I was the light of the festival; Tell him, how proudly I paced the dance — What powers I bore in a word or glance. Sisters of the West. 17. Fast wanes the heavy time; Past is the summer's prime ; Still doth the lady dream, and watch, and weep. Sisters of the West. 18. That song,' that song of olden time, I fain would hear again; The sweeping tone, the measured chime, And now the pealing strain. Sisters of the West. 19CQ h! while across mine inner sight This tide of anguish streams, My life is but a darkened night, And full of mournful dreams ! Sisters of the West. 20. Oh! often in the quiet night she sitteth, Shedding wild tears, beside the winter hearth ; While o'er her face the uncertain firelight flitteth j Yet darker still is her unmeaning mirth. Sisters of the West. 84 t&U aiaftj'a ©rati*. 21. In vain my lyre would lightly breathe The smile that sorrow fain would wear, But mocks the wo that lurks beneath, Like roses o'er a sepulchre. Byron. 22. Foamadam's will at nothing stops, She must have balls, and routs, and fops, And often ransack all the shops, In gay attire to robe her. Bibdin. 23. Hence, all ye vain delights, As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly! Beaumont and Fletcher. 24. I feel like one who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fle'dv whose garlands dead, And all but he departed. T. Moore. 25. She strove the neighbourhood to please With manners wondrous winning; And never followed wicked ways, Unless when she was sinning. Goldsmith. J 26. Ye that are basTung in Pleasure's gay beam, Ye that are sailing on Hope's golden stream, A cloud may come o'er ye 1 — a wave sweep the deck. Planche. ®t* SU&s's ©tacl*. 85 27. Talking, she knew not why and cared not what, So that her female friends, with envy broiling, Beheld her airs and triumph, and all that. Byron, 28. Endearing waltz — to thy more melting tune Bow, Irish jig, and ancient rigadoon; Scotch reels, avauntl and country-dance, forego Tour future claims to each fantastic toe. Byron. 29. She kept a journal, where his faults were noted; And opened certain trunks of books and letters, All which might, if occasion served, be quoted. Byron. 30. The gentle pressure, and the thrilling touch, The least glance better understood than words, Which still said all, and ne'er could say too much; A language, too, but like to that of birds. Byron. 31. The truth is, I've grown lately rather phthisical: I don't know what the reason is — the air, Perhaps ; but as I suffer from the shocks Of illness, I grow much more orthodox. Byron. 32. High in high circles, gentle in her own, She was the mild reprover of the young, Whenever — which means every day — they'd shown An awkward inclination to go wrong. Byron. 86 .gtjit ia&s's ffirwlt. 33. The elderly walked through the library, And tumbled books, or criticised the pictures, Or sauntered through the gardens piteously, And made upon the hothouse several strictures. Byron. 34. Observant of the foibles of the crowd, Yet ne'er betraying this in conversation. Byron. 35. She gazed upon a world she scarcely knew, As seeking not to know it; silent, lone, As grows a flower, thus quietly she grew, And kept her heart serene within its zone. Byron. 36. Faults which attract because they are not tame; Follies tricked out so brightly that they blind: — These seals upon her wax made no impression, Such was her coldness or her self-possession. Byron. 37. Though too well-bred to quiz men to their faces, Her laughing blue eyes with a glance could seize The ridicules of people in all places — That honey of your fashionable bees — And store it up for mischievous enjoyment. Byron. 38. Much on my early youth I love to dwell, Ere yet I bade that friendly dome farewell, Where first, beneath the echoing cloisters pale, I heard of guilt and wondered at the tale ! Coleridge. ®t« 3U&S'* ®rwl*. 87 39. She also had a twilight tinge of "Blue," Could write rhymes, and compose more than she wrote ; Made epigrams occasionally too Upon her friends, as everybody ought. Byron. 40. I'm dull and sad! indeed, indeed, I know I have no reason! Perhaps I am not well in health, And 'tis a gloomy season. Coleridge. 41. When by herself, she to herself Must sing some merry rhyme; She could not now he glad for hours, Yet silent all the time. Coleridge,. 42. Ye ladies, take a hint from me, Ne'er with the bottle make too free, Until you safely married be. Old Song. 43. Would you know my chief delight? 'Tis to enjoy a moonlight night, — To sit and count the stars above, And talk, to one that's fair, of love. Bryant. 44. Weblush, smile, orfrown, as he's rightor he's wrong, We dance when we please, or we sing him a song, And before we are wed, if we feel the least pique, We can then hold our tongues, if we like, for a week. Bryant. 88 ©fit JU&j's ©r£'s ©ml*. 91 8. The glorious landscape smiles and melts ; Green wave-like meadows here are spread, There woodland shades are sweetly shed, In deepening gold there glows the wheat, And there the rye-field's vymg sheet. Street. 9. Within the sunlit forest, Our roof the bright blue sky, Where streamlets flow, and wild flowers blow, We lift our hearts on high. Elliott. 10. 'Tis midnight: on the mountain's brown The cold, round moon shines deeply down; Blue roll the waters, blue the sky Spreads like an ocean hung on high. Byron. 11. The sea! the sea! the open sea! The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! Without a mark, without a bound, It runneth the earth's wide regions round. Proctor. 12. Oh! a blue summer night, When the stars were asleep, Like gems of the deep, In their own drowsy light ; While the new-mown hay On the green earth lay, And all that came near it went scented away. Neal. 92 Hfoz laij'js ©ratlt. 13. Welcome, ye shades! ye bowery thickets, hail! Ye lofty pines ! Ye venerable oaks! Ye ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep! Delicious is your shelter to the soul. Tliomson. 14. And leads me to the mountain-brow, Where sits the shepherd on the grassy turf, Inhaling, healthful, the descending sun, Around him feeds his many bleating flock, Of various cadence; and his sportive lambs, ' This way and that convolved, in friskful glee, Their frolics play. Thomson. 15. Sweet is thy coming spring! and, as I pass Thy hedge-rows, where from the half-naked sprays Peeps the sweet bud, and midst the dewy grass The tufted primrose opens to the day: My spirits light and pure confess thy power Of balmiest influence. Atlienamm. 16. The tender Twilight with a crimson cheek Leans on the breast of Evening. How tenderly the trembling light yet plays On the far-waving foliage 1 day's last blush Still lingers oh the billowy waste of leaves With a strange beauty — like the yellow flush That haunts the ocean when the day goes by. McLellan. ®&e 3Lais'B ©rwl*. 93 17. The evening sun's gaen down the west, The birds sit nodding on the tree; All nature now prepares for rest. Tannahill. 18. Behold the hills and vales around With lowing herds and flocks abound; The wanton kids and frisking lambs Gambol and dance around their dams. Bryce. 19. This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, I better brook than flourishing peopled towns. Shakspeare. 20. Above that dark, romantic stream Gray rocks and gloomy forests tower, And o'er its sullen floods the dream Of Lethe seems to lower; Low, shadowed by its frowning steeps, The deep and turbid river sweeps. Sisters oftJie West. 21. Within a southern garden, where the breath Of flowers went up like incense, and the plash Of falling fountains made a murmuring voice Of music sweet, yet same. Sisters of the West. 22. Where the pale flowers grow rank and wild, In that sequestered solitude, Where never hath the sunshine smiled, And step may not intrude. Sisters oftJie West. 94 a:ij* 3U&s'a ©xsilt. 23. Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village-green, With magic tints to harmonize the scene. Stilled is the hum that through the hamlet broke, When round the ruins of their ancient oak The peasants flocked to hear the minstrel play, And games and carols closed the busy day. Sogers. 24. The festival was high and proud, The lamps were dazzling clear; And pealing music, long and loud, Rushed on the listening ear. Sisters of {he West. 25. In those primeval forests, oh! did the red deer hound, Tossing their dark-brown antlers — trampling the new-made ground? And did the huge bald eagle over thy waters brood? Or didst thou, new-born giant, track one vast solitude ? Sisters of the West. 26. Oh! let me go abroad Into the breast of nature; where the wind Makes solemn music in the forest tree ; Swaying the old, gray, twisting vines, that bind Branch unto branch with its wild minstrelsy. Sisters of the West. 27. We stand upon a breezy hill That overhangs the deep ; Beneath our feet the scant grass springs, Above us eagles sweep. Sisters of the West. ®fj* HLalrs's ©rati*. 95 28. I stood on the lone forest side. I viewed The wild luxuriant blossoms at my feet; I saw around me stretch the giant wood; I watched th_e swift deer, bounding wild and fleet. Sisters of the West. 29. When o'er the waves the lightnings flash, And many a gallant bark is riven; And solemnly the thunder's crash Peals from the darkened face of heaven ! Sisters of the West. 30. And oh! the time of winter, when round the hearth by night We sat, glad little children, by the broad red fire ' light; Wild and stormy stories to hear with young amaze. 'Sisters of the West. 31. Where the moonbeam flieth O'er the lone' sea, There a sweet voice crieth, I wait for thee! Sisters of the West. 32. I watch their deep and household joy, Around the evening hearth ; When the children stand beside each kneo, With laugh and shout of mirth. Sisters of the West. 33.- The crowded mart, the lofty hall, The palace and the bower. Sisters of the West. 96 info Uzbtfs ©rwlt. 34. Where the first violets their fragrance shed; Where the old oak trees wore the earliest green, And the moss crept in love, around the brim Of that old fountain, ruined but not dim. Sisters of the West. 35. I have stood in caverns, where never came A ray of light, save the torches' flame, As they gleamed on the walls with their glittering spars, And the arching roof with its mimic stars. Sisters of the West. 36. Say that when evening shades Fall over land and lea, I'll stand beneath those green arcades, Where once we wandered free. Sisters oftJie West. 37. And the pale stars, their evening rays are streaming On the still water, through the shadowy trees; Then, in the sadness of thy mystic dreaming, My spirit's power shall mingle even with these. Sisters of the West. 38. Lead me beneath the locust trees, Where grass and violets spring, And whence the gentle summer breeze B"ars fragrance on its wing. Sisters of the West. Qtljt ia&a's ©rstlt. 97 39. I know these ruins gray, I know these cloisters dim — My soul hath been in these walls away, When slumber chains each limb. Sisters of the West. 40. To seek the mountain side, and forest glade, Or the transparent lake, whose waters wear The glorious semblance of the sunset heaven. Sisters oftlie West. 41. That scene, that rushing river, That forest, lone and dim, Where the winds made a low shiver Like the echo of a hymn. Sisters oftlie West. 42. And 'neath the tall magnolias, and each grove Of laurel, where the native shrines had place Amid the myrtle boughs, that breathed of love. Sisters of the West. 43. The forms of silent, threatening hosts, Amid them waving pennons and standards proud; And white walled tents and gay pavilions gleam, Of cloth of gold, hung o'er with burnished arms That flicker in the sunlight. Boker. 44. Nature's young, giddy scions shout, Birds scream from out the dancing trees; The blue-eyed violets wink about, And toss their odours on the breeze. Boker. 7 98 ©it 3La&2'a ©rati*. 45. The rough north whitens the softening land, And binds the plains and streams in winter's numbing band. Now on the smoking ground falls spring-like rain, And hub deep sinks the rooking, labouring wain. Bdker. 46. Thickest night, o'erhang my dwelling! Howling tempest, o'er me rave ! Turbid torrents, wintry swelling, Still surround my lonely cave ! Burns. 47. The forests are leafless, the meadows are brown, And all the gay foppery of summer is flown; Apart let me wander, apart let me muse. Burns. 48. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise. Burns. 49. As I stood by yon roofless tower, Where the wall-flower scents the dewy air, Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower, And the midnight moon her care. Burns. 50 . Among the heathy hills and ragged woods, The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; Till full he dashes on the rooky mounds, Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream resounds. Burns. Sfyat w ipr WmMr\ CiraMta? fHAVE five hundred crowns, The thrifty hire I saved under your father, Which I did store, to be my foster nurse, When service should in my old limbs lie lame. Shakspeare. 2, Can wealth give happiness? Look round, and see What gay distress 1 what splendid misery 1 Whatever fortune lavishly can pour, The mind annihilates, and calls for more. Were 't possible that wit could turn a penny, Poets might then grow rich as well as any: For 'tis not wit to have a great estate, The blind effect of fortune and of fate. Buckingham. 100 Qfot auirj'a ffiratlt. 4. My riches a's my penny fee, And I maun guide it cannie, 0; But warl's gear ne'er troubles me, My thoughts are a' my Nannie, 0. 5. the weary siller! the weary siller! Wha wad venture till her, That hadna got the siller? Burns. Q.K. 6. I'm now a gude farmer, I've acres o' land, An' my heart aye loups light when I'm viewin' o't, An' I ha'e servants at my command, An' twa dainty cowts for the plowin' o't. My farm is a snug ane, lies high on a muir, The muir-oocks an' plivers- aft skirl at my door, An' whan the sky lowrs I'm aye sure o' a shower. To moisten my land for the plowin' o't. A. Scott. 7. It's I ha'e seven braw new gouns, And ither seven better to mak'; And yet, for a' my new gouns, My wooer has turned his back.. Besides, I have seven milk-kye, And Sandy he has but three; And yet, for a' my-gude kye, The laddie winna ha'e me. Ramsay. Stjt 3U&s's ®xsiU. 101 8 My father has baith gowd and gear, Forby a bonnie maiden free: My mither spins wi' eident care, An' daughters they ha'e nane but me. But what care I for gowd and gear, Or what care I for maidens free ; I wadna gi'e a bonnie lad For a' the gowd in Chrisendie. 9. An empty purse is ill to wear, An empty purse is ill to share. Paul. Anon. 10. I ha'e gowd and gear; I ha'e land eneuch; I ha'e seven good oxen gangin' in a pleuch. Old Song. 11. I ha'e a gude ha' house, a barn, and a byre, A stack afore the door; I'll mak' a ran tin fire: I'll mak' a rantin fire, and merry shall we be: And, gin ye winna tak' me, I can let ye be. Old Song. i 12. Behind the door a bag of meal, And in the kist was plenty Of good hard cakes his mither bakes, And bannocks were na scanty; A good fat sow, a sleeky cow Was standin' in the byre ; Whilst lazy pouss with mealy mou's Was playing at the fire. Clerk. 102 f< auij's ©ml*. 13. Has aye a penny in his purse For dinner and for supper; And if ye please, a good fat cheese, And lumps of yellow butter. Cleric. 14. We loo'd the liquor ■well enough; But waes my heart my cash was done, Before that I had quenched my drouth, And laith I was to pawn my shoon. 15. I ance had a weel theekit cot-house On Morvala's sea-beaten shore; But our laird turnecTme out frae my cot-house; Alas ! I was feckless an' puir. Burns., 16. See ye not yon hills and dales, . The sun shines on sae brawlie ! They a' are mine, and they shall be thine. A'ion. 17. Whan I'd nae need o' aid, there were plenty to proffer ; And noo whan I want it, I ne'er get the offer: I could grieve whan I think hoo my siller decreast, In the feasting o' those wha came only to feast. Anderson. 18. What though on hamely fare we dine, Wear hoddin-gray, and a' that? Gi'e the fools their silks, and knaves their wine; A man's a man, for a' that. Burns. ®i)t JLairj's ©uiU. 103 19. I ha'e a green purse and a wee pickle gowd, A bonnie piece Ian' an' a plantin' on't, It fattens my flocks, an' my barns it has stowed, But the best thing o' a's yet a-wantin' on't. Anon. 20. 1 was once a weel-tochered lass, My mither left dollars to me, But now I'm brought to a poor pass, My step-dame has gart them flee. Ramsay. 21. I've baith bread and kitchen nae scanty, An' gowns i' the fashion fu' braw: But aye there's an unco bit wantie, That fashes me mair than them a'. Watson. 22. He left me wi' his deein' breath A dwallin' house, an' a' that; A barn, a byre, an' wabs o' claith — A big peat-stack, an a' that. A mare, a foal, an a' that, A mare, a foal, an a' that, Sax guid fat kye, a cauf forby, An' twa pet ewes, an' a' that. Somerville. 23. And though our fortune is but low, Though we have yet but little store, I'll wield the spade, and ply the hoe, And strive to make that little more. Hunter. 104 ®jjt 3talrs'jff ®mle. 24. Wi' sma' to sell, and less to buy, Aboon distress, below envy, wha wad leave this humble state, For a' the pride of a' the great ? Burns. 25. When I think on this world's pelf, And the little wee share I ha'e o't to myself, And how the lass that wants it is by the lads forgot, May the shame fa' the gear and the blaithrie o't! Anon. 26. An' you sail wear, when you are wed, The kirtle an' the Heeland plaid, An' sleep upon a heather bed, Sae cozy an' sae canty. Shepherd. 27. There's palace-like mansions at which ye may stare, Where Luxury rolls in her soft easy-chair, — At least puir folks think sae, — their knowledge is sma', There's far more contentment at Sandyford ha'. There's something romantic about an auld house, Where the cock ilka morning keeps crawling fu' crouse, An' the kye in the byre are baith sleekit an' braw, An' such is the case at blithe Sandyford ha'. Park. 28. Fortune and I are friends. Shakspeare. 5MJ£ 3U&s'b ffiratlt. 105 29. A ■woman impudent and mannish grown Is not more loathed than an effeminate man In time of action. Shakspeare. 30. A fane forsaken, and a hearth deserted — A prison tenantless, and void, and dim, Whence the acquitted have in joy departed — These are the relics that remain to him. Sisters of the West. 31. Nor ope her lap to saint-seducing gold: Oh, she is rich in beauty; only poor, That, when she dies, with beauty dies her store. Shahspeare. 32. Although a lad were o'er eo smart, If that he wants the yellow dirt, You'll cast your head another airt, And answer him full dry. Burns. 33. How shall your houseless heads and unfed sides, Your looped and windowed raggedness, defend you From seasons such as these. Shakspeare. 34. A'coach, with six footmen behind, I count neither trifle nor sin ; But, ye gods, how oft do we find A scandalous trifle within ? Farquhar. 106 f< 2,a&s'« ©riWit. •35 I am a tailor gay As ever wore a thimble, Through life I work away, My- fingers always nimble; Although threadbare of wit, The lasses I can wheedle. Dibdin. 36. I've buckles — silver, gold, and brass, And shoes, to trip with grace in; Sashes, ribbons, laces strong, for those who've need to lace in. McFarren. 37. What now remains were easy told, Tom comes, his pockets lined with gold, Now rich enough, no more to roam. Dibdin. 38. A gentleman so rich in the world's goods, Handsome and young, enjoying all the present. Byron. 39. Why call the miser miserable? as I said before: the frugal life is his, Which in a saint or cynic ever was The theme of praise. Byron. 40. Young Ben he was a nice young man, A carpenter by trade. ■ Old Song. OT* 3LsJrj's ©ml*. 107 41. Where's he for honest poverty That hangs his head and a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by, And dare be poor for a' that! Burns. 42. Then she's got a fine stock of clothes, With her grandmother's holiday hose, Made out of the very best yarn, Full of holes, but never a darn. Hickman. 43. Can wealth or friends thy heart incline To scorn my humble lot? Old Song. 44. With a rich pair of pockets o'erflowing with charms. Dibdin. 45. Wealth and power, what are ye worth, To pleasure if you give not birth? Rich in ambition's gilded toys, I barter them for real joys. 46. To poverty we'll bid adieu, My heart with joy abounds; Lord ! what a deal we all may do With ten thousand pounds. Cobb. Bomer. 47. I ask not wealth, I ask not power, Content must ever be Where'er thou dwell'st, and every hour Be bliss that's shared with thee. Baylies. 108 gt^t auirj's ©rstlt. 48. I'll buy ye new silks and fine satins to wear, You'll dress yourself up every day like a lady bright; Sit yourself down in my mother's great chair, And scold all the servants from morning till night. Hudson. 49. Though others may boast of more riches than mine, And rate my attractions e'en fewer, At their jeers and attractions I'll scorn to repine, Can they boast of a heart that is truer? English Song. 50. In this mighty city how easy to live, For credit's the soul of the place; Which great and small' equally give and receive, So credit can be no disgrace. Dibdin. Stadia iprar frim %mhm. ^M jjppINE be a cot beside the hill; MsvsSa A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; JBjllfjtt A willowy brook that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. Rogers. \ 2. My eyes make pictures when they're shut: — I see a fountain large and fair, A willow and a ruined hut, And thee and me and Mary there. Mary! make thy gentle lap our pillow; Bend o'er us like a bower, my beautiful green w*Ho-yy. Coleridge. 3. Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found The warmest welcome at an inn. Shensione. 110 Q%t 3U&j'* ffirwle. 4. Ohl ask not a home in the mansions of pride, Where marble shines out in the pillars and walls; Though the roof he of gold, it is JBlilliantly eold, And joy maynot be found in its toroh-lighted halls. Eliza Cook. 5. Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade. Camper, 6. Halfway up He built his house, whence by stealth he caught, Among the hills, a glimpse of busy life, That soothed, not stirred. Rogers. 7. Oh haste, unfold the hospitable hall ! That hall, where onee, in antiquated state, The chair of justice held the grave debate. Rogers. 8. My Highland home, where tempests blow, And cold thy wintry looks, Thy mountains crowned with driven snow, _,«^.nd ice-bound are thy brooks I Morton. 9. Go make thy home In some desert place, Which no voice maygladden, No footsteps grace. Sisters of the West. Btij* 3U&5'* ®utlz. Ill 10. Some cottage-home, from towns an#toil remote, Where love and lore may calm alternate hours. Campbell. 11. No home! no home! Oh, weary one! And art thou like the dove of yore, Who found no spot to rest upon, Wandering the waste of waters o'er? Sisters of the West. 12. And thou art like that God-struck man, Forever wandering on ; Thy spirit's doom is weird and wan ; Alone! alone! alone! Sisters of the West. 13. I could be happy there ! In that low cot embowered in deepest shade, And lying in a lone and lovely glade. Sisters of the West. 14. At length his lonely cot appears in view, Beneath the shelter of an aged tree. Burns. 15. I knew by the smoke, that so gracefully curled Above the green elms, that a cottage was near; And I said, If there's peace to be found in the world, A heart that is humble might hope for it here. Moore. 16. To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, When bones are crazed and blood is thin, Is doubtless great distress. Burns. 112 ffijt lafcj'a ©xsilt. 17. Very nea* the west end, though I must not tell where. L. W. K. 18. It is a hall Where people dance, and sup, and dance" J ttgai% Byron. 19. Into one of the sweetest of hotels, Especially for foreigners — and mostly For those whom favour or whom fortune swells, And cannot find a bill's small items costly. Byron. 20. The mansion's self was vast and venerable, With more of the monastic than has been Elsewhere preserved: the cloisters still were stable, The cells too and refectory, I ween. Byron. 21. Low was our pretty cot: our tallest rose Peeped at the chan-'ber-window. We could hear, At silent noon, and eve, and early morn, The sea's faint murmur. Coleridge. 22. A beautiful garden with weeds overrun, And an elegant fish-pond dried up by the sun; Then the house stood convenient enough, you may say, Next door to the whisky-shop over the way. Dibdin. Si* 3U&a's ffiiwlt 113 23. A green and silent spot, amid the hills, A small and silent dell! O'er stiller place No sinking sky-lark ever poised himself. Coleridge. 24. My house in Duke's Place is The mart of the Graces, Vat show their sweet faces By light of the lamps. Box. 25. I will twine thee a bower, By the clear siller fountain, And I'll cover it o'er Wi' the flowers of the mountain; I will range through the wilds, And the deep glens sae dreary, And return wi' the spoils To the bower o' my dearie. Tanndhill. 26. Here naught but Candour reigns, indulgent Ease, Good-nature lounging, sauntering up and down: They who are pleased themselves must always please ; On others' ways they never squint a frown. Thomson. 27. The rooms with costly tapestry were hung, Where was inwoven many a gentle tale, Such as of old the rural ppets sung, Or of Arcadian or Sicilian vale. Tliomson. 8 114 ©^ HLa&j's ffirwlt. 28. My house a cottage, more Than palace, and should fitting he For all my use, no luxury. Cowley. 29. Then, too, the pillared dome, magnific, heaved Its ample roof; and Luxury within Poured out her glittering stores. Tliomson. 30. Here wealth still swells the golden tide, As husy trade his labour plies ; There architecture's noble pride Bids elegance and splendour rise. Burns. 31. Mid piles beneath whose fretted cornices Echo still babbles of a glorious past. Edith May. 32. Above, bright glimpses of the purest blue; Around, the fir trees' sombre depth of shade, Save where some sapling of a brighter hue Starts from the covert as if half afraid. Elizabeth Emmet. 33. There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. Moore. SCljt 3Laij'js ©rati*. 115 34. Yes I thou art changed, my mountain home; Yet still my heart doth cling to thee, The spot where I was wont to roam, From grief and sadness free. W. G. H. 35. Fountains leaping, vinelets creeping, Mark where she moves; Tendrils clinging, sweet birds singing, Tell how she loves. H. F. Gould. 36. Where a lone castle by the sea Upreared its dark and mouldering pile, Far seen, with all its frowning towers, For many and many a weary mile. Anna M. Power and Sarah H. Whitman. 37. 'Twas an humble, moss-grown cot, "Where the maid of the sun-bright hair Dwelt with a crone who loved her not: She was wrinkled and old with care. Kate St. Clair. 38. The ruddy hearth-fires gleam and fade Upon the dusky wall, And on the darkened ceiling Fantastic shadows fall; No sound is heard in all the house, So lonely now and drear, And e'en the cricket's drowsy song Falls faintly on her ear. Anna M. Power and Sarah H. Whitman. 116 ®i)* 3Lairj'a ®tstlt." 39. And he lived "up town," in a splendid square, And kept his daughter on dainty fare, And gave her gems that were rich and rare, And the finest rings and things to wear, And feathers enough to plume her I J. G. Saxe. 40. 'Twas a dreadful change in human affairs, From a place "Up Town" to a nook "Up Stairs," From an avenue down to an alley 1 J. G. Saxe. 41. A lordly oak, with spreading arms, By my mountain-dwelling grew. O'er the roof and chimney-top Uprose that glorious tree; No giant of all the_ forests round Had mightiertsy&ghs than he. /. H. Bryant. 42. So what I but guessed, my Mabel, The bird hath told at will, That you're going to marry the miller, And live beside the mill. Mrs. M. N. McDonald. 43. On marble stairs, and tessellated hall, Scarce heard was her retiring footstep-fall, While passing to her trocador, Where, while she bathed, Arabian maids shampooed Their royal mistress ; and perfume renewed Through perforated chamber floor. Anon. qtfc 3La&j'K ffiradt. 117 44. There's a homestead of beauty by Delaware's stream, And the sweet tones of children are ringing all day, "While the voice of the mother is blithesome and glad, As the notes of the song-bird that warbles in May. The angel of peace to the hearth-stone has come, With a message of mercy to brighten each dream, And as glad to the heart, as 'tis pure to the eye, Is that homestead of beauty by Delaware's stream. 8. D. Anderson. 45. Land of poets, Italy, As the rivers seek the sea, Floats my dreaming bouI to thee. 0. Allen. 46. Round our old paternal dwelling Here, 'tis all a hush profound, Save an infant zephyr swelling, 'Tis to memory spirit-ground, H. F. Gould. 47. Our father lives in Washington, And has a world of cares, But gives his children each a farm, Enough for them and theirs. Mrs. L. M. Sigourney. 48. But where the rivulet runneth In the bottom of the glen. K.B.M. 49. A city mansion, neat, nor proud, Where Business hums his song aloud. C. Watson. Missing Page Missing Page 120 ®J)t 3U&5's ©ml*. 4. And now old Murmur all alone Has none to close the Grumbler's eyes. Cherry. 5. It is that settled ceaseless gloom The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore, That will not look beyond the tomb, But cannot hope for rest before. Byron. Kelly. Mallet. 6. Ambition holds the nectared drink, It in the golden yase looks fair; But what fond lip can touch the brink Nor quaff a sea of sorrows there? 7. For soon the winter of the year, And age, life's winter, will appear ; At this, thy lovely bloom will fade, As that will strip the verdant shade. 8. Yet pilot-honour shall not fail To weather every dangerous gale; And, to old age as we subside, Delight our smiling fire-side. Dibdin. 9. The sight which keen affection clears, How can it judge amiss? To me it pictured hope, and taught My spirit this consoling thought, — That Love's sun, though it rise in tears, May set in bliss. Strangford. Qfljje 3LaJra'jsr ffiiwlt. 121 10. Calm to peace thy lover's bosom- Can it, dearest, must it be? Thou within an hour shalt lose him, He forever loses theel Moore. 11. If but little your own you can call, It's quite certain much you cannot pay; And if you've got nothing at all, Why, you're sure they can't take it away. Old Song. 12. Toil only gives the soul to shine, And makes rest fragrant and benign; A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being poor to hold in fee. J. JR. Lowell. 13. When fortune raiseth to the greatest height, The happy man should most suppress his state; Expecting still a change of things to find, And fearing when the gods appear too kind. B. Howard. 14. Prosperity puts out unnumbered thoughts, Of import high, and light divine, to man. Young. 15. How beautiful is sorrow, when 'tis drest By virgin innocence ! It makes Felicity in others seem deformed. W. Davenant. 122 gtlj* 5,b&j'js ffirwlt. 16. Our wedding cheer to a sad burial feast; Our solemn hymns to sullen dirges change ; Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary. Shakspeare. 17. Oh! ever thus from childhood's hour I've seen my fondest hopes decay; I never loved a tree or flower, But 'twas the first to fade away. Moore. 18. There comes For ever something between us and what We deem our happiness. Byron. 19. And therefore — since I cannot prove a lover, To entertain these fair well-spoken days — I am determined to prove a villain, And hate the idle pleasures of these days. Shakspeare. 20. Whoever, with an earnest soul, Strives for some end from this low world afar, Still upward travels though he miss the goal, And strays — but towards a^ star I Bulwer. 21. These base mechanics never keep their words In any thing they promise. 'Tis their trade To swear and break ; they all grow rich by breaking More than their words. Jonson. ®it JLaij's ©rati*. 123 22. I dwell amid the city, And hear the flow of souls ! Miss Barrett. 23. Though at times my spirit fails me, And the bitter tear-drops fall, Though my lot is hard and lonely, Yet I hope — I hope through all. Mrs. Norton. 24. Shortly his fortune shall be lifted higher; True industry doth kindle honour's fire. Shakspeare. 25. How blest the farmer's simple life! How pure the joy it yields 1 Far from the world's tempestuous strife, Free mid the scented fields ! C. W. Everest. "26. -Walk Boldly and wisely in that light thou hast; — There is a hand above will help thee on. Bailey. 27. Let error act, opinion speak, And want afllict, and sickness break, And anger burn, dejection chill, And joy distract, and sorrow kill, Till, armed by care, and taught to mow, Time draws the long destructive blow. Farnell. 2§. Unrivalled as thy merit, be thy fame. TickeU. 124 Sljt SUlrj'a ®txiU. 29. But midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world's tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we may bless. Byron. 30. Now I recentre my immortal mind In the deep Sabbath of meek self-content; Cleansed from the vaporous passions that bedim God's image. Coleridge. 31. The seals of office glitter in his eyes; He climbs, he pants, he grasps them; at his heels, Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, And with a dexterous jerk soon twists him down, And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. Cowper. 32. Fathers their children and themselves abuse, That wealth, a husband for their daughters choose. Shirley. 33. Me let the tender office long engage To rock the cradle of reposing age ; With lenient arts extend a mother's breath, Make languor smile, and smooth the bed of death. Pope. 34. I fly like a bird of the air, In search of a home and a rest; A balm for the sickness of care; A bliss for a bosom unblest. Byron. ffltt 3La&s'a ®xxtlt. 125 35. Here's a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate ; And, whatever sky's above me, Here's a heart for every fate. Byron. 36. There are two hearts whose movements thrill In unison so closely sweet! That pulse to pulse responsive still, They both must heave — or cease to beat. B. Barton. 37. His life is calm and blessed, for his peace, Like a rich pearl beyond the diver's ken, Lies deep in his own bosom. He is pure, For the soul's errands are not done with men; His senses are subdued and serve the soul. Willis. 38. — Forced to drudge for the dregs of men, And scrawl strange words with the barbarous pen, And mingle among the jostling crowd, Where the sons of strife are busy and loud. ' Bryant. 39. For foreign glory, foreign joy, they roam; No thought of peace or happiness at home. But wisdom's triumph is well timed retreat, As hard a science to the fair as great! Pope. 40. Oh happiness of sweet retired content! To'be at once secure and innocent. Denham. 126 gtljj SU&s'a ©twit. 41. Famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression stareth in thine eyes, Upon thy back hangs ragged misery, The world is not thy friend, nor the world's law. Shakspeare. . 42. Though the lamp of his fame will continue to burn, When even his dust to the dust shall return, And for ages to come a bright halo will throw O'er the mouldering remains of the mighty Munro. Finlay. 43. How miserable a thing is a great man: Take noisy vexing greatness they that please, Give me obscure, and safe, and silent ease. Crown. 44. The rich man's son inherits lands, And piles of brick, and stone, and gold, And he inherits soft white hands, And tender flesh that fears the cold, Nor dares to wear a garment old. J. B. Lowell. 45. May dool and sorrow be his chance, Dool and sorrow, dool and sorrow, May dool and sorrow be his chance, And nane say, Wae's me for 'im! Skinner. 46. Virtue is choked with foul ambition, And charity chased hence by rancour's hand; Foul subornation is predominant. Sliakspeare. Vttt SU&i'a ©rwl*. 127 47. He's comin' frae the North that's to fancy me, He's comin' frae the North that's to fancy me; A feather in his bonnet and a ribbon at his knee, He's a bonnie, bonnie laddie, an yon be he. Burns. 48. Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever; One foot in sea, and one on shore ; To one thing constant never. ' Shdkspeare. ■ 49. They that stand high have many blasts to shake them; And, if they fall, they dash themselves to pieces. Shakspeare. 50. Truth shall nurse her, Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her: She shall be loved, and feared: her own shall bless her, Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow: good grows with her. Shahspeare, S&jlirt 3Kttsir itn pit In©? 128 'HERE Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose leaves fall: But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial, With an ancient melody Of an inward agony, Where Claribel low lieth. At eve the beetle boometh Athwart the thicket lone: At noon the bee low hummeth About the mossed headstone: At midnight the moon cometh, And looketh down alone. Her song the lintwhite swelleth The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth, The fledging throstle lispeth, The slumbrous wave outwelleth, The babbling runnel crispeth, The hollow grot replieth Where Claribel low lieth. Tennyson. ®tj£ JLairj'a ©rati*. 129 2. I heard no sounds, but such as evening sends Up from the city to these quiet shades ; A blended murmur sweetly harmonizing With flowing fountains, feathered minstrelsy, And voices from the hills. EUlhouse. 3. So evening's charming voices, welcomed ever, As signs of rest and peace s ; — the watchman's call, The closing gates, the Levite's mellow trump Announcing the returning moon, the pipe Of swains, the bleat, the bark, the housing-bell. MUlhouse. 4. What wakest thou, Spring? — sweet voices in the woods, And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute; Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes, The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute, Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee, Even as our hearts may be. He.rn.ans. 5. By the sleepy ripple of the stream, Which hath lulled thee into many a dream; By the shiver of the ivy-leaves To the wind of morn at thy casement-eaves, By the bees' deep murmur in the limes, . By the music of the Sabbath-chimes, - By every sound of thy native shade, Stronger and dearer the spell is made. Eemans. 130 (JJt iairj'js ffirsult. 6. The sparrow's chirrup on the roof, The slow clock ticking, and the sound "Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made. Tennyson. 7. Sometimes, when I'm alone, Just ere his coming, I have heard a sound, A strange, mysterious, melancholy sound, Like music in the air. Like wild sad music, More moving than the lute or viol touched By skilful fingers. Wailing in the air It seems around me, and withdraws as when One looks and lingers for a last adieu. Millhouse. 8. Thou hast been o'er solitary seas, and from their wastes brought back Each noise of waters that awoke in the mystery of thy track; , The chime of low soft southern waves on some green palmy shore, The hollow roll of distant surge, the gathered billow's roar. Hemans. 9. The lintwhite and the throstlecock Have voices sweet and clear; All in the bloomed May. They from the blosmy brere Call to the fleeting year, If that he would them hear And stay. Tennyson. QLlt 3taij's ffiiMlt. 131 10. The jar of life is still; the city speaks In gentle murmurs • voices chime with lutes Waked in the streets and gardens; loving pairs Eye the red west in one another's arms ; And nature, breathing dew and fragrance, yields A glimpse of happiness, which He, who formed Earth and the stars, had power to make eternal. Hillhouae. 11. But thou art swelling on, thou deep, Through many an olden clime, Thy billowy anthem, ne'er to sleep Until the close of time. Thou liftest up thy solemn voice To every wind and sky, And all our earth's green shores rejoice In that one harmony. It fills the noontide's calm profound, The sunset's heaven of gold; And the still midnight hears the sound, E'en as when first it rolled. Let there be silence deep and strange, Where sceptred cities rose! Thou, speak'st of one who doth not change — So may our hearts repose. EJemons. 12. A breeze that roves o'er stream and hill, Telling of winter gone, Hath such sweet falls — yet caught we still A farewell in its tone. Hermans. 132 at* laitrs's ®raxlt. 13. The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear; And floating about the undersky, Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear; But anon her awful jubilant voice, With a music strange and manifold, Flowed forth on a carol free and bold: As when a mighty people rejoice With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold, And the tumult of their acclaim is rolled Through the open gates of the city afar, To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star. Tennyson. 14. Then rose a nation's sound — Oh! what a power to bid the quick heart bound The wind bears onward with the stormy cheer Men give to glory on her high career ! Is there indeed such power? — far deeper dwells In one kind household voice, to reach the cells Whence happiness flows forth! Hemans. 15. Ye are from dingle and fresh glade, ye flowers! By some kind hand to cheer my dungeon sent; O'er you the oak shed down the summer showers, And the lark's nest was where your bright cups bent, Quivering to breeze and rain-drop, like the sheen Of twilight stars. On you Heaven's eye hath been. ®ijj JU&j'a ®xk(U. 133 Through the leaves, pouring its dark sultry blue Into your glowing hearts ; the bee to you Hath murmured, and the rill. My soul grows faint With passionate yearning, as its quick dreams paint Your haunts by dell and stream, — the green, the free, The full of all sweet sound, — the shut from me! Hemans. 16, Then on the silence of the snows there lay A Sabbath's quiet sunshine, — and its bell Filled the hushed air awhile, with lonely sway; For the stream's voice was chained by Winter's spell The deep wood-sounds had ceased. But rock and dell Rung forth, ere long, when strains of jubilee Pealed from the mountain-churches, with a swell Of praise to Him who stills the raging sea. Hemans. 17. Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: 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! Keats. 134 g[f)« 3U&£'js ©rwlt. 18. There came enchantment with the shifting wind, That did both drown and keep alive my ears. I threw my shell away upon the sand, And a wave filled it, as my sense was filled With that new blissful golden melody. A living death was in each gush of sounds, Each family of rapturous hurried notes, That fell, one after one, yet all at once, Like pearl beads dropping sudden from their string: And then another, then another strain, Each like a dove leaving its olive perch, With music winged instead of silent plumes, To hover round my head, and make me sick Of joy and grief at once. Keats. 19. Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, — Tumultuous, — and, in chords that tenderest be, He played an ancient ditty, long since mute, In Provence called, "La belle dame sans mercy;" Close to her ear touching the melody; — Wherewith disturbed, she uttered a soft moan : He ceased — she panted quick — and suddenly Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone: Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone. Keats. 20. Only overhead the sweet nightingale Ever sang more sweet as the day might fail, And snatches of its Elysian chant Were mixed with the dreams of the Sensitive Plant. Shelley. SP* 2,a&a'a ffixatlt. 135 21. The whirlwind is rolling, The thunder is tolling, The forest is swinging, The minster-bells ringing — Come away! Shelley. 22. 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 lore, which overflows hei bower. Shelley. 23. I stood within the city disinterred; And heard the autumnal leaves like light foot- falls Of spirits passing through the streets ; and heard The Mountain's slumberous voice at intervals Thrill through those roofless halls; The oracular thunder penetrating shook The listening soul in my suspended blood; I felt that Earth out of her deep heart spoke — I felt, but heard not. Shelley. 136 grfj* 3U&J'S ©rwlt. 24. Even so with smoothing gentleness began The mitred Preacher, winning audience close: Till, rising up, the rapid argument Soared to the Empyrean, linking earth With heaven by golden chains of eloquence; Till the mind, all its faculties and powers, Lay floating, self-surrendered in the deep Of admiration. Milman. 25. Ah! wherefore all this wormy circumstance? Why linger at the yawning tomb so long? for the gentleness of old Romance, The simple plaining of a minstrel's song! Fair reader, at the old tale take a glance, For hear, in truth, it doth not well belong To speak: — turn thee to the very tale, And taste the music of that vision pale. With duller steel than the Persean sword They cut away no formless monster's head, But one whose gentleness did well accord With death as life. The ancient harps have said, Love never dies, but lives, immortal lord: If Love impersonate was ever dead, Pale Isabella kissed it, and low moaned. 'Twas love; cold, — dead indeed, but not dethroned. Keats. 26. How sweet the answer Echo makes To Music at night, When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes; And far away, o'er lawns and lakes, Goes answering light. SElj* Stain's ffirarit. 137 Yet Love hath echoes truer far, And far more sweet, Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star, Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar, The songs repeat. 'Tis when the sigh in youth sincere, And only then, — The sigh that's breathed for one to hear, Is by that one, that only dear, Breathed back again! Moore. 27. The cheerful Sabbath bells, wherever heard, Strike pleasant on the sense, most like the voice Of one, who from the far-off hills proclaims Tidings of good to Zion: chiefly when Their piercing tones fall sudden on the ear Of the contemplant, solitary man, Whom thoughts abtruse or high have chanced to lure Forth from the walks of men, revolving oft, And oft again, hard matter, which eludes And baffles his pursuit — thought-sick and tired Of controversy, where no end appears, No clue to his research, the lonely man Half wishes for society again. Him, thus engaged, the Sabbath bells salute Sudden! his heart awakes, his ears drink in The cheering music; his relenting soul Yearns after all the joys of social life, And softens with the love of human kind. Lamb. 138 Oft* 3La)Js'K H&xztU. 28. Loud was the lightsome tumult of the shore, Oft music changed, but never ceased'her tone, And timely echoed back the measured oar, And rippling waters made a pleasant moan: The queen of tides on high consenting shone, And when a transient breeze swept o'er the wave, 'Twas, as if darting from her heavenly throne, A brighter glance her form reflected gave, Till sparkling billows seemed to 'light the banks they lave. Byron. 29. There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry; and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage-bell ; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell. , ' Did ye not hear it? — No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined, No sleep till morn when youth and pleasure meet, To chase the glowing hours with flying feet — But, hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before ! Arm! arm! it is — it is — the cannon's opening roarl Byron. Wjt 3Ulra'a ©rati*. 139 30. Clear, placid Leman 1 thy contrasted lake, With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring. This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction; once I loved Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved, That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. Byron. 31. It is the hush of night, and all between Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen, Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear Precipitously steep ; and, drawing near, There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more: He is an evening reveller, who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill; At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill; But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into nature's breast the spirit of her hues. Byron. 140 f&U iairj's ©istlt. 32. The sky is changed! — and such a change! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Par along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud! And this is in the night: — most glorious night! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me he A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — A portion of the tempest and of thee! Byron. 33. A populous solitude of bees and birds, And fairy-formed and many-coloured things, Who worship him with notes more sweet than words, And innocently open their glad wings, Fearless and full of life: the gush of springs, And fall of lofty fountains and the bend Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, Mingling, and made by love, unto one mighty end. Byron. 34. Alice! one word! Let me hear thy voice assuring me of life. Ah me 1 that soft cheek brings me by its touch From the black, dizzy, roaring brink of death, At once into the heart of happiness ! Wilson. Sfre Ib&j'js ©rati*. 141 35. Sweet Mary Gray! thou hast a silver voice, And wildly to thy native melodies Can tune its flute-like breath — sing us a song, And let it be, even mid our merriment, Most sad, most slow, that when its music dies, We may address ourselves to revelry, More passionate from the calm/ as men leap up To this world's business from some heavenly dream. Wilson. S6. Why hang the sweet bells mute in Magdalene- Tower, Still wont to usher in delightful May, The dewy silence of the morning hour Cheering with many a changeful roundelay? And those pure youthful voices, where are they, That hymning far up in the listening sky, Seemed issuing softly through the gates of day, As if a troop of sainted souls on high Were hovering o'er the earth with angel melody ? Wilson. 37. From the silent heart of a hollow yew, The owl sailed forth with a loud halloo; And his large yellow eyes looked bright With wonder, in the wan moonlight, As hovering white, and still as snow, He caught a glance of the things below, All burning on the bridge like fire In the sea-green glow of their wild attire. "Halloo! Halloo! tu-whit! tu-whoo!" Wilson. 142 ®f)* JUirj's ©writ. 38. Piny wood through which the night wind roars. Barry Cornwall. 39. Come, Mary Maointyre — f,rve us a song, Then to our work again. Thou hast a voice So sweet that even the linnet on the broom Might take a lesson from thee. Wilson. 40. thou, vast Ocean! Ever-sounding sea! Thou symbol of a drear immensity! Thou thing that windest round the solid world Like a huge animal, which, downward hurled From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone, Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone, Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep . Is as a giant's slumber, loud and deep. Barry Cornwall. 41. A sourfd is in the silent night abroad, A sound of broken waters. Milman. 42. Blow music o'er the festal land, from harp And merry rebeck, till the floating air Seem harmony; still all fierce sounds of war; No breath within the clarion's brazen throat ; Soft slumber in the war-steed's drooping mane. Milman. 43. Dimly mingling sounds, Bushing of torrents, roar of prisoned winds. Milman* ■ 3Hj* Cain's ffiiwh. 143 44 That hour, one horn with long and solemn blast Went wailing up the heavens; less shrill, less drear, Blew throuehihefatal Roncesvajles pass, In after timcsYKoland's deep bugle, heard Dolorous, so poets feign, on Paris wall. The air seemed shivering where the knell passed on, As with a cold wind'shuddered the thick trees. MUman. 45 The thin whispering leaves, The welling water's flow, the lingering, long, Love-dwelling descant of the joyous birds Came mingling with the languor of his sense, Most soothing each in turn, most slumbering soft. HUman. 46. Trumpets blown Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival Upon the gold clouds metropolitan, Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir Of strings in hollow shells. Keats. 47. Hark! 'Tis the early April lark. Keats. 48. Thou shalt hear Distant harvest-carols clear. Keats. -44 atfj* 3U!i2'a ©rati*. 49. Never did music sink into my soul So " silver-sweet/' as when thy first weak wail On my rapt ear in doubtful murmurs stole, Thou child of love and promise ! What a tale Of hopes and fears, of gladness and of gloom, Hung on that slender filament of sound! A. A. W(/ds. 50. Oh I let me hear that solemn strain again ; It came upon me like the ocean's voice, Filling me with lofty awe! Lawrence Holmes. W\)ut %s& nf tju Sal} Its pn In©? |HE laverock loves the dewy light, The bee the balmy foxglove fair; The shepherd loves the glowing morn, When song and sunshine fill the air: But I love best the summer moon, With all her stars, pure streaming still ; For then, in light and love I meet The sweet lass of Gleneslan-mill. Cunningham, 2. Awake, my love! ere morning's ray Throws off night's weed of pilgrim gray; Ere yet the hare, cowered close from view, Licks from her fleece the clover dew: Or wild swan shakes her snowy wings, By hunters roused from secret springs : Or birds upon the boughs awake, Till green Arbigland's woodlands shake. Cunningham. 10 lis 146 ©5* 3LaJrs's ©zztlt. 3. Till twilight ushers in the summer night: And toil reposed, and stars were rising o'er The inn's long gallery and its open door. Hammer. 4. Now rose the sun, and shy and shamefaced night Fled downward from the intolerable light; 'Neath the broad earth to other stars she goes On twilight wings, and seeks her loved repose. Hanmer. 5. Thou comest to me by morn, my love, and thou art brighter far, Than the new light. Hanmer. 6. The morning broke. Light stole upon the clouds "With a strange beauty. Earth received again Its garment of a thousand dyes; and leaves, And delicate blossoms, and the painted flowers, And every thing that bendeth to the dew, And stirreth with the daylight, lifted up Its beauty to the breath of that sweet morn. Willis. 7. Day lit the woody mountains; in the dell Were heard the shepherd's song and wether's bell; The kid in circles gambolled on the lea, And dew, like beauty's tears, empearled each tree; The lark, as winged with rapture, sprang on high, And sang amidst the roses of the sky : Yes, all without was brightness, and a voice From wide creation seemed to cry "Rejoice 1" Michell. SCt* 3La&S's ffiiscU. 147 8. There is a home-felt stillness in the hour When heaven's bright azure takes a deeper shade, And fragrance sleeps in every closing flower; Then, ere the amber glow is all decayed, The volume or the work aside is laid, And the pleased mother views, with glistening eye, The little games by happy childhood played, Her fair-haired girls all breathless running by, With cries of mimic fear and laugh of ecstasy. When the far clock hath tolled the hour of rest, They, side by side, before their mother kneel, And pray their gentle slumbers may be blest, And their pure spirits dewlike influence feel Of grace and goodness. — Oh! what raptures steal Upon a parent's soul lat childhood's prayer! That -innocence might all her sorrows heal: The lifted hands, the features' placid air, The hymn so sweetly lisped, have all enchantment there. Maldon. 9. Upon that night, so beautiful and mild, When heaven was all one cloud of stars and dew. Anon. 10. Hush 'tis a holy hour — the quiet room Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance through the gloom, And the sweet stillness, down on bright young, heads, With all their clustering locks, untouched by care, And bowed, as flowers are bo wed with night in prayer. Hemans. 148 ©Jt auirj's ®xatlt. 11. How aromatic evening grows? The flowers And spicy shrubs exhale like onycha; Spikenard and henna emulate in sweets. Blest hour! which He, who fashioned it so fair, So softly glowing, so contemplative, Hath set, and sanctified to look on man. Hilllu>use. 12. When cats run home and light is come, And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits. Tennyson. 13. When merry milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay, Twice or thrice his roundelay: Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits, 14. I' the glooming light Of middle night. 15. Now is done thy long day's work; Fold thy palms across thy breast, Fold thine arms, turn to thy rest. Tennyson. Tennyson. Tennyson. Kit 3LaJts'jS ©twit. 149 16. ThoughNighthathclimbedherpeakofhighestnoon, And bitter blasts the screaming autumn whirl, All night through archways of the bridged pearl, And portals of pure silver walks the moon. Tennyson. 17. Oh! timely happy, timely wise, Hearts that with rising morn arise! Eyes that the beam celestial view. Which evermore makes all things new! New every morning is the love Our wakening and uprising prove ; Through sleep and darkness safely brought, Restored to life, and power, and thought. Keble. 18. When the soft dews of kindly sleep My wearied eyelids gently steep, Be my last thought, how sweet to rest For ever on my Saviour's breast. Abide with me from morn till eve, For without Thee I cannot live: Abide with me when night is nigh, For without Thee I dare not die. Keble. 19. 'Tis morning ; and the sun, with ruddy orb Ascending, fires the horizon ; while the clouds, That crowd away before the driving wind, More ardent as the disk emerges more, Resemble most some city in a blaze, Seen through the leafless wood. Cowper. 160 Qfti 5,a&j'j& ®zatlt. 20. The mid-day sun, with fiercest glare, Broods o'er the hazy, twinkling air. Keble. 21. "Stop, stop, John Gilpin! — Here's the house" — They all at once did cry; "The dinner waits, and we are tired!" Said Gilpin— "So am I!" Cowper. 22. And oft he traced the uplands to survey, When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn, The crimson cloud, blue main, and, mountain gray, And lake, dinvgleaming on the smoky lawn: Far to the west the long, long vale withdrawn, Where twilight loves to linger for a while; And now he faintly kens the hounding fawn, And villager abroad at early toil. But lo! the sun appears! and heaven, earth, ocean, smile. Beattie. 23. The night was Winter in his roughest mood ; The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon Upon the southern side of the slant hills, And where the woods fence off the northern blast The season smiles, resigning all its rage, And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue Without a cloud, and white without a speck The dazzling splendor of the scene below. Again the harmony comes o'er the vale; And through the trees I view the embattled tower, Whence all the music. Coviper. gt!j* 3La&a's ©raxlii 151 24. Come, Evening, once again, season of peace ; * Return, sweet Evening, and continue long ! Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, With matron step slow moving, while the Night Treads on thy sweeping train ; one hand employed In letting fall the curtain of repose On bird and beast, the other charged for man With sweet oblivion of the cares of day. Cowper. 25. Just when our drawing-rooms begin to blaze With lights, by clear reflection multiplied From many a mirror, in which he of Gath, Goliath, might have seen his giant bulk Whole' without stooping, towering crest and all, My pleasures, too, begin. But me perhaps The glowing hearth may satisfy awhjle With faint illumination, that uplifts The shadows to the ceiling, there by fits Dancing uncouthly to the quivering flame. Not undelightful is an hour to me So spent in parlour twilight: such a gloom Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind, The mind contemplative, with some new theme Pregnant or indisposed alike to all. Cowper. 26. The Sun was sunk, and after him the star Of Hesperus, whose ofiice is to bring Twilight upon the Earth, short arbiter 'Twixt day and night, and now from end to end Night's hemisphere had veiled the horizon round. Milton. 162 ffijt HLeHj'jS ffiiailt. 27. 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-brier, 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 : Some time walking, not unseen, By hedge-row 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 plowman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrowed land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his sithe, And every shepherd tells his tale , Under the hawthorn in the dale. 28. At midnight, when mankind is wrapt in peace, * And worldly fancy feeds on golden dreams. Young. I!)* 3,a&s'« ©ratlt. 153 29. Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in. s's ©tsdt. 17. Our rooks are rough, but smiling there The acacia waves her yellow hair, Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less For flowering in a wilderness Then come — thy Arab maid will be The loved and lone acacia tree. Moore. 18.- Cowslips wan that hang the pensive head. Milton. 19. The slender bryony that weaves His pale green flowers and glossy leaves Aloft in smooth and lithe festoons; And crowned compact with yellow cones, Mid purple petals dropped with green, The woody nightshade climbs between. Mant. 20. Sweet blooms genista in the myrtle shade. Darwin. 21. "With solemn adoration down they cast Their crowns, inwove with amaranth and gold; Immortal amaranth, a flower which once In Paradise, fast by the tree of life, Began to bloom; but soon for man's offence To heaven removed, where first it grew, there grows, And flowers aloft, shading the fount of life, And where the river of bliss through midst of heaven Eolls o'er Elysian flowers her amber stream, With those that never fade. Milton. ®Iji la&a'a ©rati*. 181 22. Nightshade's purple flowers, Hanging so sleepily their turbaned heads, Rested upon the hedge. Twamley. 23. I wander out and rhyme; What hour the dewy morning's infancy Hangs on each blade of grass and every tree, And sprents the red thighs of the humble bee, Who 'gins betimes unwearied minstrelsy; Who breakfasts, dines, and most divinely sups, With every flower save golden buttercups,— =• On whose proud bosoms he will never go, But passes by with scarcely "how do ye do," Since in their showy, shining, gaudy cells Haply the summer's honey never dwells. Clare. 24. When once the sun sinks in the west, And dew-drops pearl the evening's breast; Almost as pale as moonbeams are, Or its companionable star, The evening primrose opes anew Its delicate blossoms to the dew; And, hermit-like, shunning the light, Wastes its fair bloom upon the Night, Who, blindfold to its fond caresses, Knows not the beauty he possesses. Thus it blooms on while Night is by; When Day looks out with open eye, 'Bashed at the gaze it cannot shun, It faints, and withers, and is gone. Clars. 182 ®it SU&j'a ©rwle. TRAVELLER'S JOT. 25. Who gave to thee that name, So full of homely and most pleasant thought? Its charm might win renown For many a thing with far less beauty fraught. There's something in it tells Of wanderings ended brightly; — of the close, Mid old familiar scenes, Of the tired wayfarer's amount of woes. Wert thou the humblest flower That we e'er scorn with that rude term, "a weed," Thy name would unto me For kindly thought and pleasant fancies plead. But thou art beautiful, And our sole native of thy graceful band, Which we so prize, and seek, In varied form and hue, through many a land. < How often have I paused, A joyous traveller, in sooth to cull A garland of thy flowers, When with faint sweets the sun had filled them full. Twamley. 26. The cranberry blossom dwelleth there • Amid the mountains cold, Seeming like a fairy gift Left on the dreary wold. Oh ! and 'tis very beautiful, The flowers are pink and white, And the small oval polished leaves Are evergreen and bright. Qtljje 2,&&s'a ffirolt. 183 'Tis such a wee, fair, dainty thing, You'd think a greenhouse warm Would be its proper dwelling-place, Kept close from wind and storm. But on the moors it dwelleth free Like a fearless mountain child; With a rosy cheek, a lightsome look, And a spirit strong and wild. The bushes all in water grow, In those small pools that lie In scores among the turfy knolls On mountains broad and high. TwamUy. 27. reader! hast thou ever stood to see The holly tree? The eye that contemplates it well perceives Its glossy leaves ; Ordered by an Intelligence so wise As might confound an atheist's sophistries. Below a circling fence its leaves are seen Wrinkled and keen! No grazing cattle through their prickly round Can reach to wound ; But, as they grow where nothing is to fear, Smooth and unarmed the pointless leaves appear. Souihey. 28. Thine full many a pleasing bloom Of blossoms lost to all perfume; Thine the dandelion flowers, Gilt with dew like sun with showers. Clare. 184 gtljt 3U&2's ©tadt. 29. Like to an almond-tree, mounted high On top of green Selinis, all alone, "With blossoms brave bedecked daintily; Whose tender looks do tremble every one, At every little breath that under heaven is blown. 30. Bring lilies for a maiden's grave, Roses to deck the bride, Tulips for all who, love through life In brave attire to ride: Bring each for each, in bower and hall, But cull the columbine for all. The columbine? Full many a flower Hath hues more clear and bright, Although she doth in purple go, In crimson, pink, and white. "Why, when so many fairer shine "Why choose the homely columbine? Know ye the cap which Folly wears In ancient masques and plays? Does not the columbine recall That toy of olden days? And is not Folly reigning now O'er many a wisdom-written brow? 'Tis Folly's flower, that homely one; That universal guest Makes every garden but a type Of every human breast; For though ye tend both mind and bower, There's still a nook for Folly's flower. Twamley. gtij* au&s's ©ritit. 185 31. On scaly stem, with cottony down, O'erlaid, its lemon-coloured crown, "Which drooped unclosed, but now erect, The colts-foot bright develops; decked (Ere yet the impurpled stalk displays Its dark green leaves) with countless rays, Round countless tubes, alike in dye, Expanded. 32. Yonder is a girl who lingers Where wild honeysuckle grows, Mingled with the brier rose. Mant. H. Smith. 33. A sweeter spot on earth was never found: I looked, and looked, and still with new delight ; Such joy my soul, such pleasures filled my sight; And the fresh eglantine exhaled a breath, Whose odours were of power to raise from death. Dryden. 34. The green and graceful fern, How beautiful it is ! There's not a leaf in all the land So wonderful, I wis. Have ye ever watched it budding, With each stem and leaf wrapped small, Coiled up within each other Like a round and hairy ball? Have ye watched that ball unfolding Each closely nestling curl, And its fair and feathery leaflets Their spreading forms unfurl? 186 1K,lt SLs&s'js ®xzih. Oh! then most gracefully they wave In the forest, like a sea, And dear as they are beautiful , Are these fern leaves to me. For all of early childhood — Those past and blessed years To which we ever wistfully Look back through memory's tears — The sports and fancies then my own, Those fern leaves dear and wild Bring back to my delighted breast — I am once more a child. Twamley. 35. Fair maidens, I'll sing you a song; I'll tell you the bonny wild flower, Whose blossoms so yellow, and branches so long, O'er moor and o'er rough rocky mountain are flung, Far away from trim garden and bower. ' It clings to the crag, and it clothes the wild hill; It stands sturdily breasting the storm, When the loud-voiced winds sing so drearily shrill. And the snow-flakes in eddies fall silent and still, And the shepherd can scarce wrap him warm. 'Tis the bonny bright gorse, that gleams cheerily forth, Like sunlight e'er lingering here, In the verdure of spring, and when summer on earth Has called all the fairest of blossoms to birth, As a crown for the noon of the year. gilj* Stag's ffilMlt. 187 36. The foxgloves and the fern, How gracefully they grow, With grand old oaks above them And wavy grass below! The stately trees stand round Like columns fair and high, And the spreading branches bear A glorious canopy Of leaves, that rustling wave In the whispering summer air, And gayly greet the sunbeams That are falling brightly there. The miser-leaves ! — they suffer Not a gleam to twinkle through, And in the foxglove's hairy cup, At noonday, drops of dew Are hanging round like tears Of sorrow, that the sun Gives to other flowers his kisses, But to her soft lips not one. Twamley. 37. Oh! come to the river's rim, come with us there, For the white water-lily is wondrous fair, With her large broad leaves on the stream afloat, Each one a capacious fairy-boat. The swan among flowers ! How stately ride Her snow-white leaves on the glittering tide! And the dragon-fly gallantly stays to sip A kiss of dew from her goblet's lip. 188 gtfc 3U&2'« ©ml*. 38. Hawthorn, famed mid vernal scene For gracing May's propitious hour With prodigality of flower, Pink-anthered mid its petals pale, And lending fragrance to the galu; Hailed from its fair and sweet array The namesake of the loyely May. Ihvamley. 39. And thou, so rich in gentle names, appealing To hearts that own our nature's common lot; Those, styled by sportive fancy's better feeling, A Thought, The Heart's Ease, or Forget me not Barton. 40. The erica here, That o'er the Caledonian hills sublime Spreads its dark mantle, (where the bees delight To seek their purest honey,) flourishes; Sometimes with bells like amethysts, and then, Paler, and shaded like the maiden's cheek With gradual blushes — other while, as white As rime that hangs upon the frozen spray. Of this, old Scotia's hardy mountaineers Their rustic couches form; and there enjoy Sleep, which, beneath his velvet canopy, Luxurious idleness implores in vain. Twamley. 41. Ah! 'tis a goodly little thing, It groweth for the poor, And many a peasant blesses it, Beside his cottage door. Stijt SU&j'js ®rs4t. 189 He thinketh how tMose slender stems That shimmer in the sun, Are rich for him in web and woof, And shortly shall be spun. He thinketh how those tender flowers Of seed will yield him store; And sees in thought his next year's crop, Blue, shining round his door. Oh! the goodly flax-flower! It groweth on the hil^; And be the breeze awake or sleep, It never standeth still ! It seemeth all astir with life, As if it loved to thrive, As if it had a merry heart Within its stem alive! Then fair befall the flax-field; And may the kindly showers Give strength unto its shining stems, Give seed unto its flowers. Mary Howitt. 42. Why this flower is now called so, List, sweet maids, and you shall know. Understand, this firstling was Once a brisk and bonny lasse, (Kept as close as Danae was;) Who a sprightly springall loved, And, to have it fully proved, Up she got upon a wall, Tempting down to slide withall; But the silken twist untied, So she fell, and, bruised, she died. 190 %\t litilj'S ©rscU. Love, in pity of the deed, And her loving luoklesse speed, Changed her to this plant, we call Now, the Flower of the "Wall. Herrick. 43. Sweet violets, Love's paradise, that spread Your gracious odours, which you couched bear Within your paly faces, Upon the gentle wing,of some calm-breathing wind That plays amidsPthe plain ; If, by the favour of propitious stars, you gain Such grace as in my lady's bosom place to find, Be proud to touch those places. Scott. 44. I'll go and peep at the pimpernel, And see if she think the clouds look well; For if the sun shine, And 'tis like to be fine, I shall go to the"fair, For my sweetheart is there: So, pimpernel, what bode the clouds and the sky? If fair weather, no maiden so merry as I. Now the pimpernel-flower had folded up Her little gold star in her coral cup, And unto the maid Thus her warning said: Though the sun smile down, There's a gathering frown O'er the checkered blue of the clouded sky; So tarry at home, for a storm is nigh. Tuiamley. SCii* SLaij's ®xstlt. 191 45. The tuberose, with her silver light, That in the garden of Malay- Is called the mistress of the night; So like a bride, scented and bright, She comes out when the sun's away. Moore. 46. It was the tall, sweet-scented flag, Lay pictured there so true, I could have deemed so A fairy hand The faithful image drOTT. The falchion-leaves, all long and sharp; The stem, like a tall leaf too, Except where, halfway up its side, A cone-shaped flowerspike grew. Like a lady's finger, taper, long, From end to end arrayed In close scale-armour, that was all Of starry flowers made. If you could fancy fairy folk "Would mimic work of ours, You'd think their dainty fingers here Had wrought mosaic flowers. The tiny petals neatly formed, With geometric skill, Are each one so exactly shaped, Its proper place to fill. And stamens, like fine golden dust, Spangle the flowerets green ; Aught more compact or beautiful Mine eyes have never seen! TwwmUy. 192 Bit 3Uba'« ffiratlt. 47. No flower amid the garden fairer grows Than the sweet lily of the lowly vale, The queen of flowers. Keats. • 48. Emilia. — Of all flowers, Methinks a rose is best. Servant. — Why, gentle madam? Emilia. — It is the very emblem of a maid: For when the west wind courts her gently, How modestly she b^Ks, and paints the sun With her chaste blushes ! When the north comes near her, Rude and impatient, then, like chastity, She locks her beauties in her bud again, And leaves him to base friars. Beaumont. 49. The blue-eyed forget-me-not, beautiful flower, Half-wooed and half-stolen, I brought from her bower, By the bright river's brink, where she nestled so low, That the water o'er stem and o'er leaflet might flow; As if, like Narcissus, she foolishly tried To gaze on her own gentle face in the tide. Half inclined, half reluctant, the flower bade adieu To the friends left behind in the dell where she grew ; And a few shiningl drops, from the river-spray flung, Like tears of regret on her azure eyes hung; But I kissed them away, as a lover had done, In joy that my fair river-beauty I'd won. Twamtey. SCij* JLahj'g ffirarfe. 193 50. Around the door the honeysuckle climbed, . And multiflora spread her countless roses, And never minstrel sang nor poet rhymed Romantic scene where happiness reposes, Sweeter to sense than that enchanting dell Where home-sick memory fondly loves to dwelL Anon. W\fal$ is ipntr fitmrarib Brarantit duljarmte? NGELO, There is a kind of character in thy life, That, to the observer, doth thy history Fully unfold: Thyself and thy belongings Are not thine own so proper, as to waste Thyself upon thy virtues, them on thee. Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do; Not light them for themselves: for if our virtues Did not go forth with us, 'twere all alike As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touched, But to fine issues: nor nature never lends The smallest scruple of her excellence, But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines Herself the glory of a creditor, Both thanks and use. Shakspeare. 194 gtfjt 2,a&s's ffiraxt*. 195 Sliyloch, the world thinks, and I think so too, That thou but leadest this fashion of thy malice To the last hour of act ; and then, 'tis thought, Thou'lt show thy mercy, and remorse more strange Than is thy strange apparent cruelty: And, where thou now exact'st the penalty, (Which is a pound of this poor merchant's flesh,) Thou wilt not only lose the forfeiture, But, touched with human gentleness and love, Forgive a moiety of the principal ; Glancing an eye of pity on his losses, That have of late so huddled on his back; Enough to press a royal merchant down, And pluck commiseration of his state From brassy bosoms and rough hearts of flint, From stubborn Turks and Tartars never trained To offices of tender courtesy. "We all expect a gentle answer, Jew. Shakspeare. Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one: Shall we be sundered? shall we part, sweet girl? No ; let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me, how we may fly, Whither to go, and what to bear with us: And do not seek to take your change upon you, To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out; For, by this heaven, now at our sorrow's pale, Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee. Shakspeare 196 fyfa 3U&2'« ©tatlt. 4. Why, Peiruchio is coming, in a new hat, and an old jerkin; a pair of old breeches, thrice turned; a pair of boots that had been candle-cases, one buckled, another laced; an old rusty sword ta'en out of the town. armory, with a broken hilt, and chapeless, with two broken points: His horse biped with an old mothy saddle, the stirrups of no kindred: besides, possessed with the glanders, and like to mose in the chine; troubled with the lampass, infected with the fashions, full of wind- galls, sped with spavins, raied with the yellows, past cure of the fives, stark spoiled with the staggers, be- gnawn with the bots ; swayed in the back, and shonlder- shotten; near legged before, and with a half-checked bit, and a headstall of sheep's leather; which being restrained to keep him from stumbling, hath been often burst, and now repaired with knots ; one girt six times pierced, and a woman's crupper of velure, which halh two letters for her name, fairly set down in studs, and here and there pieced with packthread. Sfiakspeare. 5. In faith; for you are called plain Kate, And bonny Kate, and sometimes Kate the curst; But Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom, Kate of Kate-hall, my super-dainty Kate, For dainties are all cates: and therefore, Kate, Take this of me, Kate of my consolation; — Hearing thy mildness praised in every town, Thy virtues spoke of and thy beauties sounded, (Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,) Myself am moved to woo thee for my wife. Shakspeare. t< SUfcj'a ©raxU. 197 6. sweet Portia, Here are a few of the unpleasantest words That ever blotted paper! Gentle lady, When I did first impart my love to you, I freely told you, all the wealth I had Kan in my veins, I was a gentleman ; And then I told you true: and yet, dear lady, Rating myself at nothing, you shall see How much I was a braggart: .When I told you My state was nothing, I should then have told you That I was worse than nothing; for, indeed, I have engaged myself to a dear friend, Engaged my friend to Ids meer enemy, To feed by means. Shakspeare. 7. O, you are sick of self-love, Malvolio, and taste with a distempered appetite : to be generous, guiltless, and of free disposition, is to take those things for bird-bolts, that you deem cannon-bullets. There is no slander in an allowed fool, though he do nothing but rail ; nor no railing in a known discreet man, though he do nothing but reprove. Shakspeare. 8. Her natural posture? — Chide me, dear stone ; that I may say, indeed, Thou art Hermione : or, rather, thou art she, In thy not chiding ; for she was as tender As infancy and grace. But yet, Paulina, Hermione was not so much wrinkled ; nothing So aged as this seems. Shakspeare. 198 ®ijt 3U&2's ffirwlt. 9. Yes, Helen, you might be my daughter-in-law ; God shield you mean it not! daughter, and mother, So strive upon your pulse: What, pale again? My fear hath catohed your fondness : Now I see The mystery of your loneliness, and find Your salt tears head. Now to all sense 'tis gross, You love my son; invention is ashamed, Against the proclamation of thy passion, To say, thou dost not: therefore tell me true; But tell me then, 'tis so : — for, look, thy cheeks Confess it one to the other ; and thine eyes See it so grossly shown in thy behaviours, That in their kind they speak it; only sin And hellish obstinacy tie thy tongue, That truth should be suspected : Speak is't so ? If it be so, you have wound a goodly clue ; If it be not, forswear't : howe'er I charge thee, As heaven shall work in me for thine avail, To tell me truly. Shakspeare. 10. Fare thee well ; and God have mercy upon one of our souls ! He may have mercy upon mine ; but my hope is better, and so look to thyself. Thy friend, as thou usest him, and thy sworn enemy, Andrew Ague- cheek. Shakspeare. 11. Hark, Perdita, I'll hear you by and by. Shakspeare. Wj* 3U&S'S ©r«U. 199 12. Orsino, noble sir, Be pleased that I shake off these names you gave me j Antonio never yet was thief, or pirate, Though I confess, on base and ground enough, Orsino's enemy. A witchcraft drew me hither : That most ungrateful boy there, by your side, From the rude sea's enraged and foamy mouth Did I redeem; a wreck past hope he was: His life I gave him, and did thereto add My love, without retention, or restraint, All his in dedication: for his sake Did I expose myself, pure for his love, Into the danger of this adverse town ; Drew to defend him, when he was beset: Where being apprehended, his false cunning (Not meaning to partake with me in danger) Taught him to face me out of his acquaintance, And grew a twenty-years removed thing, While one would wink; denied me mine own purse, Which I had recommended to his use Not half an hour before. SJiaTcspeare. 13. Dost thou hear, Oamillo? I conjure thee, by all the parts of man, Which honour does acknowledge, — whereof the least Is not this suit of mine, — that thou declare What incidency thou dost guess of harm Is creeping toward me ; how far off, how near ; Which way to be prevented, if to be; If not, how best to bear it. ShaJcspeare. 200 ffltt SLalj'a ®xmU. 14. The king hath happily received, Macbeth, The news- of thy success ; and when he reads Thy personal venture in the rebel's fight, His wonders and his praises do contend, Which should be thine, or his : Silenced with that, In viewing o'er the rest o' the selfsame day, He finds thee in the stout Norweyan ranks, Nothing afraid of what thyself didst make, Strange images of death. As thick as tale, Came post with post; and every one did bear Thy praises in his kingdom's great defence, And poured them down before him. Shakspeare, 15. Come hither, Hubert. my gentle Hubert^ "We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh There is a soul counts thee her creditor, And with advantage means to pay thy love: And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. Give me thy hand. I had a thing- to say, — But I will fit it wMisome better time. By heaven, Hu&erVi am almost ashamed To say what good respect I have of thee. SJiakspeare. 16. Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster, Hast thou, according to thy oath and band, Brought hither Henry Hereford, thy bold son; Here to make good the boisterous late appeal, Which then our leisure would not let us hear, Against the duke of Norfolk, Thomas Mowbray ? Shakspeare. IBftt 3ta&2)'S ffiiaclt. 201 17. See, see, King Richard doth himself appear, As doth the blushing discontented sun From out the fiery portal of the east ; When he perceives, the envious clouds are bent To dim his glory, and to stain the tract Of his bright passage to the Occident. Yet looks he like a king ; behold, his eye, As bright as is the eagle's, lightens forth Controlling majesty : Alack, alack, for wo, That any harm should stain so fair a show ! Shdksjpeare. 18. The archdeacon hath divided it Into three limits, very equally : England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, By south and east, is to my part assigned: All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, And all the fertile land within that bound, To Owen Glendower : — and, dear coz, to you The remnant northward, lying off from Trent. And our indentures tripartite are drawn : Which being sealed interchangeably, (A business that this night may execute,) To-morrow, cousin Percy, you, and I, And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth, To meet your father, and the Scottish power, As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. My father Glendower is not ready yet, Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days: — Within that space you may have drawn together Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. Shalcspeare. 202 ®i)t labs'* ©tacit. 19. My name is Constance; I was Geffrey's wife; Young Arthur is my son, and he is lost: I am not mad ; — I would to heaven I were ! For then, 'tis like I should forget myself: Oh, if I could, what grief should I forget! — Preach some philosophy to make me mad, And thou shalt be canonized, cardinal ; For, being not mad, but sensible of grief, My reasonable part produces reason How I may be delivered of these woes, And teaches me to kill or hang myself: If I were mad, I should forget my son ; Or madly think, a babe of clouts were he ; I am not mad ; too well, too well I feel The different plague of each calamity. Shakspeare. 20. "Why, then I see A very valiant rebel of that name. I am the Prince of Wales; and think not, Percy, To share with me in glory any more : Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere ; Nor can one England brook a double reign, Of Harry Percy, and the Prince of Wales. Shakspeare. 21. That Julius Ocesar was a famous man; With what his valour did enrich his wit, His wit set down to make his valour live: Death makes no conquest of this conqueror; For now he lives in fame, though not in life. Shakspeare. QCfue SUirj's ©twit. 203 22. Then, as I said, the duke, great Bolingbroke, Mounted upon a hot and fiery steed, "Which his aspiring rider seem'd to know,— - With slow, but stately pace kept on his course, While all tongues cried — God save thee, Boling- broke ! You would have thought the very windows spake, So many greedy looks of young and old Through casements darted their desiring eyes Upon his visage ; and that all the walls, With painted imagery, had said at once, — Jesu preserve thee ! welcome, Bolingbroke ! Whilst he, from one side to the other turning, Bare-headed, lower than his proud steed's neck, Bespake them thus, — I thank you, countrymen: And thus still doing, thus he passed along. Shakspeare. 23. Too modest are you; More cruel to your good report, than grateful To us that give you truly : by your patience, If 'gainst yourself you be incensed, we'll put you (Like one that means his proper harm) in manacles, Then reasonsafely with you. Therefore be it known, As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius Wears this war's garland: in token of the which, My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him, With all his trim belonging ; and, from this time, For what he did before Corioli, call him, With all the applause and clamour of the host, Caius Marcius Coriolanus. Bear the addition nobly ever I Shalcspeare. 204 ffite 3U&2's ©rati*.' 24. A goodly portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage : and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r- Lady, inclining to threescore ; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should hi lewdly given, he deceiveth me ; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the fruit may be known by the tree, as the tree by the fruit, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this month ? Shakspeare. 25. Brutus, I do observe you now of late; I have not from your eyes that gentleness, And show of love, as I was wont to have . You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand Over your friend that loves you. Shakspeare. 26. Thus stands my state, 'twixt Cade and York dis- tressed; Like to a ship, that, having 'scaped a tempest, Is straightway calmed, and boarded with a pirate* But now is Cade driven back, his men dispersed ; And now is York in arms, to second him. I pray thee, Buckingham, go and meet him ; And ask him, what's the reason of these arms. Tell him, I'll send duke Edmund to the Tower : — And, Somerset, we will commit thee thither, Until his army be dismissed from him. Shakspeare. 5IIJ.E 3lai!2's ffirwlt, 205 27. Leave me awhile. — It shall be to the duchess of Alengon, The French king's sister: he shall marry her. — Anne Bullen! No; I'll no Anne Bullens for him: There's more in't than fair visage. — Bullen I No, we'll no Bullens! — Speedily I wish To hear from Kome. — The marchioness of Pem* broke ! Shahspeare. 28. Well, well, he was the covertest sheltered traitor That ever lived. Look you, my lord mayor, "Would you imagine, or almost believe, (Were't not, that by great preservation "We live to tell it you) the subtle traitor This day had plotted, in the council-house, To murder me, and my good lord of Gloster? Shdkspeare. 29. Cassius, Be not deceived: If I have veiled my look, I turn the trouble of my countenance Merely upon myself. ' Vexed I am Of late with passions of some difference, Conceptions only proper to myself, Which give some soil, perhaps, to my behaviours: But let not therefore my good friends be grieved, (Among which number, Cassius, be you one,) Nor construe any further my neglect, Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war, Forgets the shows of love to other men. SfiaJcspeare. 206 ®ijt 3U&s's ©twit. 30. Speak to me home, mince not the general tongue: Name Cleopatra as she's called in Eome: Rail thou in Fulvia's phrase; and taunt my faults With such full license, as both truth and malice Have power to utter. 0, then we bring forth weeds, When our quick winds lie still ; and our ill, told us, Is as our earing. Fare thee well awhile. Shakspeare. 31. Scribe. Say, Katharine, Queen of England, come into the court. Crier. Katharine, queen of England, &c. [The Queen makes no answer, rises out of her chair, goes about the court, comes to the king, and kneels at his feet ; then speaks."] Queen. Sir, I desire you, do me right and justice; And to bestow your pity on me : for I am a most poor woman, and a stranger, Born out of your dominions : having here No judge indifferent, nor no more assurance Of equal friendship and proceeding. Alas, sir, In what have I offended you ? what cause Hath my behaviour given to your displeasure, That thus you should proceed to put me off, And take your good grace from me? Heaven witness, I have been to you a true and humble wife, At all times to your will conformable: Ever in fear to kindle your dislike, Yea, subject to your countenance; glad, or sorry, As I saw it inclined. When was the hour I ever contradicted your desire, Qt&t lairs'* ffirwlt. 207 Or made it not mine too? Or -which of your friends Have I not strove to love, although I knew He were mine enemy ? what friend of mine, That had to him derived your anger, did I Continue in my liking? nay, gave not notice He was from thence discharged ? Sir, call to mind, That I have been your wife, in this obedience, Upwards of twenty years, and have been blest With many children by you : If, in the course And process of this time, you can report, And prove it too, against mine honour aught, My bond to wedlock, or my love and duty Against your sacred person, in God's name, Turn me away; and let the foulest contempt Shut door upon me, and so give me up To the sharpest kind of justice. Please you, sir, The king, your father, was reputed for A prince most prudent, of an excellent And unmatched wit and judgment: Ferdinand, My father, king of Spain, was reckoned one The wisest prince, that there had reigned by many A year before: It is not to be questioned That they had gathered a wise council to them Of every realm, that did debate this business, Who deemed our marriage lawful; Wherefore humbly Beseech you, sir, to spare me, till I may Be by my friends in Spain advised; whose counsel I will implore: If not; i' the name of God, Your pleasure be fulfilled ! ShaJcspeare, 208 W)t SUITE'S ffiiatlt. 32. Wolsey. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries ; but thou hast forced me, Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes: And thus far hoar me, Cromwell; And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be; And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee, Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, — Found thee a way out of his wreck to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me. Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition; By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't ? Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: Let all the ends thou aimest at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fallest, Cromwell, Thou fallest a blessed martyr. Serve the king; And, — Pr'ythee, lead me in: There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny ^ 'tis the king's: my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, He would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies. Shalcspeare. gtlj* JUilj's ©twit. 209 33. Brutus. Another general shout! I do believe, that these applauses are For some new honours that are heaped on Causar. Cos. Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus ; and we petty men "Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates : The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus, and Cassar: What should be in that Caesar? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name ; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well: Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them, Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cassar. Now, in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Csesar feed, That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art shamed ; Kome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods! When went there by an age, since the great flood, But it was famed with more than with one man? When could they say, till now, that talked of Rome, That her wide walls encompassed but one man? Now is it Rome indeed, and room enough, When there is in it but one only man. ! you and I have heard our fathers say, There was a Brutus once that would have brooked The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome, As easily as a king. Skalcspeare. U 210 gifl* 3La&2'B ®ml*. 34. War. The bloody parliament shall this be called, Unless Plantagenet, duke of York, be king; And bashful Henry deposed, whose cowardice Hath made us by-words to our enemies. York. Then leave me not, my lords; be resolute; I mean to take possession of my right. War. Neither the king, nor he that loves him best, The proudest he that holds up Lancaster, Dares stir a wing, if Warwick shake his bells. I'll plant Plantagenet, root him up who dares: — Resolve thee, Richard; claim the English crown. SAakspeare. 35. Most noble Antony, Let not the piece of virtue, which is set Betwixt us, as the cement of our love, To keep it builded, be the ram, to batter The fortress of it: for better might we Have loved without this mean, if on both parts This be not cherished. SJiakspeare. 36. Up to the eastern tower, Whose height commands as subject all the vale, To see the battle. Sector, whose patience Is, as a virtue, fixed, to-day was moved; He chid Andromache, and struck his armourer; And, like as there were husbandry in war, Before the sun rose, he was harnessed light, And to the field goes he; where every flower Did, as a prophet, weep what it foresaw In Hector's wrath. Shakspeare. ©t* SUirj's ©rati*. 211 37. Hail to thee, -worthy Timon; — and to all, That of his bounties taste ! — The five best senses Acknowledge thee their patron; and come freely To gratulate thy plenteous bosom ; The ear, taste, touch, smell, pleased from thy table rise; They only now come but to feast thine eyes. Shahspeafe. 38. Thrift, thrift, Horatio! The funeral baked meats Did coldly furnish forth the marriage tables. 'Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven, Or ever I had seen that day, Horatio ! My father, — Methinks, I see my father. Shalcspeare. 39. For the Roman eagle, From south to west on wing soaring, aloft, Lessened herself, and in the beams o' the sun So vanished: which foreshowed, our princely eagle, The imperial Caesar, should again unite His favour with the radiant Cymbeline, Which shines here in the west. Shakspeare. 40. A sovereign shame so elbows him: his own un- kindness, That stripped her from his benediction, turned her To foreign casualties, gave her dear rights To his dog-hearted daughters, — these things sting His mind so venomously, that burning shame Detains him from Cordelia. 212 Qtljt i.ais'5 ©tacit. 41. Rom. He jests at scars, that never felt a wound. — But soft ! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun! — [Juliet appears above at a window. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious ; Her vestal livery is but sick and green, And none but fools do wear it: cast it off. — It is my lady: Oh, it is my love: Oh, that she knew she were ! She speaks, yet she says nothing: What of that? Her eye discourses, I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me it speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp : her eye in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright, That birds would sing, and think it were not night See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand I Oh, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek! ShaJcspeare. 42. Valiant Othello, we must straight employ you Against the general enemy Ottoman. — I did not see you ; welcome, gentle signior ; We lacked your counsel and your help to-night. SAakspeare. g[l)« Itibi'e ©rati*. 213 43. Words, vows, gifts, tears, and love's full sacrifice, He offers in another's enterprise: But more in Troilus thousand fold I see Than in the glass of Pandar's praise may be. \ Shakspeare. 44. Juliet. Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father, and refuse thy name ; Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I'll no longer be a Capulet. Rom. Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this? [Aside. Jul. 'Tis but thy name that is my enemy ; Thou art thyself, though not a Montague. "What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot, Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part : What's in a name? That which we call a rose, By any other name would smell as sweet; So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, Retain that dear perfection which he owes, Without that title: — Romeo, doff thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee, Take all mygelf. Shakspeare. 45. Good Samlet, cast thy nighted colour off, And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. Do not, for ever, with thy veiled lids Seek for thy noble father in the dust: Thou knowest, 'tis common: all, that live, must die, Passing through nature to eternity. Shakspeare. 214 fgftt iairj's ffirstU. 46. most small fault, How ugly didst thou in Cordelia show ! Which, like an engine, wrenched by frame of nature From the fixt place, drew from my heart all love, And added to the gall. O Lear, Lear, Lear! Beat at this gate, that let thy folly in, And thy dear judgment out ! — Go, go, my people. Sliakspeare. 47. Fear it, Ophelia, fear it, my dear sister; And keep you in the rear of your affection, Out of the shot and danger of desire. The chariest maid is prodigal enough, If she unmask her beauty to the moon: Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes: The canker galls the infants of the spring Too oft before their buttons be disclosed ; And in the morn and liquid dew of youth Contagious blastments are most imminent. Be wary, then: best safety lies in fear; Youth to itself rebels, though none else near. Shakspeare. 48. These things to hear, Would Desdemona seriously incline : But still the house affairs would draw her thence; Which ever as she could with haste despatch, She'd come again, and with a greedy ear Devour up my discourse : Which I observing, Took once a pliant hour; and found good means To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart, That I would all my pilgrimage dilate, Stilt 3U&j'js ®xsilt. 215 Whereof by parcels she had something heard, But not attentively: I did consent; And often did beguile her of her tears, When I did speak of some distressful stroke That my youth suffered. My story being done, She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : She swore, — In faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful: She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished That heaven had made her such a man: she thanked me; And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, I should but teach him how to tell my story, And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake: She loved me for the dangers I had past ; And I loved her that she did pity them. This only is the witchcraft I have used ; Here comes the lady, let her witness it. ShaJcspeare. 49. Pol. Yet here, Laertes! aboard, aboard,for shame; The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail, And you are stayed for: There,— my blessings with you ; [Laying his hands on Laertes' head. And these few precepts in thy memory: Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act. Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar. The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel ; But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 216 gflit 3U&s'a ©ratlt. Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in, Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice: Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy: For the apparel oft proclaims the man ; And they in France, of the best rank and station, Are most select, and generous chief in that. Neither a borrower nor a lender be : For loan oft loses both itself and friend ; And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. This above all, — To thine ownself be true; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou eanst not then be false to any man. Farewell : my blessing season this in thee ! Shakspeare. 50. 'Tis one lago, ancient to the general. Shakspeare. Kfjfirjr m put hmmti liatnrirnl Cjjnrnrte? jpITH that most fatal field, I will not here begin Where Norman William, first the Conqueror, did win The day at Hastings, where the valiant Harold slain, Resigned his crown, whose soil the colour doth retain Of the English blood there shed, as the earth still kept the scar: Which since not ours begot, but an invasive war, Among our home-fought fields, hath no de- scription here. Drayton. The battle of Blore-heath, the place doth next supply, 'Twixt Richard Nevil, that great earl of Salisbury, Who, with the duke of York, had at Saint Alban's late, That glorious battle got with uncontrolled fate. Drayton. 217 218 Wit JU&s'a ©taxlt. 3. I choose the battle next of Shrewsbury to chant, Betwixt Henry the Fourth, the son of John of Gaunt, And the stout Percies, Henry Hotspur and his eame The earl of Wor'ster, who the rightful diadem Had from king Richard reft, and heaved up to his seat This Henry whom (too soon) they found to be too great, Him seeking to depose, and to the rule prefer Richard's proclaimed heir, their cousin Mortimer, Whom Owen Glendour then in Wales a, prisoner stayed, Whom to their part they won, and thus their plot they laid, That Glendour should have Wales, as long as Severn went, The Percies all the north, that lay beyond the Trent; And Mortimer from thence the south to be his share; Which Henry having heard, doth for the war prepare, And down to Cheshire makes (where gathering powers they were) At Shrewsbury to meet, and doth affront them there: With him his peerless son, the princely Henry, came, With the earl of Stafford, and of gentlemen of name, Blunt, Shyrley, Clifton, men that very powerful were, With Cockayne, Calverly, Massy, and Mortimer, Gausell, and Wendsley, all in friends and tenants strong, Resorting to the king still as he passed along; Which in the open field before the ranged fights, He, with his warlike son, there dubbed his maiden knights. Drayton. gti* SLairs'S ffimlt. 219 4. 'Twas after dre,ad Pultowa's day, When fortune left the Royal Swede, Around a slaughtered army lay, No more to combat and to bleed. The power and glory of the war, Faithless as their vain votaries, men, Had passed to the triumphant Czar, And Moscow's walls were* safe again, Until a day more dark and drear, And a more memorable year, Should give to slaughter and to shame A mightier host and haughtier name ; A greater wreck, a deeper fall, A shock to one — a thunderbolt to all. Byron. 5. What -were we, If Brutus had not lived? He died in giving Rome liberty, but left a deathless lesson — A name which is a virtue, and a soul Which multiplies itself throughout all time, When wicked men wax mighty, and a state Turns servile: he and his high friend were styled " The last of Romans \" Byron. g_ I will not see The blood of Nimrod and Semiramis Sink in the earth, and thirteen hundred years Of empire ending like a shepherd's tale; He must be roused. Byron. 220 f&U %t&$'s ©rati*. 7. And all are fellows in their need. Among the rest, Mazeppa made His pillow in an old oak's shade — Himself as rough, and scarce less old, The Ukraine's hetman, calm and bold; But first, outspent with this long course, The Cossack prince rubbed down his horso, And made for him a leafy bed, And smoothed his fetlocks and his mane, And slacked his girth, and stripped his rein, And joyed to see how well he fed. Byron. 8. Doge Dandolo survived to ninety summers To vanquish empires and refuse their crown; I will resign a crown, and make the state Renew its freedom — but oh ! by what means ? The noble end must justify them — What Are a few drops of human blood ? 'tis false, The blood of tyrants is not human ? they, Like to incarnate Molochs, feed on ours, Until 'tis time to give them to the tombs Which they have made so populous. — Oh world ! Oh men ! what are ye, and our best designs, That we must work by crime to punish crime ? And slay as if Death had but this one gate, When a few years would make the sword super- fluous ; And I, upon the verge of the unknown realm, Yet sund so many heralds on before me? — I must not ponder this. Byron. W)z S,a&s'a ©rati*. 221 9. Our fathers did not fly from Attila Into these isles, where palaces have sprung On banks redeemed from the rude ocean's ooze, To own a thousand despots in his place. Better bow down before the Hun, and call A Tartar lord, than these swoln silk- worms masters ; The first at least was man, and used his sword As sceptre : these unmanly creeping thingB Command our swords, and rule us with a word As with a spell. Byron. 10. The reason's obvious: if there's an ^clat, They lose their caste at once, as do the Parias, And when the delicacies of the law Have filled their papers with their comments various, Society, that china without flaw, (The hypocrite !) will banish them like Marius, To sit amidst the ruins of their guilt: For Fame's a Carthage not so soon rebuilt. Byron. 11. And since "there's safety in a multitude Of counsellors," as Solomon has said, Or some one for him, in some sage grave mood:— Indeed we see the daily proof displayed In senates, at the bar, in wordy feud, Where'er collective wisdom can parade, "Which is the only cause that we can guess Of Britain's present wealth and happiness. Byron. ' 222 t< 3Uis'* ©rati*. 12. And therefore what I throw off is ideal — Lowered, leavened, like a history of Freemasons; Which bears the same relation to the real, As Captain Parry's yoyage may do to Jason's. The grand Arcanum's not for men to see all; My music has some mystic diapasons ; And there is much which could not be appreciated In any manner by the uninitiated. Byron. 13. When I prepared my bark first to obey, As it should still obey, the helm, my mind, And carry prose or rhyme, and this my lay Of Charles the .Emperor, whom you will find By several pens already praised; but they Who to diffuse his glory were inclined, For all that I can see in prose or verse, Have understood Charles badly — and wrote worse. Byron. 14. Oh, thou wouldst have me doubtless set up edicts — ■ "Obey the king — contribute to his treasure — Eecruit his phalanx — spill your blood at bidding — Fall down and worship, or get up and toil." Or thus — " Sardanapalus on this spot Slew fifty thousand of his enemies. These are their sepulchres, and this his trophy." I leave such things to conquerors ; enough For me, if I can make my subjects feel The weight of human misery less, and glide TJngroaning to the tomb ; I take no license Which I deny to them. We all are men. Byron. 9CiJ* HLaJtrj'a ffitnttt. 223 15. Twelve paladins had Charles, in court, of whom The wisest and most famous was Orlando; Him traitor Gan conducted to the tomb In Konoesvalles, as the villain planned too, While the hom rang so loud, and knelled the doom Of their sad rout, though he did all knight can do, And Dante in his comedy has given To him a happy seat with Charles in heaven. Byron. 16. France hath twice too well been taught The "moral lesson" dearly bought — Her safety sits not on a throne, "With Capet or Napoleon! But in equal rights and laws, Hearts and hands in one great cause — ■ Freedom, such as God hath given Unto all beneath his heaven, "With their breath, and from their birth, Though guilt would sweep it from the earth ; With a fierce and lavish hand . Scattering nations' wealth like sand; . Pouring nations' blood like water, In imperial seas of slaughter! Byron. 17. Survey the globe, each ruder realm explore; From Reason's faintest ray to Newton soar. What different spheres to human bliss assigned ! What slow gradations in the scale of mind! Yet mark in each these mystic wonders wrought; Oh mark the sleepless energies of thought! Rogers. 224 gfi)* 3U&J'* ffiiaxlt. 18. Columbus erred not. In that awful hour, Sent forth to save, and girt with God-like power, And glorious as the regent of the sun, An angel came ! He spoke, and it was done I He spoke, and, at his call, a mighty wind, Not like the fitful blast, with fury blind, But deep, majestic, in its destined course, Sprung with unerring, unrelenting force, From the bright East. Tides duly ebbed and flowed ; Stars rose and set ; and new horizons glowed ; Yet still it blew ! As with primeval sway Still did its ample spirit, night and day, Move on the waters ! — All, resigned to Fate, Folded their arms and sate ; and seemed to wait Some sudden change ; and sought, in chill suspense, New spheres of being, and new modes of sense ; As men departing, though not doomed to die, And midway on their passage to eternity. Rogers. 19. On through that gate misnamed, through which before Went Sidney, Russell, Raleigh, Cranmer, More, On into twilight within walls of stone, Then to the place of trial; and alone. Alone before his judges in array Stands for his life- there, on that awful day, Counsel of friends — all human help denied — All but from her who sits the pen to guide, Like that sweet saint who sate by Russell's side Under the judgment-seat. Rogers. 8tit Haiti's ffitwlt. 225 20. As now at Virgil's tomb We bless the shade, and bid the verdure bloom: So Tully paused, amid the wrecks of Time, On the rude stone to trace the truth sublime; When at his feet, in honoured dust disclosed, The immortal Sage of Syracuse reposed. And as he long in sweet delusion hung, Where once a Plato taught, a Pindar sung; Who now but meets him musing, when he roves His ruined Tusculan's romantic groves? In Home's great forum, who but hears him roll His moral thunders o'er the subject soul ? Rogers. 21. Nelson was once Britannia's god of war, And still should be so, but the tide is turned; There's no more to be said of Trafalgar, 'Tie with our hero quietly inurned; Because the army's grown more popular, At which the naval people are concerned : Besides, the prince is all for the land-service, Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jerris. Byron. 22. Ask not if courts or camps dissolve the charm : Say why Vespasian loved his Sabine farm ; Why groat Navarre, when France and freedom bled Sought the lone limits of a forest-shed. When Diocletian's self-corrected mind The imperial fasces of a world resigned, Say why we trace the labours of his spade, In calm Salona's philosophic shade. Sogers. 226 ®jji 3U&a's ffiiatlt. 23. And now behold him in an evil day Serving the state again — not as before, Not foot to foot, the war-whoop at his door, — But in the Senate; and (though round him fly -The jest, the sneer, the subtle sophistry,) With honest dignity, with manly sense, And every charm of natural eloquence, Like Hampden struggling in his country's cause, The first, the foremost to obey the laws, The last to brook oppression. On he moves, Careless of blame while his own heart approves, Careless of ruin — ("For the general good 'Tis not the first time I shall shed my blood.") Rogers. 24. And thou, dread statue! yet existent in The austerest form of naked majesty, Thou who beheldest, mid the assassins' din, At thy bathed base the bloody Caesar lie, Folding his robe in dying dignity, An offering to thine altar from the queen Of gods and men, great Nemesis, did he die? And thou, too, perish, Pompey? have ye been Victors of countless kings, or puppets of a scene 1 Byron. 25. Luctatius, who the good luck had to end Rome's first great Punic war, did on the land By practice teach his seamen how to mend That discipline in peace by which wars stand; As Philopoemen made Achaia spread By lazy peace, yet lively governed. Lord Brooke. ©fa SLut&s'a ®r&tlt. 227 26. Oh! she was good as she was fair. None — none on earth above her ! As pure in thought as angels are, To know her was to love her. "When little, and her eyes, her voice, Her every gesture said "rejoice,'' Her coming was a gladness ; And, as she grew, her modest grace, Her downcast look 'twas heaven to trace, When, shading with her hand her face, She half inclined to sadness. Her voice, whate'er she said, enchanted; Like music to the heart it went. And her dark eyes — how eloquent! Ask what they would, 'twas granted. Her father loved her as his fame ; — And Bayard's self had done the same ! Sogers. 27. Such as she did at Allia of old, When naked Gauls both took and burnt the town Or Italy from Spartacus the bold; When by a slave their eagles were thrown down, So that the monarch fell by outward fate, Whereas the people's own faults shak't their state. Brooke. 28. Indeede I finde, within this glasse of mine, Justinian, that proude vngrateful prince, Which made to begge, bold Belisarius His trustie man, which had so stoutly fought In his defence, with eury enimy. Qascoigne. 228 gftt lifts' B ©rati*. 29. Up rose St. Pierre, when morning shone; — And Jacqueline, his child, was gone ! Oh what the maddening thought that came? Dishonour coupled with his name ! By Conde at Rocroi he 1 stood ; By Turenne, when the Rhine ran blood. Two banners of Castile he gave Aloft in Notre Dame to wave ; Nor did thy cross, St. Louis, rest Upon a purer, nobler breast. Rogers. 30. Grey, thou hast served, and well, the sacred cause That Hampden, Sidney died for. Thou hast stood, Scorning all thought of self, from first to last, Among the foremost in that glorious field ; From first to last ; and, ardent as thou art, Held on with equal step as best became A lofty mind, loftiest when most assailed ; Never, though galled by many a barbed shaft, By many a bitter taunt from friend and foe, Swerving, nor shrinking. * , Sogers. 31. As Constantine the Great, that godly emperor, Here first the Christian church that did to peace restore, Whose ever-blessed birth (as by the power divine) The Roman empire brought into the British line, Constantinople's crown, and the ancient Britons' glory. So other here, we have to finish up our story. Drayton. ©Tj« 3La&j's ©rwlt. 229 32. Whoe'er thou art, approach, and, with a sigh, Mark where the small remains of greatness lie. There sleeps the dust of Fox tor ever gone; How near the place where late his glory shone ! And, though no more ascends the voice of prayer, Though the last footsteps cease to linger there, Still, like an awful dream that comes again, Alas, at best, as transient and as vain, Still do I see (while through the vaults of night The funeral-song once more proclaims the rite) The moving pomp along the shadowy aisle, That, like a darkness, filled the solemn pile; The illustrious line, that in long order led, Of those that loved him living, mourned him dead; Of those the few, that for their country stood Bound him who dared he singularly good ; All, of all ranks, that claimed him for their own; And nothing wanting — but himself alone! Sogers. 33. Sylla was first of victors; but our own The sagest of usurpers, Cromwell; he Too swept off senates while he hewed the throne Down to a block — immortal rebel ! See What crimes it costs to be a moment free And famous through all ages ! but beneath His fate the moral lurks of destiny ; His day of double victory and death Beheld him win two realms, and, happier, yield his breath. 230 qflji LaUj's ©rati*. 34. Can tyrants but by tyrants conquered be, And freedom find no champion and no child Such as Columbia saw arise when she Sprung forth a Pallas, armed and undeflled ? Or must such minds be nourished in the wild, Deep in the unpruned forest, midst the roar Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled On infant Washington? Has earth no more Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore? Byron. 35. Then turn we to her latest tribune's name, From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee, Redeemer of dark centuries of shame — The friend of Petrarch — hope of Italy — Rienzi! last of Romans ! While the tree Of freedom's withered trunk puts forth a leaf, Even for thy tomb a garland let it be — The forum's champion, and the people's chief— Her new-born Numa thou — with reign, alas! too brief. ' Byron. 36. On these states, what true judgment can we lay Which by the arts of crafty tyranny, So to their ends do people's humours sway, As thrones right grow a kind of mystery? Whence Mahomet himself an idol makes, And draws mankind to Mecha for his sake. Brooke. HEbt sLafcj'js ffirolt. 231 37. When riseth Laoedemon's hardihood, When Thebes JEpaminondas rears again, When Athens' children are with hearts endued, When Grecian mothers shall give birth to men, Then mayst thou be restored ; but not till then. A thousand years scarce serve to form a state ; An hour may lay it in the dust ; and when Can man its shattered splendour renovate, Recall its virtues back, and vanquish time and fate? Byron. 38. For it is not to them of banishment Sufficient ground, to be reputed just? What other cause was there of discontent 'Gainst Aristides, but his worth's mistrust? How used they him that conquered Marathon? Or him who Xerxes' host had overthrown? BrooJce. 39. What did it profit the great Charles the Fiji To traffic with the proud simplicity Of German princes, by unprincely shift, Mislettered writs, a conclave subtilty? Since ill fate then, and ever did befall That broken faith aspirers work withal. Brooke. 40. Like Cromwell's pranks; but although truth exacts These amiable descriptions from the scribes, As most essential to their hero's story, They do not much contribute to his glory. Byron. 232 igftt JLa&j'ir ©rwle. 41. Of this kind Solon was in Athens one; Lycurgus cobwebs oyer Sparta spread ; The Loerians by Seleueus nets were known, By Zoroasters Bactria was misled ; Numa was he that first enthralled Borne, And nature's freedom under legal doom. Brooke. 42. Hence again France, though ever martial bent, Was by her late Fourth Henry's policy Known for a paradise-like continent, Who out of that discerned fertility Both multiplied the crown, and people's part, By nature's emulation with his art. Brooke. 43. Lewis the Eleventh, of craft, not majesty, The perfect type, being asked what the crown Kevcnues might of France amount to be, Said, France a meadow was, which, mow it down As oft as need, or pleasure did require, Would yet grow up again to feed desire. Brooke. 44. And Fabius, sumamed Maximus, Could ioyne such learning with experience, As made his name more famous than the rest. Gascoigne. 45. that al kings would {Alexander like) Hold euermore, one finger streight stretcht out, To thrust in eyes, of all their master theeues. Gascoigne. f< 3La4s'« ©ratlt. 233 46. They saw at Canterbury the Cathedral; Black Edward's helm, and Beckett's bloody stone, "Were pointed out as usual by the bedral, In the same quaint, uninterested tone: There's glory again for you, gentle reader! all Ends in a rusty casque and dubious bone, Half-solved into those sodas or magnesias, Which form that bitter draught, the human species. Byron. 47. Among the first, — I will not say the first, For such precedence upon such occasions "Will oftentimes make deadly quarrels burst Out between friends as well as allied nations; The Briton must be bold 1 who really durst Put to such trial John Bull's partial patience, As say that Wellington at Waterloo Was beaten, — though the Prussians say so too. Byron. 48. I am neither Alexander nor Hephsestion, Nor ever had for abstract fame much passion; But would much rather have a sound digestion, Than Bonaparte's cancer: — could I dash on Through fifty victories to shame or fame, Without a stomach — what were a good name? Byron. 49. Her next amusement was more fanciful; She smiled at mad Suwarrow's rhymes, who threw Into a Russian couplet, rather dull, The whole gazette of thousands whom he slew. Byron. 23 * ®6t -Lifts' s ©ia-clt. 50. And Scypio, condemnes the Romaine rule, Which suffred him (that had so truely serued) To leade pore life, at his (Lynternum) ferme, Which did deserue, such worthy recompence. Yea herewithal most Souldiours of our time Beleeve for truth, that proude Justinian Did neuer die, without good store of heyres. And Romanes race, cannot be rooted out, Such yssence springs, of sueh ynplesant budds. Gascoigne. Kfyn is pitr /rararib $rot? ?0W, seraph-winged, among the stars we soar; Now distant ages, like a day, explore, And judge the act, the actor now no more; Or, in a thankless hour condemned to live, From others claim what these refuse to give, And dart, like Milton, an unerring eye Through the dim curtains of Futurity. Rogers. I saw the sun go down! — Ah, then 'twas thine Ne'er to forget some volume half divine, Shakspeare's or Dryden's— through the checkered shade Borne in thy hand behind thee as we strayed; And where we sate (and many a halt we made) To read there with a fervour all thine own, And in thy grand and melancholy tone, Some splendid passage not to thee unknown, Fit theme for long discourse. Rogers. 286 tRlt 3Utrj'« ffir«It. 3. Can Virgil's verse, can Kaphael's touch impart Those finer features of the feeling heart, Those tenderer tints that shun the careless eye, And in the world's contagious climate die? Rogers. 4. Nor boast, Choisy, seat of soft delight, The secret charm of thy voluptuous night. Vain is the blaze of wealth, the pomp of power! Lo, here, attendant on the shadowy hour, Thy closet-supper, served by hands unseen, Sheds, like an evening-star, its ray serene, To hail our coming. Not a step profane Dares, with rude sound, the cheerful rite restrain; And, while the frugal banquet glows revealed, Pure and unbought, — the natives of my field; While blushing fruits through scattered leaves invite, Still clad in bloom, and veiled in azure light ; — With wine, as rich in years as Horace sings, With water, clear as his own fountain flings, The shifting side-board plays its humbler part, Beyond the triumphs of a Loriot's art. Rogers. 5. Plato ('tis true) great Homer doth commend, Yet from his common-weale did him exile; Nor is it words, that doe with words contend, Of deeds they vary, and demurre of stile: "How to please all, as no words yet could tell; So what one act did all yet censure well?" Lord Brooke. ©Ijj 5,a2rs's ffiradt. 237 6. Ferrara! in thy wide and grass-grown streets, Whose symmetry was not for solitude, There seems as 'twere a curse upon the seats Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood Of Este, which for many an age made good Its strength within thy walls, and was of yore Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood Of petty power impelled, of those who wore The wreath which Dante's brow alone had worn before. Byron. 7. And Tasso is their glory and their shame. Hark to his strain! and then survey his cell', And see how dearly earned Torquato's fame, And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell: The miserable despot could not quell The insulted mind he sought to quench, and blend With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell Where he had plunged it. Glory without end Scattered the clouds away — and on that name attend. Byron. 8. The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust The iron crown of laurel's mimicked leaves ; Nor was the ominous element unjust, For the true laurel-wreatb which glory weaves Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves, And the false semblance but disgraced his brow; Yet still, if fondly superstition grieves, Know that the lightning sanctifies below Whate'er it strikes ;— y on head is doubly sacred now. Byron. 238 8${ 5,a&5's ©latle. 9. Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar, Like Soipio, buried by the upbraiding shore; Thy factions, in their worse than civil -war, Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore Their children's children would in vain adore With the remorse of ages ; and the crown "Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore, Upon a far and foreign soil had grown, His life, his fame, his grave, though rifled — not thine own. Byron. 10. No matter — when some bard, in virtue strong, Gifford perchance, shall raise the chastening song, Then sleep my pen for ever ! and my voice Be only heard to hail him and rejoice; Rejoice, and yield my feeble praise; though I May feel the lash that virtue must apply. Byron. 11. And thou, melodious Rogers! rise at last, Recall the pleasing memory of the past ; Arise ! let blest remembrance still inspire, And strike to' wonted tones thy hallowed lyre ! Restore Apollo to his vacant throne, Assert thy country's honour and thine own. Byron. 12. "What! must deserted Poesy still weep Where her last hopes with pious Cowper sleep ? Unless, perchance, from his cold bier she turns, To deck the turf that wraps her minstrel Burnsl Byron. t< 3LaJjj'S ©XKtlt. 239 13. Time was, ere yet in these degenerate days Ignoble themes obtained mistaken praise, When Sense and Wit with poesy allied, No fabled Graces, flourished side by side, Erom the same fount their inspiration drew, And, reared by Taste, bloomed fairer as they grew. Then, in this happy isle, a Pope's pure strain Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in vain; A polished nation's praise aspired to claim, And raised the people's, as the poet's fame. Byron. 14. Unhappy Wliite! while life was in its spring, And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing, The spoiler came, and all thy promise fair Has sought the. grave, to sleep for ever there. Oh ! what a noble heart was here undone, When Science' self destroyed her favourite son! Yes ! she too much indulged thy fond pursuit, She sowed the seeds, but death has reaped the fruit. 'Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, And helped to plant the wound that laid thee low. So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, And winged the shaft that quivered in his heart: Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel, While the same plumage that had warmed his nest Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast. Byron. 240 ®{it 3U&5'js ©rad«. 15. To the famed throng now paid the tribute due, Neglected Genius I let me turn to you. Come forth, Campbell! give thy talents scope, Who dares aspire if thou must cease to hope? Byron. 16. Or, if aught in my bosom can quench for an hour My contempt for a nation so servile, though sore, "Which though trod like the worm •will not turn upon power, 'Tis the glory of Grattan, and genius of Moore. Byron. 17. Say — shall this new, nor less aspiring pile, Reared where once rose the mightiest in our isle, Know the same favour which the former knew, A shrine for Shakspeare — worthy him and you t Byron. 18. Some persons think that Coleridge hath the sway ; And Wordsworth has supporters, two or three ; And that deep-mouthed Boeotian " Savage Landor," Has taken for a swan rogue Southey's gander. Byron. 19. John Keats — who was killed off by one critique, Just as he really promised something great, If not intelligible, without Greek Contrived to talk about the gods of late, Much as they might have been supposed to speak. Poor felffiw! his was an untoward fate: 'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery particle, Should let itself be snuffed out by an article. Byron. 3LaiJj'a ©rwlt. 241 20. Montgomery} true, the common lot Of mortals lies ia Lethe's wave ; Yet some shall never be forgot — Some shall exist beyond the grave. Byron. 21. Oh! who, that has ever had rapture complete, Would ask how we feel it, or why it is sweet; How rays are confused, or how particles fly Through the medium refined of a glance or a sigh! Is there one, who but once would not rather have known it, Than written, with .Saraey, whole volumes upon it? Moore. 22. Where Epicurus taught the Loves To polish virtue's native brightness, Just as the beak of playful doves Can give to pearls a smoother whiteness ! Moore. 23. Well — peace to thy heart, though another's it be, And health to thy cheek, though it bloom not for me ! To-morrow, I sail for those cinnamon groves, Where nightly the ghost of the Carribee roves, And, far from thine eye, oh! perhaps, I may yet Its seduction forgive and its splendour forget ! Farewell to Bermuda, and long may the bloom Of the lemon and myrtle its valleys perfume ; May spring to eternity hallow the shade Where Ariel has warbled and Waller has strayed I Moore. 16 242 gjjit isSj'* ©rati*. 24. Believe me, Spenser, while I winged the hours Where Schuylkill undulates through banks of flowers, Though few the days, the happy evenings few,. So warm with heart, so rich with mind they flew, That my full soul forgot its wish to roam, And rested there, as in a dream of home! And looks I met, like looks I loved before, And voices too, which, as they trembled o'er The chord of memory, found full many a tone Of kindness there in concord with their own ! Oh ! we had nights of that communion free, That flush of heart, which I have known with thee So oft, so warmly; nights of mirth and mind, Of whims that taught, and follies that refined: When shall we both renew them? when restored To the pure feast and' intellectual board, Shall I once more enjoy with thee and thine Those whims that teach, those follies that refine? Even now, as wandering upon Erie's shore, I hear Niagara's distant cataract roar, I sigh for England — oh ! these weary feet Have many a mile to journey, ere we meet! Moore, 25. By Ilissus' stream We whispering walked along, and learned The tenderest feelings in the purest Greek; Ah! then how little did we think or hope, Dearest of men! that I should e'er be Pope! Moore. 2C!jt 3U&s'a ©twit. 243 26. My heart was full of Fancy's dream, And, as I watched the playful stream, Entangling in its net of smiles So fair a group of elfin isles, I felt as if the scenery there Were lighted by a Grecian sky — As if I breathed the blissful air That yet was warm with Sappho' 3 sigh! Moore. 27. Should you feel any touch of poetical glow, We've a scheme to suggest — Mr. Scott, you must know, (Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the Bow,) Having quitted the borders to seek new renown, Is coming, by long quarto stages, to town, And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to pay) Means to do all the gentlemen's seats on the way. Now the scheme is (though none of our hackneys can beat him) To start a fresh poet through Highgate to meet him ; Who, by means of quick proofs — no revises — long coaches — May do a few Villas before Scott approaches — Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby, He'll roach, without foundering, at least Woburn- Abbey. Moore. 28. Herodotus wrote most in bed ; And Richerand, a French physician, Declares the clock-work of the head Goes best in that reclined position. Moore. 244 ajt 3Ls&j's ©xtctlt. 29. Dear Doll, while the tails of our horses are plaiting, The trunks tying on, and papa at the door, Into very bad French is, as usual, translating His English resolve not to give a sou more, I sit down to write you a line — only think! — A letter from France, with French pens and French ink, How delightful! though, would you believe it, my dear? I have seen nothing yet very wonderful here; No adventure, no sentiment, far as we've come, But the corn-fields and trees quite as dull as at home; And, but for the post-boy, his boots, and his queue, I might just as well be at Olonskilty with you! In vain, at Dessein's, did I take from my trunk That divine fellow, Sterne, and fall reading "The Monk!" In vain did I think of his charming dead ass, And remember the crust and the wallet — alas! No monks can be had now for love or for money, (All owing, pa says, to that infidel Boney;) And, though one little Neddy we saw in our drive Out of classical Nampont, the beast was alive! Moore. 30. Your lordship beats Tiberius hollow ; Whips, chains, — but these are things too serious For to me to mention or discuss ; Whene'er your lordship acts Tiberius, Phil. Fudge's part is Tacitus! Moore. ©fit SU&a'js ©Kilt. 245 31. If you consult Montaigne and Pliny on The subject, 'tis their joint opinion That Thought its richest harvest yields Abroad, among the woods and fields ; That bards, who deal in small retail, At home may, at their counters, stop: But that the grove, the hill, the vale, Are Poesy's true wholesale shop. Moore. 32. If thus I've felt, how must they feel, The few, whom genuine genius warms, And stamps upon their soul his seal, Graven with beauty's countless forms; — The few upon this earth who seem Born to give truth to Plato's dream, Since in their souls, as in a glass, Shadows of things divine appear — Reflections of bright forms that pass Through fairer worlds beyond our sphere ! Moore. 33. But I/utTier's light had too much warmed mankind For Hampden's truths to linger long behind; Nor then, when king-like popes had fallen so low, Could pope-like kings escape the levelling blow. That ponderous sceptre, (in whose place we bow To the light talisman of influence now,) Too gross, too visible to work the spell Which modern power performs, in fragments fell: In fragments lay, till, patched and painted o'e? With fleurs-de-lys, it shone and scourged once more 1 Moore. 246 BJt JLaJrj's ©ml*. 34. Sir Kobert Filmer says — and he, Of course, knew all about the matter — "Both men and beasts love monarchy;" "Which proves how rational — the latter. Sidney, indeed, we know, had quite A different notion from the knight; Nay, hints a king may lose his head By slipping awkwardly his bridle: But this is Jacobin, ill-bred, And (now-a-days, when kings are led In patient snaffles) downright idle. Moore. 35. Thus did Soame Jenyns — though a Toryp> A lord of trade and the plantations — Feel how religion's simple glory Is stained by state associations. Moore. 36. That in this hour, when patriot zeal should guide, When mind should rule, and — Fox should not have died. Moore. 37. "List not to reason," Epicurus cries, "But trust the senses, there conviction lies :" Alas ! they judge not by a purer light, Nor keep their fountains more untinged and bright : Habit so mars them, that the Kussian swain Will sigh for train-oil while he sips champagne; And health so rules them, that a fever's heat Would make even Sheridan think water sweet! Moore. SDIjt JLairj's ©xsilt. 247 38. By Tory Hume's seductive page beguiled, We fancy Charles was just and Strafford mild; And Fox himself, with party pencil, draws Monmouth a hero, "for the good old cause!" Then, rights are wrongs, and victories are defeats, As French or English pride the tale repeats ; And, when they tell Corunna's story o'er, They'll disagree in all, hut honouring Moore ! Moore. 39. In science too — how many a system, raised Like Neva's icy domes, awhile hath blazed With lights of fancy and with forms of pride, Then, melting, mingled with the oblivious tide. Now earth usurps the centre of the sky, Now Newton puts the paltry planet by ; Now whims revive beneath Descartes's pen, Which now, assailed by Locke's, expire again: And when, perhaps, in pride of chemic powers, We think the keys of Nature's kingdom ours, Some Davy's magic touch the dream unsettles, And turns at once our alkalis to metals ! Moore. 40. Give me the harp of epic song, Which Homer's finger thrilled along ; But tear away the sanguine string, For war is not the theme I sing. Proclaim the laws of festal rite, I'm monarch of the board to-night ; And all around shall brim as high, And quaff the tide as deep as I ! Moore. 248 gtijt 3U&s's ©twit. 41. Learning! Learning! whatsoe'er thy boast, Unlettered minds have taught and charmed us most : The rude, unread Columbus was our guide To worlds which learned Lactantius had denied, And one wild Shahspeare, following Nature's lights, Is worth whole planets filled with Stagyrites ! Moore. 42. Oh thou! whatever title please thine ear — Dean, Drapier, Bickerstaff, or Gulliver! Whether thou choose Cervantes' serious air, Or laugh and shake in Kabelais' easy chair, Or praise the court, or magnify mankind, Or thy grieved country's copper chains unbind, From thy Boeotia though her power retires, Mourn not, my Swift, at aught our realm acquires. Here pleased behold her mighty wings outspread To hatch a new Saturnian age of lead. Pope. 43. Next o'er his books his eyes began to roll, In pleasing memory of all he stole, How here he sipped, how here he plundered snug, And sucked all o'er like an industrious bug. Here lay poor Fletcher's half-eat scenes, and here The frippery of crucified Moliere: There hapless Shakspeare, yet of Tihbald sore, Wished he had blotted for himself before. Pope. 44. Be thine, my stationer! this magic gift; Cook shall be Piior: and Concanen, Swift. Pope. gtfct au&j'a ffirstle. 249 45. Small thanks to France, and none to Rome or Greece, A past, vamped, future, old, revived, new piece, 'Twixt Plautus, Fletcher, Shakspeare, and Corneille, Can make a Cibber, Tibbald, or Ozell. Pope. 46. So shall each hostile name become our own, And we too boast our Garth and Addison. Pope. * 47. Earless on high, stood unabashed De Foe, And Tutchin flagrant from the scourge below. Pope. 48. Yet oh, my sons, a father's words attend: (So may the fates preserve the ears you lend:) 'Tis yours, a Bacon or a Locke to blame, A Newton's genius, or a Milton's flame: But oh ! with One, immortal One dispense, The source of Newton's light, of Bacon's sense. Pope. 49. See under Ripley rise a new "Whitehall, While Jones' and Boyle's united labours fall ; While Wren with sorrow to the grave descends, Gay dies unpensioned, with a hundred friends ; Hibernian politics, Swift! thy fate; And Pope's, ten years to comment and translate. Pope. 50. There sunk Thalia, nerveless, cold, and dead, Had not her sister Satire held her head: Nor couldst thou, Chesterfield! a tear refuse! Thou wept'st, and with thee wept each gentle muse. Pope. tBjjtrji is pur #nnrarite 9Jtrit? fOK yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, For, faithful in death, his mute favouri te attended; The much loved remains of her master defended, And chased the hill fox and the m Baven away. Scott. 'Twas a fair scene ! the sunbeam lay On battled tower and portal gray, And from the grassy slope he sees The Greta flow to meet the Tees, Where, issuing from her darksome bed, She caught the morning's eastern red, And through the softening vale below Boiled her bright waves in rosy glow, All blushing to her bridal bed, Like some shy maid in, convent bred, While linnet, lark, and Blackbird gay, Sing forth her nuptial roundelay. 250 Scott. ®!)t aLs&a'a 1 ©taxi*. 251 *3. But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountainlamb ; When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying Thy obsequies sung by the Gray Plover flying, With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam. Scott. 4. The Bittern clamoured from the moss, The wind blew loud and shrill ; Tet the craggy pathway she did cross, To the eiry beacon hill. Scott. 5. As from the bosom of the sky The Eagle darts amain, Three bounds from yonder summit high Placed Harold on the plain. Scott. 6. As the scared wild-fowl scream and fly, So fled the bridal train ; As 'gainst the eagle's peerless might The noble Falcon dares the fight, But dares the fight in vain, So fought the bridegroom ; from his hand The Dane's rude mace has struck his brand, Its glittering fragments strew the sand, Its lord lies on the plain. Scott. 252 t&%t 3U3>2'j& ©laxlt. 7. Each bird of evil omen woke, The raven gave his fatal croak, And shrieked the night-crow from the oak, The Screech-owl from the thicket broke, And fluttered down the dell I So fearful was the sound and stern, The slumbers of the full-gorged erne Were startled, and from furze and fern, Of forest and of fell, The fox and famished wolf replied, (For wolves then prowled the Cheviot side,) From mountain head to mountain head The unhallowed sounds around were sped; But when their latest echo fled, The sorceress on the ground lay dead. 8. The hunting tribes of air and earth Respect the brethren of their birth; Nature, who loves the claim of kind, Less cruel chase to each assigned. The falcon poised on soaring wing, Watches the Wild-duck by the spring; The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair, The grey-hound presses on the hare; The eagle pounces on the lamb, The wolf devours the fleecy dam; E'en tiger fell, and sullen bear, Their likeness and their lineage spare. Man, only, mars kind nature's plan, And turns the fierce pursuit on man. Scott, Scott. W&t 3UiiS's ®xmU. 253 9. Hoarse into middle air arose The vesper of the roosting Crows, And with congenial murmurs seem To wake the genii of the stream. Scott. 10. Autumn departs — but still his mantle's fold Rests on the groves of noble Somerville, Beneath a shroud of russet dropped with gold, Tweed and his tributaries mingle still ; Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill Yet lingering notes of sylvan music swell, The deep-toned Cusliat, and the redbreast shrill; And yet some tints of summer splendour tell When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's west- ern fell. Scott. 11. The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, And Ulva dark and Colonsay, And all the group of islets gay That guard famed Staffa round. Then all unknown its columns rose, Where dark and undisturbed repose The Cormorant had found, And the shy seal had quiet home, And weltered in that wonderous dome, Where, as to shame the temples decked By skill of earthly architect, Nature herself, it seemed, would raise A minster to her Maker's praise! Scott 254 ®te 3U&j'a ffiiwl*- 12. See, sister, where the Chickens trip, All busy in the morn; Look! how their heads they dip and dip, To peck the scattered corn. Dear sister, shall we shut our eyes, And to the sight be blind, Nor think of Him who food supplies To us and all mankind! Whether our wants be much or few, Or fine or coarse our fare, To Heaven's protecting care is due The voice of praise and prayer. Bowles. 13. Merrily, merrily, goes the bark On a breeze from the northward free, So shoots through the morning sky the lark, Or the Swan through the summer sea. Scott. 14. The bee is humming in the sun, The yellow cowslip springs, And hark! from yonder woodland's side Again the Ouakoo sings ! Cuckoo — Cuckoo ! no other note, She sings from day to day; But I, though a poor cottage-girl, Can work, and read, and pray. And whilst in knowledge I rejoice, Which heavenly truth displays, Oh! let me still employ my voice In my Redeemer's praise.* Bowles. ®ljt 3U&2'js ®taiU. 255 15. The bow is gone, the Hawk is thrown For ever from the hand; And now we live a bookish race, All in a cultured land. Howitt. 16. Poor Robin sits and sings alone, When showers of driving sleet, By the cold winds of winter blown, The cottage casement beat. Come, let him share our chimney-nook, And dry his dripping wing; See, little Mary shuts her book, And cries, "Poor Robin, sing." Methinks I hear his faint reply — When cowslips deck the plain, The lark shall carol in the sky, And I shall sing again. But in the cold and wintry day To you I owe a debt, That in the sunshine of the May I never can forget. 17. stormy, Stormy Peterel, Come rest thee, bird, awhile; There is no storm, believe me, Anigh this summer isle. Come, rest thy waving pinions ; Alight thee down by me ; And tell me somewhat of the lore Thou learnest on the sea 1 Bowles. 256 WM SU&j'a ©ml*. Dost hear beneath the ocean The gathering tempest form ? See'st thou afar the little cloud That grows into the storm ? How is it in the billowy depths — Doth sea- weed heave and swell? And is a sound of coming wo Bung from each caverned shell? Dost watch the stormy sunset In tempests of the west; And see the old moon riding slow With the new moon on her breast? Howitt. 18. Fern-owl, churn-owl, or goat-sucker, Night-jar, dor-hawk, or whate'er Be thy name among a dozen, — Whip-poor-will's and who-are-you's cousin, Chuck-will's-widow's near relation, Thou art at thy night vocation, Thrilling the still evening air ! In the dark brown wood beyond us, Where the night lies-dusk and deep; Where the fox his furrow maketh, Where the tawny owl awaketh Nightly from his day-long sleep; There, Dor-liawh, is thy abiding, Meadow green is not for thee; While the aspen'branches shiver, Mid the roaring of the river, Comes thy chirring voice to me. Howitt. ©fre ELairj's ffiiatlt. 257 19. Not down the breeze more blithely flew, Skimming the wave, the light Sea-mew, Than the gay galley bore Her course upon that favouring wind, And Coolin's crest has sunk behind, And Slapin's caverned shore. Scott. 20. The Curlew and the plover, The gor-cock on the brae, Send, with the singing of the lark, Their voices far away ! Howitt. 21. The coot and Moor-hen from the reeds, Or where the waters run Crystal and warm and glittering, O'er the pebbles in the sun. Howitt. 22. Of the big-bone lick, did you say? — Ay, we used to go there. A Parrot's very fond of salt! I really declare I've seen ten thousand of us there altogether. — A beautiful sight it was, in fine summer weather, Like a grand velvet carpet, of orange, green, and yellow, Covering the grpund! Ah, Captain! my good fellow, I had reason to rue the day you came there with your gun! I would laugh if I could, but to me it was no fun — heigh-ho ! No fun at all, Captain, heigh-ho! Howitt. 17 258 gtljt 3Lr&5'js ©ml*. 23. Lo! there the hermit of the waste, The ghost of ages dim, The fisher of the solitudes, Stands by the river's brim ! Old Heron, in the feudal times, Beside the forest stream, And by the moorland waters, Thus didst thou love to dream. And over towers and castles high, And o'er the armed men, Skirmishing on the border-lands, Or crouching in the glen; Thy heavy wings were seen to flit, Thy azure shape was known To pilgrim and to anchorite, In deserts scorched and lone. Somtt. 24. The stockdove builds in the old oak wood, The Booh in the elm-tree rears his brood; The owl in a ruin doth hoot and stare; The mavis and merle build everywhere. Howitt. 25. Away to the woods with the silvery rind, And the emerald tresses afloat on the wind! For 'tis joy to go to those sylvan bowers When summer is rich with leaves and flowers; And to see, mid the growth of all lovely things, The joyous Pheasant unfold his wings, And then cower down, as if to screen His gorgeous purple, gold, and green! Mowiti. JL fflfc JLstss'S fflrwlt. 259 26. ftavan, on the blasted tree, Sitting croaking dolefully, I would have a word with thee! Raven, thou art silent now On the splintered forest bough, Glancing on me thy bright eye, I shall ask, — do thou reply 1 In that far-gone, awful time, When the earth was purged of crime, And old Noah and the seven In the gopher-ark were driven. Howiit. 27. Speed messengers the country through; Arouse old friends, and gather new; Warn Lanark's knights to gird their mail, Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale, Let Ettrick's archers sharp their darts, The fairest forms, the truest hearts 1 Call all, call all! from Reedswair path, To the wild confines of Cape-Wrath ; Wide let the news through Scotland ring, The Northern Eagle claps his wingl Scott. 28. The Stock-doves together begin to coo When they hear the voice of the old cuckoo; "Ho! hoi" say they, "he did not find Those far-away countries quite to his mind, So he's come again to see what he can do With sucking the small birds' eggs, coo-coo!" Sowitt. 260 ®I)£ 3La&s'* ffixaxU. 29. At once ten thousand bow-strings ring, Ten thousand arrows fly! ft or paused on the devoted Soot The ceaseless fury of their shot; As fiercely and as fast, Forth whistling came the Gray-goose wing, As the wild hail-stones pelt and ring Adown December's blast. Scott. 30 Hawk and Osprey screamed for joy, O'er the beetling cliffs of Hoy, Crimson foam the beach o'erspread, The heath was dyed with darker red, When o'er Erick, Inguar's son, Dane and Northman piled the stone; Singing wild the war-song stern, Rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn! Scott. 31. The Woodpecker laughs to hear the strain, And says "The old fellow is come back again; He sitteth again on the very same tree, And he talks of himself again! — he! he! he!" Howitt. 32. In town or country — in the densest alley Of monstrous London — in the loneliest valley — On palace-roof — on cottage-thatch, On church or chapel — farm or shop, The Sparrow 's still "the bird on the house-top." Howitt. gtijj 3Uirs'S ©mU. 261 33. The Blade-bird, and throstle, and loud missel-cook, They sing altogether, the Cuckoo to mock; "What want we with him? let him stay over sea!" Sings the bold, piping reed-sparrow, "Want him? not we !" "Cuckoo!" the Cuckoo shouts still, "I care not for you, let you rave as you willl" "Cuckoo!" the Cuckoo doth cry, And the little boys mock him as they go by. Howitt. 34. gay Goshawk and tercel bold, Then might ye rule it as ye "wold;" Then sate ye on a perch of gold, And kings were your compeers ! But that was in the days gone by; The days of Norman chivalry, When the low crouched unto the high ; — The times of other years ! Howitt. 35. There the hum of the bees through the noonday is heard, And the chirp, and the cry, and the song of the bird; There up the tree-trunk, like a fly on the wall, To pick the gray moss, runs the tree-creeper small ; There the wren golden-crested, so lovely to see, Hangs its delicate nest from the twigs of the tree ; And there coos the Ring-dove — oh, who would not go, That voice of the wood to hear, dreamy and low! Yes, come to the wood — to the woodpecker's tree, There is joy 'mong the green leaves for thee and for me! Howitt. 262 ©6* 3Lft&s'jS ©iwlt. 36. The merry Titmouse is a comical fellow; He weareth a plumage of purple and yellow, Barred over with black, and with white interlaced ; — Depend on't, the titmouse has excellent taste. And he, like his betters of noble old blood, Keeps up, with great spirit, a family feud.; A feud with the owl ; — and why ? would you know ; — An old, bygone quarrel of ages ago : — Perhaps in the ark might be taken offence, — • But I know not, indeed, of the where and the whence ; — Only this is quite true, — let them meet as they may, Having quarrelled long since, they would quarrel to-day. Haoitt. 37. lovely Bird of Paradise, I'll go where thou dost go I Rise higher yet, and higher yet, For a stormy wind doth blow. Now up above the tempest We are sailing in the calm, Amid the golden sunshine, And where the air is balm. See, far below us rolling, The, storm-cloud black and wide; The fury of its raging Is as an angry tide ! gentle bird of paradise, Thy happy lot I'll share; And go where'er thou goest On, through the sunny air! Mowitt. Wb* Haiti's ffiiatU. 268 38 Falcon proud, and goshawk gay, Your pride of place has passed away; The lone wood is your home by day, Your resting perch by night; The craggy rock your castle-tower ; The gay green-wood your ladies' bower; Your own wild will, the master power That can control your flight! Howitt. 39. Pray thee, Owl, what art thou doing, With that dolefulest tu-whoo-ing? Dark the night is, dark and dreary, Never a little star shines cheery ; Wild north winds come up the hollow, And the pelting rain doth follow; And the trees, the tempest braving, To and fro are wildly waving! Every living thing is creeping To its den, and silence keeping, Saving thou, the night hallooing With thy dismalest tu-whooing ! Eowitt. 40. Then softly, softly will we tread By inland streams, to see Where the Pelican of the silent north, Sits there all silently. But if thou love the Southern Seas, And pleasant summer weather, Come, let us mount this gallant ship, And sail away together. Howitt. 264 ©fit 3Ls&£'fl ffiiwle. 41. The Woodpecker green he has not his abiding Where the owls and the bats from the daylight are hiding; Where the bright mountain-streams glide on rock- beds away, The dark water-ousel may warble and play; In the sedge of the river the reed-sparrow build; And the peewit among the brown clods of the field; The sea-gull may scream on the breast of the tide; On the foam-crested billows the peterel may ride; But the woodpecker a,sketh nor river nor sea ; Give him but the old forest, and old forest-tree, And he'll leave to the proud lonely eagle the height Of the mistshrouded precipice splintered and white ; And he'll leave to the gorcock the heather and fern, And the lake of the valley to woodcock and hern; To the skylark he'll leave the wild fields of the air, The sunshine and rainbow ne'er tempted him there; The greenwood for him is the place of his rest, And the broad-branching tree is the home he loves best. Let us go to the haunt of the woodpecker green, In those depths of the wood there is much to be seen. Bbwitt. 42. Not in the land of a thousand flowers, Not in the glorious spice-wood bowers; Not in fair islands by bright seas embraced, Lives the wild Ostrich, the bird of the waste: Come on to the desert, his dwelling is there, Where the breath of the Simoom is hot in the air; Stljt 3U&s'js ffiratlt. 265 To the desert, where never a green Hade grew, Where never its shadow a broad tree threw, Where sands rise up, and in columns are wheeled By the winds of the desert, like hosts in the field ; Where the wild ass sends forth a lone, dissonant bray, And the herds of the wild horse speed on through the day — The creatures unbroken, with manes flying free, Like the. steeds of the whirlwind, if such there may be. Yes, there in the desert, like armies for war, The flocks of the ostrich are seen from afar, Speeding on, speeding on o'er the desolate plain, While the fleet mounted Arab pursueth in vain 1 But 'tis joy to the traveller who toils through that land, The egg of the ostrich to find in the sand ; 'Tis sustenance for him when his store is low, And weary with travel he journeyeth slow To the well of the desert, and finds it at last Seven days' journey from that he hath passed. Howitt. 43. In books of travels I have heard Of a wise thing, the Tailor-bird; A bird of wondrous skill, that sews, Upon the bough whereon it grows, A leaf into a nest so fair That with it nothing can compare; A light and lovely airy thing, That vibrates with the breeze's wing. 266 gtije aUJjj's ®iwlt. Ah well ! it is with cunning power That little artist makes her bower; But come into an English wood, And I'll show you a work as good, A work the tailor-bird's excelling, A more elaborate, snugger dwelling, More beautiful, upon my word, Wrought by a little English bird. Ebwiit. 44. No, not in the meadow, and not on the shore ; And not on the wide heath with furze covered o'er, Where the cry of the ployer, the hum of the bee, Give a feeling of joyful security: And not in the woods, where the Nightingale's song Erom the chestnut and orange pours all the day long, And not where the martin has built in the eayes, And the redbreast e'er covered the children with leaves, Shall ye find the proud eagle ! no, come away; I will show you his dwelling, and point out his prey. Bowitt. 45. For the handsome Kingfisher, go not to the tree, No bird of the field or the forest is he; In the dry riven rock he did never abide, And not on the brown heath all barren and wide. He lives where the fresh, sparkling" waters are flowing, Where the tall, heavy Typha and Loosestrife are growing ; By the bright little streams that all joyfully run Awhile in the shadow, and then in the sun. 8CiJ* HU&j'jj ©twit. 267 He lives in a hole that is quite to his mind, With the green, mossy hazel roots firmly entwined; Where the dark alder-bough waves gracefully o'er, And the sword-flag and arrow-head grow at his door. There busily, busily, all the day long, He seeks for small fishes the shallows among; For he builds his nest of the pearly fish-bone, Deep, deep in the bank far retired, and alone. Then the brown water-rat from his burrow looks out, To see what his neighbour kingfisher's about; And the green dragon-fly, flitting slowly away, Just pauses one moment to bid him good-day, happy kingfisher ! what care should he know, By the clear, pleasant streams, as he skims to and fro, Now lost in the shadow, now bright in the sheen , Of the hot summer sun, glancing scarlet and green ! Sowitt. 46. The Humming-bird! the humming-bird, So fairy-like and bright ; It lives among the sunny flowers, A creature of delight ! In the radiant islands of the East, Where fragrant spices grow, A thousand thousand humming-birds Go glancing to and fro. Like living fires they flit about, Scarce larger than a bee, Among the broad palmetto leaves, And through the fan-palm tree. 268 Bfit 3U2rj'JS ffiraxlt. And in those wild and verdant woods Where stately moras tower, Where hangs from branching tree to tree The scarlet passion-flower; Where on the mighty river banks, La Platte or Amazon, The cayman, like an old tree trunk, Lies basking in the sun ; There builds her nest the humming-bird Within the ancient wood, Her nest of silky cotton down, And rears her tiny brood. She hangs it to a slender twig, Where waves it light and free, As the Campanero tolls his song, And rocks the mighty tree. Howitt. 47. All crimson Ib her shining breast, Like to tne red, red rose; Her wing is the changeful green and blue That the neck of the Peacock shows. Howitt. 48. Swan of the ocean, on thy throne of waves Exultant dost thou sit, thy mantling plumes Ruffled with joy, thy pride of neck elate, To hail fair peace, like angel visitant, Descending amid joy of earth and heaven, To bless thy fair abode. Milman. Bit 3U&2'5 ©rati*. 269 49. Twittering Swallow, fluttering swallow, Art oome back again? Come from water-bed or hollow, Where thou, winter-long, hast lain? Nay, I'll not believe it, swallow, Not in England hast thou tarried; Many a day Far away Has thy wing been wearied, Over continent and isle, Many and many and many a mile t Tell me, pr'ythee bird, the story Of thy six months migratory ! If thou wert a human traveller, We a quarto book should see ; Thou wouldst be the sage unraveller Of some dark old mystery ; Thou wouldst tell the wise men, swallow, Of the rivers' hidden fountains ; Plain and glen, And savage men, And Afghauns of the mountains ; Creatures, plants, and men unknown, And cities in the deserts lone : Thou wouldst be, thou far-land dweller, Like an Arab story-teller I Ebwilt 50. Dove of the wilderness, thy snowy wing In slumber droops not; Lilian, thou alone, Mid the deep quiet, wakest. Dost thou rove, Idolatrous of yon majestic moon, 270 ©St 5,a&2'» ©raxlt. That like a crystal-throned queen in heaven, Seems with her present deity to hush To beauteous adoration all the earth? Might seem the solemn silent mountain tops Stand up and worship, the translucent streams Down the hill sides glittering cherish the pure light Beneath the shadowy foliage o'er them flung At intervals; the lake, so silver white, Glistens, all indistinct the snowy swans Bask in the radiance cool; doth Lilian muse To that apparent queen her vesper hymn ? Milman.