';:ronfce2/— Leonard . 35c STEVENSON — Treasure Island — Broadus 25c TENNYSON — Selected Poems — Reynolds 35c TENNYSON — The Princess — Copeland 25c THACKERAY— i7mr2/ Esmond— PsEhVS 50c THACKERAY — English Humorists— CvvihiFFE and Watt 30c Three American Poems — The Raven, Snow-Bound, Miles Standish — Greevbr 25c Washington, Webster, Lincoln — Denney 25c SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHERS NEW YORK CHICAGO tTbeXafte jengUsbCIaeaics EDITED BY LINDSAY TODD DAMON, A.B. ProfeMOr of English Literature and Rhetoric if> Brown Universitu THE GOLDEN TEEASUM OF SONGS AND LYEICS WITH NOTES FRANCIS T. PALGRAVE Late Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford WITH AN INTRODUCTION ON THE STUDY OF POETRY ALPHONSO GERALD NEWCOMER Professor of English in the Leland Stanford Junior University SCOTT, FORESMAN AND COMPANY CHICAGO NEW YORK \>^: .<^ ^'^^v COPYRiGHI 1908 BY SCOTT, FORESMAM AND COMPANy IS CUctttrttta PAGE Introduction. The Study of Poetry v Dedication 45 Preface 47 Book 1 51 Book II 106 Book III 183 Book IV 247 Notes 399 Index of Writers 421 Index of First Lines 431 eoptirev erepov e<^' kripm alp6fji€vo<; aypev/x dpOewV' aBofxeva ii/v)(a THE STUDY OF POETRY I Poetry, the highest form of hterature, is one of the arts of expression, of which painting, sculpture, architecture, and music are others. It differs from these other arts in several ways. It is less distinctly creative than music and archi- tecture, both of which give shape, as it were, to something that did not exist in any shape be- fore. It is less directly imitative than sculpture and painting, since these employ physical like- ness of one sort or another, whereas poetry works only through the arbitrary symbols of ideas which we call words. It is thus the least vivid and least sensuous of the arts. It is also prob- ably the narrowest in its appeal. The currency of any particular poem is limited to the currency of the language in which it is written. Ancient Greek poetry spoke fully only to the ancient Greek. If we would understand it, we must either learn its language, which we can never do perfectly, or have it translated for us with much inevitable loss of beauty and significance. This limitation holds to a certain extent in the other arts, but far less fatally. Chinese music, for vi Palgrave's Golden Treasury instance, does not affect us precisely as it does the Chinese; yet music, Hke painting and sculp- ture, comes much nearer to speaking a universal language. Notwithstanding all this, poetry is assuredly chief of the arts, the most perfect expression of the human spirit. This preeminence it owes to its inclusiveness. The color of the painting, the grace of the statue, the melody of the musical air, may all be in some measure conveyed through one and the same poem. And beyond and above these are aspects of life and nature, shades of thought, and ranges of feeling which only poetry can express. To take a very simple example, note the image and sentiment that constitute the refrain of Victor Hugo's Guitare: "The wind that blows across the mountain-top Will drive me mad."* Or note the combination of melody and picture in William Dunbar's The Merle and the Nightin- gale: "Ne'er sweeter noise was heard by living man Than made this merry, gentle nightingale: Her sound went with the river, as it ran Out through the fresh and flourished lusty vale." These effects are possible only in poetry. *Le vent qui vient h travers la montagne Me rendra fou. The Study of Poetry vii THE NATURE AND ATTRIBUTES OF POETRY Many have attempted to define poetry, but every definition leaves something unsaid. It is better therefore to forego definition and rest content with description. And the first thing to be said has been best said by Shakspere when he describes the poet as being "of imagination all compact." Imagination is the magician that gives poetry its peculiar power. Now imagi- nation may work very simply, merely bringing back the vision of things past and done, repro- ducing after a fashion what the senses cannot reproduce. But it often becomes in a meas- ure creative. It is often pleased, for instance, to reshape what has been seen or experienced, softening what is harsh, illuminating what is obscure, selecting, it may be, the more congruous elements and combining them into lovelier crea- tions of its own. Or it may take the simple event or object and clothe it with a multitude of relations, penetrating everywhere to the essen- tial life and meaning of things. Or it may, in the exercise of a still higher function, assume to see in the material some type or symbol of the spiritual and through the one "body forth'' the other. But in whatever manner the imagination may assert itself, wherever it is active there is the possibility of poetry; viii Palgrave's Golden Treasury and unless it be active, there can be no poetry at all. But is not poetry then quite as often con- cerned with fiction as with truth? Yes, if we choose to put it so. But fiction is not the opposite of truth. Fiction, to be sure, means something that is not fact, something that has no exact counterpart in the actual world, and poetry pre- sents not a little such departure from the literal, physical truth. Take, for example, Mercutio's description of Queen Mab in Romeo and Juliet: "She comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone On the forefinger of an alderman, Dra\vTi with a team of little atomies Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners' legs." etc. When Romeo protests that Mercutio is talking of nothing, Mercutio admits that he talks of dreams "Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy." Plato was disposed to condemn such fantasy, and would have had no poets in his ideal Re- public, because they were so much given to reciting fables of imaginary gods and heroes. But such a condemnation is too sweeping. Shakspere's invention of a Queen Mab is not meant to deceive and can do no harm; on the The Study of Poetry ix contrary it gives much iPxnocent delight. It is fancy, not falsification. Moreover, the poet's fancy, even while it creates fictions, may be pre- senting under this guise essential spiritual truth. The hell and purgatory and paradise which Dante describes in such concrete terms in his Divina Commedia cannot possibly exist just as he imagined them, but they are no less essentially true in their portrayal of states of sin, suffering, and happiness in the human soul. In such a case the imagery of the poem may be regarded as fiction if we please, but the poem is none the less truth in the highest sense — truth that is not to be tested by the low and imperfect test of mere physical actuality. In fact we get the highest poetry only when there is a fusion of both fact and fancy in the embodiment of some lofty imaginative truth. Along with the question of truth arises the question of beauty. Poetry, as one of the fine arts, should work through a medium of beauty and to beautiful ends. In any art we may at times find material which is in itself unlovely, but such material must be so presented as to give no offense, or the art ceases to be art. The actual suffering of Laocoon and his sons in the coils of the serpents would have been an intolerable thing to witness, but the symbolic X Palgrave's Golden Treasury representation of it in marble, with the signs of physical pain softened and subordinated to the spiritual expression, is contemplated with admira- tion; the observer is almost made to wish, says Winckelmann, that he could bear misery like that great man. Perhaps poetry ventures farther than the plastic arts in depicting physical or moral deformity and pain, but it does so only to heighten some contrasted beauty, or to body forth some truth the deep significance of which is in itself a beauty. If it stops short with the presentation of deformity, it is not poetry. The wrath of Achilles is redeemed by his friendship for Patroclus and his compassion on Priam. The villainy of lago, as portrayed by Shakspere, ultimately heightens our admiration of moral worth. So, also, the barest philosophical truth, having in itself neither beauty nor ugliness, may be presented in so engaging a form as to take at once the name of poetry. To be convinced of this, it is only necessary to recall the finished couplets of an artist like Pope. But whether poetry present to us truth or fiction, beauty or ugliness, it is absolutely essen- tial that it be the product of feeling and that it arouse feeling. It might almost be said that the beginning and end of poetry is delight — delight, that is, in no narrow sense of mere amusement, The Study of Poetry xi but in a sense which includes the whole range of emotional satisfaction. This view of it is not universal. The traditional Greek view made delight incidental, or a means only, regarding as the end of poetry the teaching of action and character. But poetry in which this end is deliberately sought is invariably characterized as philosophic or didactic; and the terms imply an mferior degree of poetic quality. The highest poetry will no doubt teach, but that poetry which teaches directly is never the highest, while that which does nothing but teach is not, prop- erly speaking, poetry at all. The direct aim of great poetry is to stir the nobler emotions, leav- ing them to work out their own purposes in the moral world; the ends of morality may be served, but they are served best only when noth- ing lessens the purity of the imparted delight. The cry of "art for art's sake" becomes thus "art for art's sake because that is also art for morality's sake." So much for the general nature and function of poetry. Let us now pass to a consideration of certain incidental attributes which further distinguish it from prose — the ordinary prose of science, of record, and communication. Here our first guide shall be Milton, who, in differ- entiating poetry from logic, declared it to be xii Pal grave's Golden Treasury "less subtle and fine but more simple, sensuous, and passionate." "Simple,. Sensuous, and Passionate." — The direct way to the heart is not through the reason, but through the senses and emotions and the language of the senses and emotions. Matter- of-fact exposition, long-drawn argument, refine- ments of logic, are manifestly out of place in poetry. It must keep mainly to the things with which all men are familiar, and it must put those things in the language of experience. Love and death, for instance, are themes of this kind, and while it is true that few things could be made the subjects of subtler logic or profounder specu- lation, when poetry approaches them it prefers to do so in the attitude of the simplest human being who enjoys and suffers. In Wordsworth's poem, ''She dwelt among the untrodden ways," there is not a thought or an image that cannot be grasped immediately by the most untutored reader. Nor does it seem that any elaboration of thought or expression could convey more vividly the sorrow of bereavement than the simple concluding lines, "But she is in her grave, and oh The difference to me!" The prevailing sensuousness of poetry is well shown by the fact that the poet draws a large The Study of Poetry xiii proportion of his images from the world of sense — of eye and ear, of taste and smell and feeling. So true is this of early epic poetry that in all the Iliad there is but a single figure drawn from the operations of the mind.* Note how Keats's Eve of St. Agnes, one of the most widely known and admired of modern poems, abounds in pictures and images of sense. Mark in the more ethereal To a Skylark of Shelley the same con- creteness of imagery — ''Like a cloud of fire/' "Like a star of heaven/' ''Like a rose embow- ered/' "Like a high-born maiden in a palace tower." Could winter be more vividly portrayed than in Shakspere's lines: "When icicles hang by the wall And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail?" Moreover, in poetry abstract conceptions are constantly put into concrete form. When we are conscious that time is rapidly passing, the poetic faculty within us leaps at once to an image and says, "Time flies;" and Scott, in his stir- ing Hunting Song, exclaims: "Time, stern huntsman! who can baulk, Staunch as hound and fleet as hawk!" *Iliad, XV., 80. xiv Palgrave's Golden Treasury In the same manner Shakspere, with the reverse conception writes: "To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time. And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death." It must not, however, be assumed that sim- plicity and sensuousness are necessary and uni- versal attributes of poetry, nor that the test of great poetry hes in its appeal to the untutored mind. To maintain this would be to limit poetry at once to the simplest lyrics or ballads and to set the concert-hall song above the Shaksperian drama. Milton was merely drawing a distinc- tion, not proposing a precise definition. There are many kinds of poetry; "and there are vary- ing degrees of simplicity and sensuousness, as there are varying degrees of intelligence to be reached. What is simple to one man to-day might not have been so yesterday and may nevei* be so to another. The poet cannot sink always to the level of babes. He may, indeed, address himself to most select audiences, basing his appeals upon less familiar experiences and involving them at times in subtle webs of thought. Only, he will keep more on the side of sensuous- ness and simplicity than if he were writing philosophical prose. The Study of Poetry 1 Moreover, there is in Milton's statement a third element to be considered, namely, that poetry is marked by passion. Perhaps this is the most important of the three. We have already remarked how essential it is that poetry be based upon feeling. The ''noble emotions" of which Ruskin makes so much in all art, the ** spiritual excitement" which Arnold considers a necessary condition of lofty style, must be present in some degree; and no doubt if they are present in sufficient degree, if only the poet be impassioned enough, his emotional intensity and elevation will hft his thoughts, however abstruse, into the region of poetry. Generic, or Specific? — Is the generic or the specific the better suited to the poet's purpose? The fact that poetry shows a preference for the simple, sensuous, and concrete, might seem to decide the question at once in favor of the specific. Dr. Johnson, however, has recorded in Rasselas a somewhat different opinion: "The business of a poet," said Imlac, ''is to examine, not the individual, but the species; to remark general properties and large appearances. He does not number the streaks of the tuHp, or describe the different shades in the verdure of the forest. He is to exliibit in his por- traits of nature such prominent and striking features as recall the original to every mind, and must neglect the minuter discriminations, which one may have remarked and another have neglected, for those characteristics which are alike obvious to vigilance and carelessness." 2 Palgrave's Golden Treasury The ideas and tastes of the eighteenth century in these matters were somewhat different from our own. Johnson, for instance, in The Vanity of Human Wishes, contents himself in his enu- meration of the things that make up the pomp and splendor of a king's life, with such vaguely outlined elements as "the regal palace,'' "the luxurious board." Almost equally generalized is Pope's description of the happy man, — "Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter, fire." In marked contrast to this are such lines as Tennyson's "The seven elms, the poplars four, That stand beside my father's door." Each poet pursues his purpose consistently. The "flocks" and "trees" of Pope are as appropriate to his generalized landscape as the "elms" and "poplars" of Tennyson are to his particular one. All we can say is that there is a preference on the part of probably the larger class of poets for specific themes and methods — a preference sometimes so marked that a poet like Keats will swell the description of even an imaginary bower with a wealth of "botanical circumstance." The Study of Poetry 3 These differences are really but differences of emphasis which help us to define more exactly the limits of poetry. We may agree with Dr. Johnson in the main, yet feel that he went too far in his restrictions. That which is obvious to "vigilance" only, should certainly be as good poetic material as that which is obvious to "carelessness" merely. But it should always be obvious, — not necessarily to the whole world, for that would sink poetry to the level of the commonplace, but obvious to the alert, the dis- cerning, and the imaginative, in a word, to the poet himself. Things that are recondite, that can be discovered and set forth only by abstract reasoning, are not proper material for poetry. Neither are those natural phenomena which reveal themselves only to microscopic examina- tion or which require the test of scientific analysis. Such things are the material of the philosopher and the scientist, and should be handled through the medium of prose. To state the principle broadly then, the poet may safely generalize only up to the point where perception readily follows, and he may be specific only down to the same point. Such a general truth as "Slow rises worth by poverty depressed" is poetic material bec.-\use it is based upon 4 Palgrave's Golden Treasury observation of the more immediate kind, and is readily verified by most men's experience. But such a scientific generaHzation as, "In animal life the ascent of the scale of creation is a process of differentiation of functions," goes beyond the proper realm of poetry. So with particularization. The poet may number the streaks of a tulip provided he can do it with a glance of the eye. If the streaks are too faint or too numerous for that, the numbering be- comes a scientific and not a poetic process. Even the numbering with a glance of the eye may be unpoetic if done for other purposes than delight. On the whole, it is plain what Dr. Johnson would have excluded — very minute details, accidental peculiarities, methodically pre- cise description and classification. In further illustration, take Byron's description of the Lake of Geneva as viewed from the castle of Chillon: "A thousand feet in depth below The massy waters meet and flow." This might seem to be a violation of our prin- ciple. But a second thought shows that it is not. "Nine hundred and fifty-five feet" would be such a violation, because we should then have an exact reference to an abstract standard of measurement. The round number makes no pretence to accuracy, even though the poet goes The Study of Poetry 5 on to speak of a fathom-line. The reader gets merely an impression of vast depth. Whether the statement even approaches exactness is a matter of comparative indifference. Most fre- quently, indeed, the poet avoids all reference to such standards of measurement as feet, hours, and the like. When Spenser would tell us the time, he says: "By this the northern Wagoner had set." When Keats would indicate a certain distance, he writes: "About a young bird's flutter from the wood," The legions of Satan, according to Milton, lay on the lake of fire, "Tliick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa." In every case we are referred directly to the powers of sense-perception. Suggestion and Association. — While poetry sometimes achieves its end of giving delight by the simple method of filling the mind with pleas- ing tales and pictures, more often perhaps, the end is attained by opening avenues of contempla- tion and stimulating the mind to create its own images. By the art of suggestion, or by playing 6 Pal grave's Golden Treasury upon the law of association, the poet may set up such a creative activity in the mind of his auditor as yields perhaps the keenest of all imaginative pleasures. For instance, he may compress a dozen images into a single word, as when Collins speaks of ^' salloiu Autumn"; or by a striking epithet he may start a long train of thought, as when Shakspere discourses of the "hungry ocean." An admirable instance of the effectiveness of suggestion may be seen in the word "silent" as used by Keats in the last line of his sonnet, On First Looking into Chapman's Homer. The ellipses so frequently found in verse, the compounding of nouns, the suppres- sion of verbs, the resort to exclamatory forms, all owe part of their effectiveness to the fact that they substitute suggestion for complete expression. The laws of mental association may likewise be counted upon to stimulate this imaginative activity. Words carry with them long trains of associated ideas, varying of course with the knowledge and experience of the individual. The poet instinctively seeks that language which is richest in associations. Milton, in V Allegro and II Penseroso, plays upon class- ical mythology and literature in a way to give intense delight to those versed in that lore. The Study of Poetry 7 The first stanza of Shelley's Ode to the West Wind calls up in succession ali that we have read or known of the mysteries of witchcraft, of the horrors of plague, of funeral trains, muster- ing armies, and shepherded flocks. "O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, hke ghosts from an enchanter fleeing. Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red. Pestilence-stricken multitudes! O thou Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low. Each like a corpse witliin its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odours plain and liill: Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and Preserver; Hear, oh hear!" Imagination and Fancy. — We have already used the word imagination in a broad sense as virtually synonymous with all poetic or creative activity. In a somewhat narrower sense, how- ever, it is applied only to the higher and nobler phases of this activity, while the word fancy is employed to distinguish the lower phases. The marks of fancy are to be found in such poetry as deals with the merely pretty or amusing, the diminutive, the superficial, the ephemeral, the sentimental, and the like. At the lowest it may descend to the palpably false. When Pope, 8 Palgrave's Golden Treasury for instance; in one of his early pastorals, de- clares that at the nightingale's song "all the aerial audience clapped their wings/' he strains his fancy quite to the verge of the ridiculous. Most of the stock images of poetry, like "rosy cheeks" and "ivory brow," and especially those which attempt to adorn nature with the attri- butes of art, such as "silken wings" and "jewelled skies," must be regarded as creations of a not very worthy fancy. From its worthier exercise, however, may spring such an admirable poem as, for instance, Gray's playful Ode on the Death of a Favorite Cat, or the numerous graceful trifles of Herrick, or the best of the sentimental effusions of Moore. A good example of fancy passing into imagination may be seen in Gray's Ode on the Pleasure Arising from Vicissitude. On the other hand, the heat and glow of the pure imagination are at once stronger and steadier than the passing gleams of fancy. Imagination ranges beyond the immediate, deals freely with the vast in space or power, penetrates appearances and seizes and reveals whatever is fundamentally true, beautiful, and good. It is the native gift of the supreme poets. We may trace its workings upon every page of Shak- spere, the greatest master of both the secrets of nature and the passions of men. It illuminates The Study of Poetry 9 as with a kind of celestial radiance the lines of Wordsworth's inspired odes. Unconditioned by time or space, it freely transcends fact, but never truth. Ideal truth is indeed one of its essential characteristics. When Wordsworth makes Nature say of Lucy that "Beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face," we are at first startled as by something merely fanciful and untrue. But a second thought makes us see that this is no idle fancy, but the profoundest of imaginative truth. Indeed, we may conceive it to be the literal fact — that harmonies which pass through the senses to the mind may be reproduced in the organs of the body. Literalness, however, is no necessary quahty. When Milton ventures upon the high imaginings of a Paradise Lost, he does not bind himself to fact, that is, to actual human experi- ence. Much of the machinery of that great poem is a palpable fiction. Through its daring sym- bohsm, however, it sets forth what Milton con- ceived to be the deepest truths of the moral and spiritual universe. Select Diction. — Coleridge said that whereas prose is simply '^ words in their best order," poetry, in his definition, is "the best words in the best order." Naturally poetry, being con- 10 Palgrave's Golden Treasury secrated to the highest spiritual purposes, seeks a consecrated language. It avoids all words that might shock or offend. It clings instinctively to what is old and well-tried. Thus a greater archaism is not only permitted to poetry than to prose — it is almost forced upon it; and so we find in it certain forms, like "wast," *'yon," "trod," "burthen," which prose no longer uses. Now and then a poet will strike out boldly into new fields, forcing to his pur- poses a very modern or even local and technical diction. But the difficulty is great and the attempt dangerous, requiring for success a high order of imagination and taste.* On the other hand, verse-writers sometimes betray an exces- sive tendency to keep to a special "poetic" vocabulary. They think, for instance, that they must write of "crystal" instead of "glass," of "steed" or "courser" instead of "horse," of "youths and maidens" instead of "boys and girls." Poetry has doubtless shownn a general preference for the former of these terms, a preference stronger at certain periods in the history of our literature than at others. But the preference is not always justifiable, since it *Perhaps as good an example of this as could be found (for by the nature of the case one is practically compelled to select from contemporary verse) is Mr, Kipling's McAndrew' s Hymn. The Study of Poetnj 11 does not follow that what is common is common- place or that what is homely is unpoetical. Sometimes the deepest feelings and the most sacred associations go with the familiar, homely word. Indeed, poetry usually prefers the simple word. This springs logically from the sim- plicity which we have seen to be characteristic of poetry in general. Long, hard words are learned comparatively late in life; they have not gathered about them so many associations, nor do they call them up so readily; in fact, they do not usually stand for the simpler human feelings and relations, but rather for the refine- ments of mature life and experience, when love passes into regard, and ardent will into prefer- ence, and joy into a measured gratification. Or they stand for the subtle distinctions of philo- sophic and scientific analysis, with which poetry has little or no concern. But we may not be dogmatic on this point, nor attempt to fix arbitrary limits. Milton employs a highly Latin- ized diction to suit the dignified character of his epic, and he has clearly felt the poetic beauty of certain long and resonant proper names. In the sonnets of Rossetti, too, may be found many such words as ''desultory," "regenerate," "prim- ordial," "irretrievably," " inexorable supremacy;" 12 Palgrave's Golden Treasury used nearly always with entire felicity both of sound and sense. Everything of course depends upon the atmosphere of the poem, the effect aimed at, and the taste and skill of the poet. Poetry prefers the beautiful word — a point in which again the taste of the poet is supreme arbiter. When Thomson writes ''at ween" in- stead of "between" and Tennyson ''marish*' instead of ''marsh," we feel that they were drawn by some peculiar beauty which, rightly or wrongly, they conceived to lie in those forms. Poems like Shelley's To a Skylark, or Keats's Ode to Autumn, or Poe's The Raven are filled with the most beautiful and melodious words the language possesses. Of course, when a dif- ferent effect is desired, uncouth and dissonant words may be used; but this is in pursuance of a special or temporary purpose, in which poetry still, by nicely suiting the means to the end, achieves that ultimate and integral beauty which lies in the perfect harmonization of all elements. Figurative Language. — Figurative language is preeminently the language of the imagination, which is constantly detecting subtle resemblances or clothing abstractions in visible forms. It is also the natural language of emotion, which not only employs those rhetorical figures — exclama- tion, and the like — that serve to make expres- The Study of Poetry 13 sion more brief and vivid, but which sometimes sees falsely and therefore, without realizing it, speaks in hyperbole or under an untruthful image. When, for example, in an excess of fear or rage, or out of excessive love or sympathy, one attributes life and sensation to that which does not have them, he commits what Ruskin has called a pathetic fallacy — a fallacy, that is, of the feelings, natural and justifiable, and not to be con- fused with the inexcusable fallacy of a cold- blooded conceit. Lyric poetry is full of the- pathetic fallacy, as it is full indeed of figures of every kind. On the other hand, it is to be observed that some narrative poetry of the highest type — Homer's Iliad, for example, and Dante's Divina Commedia — indulges in few fig- ures, and those mostly of simple comparison, such as the simile, in which there is no shadow of mental confusion. Yet figures have remained, first and last, one of the great distinguishing marks of poetic expression. POETIC FORM Metre. — Nearly all definitions of poetry agree in requiring that its language shall be measured, that is, be given metrical form. Metre, as applied to English verse, may be defined as a recurrence of accents or stresses at intervals measurably 14 Palgrave's Golden Treasury and continuously regular. The rhythm of prose is distinguished from metre in not being con- tinuous or so measurably regular. Metre obeys a discoverable law. Without going into the history of English verse or troubling ourselves about the difference between accent and the classical ''quantity,'" we may give a very simple outline of English metrics as practiced in modem poetry. The Foot. — The metrical unit is the foot. This consists of one stressed syllable in combina- tion with either one or two unstressed syllables. The two-syllable feet are the iamb ( ^ J_ ) and the TROCHEE ( JL w ). The three-syllable feet are the anapest {^ ^ !_) and the dactyl { L ^ ^ )- To these may be added the spondee ( ), a foot of two heavy or nearly equally stressed syllables, which is employed as a frequent sub- stitute for the dactyl in dactyhc verse. From this scheme it is apparent that English verse falls naturally into two great divisions or classes — the iambic-trochaic class, or what may be called duple measure, and the anapestic- dactylic class, or triple measure. Iambic and Trochaic Measures. — It is not always possible to tell whether we shall call a given duple-measure verse iambic or trochaic. The Study of Poetry 15 From the middle portion of the hnes we could not tell. If, however, the lines begin regularly with a light syllable, we call the measure iambic; if with a stressed syllable, trochaic. Gray's Elegy is iambic: ft tit The curfew tolls the knell of pa ting day. Ambrose Philips' s To Charlotte Pulteney (except- ing its last two lines) is trochaic: f f t f Timely blossom, Infant fair. Gray's The Bard is predominantly iambic, with some trochaic lines. Milton's V Allegro and II Penseroso are compounded almost equally of the two measures. In general, the iambic movement is the more dignified and stately; the trochaic is lighter, with a tripping effect. It may be noted further that the iambic is the favorite English measure, in- cluding a far greater proportion of verse than all the other measures combined. Anapestic and Dactylic Measures. — The two movements in triple measure are likewise not always kept distinct. Cowper's The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk is an anapestic poem: I am monarch of all I survey; My right there is none to dispute. 16 Palgrave's Golden Treasury Hood's The Bridge of Sighs is dactylic: One more Unfortunate Weary of breath. Scott's PihrocJ of Donuil Dhu is mainly dactylic, with at least one stanza — the third — almost entirely anape.:itic. It should be noted that this triple measure very freely admits duple feet as substitutes for the triple; a good example is Wolfe's The Burial of Sir John Moore: ft t r Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note. The Line. — The line is named according to the number of feet it contains. A line of One foot = MONOMETER Five feet = pentameter Two feet = dimeter Six feet = hexameter Three feet = trimeter Seven feet = heptameter Four feet = tetrameter Eight feet = octometer The line is then further described, according to the character of its feet, as iambic, trochaic, dactylic, or anapestic. Thus the line quoted above from Gray is iambic pentameter, that from Philips is trochaic tetrameter (wanting a final light syllable), and that from Wolfe is anapestic tetrameter. The lines most commonly used in lyric verse The Study of Poetry 17 are from three to five feet in length; in narrative and dramatic verse, from four to six feet. The great Enghsh verse* is unquestionably the iambic pentameter. It is used, with rhyme, for most long narrative poems of the romantic cast, and without rhyme (blank) for narrative of the severer epic type and for the drama. From its former use it has obtained the name of the Eng- lish "heroic.'' An iambic hexameter, when used as an occasional variant in pentameter verse, goes by the French name of "Alexandrine." Metrical Variations. — Thus far we have de- scribed verse as if it were absolutely regular — as a child always wishes to recite it, with regular and equally stressed accents. Poets, however, in their practice are constantly intro- ducing variations, and there can be no proper reading of poetry without taking account of the numerous departures from the normal foot and line. The variations are chiefly of three kinds: (1) variations in the number of light or unstressed syllables; (2) variations in the weight of stressed syllables; (3) variations in the relative position of the stresses. 1. An extra imstressed syllable is often allowed *Note that "a verse" or "the verse" means technically a single line. ''Verse" in the collective sense stands for all metrically arranged language. 18 Palgrave's Golden Treasury in iambic and trochaic measure, especially at the beginning or end of a line: f p It Other flowering isles must be / f It In the sea of life and agony. t t f f f The wise w^ant love and those w^ho love want wisdom The extra syllables within a line are usually such as may be easily slurred over (-er, -eZ, -en, -y, the before a vowel, etc.): IIP f Master of the murmwring courts. She dw^elt among the untrodden ways. r Iff t So spake the imperial sage, purest of men. f t f ft Sweet fluttering sheet, even of her breath aware. Sometimes an apostrophe is made to take the place of the vowel of such syllables, but the present tendency is rather against complete elision. The syllable therefore should be pro- nounced distinctly, though of course very lightly and rapidly. A light syllable may be omitted from three- syllable (anapestic or dactylic) measure: r t t r A sensitive plant in a garden grew A A This is sometimes done so freely as quite to change the character of the verse. For example, The Study of Poetry 19 Moore's Pro Patria Mori and Wolfe's The Burial of Sir John Moore are both technically in anapestic measure, but the second, with its greater free- dom, gives much less the effect of singing and more the effect of recitation. Occasionally, the light syllable or syllables of a foot are altogether omitted, their place being supplied by a pause: V -L V I- V JL Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, O seal Over bank and over brae, f t f f Hie away, hie away. A Rarely, as many as three light syllables are allowed in a foot. If this is done continuously we get virtually a new (quadruple) measure, the feet of which have never been given a name in English. Such feet, however, very easily resolve themselves into trochees or iambs: f 4 P Though the bloodhound be mute and the rush beneath f my foot, And the warder his bugZe should not blow. (Scott's Eve of St. John.) 2. Stresses are not of uniform strength. Some- times the place of the stress is occupied by a 20 Palgrave^s Golden Treasury very weak syllable. In reading, such a syllable is given the least accent possible — merely suffi- cient to indicate the time-beat: f f r f f Amid the timbrels and the throng'd resort. r r t f f The mocktiry of my people and their bane. r t t ft The sound of merriment and chorus bland. Iambic pentameters, notwithstanding their five time-beats, show on the average only about four strong stresses to the line. Often the unstressed position is occupied by a heavy syllable, w^hich must not, however, be given the time-beat so long as there is an equally heavy syllable in the stressed position: t f f t f But how to take last leave of all I love. 3. The position of stresses may occasionally be shifted, yielding inverted feet: Nothing beside remains. Round the decay f t f p f Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, The lone and level sands stretch far away. Such inversion is most frequent at the begin- ning of a line or after a pause. It is mainly con- fined, too, to iambic verse, the other measures — trochaic, anapestic, and dactylic — having their accentual character more strongly marked. The Study of Poetry 21 Sometimes the shifting of stresses is carried so far as to bring about a kind of fusion of two feet into one long compound foot. The number and weight of stresses remain the same, but the alternation is temporarily lost: And the first gray of morning filled the east. Raised highT the faint head o'er which it hung. Here the scansion of the italicized portion is ^ ^ j_ ± instead of ^ j_ ^ j_. Rhyme. — Rhyme is a recurrence of the same sound or sounds. According to present English practice, two words are said to rhyme when they are similar in sound from the vowel of the last accented syllable to the close. It is com- monly required that the consonants (or combi- nation of consonants) preceding the accented vowel be different. That is, fate, ate, rate, gate, etc., may rhyme with grate, but not great with grate, because of their complete identity; but a few poets have followed the French custom and allowed this identity. Spelling has nothing to do with the matter; strait and straight are both rhymes to either great or grate. Masculine rhyme is rhyme of a single syllable : go - grow; felled - beheld. Feminine or double rhyme (so named be- cause of the syllabic addition to feminine words 22 Palgrave's Golden Treasury in French) is rhyme of two syllables; going - growing; city - pity. Triple rhyme is also occasionally found: tenderly - slenderly; bring to her - spring to her. Slight variations in the vowel sounds and (more rarely) in the consonant sounds are ad- mitted by most poets: love -prove; Christ -mist; prize - Paradise. Weak or light rhyaie occurs when one of the rhyming syllables has only a secondary word- accent: see - futurity; sped - piloted; spell - desir- able. Another musical device frequently employed is ALLITERATION. This is merely beginning- rhyme, or similarity of sound at the beginning of words or syllables: novo -never; blight -blos- som; love - relent; strive - restrain. In early Eng- lish poetry, alliteration was employed systemat- ically, but now it is almost wholly incidental; for example: With just enough of ?ife to see The Zast of suns go down on me. To alliteration may be added assonance, or similarity of sound (chiefly vowel) within words; gray - save; gloaming - home. This also is but an incidental element. Yet these incidental elements often add great charm to verse. Ob- serve, for example, how effectively the three The Studij of Poetry 23 consonant sounds in the word Cuboid are made to play through the following lines: Cupid and my Campaspe play'd At cards for kisses; Cupid paid and observe how extremely musical the follow- ing stanza is made by the chiming and cadence of its dominant sounds: The low downs lean to the sea; the stream, One loose thin pulseless tremulous vein, Rapid and vivid and dumb as a dream, Works do^^^lward, sick of the sun and the rain. Blank Verse. — Blank verse is verse without rhyme. It is commonly iambic pentameter, as in Shakspere's dramas and Milton's Paradise Lost. In this verse there are no metrical units greater than the line; beyond that the verse simply moves in rhythmical masses and falls into paragraphs like those of prose: "Is this the region^ this the soil, the clime." Said then the lost Archangel, "this the seat That we must change for Heaven? — this mournful gloom For that celestial light? Be it so, since He Who now is sovran can dispose and bid What shall be right; farthest from him is best. Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme Above his equals. Farewell, happy fields. Where joy forever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail, Infernal World! and thou, profoundest Hell, Receive thy new possessor — one who brings A mind not to be changed by place or time. The mind is its own place, and in itself Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven." 24 Palgrave's Golden Treasury Another familiar form of blank verse is the DACTYLIC HEXAMETER, which IS modelled upon the Greek and Latin hexameter, with very- definite rules of its own. Among these rules are the requirement that the sixth or last foot shall always be a trochee; that a two-syllable foot (properly a spondee, but often a trochee) may be substituted for the dactyl of any foot but the fifth; and that the chief rhetorical pause within the line, technically known as the caesura, shall not come at the end of a foot: Awed by her o■\^^l rash words she was still: 1| and her eyes to the seaward^ Looked for an answer of wrath: far off, in the heart of the darkness, Bright white mists rose slowly; beneath them the wander- ing ocean Glimmered and glowed to the deepest abyss; and the knees of the maiden Trembled and sank in her fear, as afar, like a dawn in the midnight, Rose from their seaweed chamber the choir of the mys- tical sea-maids. Couplets. — The simplest use of rhyme is shown in the couplet — two successive rhyming lines. This, like blank verse, is most frequently iambic pentameter. Two kinds of pentameter couplets may be distinguished, the classic and the roman- tic. In the former there is a marked pause at The Study of Poetry 25 the end, each couplet constituting a pretty dis- tinct rhetorical unit, with internal balance nicely adjusted; as in the following example from Pope's Rape of the Lock: But now secure the painted vessel glides, The sunbeams trembling on the floating tides; While melting music steals upon the sky, And soften'd sounds along the waters die; Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play, Belinda smiled, and all the world was gay. In the romantic couplet there are many "run- on" lines, the pauses occurring at any point, with frequently a full stop in the middle of a line. The opening lines of Keats's Endymion afford a good illustration: A thing of beauty is a joy forever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing. In either case these couplets are printed con- tinuously, like blank verse, with large irregular paragraph divisions. Stanza Forms. — Rhyme is not only a musical addition to verse, but it serves also to bind the lines into the larger poetic units known as stanzas. Sometimes stanzas are constructed without rhymes, as in Collins' s ode To Evening, but this 26 Palgrave's Golden Treasury is rare. The briefest stanza consists of two lines. Couplets, as defined above, are not stanzas. But when printed separately, they constitute stanzas to which perhaps the name of DiSTiCHS may be given. An example is Whittier's Maud Midler. Specimens may be found also of three-line stanzas, with triple rhyme. Above this we reach the forms of the more common stanzas, and the possible combi- nations become obviously very numerous. We shall indicate only the more frequent and char- acteristic combinations, some of which have distinctive names. A QUATRAIN consists of four lines, usually with alternate rhyme, a, h, a, h: I see the rainbow in the sky, The dew upon the grass, I see them, and I ask not why They gUmmer or they pass. An important variation is that employed by Tennyson in In Memoriam, with an enclosed couplet, thus: a, h, h, a. The lines are tetram- eter: I sing to him that rests below, And, since the grasses round me wave, I take the grasses of the grave And make them pipes whereon to blow. Another variation is the oriental quatrain of The Study of Poetry 27 Fitzgerald's Ruhaiyat: a, a, h, a. The lines of this are pentameter: Awake! for morning in the bowl of night Has flung the stone that put the stars to flight: And lo! the hunter of the east has caught The sultan's turret in a noose of light. Rhyme-royal is a seven-line pentameter stanza, a, h, a, h, h, c, c. It was much used in Chaucer's time. An example may be found in the famiUar Prelude of William Morris's Earthly Paradise: Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, I cannot ease the burden of your fears, Or make quick-coming death a little thing, Or bring again the pleasure of past years. Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears, Or hope again for aught that I can say. The idle singer of an empty day. Ottava rima is an eight-line pentameter stanza, a, h, a, h, a, h, c, c. The stanza and the name were borrowed from the Itahan. Byron's Don Juan will furnish an example: And first one universal shriek there rushed Louder than the loud ocean, like a crash Of echoing thunder; and then all was hushed, Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash Of billows; but at intervals there gushed. Accompanied with a con\ailsive splash, A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry Of some strong swimmer in his agony. 28' Palgrave's Golden Treasury Another Italian form, not really stanzaic, is the terza rima, consisting of sets of triple rhymes interlocked, a, h, a, h, c, h, c, d, c, d, e, d, etc. See Shelley's Ode to the West Wind. The Spenserian stanza, invented by Spenser for his Faerie Queene, consists of nine lines — eight iambic pentameter and the ninth an Alexandrine — rhyming a, h, a, h, h, c, h, c, c. The example following is from Spenser, but the stanza may be seen also in Byron's Childe Harold, Keats' s Eve of St. Agnes, and various poems of Shelley's, such as the Stanzas Written in Dejection near Naples: One day, nigh weary of the irksome way. From her unhasty beast she did ahght, And on the grass her dainty hmbs did lay In secret shadow, far from all men's sight: From her fair head her fillet she undight, And laid her stole aside. Her angel's face, As the great eye of heaven, sliined bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place; Did never mortal eye behold such heavenly grace. The Sonnet. — The sonnet is a complete poem of fourteen iambic pentameter lines. In the strict Itahan or Petrarchan form it is divided formally, and usually also logically, into an octave and a sestet. The octave contains but two rhymes, in the order a, h, b, a, a, b, b, a. The sestet may contain either two or three The Study of Poetry 29 rhymes arranged in any interlinked order — c, d, c, d, c, d; c, c, d, c, c, d; c, d, e, c, d, e; c, d, e, d, c, e, etc. The following example is from Wordsworth : The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers: Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon I This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not. — Great God! I'd rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. The Shaksperian sonnet is arranged in three quatrains and a couplet: a, h, a, h, c, d, c, d^ e- f, e, f, g, g: That time of year thou may'st in me behold, When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold. Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sun-set fadeth in the west. Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest: In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, As the death-bed whereon it must expire, Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong. To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 30 Palgrave^s Golden Treasury The Ode. — The ode is usually composed of lines of varying length, and divided into stanzas, or strophes. In the so-called '^ Pindaric" ode of Cowley and his imitators, these strophes are entirely irregular in length and form. See Dry- den's Alexander's Feast for an example. In the Pindaric ode proper, the stanzas are arranged in triads of strophe, antistrophe, and epode, and these correspond throughout. That is, some arrangement of lines and rhymes is selected for the strophe and preserved througi^ all the succeeding strophes and antistrophes, with a different arrangement for the epode, which is likewise preserved through the follow- ing epodes. See Gray's The Bard. Many simpler arrangements of more or less regular stanzas are also called odes, such as the familiar odes of Shelley and Keats. French Forms. — In recent years there has been a revival of numerous old French forms of verse, such as the ballade, the rondeau, the TRIOLET, etc. Many of them are extremely elaborate and artificial, making much use o^ the element of refrain. They are of value chiefly as exercises of the fancy and of technical skill. Seldom is poetry of the first order composed in them and they call for no extended description here. The Study of Poetry 31 KINDS or POETRY Poetry may be divided into three large classes, Epic, Lyric, and Dramatic, with numerous minor classes subdividing and to some extent overlapping these. Epic Poetry. — Epic poetry was originally the poetry of recital or of rude chant. It is objec- tive; that is, it deals with external events and seldom expresses the feelings of the poet. It is mainly narrative, usually of great length, and in its earlier examples treats of the deeds and prowess of some hero or tribe. A distinction may be made between the early folk-epic, or hero-saga, and its later developments or imita- tions. The former is comparatively simple and of obscure origin, being sometimes a product of slow growth and the work of various bards. Such are the Iliad, the Nihelungenlied, and Beowulf. The character of the folk-epic can- not of course be adequately shown in an extract, but possibly something of its spirit and general manner may be thus conveyed. The following is from our Old English epic, the alliterative poem of three thousand lines which recounts the deeds of the Teutonic hero Beowulf, who delivered the country of the Danes from a dragon : 32 Palgrave's Golden Treasury Then he saw mid the war-gems a weapon of \'ictory, An ancient giant-sword, of edges a-doughty, Glory of warriors: of weapons 'twas choicest, Only 'twas larger than any man else was Able to bear to the battle-encounter, The good and splendid work of the giants. He grasped then the sword-hilt, brandished his ring-sword; Hopeless of living, hotly he smote her, That the fiend-woman's neck firmly it grappled, Broke through her bone-joints, the bill fully pierced her Fate-cursed body, she fell to the ground then: The hand-sword was bloody, the hero exulted. (J, L. Hall's Translation.) The ART-EPIC arises at a stage of higher devel- opment, and is invariably the work of a single poet who elaborates his story with all the devices of a perfected art. The best type of this is the great Roman epic of the Aeneid. Though Virgil professedly followed Homer, writing a heroic poem and employing indeed some of the same legends, the difference of treatment may be felt in almost every line. The primitive character is gone; the later poet is manifestly far removed from the events which he describes, and literary embellishment is more constantly added to direct narration. The following lines describe Aeneas's departure from Carthage, on his way to found Rome, at the bidding of a messenger from heaven : Now at the last, Troy's chief, by the sudden \asion appalled, Started from slumber, and loudly his sleeping mariners called: The Study of Poetry 33 "Gallants! waken in haste! Each man to his bench and his oar! Hoist all sails with a will! From the heavenly heights as before, Comes an immortal God, sent down with a mighty com- mand Straight to depart, and to sever the twisted cables from land. Holiest one! we obey thee, whatever thy title on high; Lo! with rejoicing hearts to perform thy bidding we fly. Be thou graciously near us, and make yon stars of the sky Herald us weather fair." As he spake, from the scab- bard his sword Flamed as the lightning flashes, and sundered swiftly the cord. All are aglow, heave gaily amain, haste gladly to do. Land in the distance fades, sails cover the seas, and the crew Labor the foaming waters, and cleave bright billows of blue. (Bowen's Translation.) Sometimes the later poet attempts to imitate the simplicity of the more primitive epic, as Matthew Arnold has done in Sohrab and Rustum. On the other hand the modern epic poet may quite depart from the subjects and methods of the early bards, and produce a great historical, allegorical, or religious epic, like Camoen's Lusiad, Spenser's Faerie Queene, or Milton's Paradise Lost. The FOLK-BALLAD, though much briefer and partaking of a lyric character, remains essentially objective and must be regarded as a variety of epic poetry. There are numerous English ballads 34 Palgrave's Golden Treasury of unkno^vTi origin, like Robin Hood or the Battle of Otterhurn, and also numerous later ones, especially since the time of Scott, composed in more or less close imitation of them. The char- acter of the rude, anonymous ballad is well illustrated by the opening stanzas of Sir Patrick Spence: The king sits in Dumferling toune, Drinking the blude-reid wine: "O whar will I get guid sailor, To sail this schip of mine?" Up and spak an eldem knicht, Sat at the king's richt kne: "Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor, That sails upon the se." The METRICAL TALE is another important variety of the epic. It is usually highly romantic, deriving its themes from deeds of chivalry, from oriental manners, and the like. Such are Scott's longer poems, Byron's The Bride of Ahydos, etc. Sometimes the metrical tale is quite modem in setting and spirit, as in Tennyson's English Idyls. Lyric Poetry. — Lyric poetry is the poetry of song, though now seldom actually meant to be sung. It is more or less subjective — that is, it springs from and expresses the feelings of the poet, and appeals less to the love of incident than T?ie Study of Poetry 35 to the emotional and aesthetic sensibihties of the reader. It includes nearly all short poems and many of considerable length — the great bulk, indeed, of modern verse — and the sources of its inspiration cover the entire range of human feel- ing, from the religious worshiper's hymn or the mother's tender lullaby over her sleeping infant to the warrior's fierce cry of battle and victory. Examples rise in perplexing number: Take, O take those lips away That so sweetly were forsworn, And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn; But my kisses bring again, Bring again — Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, Seal'd in vain I — Shakspere. Hail to thee, blithe Spirit 1 Bird thou never wert, That from heaven or near it Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. — Shelley. Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western seal Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my Httle one, while my pretty one, sleeps. — Tennyson. Under the general head of lyric poetry must be included a number of more or less specialized 36 Palgrave's Golden Treasury varieties, such as elegies, or mourning poems, of which Milton's Lycidas is the great Enghsh example; epithalamia, or marriage hymns, like Spenser's Epithalamion; and odes and SONNETS, both of which have been more fully described in the preceding section on Poetic Form. Dramatic Poetry. — This is the poetry of en- acted life. In it the poet drops the role of narrator or interpreter and simply presents his characters, allowing them to speak and act for themselves. Sometimes poetic drama is written only to be read, when we give it the name of ''closet-drama," but in the greatest period of the English drama, the time of Queen Elizabeth, it was invariably intended for actual representation on the stage and the productions were called simply ''plays." Plays are com- monly classified as either tragedies or com- edies. A tragedy is solemn and lofty in char- acter, usually portraying the struggle of an individual against fate, and moving to a fatal issue. Hamlet and Macbeth are familiar examples. Comedy, on the other hand, presents a more or less amusing plot with a happy ending. Usually only the higher class of romantic comedies, such as The Merchant of Venice and As You Like It, are cast in poetic form; when comedy descends The Study of Poetry 37 toward the level of farce, its natural vehicle is prose. To all these varieties of poetry — epic, lyric, and dramatic, — may be added some others not easily classifiable, such as pastorals, satires, EPIGRAMS, and the great body of reflective and didactic verse. READING AND INTERPRETATION There are obviously several kinds of enjoy- ment to be derived from poetry. The first is the simple, immediate sense of something beau- tiful or moving — the enjoyment which the poet meant to give, and the only enjoyment which the unschooled and perhaps even the average hearer or reader ever gets. Nothing should be allowed to obscure or diminish this enjoyment, and the advice given by Dr. Johnson in the preface to his edition of Shakspere in the year 1765 is well worth dwelling on: "Notes are often necessary, but they are necessary evils. Let him that is yet unacquainted with, the powers of Shakespeare, and who desires to feel the highest pleas- sure that the drama can give, read every play, from the first scene to the last, with utter negligence of all his commentators. When his fancy is once on the wing, let it not stoop at correction or explanation. When his atten- tion is strongly engaged, let it disdain alike to turn aside to the name of Theobald and of Pope. Let him read on through brightness and obscurity, through integrity and 38 Palgrave^s Golden Treasury corruption; let liim preserve his comprehension of the dialogue and his interest in the fable. And when the pleasures of novelty have ceased, let liim attempt exact- ness, and read the commentators." It is a cardinal principle in the interpretation of poetry that to feel is better than to know, or rather that, except possibly in the severest orders of didactic verse, feeling is the only true knowledge. To Imow without feeling is after all not to understand; none but he who follows Jiis poet with lively sympathy, with kindled imagination, with sharpened sensibility to all beauty and power, can have any true or vital knowledge of him. Poetry, then, should first of all be read, earn- estly read, — ^neither studied on the one hand, nor skimmed on the other. It should be read aloud, if possible, both that the reading may be done with care, and that the ear may get in reality, and not through imagination only, the melodies and harmonies of the verse. So organic are these musical elements in all good poetry, so intimately connected with the poet's thought and feeling, that the only road to complete sympathy with him lies through them. If the reader's metrical sense is defective or untrained, he must confine himself at first to the simpler and more marked rhythms, gradually perfect- ing his education in this particular in the only The Study of Poetry 39 possible way, namely, by reading more and more verse. In time he will find, if he have any faculty for rhythm at all, that the freest of meters will give him little trouble and he will instinctively make the nicest necessary adjustments between rhetorical sense and metri- cal law. The teacher of poetry can devise no more profitable exercise than daily to read or have read a short selection of verse without comment or criticism, depending on the inherent power of the verse to command both interest and appreciation. Understanding is of course also necessary. For however strong may be the appeal of poetry to the senses, its language is the language of reason, and it has always a pure intellectual basis that cannot be ignored. One should not rest content imtil the words and sentences of a poem convey to him definite and accurate ideas. Therefore it may sometimes be necessary to paraphrase. For instance, readers who are unfamiliar with the Scotch dialect and with the less usual forms of our subjunctive construction may require to have Burns's lines, "O wad some power the giftie gie us," etc*, turned into "If some power would but give us the gift," etc. But if we stop there, the poetry 40 Palgrave's Golden Treasury is destroyed. When the significance is grasped we must forget our paraphrase and revert to the poet's language. Indeed, any needless trans- lation of the poet's ideas and images into other words is to be sedulously avoided, since it carries with it the danger of irrecoverable loss. In a well known essay Matthew Arnold has declared that he would rather have a yoimg person ignorant of the moon's diameter than have him think that a good paraphrase for Macbeth's query, "Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased?" would be ''Can you not wait upon the lunatic?" — and lovers of Shakspere find it not a little hard to forgive Arnold for having made current such a paraphrase even for the sake of impress- ing a wholesome lesson. In the more abstruse kinds of poetry, con- scious analysis and interpretation must doubt- less be resorted to freely. Some poetry of this class exists chiefly for the message or moral it conveys. Close study of it is therefore not only legitimate, but is demanded, and it may be pursued with little harm to the more purely poetic enjoyment, since that becomes then a minor consideration. Moreover, our skill in interpreting will grow with our practice until The Study of Poetry 41 even difficult poetry becomes simple to us and there is no longer any perceptible bar to the appreciation of both its truth and its beauty. When we have reached that stage, Shakspere and Dante will not only yield dehght as readily as Burns and Tennyson did once, but the delight will be greater in proportion to the greater ideas and truths that accompany the poet's imagina- tion and feeling. A further pleasure to be derived from poetry may lie in the discovery of the sources of our primary enjoyment. This may be made clearest, perhaps, by an illustration. Tennyson's Mariana is a poem that requires no interpreta- i-ion. One may read simply for the obvious beauty and feeling in them^ such lines as, "About a stone-cast from the wall A sluice with blacken'd waters slept, And o'er it many, round and small, The cluster' d marish-mosses crept." But, if he choose, he may return upon his read- ing and trace the pleasurable effects to their source. He will then discover that there is music for the ear in the rich rhymes and the alliterated syllables, that there is pleasure in meeting with such words as "sluice" and "marish" in poetic surroundings, that a subtle harmony is to be detected between Mariana's depression 42 Palgrave's Golden Treasury of spirit and the blackened, sleeping waters that she looks upon, that the sense of sullen life and purposed action on the part of the waters, im- plied in the word "slept," imparts an atmosphere of mystery and awe, that in the whole poem, indeed, though the words "monotony'' and "melancholy" are nowhere used, every thought and image contributes to produce a monotonous, melancholy effect. Many will protest against such analysis, as destroying the charm of poetry. To those who find it disenchanting, the simple advice is to let it alone. To all should be given a caution against pushing it too far, for it is precisely this kind of treatment that if over done will deaden literature instead of making it alive. Yet a certain amount of conscious study, pur- sued with reverence and sympathy, can scarcely result in harm. After all, to increase in every way possible our enjoyment of "the best that has been thought and said in the world" is the great object. Per- haps each one primarily demands of the poet his o^TL best thoughts and dreams given such expres- sion as he himself is unable to give them. He goes to the poet, as it were, saying: "I have seen, in fact or in fancy, such and such things; I have felt thus and so. But if I tried to express it, I should not do myself justice. My words The Study of Poetry 43 are poor, and I have no skill to shape them aright. Do you do it for me." And to one who looks out upon nature, filled with the palpi- tating joy of life, a Tennyson interprets the throstle's song: ** 'Summer is coming, summer is coming, I know it, I know it, I know it, Light again, leaf again, life again, love again,' Yes, my wild little poet;" and to one oppressed with sorrow a Longfellow tells how ''Into each life some rain must fall, Some days must be dark and dreary." Thus, the needed expression is supplied, and the pent-up feelings find an outlet. Yet something more than this is possible. The great poets have visions that we have not seen, thoughts that never crossed our brain. To follow and find these, to come into touch with Wordsworth's subtle sympathies, to rise to the sublimity of Milton's lofty conceptions, to sound the depths of Shakspere's knowledge of the human soul, are things that wait only upon the constant reading and study of poetry. For the attainment of these, can any sacrifice of time or labor seem too great? Alphonso Gerald Newcomer. TO ALFRED TENNYSON POET LAUREATE This book in its progress has recalled often to my memory a man with whose friendship we were once honoured, to whom no region of English Literature was unfamiliar, and who, whilst rich in all the noble gifts of Nature, was most eminently distinguished by the noblest and the rarest, — just judgment and high-hearted patriotism. It would have been hence a peculiar pleasure and pride to dedicate what I have endeavoured to make a true national Anthology of three centuries to Henry Hallam. But he is beyond the reach of any human tokens of love and reverence; and I desire therefore to place before it a name united with his by associations which, while Poetry retains her hold on the minds of Englishmen, are not likely to be forgotten. Your encouragement, given while traversing the wild scenery of Treryn Dinas, led me to begin the work; and it has been completed under your advice and assistance. For the favour now asked I have thus a second reason: and to this I may add, the homage which is your right as Poet, and the gratitude due to a Friend, whose regard I rate at no common value. 45 Permit me then to inscribe to yourself a book which, T hope, may be found by many a hfelong fountain of innocent and exalted pleasure; a source of animation to friends when they meet; and able to sweeten solitude itself -^ith best society, — with the companionship of the wise and the good, with the beauty which the eye cannot see, and the music only heard in silence. If this Collection proves a storehouse of delight to Labour and to Poverty, — if it teaches those indifferent to the Poets to love them, and those who love them to love them more, the aim and the desire entertained in framing it will be fully accomplished. F.T.P. May: 1861 46 PREFACE This little Collection differs, it is believed, from others in the attempt made to include in it all the best original Lyrical pieces and Songs in our language (save a very few regretfully omitted on account of length), by writers not living, — and none beside the best. Many familiar verses will hence be met with; many also which should be famiHar: — the Editor will regard as his fittest readers those who love Poetry so well, that he can offer them nothing not already known and valued. The Editor is acquainted with no strict and exhaustive definition of Lyrical Poetry; but he has found the task of practical decision increase in clearness and in facility as he advanced with the work, whilst keeping in view a few simple principles. Lyrical has been here held essentially to imply that each Poem shall turn on some single thought, feeling, or situation. In accordance with this, narrative, descriptive, and didactic poems, — unless accompanied by rapidity of movement, brevity, and the colouring of human passion, — have been excluded. Humourous poetry, ex- cept in the very unfrequent instances where a truly poetical tone pervades the whole, with what is strictly personal, occasional, and religious, has been considered foreign to the idea of the book. Blank verse and the ten- syllable couplet, with all pieces markedly dramatic, have been rejected as alien from what is commonly understood by Song, and rarely conforming to Lyrical conditions in treatment. But it is not anticipated, nor is it possible, that all readers shall think the line accurately drawn. Some poems, as Gray's Elegy, the Allegro and Penseroso, Wordsworth's Ruth or Campbell's Lord UlHn, might be claimed with perhaps equal justice for a narrative or descriptive selection: whilst with reference especially to Ballads and Sonnets, the Editor can only state that he has taken his utmost pains to decide without caprice or partiality. 47 48 PaJ/jrave's Golden Treasury This also is all he can plead in regard to a point even more liable to question; — what degree of merit should giv^ rank among the Best. That a poem shall be worthy of the writer's genius, — that it shall reach a perfection commensurate with its . aim, — that we should require finish in proportion to brevity, — that passion, colour, and originality cannot atone for serious imperfections in clear- ness, unity or truth,- — that a few good hnes do not make a good poem, that popular estimate is serviceable as a guidepost more than as a compass, — above all, that excel- lence should be looked for rather in the whole than in the parts, — such and other such canons have been always steadily regarded. He may however add that the pieces chosen, and a far larger number rejected, have been care- fully and repeatedly considered; and that he has been aided throughout by two friends of independent and exercised judgment, besides the distinguished person addressed in the Dedication. It is hoped that by this procedure the volume has been freed from that one-sided- ness which must beset individual decisions: — but for the final choice the Editor is alone responsible. Chalmer's vast collection, with the whole works of all accessible poets not contained in it, and the best Anthol- ogies of different periods, liave been twice systematically read through: and it is hence improbable that any omis- sions which may be regretted are due to oversight. The poems are printed entire, except in a very few instances where a stanza or passage has been omitted. These omissions have been risked only when the piece could be thus brought to a closer lyrical unity: and, as essentially opposed to this unity, extracts, obviously such, are excluded. In regard to the text, the purpose of the book has appeared to justify the choice of the most poetical version, wherever more than one exists; and much labour has been given to present each poem, in disposition, spell- ing, and punctuation, to the greatest advantage. In the arrangement, the most poetically-effective order has been attempted. The English mind has passed through phases of thought and cultivation so various and so opposed during these three centuries of Poetry, that a rapid passage between old and new, like rapid alteration, of the eye's focus in looking at the landscape, will always Preface 49 be wearisome and hurtful to the sense of Beauty. The poems have been therefore distributed into Books corres- ponding, I to the ninety years closing about 1616, II thence to 1700, III to 1800, IV to the half century just ended. Or, looking at the Poets who more or less give each portion its distinctive character, they might be called the Books of Shakespeare, Milton, Gray, and Wordsworth. The volume, in this respect, so far as the limitations of its range allow, accurately reflects the natural growth and evolution of our Poetry. A rigidly chronological sequence, however, rather fits a collection aiming at instruction than at pleasure, and the wisdom which comes through pleasure: — within each book the pieces have therefore been arranged in gradations of feeling or subject. And it is hoped that the contents of this Anthology will thus be found to pre- sent a certain unity, 'as episodes,' in the noble language of Shelley, 'to that great Poem which all poets, like the co-operating thoughts of one great mind, have built up since the beginning of the world.' As he closes his long survey, the Editor trusts he may add without egotism, that he has found the vague general verdict of popular Fame more just than those have thought, who, with too severe a criticism, would confine judgments on Poetry to ' the selected few of many gener- ations.' Not many appear to have gained reputation without some gift or performance that, in due degree, deserved it: and if no verses by certain writers who show less strength than sweetness, or more thought than mastery of expression, are printed in this volume, it should not be imagined that they have been excluded without much hesitation and regret, — far less that they have been slighted. Throughout this vast and pathetic array of Singers now silent, few have been honoured with the name Poet, and have not possessed a skill in words, a sympathy with beauty, a tenderness of feeling, or serious- ness in reflection, which render their works, although never perhaps attaining that loftier and finer excellence here required, — better worth reading than much of what fills the scanty hours that most men spare for self-improve- ment, or for pleasure in any of its more elevated and permanent forms. — And if this be true of even mediocre poetry, for how much more are we indebted to the best! 50 Palgrave's Golden Treasury Like the fabled fountain of the Azores, but with a more various power, the magic of this Art can confer on each period of hfe its appropriate blessing: on early years Experience, on maturity Calm, on age, Youthfulness. Poetry gives treasures 'more golden than gold,' leading us in higher and healthier ways than those of the world, and interpreting to us the lessons of Nature. But she speaks best for herself. Her true accents, if the plan has been executed with success, may be heard throughout the following pages: — wherever the Poets of England are honoured, wherever the dominant language of the world is spoken, it is hoped that the}' will find fit audience. 1861 Some poems, especially in Book I, have been added: — either on better acquaintance; — in deference to critical suggestions;^ — or unknown to the Editor when first gathering his harvest. For aid in these after-gleanings he is specially indebted to the excellent reprints of rare early verse given us by Dr. Hannah, Dr. Grosart, Mr. Arber, Mr. Bullen, and others, — and (in regard to the additions of 1883) to the advice of that distinguished Friend, by whom the final choice has been so largely guided. The text has also been carefully revised from authoritative sources. It has still seemed best, for many reasons, to retain the original limit by which the selection was confined to those then no longer li\'ing. But the Editor hopes that, so far as in him lies, a complete and definitive collection of our best Lyrics, to the central year of this fast-closing century, is now offered. 1883-1890-1891 Ci)e (Bolhtn Cteasfurp 'Book iFfMt SPRING Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we to-witta-wool % The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day. And we hear aye birds tune tliis merry lay, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet. 10 Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit. In every street these tunes our ears do greet Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! Spring! the sweet Spring! T. Nash. 51 52 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ii II THE FAIRY LIFE I Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowsUp's bell I lie; There I couch, when owls do cry: On the bat's back I do fly 5 After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough III Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Courtsied when you have, and kiss'd The wild waves whist, 5 Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet Sprites, the burthen bear Hark, hark! Bow-bow, The watch-dogs bark: IC Bow-wow. Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Crj', Cock-a-diddle-dow! W. Shakespeare IV SUMMONS TO LOVE Phoebus, arise I And paint the sable skies With azure, white, and red: Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed iv] Book First 53 That she may thy career with roses spread: The nightingales thy coming each-where sing: Make an eternal Spring! Give life to this dark world which lieth dead; 5 Spread forth thy golden hair In larger locks than thou wast wont before, And emperor-like decore With diadem of pearl thy temples fair: Chase hence the ugly night 10 Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light. — This is that happy morn, That day, long-wished day Of all my Hfe so dark, (If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn 15 And fates my hopes betray), Which, purely white, deserves An everlasting diamond should it mark. This is the morn should bring unto this grove My Love, to hear and recompense my love. 20 Fair King, who all preserves, But show thy blusliing beams. And thou two sweeter eyes Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams Did once thy heart surprize. 25 Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise: If that ye winds would hear A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, Your furious chiding stay; Let Zephyr only breathe. 30 And with her tresses play. ■ — The winds all silent are, And Phoebus in his chair Ensaffroning sea and air Makes vanish every star: 35 Night like a drunkard reels Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels: The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue, The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue; Here is the pleasant place — 40 And nothing wanting is, save She, alas! W. jyrummond of Hawthornderi 54 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [v V TIME AND LOVE When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich proud cost of out-worn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see dowTi-razed, And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; 5 When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the watery main, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; When I have seen such interchange of state, 10 Or state itself confounded to decay, Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — That Time will come and take my Love away: — ^This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose. W. Shakespeare Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortaUty o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower? 5 O how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days. When rocks impregnable are not so stout Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays? O fearful meditation! where, alack! 10 Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? Or what strong hand can hold liis swift foot back, Or who liis spoil of beauty can forbid? O! none, unless this miracle have might. That in black ink my love may still shine bright. W. Shakespeare. yiji Book First 55 VII THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE Come live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field, And all the craggy mountains yield. 5 There will we sit upon the rocks And see the shepherds feed their flocks. By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses iO And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroider' d all with leaves of myrtle. A gown made of the finest wool. Which from our pretty lambs we pull, 15 Fair lin^d slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold. A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, 20 Come live with me and be my Love. Thy silver dishes for thy meat As precious as the gods do eat, Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me. 25 The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May-morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my Love. C. Marlowe 56 Palgrave's Golden Treasury r»nii OMNIA VINCIT Fain would I change that note To which fond Love hath charm'd me Long long to sing by rote, Fancying that that hann'd me: 5 Yet when this thought doth come 'Love is the perfect sum Of all delight/ I have no other choice Either for pen or voice 10 To sing or write. Love! they wrong thee much That say thy sweet is bitter^ When thy rich fruit is such As nothing can be sweeter. 15 Fair house of joy and bliss, Where truest pleasure is I do adore thee: 1 know thee what thou art, I serve thee with my heart, 20 And fall before thee! Anon, IX A MADRIGAL Crabbed Age and Youth Cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasance. Age is full of care; Youth like summer mom, Age like winter weather, Youth hke summer brave^ Age like winter bare: x] Book First 57 Youth is full of sport, Age's breath is short, Youth is nimble, Age is lame; Youth is hot and bold, 5 Age is weak and cold. Youth is wild, and Age is tame.— Age, I do abhor thee, Youth, I do adore thee; O! my Love, my Love is young! 10 Age, I do defy thee — O sweet shepherd, hie thee, For methinks thou stay'st too long. W. Shakespeare Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, 15 And turn his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat — Come hither, come hither, come hither I Here shall he see No enemy 20 But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to Ijve i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets^ 25 Come hither, come hither, come hither! Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. W. Shakespeare 68 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xi XI It was a lover and liis lass With a hey and a ho, and a hey noninol That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 5 When birds do sing hey ding a ding: Sweet lovers love the Spring. Between the acres of the rye These pretty comitry folks would lie: This carol they began that hour, 10 How that life was but a flower: And therefore take the present time With a hey and a ho and a hey noninol For love is cro\Mied ^\ith the prime In spring time, the only pretty ring time, 15 When birds do sing hey ding a ding: Sweet lovers love the Spring. W. Shakespeare PRESENT IN ABSENCE Absence, hear thou tliis protestation Against thy strength, Distance, and length; Do what thou canst for alteration: 6 For hearts of truest mettle Absence doth join, and Time doth settle. Who loves a mistress of such quality, His mind hath found Affection's ground iO Beyond time, place, and mortality. To hearts that cannot vary Absence is present, Time doth tarry. xiv] Book First 59 By absence this good means I gain, That I can catch her, Where none can match her, In some close comer of my brain: 5 There I embrace and kiss her; And so I both enjoy and miss her. J. Donne VIA AMORIS High-way, since you my chief Parnassus be. And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet, Tempers her words to trampHng horses' feet More oft than to a chamber-melody, — 5 Now, blessed you bear onward blessed me To her, where I my heart, safe-left, shall meet; My Muse and I must you of duty greet With thanks and wishes, wishing thankfully; Be you still fair, honour'd by public heed; 10 By no encroachment wrong'd, nor time forgot; Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deeu. And that you know I en\'y^ you no lot Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss, — Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss! Sir P. Sidney XIV ABSENCE Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend Nor services to do, till you require: Nor dare I chide the world-without-end-hour Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour When you have bid your servant once adieu: 60 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xiv Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But hke a sad slave, stay and think of nought Save, where you are, how happy you make those; — 5 So true a fool is love, that in your will Though you do anything, he tliinks no ill, W. Shakespeare XV How like a winter hath my absence been From Thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere! 5 And yet this time removed was summer's time: The teeming autumn, big T\'ith rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime Like widow'd wombs after their lord's decease: Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 10 But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit; For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And, thou away, the very birds are mute; Or if they sing, 'tis \rith so dull a cheer. That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. W. Shakespeare XVI A CONSOLATION When m disgrace mth fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate; Wishing me hke to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him wdth friends possest, Desiring this man's art, and that maa's scope. With what I most enjoy contented least; xviii] Book First 61 Yet in these thoughts myself ahnost despising, Haply I think on Thee — and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at .heaven's gate; 5 Fftr thy sweet love remember' d, such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings, W. Shakespeare XVII THE UNCHANGEABLE O never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify: As easy might I from myself depart As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie; 5 That is my home of love; if I have ranged. Like him that travels, I return again, Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, So that myself bring water for my stain. Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 10 All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, That it could so preposterously be stain'd To leave for nothing all thy sum of good: For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou, my rose: in it thou art my all. W. Shakespeare XVIII To me, fair Friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forest shook three summers' pride; 5 Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd In process of the seasons have I seen, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, 10 Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived; 62 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xviii So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand. Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived: For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, — • Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead. W. Shakesfieare ROSALINE Like to the clear in highest sphere Where all imperial glory shines, Of selfsame colour is her hair Whether unfolded, or in tuines: 5 Heigh ho, fair Rosahne! Her eyes are sapphires set in snow, Resembling heaven by every wink; The Gods do fear whenas they glow, And I do tremble when I think 10 Heigh ho, would she were mine! Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud That beautifies Aurora's face, Or like the silver crimson shroud That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace; 15 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! Her lips are like two budded roses Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh, Within which bounds she balm encloses Apt to entice a deity: 20 Heigh ho, would she were mine! Her neck is like a stately tower Where Love himself imprison'd lies, To watch for glances every hour From her divine and sacred eyes: 25 Heigh ho, for Rosaline! Her paps are centres of delight, Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame. Where Nature moulds the dew of light To feed perfection with the same: 30 Heigh ho, would she were mine! xx] Book First 63 With orient pearl, with ruby red, With marble white, with sapphire blue Her body every way is fed, Yet soft in touch and sweet in view: 5 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! Nature herself her shape admires; The Gods are wounded in her sight; And love forsakes his heavenly fires And at her eyes his brand doth light: 10 Heigh ho, would she were minel Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan The absence of fair Rosaline, Since for a fair there's fairer none. Nor for her virtues so divine: 15 Heigh ho, fair Rosahne; Heigh ho, my heart! would God that she were mine! T. Lodge XX COLIN Beauty sat bathing by a spring Where fairest shades did hide her; The winds blew calm, the birds did sing. The cool streams ran beside her, 5 My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye To see what was forbidden: But better memory said, fie! So vain desire was chidden: — - Hey nonny nonny O! 10 Hey nonny nonny I Into a slumber then I fell. When fond imagination Seemed to see, but could not tell Her featvire or her fashion. 15 But ev'n as babes in dreams do smile, And sometimes fall a-weeping, So I awaked, as wise this while As when I fell a-sleeping: — Hey nonny nonny O! 20 Hey nonny nonny! The Shepherd Tonie 64 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xxi A PICTURE Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory, Subdue her heart, who makes me glad and sorry: Out of thy golden quiver Take thou thy strongest arrow 5 That will through bone and marrow, And me and thee of grief and fear deliver: — • But come behind, for if she look upon thee, Alas! poor Love! then thou art woe-begone thee! Anon. A SONG FOR MUSIC Weep you no inore, sad fountains: — What need you flow so fast? Look how the snowy mountains Heaven's sun doth gently waste! 5. But my Sun's heavenly eyes View not your weeping, That now lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies, Sleeping. 10 Sleep is a reconciling, A rest that peace begets: — Doth not the sun rise smiling, When fair at even he sets? — Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes! 15 Melt not in weeping! While She lies sleeping Softly, now softly lies, Sleeping! Anon. xxiv] Book First 65 TO HIS LOVE Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: 5 Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd: And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd. But thy eternal summer shall not fade 10 Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: — So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see. So long lives this, and this gives Ufe to thee. TT^. Shakespeare TO HIS LOVE When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights; 5 Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best Of hand, of foot, of Up, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have exprest Ev'n such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies 10 Of this our time, all, you prefiguring; And for they look'd but with divining eyes. They had not skill enough your worth to sing: For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. W. Shakespeare Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xxv XXV BASIA Turn back, you wanton flyer, And answer my desire With mutual greeting. Yet bend a little nearer, — 5 True beauty still shines clearer In closer meeting! Hearts ^y\th hearts delighted Should strive to be united, Each other's arms 's\ith arms enchaining, — lO Hearts with a thought. Rosy lips ^\dth a kiss still entertaining. What harvest half so sweet is As still to reap the kisses Grov^Ti ripe in sowing? 15 And straight to be receiver Of that which thou art giver, Rich in bestowing? There is no strict observing Of times' or seasons' swerving, 20 There is ever one fresh spring abiding; — Then what we sow with our lips . Let us reap, love's gains dividing. T. Campion XXVI ADVICE TO A GIRL Never love unless you can Bear with all the faults of man! Men sometimes will jealous be Though but little cause they see. And hang the head as discontent, And speak what straight they will repent. xxvii] Book First 6' Men, that but one Saint adore, Make a show of love to more; Beauty must be scorn'd in none, Though but truly served in one: 5 For what is courtship but disguise? True hearts may have dissembling eyes. Men, when their affairs require, Must awhile themselves retire; Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk, 10 And not ever sit and talk: — If these and such-like you can bear, Then like, and love, and never fear! T. Campion XXVII LOVE'S PERJURIES On a day, alack the day! Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air: 5 Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen, 'gan passage find; That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; 10 Air, would I might triumph so! But, alack, my hand is sworn Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn. Vow, alack, for youth unmeet; Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 15 Do not call it sin in me That I am forsworn for thee? Thou for whom Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were, And deny himself for Jove, 20 Turning mortal for thy love. W. Shakespeare 68 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xxviii XXVIII A SUPPLICATION Forget not yet the tried intent Of such a truth as I have meant; My great travail so gladly spent, Forget not yet! 5 Forget not yet when first began The weary life ye know, since whan The suit, the service none tell can; Forget not yet! Forget not yet the great assays, 10 The cruel wrong, the scornful ways, The painful patience in delays, Forget not yet I Forget not! O, forget not this, How long ago hath been, and is 15 The mind that never meant amiss — • Forget not yet! Forget not then thine own approved The which so long hath thee so loved. Whose steadfast faith yet never moved — 20 Forget not tliis! Sir T. Wyat XXIX TO AURORA O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm, And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest; Then thou would' st melt the ice out of thy breast And thy relenting heart would kindly warm. 5 O if thy pride did not our joys controul. What world of loving wonders should'st thou see! For if I saw thee once transform' d in me, Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul; xxx] Book First 69 Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine, And if that aught mischanced thou should'st not moan Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone; No,' I would have my share in what were thine: 5 And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one, This happy harmony would make them none. W. Alexander, Earl of Sterline xxx IN LACRIMAS I saw my Lady weep. And Sorrow proud to be advanced so In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. Her face was full of woe, 5 But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. Sorrow was there made fair, And Passion, wise; Tears, a delightful thing; Silence, beyond all speech, a wisdom rare: 10 She made her sighs to sing. And all things with so sweet a sadness move As made my heart at once both grieve and love. O fairer than aught else The world can show, leave off in time to grieve I 15 Enough, enough: your joyful look excels: Tears kill the heart, believe. O strive not to be excellent in woe, Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow. Anon. 70 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xxxi TRUE LOVE Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: — 5 O no! it is an ever fix6d mark That looks on tempests, and is never shaken, It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 10 Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom:— If this be error, and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. W. Shakespeare A DITTY My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one for another given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss. There never was a better bargain driven: 6 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. His heart in me keeps him and me in one, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides; He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides: >0 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. Sir P. Sidney xxxiv] Book First 71 XXXIII LOVE'S INSIGHT Though others may Her brow adore Yet more must I, that therein see far more Than any other's eyes have power to see: She is to me 5 More than to any others she can bel I can discern more secret notes That in the margin of her cheeks Love quotes, Than any else besides have art to read: No looks proceed 10 From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed. Anan. LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE Were I as base as is the lowly plain, And you, my Love, as high as heaven above, Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love. 5 Were I as high as heaven above the plain, And you, my Love, as humble and as low As are the deepest bottoms of the main, Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go. W^ere you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies, My love should shine on y6u like to the sun, 10 And look upon you with ten thousand eyes Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done. Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you, Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. J. Sylvester 72 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xxxv CARPE DIEM O Mistress mine, where are you roaming? O stay and hear! your true-love's coming That can sing both high and low; Trip no further, pretty sweeting, 5 Journeys end in lovers meeting — Every wise man's son dotli know. What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: 10 In delay there lies no plenty, — Then come kiss me, Sweet-and-twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure. W. Shakeepeare AN HONEST AUTOLYCUS Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave, and new, Good penny-worths, — but money cannot move: I keep a fair but for the Fair to view; A beggar may be liberal of love. 5 Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true — The heart is true. Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again; My trifles come as treasures from my mind; It is a precious jewel to be plain; 10 Sometimes in shell the orient'st pearls we find: — Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain! Of me a grain! Anon. xxxviiil Book First f3 XXXVII WINTER When icicles hang by the wall And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail; 5 When blood is nipt, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl Tu-whit! Tu-who! A merrj^ note! While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 10 When all about the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw; When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl — 15 Then nightly sings the staring owl Tu-whit ! Tu-who! A merry note! While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. W. Shakes^ ^re XXXVIII That time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold. Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang* 5 In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west. Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest: In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire, 10 That on the ashes of his youth doth lie As the death-bed whereon it must expire. Consumed with that wliich it was nourish'd by: 74 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xxxviii — ^This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. W. Shakespeare XXXIX MEMORY When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste; 5 Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe, And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 10 And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan. Which I new pay as if not paid before: — But if the while I think on thee, dear Friend, All losses are restored, and sorrows end. W. Shakespeare XL SLEEP Come, Sleep: O Sleep! the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe. The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, Th' indifferent judge between the high and low; With shield of proof shield me from out the prease Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw: make in me those civil wars to cease; 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. xlii] Book First 75 Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf of noise and blind of light, A rosy garland and a weary head: And if these things, as being thine in right, 5 Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. Sir P. Sidney XLI REVOLUTIONS Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before. In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 5 Nativity, once in the main of Hght, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, 10 And delves the parallels in beauty's brow; Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth. And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: — ■ And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand Praising Thy Avorth, despite his cruel hand. W. Shakespeare Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? And for that riches where is my deserving? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting. And so my patent back again is swerving. 76 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xlii Thyself, thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing, Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgment making. 5 Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter; In sleep, a king; but waking, no such matter. W. Shakespeare THE LIFE WITHOUT PASSION They that have power to hurt, and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone. Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, — 5 They rightly do inherit heaven's graces, And husband nature's riches from expense; They are the lords and owners of their faces, Others, but stewards of their excellence. The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, 10 Though to itself it only live and die; But if that flower with base infection meet, The basest weed outbraves his dignity: For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. W. Shakespeare XLIV THE LOVER'S APPEAL And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay! say nay! for shame. To save thee from the blame Of all my grief and grame. And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay! say nay! Book First 77 And wilt thou leave me thus, That hath loved thee so long In wealth and woe among: And is thy heart so strong As for to leave me thus? Say nay! say nay! And wilt thou leave me thus, That hath given thee my heart Never for to depart Neither for pain nor smart: And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay! say nay! And wilt thou leave me thus, And have no more pity Of him that loveth thee? Alas! thy cruelty! And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay! say nay! Sir T. Wyat THE NIGHTINGALE As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made. Beasts did leap and birds did sing, Trees did grow and plants did spring. Every thing did banish moan Save the Nightingale alone. She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thoni; And there sung the dolefull'st ditty That to hear it was great pity. Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry; Tern, teru, by and by: That to hear her so complain Scarce I could from tears refrain* 78 Palgrave's Golden Treasury (xlv For her griefs so lively shown Made me think upon mine own. — Ah, thought I, thou moum'st in vain, None takes pity on thy pain: 5 Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee. Ruthless beasts, they wall not cheer thee; King Pandion, he is dffad. All thy friends are lapp'd in lead: All thy fellow birds do sing 10 Careless of thy sorrowing: Even so, poor bird, like thee None alive will pity me. R. Barnefield Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, Brother to Death, in silent darkness born. Relieve my languish, and restore the light; With dark forgetting of my care return. 5 And let the day be time enough to mourn The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth: Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn. Without the torment of the night's untruth. Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, 10 To model forth the passions of the morrow^; Never let rising Sun approve you liars. To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow: Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, And never wake to feel the day's disdain. *S. Daniel The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, While late-bare earth, proud of new clotliing, springeth, Sings out her w^oes, a thorn her song-book making; xlviii] Book First 79 And mournfully bewailing, Her throat in tunes expresseth What grief her breast oppresseth For Tereus' force on iier chaste will prevailing. 5 O Pliilomela fair, O take some gladness, That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness: Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth; Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. Alas, she hath no other cause of anguish 10 But Tereus' love, on her by strong hand wroken, Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish, Full womanlike complains her will was broken. But I, who, daily craving, Cannot have to content me, 15 Have more cause to lament me. Since wanting is more woe than too much having. O Philomela fair, O take some gladness That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness: Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth; 10 Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. Sir P. Sidney XLVIII FRUSTRA Take, O take those lips away That so sweetly were forsworn, And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the mom: But my kisses bring again. Bring again — Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, Seal'd in vain! W Shakespeare 80 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xlix XLIX LOVE'S FAREWELL Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, — Nay I have done, you get no more of me; And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free; .5 Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again. Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath, 10 When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies, When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And innocence is closing up his eyes, — Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over, From death to Hfe thou might'st him yet recover! M, Drayton LN IMAGINE PERTRANSIT HOMO Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow! Though thou be black as night And she made all of Hght, Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow! 5 Follow her, whose Hght thy light deprivethi Though here thou hv'st disgraced. And she in heaven is placed. Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth! Follow those pure beams, whose beauty bumeth, 10 That so have scorched thee As thou still black must be Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth. Hi] Book First 81 Follow her, while yet her glory shineth! There comes a luckless night That will dim all her light; — And this the black unhappy shade divineth. 5 Follow still, since so thy fates ordained! The sun must have his shade. Till both at once do fade, — The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained. T. Camjyion BLIND LOVE O me! what eyes hath Love put in my head Wliich have no correspondence with true sight: Or if they have, where is my judgment fled That censures falsely what they see aright? 5 If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, What means the world to say it is not so? If it be not, then love doth well denote Love's eye is not so true as all men's: No, How can it? O how can love's eye be true, 10 That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? No marvel then though I mistake my view: The sun itself sees not till heaven clears. O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind. Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find! W. Shakespeare Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me! For who a sleeping lion dares provoke? It shall suffice me here to sit and see Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke: What sight can more content a lover's mind Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind? 82 Palgrave's Golden Treasury Qii My words have charm' d her, for secure she sleeps, Though guilty much of wrong done to my love; And in her slumber, see! she close-eyed weeps: Dreams often more than waking passions move. 5 Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee: That she in peace may wake and pity me. T. Campion LIII THE UNFAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS While that the sun with his beams hot Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain, Philon the shepherd, late forgot, Sitting beside a crystal fountain, 5 In shadow of a green oak tree Upon his pipe this song play'd he: Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 10 So long as I was in your sight I was your heart, your soul and treasure; And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd Burning in flames beyond all measure: — Three days endured your love to me^ 15 And it was lost in other three! Adieu, Love, adieu. Love, imtrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu. Love; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. Another Shepherd you did see 20 To whom your heart was soon enchained; Full soon your love was leapt from me, Full soon my place he had obtained. Soon came a third, your love to win, And we were out and he was in. 25 Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untnie Love, adieu. Love; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. Book First 83 Sure you have made me passing glad That you your mind so soon removed, Before that I the leisure had To choose you for my best beloved: For all your love was past and done Two days before it was begun: — Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu. Love; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. A.non. ADVICE TO A LOVER The sea hath many thousand sands, The sun hath motes as many; The sky is full of stars, and Love As full of woes as any: h Believe me, that do know the elf, And make no trial by thyself! It is in truth a pretty toy For babes to play withal: — But O! the honeys of our youth 10 Are oft our age's gall! Self-proof in time will make thee know He was a prophet told thee so; A prophet that, Cassandra-like, Tells truth without belief; 15 For headstrong Youth will run his race, Although his goal be grief: — Love's Martyr, when his heat is past, Proves Care's Confessor at the last. Anon 84 Palgrave's Golden Treasury jlv LV A RENUNCIATION Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white, For all those rosy ornaments in thee, — Thou art not sweet, though made of mere delight Nor fair, nor sweet— unless thou pity me! 5 I will not soothe thy fancies; thou shalt prove That beauty is no beauty without love. — ^Yet love not me> nor seek not to allure My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine: Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure, ^0 I'll not be wrapp'd up in those arms of thine: — Now show it, if thou be a woman right — Embrace and kiss and love me in despite! T. Campion LVI Blow, blow, thou winter -uind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen 5 Because thou art not seen. Although thy breath be rude. Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then, heigh ho! the holly! 10 Tliis life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, Thou dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, 15 Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not. Heigh ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most lo\dng mere folly: Then, heigh ho! the holly! 20 This life is most jolly. W. Shakespeare Ivii] Book First 85 A SWEET LULLABY Come little babe, come silly soul, Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief, Born as I doubt to all our dole, And to thy self unhappy chief: 5 Sing Lullaby and lap it warm. Poor soul that thinks no creature harm. Thou little think'st and less dost know, The cause of this thy mother's moan. Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe, 10 And I myself am all alone: Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail? And knowest not yet what thou dost ail. Come little wTetch, ah silly heart. Mine only joy, what can I more? 15 If there be any wrong thy smart That may the destinies implore: 'Twas I, I say, against my will, I wail the time, but be thou still. And dost thou smile, oh thy sweet face! 20 Would God Himself He might thee see. No doubt thou would'st soon purchase grace, I know right well, for thee and me: But come to mother, babe, and play, For father false is fled away. 25 Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance, Thy father home again to send. If death do strike me with his lance, Yet mayst thou me to him commend: If any ask thy mother's name, 30 Tell how by love she purchased blame. Then will his gentle heart soon yield, I know him of a noble mind, Although a Lion in the field, 86 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [Ivii A Lamb in town thou shalt him find: Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid, His sugar'd words hath me betray'd. Then mayst thou joy and be right glad, 5 Although in woe I seem to moan. Thy father is no rascal lad, A noble youth of blood and bone: His glancing looks, if he once smile, Right honest women may beguile. 10 Come, little boy, and rock asleep, Sing lullaby and be thou still, I that can do nought else but weep; Will sit by thee and wail my fill: God bless my babe, and lullaby 15 From this thy father's quality! Anon. With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies! How silently, and with how wan a face! What, may it be that e'en in heavenly place That busy archer his sharp arrows tries! 5 Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case, I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace, To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. Then, e'en of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, 10 Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? Are beauties there as proud as here they be? Do they above love to be loved, and yet Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? Do they call virtue, there, ungratefulness? Sir P. Sidney IxJ Book First 87 LIX CRU DELIS AMOR When thou must home to shades of underground, And there arrived, a new admired guest, The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, White lope, bhthe Helen, and the rest, 5 To hear the stories of thy finish' d love From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move ; Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights. Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make, Of tourneys and great challenges of Knights, 10 And all these triumphs for thy beauty's sake: When thou hast told these honours done to thee, Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me! T. Campion SEPHESTIA 'S SONG TO HER CHILD Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. Mother's wag, pretty boy. Father's sorrow, father's joy; 5 When thy father first did see Such a boy by him and me, He was glad, I was woe. Fortune changed made him so, When he left his pretty boy 10 Last his sorrow, first his joy. Weep not my wanton, smile upon my knee. When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. Streaming tears that never stint, Like pearl drops from a flint, 15 Fell by course from his eyes, That one another's place supplies; Thus he grieved in every part, Tears of blood fell from his heart, When he left his pretty boy, 20 Father's sorrow, father's joy. 88 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [Ix Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee. The wanton smiled, father wept. Mother cried, baby leapt; 5 More he crow'd, more we cried. Nature could not sorrow hide: He must go, he must kiss Child and mother, baby bless, For he left his pretty boy, 10 Father's sorrow, father's joy. Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee. R. Greene A LAMENT My thoughts hold mortal strife; I do detest my life, And with lamenting cries Peace to my soul to bring Oft call that prince wliich here doth monarchize — But he, grim grinning King, Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise. Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come. W. Drummond Lxn DIRGE OF LOVE Come away, come away, Death, And in sad cypres let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; I ai-i dain by a fair cruel maid. Ixiii] Book First 8! My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O prepare it! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. 5 Not a flower, not a flower sweet On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown: A thousand thousand sighs to save, 10 Lay me, O where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there. W. Shakespeare TO HIS LUTE My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow With thy green mother in some shady grove, When immelodious winds but made thee move, And birds their ramage did on thee bestow. 5 Since that dear Voice which did thy sounds approve, Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow. Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above. What art thou but a harbinger of woe? Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more, 10 But orphans' wailings to the fainting ear; Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear; For which be silent as in woods before: Or if that any hand to touch thee deign, Like widow'd turtle, still her loss complain. W. Drummond 90 Palgrave's Golden Treasury iJxii LXIV FIDELE Fear no more the heat o' the sun Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone and ta'en thy wiges, 6 Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to duct. Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke,. Care no more to clothe and eat; 10 To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. lear no more the lightning flash Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; I'c Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou hast finish' d joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. TT-^. Shakespeare LXV A SEA DIRGE Full fathom five thy father lies: Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of liim that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Hark! now I hear them, — Ding, dong, bell. TT'. Shakespeare Ixvii] Book First 91 A LAND DIRGE Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men, 5 Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm; But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, 10 For with his nails he'll dig them up again. J. Webster LXVII POST MORTEM If Thou survive my well-contented day When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover; 5 Compare them with the bettering of the time. And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme Exceeded by the height of happier men. O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought — 10 'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought. To march in ranks of better equipage: But since he died, and poets better prove. Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.' W. Shakespeare 92 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [Ixviii LXVIII THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world, that I am fled From tliis vile world, with vilest worms to dwell; 5 Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe. O if, I say, you iQok upon this verse 10 When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, But let your love even with my life decay; Lest the wise world should look into your moan, And mock you with me after I am gone. W. Shakespeare LXIX YOUNG LOVE Tell me where is Fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. 5 It is engender'd in the eyes; With gazing fed; and Fancy dies In the cradle where it lies: Let us all ring Fancy's knell; I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 10 — Ding, dong, bell. W.. Shakespeare Ixxi] Book First 93 LXX A DILEMMA Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours. And then behold your Hps where sweet love harbours, My eyes present me with a double doubting: 5 For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes Whether the roses be your lips, or your hps the roses Anon. LXXI ROSALYND'S MADRIGAL Love in my bosom, like a bee, Doth suck his sweet; Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet. 5 Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast; My kisses are his daily feast. And yet he robs me of my rest: Ah! wanton, will ye? TO And if I sleep, then percheth he With pretty fhght, And makes his pillow of my knee The livelong night. Strike I my lute, he tunes the string; 15 He music plays if so I sing; He lends me every lovely thing. Yet cruel he my heart doth sting- Whist, wanton, will ye? Else 1 with roses every day 20 Will whip you hence. 94 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [Ixxi And bind you, when you long to play, For your offence; I'll shut my eyes to keep you in; I'll make you fast it for your sin; 5 I'll count your power not worth a pin; — ^Alas! what hereby shall I ^^^n, If he gainsay me? What if I beat the wanton boy With many a rod? 10 He will repay me with annoy, Because a god. Then sit thou safely on my knee, And let thy bower my bosom be; Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee, 15 O Cupid! so thou pity me, Spare not, but plav thee! T. Lodge LXXII CUPID AND CAMPASPE Cupid and my Campaspe play'd At cards for kisses; Cupid paid: He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; 5 Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how); With these, the crj^stal of his brow. And then the dimple on his chin; 10 All these did my Campaspe win: And last he set her both his eyes — She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas! become of me? J. Lylys Ixxiv] Book First 95 LXXIII Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day, With night we banish sorrow; Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft To give my Love good-morrow! 5 Wings from the wind to please her mind Notes from the lark I'll borrow; Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale sing. To give my Love good-morrow; To give my Love good-morrow; 10 Notes from them both I'll borrow. Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast, Sing, birds, in every furrow; And from each hill, let music shrill Give my fair Love good-morrow! 15 Blackbird and thrush in every bush, Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow! You pretty elves, amongst yourselves Sing my fair Love good-morrow; To give my Love good-morrow 20 Sing, birds, in every furrow! T. -Heywood PROTHALAMION Calm was the day, and through the trembling air Sweet-breathing Zephyrus di'd softly play — A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair; 5 When I, (whom sullen care. Through discontent of my long fruitless stay In princes' court, and expectation vain Of idle hopes, which still do fly away Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain) 10 Walk'd forth to ease my pain 06 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [Ixxiv Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames; Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems, Was painted all with variable flowers, And all the meads adorn'd with dainty gems 5 Fit to deck maidens' bowers, And crown their paramours Against the bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames! nm softly, till I end my song. There in a meadow by the river's side 10 A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy. All lovely daughters of the flood thereby, With goodly greenish locks all loose untied As each had been a bride; And each one had a little -wicker basket 15 Made of fine twigs, entrailed curiously. In wliich they gather'd flowers to fill their flasket, And with fine fingers cropt full feateously The tender stalks on high. Of every sort which in that meadow grew 20 They gather'd some; the \iolet, pallid blue. The little daisy that at evening closes, The virgin lily and the primrose true, With store of vermeil roses, To deck their bridegrooms' posies 25 Against the bridal day, wliich was not long; Sweet Thames! nm softly, till I end my song. With that I saw two swans of goodly hue Come softly swimming down along the Lee; Two fairer birds I yet did never see; 30 The snow wliich doth the top of Pindus strow Did never whiter show, Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be For love of Leda, whiter did appear; Yet Leda was (they say) as white as he, 35 Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near; So purely white they were That even the gentle stream, the w^hich them bare, Seera'd foul to them, and bade his billows spare To wet their silken feathers, lest they might 40 Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair. Ixxiv] Book First 97 And mar their beauties bright That shone as Heaven's light Against their bridal day, which was not long: Sweet Thames! nm softly, till I end my song. 5 Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had flowers their fill, Ran all in haste to see that silver brood As they came floating on the crystal flood; Whom when they saw, they stood amazed still Their wondering eyes to fill; 1.0 Them seem'd they never saw a sight so fair Of fowls, so lovely, that they sure did deem Them heavenly bom, or to be that same pair Which through the sky draw Venus' silver team; For sure they did not seem 15 To be begot of any earthly seed, But rather Angels, or of Angels' breed; Yet were they bred of summer's heat, they say, In sweetest season, when each flower and weed The earth did fresh array; 10 So fresh they seem'd as day, Ev'n as their bridal day, wMch was not long: Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. Then forth they all out of their baskets drew Great store of flowers, the honour of the field, 25 That to the sense did fragrant odours yield, All which upon those goodly birds they threw And all the waves did strew, That Hke old Peneus' waters they did seem When doA^Ti along by pleasant Tempe's shore 30 Scatter'd with flowers, through Thessaly they stream. That they appear, through lihes' plenteous store, Like a bride's chamber-floor. Two of those nymphs meanwhile two garlands bound Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found, 35 The which presenting all in trim aiTay, Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crown'd; Whilst one did sing this lay Prepared against that day, Against their bridal day, which was not long: 40 Sweet Thames! run softly till I end my song. 98 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [Ixxiv 'Ye gentle birds! the world's fair ornament, And Heaven's glory, whom this happy hour Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bower, Joy may you have, and gentle hearts' content 5 Of your love's couplement; And let fair Venus, that is queen of love. With her heart -quelling son upon you smile. Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile 10 For ever to assoil. Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord, And blessed plenty wait upon your board; And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound, That fruitful issue may to you afford 15 Which may your foes confound. And make your joys redound Upon your bridal day, wliich is not long: Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.* So ended she; and all the rest around 20 To her redoubled that her undersong. Which said their bridal day should not be long: And gentle Echo from the neighbour ground Their accents did resound. So forth those joyous birds did pass along 25 AdowTi the Lee that to them murmur'd low. As he would speak but that he lack'd a tongue; Yet did by signs his glad affection show, Making liis stream run slow. And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell 30 'Gan flock about these twain, that did excel The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend The lesser stars. So they, enranged well. Did on those two attend. And their best service lend 35 Against their wedding day, which was not long! Sweet Thames! nm softly, till I end my song. At length they all to merry London came, To merry London, my most kindly nurse. That to me gave this life's first native source, 40 Though from another place I take my name, Ixxiv] Book First 9{* An house of ancient fame: There when they came whereas those bricky towers The which on Thames' broad aged back do ride, Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers, 5 There wliilome wont the Templar-knights to bide, Till they decay'd through pride; Next whereunto there stands a stately place, Where oft I gained gifts and goodly grace Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell, 10 Whose want too well now feels my friendless case. But ah! here fits not well Old woes, but joys to tell Against the bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. 15 Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, Great England's glory and the world's \\ide wonder, Whose dreadful name late through all Spain did thunder, And Hercules' two pillars standing near Did make to quake and fear: 20 Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry! That fillest England with thy triumphs' fame Joy have thou of thy noble victory. And endless happiness of thine own name That promiseth the same; 25 That through thy prowess and victorious arms Thy country may be freed from foreign harms, And great Elisa's glorious name may ring Through all the world, fill'd with thy wide alarms. Wliich some brave Muse may sing 30 To ages following: Upon the bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. From those high towers this noble lord issuing Like Radiant Hesper, when his golden hair 35 In th' ocean billows he hath bathed fair, Descended to the river's open viewing With a great train ensuing. Above the rest were goodly to be seen Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature, 100 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [Ixxiv Beseeming well the bower of any queen, With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature, Fit for so goodly stature, That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight 5 Which deck the baldric of the Heavens bright; They two, forth pacing to the river's side. Received those two fair brides, their love's delight: Which, at th' appointed tide, Each one did make his bride 10 Against their bridal day, which is not long: Sweet Thames? run softly, till I end my song. E. Spenser LXXV THE HAPPY HEART Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? O sweet content! Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex'd? O punishment! 6 Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'd To add to golden numbers, golden numbers? O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content! Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labour bears a lovely face; 10 Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny! Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring? O sweet content! Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? O punishment! J 5 Then he that patiently want's burden bears No burden bears, but is a king, a king! O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content! Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labour bears a lovely face; 20 Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny' T. Dekker Ixxvii] Book First 101 LXXVI SIC TRANSIT Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me; For while thou view'st me with thy fadmg light Part of my life doth still depart with thee And I still onward haste to my last night: 5 Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly- So every day we live a day we die. But O ye nights, ordain'd for barren rest, How are my days deprived of life m you When heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest, 10 By feigned death life sweetly to renew! Part of my Ufe, in that, you hfe deny: So every day we live, a day we die. ^^^ ^^^^^^ LXXVII 10 This Life, which seems so fair. Is like a bubble blown up in the air By sporting children's breath. Who chase it everywhere And strive who can most motion it bequeatn. And though it sometimes seem of its ovm might Like to an eye of gold to be fix' d there And firm to hover in that empty height, That only is because it is so hght. —But in that pomp it doth not long appear; For when 'tis most admired, in a thought, Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought. W. Drummond i02 Palgrave's Golden Treasury flxxviii SOUL AND BODY Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, [Foil'd by] those rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine witliin, and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? 5 Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess. Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 10 And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, \N'ithout be rich no more: — - So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, And death once dead, there's no more dying then. W. Shakespeare The man of life upright. Whose guiltless heart is free from all dishonest deeds, Or thought of vanity; The man whose silent days In harmless joys are spent; Whom hopes cannot delude Nor sorrow^ discontent: That man needs neither towers Nor armour for defence, Nor secret vaults to fly From thunder's violence: Ixxx] Book First 103 He only can behold With imaffrighted eyes The horrors of the deep And terrors of the skies. 5 Thus scorning all the cares That fate or fortune brings, He makes the heaven his book, His wisdom heavenly things; Good thoughts his only friends, 10 His wealth a well-spent age, The earth his sober inn And quiet pilgrimage. T. Campion THE LESSONS OF NATURE Of this fair volume which we World do name If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care, Of Him who it corrects, and did it frame, We clear might read the art and wisdom rare: 5 Find out His power which wildest powers doth tame, His providence extending everywhere, His justice v»'liich proud rebels doth not spare, In every page, no period of the same But silly we, hke foolish cliildren, rest 10 Well pleased with colour'd vellum, leaves of gold. Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best, On the great Writer's sense ne'er taking hold; Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught, It is I? 'me picture on the margin wrought. W. Drummond. 104 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [Ixxxi LXXXI Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move? Is this the justice which on Earth we find? Is this that firm decree which all doth bind? Are these your influences, Powers above? 5 Those souls which vice's moody mists most bhnd, Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove; And they who thee, poor idol Virtue! love, Ply Hke a feather toss'd by storm and wind. Ah! if a Providence doth sway tliis all ■>0 Why should best minds groan under most distress? Or why should pride humility make thrall, And injuries the innocent oppress? Heavens! hinder, stop tliis fate; or grant a time When good may have, as well as bad, their prime! W. Drummond THE WORLD'S WAY Tired with all these, for restful death J cry — ■ As, to behold desert a beggar born. And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, 5 And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authoritj'', 10 And folly, doctor-hke, controlling skill, And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, And captive Good attending captain III: — — Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that, to die, I leave my Love alone. W. Shakespeare Ixxiv] Book First 105 A WISH Happy were he could finish forth his fate In some imhaimted desert, where, obscure From all society from love and hate Of worldly folk, there should he sleep secure; 5 Then wake again, and yield God ever praise; Content with hip, with haws, and brambleberry; In contemplation passing still his days. And change of holy thoughts to make him merry: Who, when he dies, his tomb might be the bush 10 Where harmless robin resteth with the thrush: — Happy were he! R. Devereux, Earl of Essex LXXXIV SAINT JOHN BAPTIST The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild. Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, Which he more harmless found than man, and mild. 5 His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, With honey that from virgin hives distill 'd; Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing Made liim appear, long since from earth exiled. There burst he forth: All ye whose hopes rely 10 On God, ^vith me amidst these deserts mourn, Repent, repent, and from old errors turn! — ^Who hsten'd to his voice, obey'd his cry? Only the echoes, which he made relent, Rung from their flinty caves, Repent! Repent! W. Drummond Cl)e (BoltJtn Creasurp T5ook ^econD ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY Thij is the month, and this the happy morn Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; 5 For so the holy sages once did sing That He our deadly forfeit should release. And with His Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, And that far-beammg blaze of Majesty 10 Wherewith He wont at Heaven's high council-table To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside; and, here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day. And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay 15 Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the Infant God? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain To welcome Him to this His new abode, Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, 20 Hath took no print of the approaching light, And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? loe Ixxxv] -t^o^^' Seconct 107 See how from far, upon the eastern road, The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet: O run, prevent them with thy humble ode And lay it lowly at His blessed feet; 5 Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the Angel quire From out His secret altar touch' d with hallow d fare, THE HYMN It was the winter wild While the heaven-born Child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Nature in awe to Him 5 Had doff'd her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair 10 She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow; And on her naked shame. Pollute with sinful blame. The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; 15 Confounded, that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But He, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding 20 Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, •,. -j- With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing. And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. 25 No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around: The idle spear and shield were high uphung; The hooked chariot stood i08 Falgrave's Golden Treasury [Ixxxv Unstain'd with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. 5 But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds, with wonder wliist, Smoothly the waters kist 10 Whispering new joys to the mild ocean — Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. The stars, with deep amaze. Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, 15 Bending one way their precious influence; And \^dll not take their flight For all the morning hght. Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow 20 Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go. And though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, 25 As his inferior flame The new-enlighten'd world no more should need; He saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne, or burning axletree could bear. The shepherds on the lawn 30 Or ere the point of dawn Sate simply chatting in a rustic row; Full Httle thought they than That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below; 35 Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep: — When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet fxxxv] Book Second 109 As never was by mortal finger strook — Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise. As all their souls in blissful rapture took: 5 The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. Nature, that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, 10 Now was almost won To think her part was done. And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union. 15 At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light That with long beams the shamefaced night array'd; The helmed Cherubim And sworded Seraphim 20 Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, Harping in loud and solemn quire AVith unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-bom Heir. Such music (as 'tis said) Before was never made 25 But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set And the well-balanced world on hinges hung; And cast the dark foundations deep, 30 And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres! Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let your silver chime 35 Move in melodious time; And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow; And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. 110 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [IxxxV For if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold; And speckled Vanity 5 Will sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; And Hell itself will pass away. And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day Yea, Truth and Justice then 10 Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, hke glories wearing, Mercy will sit between Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; 15 And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall. But wisest Fate says No; This must not yet be so; The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy 20 That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss; So both Himself and us to glorify: Yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep; 25 With such a horrid clang As on Mount Sinai rang While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake: The aged Earth aghast With terror of that blast 30 Shall from the surface to the centre shake, When, at the world's last session, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread His throne. And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, 35 But now begins; for from this happy day The old Dragon under ground, In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway; Ixxxv] Book Second 111 And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. The Oracles are dumb; No voice or liideous hum 5 Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving: No nightly trance or breathed spell 10 Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. The lonely mountains o'er And the resounding shore A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale 15 Edged with poplar pale The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. In consecrated earth 20 And on the holy hearth The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; In urns, and altars round A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; 25 And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baalim Forsake their temples dim. With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine; 30 And mooned Ashtaroth Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn: In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. 35 And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; 112 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [Ixxxv In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish gods of Nile as fast, 5 Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove, or green. Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud: Nor can he be at rest 10 Within his sacred chest; Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark The sable-stoled sorcerers bear liis worshipt ark. He feels from Juda's land 15 The dreaded Infant's hand; The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: 20 Our Babe, to show His Godhead true, Can in His swaddling bands control the dammed crew. So, when the sun in bed Curtain 'd with cloudy red Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, 25 The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fetter 'd ghost sHps to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-lovea 80 But see! the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven's youngest-teemed star Hath fix'd her polish 'd car, 35 Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness 'd Angels sit in order serviceable. J. Milton. Ixxxvi] Book Second 113 LXXXVI S02\-G FOR ST, CECILIA'S DAY, 1687 From harmony, from Heavenly Harmony This universal frame began: When Nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay 5 And could not heave her head, TbtJ tuneful voice was heard from high, Arise, ye more than dead! Then cold and hot and moist and dry In order to their stations leap, And Music's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began: From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 15 The diapason closing full in Man. What passion cannot Music raise and quell? When Jubal struck the chorded shell His listening brethren stood around. And, wondering, on their faces fell 20 To worship that celestial sound. Less than a god they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell That spoke so sweetly and so well, What passion cannot Music raise and quell? 25 The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double double double beat 30 Of the thundering drum Cries 'Hark! the foes come; Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat!' The soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers 114 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [Ixxxvi The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whisper' d by the warbling lute. Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs and desperation, 5 Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of passion For the fair disdainful dame. But oh! what art can teach, What human voice can reach 10 The sacred organ's praise? Notes inspiring holy love, Notes that wing their heavenly ways To mend the choirs above. Oipheus could lead the savage race, 15 And trees unrooted left their place Sequacious of the lyre: But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher: When to her Organ vocal breath was given An Angel heard, and straight appeared — 20 JNIistaking Earth for Heaven. Grand Chorus As from the power of sacred lays The spheres began to move, And sung the great Creator's praise To all the blest above; 25 So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky. J. Dryden LXXXVH ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold; Even them who kept Thy truth so pure of old When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones, Ixxxviii] Book Second 115 Forget not : In Thy book record their groans Who were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans 5 The vales redoubled to the hills, and they To Heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway The triple Tyrant: that from these may grow A hundred-fold, who, having learnt Thy way, 10 Early may fly the Babylonian woe. J. Milton LXXXVIII HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S RETURN FROM IRELAND The forward youth that would appear, Must now forsake his Muses dear, Nor in the shadows sing His numbers languishing. 5 'Tis time to leave the books in dust. And oil the unused armour's rust, Removing from the wall The corslet of the hall. So restless Cromwell could not cease 10 In the inglorious arts of peace, But through adventurous war Urged his active star: And like the three-fork'd lightning, first Breaking the clouds where it was nurst, 15 Did thorough his own Side His fiery way divide: For 'tis all one to courage high, The emulous, or enemy; And with such, to enclose 20 Is more than to oppose; Il6 Palgrave'is Golden Treasury [Ixxxviii Then burning through the air he went And palaces and temples rent; And Caesar's head at last Did through his laurels blast. 5 'Tis madness to resist or blame The face of angrj^ heaven's flame; And if we would speak true, Much to the Man is due Who, from his private gardens, where 10 He lived reserved and austere, (As if liis highest plot To plant the bergamot,) Could by industrious valour climb To ruin the great work of time, 15 And cast the Kingdoms old Into another mould; Though Justice against Fate complain, And plead the ancient Rights in vain — But those do hold or break 20 As men are strong or weak; Nature, that hateth emptiness. Allows of penetration less, And therefore must make room Where greater spirits come. 25 What field of all the ci\al war Where his were not the deepest scar? And Hampton shows what part He had of \s'iser art, Where, twining subtle fears with hope, 30 He wove a net of such a scope That Charles himself might chase To Carisbrook's narrow case, That thence the Royal actor borne The tragic scaffold might adorn; 35 While round the armed bands Did clap their bloody hands. Ixxxviiij Book Second 117 He nothing common did or mean Upon that memorable scene, But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try; 5 Nor call'd the Gods, with vulgar spite, To vindicate his helpless right; But bow'd his comely head Down, as upon a bed. — This was that memorable hour 10 Which first assured the forced power: So when they did design The Capitol's first line, A Bleeding Head, where they begun, Did fright the architects to run; 15 And yet in that the State Foresaw its happy fate! And now the Irish are ashamed To see themselves in one year tamed: So much one man can do 20 That does both act and know. They can affirm his praises best, And have, though overcome, confest How good he is, how just And fit for highest trust. 25 Nor yet grown stiffer with command. But still in the Republic's hand — How fit he is to sway That can so well obey! He to the Commons' feet presents 30 A Kingdom for his first year's rents. And (what he may) forbears His fame, to make it theirs: And has his sword and spoils ungirt To lay them at the Public's skirt. 35 So when the falcon high Falls heavy from the sky, 118 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [Ixxxviii She, having kill'd, no more doth search But on the next green bough to perch, Where, when he first does hire, The falconer has her sure. 5 — ^What may not then our Isle presume While victory his crest does plume? What may not others fear If thus he crowns each year? As Caesar he, ere long, to Gaul, 10 To Italy an Hannibal, And to all States not free Shall chmacteric be. The Pict no shelter now shall find Within his parti-colour'd mind, 15 But from this valour sad Shrink underneath the plaid — Happy, if in the tufted brake The English hunter him mistake, Nor lay liis hounds in near 20 The Caledonian deer. But Thou, the War's and Fortune's son, March indefatigably on; And for the last effect Still keep the sword erect: 25 Besides the force it has to fright The spirits of the shady night, The same arts that did gain A power, must it maintain. A. Marvell LXXXIX LYCIDAS Elegy on a Friend drowned in the Irish Channel 1637 Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude- And with forced fingers rude Ixxxix] Book Second 119 Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due: For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, 5 Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, 10 Without the meed of some melodious tear. Begin then. Sisters of the sacred well That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring; Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. . Hence with denial vain and coy excuse: 15 So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favour my destined urn; And as he passes, turn And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, 20 Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill: Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd LTnder the opening eyelids of the Mom, We drove a-field, and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, 25 Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night. Oft till tlie star that rose at evening bright Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, Temper'd to the oaten flute, 30 Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad sound v/ould not be absent long; And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. But, oh! the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! 35 Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves With wild thyme and gadding vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes, mourn: The willows and the hazel copses green Shall now no more be seen 40 Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays: — I 120 Palgrave^s Golden Treasury [Ixxxix As killing as the canker to the rose, Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear When first the white-thorn blows; 5 Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. Where were ye. Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas? For neither were ye playing on the steep Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, 10 Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream: Ay me! I fondly dream — Had ye been there . . . For what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, 15 The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, Whom universal nature did lament, When by the rout that made the hideous roar His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? 20 Alas! what boots it with uncessant care To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not better done, as others use. To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, 25 Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, 30 And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears And slits the thin-spun life. 'But not the praise' Phoebus replied, and touch'd my trembling ears; 'Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 35 Nor in the glistering foil . Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies: But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes And perfect witness of all-judging Jove; As he pronounces lastly on each deed, 40 Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.' Ixxxix] Book Second 121 O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood Smooth-sliding Mincius, crown' d with vocal reeds, That strain I heard was of a higher mood. But now my oat proceeds, 5 And listens to the herald of the sea That came in Neptune's plea; He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds, What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain? And question'd every gust of rugged wings 10 That blows from off each beaked promontory: They knew not of liis story; And sage Hippotades their answer brings, That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd; The air was calm, and on the level brine 15 Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd. It was that fatal and perfidious bark Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, 20 His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe: 'Ah! who hath reft,' quoth he, 'my dearest pledge!' Last came, and last did go 25 The Pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain); He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake: 'How well could I have spared for thee, young swain^ 30 Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake Creep and intrude and climb into the fold! Of other care they little reckoning make Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, And shove away the w^orthy bidden guest. 35 Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook, or have learn'd aught else the least That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs 122 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [Ixxxix Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: 5 Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and notliing said: — But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.' Return, Alpheus; the dread voice is past 10 That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast . Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks 15 On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks; Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes That on the green turf suck the honey'd showers And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 20 The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, The glowing violet. The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine. With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, 25 And every flower that sad embroidery wears: Bid amarantus all his beauty shed, And daffadillies fill their cups with tears To strew the laureat hearse where Lycid lies. For so to interpose a little ease, 30 Let our frail thoughts dally wdth false surmise: — . Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas Wash far away, — where'er thy bones are hurl'd, Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, 35 Visitest the bottom of the monstrous world; Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, Sleep' st by the fable of Bellerus old, Where the great Vision of the guarded mount Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold, 40 — Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth: — ^And, O ye dolphins^ waft the hapless youth! xc] Book Second 123 Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor: So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, 5 And yet anon repairs his drooping head And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky: So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the waves; 10 Where, other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves. And hears the unexpressive nuptial song In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the Saints above 15 In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing, in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from liis eyes. Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore 20 In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood. Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, While the still morn went out with sandals gray; He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, 25- \Vith eager thought warbling his Doric lay: And now the sun had stretch'd out all the liills. And now was dropt into the western bay: At last he rose, and twitch'd his mantle blue: To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. J. Milton xc ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY Mortality, behold and fear What a change of flesh is here! Tliink how many royal bones Sleep within these heaps of stones; 5 Here they lie, had realms and lands. Who now want strength to stir their hands, 124 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xc Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust They preach, 'In greatness is no trust/ Here's an acre sown indeed With the richest royallest seed 5 That the earth did e'er suck in Since the first man died for sin: Here the bones of birth have cried 'Though gods they were, as men they died!' Here are sands, ignoble things, 10 Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings: Here's a world of pomp and state Buried in dust, once dead by fate. F. Beaumont xci THE LAST CONQUEROR Victorious men of earth, no more Proclaim how wide your empires are; Though you bind-in every shore And your triumphs reach as far 5 As night or day, Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey And mingle with forgotten ashes, when Death calls ye to the crowd of common men. • Devouring Famine, Plague, and War, 10 Each able to undo mankind, Death's servile emissaries are; Nor to these alone confined, He hath' at will More quaint and subtle ways to kill; 15 A smile or kiss, as he will use the art. Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. J. Shirley XCII DEATH THE LEVELLER The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings: xciii] Book Second 125 Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And m the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 5 Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late 10 They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds; 15 Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor- victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just 20 Smell sweet and blossom in their dust. J. Shirley XCIII WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize. If deed of honour did thee ever please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms. 5 He can requite thee; for he knows the charms That call fame on such gentle acts as these, And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas. Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower: 10 The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower 126 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xciii Went to the ground: and the repeated air Of sad Electra's poet had the power To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. J. Milton xciv ON HIS BLINDNESS When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 5 To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He returning chide, — Doth God exact day-labour, Hght denied? I fondly ask: — But Patience, to prevent 'That murmur, soon replies; God doth not need 10 Either man's work, or His own gifts: who best Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed And post o'er land and ocean without rest: — They also serve who only stand and wait. J. Milton xcv CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought And simple truth his utmost skill! Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care Of public fame, or private breath; xcvi] Book Second 127 Who envies none that chance doth raise Nor vice; Who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise; Nor rules of state, but rules of good: 5 Who hath his life from rumours freed, Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great; Who God doth late and early pray 10 More of His grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend; — This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; 15 Lord of himself, though not of lands; And having nothing, yet hath all. Sir H. Wotton XCVI THE NOBLE NATURE It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make Man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: 5 A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night — It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see; 10 And in short measures life may perfect be. B. Jonson 128 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xcvii THE GIFTS OF GOD When Ood at first made Man, Having a glass of blessings standing by; Let us (said He) pour on him all we can: Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, 5 Contract into a span. So strength first made a way; Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure: When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all His treasure, 10 Rest in the bottom lay. For if I should (said He) Bestow this jewel also on My creature, He would adore My gifts instead of Me, And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature, 15 So both should losers be. Yet let him keep the rest. But keep them with repining restlessness: Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness :20 May toss him to My breast. G. Herben XCVIII THE RETREAT Happy those early days, when I Shined in my Angel-infancy! Before I understood this place Appointed for my second race, -6 Or taught my soul to fancy aught But a white, celestial thought; Wlien yet I had not walk'd above A mile or two from mv first Love, I xcix] 10 Book Second 129 And looking back, at that short space Could see a glimpse of His bright face; When on some gilded cloud or flower My gazing soul would dwell an hour, And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity; Before I taught my tongue to wound My conscience with a sinful sound, Or had the black art to dispense A several sin to every sense, But felt through all this fleshly dress Bright shoots of everlastingness. O how I long to travel back, And tread again that ancient track! 15 That I might once more reach that plain Where first I left my glorious train; From whence th' enUghten'd spirit sees That shady City of palm trees! But ah! my soul with too much stay 20 Is drunk, and staggers in the way:— Some men a forward motion love. But I by backward steps would move; And when this dust falls to the urn, In that state I came, return. H. Vaugnan XCIX TO MR. LAWRENCE Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the hre Help waste a sullen day, what may be won 5 From the hard season gaining? Time will run On smoother, till Favonius re-mspire The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. 130 '^ Palgrave's Golden Treasury [xcix What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste, with wdne, whence we may rise To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air? 5 He who of those delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise. /. Milton TO CYRIACK SKINNER Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws, Which others at their bar so often wrench; 5 To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench In mirth, that after no repenting draws; Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause, And what the Swede intend, and what the FrencH. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know 10 Toward solid good what leads the nearest way; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though \Nise in show. That with superfluous burden loads the day. And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains. J. Milton CI A HYMN IN PRAISE OF NEPTUNE Of Neptune's empire let us sing. At whose command the waves obey; To whom the rivers tribute pay, Down the high mountains sliding; To whom the scaly nation yields Homage for the crystal fields Wherein they dwell; cii] Book Second 131 And every sea-god pays a gem Yearly out of his watery cell, To deck great Neptune's diadem. The Tritons dancing in a ring, 6 Before his palace gates do make The water with their echoes quake, Like the great thunder sounding: The sea-nymphs chaunt their accents shrill, And the Syrens taught to kill 10 With their sweet voice, Make every echoing rock reply, Vrito their gentle murmuring noise, The praise of Neptune's empery. T. Caynpion HYMN TO DIANA Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair. Now the sun is laid to sleep. Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep: 5^ Hesperus entreats thy light; Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made 10 Heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart And thy crystal-shining quiver; 15 Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever: Thou that mak'st a day of night, Goddess excellently bright! B. Jonson 132 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ciii WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS Whoe'er she be, That not impossible She That shall command my heart and me; Where'er she lie, 5 Lock'd up from mortal eye In shady leaves of destiny: Till that ripe birth Of studied Fate stand forth, And teach her fair steps tread our earth; 10 Till that divine Idea take a shrine Of crystal flesh, through which to shine; — Meet you her, my Wishes, Bespeak her to my blisses, 15 And be ye call'd, my absent kisses. I wish her beauty That owes not all its duty To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie: Something more than 20 Taffata or tissue can. Or rampant feather, or rich fan. A face that's best By its own beauty drest, And can alone commend the rest: 25 A face made up Out of no other shop Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. Sidneian showers Of sweet discourse, whose powers 30 Can CTOvm. old Winter's head with flowers. ciii] Book Second 133 Whate'er delight Can make day's forehead bright Or give down to the wings of night. Soft silken hours, 5 Open suns, shady bowers; 'Bove all, nothing within that lowers. Days, that need borrow No part of their good morrow From a fore-spent night of sorrow: 10 Days, that in spite Of darkness, by the light Of a clear mind are day all night. ' Life, that dares send I A challenge to his end, ' ■ 15 And when it comes, say, 'Welcome, friend/ i I wish her store Of Avorth may leave her poor Of wishes; and I wish — no more. Now, if Time knows 20 That Her, whose radiant brows Weave them a garland of my vow^s: Her that dares be What these lines w'ish to see: I seek no further, it is She. 25 'Tis She, and here Lo! I unclothe and clear My wishes' cloudy character. Such' worth as this is Shall fix my flying wishes, 30 And determine them to kisses. Let her full glory. My fancies, fly before ye; Be ye my fictions: — but her stoiy. R. Crashaio 134 Palgrave's Golden Treasury. [civ THE GREAT ADVENTURER Ovei' the mountains And over the waves, Under the fountains And under the graves; 5 Under floods that are deepest, Wliich Neptune obey; Over rocks that are steepest Love will find out the way. Where there is no place 10 For the glow-worm to lie; Where there is no space For receipt of a fly; Where the midge dares not venture Lest herself fast she lay; 15 If love come, he will enter And soon find out liis way. You may esteem him A child for his might; Or you may deem him 20 A coward from his flight; But if she whom love doth honour Be conceal'd from the day, Set a thousand guards upon her, Love will find out the way. 25 Some think to lose him By having him confined; And some do suppose him, Poor thing, to be blind; But if ne'er so close ye wall him^ 30 Do the best that you may, Blind love, if so ye call liim, Will find out his way. iv] Book Second 135 You may train the eagle To stoop to your fist; Or you may inveigle The phoenix of the east; 5 The lioness, ye may move her To give o'er her prey; But you'll ne'er stop a lover: He will find out his way. Anon. cv THE PICTURE OF LITTLE T. C. IN A PROSPECT OF FLOWERS See with what simphcity This nymph begins her golden days! In the green grass she loves to lie, And there with her fair aspect tames o The wilder flowers, and gives them names; But only with the roses plays, And them does tell What colours best become them, and what smell. Who can foretell for what high cause iO This darling of the Gods was born? Yet this is she whose chaster laws The wanton Love shall one day fear. And, under her command severe, See his bow broke, and ensigns torn, 15 Happy who can Appease this virtuous enemy of man! O then let me in time compound And parley with those conquering eyes, Ere they have tried their force to wound; 20 Ere with their glancing wheels they drive In triumph over hearts that strive, And them that yield but more despise: Let me be laid, W^here I may see the glories from some shade. 136 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cv Mean time, whilst every verdant thing Itself does at thy beauty charm, Reform the errors of the Spring; Make that the tulips may have share 5 Of sweetness, seeing they are fair, And roses of their thorns disarm; But most procure That violets may a longer age endure. But O young beauty of the woods, 10 Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers, Gather the flowers, but spare the buds; Lest Flora, angry at thy crime To kill her infants in their prime, Should quickly make th' example yours; 15 And ere we see — Nip in the blossom — all our hopes and thee. A. Marvell cvi CHILD AND MAIDEN Ah, Chloris! could I now but sit As unconcern' d as when Your infant beauty could beget No happiness or pain! 5 When I the dawn used to admire, And praised the coming day, I little thought the rising fire Would take my rest away. Your charms in harmless childhood lay 10 Like metals in a mine; Age from no face takes more away Than youth conceal 'd in thine. But as your charms insensibly To their perfection prest, 15 So love as unperceived did fly, And center'd in my breast. cviii] Book Second 137 My passion with your beauty grew, While Cupid at my heart, Still as his mother favour'd you, Threw a new flaming dart: 5 Each gloried in their wanton part; To make a lover, he Employ'd the utmost of his art — To make a beauty, she. Sir C. Sedley I CVII CONSTANCY I cannot change as others do, Though you unjustly scorn. Since that poor swain that sighs for you, For you alone was born; 5 No, Phyllis, no, your heart to move A surer way I'll try, — And to revenge my slighted love. Will still love on, and die. When, kill'd with grief, Amintas lies, 10 And you to mind shall call The sighs that now unpitied rise, The tears that vainly fall. That welcome hour that ends his smart Will then begin your pain, 15 For such a faithful tender heart Can never break in vain. J. Wilmot, Earl of Rochester CVIII COUNSEL TO GIRLS Gather ye rose-buds while ye may. Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying. 138 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cviii The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, The higher he's a-getting The sooner will his race be run, And nearer. he's to setting. 5 That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times, still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time; 10 And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime. You may for ever tarry. R. Herrick cix TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. 5 True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such 10 As you too shall adore; I could not love thee, Dear, so much. Loved I not Honour more. Colonel Lovelace ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA You meaner beauties of the night. That poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light, cxi] Book Second 139 You common people of the skies, What are you, when the Moon shall rise? You curious chanters of the wood That warble forth dame Nature's lays, 5 Thinking your passions understood By your weak accents; what's your praise When Philomel her voice doth raise? You violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known 10 Like the proud virgins of the year. As if the spring were all your o%\ti, — What are you, when the Rose is blown? So when my Mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind, 15 By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not design'd Th' eclipse and glorv cf her kind? Sir H. Wotton TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY Daughter to that good Earl, once President Of England's Council and her Treasury, Who lived in both, unstain'd with gold or fee, And left them both, more in himself content, 5 Till the sad breaking of that Parliament Broke him, as that dishonest victory At Chaeroneia, fatal to liberty, Kill'd ^vith report that old man eloquent; — Though later bom than to have known the days 10 Wherein your father flourish' d, yet by you, Madam, methinks I see him living yet; So well your words his noble virtues praise. That all both judge you to relate them true. And to possess them, honour' d Margaret. J. Milton 140 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxii CXII THE TRUE BEAUTY He that loves a rosy cheek Or a coral lip admires, Or from star4ike eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires; 5 As old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away. But a smooth and steadfast mind. Gentle thoughts, and calm desires. Hearts with equal love combined, 10 Kindle never-dying fires: — Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. T. Carew CXIII TO DIANEME Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes Which starlike sparkle in their skies; Nor be you proud, that you can see All hearts your captives; yours yet free: 5 Be you not proud of that rich hair Which wantons ^^^th the lovesick air; Whenas that ruby wliich you wear. Sunk from the tip of your soft ear. Will last to be a precious stone 10 When all your world of beauty's gone. R. Herrick cxiv Love in thy youth, fair Maid, be wise; Old Time will make thee colder, And though each morning new arise Yet we each day grow older. cxv] Book Second 141 Thou as Heaven art fair and young, Thine eyes hke twin stars sliining; But ere another day be sprung All these will be declining. 6 Then winter comes with all his fears, And all thy sweets shall borrow; Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears, — And I too late shall sorrow! Anon. Go, lovely Rose! Tell her, that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, 5 How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that's young And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, \d Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth. Suffer herself to be desired, la And not blush so to be admired. Then die! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee: How small a part of time they share :20 That are so wondrous sweet and fair! E. Waller 142 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxvi CXVI TO CELIA Drink to me only ^\^th thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. 5 The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 10 Not so much honouring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not wither'd be; But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent'st it back to me; 15 Since when it grows, and smells, I swear. Not of itself but thee! B. Jonson CHERRY-RIPE There is a garden in her face Where roses and white lilies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; 5 There cherries grow that none may buy, Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry. Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearl a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows, 10 They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow: Yet them no peer nor prince may buy, Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry. cxviii] Book Second 143 Her eyes like angels watch them still; Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill All that approach with eye or hand 5 These sacred cherries to come nigh, Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry! Anon. CXVIII CORINNA'S MAYING Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the air: 5 Get up, sweet Slug-a-bed, and see The dew bespanghng herb and tree. Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east, Above an hour since; yet you not drest. Nay! not so much as out of bed? 10 When all the birds have matins said. And sung their thankful hymns: 'tis sin, Nay, profanation, to keep in, — Whenas a thousand ^^rgins on this day. Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch-in May. 15 Rise; and put on your foliage, and be seen To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and green, And sweet as Flora. Take no care For jewels for your gown, or hair: Fear not; the leaves will strew 20 Gems in abundance upon you: Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, Against you come, some orient pearls unwept: Come, and receive them while the light Hangs on the dew-locks of the night: 25 And Titan on the eastern hill Retires himself, or else stands still Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying: Few beads are best, when once we go a Maying. 144 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxviii Come, my Corinna, come; and coming, mark How each field turns a street; each street a park Made green, and trimm'd with trees: see how Devotion gives each house a bough 5 Or branch: Each porch, each door, ere this, An ark, a tabernacle is. Made up of wliite-thom neatly interwove; As if here were those cooler shades of love. Can such delights be in the street, 10 And open fields, and we not see't? Come, we'll abroad: and let's obey The proclamation made for May: And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; But, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying. 15 There's not a budding boy, or girl, this day, But is got up, and gone to bring in May. A deal of youth, ere this, is come Back, and with white-thorn laden home. Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream, 20 Before that we have left to dream: And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth. And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth: Many a green-gown has been given; Many a kiss, both odd and even: 25 Many a glance too has been sent From out the eye. Love's firmament: Many a jest told of the keys betraying This night, and locks pick'd: — Yet we're not a May- ing. — Come, let us go, while we are in our prime; 30 And take the harmless folly of the time! We shall grow old apace, and die Before we know our liberty. Our life is short; and our days run As fast away as does the sun: — 35 And as a vapour, or a drop of rain Once lost, can ne'er be found again: So when or you or I are made A fable, song, or fleeting shade; oxx] Book Second 1^^ All love, all liking, all delight Lies droA^Ti'd with us in endless night. Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, Come, my Corinna! come, let's go a laying ^ CXIX THE POETRY OF DRESS 1 A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness: — A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction, — 5 An erring lace, wliich here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher, — A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbands to flow confusedly,— A winning wave, deserving note, 10 In the tempestuous petticoat, — _ A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility, — Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part. , R. Herrick cxx 2 Whenas in silks my Julia goes Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes. Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free; O how that glittering taketh me! R. Herrick 146 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxxi CXXI 3 My Love in her attire doth shew her wii, It doth so well become her: For every season she hath dressings fit, For, Winter, Spring, and Summer. 5 No beauty she doth miss When all her robes are on: But Beauty's self she is When all her robes are gone. Anon, ON A GIRDLE That which her slender waist confined Shall now my joyful temples bind: No monarch but would give his crown His arms might do what this has done. 5 It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer: My joy, my grief, my hope, my love Did all within this circle move. A narrow compass! and yet there" 10 Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair: Give me but what this ribband bound, Take all the rest the Sun goes round. E. Waller CXXIII A MYSTICAL ECSTASY E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks, That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks. Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, 5 Where in a greater current they conjoin: So I my Best-Beloved's am; so He is mine. cxxiv] Book Second 147 E'en so we met; and after long pursuit, E'en so we joined; we both became entire; No need for either to renew a suit, For I was flax and he was flames of fire: 5 Our firm-united souls did more than twine; So I my Best-Beloved's am; so He is mine. If all those glittering Monarchs that command The servile quarters of this earthly ball, Should tender, in exchange, their shares of land, 10 I would not change my fortunes for them all: Their wealth is but a counter to my coin: The world's but theirs; but my Beloved's mine. F. Quarles TO ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANY THING Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be: Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee. 5 A heart as soft, a heart as kind, A heart as sound and free As in the whole world thou canst find, That heart I'll give to thee. Bid that heart stay, and it will stay, 10 To honour thy decree: Or bid it languish quite away, And't shall do so for thee. Bid me to weep, and I will weep While I have eyes to see: 15 And having none, yet I will keep A heart to weep for thee. Bid me despair, and I'll despair, Under that cypress tree: Or bid me die, and I will dare 20 E'en Death, to die for thee. 148 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxxiv Thou art my life, my love, my heart, The very eyes of me, And hast command of every part, To live and die for thee. R. Herrick Love not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part, No, nor for my constant heart, — 5 For those may fail, or turn to ill. So thou and I shall sever: Keep therefore a true woman's eye, And love me still, but know not why- So hast thou the same reason still 10 To doat upon me ever! Anon. cxxvi Not, Celia, that I juster am Or better than the rest; For I would change each hour, like them^ Were not my heart at rest. 5 But I am tied to very thee By everj^ thought I have; Thy face I only care to see, Thy heart I only crave. All that in woman is adored 10 In thy dear self I find — For the Avhole sex can but afford The handsome and the kind. Why then should I seek further store, And still make love anew? 15 When change itself can give no more, 'Tis easy to be true. Sir C. Sedley cxxvii] Book Second 149 CXXVII TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON When Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; 5 When I he tangled in her hair And fetter'd to her eye, The Gods that wanton in the air Know no such hberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round 10 With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep. When healths and draughts go free — • 15 Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty. When, (like committed linnets), I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty 20 And glories of my King; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be. Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, Know no such liberty. 25 Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; If I have freedom in my love 30 And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above. Enjoy such liberty. Colonel Lovelace 150 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxx\'iii CXXVIII TO LUCASTA, GOING BEYOND THE SEAS If to be absent were to be Away from thee; Or that when I am gone You or I were alone; 5 Then, my Lucasta, might I crave Pity from blustering wind, or swallo\%'ing wave. But I'll not sigh one blast or gale To swell my sail, Or pay a tear to 'suage 10 The foaming blue-god's rage; For whether he vriW let me pass Or no, I'm still as happy as I was. Though seas and land betA^dxt us both, Our faith and troth, 15 Like separated souls, All time and space controls: Above the highest sphere we meet Unseen, unknown, and greet as Angels greet. So then we do anticipate 20 Our after-fate, And are alive i' the skies, If thus our lips and eyes Can speak like spirits unconfined In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind. Colonel Lovelace CXXIX ENCOURAGEMENTS TO A LOVER Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prythee, why so pale? Will, if looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? 5 • Prythee, why so pale? cxxx Book Second 151 Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prythee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't? 5 Prythee, why so mute? Quit, quit, for shame! this will not move. This cannot take her; If of herself she will not love, Notliing can make her: 10 The D— i take her! Sir J. Suckling A SUPPLICATION Awake, awake, my Lyre! And tell thy silent master's humble tale In sounds that may prevail; Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire: 5 Though so exalted she And I so lowly be Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony, Hark, how the strings awake! And, though the mo\ang hand approach not near, 10 Themselves with awful fear A kind of numerous trembling make. Now all thy forces try; Now all thy charms apply; Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye. 15 Weak Lyre! thy virtue sure Is useless here, since thou art only found To cure, but not to wound. And she to wound, but not to cure. Too w^eak too wilt thou prove 20 My passion to remove; Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to Love. 152 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxxx Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre! For thou canst never tell my humble tale In sounds that will prevail, Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire; 5 All thy vain mirth lay by, Bid thy strings silent lie. Sleep, sleep, again, my Lyre, and let thy master die. A. Cowley THE MANLY HEART Shall I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are? 5 Be she fairer than the day Or the flowery meads in May — If she think not well of me What care I how fair she be? Shall my silly heart be pined 10 'Cause I see a woman kind; Or a well disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature? * Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove or pelican, 15 If she be not so to me What care I how kind she be? Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love? Or her well-deservings known 20 Make me quite forget mine ovra? Be she with that goodness blest Which may merit name of Best; If she be not such to me. What care I how good she be? cxxxii] Book Second 153 'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die? She that bears a noble mind If not outward helps she find, 5 Thinks what with them he would do Who without them dares her woo; And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be? Great or good, or kind or fair, 10 I will ne'er the more despair; If she love me, this beUeve, I will die ere she shall grieve; If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go; 15 For if she be not for me. What care I for whom she be? G. Wither CXXXII MELANCHOLY Hence, all you vain delights. As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly: There's nought in this life sweet 5 If man were wise to see't, But only melancholy, O sweetest Melancholy! Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, A sigh that piercing mortifies, 10 A look that's fasten'd to the ground, A tongue chain' d up without a sound! Fountain-heads and pathless groves, Places which pale passion loves! Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 15 Are warmly housed save bats and owls! A midnight bell, a parting groan! These are the sounds we feed upon; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. J. Fletcher 154 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxxxiii CXXXIII FORSAKEN O waly waly up the bank, And waly waly down the brae, And waly waly yon burn-side Where I and my Love wont to gae! 5 I leant my back unto an aik, I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak. Sae my true Love did lichtly me. O waly waly, but love be bonny 10 A little time wliile it is new; But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld And fades awa' like morning dew. O wherefore should I busk my head? Or wherefore siiould 1 kame my hair? 15 For my true Love has me forsook, And says he'll never loe me mair. Now Arthur-seat shall be my bed; The sheets shall ne'er be prest by me: Saint Anton's well sail be my drink, 20 Since my true Love has forsaken me. Marti'mas wind, when \\alt thou blaw And shake the green leaves aff the tree? O gentle Death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I am wearie. 25 'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow to\\7i 30 We were a comely sight to see; My Love was clad in the black velvet, And / nysell in cramasie. *xxxiv] Book Second 155 But had I wist, before I kist, That love had been sae ill to win; I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd And pinn'd it with a siller pin. 6 And, O! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee, And I mysell were dead and gane, And the green grass growing over me? Anon. cxxxiv Upon my lap my sovereign sits And sucks upon my breast; Meantime his love maintains my life And gives my sense her rest. 5 Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy! When thou hast taken thy repast, Repose, my babe, on me; So may thy moT;her and thy nurse 10 Thy cradle also be. Sing lull a by, my little boy, Sing JuUaby, mine only joyl I grieve that duty doth not work All that my wishing would, Jn Because I would not be to thee But in the best I should. Sing lullaby, my Httle boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joyl Yet as I am, and as I may, 30 I must and will be thine. Though all too little for thy self Vouchsafing to be mine. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy! Anon. 156 Paigrave's Golden Treasury [cxxxv FAIR HELEN I wish I were where Helen lies; Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen Hes On fair Kirconnell lea! 5 Curst be the heart that thought the thought. And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arras burd Helen dropt, And died to succor me! think na but my heart was sair 10 When my Love dropt dowTi and spak nae mairl 1 laid her down wi' meikle care On fair Kirconnell lea. As I went down the water-side, None but my foe to be my guide, 15 None but my foe to be my guide, On fair Kirconnell lea; • I lighted dowTi my sword to draw, I hacked him in pieces sma', I hacked him in pieces sma', 20 For her sake that died for me. O Helen fair, beyond compare! I'll make a garland of thy hair Shall bind my heart for evermair Until the day I die. 25 O that I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, 'Haste and come to me I' O Helen fair! O Helen chaste! 30 If I were with thee, I were blest. Where thou lies low and takes thy rest On fair Kirconnell lea. cxxx\ij tijok Second 167 I wish my grave were growing greeu, A winding-sheet drawn ower my een. And I in Helen's arms lying, On fair Kirconnell lea. •^ I wish I were where Helen lies; Night and day on me she cries; And I am weary of the skies, Since my Love died for me. Anon. THE TWA CORBIES As i was walking all alane 1 heard twa corbies making a mane; The tane unto the t'other say, 'Where sail wc gang and dine today?* 5 ' — In behint yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new-slain Knight; And naebody kens that he lies there, But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair 'His hound is to the hunting gane, 10 His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady's ta'en another mate, So we may mak our dinner sweet. 'Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, And I'll pick out liis bonnie blue een: 15 Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair We'll theek our nest when it grows bare. *Mony a one for him makes mane, But nane sail ken where he is gane; O'er his white banes, when they are bare, 20 The wind sajl blaw for evermair.' Anon. 158 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxxxvii ON THE DEATH OF MR WILLIAM HERVEY It was a dismal and a fearful night, — Scarce could the Mom drive on th' unwilling light, When sleep, death's image, left my troubled breast, By something hker death possest. 5 My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow, And on my soul hung the dull weight Of some intolerable fate. What bell was that? Ah me I Too much I know! My sweet companion, and my gentle peer, 10 Why hast thou left me thus unkindly here, Thy end for ever, and my hfe, to moan? O thou hast left me all alone! Thy soul and body, when death's agony Besieged around thy noble heart, 15 Did not with more reluctance part Than I, my dearest friend, do part from thee. Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say, Have ye not seen us walking every day? Was there a tree about winch did not know 20 The love betwixt us two? Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade, Or your sad branches thicker join, And into darksome shades combine, Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid. 25 Large was his soul; as large a soul as e'er Submitted to inform a body here; High as the place 'twas shortly in Heaven to have, But low and humble as his grave; So high that all the virtues there did come 30 As to the cliiefest seat Conspicuous, and great; So low that for me too it made a room. cxxxviii] Book Second 159 Knowledge he only sought, and so soon caught, As if for liim knowledge had rather sought; Nor did more learning ever crowded lie In such a sliort mortality. 5 Whene'er the skilful youth discoursed or writ, Still did the notions throng About his eloquent tongue; Nor could liis ink flow faster than his wit. His mirth was the pure spirits of various wit, 10 Yet never did his God or friends forget. And when deep talk and wisdom came in view, Retired, and gave to them their due, ' For the rich help of books he always took, Though liis own searching mind before 15 Was so with notions written o'er, As if wise Nature had made that her book. With as much zeal, devotion, piety, He always lived, as other saints do die. Still with his soul severe account he kept, 20 Weeping all debts out ere he slept. Then do^Mi in peace and innocence he lay, Like the sun's laborious light. Which still in water sets at night, Unsullied with his journey of the day. A. Cowley CXXXVIII FRIENDS IN PARADISE They are all gone into the world of light! And I alone sit lingering here; Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear: — It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in wliich this hill is drest. After the sun's remove. 160 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxxxviii I see them walking in an air of gloiy, Whose hght doth trample on my days: My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmering and decays. 5 O holy Hope! and high Humility, High as the heavens above! These are your walks, and you have shew'd them me, To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous Death! the jewel of the just, 10 Shining no where, but in the dark; • What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark! He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may know At first sight, if the bird be flown; 15 But what fair well or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul, when man doth sleep; So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, 20 And into glory peep. H. Vaughan cxxxix TO BLOSSOMS Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile, And go at last. cxl] Book Second 161 What, were ye born to be An hour or half's dehght, And so to bid good-night? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth 5 Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave: 10 And after they have shown their pride Like you, awhile., they glide Into the gravr R. Herrick TO DAFFODILS Fair Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon: As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attain'd liis noon, 5 Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song; And, having pray'd together, we 10 Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you. We have as short a Spring; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing. 15 We die. As your hours do, and dry Away ^ Like to the Summer's rain; Or as the pearls of morning's dew 20 Ne'er to be found again. R. Herrick 162 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxli CXLI THE GIRL DESCRIBES HER FAWN' With sweetest milk and sugar first I it at my own fingers nursed; And as it grew, so every day It wax'd more white and sweet than they- It had so sweet a breath! and oft I blush'd to see its foot more soft And white, — shall I say, — than my hand? Nay, any lady's of the land! It is a wondrous thing how fleet 10 'Twas on those little silver feet: With what a pretty skipping grace It oft would challenge me the race: — And when 't had left me far away 'Twould stay, and run again, and stay 15 For it was nimbler much than hinds, And trod as if on the four winds. I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown And lilies, that you would it guess 20 To be a little wilderness; And all the spring-time of the year It only loved to be there. Among the beds of lilies I Have sought it oft, where it should lie: 25 Yet could not, till itself would rise, Find it, although before mine eyes: — • For in the flaxen lilies' shade It like a bank of lilies laid. cxlii] Book Second 163 Upon the roses it would feed, Until its lips e'en seem'd to bleed: And then to me 'twould boldly trip And print those roses on my hp. 5 But all its chief delight was still On roses thus itself to fill, And its pure virgin limbs to fold In wliitest sheets of hUes cold:— Had it lived long, it would have been 10 Lilies without — roses within. A, Marvell THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN How vainly men themselves amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays, And their uncessant labours see Crown'd from some single herb or tree^, 5 Whose short and narrow-verged shade Does prudently their toils upbraid; While all the flowers and trees do close To weave the garlands of Repose. Fair Quiet, have I found thee here 10 And Innocence thy sister dear! Mistaken long, I sought you then In busy companies of men: Your sacred plants, if here below. Only among the plants Avill grow: 15 Society is all but rude To this delicious solitude. No white nor red was ever seen So amorous as this lovely green. Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, 20 Cut in these trees their mistress' name: Little, alas, they know or heed How far these beauties hers exceed! Fair trees! Wheres'e'er your barks I wouna, No name shall but your own be found. J64 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxlii When we have run our passions' heat Love hither makes his best retreat: The gods, who mortal beauty chase, Still in a tree did end their race; 5 Apollo hunted Daphne so Only that she might laurel grow; And Pan did after Syrinx speed Not as a nymph, but for a reed. What wondrous life is this I lead! 10 Ripe apples drop about my head; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hand themselves do reach; 15 Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass. Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness; The mind, that ocean where each kind 20 Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these. Far other worlds, and other seas; Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade. 25 Here at the fountain's sliding foot Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside My soul into the boughs does glide; There, Hke a bird, it sits and sings, 30 Then whets and claps its silver wings^ And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light. Such was that happy Garden-state While man there walk'd without a mate: 35 After a place so pure and sweet. What other help could yet be meet! But 'twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there: cxliii] Book Second 165 Two paradises 'twere in one, To live in Paradise alone. How well the skilful gardener drew Of flowers and herbs this dial new" f Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac rur • And, as it works, th' industrious bee Computes its time as well as we. How could such sweet and wholesome hours ::C Be reckon'd, but with herbs and flowers! A. Marvell FORTUNATI NIMIUM Jack and Joan, they think no ill. But loving live, and merry still; Do their week-day's work, and pray Devoutly on the holy-day: 5 Skip and trip it on the green. And help to choose the Summer Queen,. Lash out at a country feast Their silver penny with the best. Well can they judge of nappy ale, 10 And tell at large a winter tale; Climb up to the apple loft. And turn the crabs till they be soft. Tib is all the father's joy, And little Tom the mother's boy: — 15 All their pleasure is, Content, And care, to pay their yearly rent. Joan can call by name her cows And deck her windows with green boughs: She can wreaths and tutties make, 20 And trim with plums a bridal cake. Jack knows what brings gain or loss, And his long flail can stoutly toss: Makes the hedge which others break, And ever thinks what he doth speak. 166 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxliii — Now, you courtly dames and knights, That study only strange dehghts. Though you scorn the homespun gray, And revel in your rich array; 5 Though your tongues dissemble deep And can your heads from danger keep; Yet, for all your pomp and train, Securer lives the silly swain! T. Campion CXLIV L' ALLEGRO Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy ! 5 Find out some uncouth cell Where brooding Darkness spreads liis jealous wings And the night -raven sings; There under ebon shades, and low-brow' d rocks As ragged as thy locks, 10 In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. But come, thou Goddess fair and free, In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, And by men, heart-easing Mirth, Whom lovely Venus at a birth 15 With two sister Graces more To ivy-crowTied Bacchus bore; Or whether (as som.e sager sing) The frolic ^^^nd that breathes the spring Zephyr, with Aurora playing, 20 As he met her once a-Maying — There on beds of violets blue And fresh-blowTi roses wash'd in dew Fiird her with thee, a daughter fair, So buxom, bhthe, and debonair. cxliv] book Second 167 Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful jollity, Quips, and cranks, and wanton -wiles, Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles b Such as hang on Hebe's cheek. And love to live in dimple sleek; Sport that wrinkled Care derides. And Laughter holding both liis sides: — • Come, and trip it as you go 10 On the light fantastic toe; And in thy right hand lead with thee The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty; And if I give thee honour due Mirth, admit me of thy crew, 15 To live with her and live with thee In unreproved pleasures free; ToJiear the lark begin his flight Ana singing startle the dull night From his watch-tower in the skies, 20 Till the dappled dawn doth rise; Then to come, in spite of sorrow, And at my window bid good-morrow Through the sweet briar, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine: 25 While the cock with lively din Scatters the rear of darkness thin. And to the stack, or the barn-door, Stoutly struts liis dames before: Oft listening how the hounds and horn 30 Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, From the side of some hoar hill. Through the high wood echoing shrill: Sometime walking, not unseen. By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, 35 Right against the eastern gate Where the great Sun begins his state Robed in flames and amber light. The clouds in thousand liveries dight; While the ploughman, near at hand, 40 Whistles o'er the furrow'd land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe. And the mower whets his scythe, 168 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxliv And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures; 5 Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray; Mountains, on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied, 10 Shallow brooks, and rivers wide; Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some Beauty lies. The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 15 Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes From betwixt two aged oaks. Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, Are at their savoury dinner set Of herbs, and other country messes 20 Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; And then in haste her bower she leaves With Thestylis to bind the sheaves; Or, if the earlier season lead. To the tann'd haycock in the mead. 25 Sometimes with secure delight The upland hamlets will invite, When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth and many a maid, 30 Dancing in the chequer'd shade; And young and old come forth to play On a sun-shine holyday, Till the live-long day-light fail: Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, 35 With stories told of many a feat, How Faery Mab the junkets eat: — She was pinch'd, and pull'd, she said; And he, by Friar's lantern led; Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat 10 To earn his cream-bowl duly set, When in one night, ere glimpse of mom, His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn cxliv] Book Second 169 That ten day-labourers could not end; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength; 5 And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the firet cock his matin rings. Thus done the tales, to bed they creep By whispering winds soon luU'd asleep. Tower'd cities please us then 10 And the busy hum of men, Where throngs of knights and barons bold. In weeds of peace, liigh triumphs hold. With store of ladies, whose bright ej^es Rain influence, and judge the prize ^5 Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace, whom all commend. There let Hymen oft appear In saffron robe, with taper clear. And pomp, and feast, and revelry, 20 With mask, and antique pageantry; Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon. If Jonson's learned sock be on, 25 Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever against eating cares Lap me in soft Lydian airs Married to immortal verse, 30 Such as the meeting soul may pierce In notes, with many a "uinding bout Of hnked sweetness long drawn out, With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, 35 Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony; That Orpheus' self may heave liis head From golden slumber, o:i a bed Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear 40 Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto, to have quite set free His half-regained Eurydice. 170 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxliv These delights if tliou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to hve. J. MUtcTi IL PENSEROSO Hence, vain deUiding Joys, The brood of Folly without father bred: How little you bestead Or fill the fixdd mind \vith. all your toys! 5 Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams, Or likest hovering dreams, 10 The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, 15 And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue; Black, but such as in esteem Prince Memnon's sister might beseem. Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that strove 20 To set her beauty's praise above The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended Yet thou art higher far descended: Thee bright-hair'd Vesta, long of yore, To solitary Saturn bore; 25 His daughter she; in Saturn's reign Such mixture was not held a stain: Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost grove, 30 While yet there was no fear of Jove. cxlv] Book Second 171 Come, pensive Nun, devout pnd pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain Following with majestic train, 5 And sable stole of Cipres lawn Over thy decent shoulders drawn: Come, but keep thy wonted state, With even step, and musing gait. And looks commercing with the skies, 10 Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes: There, held in holy passion still. Forget thyself to marble, till With a sad leaden downward cast Thou fix them on the earth as fast: 15 And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing: And add to these retired Leisure 20 That in trim gardens takes his pleasure: — But first and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, The cherub Contemplati6n; 25 And the mute Silence hist along, 'Less Philomel will deign a song In her sweetest saddest plight Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 30 Gently o'er the accustom'd oak. — Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among I woo, to hear thy even-song; 35 And missing thee, I walk unseen On the dry smooth-shaven green, To behold the wandering Moon Riding near her highest noon, Like one that had been led astray 40 Through the heaven's wide pathless way. And oft, as if her head she bow'd. Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 172 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxlv Oft, on a plat of rising ground I hear the far-off Curfeu sound Over some wide-water'd shore, Swinging slow with sullen roar: 5 Or, if the air will not permit, Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom; Far from all resort of mirth, 10 Save the cricket on the hearth. Or the bellman's drowsy charm To bless the doors from nightly harm. Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen in some high lonely tower, 15 Where I may oft out-watch the Bear With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds or what vast regions hold The immortal mind, that hath forsook 20 Her mansion in this fleshly nook: And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood, or under ground, Whose power hath a true consent With planet, or with element. 25 Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In scepter'd pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line. Or the tale of Troy divine: Or what (though rare) of later age 30 Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. But, O sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower. Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, 35 Drew iron tears dowTi Pluto's cheek And made Hell grant what Love did seek! Or call up him that left half-told The story of Cambuscan bold. Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 40 And who had Canace to wife That owTi'd the virtuous ring and glass; And of the wondrous horse of brass cxlv] Book Second 173 On which the Tartar king did ride. And if aught else great bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have sung Of turneys, and of trophies hung, 6 Of forests, and enchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear. Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, Till civil-suited Morn appear, Not trick'd and frounced as she was wont 10 With the Attic Boy to hunt, But kercheft in a comely Cloud While rocking wdnds are piping loud, Or usher'd %Adth a shower still, When the gust hath blo^vn liis fill, 15 Ending on the rustling leaves With minute drops from off the eaves. And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, nie, goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, 20 And shadows bro^vn, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak. Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke, Was never heard the nymphs to daunt Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt. 25 There in close covert by some brook Where no profaner eye may look. Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honey'd thigh That at her flowery work doth sing, 30 And the waters murmuring, With such consort as they keep Entice the dewy-feather'd Sleep; And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings in airy stream 35 Of lively portraiture display'd, Softly on my eyelids laid: And, as I wake, sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath, Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, 40 Or the unseen Genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloister's pale, 174 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxlv And love the high-embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight Casting a dim religious light. 5 There let the pealing organ blow To the full-voiced quire below In service high and anthems clear, As may ^v-ith sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me :nto ecstasies, 10 And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. . And may at -last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy go"WTi and mossy cell Where I may sit and rightly spell 15 Of every star that heaven doth shew, And every herb that sips the dew; Till old experience do attain To something hke prophetic strain. These pleasures. Melancholy, g^ve, 20 And I ^^^th thee will choose to hve. J. Milton SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA Where the remote Bermudas ride In the ocean's bosom unespied. From a small boat that row'd along The listening winds received this song. 5 'What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the waterj'' maze Where He the huge sea-monst<^rs wracks, That lift the deep upon their backs, Unto an isle so long unknown, 10 And yet far kinder than our own? He lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage: He gave us this eternal Spring Which here enamels everytliing, cxlvii] Book Second 175 And sends the fowls to us in care On daily visits through the air. He hangs in shades the orange bright Like golden lamps in a green night, 5 And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows: He makes the figs our mouths to meet And throws the melons at our feet; But apples plants of such a price, 10 No tree could ever bear them t^\ice. With cedars chosen by His hand From Lebanon He stores the land; And makes the hollow seas that roar Proclaim the ambergris on sho'-e. 15 He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel's pearl uf>on our coast; And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound His name. Oh! let our voice His praise exalt 20 Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, Which thence (perhaps) rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexique bay!' — Thus sung they in the English boat A holy and a cheerful note: 25 And all the way, to guide their chime. With falhng oars they kept the time. A. Marvell CXLVII AT A SOLEMN MUSIC Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse! Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ, Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce; And to our high-raised phantasy present That undisturbed Song of pure concent Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne To Him that sits thereon, 176 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxlvii With saintly shout and solemn jubilee; Where the bright Seraphim in burning row Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow; And the Cherubic host in thousand quires 5 Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, With those just spirits that wear victorious palms, Hymns devout and holy psalms Singing everlastingly: That v.e on Earth, with undiscording voice 10 May rightly answer that melodious noise; As once we did, till disproportion' d sin Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din Broke the fair music that all creatures made To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd 13 In perfect diapason, whilst they stood In first obedience, and their state of good. O may we soon again renew that Song, And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long To His celestial consort us unite, To hve with Him, and sing in endless morn of Hghtl J. Milton NOX NOCTI IN Die AT SCI EN TI AM When I survey the bright Celestial sphere: So rich with jewels hung, that night Doth like an Ethiop bride appear; 5 My soul her \^'ings doth spread, And heaven-ward flies, The Almighty's mysteries to read In the large volumes of the skies. For the bright firmament 10 Shoots forth no flame So silent, but is eloquent In speaking the Creator's name. cxlviii] Book Second 111 No unregarded star Contracts its light Into so small a character, Removed far from our human sight, 5 But if we steadfast look, We shall discern In it as in some holy book, How man may heavenly knowledge learn. It tells the Conqueror, 10 That far-stretch'd power Which his proud dangers traffic for, Is but the triumph of an hour. That from the farthest North Some nation may 15 Yet undiscover'd issue forth, And o'er his new-got conquest sway. Some nation yet shut in With hills of ice. May be let out to scourge his sin, 20 Till they shall equal him in vice. And then they likewise shall Their ruin have; For as yourselves your Empires fall. And every Kingdom hath a grave. 25 Thus those celestial fires, • Though seeming mute. The fallacy of our desires And all the pride of life, confute. For they have watch'd since first 30 The World had birth: And found sin in itself accursed, And nothing permanent on earth. W. Habington 178 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxlix CXLIX HYMN TO DARKNESS Hail thou most sacred venerable thing! What Muse is worthy thee to sing? Thee, from whose pregnant universal womb All things, ev'n Light, thy rival, first did come. 5 What dares he not attempt that sings of thee Thou first and greatest mystery? Who can the secrets of thy essence tell? Thou, like the light of God, art inaccessible. Before great Love this monument did raise, 10 Tliis ample theatre of praise; Before the folding circles of the sky Were tuned by Him, Who is all harmony; Before the morning Stars their hymn began, Before the council held for man, 15 Before the birth of either time or place, Thou reign'st unquestion'd monarch in the empty space. Thy native lot thou didst to Light resign, But still half of the globe is thine. Here with a quiet, but yet awful hand, 20 Like the best emperors thou dost command. To thee the stars above their brightness owe, And mortals their repose below: To thy protection fear and sorrow flee, And those that wearj'' are of light, find rest in thee. J. Norris of Bemerton cli] Book Second 179 CI, A VISION I saw Eternity the other night, Like a great ring of pure and endless light, All calm, as it was bright: — And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years, 5 Driven by the spheres, Like a vast shadow moved; in which the World And all her train were hurl'd. H. Vaughan CLI ALEXANDER'S FEAST, OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won By Philip's warlike son — Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate 5 On his imperial throne; His valiant peers were placed around, Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound (So should desert in arms be crown'd); The lovely Thais by his side 10 Sate like a blooming Eastern bride In flower of youth and beauty's pride: — Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave None but the brave 15 None bvit the brave deserves the fair! Timotheus placed on high Amid the tuneful quire With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: The trembling notes ascend the sky 20 And heavenly joys inspire. The song began from Jove Who left his blissful seats above— 180 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cYl Such is the power of mighty love! A dragon's fiery form belied the god; Sublime on radiant spires he rode When he to fair Olympia prest, 5 And while he sought her snowy breast, Then round her slender waist he curl'd, And stamp' d an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. — ^The listening crowd admire the lofty sound; A present deity! they shout around: 10 A present deity! the vaulted roofs rebound- With ravish'd ears The monarch hears, Assumes the god; Affects to nod 15 And seems to shake the spheres. The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung. Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young: The jolly god in triumph comes; Sound the trumpets, beat the drums I 20 Flush'd with a purple grace He shows his honest face: Now give the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes! Bacchus, ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain; 25 Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure. Sweet is pleasure after pain. 30 Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o'er again, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain! The master saw the madness rise. His glo\Aing cheeks, his ardent eyes; 35 And while he Heaven and Earth defied Changed liis hand and check'd his pride. He chose a mournful Muse Soft pity to infuse: di] Book Second 181 He sung Darius great and good. By too severe a fate Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, 5 And weltering in his blood; Deserted at his utmost need By those liis former bounty fed; On the bare earth exposed he lies With not a friend to close his eyes. 10 — ^With downcast looks the joyless victor sate, Revolving in his alter'd soul The various turns of Chance below; And now and then a sigh he stole, And tears began to flow. t5 The mighty master smiled to see That love was in the next degree; 'Twas but a kindred-sound to move, For pity melts the mind to love. Softly sweet, in Lydian measures 20 Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble, Honour but an empty bubble; Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying; 25 If the world be worth thy winning. Think, O think, it worth enjoying: Lovely Thais sits beside thee. Take the good the gods provide thee! — The many rend the skies with loud applause; ^0 So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair Who caused his care. And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, 55 Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again: At length with love and wine at once opprest The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. Now strike the golden lyre again :^ A louder yet, and yet a louder strain! *0 Break his bands of sleep asunder And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. 182 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cli Hark, hark! the horrid sound Has raised up his head: As awaked from the dead And amazed he stares around. 5 Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, See the Furies arise! See the snakes that they rear How they hiss in their hair, And the sparldes that flash from their eyes I 10 Behold a ghastly band, Each a torch in Iiis hand! Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain And unburied remain Inglorious on the plain: 15 Give the vengeance due To the valiant crew! Behold how they toss their torches on high, How they point to the Persian abodes And glittering temples of their hostile gods. 20 — The princes applaud wdth a furious joy: And the King seized a flambeau -^ith zeal to destroy; Thais led the way To light him to his prey, And like another Helen, fired another Troy! 25 — ^Thus, long ago, Ere heaving bellows learn'd to blow, While organs yet were mute, Timotheus, to his breathing flute And sounding lyre 30 Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 35 And added length to solemn sounds. With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before — Let old Timotheus yield the prize Or both di\dde the cro-w-n; He raised a mortal to the skies; 40 She drew an angel down! J. Dryden 15oofe CftirD ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE Now the golden Morn aloft Waves her dew bespangled wing, With, vermeil cheek and whisper soft She woos the tardy Spring: 5 Till April starts, and calls around The sleeping fragrance from the ground, And lightly o'er the living scene Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. New-bom flocks, in rustic dance, 10 Frisking ply their feeble feet; Forgetful of their wintry trance The birds his presence greet: But chief, the skylark warbles high His trembhng thrilling ecstacy; 15 And lessening from the dazzled sight. Melts into air and liquid light. Yesterday the sullen year Saw the snowy whirlwind fly; Mute was the nmsic of the air, 20 The herd stood drooping by: Their raptures now that wildly flow No yesterday nor morrow know; 'Tis Man alone that joy descries With forward and reverted eyes. 183 184 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clii Smiles on past misfortune's brow Soft reflection's hand can trace, And o'er the cheek of sorrow throw A melancholy grace; 5 While hope prolongs our happier hour. Or deepest shades that dimly lour And blacken round our weary way, Gilds with a gleam of distant day Still, where rosy pleasure leads, 10 See a kindred grief pursue; Behind the steps that misery treads Approaching comfort view: The hues of bhss more brightly glow Chastised by sabler tints of woe, 15 And blended form, with artful strife. The strength and harmony of life. See the wretch that long has tost i On the thorny bed of pain, ' At length repair liis vigour lost 20 And breathe and walk again: The meanest floweret of the vale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies, To him are opening Paradise. T. Gray CLIII ODE TO SIMPLICITY '. O Thou, by Nature taught To breathe her genuine thought In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong; Who first, on mountains wild, 5 In Fancy, loveliest child, Thy babe, or Pleasure's, nursed the powers of song! Thou, who with hermit heart, Disdain'st the wealth of art. And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall, 10 But com'st, a decent maid In Attic robe array'd, O chaste, unboastful Nymph, to thee I call! cliii] Book Third 185 By all the honey'd store On Hybla's thymy shore, By all her blooms and mingled murmurs dear By her whose love-lorn woe 5 In evening musings slow Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear: By old Cephisus deep, V/ho spread his wavy sweep In warbled wanderings round thy green retreat; 10 On whose enamell'd side, When holy Freedom died, No equal haunt allured thy future feet: — O sister meek of Truth, To my admiring youth 15 Thy sober aid and native charms infuse! The flowers that sweetest breathe, Though Beauty cull'd the wreath. Still ask thy hand to range their order' d hues While Rome could none esteem 20 But Virtue's patriot theme. You loved her hills, and led her laureat band; But stay'd to sing alone To one distinguish'd throne; And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land. 25 No more, in hall or bower, The Passions own thy power; Love, only Love, her forceless numbers mean: For thou hast left her shrine; Nor olive more, nor vine, 30 Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene. Though taste, though genius, bless To some divine excess. Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole; What each, what all supply 35 May court, may charm our eye; Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul! Of these let others ask To aid some mighty task; 186 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cliii I only seek to find thy temperate vale; Where oft my reed might sound To maids and shepherds round, And all thy sons, O Nature! learn my tale. W. CoUins CLIV SOLITUDE Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. 5 Whose herds with milk, whose fields 's\ath bread. Whose flocks supply him with attire; Whose trees in summer jneld him shade, In -vsinter fire. Blest, who can unconcern'dly find 10 Hours, days, and years, slide soft away In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day, Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mixt, sweet recreation, 15 And innocence, which most does please With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone 20 Tell where I lie. A. Pope CLV THE BLIND BOY O say what is that thing call'd Light, Which I must ne'er enjoy; What are the blessings of the sight, O tell your poor blind boy! clvi] Book Third 187 You talk of wondrous things you see, You say the sun shines bright; I feel him warm, but how can he Or make it day or night? 5 My day or night myself I make Whene'er I sleep or play; And could I ever keep awake With me 'twere always day. With heavy sighs I often hear 10 You mourn my hapless woe; But sure with patience I can bear A loss I ne'er can know. Then let not what I cannot have My cheer of mind destroy: 15 Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, Although a poor blind boy. C. Cibber ON A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLD FISHES 'Twas on a lofty vase's side, Where China's gayest art had dyed The azure flowers that blow, Demurest of the tabby kind 5 The pensive Selima, reclined. Gazed on the lake below. Her conscious tail her joy declared: The fair round face, the snowy beard, The velvet of her paws, 10 Her coat that with the tortoise vies, Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes — She saw, and purr'd applause. Still had she gazed, but 'midst the tide Two angel forms were seen to glide, 188 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clvj The Genii of the stream: Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue Through richest purple, to the view Betray'd a golden gleam. 5 The hapless Nymph with wonder saw: A whisker first, and then a claw With many an ardent wish She stretch'd, in vain, to reach the prize — What female heart can gold despise? 10 What Cat's averse to fish? Presumptuous maid! with looks intent Again she stretch'd, again she bent. Nor knew the gulf between — Malignant Fate sat by and smiled — 15 The slippery verge her feet beguiled; She tumbled headlong in! Eight times emerging from the flood She mew'd to every watery God Some speedy aid to send: — 20 No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd, Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard — A favourite has no friend! From hence, ye Beauties! undeceived Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, 25 And be with caution bold: Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize. Nor all that ghsters, gold! T. Gray CLVII TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY Timely blossom, Infant fair. Fondling of a happy pair. Every morn and every night Their solicitous delight. Sleeping, waking, still at ease, clviii] Book Third 189 Pleasing, without skill to please; Little gossip, blithe and hale, Tattling many a broken tale. Singing many a tuneless song, 5 Lavish of a heedless tongue; Simple maiden, void of art, Babbling out the very heart, Yet abandon' d to thy will, Yet imagining no ill, 10 Yet too innocent to blush; Like the linnet in the bush To the mother-linnet's note Moduling her slender throat; Chirping forth thy petty joys, 15 Wanton in the change of toys, Like the linnet green, in May Flitting to each bloomy spray; Wearied then and glad of rest, Like the linnet in the nest: — 20 This thy present happy lot This, in time will be forgot: Other pleasures, other cares, Ever-busy Time prepares; And thou shalt in thy daughter see, 25 This picture, once, resembled thee. A. Philips RULE BRITANNIA When Britain first at Heaven's command Arose from out the azure main, Tliis was the charter of her land. And guardian angels sung the strain: 5 Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! Britons never shall be slaves. The nations not so blest as thee Must in their turn to tyrants fall. Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free 10 The dread and envy of them all. 190 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clviii Still more majestic shalt thou rise, ;More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the loud blast that tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak. 5 Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame, And work their woe and thy renown. To thee belongs the rural reign: 10 Thy cities shall with commerce shine; All thine shall be the subject main, And every shore it circles thine! The Muses, still with Freedom found, Shall to thy happy coast repair; 15 Blest Isle, \^dth matchless beauty crown'd And manly hearts to guard the fair: — Rule, Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! Britons never shall be slaves! J. Thomson, CLIX THE BARD Pindaric Ode 'Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! Confusion on thy banners wait; Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing They mock the air with idle state. 5 Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, Nor e'en thy virtues. Tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, P>om Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!' — Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride 10 Of the first Edward scatter' d wild dismay, As dovnoi the steep of Snowdon'^s shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array:— Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance; clix] Book Third 191 *To arms!' cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance. On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe 5 With haggard eyes the Poet stood; (Loose his beard and hoary hair Stream'd like a. meteor to the troubled air) And with a master's hand and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre: 10 'Hark, how each giant-oak and desert-cave Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave, Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day, 15 To high-bom Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 'Cold is Cadwallo's tongue. That hush'd the stormy main: Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed: Mountains, ye mourn in vain 20 Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinhmmon bow his cloud-topt head. On dreary Arvon's shore they lie Smear'd with gore and ghastly pale: Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail; 25 The famish' d eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art. Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart. Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — 30 No more I weep; They do not sleep; On yonder cliffs, a griesly band, I see them sit; They linger yet, Avengers of their native land: With me in dreadful harmony they join, 35 And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. Weave the warp and weave the woof The winding sheet of Edward's race; Give ample room and verge enough The characters of hell to trace. 192 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clix Mark the year, and mark the night, When Severn shall re-echo with affright The shrieks of death thro' Berkley's roof that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing king! 5 She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, From thee he horn, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of heaven! What terrors round him wait! Amazement in his van, with flight combined, 10 And sorrow's faded form, and solitude behind. 'Mighty victor, mighty lord, Low on his funeral couch he lies! Xo pitying heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies. 15 7s the sable warrior f.ed'l Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. The swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were born? — Gone to salute the rising mom. Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, 20 While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes: Youth on the prow, and Pleasur^e at the helm: Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway. That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey. 25 'Fill high the sparkling bowl. The rich repast prepare; Reft of a crowm, he yet may share the feast: Close by the regal chair Fell Thirst and Famine scowl 30 A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. Heard ye the din of battle bray. Lance to lance, and horse to horse? Long years of havock urge their destined course ^ And thro' the kindred squxidrons mow their way. 35 Ye towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, With many a foul and, midnight murder fed. Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame^ And spare the meek usurpei-'s holy head! AbovCi below, the rose of snow, clix] Book Third 193 Twined with her blushing foe, we spread: The bristled hoar in infant-gore Wallows beneath the thorny sJmde. Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom, 5 Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. 'Edward, lof to sudden fate (Weave we the woof; The thread is spun;) Half of thy heart we consecrate. (The web is wove; The work is done.) 10 — Stay, oh stay! nor thus forlorn Leave me unbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: In yon bright track that fires the western skies They melt, they vanish from my eyes. But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height 15 Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll? Visions of glory, spare my acliing sight, Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail: — All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia's issue, hail! 20 'Girt with many a baron bold Sublime their starry fronts they rear; And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old In bearded majesty, appear. In the midst a form divine! 25 Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line: Her Hon-port, her awe-commanding face Attemper' d sweet to virgin-grace What strings symphonious tremble in the air, What strains of vocal transport round her play? 30 Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring aa she sings. Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colour' d wings. 'The verse adorn again 35 Fierce war, and faithful love, And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest. In buskin' d measures move Pale grief, and pleasing pain, With horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. 40 A voice as of the cherub-choir 194 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clix Gales from blooming Eden bear, And distant warblings lessen on my ear That lost in long futurity expire. Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud 5 Raised by thy breath, has quench' d the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me: ^vith joy I see The different doom our fates assign: 10 Be thine despair and sceptred care, To triumph and to die are mine.' • — He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. T. Gray CLX ODE WRITTEN IN 1746 How sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallow' d mould, 5 She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung: There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, 10 To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair To dwell a weeping hermit there! W. Collins CLXI LAMENT FOR CULLODEN The lovely lass o' Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; For e'en and mom she cries, Alas! And aye the saut tear blins her ee: 5 Drumossie moor — Drumossie day — clxii] Book Third 195 A waefu' day it was to me! For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three. Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 5 Their graves are growing green to see: And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's ee! Now wae to thee, thou crviel lord, A bluidy man I trow thou be; 10 For mony a heart thou hast made sair That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee. B. Burns CLXII LAMENT FOR FLODDEN I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking. Lasses a' Kiting before dawn o' day; ^But now they are moaning on ilka green loanmg — The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorn- ing, Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae; Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbmg. Ilk ane Hfts her legUn and hies her away. In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, 10 Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray; At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching— The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming 'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play; 15 But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie — The Flowers of the Forest are weded away. Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border 1 The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the fore- most, 20 The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. 196 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clxii We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking; Women and bairns are heartless and wae; Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning — The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. J. Elliott . THE BRAES OF YARROW Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream, When first on them I met my lover; Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream, When now thy waves his body cover! 5 For ever now, O Yarrow stream! Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; For never on thy banks shall I Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow! He promised me a milk-white steed 10 To bear me to his father's bowers; He promised me a little page To squire me to his father's towers; -' He promised me a wedding-ring, — The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow; — 15 Now he is wedded to his grave, Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow! Sweet were his words when last we met; My passion I as freely told him; Clasp' d in his arms, I little thought 20 That I should never more behold liim! Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost; It vanish' d with a shriek of sorrow; Thrice did the water- wraith ascend, , And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow. 25 His mother from the window look'd With all the longing of a mother; His little sister weeping walk'd The green-wood path to meet her brother; They sought liim east, they sought liim west, 30 They sought him all the forest thorough; They only saw the cloud of night, They only heard the roar of Yarrow. clxiv] Book Third 197 No longer from thy window look — Thou hast no son, thou tender mother! No longer walk, thou lovely maid; Alas, thou hast no more a brother! 5 No longer seek him east or west And search no more the forest thorough; For, wandering in the night so dark. He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow. The tear shall never leave my cheek, 10 No other youth shall be my marrow — I'll seek thy body in the stream, And then wvih thee I'll sleep in Yarrow. — The tear did never leave her cheek. No other youth became her marrow; 15 She found his body in the stream, And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. J . Logan CLXIV WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW Down in yon garden sweet and gay Where bonnie grows the lily, I heard a fair maid sighing say, 'My wish be wi' sweet Willie! 5 'Willie's rare, and Willie's fair, And Willie's wondrous bonny; And Willie hecht to marry me Gin e'er he married ony. 'O gentle -uind, that bloweth south, 10 From where my Love repaireth, Convey a kiss frae liis dear mouth And tell me how he fareth! 'O tell sweet WiUie to come doun And hear the mavis singing, 15 And see the birds on ilka bush And leaves around them hinging. 198 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clxiv *The lav' rock there, wi' her white breast And gentle throat sae narrow; There's sport eneuch for gentlemen On Leader haughs and Yarrow. 6 *0 Leader haughs are -wide and braid And Yarrow haughs are bonny; There Willie hecht to marry me If e'er he married ony. 'But Willie's gone, whom I thought on, 10 And does not hear me weeping; Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e When other maids are sleeping. 'Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid, The night I'll make it narrow, 15 For a' the live-lang \\anter night I lie twined o' my marrow. *0 came ye by yon water-side? Pou'd you the rose or lily? Or came you by yon meadow green, 20 Or saw you my sweet Willie?' She sought him up, she sought him down, She sought him braid and narrow; Syne, in the cleaving of a craig, She found him dro-^vTi'd in Yarrow! Anon. CLXV LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE Toll for the Brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave Fast by their native shore! 5 Eight hundred of the brave Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel And Ifid her on her side. clxvi] Book Third 199 A land-breeze shook the shrouds And she was overset; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete. 5 Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle; 10 No tempest gave the shock; She sprang no fatal leak, She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath. His fingers held the pen, 15 When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men. — Weigh the vessel up Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup 20 The tears that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder. And plough the distant main: 25 But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. W. Cowper CLXVI BLACK-EYED SUSAN All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, The streamers waving in the wind, When black-eyed Susan came aboard; *0! where shall I my true-love find? 5 Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true If my sweet William sails among the crew.' 200 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clxvi William, who high upon the yard Rock'd with the billow to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard He sigh'd, and cast his eyes below: 5 The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. So the sweet lark, high poised in air, Shuts close his pinipns to his breast If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, 10 And drops at once into her nest: — The noblest captain in the British fleet Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. 'O Susan, Susan, lovely dear« My vows shall ever true remain; 15 Let me kiss off that falling tear; We only part to meet again. Change as ye list, ye winds; my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee. 'Believe not what the landmen say 20 Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind: They'll tell thee, sailors, when away, In every port a mistress find: Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go. 25 'If to fair India's coast we sail, Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale, Thy skin is ivory so white. Thus every beauteous object that I view 30 Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue 'Though battle call me from thy arms Let not my pretty Susan mourn; Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms William shall to his Dear return. 35 Love turns aside the balls that round me fly Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's aye. The boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosom spread No longer must she stay aboard; clxvii] Book Third 20} They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head. Her lessening boat unwiUing rows to land; * Adieu!' she cries; and waved her lily hand. J. Gay CLXVII SALLY IN OUR ALLEY Of all the girls that are so smart There's none like pretty Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she Hves in our alley. 5 There is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally; She is the darling of my hearj And she lives in our alley. Her father he makes cabbage nets 10 And through the streets d jes cry 'eno.; Her mother she sells laces bng To such as please to buy 'em: But sure such folks could ne'er beget So sweet a girl as Sally! 15 She is the darUng of r,iy heart. And she lives in our alley. When she is by, T .eave my work, I love her so sincerely; My master comer, like any Turk, 20 And bangs mf most severely — But let him bai g his bellyful, I'll bear it all for Sally; She is the darhng of my heart, And she Uves in our alley. 25 Of all the days that's in the week 1 dearly love but one day — And that's the day that comes betwixt A Saturday and Monday; For then I'm drest all in my best 30 To walk abroad with Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. 202 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [rlv^di My master carries me to churchy And often am I blamed Because I leave him in the lurch As soon as text is named; 5 I leave the church in sermon-time And slink away to Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. When Christmas comes about again 10 O then I shall have money; I'll hoard it up, and box it all, I'll give it to my honey: I would it were ten thousand pound, I'd give it all to Sally; 15 She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. My master and the neighbors all Make game of me and Sally, And, but for her, I'd better be 20 A slave and row a galley; But when my seven long years are out O then I'll marry Sally, — O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed .. But not in our alley! H. Carey CLXVIII A FAREWELL Go fetch to me a pint o' wine^ An' fill it in a silver tassie; That I may drink before I go A service to my bonnie lassie: The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry; The ship rides bj the Berwick-law, And I maun leave my bonnie Maryo clxix] Book Third 203 The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The ghttering spears are ranked ready; The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and bloody; 5 But it's not the roar o' sea or shore Wad make me langer wish to tarry; Nor shout o' war that's heard afar — It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. R. Bums If doughty deeds my lady please Right soon I'll mount my steed; And strong his arm, and fast his seat That bears frae me the meed. 5 I'll wear thy colours in my cap Thy picture at my heart; And he that bends not to thine eye Shall rue it to his smart! Then tell me how to woo thee. Love; 10 O tell me how to woo thee! For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take Tho' ne'er another trow me. If gay attire delight thine eye I'll dight me in array; 15 I'll tend thy chamber door all night, And squire thee all the day. If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, These sounds I'll strive to catch; Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell, 20 That voice that nane can match. But if fond love thy heart can gain, I never broke a vow; Nae maiden lays her skaith to me, I never loved but you. 25 For you alone I ride the ring. For you I wear the blue; For you alone I strive to sing, O tell me how to woo! 204 Palgrave^s Golden Treasury [clxix Then tell me how to woo thee, Love; O tell me how to woo thee! For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take, Tho' ne'er another trow me. R. Graham of Gartmore TO A YOUNG LADY Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — Silent and chaste she. steals along, Far from the world's gay busy throng: 5 With gentle yet prevailing force, Intent upon her destined course; Graceful and useful all she does, Blessing and blest where'er she goes; Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass, 10 And Heaven reflected in her face. W. Coivper CLXXI THE SLEEPING BEAUTY Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile — Tho' shut so close thy laugliing eyes, Thy rosy lips still wear a smile And move, and breathe delicious sighs! 5 Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks And mantle o'er her neck of snow: Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks What most I wish — and fear to know! She starts, she trembles, and she weeps! rt) Her fair hands folded on her breast: — And now, how like a saint she sleeps! A seraph in the realms of rest! clxxiii] Book Third 205 Sleep on secure! Above controul Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee: And may the secret of thy soul Remain within its sanctuary! S. Rogers CLXXII For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove An unrelenting foe to Love, And when we meet a mutual heart Come in between, and bid us part? 5 Bid us sigh on from day to day, And wish and wish the soul away; Till youth and genial years are flown, And all the Ufe of life is gone? But busy, busy, still art thou, 10 To bind the loveless joyless vow. The heart from pleasure to delude, To join the gentle to the -rude. For once, O Fortune, hear my prayer. And I absolve thy future care; 15 All other blessings I resign, Make but the dear Amanda mine. J. Thomson CLXXIII The merchant, to secure his treasure. Conveys it in a borrow' d name: Eupheha serves to grace my measure But Cloe is my real flame. 5 My softest verse, my darling lyre Upon Euphelia's toilet lay — When Cloe noted her desire That I should sing, that I should play. My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, 10 But with my numbers mix my sighs; And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise, I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes. 206 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clxxiii Fair Cloe blush'd; Euphelia frown'd: I sung, and gazed; I play'd, and trembled: And Venus to the Loves around Remark' d how ill we all dissembled. M. Prior LOVE'S SECRET Never seek to tell thy love, Love that never told can be; For the gentle wind doth move Silently, invisibly. fi I told my love, I told my love, I told her all my heart. Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears:- Ah! she did depart. Soon after she was gone from me VO A traveller came by, Silently, invisibly: He took her with a sigh. W. Blake CLXXV When lovely woman stoops to folly And finds too late that men betray, — • What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover And wring his bosom, is — to die. O. Goldsmith clxxvii] Book Third 207 CLXXVI Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon How can ye blume sae fair! How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu' o' carel 5 Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonnie bird That sings upon the bough; Thou minds me o' the happy days When my fause Luve was true. Thou'll break my heart, thou bonnie bird 10 That sings beside thy mate; For sae I sat, and sae I sang. And wist na o' my fate. Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon To see the woodbine twine, 15 And ilka bird sang o' its love; And sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Frae aff its thorny tree; And my fause luver staw the rose, 20 But left the thorn wi' me. R. Burns CLXXVII THE PROGRESS OF POESY A Pindaric Ode Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake. And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy -progress take; 5 The laughing flowers that round them blow Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of music winds along Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, 208 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clxxvii Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign; Now rolling down the steep amain Headlong, impetuous, see it pour: The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. 5 Oh! Sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares And frantic Passions hear thy soft controul, On Thracia's hills the Lord of War 10 Has curb'd the fury of his car And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command. Perching on the sceptred hand Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing: 15 Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and hghtnings of his eye. Thee the voice, the dance, obey Temper' d to thy warbled lay. O'er Idalia's velvet-green 20 The rosy-crowTied Loves are seen On Cytherea's day; With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, Frisking light in frolic measures; Now pursuing, now retreating, 25 Now in circling troops they meet: To brisk notes in cadence beating Glance their many-twinkhng feet. Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare: Where'er she turns, the Graces homage pay: 30 With arms sublime that float upon the air In gliding state she wins her easy way; O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young Desire and purple hght of Love. Man's feeble race what ills await! 35 Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train, And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate! The fond complaint, my song, disprove, A.nd justify the laws of Jove. clxxvii] Book Third 209 Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? Night, and all her sickly dews. Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry- He gives to range the dreary sky: 5 Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and ghttering shafts of war. In chmes beyond the solar road Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, The Muse has broke the twihght gloom 10 To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. And oft, beneath the odorous shade Of Chili's boundless forests laid, She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat In loose numbers wildly sweet i5 Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. Her track, where'er the goddess roves. Glory pursue, and generous Shame, Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, 20 Isles, that crow^n th' Aegean deep. Fields that cool Ilissus laves. Or where Maeander's amber waves In lingering labyrinths creep. How do your tuneful echoes languish, 25 Mute, but to the voice of anguish! Where each old poetic mountain Inspiration breathed around; Every shade and hallow' d fountain Murmur' d deep a solemn sound: 30 Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, 35 They sought, oh Albion! next, thy sea-encircled coast. Far from the sun and summer-gale In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid. What time, where lucid Avon stray'd. To him the mighty Mother did unveil 40 Her awful face: the dauntless child Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled. 210 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clxxvii 'This pencil take' (she said), 'whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year: Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy This can unlock the gates of joy; 5 Of horror that, and thrilling fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.* Nor second He, that rode sublime Upon the seraph -wings of Extasy The secrets of the abyss to spy: 10 He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and timei The li\ang Throne, the sapphire-blaze AVhere angels tremble while they gaze, He saw; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his ejes in endless night. 15 Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car Wide o'er the fields of glory bear Two coursers of ethereal race, With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace. Hark, his hands the lyre explore! 20 Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er. Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe, and words that bum. But ah! 'tis heard no more — Oh! lyre divine, what daring spirit 25 Wakes thee now? Tho' he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion. That the Theban eagle bear, Sailing with supreme dominion Thro' the azure deep of air: 30 Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun: Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate: 35 Beneath the Good how far — but far above the Great. T. Gray clxxviii] Book Third 211 CLXXVIII THE PASSIONS An Ode for Music When Music, heavenly maid, was young, While yet in early Greece she sung. The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Throng'd around her magic cell 5 Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, Possest beyond the Muse's painting; By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined: 'Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, 10 Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired, From the supporting myrtles round They snatch'd her instruments of sound. And, as they oft had heard apart Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 15 Each (for Madness ruled the hour) Would prove his own expressive power. First Fear his hand, its skill to try, Amid the chords bewilder' d laid. And back recoil'd, he knew not why, 20 E'en at the sound himself had made. Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire, In lightnings, own'd his secret stings; In one rude clash he struck the lyre And swept with hurried hand the strings. 25 With woeful measures wan Despair, Low sullen sounds, liis grief beguiled; A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair, 30 What was thy delighted measure? Still it whisper' d promised pleasure And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! Still would her touch the strain prolong; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale 212 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clxxviii She caird on Echo still through all the song; And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair; — 5 And longer had she sung: — ^but with a frown Revenge impatient rose: He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down; And with a withering look The war-denouncing trumpet took 10 And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe! And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat; And, though sometimes, each dreary pause between, 15 Dejected Pity at his side Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien. While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd: 20 Sad proof of thy distressful state! Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; And now it courted Love, now ra\dng call'd on Hate. With eyes up-raised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired; 25 And from her wild sequester'd seat. In notes by distance made more sweet, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul: And dashing soft from rocks around Bubbhng runnels join'd the sound; 30 Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffusing, Love of peace, and lonely musing In hollow murmurs died away. 35 But O! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue. clxxviii] Book Third 213 Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known! 5 The oak-crown'd Sisters and their chaste-eyed Queen, Satyrs and Sylvan Boys, were seen Peeping from forth their alleys green: Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. 10 Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: He, with viny crown advancing, First to the hvely pipe his hand addrest: But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best: 15 They would have thought who heard the strain They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids Amidst the festal-sounding shades To some unwearied minstrel dancing; While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 20 Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round: Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; And he, amidst his frolic play. As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 25 O Music! sphere-descended maid, Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid! Why, goddess! why, to us denied, Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside? As in that loved Athenian bower 30 You learn'd an all-commanding power, Thy mimic soul, O Nymph endear'd, Can well recall what then it heard. Where is thy native simple heart Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art? 35 Arise, as in that elder time, Warm, energic, chaste, subhme! Thy wonders, in that god-like age, Fill thy recording Sister's page; — 'Tis said, and I believe the tale, 40 Thy humblest reed could more prevail. 214 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clxxviii Had more of strength, diviner rage, Than all which charms this laggard age: E'en all at once together found, Cecilia's mingled world of sound: — 5 O bid our vain endeavours cease: Revive the just designs of Greece: Return in all thy simple state! Confirm the tales her sons relate! W. Collins THE SONG OF DAVID He sang of God, the mighty source Of all things, the stupendous force On which all strength depends: From Whose right arm, beneath Whose eyes, 5 All period, power, and enterprise Commences, reigns, and ends. The world, the clustering spheres He made, The glorious light, the soothing shade, Dale, champaign, grove and hill: 10 The multitudinous abyss. Where secrecy remains in bliss, And wisdom hides her skill. Tell them, I AM, Jehovah said To Moses: while Earth heard in dread, 15 And, smitten to the heart. At once, above, beneath, around, All Nature, wdthout voice or sound, Rephed, 'O Lord, THOU ART.' C. Smart elxxxi] Book Third 215 CLXXX INFANT JOY 'I have no name; I am but two days old.' —What shall I call thee? 'I happy am; 6 Joy is my name.' — Sweet joy befall thee! Pretty joy! Sweet joy, but two days old; Sweet joy I call thee: 10 Thou dost smile: I sing the while, Sweet joy befall thee! W. Blake A CRADLE SONG CLXXXI Sleep, sleep, beauty bright, Dreaming in the joys of night; Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep Little sorrows sit and weep. 5 Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace. Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles. As thy softest limbs I feel, 10 Smiles as of the morning steal O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast Where thy little heart doth rest. Oh the cunning wiles that creep In thy little heart asleep! 15 When thy little heart doth wake. Then the dreadful light shall break. W. Blake 216 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clxxxii ODE ON THE SPRING Lo! where the rosy-bosom' d Hours, Fair Venus' train, appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers And wake the purple year! 5 The Attic warbler pours her throat Responsive to the cuckoo's note. The untaught harmony of Spring: While, whispering pleasure as they fly, Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky K) Their gathered fragrance fling. Where'er the oak's tliick branches stretch A broader, browner shade, Where'er the rude and moss-gro-wTi beech O'er-canopies the glade, 15 Beside some water's rushy brink With me the Muse shall sit, and think (At ease reclined in rustic state) How vain the ardour of the crowd, How low, how little are the proud, 20 How indigent the great! Still is the toiling hand of Care; The panting herds repose: Yet hark, how thro' the peopled air The busy murmur glows! 25 The insect-youth are on the wing. Eager to taste the honied spring And float amid the liquid noon: Some lightly o'er the current skim, Some show their gaily-gilded trim 30 Quick-glancing to the sun. To Contemplation's sober eye Such is the race of Man: And they that creep, and they that fly Shall end where they began. 35 Alike the Busy and the Gay clxxxiii] Book Third 217 But flutter thro' life's little day, In Fortune's varying colours drest: Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance, Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance 5 They leave, in dust to rest. Methinks I hear in accents low The sportive kind reply: Poor moralist! and what art thou? A solitary fly! 10 Thy joys no glittering female meets, No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets. No painted plumage to display: On hasty wings thy youth is flown; Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — 15 We frolic while 'tis May. T. Gray CLXXXIII THE POPLAR FIELD The poplars are fell'd; farewell to the shade And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade; The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 5 Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew: And now in the grass behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade! The blackbird has fled to another retreat 10 Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat And the scene where his melody charm' d me before Resounds with, his sweet-flowing ditty no more. My fugitive years are all hasting away. And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, 15 With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head. Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 2 IS Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clxxxiii The change both my heart and my fancy employs; I reflect on the frailty of man and his joys: Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see, Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. W. Cowper TO A MOUSE On turning her up in her nest, with the plough, November, 1785 Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, VVi' bickering brattle! 5 I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee Wi' murd'ring pattle! I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion 10 Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion. An' fellow-mortal! 1 doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun hvel 15 A daimen-icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, And never miss't! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! 20 Its silly wa's the win's are strewin: And naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green! An' bleak December's winds ensuin' Baith snell an' keen! clxxxv^ Book Third 219 Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste An' wearj'' winter comin' fast, An' eozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, 5 Till, crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 10 But house or hald. To thole the winter's sleety dribble An' cranreuch cauld! But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane In proving foresight may be vain: 15 The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft a-gley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain. For promised joy. Still thou art blest, compared wi' me! 20 The present only toucheth thee: But, Och! I backward cast my e'e On prospects drear! An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear! R. Burns A WISH Mine be a cot beside the hill; A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; A willowy brook that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch. And share my meal, a welcome guest. 220 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clxxxv Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing In russet-go \Mi and apron blue. 5 The village-church among the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were given, With merry peals shall swell the breeze And point with taper spire to Heaven. S. Rogers ODE TO EVENING If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear Like thy own solemn springs, Thy springs, and dying gales; 5 O Nymph reserved, — while now the bright-hair'd sun Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, With brede ethereal wove, O'erhang his wavy bed; Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat 10 With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle ^^^nds His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises midst the twilight path, Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum, — i5 Now teach me, maid composed, To breathe some soften'd strain Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit; As, musing slow, I hail 20 Thy genial loved return. clxxxvi] Book Third 221 For when thy folding-star arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant Hours, and Elves Who slept in buds the day, 5 And mariy a Nymph who wreathes her brows with And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still, The pensive Pleasures sweet, Prepare thy shadowy car. Then let me rove some wald and heathy scene; 10 Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells, Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams. Or, if chill blustering winds or driving rain Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut 15 That, from the mountain's side, Views wilds and swelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discover' d spires; And hears their simple bell; and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw 20 The gradual dusky veil. While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve! While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light; 25 While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air. Affrights thy shrinldng train And rudely rends thy robes; So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, 30 Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, Thy gentlest influence own. And love thy favourite name! W. Collins 222 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clxxxvu CLXXXVII ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 5 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds: Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 10 The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 15 Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing mom. The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 20 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care: No children nm to lisp their sire's return. Or climb his knees the en\ied kiss to share. 25 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 30 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure: Nor grandeur hear vnth a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor. clxxx\ii] Book Third 223 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Awaits alike th' inevitable hour: — The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 5 Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise. Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust 10 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 15 Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to extasy the living lyre: But knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, 20 And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 25 .Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The httle tyrant of his fields ^^^thstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest. Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of listening senates to command, 30 The threats of pain and ruin to despise. To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land. And read their history in a nation's eyes Their lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; 35 Forbad to wade thro' slaughter to a throne. And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; 224 Pcdgrave's Golden Treasury [clxxxvii The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the bhishes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. 5 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool seque'3ter'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect 10 Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: 15 And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic morahst to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 20 Nor cast one longing lingering look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries. E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 25 For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate, — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 30 'Oft have we seen him at the ;3eep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away. To meet the sun upon the upland lawn; 'There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 85 His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. clxxxviii] Book Third 225 'Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woeful- wan, like one forlorn. Or crazed -with, care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 5 'One mom I miss'd him on the custom'd hill. Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill. Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he; 'The next with dirges due in sad array 10 Slow through the church- way path we saw him borne,— Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of earth A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown; 15 Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth And melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to misery (all he had) a tear, 20 He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend No farther seek his merits to disclose. Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God. T. Gray CLXXXVIII MARY MORISON O Mary, at thy window be, It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see That make the miser's treasure poor: 5 How blithely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun, Could I the rich reward secure, The lovely Mary Morison. _ 226 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [clxxxviii Yestreen when to the trembhng string The dance gaed thro' the Hghted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, — I sat, but neither heard nor saw: 5 Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, And yon the toast of a' the town, I sigh'd, and said amang them a', 'Ye are na Mary Morison.' O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 10 Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee? Or canst thou break that heart of liis, Whase only faut is lo\dng thee? If love for love thou ^^^lt na gie, At least be pity to me shown; 15 A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Mary Morison. R. Burns BONNIE LESLEY O saw ye bonnie Lesley As she gaed o'er the border? She's gane, like Alexander, To spread her conquests farther. 5 To see her is to love her. And love but her for ever; For Nature made her what she is, And ne'er made sic anither! Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley, 10 Thy subjects we, before thee; Thou art di^^ne, Fair Lesley, The hearts o' men adore thee. The Deil he could na scaith thee, Or aught that wad belang thee; 15 He'd look into thy bonnie face. And sav 'I canna wrang thee!' cxci] Book Third 227 The Powers aboon will tent thee; Misfortune sha' na steer thee; Thou'rt like themselves sae lovely That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. 5 Return again, Fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie! That we may brag we hae a lass There's nane again sae bonnie. R. Burns O my Luve's like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June: my Luve's like the melodie That's sweetly play'd in tune. 5 As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in luve am I: And I will luve thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry: Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 10 And the rocks melt wi' the sun; 1 will luve thee still, my dear. While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only Luve! And fare thee weel awhile! IS And I will come again, my Luve, Tho' it were ten thousand mile. R, Burns CXCI HIGHLAND MARY Ye banks and braes and streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie! 228 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxci There simmer first imfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry; For there I took the last fareweel O' my sweet Highland Mary. 5 How sweetly bloom' d the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp' d her to my bosom! The golden hours on angel wings 10 Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace Our parting was fu' tender; 15 And pledging aft to meet again, We tore oursels asunder; But, Oh! fell Death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early! Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 20 That wraps my Highland Mary! O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly! And closed for aye the sparkling glance That dwelt on me sae kindly; 25 And mouldering now in silent dust That heart that lo'ed me dearly! But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary. R. Burns CXCII AULD ROBIN GRAY When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye a hame, And a' the warld to rest are gane. The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, While my gudeman lies sound by me. cxcii] Book Third 229 Young Jamie lo'ed me well, and sought me for his bride; But saving a croun he had naething else beside: To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea; And the croun and the pund were baith for me. 6 He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa; My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea — And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me. My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; 10 I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win; AuM Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e Said, Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me! My heart it said nay; I look'd for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack; 15 His ship it was a wrack — why didna Jamie dee? Or why do I hve to cry, Wae's me? My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak; But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break: They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea; 20 Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. I hadna been a wife a week but only four, When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he Till he said, I'm come hame to marry thee. 25 O sairj^ sail- did we greet, and muckle did we say; We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away; I wish that I were dead, but I'm no hke to dee; And why was I born to say, Wae's me! I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; 30 I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin; But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be, For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. Lady A. Lindsay 230 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxciii N CXCIII DUXCAX GRAY Duncan Gray cam here to woo, Ha, ha, the woonig o't; On blythe Yule right when we were fou, Ha, Ija^ the wooing o't: 5 Maggie coost her head m' high, Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, Gart poor Duncan stand abeigli; Ha, ha, the wooing o't! Duncan fleech'd, and Duncan pray'd; 10 Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig; Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, Grat his een baith bleer't and bhn' Spak o' lowpin ower a Hnn! Time and chance ar^ but a tide, 15 Shghted love is sair to bide; Shall I, hke a fool, quoth he. For a haughty hizzie dee? She may gae to — France for me! How it comes let doctors tell, 20 Meg grew sick — as he grew well; Something in her bosom wrings. For relief a sigh she brings; And O, her een, they spak sic things! Duncan was a lad o' grace; 25 Maggie's was a piteous case; Duncan couldna be her death, Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; Now they're crouse and canty baith: Ha, ha. the wooing o't! R. Burns cxciv] Book Third 231 THE SAILOR'S WIFE And are ye sure the news is true? And are ye sure he's weel? Is this a time to think o' wark? Ye jades, lay by your wheel; 5 Is this the time to spin a thread, When Colin's at the door? Reach down my cloak, I'll to the quay, And see him come ashore. For there's nae luck about the house, 10 There's nae luck at a'; There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa'. And gie to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown; 15 For I maun tell the baillie's wife That Colin's in the town. My Turkey slippers maun gae on, My stockins pearly blue; It's a' to pleasure our gudeman, 20 For he's baith leal and true. Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, Put on the muckle pot; Gie little Kate her button gown And Jock his Sunday coat; 25 And mak their shoon as black as slaes. Their hose as white as snaw; It's a' to please my ain gudeman, For he's been long awa. There's twa fat hens upo' the coop 30 Been fed this month and mair; Mak haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare; And spread the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw, 35 For wha can tell how Colin fared When he was far awa? 232 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxciv Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath Hke caller air; His very foot has music in't As he comes up the stair — 5 And will I see his face again? And will I hear him speak? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet! If Colin's weel, and weel content, 10 I hae nae mair to crave: And gin I live to keep him sae, I'm blest aboon the lave: And vd\\ I see liis face again, And will I hear him speak? 15 I'm do^\^lright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet. For there's nae luck about the house. There's nae luck at a'; There's little pleasure in the house 20 When our gudeman's awa'. TV. J. Mickle ABSENCE When I think on the happy days I spent wi' you, my dearie; And now what lands between us lie. How can I be but eerie! How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, As ye were wae and weary! It was na sae ye glinted by When I was wi' my dearie. A7ion. cxcvi] • Book Third 233 cxcvi JEAN Of a' the airts the wind can blaw I dearly Hke the West, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo'e best: 5 There wild woods grow, and rivers row, And mony a hill between; But day and night my fancy's flight Is ever wi' my Jean. I see her in the dewy flowers, 10 I see her sweet and fair: I hear her in the tunefu' birds, I hear her charm the air: There's not a bonnie flower that springs By fountain, shaw, or green, 15 There's not a bonnie bird that sings But minds me o' my Jean. O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft Amang the leafy trees; Wi' balmy gale, frae hill and dale 20 Bring hame the laden bees; And bring the lassie back to me That's aye sae neat and clean; Ae smile o' her wad banish care, Sae charming is my Jean. 25 What sighs and vows amang the knowes Hae pass'd at ween us twa! How fond to meet, how wae to part That night she gaed awa! The Powers aboon can only ken 30 To whom the heart is seen, That nane can be sae dear to me As my sweet lovely Jean! R. Burns 234 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxcvii cxcvai JOHN ANDERSON John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent Your locks were Hke the raven, / Your bonnie brow was brent; . 5 But now your brow is bald, John, Your locks are like the snow; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, JO We clamb the hill thegither, And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, 15 And sleep thegither at the foot, Jolin Anderson my jo. R. Burns CXCVIII THE LAND O' THE LEAL I'm wearing awa', Jean, Like snaw when its thaw, Jean, I'm wearing awa' To the land o' the leal. 5 There's nae sorrow there, Jean, There's neither cauld nor care, Jean The day is aye fair In the land o' the leal. Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, 10 Your task's ended noo, Jean, And I'll welcome you To the land o' the leal, cxcix] Book Third 235 Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, She was baith gude and fair, Jean; O we grudged her right sair To the land o' the leal! 5 Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, My soul langs to be free, Jean, And angels wait on me To the land o' the leal. Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean, 10 This warld's care is vain, Jean; We'll meet and aye be fain In the land o' the leal. Lady Nairn CXCIX ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE Ye distant spires, ye antique towers That crown the watery glade. Where grateful Science still adores Her Henry's holy shade; 5 And ye, that from the stately brow Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below Of grove, of laun, of mead survey. Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along 10 His silver- winding way: Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade! Ah fields beloved in vain! Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! 15 I feel the gales that from ye blow "* A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing My weary soul they seem to soothe, And, redolent of joy and youth, 20 To breathe a second spring. 236 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cxcix Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen Full many a sprightly race Disporting on thy margent green The paths of pleasure trace; 5 Who foremost now delight to cleave With pliant arm, thy glassy wave? The captive linnet which enthral? What idle progeny succeed To chase the rolling circle's speed 10 Or urge the flying ball? WTiile some on earnest business bent Their murmuring labours ply 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty: 15 Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign And unknown regions dare descry: Still as they run they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind, 20 And snatch a fearful joy. Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, Less pleasing when possest; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The sunshine of the breast: 26 Theirs buxom health, of rosy hue, Wild vdt, invention ever new, And lively cheer, of \igour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers Hght 30 That fly th' approach of mom. Alas! regardless of their doom The httle ^^ctims play; No sense have they of ills to come Nor care beyond to-day: 35 Yet see how all around 'em wait The ministers of human fate And black Misfortune's baleful train! Ah show them where in ambush stand To seize their prey, the murderous band! 40 Ah, tell them they are men! cxcix] Book Third 237 These shall the fury Passions tear, The vultures of the mind, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame that sculks behind; 5 Or pining Love shall waste their youth, Or Jealousy with rankling tooth That inly gnaws the secret heart. And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, 10 And Sorrow's piercing dart. Ambition this shall tempt to rise. Then whirl the wretch from liigh To bitter Scorn a sacrifice And grinning Infamy. 15 The stings of Falsehood those shall try And hard Unkindness' alter' d eye, That mocks the tear it forced to flow; And keen Remorse with blood defiled, And moody Madness laughing wild 20 Amid severest woe. Lo, in the vale of years beneath A griesly troop are seen, The painful family of Death, More hideous than their queen: 25 This racks the joints, this fires the veins, That every labouring sinew strains. Those in the deeper vitals rage: Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, That numbs the soul with icy hand, 30 And slow-consuming Age. To each his sufferings: all are men, Ck)ndemn'd alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, Th' unfeeling for his own. 35 Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thought would destroy their paradise. No more; — where ignorance is bliss, 40 'Tis folly to be wise. T. Gray 23S Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cc cc THE SHRUBBERY O happy shades! to me unblest! Friendly to peace, but not to mel How ill the scene that offers rest, And heart that cannot rest, agree! 5 This glassy stream, that spreading pine, Those alders quivering to the breeze, Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine, And please, if anything could please. But fix'd unalterable Care 10 Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness everywhere, And slights the season and the scene. For all that pleased in wood or lawTi Wliile Peace possess':'', these silent bowe»» 15 Her animating smile withdrawn. Has lost its beauties and its powers. The saint or moralist should tread This moss-grown alley, musing, slow, They seek like me the secret shade, 20 But not, like me, to nourish woe! Me, fruitful scenes and prospects w^aste Alike admonish not to roam; These tell me of enjoyments past. And those of sorrows yet to come. W. Cowper cci HYMN TO ADVERSITY Daughter of Jove, relentless power. Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best! 6 Bound in thy adamantine chain The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. «cij Book Third 239 When first thy Sire to send on earth Virtue, his darhng cliild, design'd, To thee he gave the heavenly birth And bade to form her infant mind. o Stern, ragged nurse! thy rigid lore With patience many a year she bore; What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know, * And from her own she learn'd to melt at others' woe Scared at thy frown terrific, fly, 10 Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, And leave us leisure to be good. Light they disperse, and with them go The summer friend, the flattering foe; 15 By vain Prosperity received. To her they vow their truth, and are again beheved. Wisdom in sable garb array'd Immersed in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid, 20 With leaden eye, that loves the ground, Still on thy solemn steps attend: Warm Charity, the general friend. With Justice, to herself severe. And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. 25 Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand' Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Nor circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen) 30 With thundering voice, and threatening mien, With screaming Horror's funeral cry, Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty; — Thy form benign, oh goddess, wear, Thy milder influence impart, 35 Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound my heart. The generous spark extinct revive. Teach me to love and to forgive. Exact my own defects to scan, 40 What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. T. Gray 240 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccii ^CII THE SOLITUDE OF ALEXANDER SELKIRK I am monarch of all I survey; My right there is none to dispute; From the centre all round to the sea I am lord of the fowl and the brute, 5 O Solitude! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place. I am out of humanity's reach, 10 I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech j I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain My form -ndth indifference see; 15 They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, Friendship, and Love Divinely bestow' d upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove 20 How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage In the ways of religion and truth. Might learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheer'd by the salHes of youth. 26 Ye winds that have made me your sport. Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall \dsit no more: My friends, do they now and then send 30 A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend. Though a friend I am never to see. cciii] Book Third 241 How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of hght. 5 When I think of my own native land In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, 10 The beast is laid dowTi in his lair; Even here is a season of rest, And I to my cabin repair. There's mercy in every place, And mercy, encouraging thought! 15 Gives even affliction a grace And reconciles man to his lot. W. Cowper TO MARY UNWIN Mary! I want a lyre with other strings. Such aid from Heaven as some have feign'd they drew. An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new And undebased by praise of meaner things, 5 That ere through age or woe I shed my wings I may record thy worth with honour due, In verse as musical as thou art true, And that immortalizes whom it sings: — But thou hast little need. There is a Book 10 By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light. On which the eyes of God not rarely look, A chronicle of actions just and bright — There afl thy deeds; my faithful Mary, shine; And since thou o\\Ti'st that praise, I spare thee mine. W. Cowper 242 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cciv TO THE SAME The twentieth year is well-nigh past Since first our sky was overcast; Ah would that this might be the last! My Mary! 5 Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow — 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, 10 For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more; My Mary! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still, 15 Thy sight now seconds not thy will, My Mary! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, And all thy threads with magic art Have wound themselves about this heart, 20 My Mary! Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary! 25 Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light. My Mary! For could I view nor them nor thee, 30 What sight worth seeing could I see? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary! ccv] Book Third 243 Partakers of thy sad decline Thy hands their little force resign; Yet, gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary! 5 Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st That now at every step thou mov'st Upheld by two; yet still thou lov'st, My Mary! And still to love, though prest with ill, 10 In wintry age to feel no chill, With me is to be lovely still. My Mary! But ah! by constant heed I know How oft the sadness that I show 15 ' Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe. My Mary! And should my future lot be cast With much resemblance of the past. Thy worn-out heart will break at last — 20 My Mary! W. Cowper THE CASTAWAY Obscurest night involved the sky, The Atlantic billows roar'd, When such a destined wretch as I, Wash'd headlong from on board, 5 Of friends, of hope, of all bereft. His floating home for ever left. No braver chief could Albion boast Than he with whom he went, Nor ever ship left Albion's coast 10 With warmer wishes sent. He loved them both, but both in vain, Nor him beheld, nor her again. 244 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccv Not long beneath the whelming brine, Expert to swim, he lay; Nor soon he felt his strength decline, Or courage die away; 5 But waged with death a lasting strife, Supported by despair of life. He shouted: nor liis friends had fail'd To check the vessel's course, But so, the furious blast prevail'd, 10 That, pitiless perforce, They left their outcast mate behind, And scudded still before the wind. Some succour yet they could afford; And such as storms allow, 15 The cask, the coop, the floated cord. Delay' d not to bestow. But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, Whate'er they gave, should visit more. Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he 20 Their haste himself condemn, Aware that flight, in such a sea, Alone could rescue them; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh. 25 He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld; And so long he, with unspent power, His destiny repell'd; And ever, as the minutes flew, 30 Entreated help, or cried 'Adieu!* At length, liis transient respite past, His comrades, who before Had heard his voice in every blast, Could catch the sound no more; 35 For then, by toil subdued, he drank The stifling wave, and then he sank. ccvi] Book Third 245 No poet wept liim; but the page Of narrative sincere, That tells liis name, his worth, his age, Is wet with Anson's tear: 5 And tears by bards or heroes shed Alike immortalize the dead. I therefore purpose not, or dream, Descanting on liis fate. To give the melancholy theme 10 A more enduring date: But misery still dehghts to trace Its semblance in another's case. No voice divine the storm allay' d, No light propitious shone, 15 When, snatch'd from all effectual aid, We perish'd, each alone: But I beneath a rougher sea, i And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he. W. Cowper ccvi TOMORROW In the downliill of life, when I fmd I'm declining, May my fate no less fortunate be Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for rechning, And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea; 5 With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, While I carol away idle sorrow, And bhthe as the lark that each day hails the dawn Look forward with hope for Tomorrow. With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too, 10 As the sunshine or rain may prevail; And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too. With a barn for the use of the flail: A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game. And a purse when a friend wants to borrow; 15 I'll envy no Nabob his riches or fame. Or what honours may wait him Tomorrow. 246 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccvi From the bleak northern blast may my cot be com- pletely Secured by a neighboring hill; And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly By the sound of a murmuring rill: 5 And while peace and plenty I find at my board, With a heart free from sickness and sorrow, With my friends may I share what Today may afford. And let them spread the table Tomorrow. And when I at last must throw off this frail covering 10 Wliich I've worn for three score years and ten, On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hov'r- ing, Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again: But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey. And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow; 15 As tliis old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare Today, May become Everlasting Tomorrow. J. Collins CCVII Life! I know not what thou art, But know that thou and I must part; And when, or how, or where we met I own to me's a secret yet. 5 Life! we've been long together Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear — Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; — ^Then steal away, give little warning, 10 Choose thine o\ati time; Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter clime Bid me Good Morning. A. L. Barbauld 15oofe JFouttj) CCVIII TO THE MUSES Whether on Ida's shady brow. Or in the chambers of the East, The chambers of the sun, that now From ancient melody have ceased; 5 Whether in Heaven ye wander fair, Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air, Where the melodious \^^nds have birth; Whether on crystal rocks ye rove 10 Beneath the bosom of the sea, Wandering in many a coral grove, — ■ Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry; How have you left the ancient love That bards of old enjoy'd in you! 15 The languid strings do scarcely move. The sound is forced, the notes are few. W. Blake CCIX ODE ON THE POETS Bards of Passion and of Mirth Ye have left your souls on earth! Have ye souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new? 247 248 Palgrave^s Golden Treasury [c&x — ^Yes, and those of heaven commune With the spheres of sim and moon; With the noise of fountains wond'rous And the parle of voices thund'rous; 5 With the wliisper of heaven's trees And one another, in soft ease Seated on Elysian la\Mis Browsed by none but Dian's fawns; Underneath large bkie-bells tented, 10 Where the daisies are rose-scented, And the rose herself has got Perfume w^hich on earth is not; Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, 15 But divine melodious truth; Philosophic numbers smooth; Tales and golden histories Of heaven and its mysteries. Thus ye live on high, and then 20 On the earth ye live again; And the souls ye left beliind you Teach us, here, the way to find jou, Where your other souls are joying, Never slumber' d, never cloying, 25 Here, your earth-born souls still speak To mortals, of their httle week; Of their sorrows and delights; Of their passions and their spites; Of their glory and their shame; 30 What doth strengthen and what maim: — Thus ye teach us, every day, Wisdom, though fled far away. Bards of Passion and of IVIirth Ye have left your souls on earth! 35 Ye have souls in heaven too. Double-lived in regions new! J. Keats ccxi] Book Fourth 249 ccx ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. 5 Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne: Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: — ^Then felt I Uke some watcher of the skies 10 When a new planet swims into his ken; Or Uke stout Cortez, w^hen with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific — and all his nien Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien. J. Keats LOVE All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. 5 Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour. When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruin'd tower. The moonshine stealing o'er the scene 10 Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve! 250 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxi She lean'd against the armed man, The statue of the armed knight; She stood and Hsten'd to my lay, Amid the hngering hght. 5 Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope! my joy! my Genevieve! She loves me best, whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. I play'd a soft and doleful air, 10 I sang an old and moving story — An old rude song, that suited well That ruin wild and hoary. She hsten'd with a flitting blush. With downcast eyes and modest grace; 15 For well she knew, I could not choose But gaze upon her face. I told her of the Knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand; And that for ten long years he woo'd 20 The Lady of the Land. I told her how he pined: and ah! The deep, the low, the pleading tone With which I sang another's love Interpreted my own. 25 She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes, and modest grace; And she forgave me, that I gazed Too fondly on her face! But when I told the cruel scorn 30 That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, And that he cross' d the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor night; That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade^ 35 And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade, — - ccxi] Book Fourth 251 There came and look'd him in the face An angel beautiful and bright; And that he knew it was a Fiend. This miserable Knight! 6 And that unknowing what he did, He leap'd amid a murderous band, And saved from outrage worse than death The Lady of the Land; — And how she wept, and clasp'd his knees; 10 And how she tended him in vain — And ever strove to expiate The scorn that crazed his brain; — And that she nursed him in a cave, And how his madness went away, 15 When on the yellow forest-leaves A dying man he lay; — His dying words — but when I reach'd That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My faltering voice and pausing harp 20 Disturb'd her soul with pity! All impulses of soul and sense Had thrill' d my guileless Genevieve; The music and the doleful tale. The rich and balmy eve; 25 And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, An undistinguishable throng, And gentle wishes long subdued, Subdued and cherish'd long! She wept with pity and delight, 30 She blush'd with love, and virgin shame; And like the murmur of a dream, I heard her breathe my name. Her bosom heaved — she stepp'd aside, As conscious of my look she stept — 35 Then suddenly, with timorous eye She fled to me and wept. 252 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccid She half inclosed me with her aims, She press'd me with a meek embrace; And bending back her head, look'd up, And gazed upon my face. 5 'Twas partly love, and partly fear, And partly 'twas a bashful art That I might rather feel, than see. The swelhng of her heart. I calm'd her fears, and she was calm, 10 And told her love with virgin pride; And so I won my Genevieve, My bright and beauteous Bride. S. T. Coleridge CCXII ALL FOR LOVE O talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. 5 What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? 'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled: Then away with all such from the head that is hoary — What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? Fame! — ^if I e'er took dehght in thy praises, 10 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; 15 When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, 1 knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. Lord Byron ccxiii] Book Fourth 253 CCXIII THE OUTLAW Brignall banks are wild and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer-queen. 6 And as I rode by Dalton-Hall Beneath the turrets high, A Maiden on the castle-wall Was singing merrily: *0 Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 10 And Greta woods are green; I'd rather rove with Edmund there Than reign our English queen.' *If, Maiden, thou wou'dst wend with me, To leave both tower and town, 15 Thou first must 2,-uess what life lead we That dwell by dale and down. And h bhou csnst that riddle read, As read thU well you may. Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed 20 As blithe as Queen of May.' Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair. And Greta woods are green; I'd rather rove with Edmund there Than reign our English queen. 25 *I read you, by your bugle-horn And by your palfrey good, 1 read you for a ranger sworn To keep the king's greenwood.' *A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, 30 And 'tis at peep of Hght; His blast is heard at merry morn, And mine at dead of night.' Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are faiL% And Greta woods are gay; 35 I would I were with Edmund there To reign his Queen of May! 254 Pal grave's Golden Treasury [ccxiii 'With burnish'd brand and musketoon So gallantly you come, I read you for a bold Dragoon That lists the tuck of drum.' 5 * I list no more the tuck of drum, No more the trumpet hear; But when the beetle sounds his hum My comrades take the spear. And O! though Brignall banks be fair 10 And Greta woods be gay, Yet mickle must the maiden dare Would reign my Queen of May! 'Maiden! a nameless hfe I lead, A nameless death I'll die; 15 The fiend whose lantern lights the mead Were better mate than I! And when I'm with my comrades met Beneath the greenwood bough, — What once we were we all forget, 20 Nor think what we are now.' Chorus 'Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer-queen.' Sir W, Scott CCXIV There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic hke Thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to m_e: When, as if its sounds were causing The charmed ocean's pausing. The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming: ccxv] Book Fourth 255 And the midnight moon is weaving Ker bright chain o'er the deep, Whose breast is gently heaving As an infant's asleep: 5 So the spirit bows before thee To hsten and adore thee; With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean. Lord Byron ccxv THE INDIAN SERENADE I arise from dreams of Thee In the first sweet sleep of night When the winds are breathing low And the stars are shining bright: 5 I arise from dreams of thee. And a spirit in my feet Hath led me — who knows how? To thy chamber-window, Sweet! The wandering airs they faint 10 On the dark, the silent stream — The champak odours fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream; The nightingale's complaint It dies upon her heart, 15 As I must die on thine beloved as thou art! Oh Hft me from the grass! 1 die, I faint, I fail! Let thy love in kisses rain 20 On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas I My heart beats loud and fast; Oh! press it close to thine again Where it will break at last. P. B. Shellev 256 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxvi She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes; 5 Thus mellow' d to that tender hght Wliich heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair' d the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress 10 Or softly lightens o'er her face, Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek and o'er that brow So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 15 The smiles that win, the tints that glow But tell of days in goodness spent, — A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent. Lord Byron She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleam' d upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; 5 Her eyes as stars of twiUght fair; Like TwiUght's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, 10 To haunt, to startle, and waylay. I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin-liberty; ccxviii] Book Fourth 257 A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food, 5 For transient sorrows, simple wiles. Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A being breathing thoughtful breath, 10 A traveller between life and death: The reason firm, the temperate will. Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, nobly plann'd To warn, to comfort, and command; 15 And yet a Spirit still, and bright With sometlung of an angel-light. W. Wordsworth CCXVIII She is not fair to outward view As many maidens be; Her loveliness I never knew Until she smiled on me, 5 O then I saw her eye was bright, A well of love, a spring of light. But now her looks are coy and cold, To mine they ne'er reply, And yet I cease not to behold 10 The love-light in her eye: Her very frowns are fairer far Than smiles of other maidens are. H. Coleridge 258 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxix ccxix I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden; Thou needest not fear mine; My spirit is too deeply laden Ever to burthen thine. I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion; Thou needest not fear mine; Innocent is the heart's devotion With which I worship thine. P. B. Shelley She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove; A maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love. 5 A violet by a mossy stone Half-hidden from the eye! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know 10 When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh. The difference to me! W. Wordsworth I travel!' d among unknown men In lands beyond the sea; Nor, England! did I know till then What love I bore to thee. ccxxii] Book Fourth 259 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time; for still I seem To love thee more and more. 5 Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire; And she I cherish' d turn'd her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd 10 The bowers where Lucy play'd; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes survey'd. W, Wordsworth THE EDUCATION OF NATURE Three years she grew in sun and shower; Then Nature said, 'A lovelier flower On earth was never sown: This Cliild I to myself will take; 5 She shall be mine, and I will make A lady of my own. 'Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse: and with me The girl, in rock and plain, 10 In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain. 'She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild with glee across the lawn 15 Or up the mountain springs; And her's shall be the breathing balm^ And her's the silence and the calm Of mute insensate things. 260 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxxii 'The floating clouds their state shall lend To her; for her the willow bend; Nor shall she fail to see Ev'n in the motions of the storm 5 Gi-ace that shall mould the maiden's fonn By silent sympathy. 'The stars of midnight shall be dear To her; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place 10 Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. 'And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, 15 Her virgin bosom swell; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give While she and I together live Here in this happy dell.' Thus Nature spake — The work was done — 20 How soon my Lucy's race was run! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene; The memory of what has been, And never more Adll be. W. Wordsworth CCXXIII A slumber did my spirit seal; I had no human fears: She seem'd a thing that could not feel The touch of earthly years. No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees; RoU'd round in earth's diurnal course With rocks, and stones, and trees. W. Wordsworth ccxxv] Book Fourth 261 ccxxiv A LOST LOVE I meet thy pensive, moonlight face; Thy thrilHng voice I hear; And former hours and scenes retrace, Too fleeting, and too dear! 5 Then sighs and tears flow fast and free, Though none is nigh to share; And life has nought beside for me So sweet as this despair. There are cmsh'd hearts that will not break; 10 And mine, methinks, is one; Or thus I should not weep and wake, And thou to slumber gone. I lit,tle thought it thus could be In days more sad and fair — 15 That earth could have a place for me, And thou no longer there. Yet death cannot our hearts divide, Or make thee less my own: 'Twere sweeter sleeping at thy side 20 Than watching here alone. Yet never, never can we part, While Memory holds her reign: Thine, thine is still this wither' d heart, Till we shall meet again. H. F. Lyte ccxxv LORD LLLLY'S DAUGHTER A Chieftain to the Highlands bound Cries 'Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferrvl' 262 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxxv 'Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?' 'O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And tliis, Lord Ullin's daughter. 5 'And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. 'His horsemen hard behind us ride — 10 Should they our steps discover, Then who ^vill cheer my bonny bride, When they have slain her lover?' Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 'I'll go, my chief, I'm readj^: 15 It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady: — 'And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So though the waves are raging white 20 I'll row you o'er the ferry.' By this the storm grew loud apace, The water- wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of Heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. 25 But still as ^^^lder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men. Their trampling sounded nearer. 'O haste thee, haste!' the lady cries, 30 'Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies. But not an angry father,' The boat has left a stormy land, A stormj'- sea before her, — 35 Wlien, oh! too strong for human hand The tempest gather' d o'er her. ccxxvi] Book Fourth 263 And still they row'd amidst the roar Of waters fast prevaihng: Lord Ullin reach' d that fatal shore, — His wrath was changed to wailing. 5 For, sore dismay' d, through storm and shade His child he did discover: — One lovely hand she stretch' d for aid, And one was round her lover. 'Come back! come back!' he cried in grief 10 'Across tliis stormy water: A.nd I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter! — Oh, my daughter!' 'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing: 15 The waters wild went o'er his child. And he was left lamenting. T. Campbell LUCY GRAY Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray: And when I cross' d the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child. R No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wide moor, The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door! You yet may spy the fawn at play, 10 The hare upon the green; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen. 'To-night will be a stormy night — • You to the town must go; 15 And take a lantern, Child, to light Your mother through the snow.' 264 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxxvi 'That, Father! will I gladly do: 'Tis scarcely afternoon — The minster-clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon!' 5 At this the father raised his hook, And snapp'd a faggot-band; He plied his work; — and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Not Wither is the mountain roe: 10 With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow. That rises up like smoke. The storm came on before its time: She wander' d up and down; 15 And many a hill did Lucy climb: But never reach' d the town. The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and vdde; But there was neither sound nor sight 20 To serve them for a guide. At day-break on a hill they stood That overlook 'd the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood A furlong from their door. 25 They wept — and, turning homeward, cried In heaven we all shall meet!' — When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. Then downward from the steep hill's edge 30 They track'd the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn hedge And by the long stone wall: And then an open field they cross'd: The marks were still the same; 35 They track'd them on, nor ever lost; And to the bridge they came: ccxxvii] Book Fourth 265 They followed from the snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none I 5 — Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. O'er rough and smooth she trips along, 10 And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. ■ — W. Wordsworth, JOCK OF HAZELDEAN 'Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? Why weep ye by the tide? I'll wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sail be his bride: 6 And ye sail be his bride, ladie, Sae comely to be seen' — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. 'Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 10 And dry that cheek °o pale; Young Frank is chief of Errington And lord of Langley-dale ; His step is first in peaceful ha', His sword in battle keen' — l!i But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. 'A chain of gold ye sail not lack. Nor braid to bind your hair, Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 20 Nor palfrey fresh and fair; 266 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxxvii And you the foremost o' them a' Shall ride our forest-queen' — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. 5 The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, The tapers glimmer'd fair; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there: They sought her baith by bower and ha'; 10 The ladie was not seen! She's o'er the Border, and awa' Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. Sir W. ScoU LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the ocean, The wands of heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; 5 Nothing in the world is single, All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle — Why not I with thine? See the mountains kiss high heaven, 10 And the waves clasp one another; No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdain'd its brother: And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea- ls What are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me? P. B. Shelley ccxxx] Book Fourth 267 ccxxix ECHOES 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 5 Goes answering light! 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 10 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 15 Breathed back again. T. Moore ccxxx A SERENADE Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea. The orange-flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. 5 The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day, Sits hush'd his partner nigh; Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour, But where is County Guy? The village maid steals through the shade 10 Her shepherd's suit to hear; To Beauty shy, by lattice high. Sings high-born Cavalier. 268 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxxx The star of Love, all stars above, Now reigns o'er earth and sky, And high and low the influence know — But where is County Guy? Sir Walter Scott TO THE EVENING STAR Gem of the crimson-colour' d Even, Companion of retiring day, Why at the closing gates of heaven, Beloved Star, dost thou delay? 5 So fair thy pensile beauty burns When soft the tear of twilight flows; So due thy plighted love returns To chambers brighter than the rose; To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love 10 So kind a star thou seem'st to be, Sure some enamour' d orb above Descends and bums to meet with thee. Thine is the breathing, blusliing hour When all unheavenly passions fly, 15 Chased by the soul-subduing power Of Love's delicious witchery. 01 sacred to the fall of day Queen of propitious stars, appear, And early rise, and long delay, 20 When Caroline herself is here! Shine on her chosen green resort Whose trees the sunward summit crown, And wanton flowers, that well may court An angel's feet to tread them dowTi: — 25 Shine on her sweetly scented road Thou star of evening's purple dome, That lead'st the nightingale abroad, ■ And guid'st the pilgrim to his home. ccxxxii] Book Fourth 269 Shine where my charmer's sweeter breath Embalms the soft exhahng dew, Where dying winds a sigh bequeath To kiss the cheek of rosy hue: — 5 Where, winnow' d by the gentle air, Her silken tresses darkly flow And fall upon her brow so fair. Like shadows on the mountain snow. Thus, ever thus, at day's decline 10 In converse sweet to wander far — O bring with thee my Caroline, And thou shalt be my Ruling Star! T. Campbell TO THE NIGHT Swiftly walk over the western wave, Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave Where, all the long and 'lone daylight, 5 Thou wo vest dreams of joy and fear Which make thee terrible and dear, — Swift be thy flight! Wrap thy form in a mantle gray Star-inwrought; 10 Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day, Kiss her until she be wearied out: Then wander o'er city and sea and land. Touching all with thine opiate wand — Come, long-sought! 15 When I arose and saw the dawn, I sigh'd for thee; When light rode high, and the dew was gone, And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turn'd to his rest 20 Lingering like an unloved guest, I sigh'd for thee. 270 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxxxii Thy brother Death came, and cried Wouldst thou me? Thy sweet cliild Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmur' d like a noon-tide bee 5 Shall I nestle near thy side? Wouldst thou me? — ^And I replied No, not thee! Death will come when thou art dead, Soon, too soon — 10 Sleep wall come when thou art fled; Of neither would I ask the boon I ask of thee, beloved Night — Swift be thine approaching flight, . Come soon, soon! P. B. Shelley CCXXXIII TO A DISTANT FRIEND Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air Of absence withers what was once so fair? Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant? 5 Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant, Bound to thy service with unceasing care — The mind's least generous wash a mendicant For nought but what thy happiness could spare. Speak! — though this soft warm heart, once free to hold 10 A thousand tender pleasures, tliine and mine, Be left more desolate, more dreary cold Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with snow 'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine — • Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know! W. Wordsworth / ccxxxiv] Book Fourth 271 When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold. Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this! 10 15 The dew of the morning Sunk cliill on my brow; It felt like the warning Of what I feel now, Thy vows are all broken. And light is thy fame: I hear thy name spoken And share in its shame. 20 25 30 They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me — Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee Who knew thee too well: Long, long shall I rue thee, Too deeply to tell. In secret we met: In silence I grieve That thy heart could forget. Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? — With silence and tears. Lord Byron 272 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxxxv ccxxxv HAPPY INSENSIBILITY In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green feHcity: 5 The north cannot undo them With a sleety wliistle through them, Nor frozen tha wings ghie them From budding at the prime. In a drear-nighted December, 10 Too happy, happy brook, Thy bubbhngs ne'er remember Apollo's summer look; But with a sweet forgetting They stay their crystal fretting, 15 Never, never petting About the frozen time. Ah! would 'twere so with many A gentle girl and boy! But were there ever any 20 Writhed not at passed joy? To know the change and feel it. When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steal it — Was never said in rhyme. J. Keats Where shall the lover rest Whom the fates sever From his true maiden's breast Parted for ever? ccxxxvi] Book Fourth 273 Where, through groves deep and high Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die Under the willow. 3 Eleu loro Soft shall be his pillow. There through the summer day Cool streams are laving: There, wliile the tempests sway, 10 Scarce are boughs waving; There thy rest shalt thou take, Parted for ever, Never again to wake Never, O never! 15 Eleu loro Never, O never! Where shall the traitor rest. He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, 20 Ruin, and leave her? In the lost battle. Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying; 25 Eleu loro There shall he be Her wing shall the eagle flap O'er the falsehearted; His warm blood the wolf shall lap 30 Ere life be parted: Shame and dishonour sit By his grave ever; Blessing shall hallow it Never, O never! 35 Eleu loro Never, O never! Sir W. Scott 274 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxxxvii CCXXXVII LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI 'O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge has wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing. « 'O what r blasts the green field and the trees distrest, Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm In close self-shelter, like a thing at rest. But lately, one rough day, this Flower I past, 10 And recognized it, though an alter'd form. Now standing forth an offering to the blast. And buffeted at will by rain and storm. 304 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cclxvii I stopp'd and said, with inly-mutter'd voice, ' It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold This neither is its courage nor its choice, But its necessity in being old. 5 'The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew; It cannot help itself in its decay; Stiff in its members, wither 'd, changed of hue/ — And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was gray. To be a prodigal's favourite — then, worse truth, 10 A miser's pensioner — behold our lot! O Man! that from thy fair and shining youth Age might but take the things Youth needed not! W. Wordsworth CCLXVIII PAST AND PRESENT I remember, I remember The house where I was born. The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; 5 He never came a wink too soon Nor brought too long a day; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away. I remember, I remember 10 The roses, red and white. The violets, and the lily-cups — Those flowers made of light! The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set 15 The laburnum on his birth-day, — The tree *e living yet! I remember, I remember Where I was used to s^^^ng, And thovight the air must rush as fresh 20 To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now. And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. cclxix] Book Fourth 305 I remember, I remember The fir trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops ^ Were close against the sky: 5 It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis little joy- To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. T. Hood CCLXIX THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS •^Jft in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, j?ond Memory brings the light Of other days around me: 5 The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, 10 The cheerful hearts now broken j Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, '-iad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. 15 When I remember all The friends so link'd together ''ve seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one 20 Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted. Whose lights are fled Whose garlands dead, \nd all but he departed! 25 Thus in the stilly night (Lve slumber's chain has bound me, oad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. T. Moore 306 Palgrave^s Golden Treasunj [cclxx STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR NAPLES The sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, Blue isles and snowy mountains wear The purple noon's transparent might: 5 The breath of the moist earth is light Around its unexpanded buds; Like many a voice of one delight — The \Ndnds', the birds', the ocean-floods' — The city's voice itself is soft like Solitude's. 10 I see the deep's untrampled floor With green and purple sea- weeds strown; I see the waves upon the shore Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown: I sit upon the sands alone; 15 The lightning of the noon-tide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion — How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, 20 Nor peace within nor calm around, Nor that content, surpassing wealth, The sage in meditation found. And walk'd with inward glory crown'd — Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure; 25 Others I see whom these surround — Smihng they hve, and call life pleasure; To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. Yet now despair itself is mild Even as the winds and waters are; 30 I could he down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear, — Till death like sleep might steal on me, And I might feel in the warm air 35 My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. P. B. Shelley cclxxii] Book Fourth 307 CCLXXI THE SCHOLAR My days among the Dead are past; Around me I behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old: 5 My never-failing friends are they, With whom I converse day by day. With them I take delight in weal And seek relief in woe; And while I understand and feel 10 How much to them I owe, My cheeks have often been bedew'd With tears of thoughtful gratitude. ?ly thoughts are with the Dead; with them J live in long-past years, 15 Their virtues love, their faults condemn. Partake their hopes and fears, And from their lessons seek and find Instruction with an humble mind. My hopes are with the Dead; anon 20 My place with them will be, And I with them shall travel on Through all Futurity; Yet leaving here a name, I trust, That will not perish in the dust. R. Southey CCLXXII THE MERMAID TAVERN Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, xlappy field or mossy cavern. Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canary wine? 308 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cclxxii Or are fruits of Paradise Sweeter than those dainty pies Of venison? O generous food! Drest as though bold Robin Hood 5 Would, with his Maid Marian, Sup and bowse from horn and can. I have heard that on a day Mine host's sign-board flew away Nobody knew whither, till 10 An astrologer's old quill To a sheepskin gave the story, Said he saw you in your glory, Underneath a new-old sign Sipping beverage di\dne, 15 And pledging AA-ith contented smack The Mermaid in the Zodiac. Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye kno\Mi, Happy field or mossy cavern, 20 Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? J. Keats THE PRIDE OF YOUTH Proud Maisie is in the wood. Walking so early; Sweet Robin sits on the bush. Singing so rarely. 5 'Tell me, thou bonny bird, When shall I marry me? — 'When six braw gentlemen Kirkward shall carry ye.' 'Who makes the bridal bed, 10 Birdie, say truly?' — 'The graj^-headed sexton That delves the grave duly. cclxxiv] Book Fourth 309 'The glowworai o'er grave and stone Shall light thee steady; The owl from the steeple sing Welcome, proud lady.' Sir W. Scott THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS One more Unfortunate Weary of breath Rashly importunate. Gone to her death! 5 Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Look at her garments 10 Clinging like cerements; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly. Loving, not loatliing. 15 Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her — All that remains of her 20 Now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and un dutiful: Past all dishonour, 25 Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family — Wipe those poor lips of hers 30 Oozing so clammily. 310 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cclxxiv Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Wliilst wonderment guesses 5 Where was her home? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? 10 Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, tlian all other? Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity 15 Under the sun! Oh! it was pitiful! Near a whole city full, Home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, 20 Fatherly, motherly Feelings had changed: Love, by harsh evidence, Thro\vn from its eminence; Even God's providence 25 Seeming estranged. Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From \\4ndow and casement, 30 From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night. The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver 35 But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river: Mad from life's history, cclxxiv] Book Fourth 311 Glad to death's mystery Swift to be hurl'd — • Any where, any where Out of the world! 5 In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran, — Over the brink of it, Picture it — think of it, 10 Dissolute Man! Lave in it, drink of it, Then, if you can! Take her up tenderly. Lift her with care; 15 Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly, Decently, kindly, 20 Smooth and compose them, And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly! Dreadfully staring Thro' muddy impurity, 25 As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fix'd on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurr'd by contumely, 30 Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity. Into her rest. — Cross her hands humbly As if praying dumbly, 35 Over her breast! Owning her w^eakness, Her evil behaviour, And leaving, wdth meekness. Her sins to her Saviour. T. Hood 312 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cclxxv CCLXXV ELEGY Oh snatch'd away in beauty's bloom! On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves, the earliest of the year, 5 And the wild cjrpress wave in tender gloom: And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread; 10 Fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! Away! we know that tears are vain, That Death nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this unteach us to complain? Or make one mourner weep the less? 15 And thou, who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. Lord Byron HESTER When maidens such as Hester die Their place ye may not well supply, Though ye among a thousand try With vain endeavour. 5 A month or more hath she been dead, Yet cannot I by force be led To think upon the wormy bed And her together. A springy motion in her gait, 10 A rising step, did indicate Of pride and joy no common rate That flush'd her spirit: I know not by what name beside I shall it call: if 'twas not pride, 15 It was a joy to that allied She did inherit. cclxxvii] Book Fourth 313 Her parents held the Quaker rule, Which doth the human feeling cool; But she was train'd in Nature's schoolj Nature had blest her. 5 A waking eye, a prying mind, A heart that stirs, is hard to bind; A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind, Ye could not Hester. My sprightly neighbour! gone before 10 To that unknown and silent shore, Shall we not meet, as heretofore Some summer morning — When from thy cheerful eyes a ray Hath struck a bliss upon the day, 15 A bliss that would not go away, A sweet fore-warning? C. Lamb CCLXXVII TO MARY If I had thought thou couldst have died, I might not weep for thee; But I forgot, when by thy side. That thou couldst mortal be: 5 It never through my mind had past The time would e'er be o'er, And I on thee should look my last. And thou shouldst smile no more! And still upon that face I look, 10 And think 'twill smile again; And still the thought I will not brook That I must look in vain! But when I speak — thou dost not say What thou ne'er left'st unsaid; 15 And now I feel, as well I may, Sweet Mary! thou art dead! 314 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cdxxv^' If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, All cold and all serene — I still might press thy silent heart, And where thy smiles have been. 6 Wliile e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have. Thou seemest still mine own; But there I lay thee in thy grave — And I am now alone! I do not think, where'er thou art, 10 Thou hast forgotten me; And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart. In thinking too of thee: Yet there was round thee such a dawn Of light ne'er seen before, 15 As fancy never could have drawn, And never can restore! C. Wolfe CCLXXVIII CORONACH He is gone on the mountain. He is lost to the forest. Like a summer-dried fountain. When our need was the sorest. 5 The font reappearing From the raindrops shall borrow. But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow! The hand of the reaper 10 Takes the ears that are hoary. But the voiee of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are sea rest, 15 But our flower was in flushing When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi. Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray, 20 How sound is thy slumber! cclxxx] Book Fourth 315 Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone; and for ever! Sir W. Scott THE DEATH BED We watch'd her breathing thro' the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. 5 So silently we seem'd to speak, So slowly moved about. As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. Our very hopes belied our fears, 10 Our fears our hopes belied — We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died. For when the morn came dim and sad And chill with early showers, 15 Her quiet eyelids closed — she had Another morn than ours. T. Hood CCLXXX AGNES I saw her in childhood — A bright, gentle thing, Like the dawn of the mom, Or the dews of the spring: The daisies and hare-bells Her playmates all day; Herself as hght-hearted And artless as they. 316 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cclxxx I saw her again — A fair girl of eighteen, Fresh gHttering with graces Of mind and of mien. 5 Her speech was all music; ' Like moonlight she shone; The envy of many, The glory of one. Years, years fleeted over — 10 I stood at her foot: The bud had grown blossom, The blossom was fruit. A dignified mother, Her infant she bore; 15 And look'd, I thought, fairer Than ever before. I saw her once more — 'Twas the day that she died; Heaven's light was around her, 20 And God at her side; No wants to distress her, No fears to appal — O then, I felt, then She was fairest of all! H. F. ROSABELLE O listen, listen, ladies gay! No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. 'Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant creWi And, gentle ladye, deign to stay! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. • cclxxxi] Book Fourth 317 'The blackening wave is edged with white; To inch and rock the sea-mews fly; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. 5 'Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch; Why cross the gloomy firth to-day? "Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 10 To-night at Roslin leads the ball, But that my ladye-mother there Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 'Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well, 15 But that my sire the wine will chide If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle.' -O'er RosHn all that dreary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, 20 And redder than the bright moonbeam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen; 'Twas seen from Dry den's groves of oak, And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden. 25 Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie, Each Baron, for a sable shroud. Sheathed in his iron panoply. Seem'd all on fire within, around, 30 Deep sacristy and altar's pale; Shone every pillar foliage-bound. And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail. Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — 35 So still they blaze, when fate is nigh The lordly line of high Saint Clair. 318 Palgrave^s Golden Treasury [cclxxxi There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold — Lie buried within that proud chapelle; Each one the holy vault doth hold — But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle. 5 And each Saint Clair was buried there, With candle, with book, and with knell; But the sea-caves nmg, and the wild winds sung The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. Sir W. Scott CCLXXXII ON AN INFANT DYING AS SOON AS BORN I saw where in the shroud did lurk A curious frame of Nature's work; A flow'ret crushed in the bud, A nameless piece of Babyhood, 5 Was in her cradle-coffin lying; Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying: So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb For the darker closets of the tomb! She did but ope an eye, and put 10 A clear beam forth, then straight up shut For the long dark: ne'er more to see Through glasses of mortality. Riddle of destiny, who can show What thy short visit meant, or know 15 What thy errand here below? Shall we say, that Nature blind Check'd her hand, and changed her mind Just when she had exactly wrought A finish'd pattern without fault? 20 Could she flag, or could she tire, Or lack'd she the Promethean fire (With her nine moons' long workings sicken'd) That should thy little limbs have quicken 'd? Limbs so firm, they seem'd to assure 25 Life of health, and days mature: Woman's self in miniature! cclxxxii] Book Fourth 319 Limbs so fair, they might supply (Themselves now but cold imagery) The sculptor to make Beauty by. Or did the stern-eyed Fate descry 5 That babe or mother, one must die; So in mercy left the stock And cut the branch; to save the shock Of young years widow'd, and the pain When Single State comes back again 10 To the lone man who, reft of wife, Thenceforward drags a maimed life? The economy of Heaven is dark. And wisest clerks have miss'd the mark Why human buds, Uke this, should fall, 15 More brief than fly ephemeral That has liis day; while shrivell'd crones Stiffen with age to stocks and stones; And crabbed use the conscience sears In sinners of an hundred years. 20 — Mother's prattle, mother's kiss. Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss: Rites, which custom does impose, Silver bells, and baby clothes; Coral redder than those lips 25 Which pale death did late eclipse; Music framed for infants' glee, Whistle never tuned for thee; Though thou want'st not, thou shalt have them, Loving hearts were they which gave them. 30 Let not one be missing; nurse. See them laid upon the hearse Of infant slain by doom perverse. Why should kings and nobles have Pictured trophies to their grave, 35 Wnd we, churls, to thee deny Thy pretty toys with thee to lie — A more harmless vanity? C. Lamb 320 Palgrave's Golden Treasury/ [cclxxxiii CCLXXXIII IN MEMORIAM A child's a plaything for an hour; Its pretty tricks we try For that or for a longer space, — Then tire, and lay it by. 5 But I knew one that to itself All seasons could control; That w^ould have mock'd the sense of pain Out of a grieved soul. Th straggler into loving arms, 10 Young climber up of knees, When I forget thy thousand ways Then Hie and all shall cease! M. Lamb CCLXXXIV THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET Where art thou, my beloved Son, Where art thou, worse to me than dead? Oh find me, prosperous or undone! Or if the grave be now thy bed, 5 Why am I ignorant of the same That I may rest; and neither blame Nor sorrow may attend thy name? Seven years, alas! to have received No tidings of an only child — 10 To have despair'd, have hoped, believed, And been for evermore beguiled, — Sometimes ^A-ith thoughts of very bliss! I catch at them, and then I miss; Was ever darkness like to this? 15 He was among the prime in worth, An object beauteous to behold; Well bom, well bred; I sent him forth Ingenuous, innocent, and bold: If things ensued that wanted grace 20 As hath been said, they were not base; And never blush was on mv face. cclxxxiv] Book Fourth 321 Ah! little doth the young-one dream When full of play and childish cares, What power is in his wildest scream Heard by his mother unawares! 5 He knows it not, he cannot guess; Years to a mother bring distress; But do not make her love the less. Neglect me! no, I suffered long From that ill thought; and being blind 10 Said 'Pride shall help me in my wrong: Kind mother have I been, as kind As ever breathed:' and that is true; I've wet my path with tears like dew, Weeping for him when no one knew. 15 My Son, if thou be humbled, poor, Hopeless of honour and of gain. Oh! do not dread thy mother's door; Think not of me with grief and pain: I now can see with better eyes; 20 And worldly grandeur I despise And fortune with her gifts and lies. Alas! the fowls of heaven have wings, And blasts of heaven will aid their flight; They mount — how short a voyage brings 25 The wanderers back to their delight! Chains tie us down by land and sea; And wishes, vain as mine, may be All that is left to comfort thee. Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan 30 Maim'd, mangled by inhuman men; Or thou upon a desert throwai Inheritest the lion's den; Or hast been summon'd to the deep Thou, thou, and all thy mates, to keep 35 An incommunicable sleep. I look for ghosts: but none will force Their way to me; 'tis falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between the livirig and the dead; 322 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cclxxxiv For surely then I should have sight Of him I wait for day and night With love and longings infinite. My apprehensions come in crowds; ! I dread the rusthng of the grass; The very shadows of the clouds Have power to shake me as they pass: I question things, and do not find One that ^^dll answer to my mind; 10 And all the world appears unkind. Beyond participation lie My troubles, and beyond relief: If any chance to heave a sigh They pity me, and not my grief. 15 Then come to me, my Son, or send Some tidings that my woes may end! I have no other earthly friend. W. Wordsworth CCLXXXV HUNTING SONG Waken, lords and ladies gay. On the mountain da^\^ls the day; All the jolly chase is here With hawk and horse and hunting-spear; 5 Hounds are in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Merrily merrily mingle they, 'Waken, lords and ladies gay.' Waken, lords and ladies gay, 10 The mist has left the mountain gray, Springlets in the da^^Tl are steaming, Diamonds on the brake are gleaming; And foresters have busy been To track the buck in thicket green; 15 Now we come to chant our lay 'Waken, lords and ladies gay.' cclxxxvi] Book Fourth 323 Waken, lords and ladies gay, To the greenwood haste away; We can show you where he lies, Fleet of foot and tall of size; 5 We can show the marks he made When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd; You shall see him brought to bay; 'Waken, lords and ladies gay.' Louder, louder chant the lay 10 Waken, lords and ladies gay! Tell them youth and mirth and glee Run a course as well as we; Time, stern huntsman! who can baulk, Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk; 15 Think of this, and rise with day, Gentle lords and ladies gay! Sir W. Scott TO THE SKYLARK Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? 5 Thy nest w^hich thou canst drop into at will. Those quivering wdngs composed, that music still! To the last point of vision, and beyond Mouni, daring warbler! — that love-prompted strain — 'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond — 10 Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain: Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing All independent of the leafy Spring. Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine, 15 Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine; Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam — True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home. W. Wordsworth 324 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cclxxxvii CCLXXXVII TO A SKYLARK Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it Pourest thy full heart 5 In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest, Like a cloud of fire, The blue deep thou wingest, 10 And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden Hghtning Of the sunken sun O'er wliich clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run, 15 Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven In the broad daylight 20 Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight: Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere. Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear 25 Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare. From one lonely cloud 30 The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is over- flow'd. What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see 35 As from thy presence showers a rain of melody; — cclxxxvii] Book Fourth 325 Like a poet liidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought 5 To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: Like a liigh-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour 10 With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue 15 Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view: Like a rose embower'd In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflower'd. Till the scent it gives 20 Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awaken'd flowers, All that ever was 25 Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine: I have never heard Praise of love or wine 30 That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. Chorus hymejieal Or triumphal chaunt Match'd with thine, would be all But an empty vaunt — 35 A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden war*t- 326 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cclxxxvii What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? 5 What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be: Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee: 10 Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. Waking or asleep Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream, 15 Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? We look before and after, And pine for what is not: Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; 20 Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, 25 I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, 30 Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground 5 Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my Hps would flow, 35 The world should listen then, as I am listening now! P. B. Shelley «clxxxviii] Book Fourth *^27 CCLXXXVIII THE GREEN LINNET Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-wliite blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of Spring's unclouded weather, 5 In tliis sequester'd nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat! And flowers and birds once more to greet, My last year's friends together. One have I mark'd, the happiest guest to In all this covert of the blest: Hail to Thee, far above the rest In joy of voice and pinion! Thou, Linnet! in thy green array Presiding Spirit here to-day ^5 Dost lead the revels of the May; And this is thy dominion. While birds, and butterflies, and flowers, Make all one band of paramours, Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, 20 Art sole in thy employment; A Life, a Presence like the air. Scattering thy gladness without care, Too blest with any one to pair; Thyself thy own enjoyment. 25 Amid yon tuft of hazel trees That twinkle to the gusty breeze, Behold him perch'd in ecstasies Yet seeming still to hover; There I where the flutter of his wings 30 Upon his back and body flings Shadows and sunny glimmerings. That cover him all over. My dazzled sight he oft deceives — A brother of the dancing leaves; 35 Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves Pours forth his song in gushes; 328 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cclxxxviii As if by that exulting strain He mock'd and treated with disdain The voiceless Form he chose to feign, While fluttering in the bushes. W. Wordsworth CCLXXXIX TO THE CUCKOO blithe new-comer! I have heard, 1 hear thee and rejoice: Cuckoo! shall I call thee Bird, Or but a wandering Voice? 5 While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear; From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off and near. Though babbling only to the vale 10 Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring I Even yet thou art to me 15 No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mystery; The same whom in my school-boy days 1 listen'd to; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways 20 In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert still a hope, a love; Still long'd for,' never seen! 25 And I can listen to thee yet; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again. ccxc] Book Fourth 329 O blessed Bird! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, faery place, That is fit home for Thee! W. Wordsworth ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe- wards had sunk: 5 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees. In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 10 Singest of summer in full-throated ease. O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the country green, ' Dance, and Proven9al song, and sunburnt mirth! 15 O for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, And purple-stained mouth; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, 20 And with thee fade away into the forest dim: Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; 25 Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs. Where youth grows pale, and spectre-tliin, and dies Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs; Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, 30 Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 330 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxc Away! away! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the vicAvless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: 5 Already with thee! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Clustered around by all her starry Fays; But here there is no light. Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown 10 Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows 15 The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; And mid-May's eldest child, The coming musk- rose, full of dewy wine, 20 The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. Darkling I listen; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme. To take into the air my quiet breath; 25 Now more than ever seems it rich to die. To cease upon the midnight "uith no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — 30 To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown: 35 Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, ecxci] Book Fourth 331 She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 5 Forlorn! the very word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self! Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 10 Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the liill-side; and now 'tis buried deep In the next valley-glades: Was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music: — Do I wake or sleep? J. Keats ccxci UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPT. 3, 1802 Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth like a garment wear 5 The beauty of the morning: silent, bare. Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky, — All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep 10 In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river giideth at his ovm. sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still! W. Wordsworth 332 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxcii To one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. 5 Who is more happy, when, with heart's content, Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair And gentle tale of love and languishment ? Returning home at evening, with an ear 10 Catching the notes of Philomel, — an eye Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, He mourns that day. so soon has glided by: E'en like the passage of an angel's tear That falls through the clear ether silently. J. Keats CCXCIII OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT I met a traveller from an antique land Who said. Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, Half sunk, a shatter 'd visage lies, whose frowni 5 And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things, The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal these words appear: 10 'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!' Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare. The lone and level sands stretch far away. P. B. Shelley ccxcv] Book Fourth 333 COMPOSED AT NEIDPATH CASTLE, THE PROPERTY OF LORD QUEENSBERRY, 1808 Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy lord! Whom mere despite of heart could so far please And love of havoc, (for with such disease Fame taxes him,) that he could send forth word 5 To level with the dust a noble horde, A brotherhood of venerable trees. Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these, Beggar'd and outraged! — Many hearts deplored The fate of those old trees; and oft with pain 10 The traveller at this day will stop and gaze On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed: For shelter'd places, bosoms, nooks, and bays. And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed, And the green silent pastures, yet remain. W. Wordsworth ccxcv THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION O leave this barren spot to me! Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! Though bush or floweret never grow My dark un warming shade below; 5 Nor summer bud perfume the dew Of rosy blush, or yellow hue; Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-bom, My green and glossy leaves adorn; Nor murmuring tribes from me derive 10 Th' ambrosial amber of the hive; Yet leave this barren spot to me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! 3'3"« Palgrave's Golden Treasury Cccxcv Thrice twenty summers I have seen The sky grow bright, the forest green; And many a wintry wind have stood In bloomless, fruitless sohtude, Z Since cliildhood in my pleasant bower First spent its sweet and sportive hour; Since youthful lovers in my shade Their vows of truth and rapture made, And on my trunk's surviving frame 10 Carved many a long-forgotten name. Oh! by the sighs of gentle sound, First breathed upon this sacred ground; By all that Love has whisper'd here. Or Beauty heard with ^a^^sh'd ear; I,'- As Love's own altar honour me: Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! T. Cam^jheU ADMONITION TO A TRAVELLER "^ es, there is holy pleasure in tliine eye! - -The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook Hath stirr'd thee deeply; with its own dear brook, I ts owTi small pasture, almost its own sky! 5 liut covet not the abode; forbear to sigh As many do, repining w'liile they look; Intruders — who would tear from Nature's book This precious leaf with harsh impiety. • — Think w^hat the home must be if it were thine, 10 Even thine, though few thy wants! — Roof, window, door. The very flowei-s are sacred to the Poor, The roses to the porch w^hich they entwine: Yea, all that now enchants thee, from the day On which it should be touch'd, would melt away! W. Wordsworth ccxcvii] Book Fourth 335 TO THE HIGHLAND GIRL OF INVERSNEYDE Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower! Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head: 5 And these gray rocks, that household lawn, Those trees — a veil just half withdra-wn, This fall of water that doth make A murmur near the silent lake, This little bay, a quiet road 10 That holds in shelter thy abode: In truth together ye do seem Like something fashion'd in a dream; Such forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares £ft-e laid asleep! 15 But O fair Creature! in the hght Of common day, so heavenly bright I bless Thee, Vision as thou art, I bless thee with a human heart: God shield thee to thy latest years! 20 Thee neither know I nor thy peers: And yet my eyes are fill'd with tears. With earnest feeling I shall pray For thee when I am far away; For never saw I mien or face 2-5 In which more plainly I could trace Benignity and home-bred sense Ripening in perfect innocence. Here scatter'd, like a random seed, Remote from men, Thou dost not need 30 The embarrass'd look of shy distress, And maidenly shamefacedness: Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear The freedom of a Mountaineer: A face with gladness overspread; 35 Soft smiles, by human kindness bred; 336 Palgrave's Golden Treasury fccxcvii And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about thee plays; With no restraint, but such as springs From quick and eager visitings 5 Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach Of thy few words of English speech: A bondage sweetly brook'd, a strife That gives thy gestures grace and life! So have I, not unmoved in mind, 10 Seen birds of tempest-loving kind — Thus beating up against the wind. What hand but would a garland cull For thee who art so beautiful? happy pleasure! here to dwell 15 Beside thee in some heathy dell; Adopt your homely ways, and dress, A shepherd thou a shepherdess! But I could frame ^ wish for thee More like a grave reality: 20 Thou art to me but as a wave Of the ^^^ld sea: and I would have Some claim upon thee, if I could, Though but of common neighbourhood. What joy to hear thee, and to see! 25 Thy elder brother I w^ould be, Thy father — anything to thee. Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace Hath led me to tliis lonely place: Joy have I had; and going hence 30 I bear away my recompence. In spots like these it is we prize Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes: Then why should I be loth to stir? 1 feel this place was made for her; 35 To give new pleasure like the past, Continued long as life shall last. Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart, Sweet Highland Girl! from thee to part; For I, methinks, till I grow old ccxcviii] Book Fourth 337 As fair before me shall behold As I do now, the cabin small, The lake, the bay, the waterfall; And Thee, the Spirit of them all! W. Wordsworth CCXCVIII THE REAPER Behold her, single in the, field, Yon solitary Highland Lass! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass! 5 Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; listen! for the vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No nightingale did ever chaunt 10 More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt, Among Arabian sands: A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird 15 Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. , Will no one tell me what she sings? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, 20 And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again! 25 Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; 1 saw her singing at her work. And o'er the sickle bending; — I listen'd, motionless and still; 338 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [ccxcviii And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore Long after it was heard no more. W. Wordsworth ccxcix THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, Hangs a Thrush that sings loud, it has sung for three years : Poor Susan has pass'd by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the bird. 5 'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees; Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale 10 Down which she so often has tripp'd with her pail; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade. The mist and the river, the hill and the shade; 15 The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise. And the colours have all pass'd away from her eyes I W. Wordsworth ccc TO A LADY, WITH A GUITAR Ariel to Miranda: — ^Take This slave of music, for the sake . Of him, who is the slave of thee; ; And teach it all the harmony 5 In which thou canst, and only thou, Make the delighted spirit glow. Till joy denies itself again And, too intense, is turn'd to pain. ccc] Book Fourth 339 For by permission and command Of tliine own Prince Ferdinand, Poor Ariel sends this silent token Of more than ever can be spoken; 5 Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who From life to life must still pursue Your happiness, for thus alone Can Ariel ever find his own. From Prospero's enchanted cell, 10 As the mighty verses tell. To the throne of Naples he Lit you o'er the trackless sea, Flitting on, your prow before, Like a living meteor. 15 When you die, the silent Moon In her interlunar swoon Is not sadder in her cell Than deserted Ariel: — When you Uve again on earth, 20 Like an unseen Star of birth Ariel guides you o'er the sea Of life from your nativity: — Many changes have been run Since Ferdinand and you begun 25 Your course of love, and Ariel still Has track'd your steps and served your will. Now in humbler, happier lot. This is all remember'd not; And now, alas! the poor Sprite is 30 Imprison 'd for some fault of his In a body like a grave — From you he only dares to crave, For his service and his sorrow A smile to day, a song to morrow. 35 The artist who this idol wrought To echo all harmonious thought, Fell'd a tree, while on the steep The woods were in their winter sleep, Rock'd in that repose divine 40 On the wind-swept Apennine; And dreaming, some of Autumn past, 340 Palgrave^s Golden Treasury/ [ccc And some of Spring approaching fast, And some of April buds and showers, And some of songs in July bowers, And all of love: And so this tree, — 5 Oh that such our death may be! — Died in sleep, and felt no pain, To live in happier form again: From which, beneath heaven's fairest star. The artist wrought this loved Guitar; 10 And taught it justly to reply To all who question skilfully In language gentle as thine own; Whispering in enamour'd tone Sweet oracles of woods and dells, 15 And summer winds in sylvan cells: — For it had learnt all harmonies Of the plains and of the skies. Of the forests and the mountains, And the many- voiced fountains; "Mj The clearest echoes of the hills. The softest notes of falling rills, The melodies of birds and bees. The murmuring of summer seas, And pattering rain, and breathing dew, 26 And airs of evening; and it knew That seldom-heard mysterious sound Which, driven on its diurnal round, As it floats through boundless day, Our world enkindles on its way: 30 —All this it knows, but will not tell To those who cannot question well The Spirit that inhabits it; It talks according to the wit Of its companions; and no more 65 Is heard than has been felt before By those who tempt it to betray These secrets of an elder day. But, sweetly as its answers will Flatter hands of perfect skill, 40 It keeps its highest holiest tone For our beloved Friend alone. P. B. Shelley cccii] Book Fourth 341 ccci THE DAFFODILS I wander'd lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils, 6 Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretch'd in never-ending line 10 Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: — 15 A Poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company! I gazed — and gazed — but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought; For oft, when on my couch I lie 20 In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. W. Wordsworth CCCII TO THE DAISY With little here to do or see Of tilings that in the great world be. Sweet Daisy! oft J talk to thee For thou art worthy, 5 Thou unassuming Common-place Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace Which Love makes for thee? 342 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccii Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit and play with similes, Loose types of things through all degreeSj Thoughts of thy raising; 5 And many a fond and idle name I give to thee, for praise or blame As is the humour of the game, While I am gazing. A nun demure, of lowly port; to Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, In thy simplicity the sport Of all temptations; A queen in cro\\Ti of rubies drest; A starveling in a scanty vest; la Are all, as seems to suit thee best> Thy appellations. A little Cyclops, with one eye Staring to threaten and defy, That thought comes next — and instantly fiw The freak is over, The shape will vanish, and behold? A silver sliield with boss of gold That spreads itself, some faery bold In fight to cover. t;5 I see thee glittering from afar — And then thou art a pretty star. Not quite so fair as many are In heaven above thee! Yet like a star with glittering crest, 30 Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest; — May peace come never to his nest Who shall reprove thee! Sweet Flower! for by that name at last When all my reveries are past 35 I call thee, and to that cleave fast. Sweet silent Creature! That breath'st ^^ith me in sun and air, Do thou, as thou art wont, repair My heart with gladness, and a share 40 Of thy meek nature! W. Wordsworth ccciiil Book Fourth 343 ODE TO AUTUMN Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with liim how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run, 5 To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more. And still more, later flowers for the bees 10 Until they think warm days will never ceases For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy ce."'is. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store V Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 15 Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind* Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers; Ajid sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 20 Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours, Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — 25 While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river-sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; 30 And full-grown lambs loud bleat froQi hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. J . Keats 344 Palgrave's Golden Treasury ^tcciv ccciv ODE TO WINTER Germany, December, 1800 When first the fiery-mantled Sun His heavenly race began to run, Round the earth and ocean blue His children four the Seasons flew. 5 First, in green apparel dancing, The young Spring smiled with angel-grace; Rosy Summer next advancing, Rush'd into her sire's embrace — Her bright-hair'd sire, who bade her keep 10 For ever nearest to his smiles, On Calpe's olive-shaded steep Or India's citron-cover'd isles: More remote, and buxom-brown, The Queen of vintage bow'd before his throne; 15 A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown, A ripe sheaf bound her zone. But howhng Winter fled afar To hills that prop the polar star; And loves on deer-borne car to ride 20 With barren darkness by liis side, Round the shore where loud Lofoden Whirls to death the roaring whale, Round the hall where Runic Odin Howls his war-song to the gale; 25 Save when adown the ravaged globe He travels on his native storm, Deflowering Nature's grassy robe And trampling on her faded form: — Till light's returning Lord assume 30 The shaft that drives him to his polar field, Of power to pierce his raven plume And cry^stal-cover'd shield. Oh, sire of storms! whose savage ear The Lapland drum delights to hear, 35 When Frenzy with her blood-shot eye Implores thy dreadful deity — cccv] Book Fourth 345 Archangeh Power of desolation! Fast descending as thou art, Say, hath mortal invocation Spells to touch thy stony heart? 5 Then, sullen Winter! hear my prayer. And gently rule the ruin'd year; Nor chill the wanderer's bosom bare Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear: ' To shuddering Want's unmantled bed 10 Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lend. And gently on the orphan head Of Innocence descend. But chiefly spare, O king of clouds I The sailor on his airy shrouds, 15 When wrecks and beacons strew the steep, And spectres walk along the deep. Milder yet thy snowy breezes Pour on yonder tented shores. Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, 20 Or the dark-brown Danube roars Oh, winds of Winter! list ye there To many a deep and dying groan? Or start, ye demons of the midnight air, At shrieks and thunders louder than your own? 25 Alas! ev'n your unhallow'd breath May spare the victim fallen low; But Man will ask no truce to death, — No bounds to human woe. T. Campbell cccv YARROW UNVISITED 1803 From Stirling Castle we had seen The mazy Forth unravell'd, Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, And with the Tweed had travell'd; 6 And when we came to Clovenford, Then said my 'winsome Marrow,' *Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside. And see the Braes of Yarrow/ 346 Palgrave's Golden Treasury cccv] 'Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town. Who have been buying, selling, Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own, Each maiden to her dwelling! 6 On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, Hares couch, and rabbits burrow; But we will downward \^^th the Tweed, . Nor turn aside to Yarrow. 'There's Gala Water, Leader Haughs, 10 Both lying right before us; And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed The lintwhites sing in chorus; There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land Made blithe with plough and harrow: 15 Why throw away a needful day To go in search of Yarrow? 'What's Yarrow but a river bare That glides the dark liills under? There are a thousand such elsewhere 20 As worthy of your wonder.' — Strange words they seem'd of sHght and scorn; My True-love sigh'd for sorrow, And look'd me in the face, to tliink I thus could speak of Yarrow! 25 'O green,' said I, 'are Yarrow's holms, And sweet is Yarrow flowing! Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, But we will leave it growing. O'er hilly path and open strath 30 We'll wander Scotland thorough; But, though so near, we will not turn Into the dale of Yarrow. 'Let beeves and home-bred kine partake The sweets of Burn-mill meadow; 35 The swan on still Saint Mary's Lake Float double, swan and shadow! We will not see them; will not go To-day, nor yet to-morrow^; Enough if in our hearts w^e know 40 There's such a place as Yarrow. cccvi] Book Fourth 347 'Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown 1 It must, or we shall rue it: We have a vision of our own, Ah! why should we undo it? The treasured dreams of times long past. We'll keep them, winsome Marrow! For when we're there, although 'tis fair, 'Twill be another Yarrow! 'If Care with freezing years should come 10 And wandering seem but folly, — Should we be loth to stir from home, And yet be melancholy; Should hfe be dull, and spirits low, 'Twill soothe us in our sorrow 15 That earth has something yet to show, The bonny holms of Yarrow!' W. Wordsworth CCCVI YARROW VISITED September, 1814 And is this — Yarrow? — This the stream Of which my fancy cherish'd So faithfully, a waking dream, An image that hath perish'd? 5 O that some minstrel's harp were near To utter notes of gladness And chase this silence from the air. That fills my heart with sadness! Yet why? — a silvery current flows 10 With uncontroll'd meande rings; Nor have these eyes by greener hills Been soothed, in all my wanderings. And, through her depths. Saint Mary's Lake Is visibly delighted; 15 For not a feature of those hills Is in the mirror slighted. 348 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccvi A blue sky bends o'er Yarrow Vale, Save where that pearly whiteness Is round the rising sun diffused, A tender hazy brightness; 5 Mild dawn of promise! that excludes All profitless oejection; Though not unwilling here to admit A pensive recollection. Where was it that the famous Flower 10 Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding? His bed perchance was yon smooth mound On which the herd is feeding: And haply from this crystal pool. Now peaceful as the morning, 15 The Water-wraith ascended thrice, And gave his doleful warning. Dehcious is the lay that sings The haunts of happy lovers, The path that leads them to the grove, 20 The leafy grove that covers: And pity sanctifies the verse That paints, by strength of sorrow, The unconquerable strength of love; Bear witness, rueful Yarrow! 25 But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation: Meek loveliness is round thee spread, 30 A softness still and holy: The grace of forest charms decay'd, And pastoral melancholy. That region left, the vale unfolds Rich groves of lofty stature, 35 With Yarrow ^A-inding through the pomp Of cultivated nature; And rising from those lofty groves Behold a ruin hoary, The shatter'd front of Newark's towers, 40 Renown'd in Border story. cccvii] Book Fourth 349 Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, For sportive youth to stray in, For manhood to enjoy his strength, And age to wear away in! 5 Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, A covert for protection Of tender thoughts that nestle there — The brood of chaste affection. How sweet on this autumnal day 10 The wild-wood fruits to gather, And on my Tnie-love's forehead plant A crest of blooming heather! And what if I enwreathed my own? 'Twere no offence to reason; 15 The sober hills thus deck their brows To meet the wintry season. I see — but not by sight alone, Loved Yarrow, have I won thee; A ray of Fancy still survives — 20 Her sunshine plays upon thee! Thy ever-youthful waters keep A course of lively pleasure; And gladsome notes my lips can breathe Accordant to the measure. 25 The vapours linger round the heights. They melt, and soon must vanish; One hour is theirs, nor more is mine — Sad thought! which I would banish, But that I know, where'er I go, 30 Thy genuine image, Yarrow! Will dwell ^\ath me, to heighten joy, And cheer my mind in sorrow. W. Wordsworth CCCVII THE INVITATION Best and brightest, come away, — Fairer far than this fair Day, 350 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccvii Which, Hke thee, to those in sorrow Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow To the rough year just awake In its cradle on the brake. 5 The brightest hour of unborn Spring Through the winter wandering, Found, it seems, the halcyon mom To hoar Februarj^ bom; Bending from heaven, in azure mirth, 10 It kiss'd the forehead of the earth, And smiled upon the silent sea, And bade the frozen streams be free, And waked to music all their fountains, And breathed upon the frozen mountains, 15 And like a prophetess of May Strew'd flowers upon the barren way, Making the wintry world appear Like one on whom thou smilest, dear. Away, away, from men and towns, 20 To the wild wood and the dolvns — To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Its music, lest it should not find An echo in another's mind, 25 While the touch of Nature's art Harmonizes heart to heart. Radiant Sister of the Day Awake! arise! and come away! To the wild woods and the plains, 30 To the pools where winter rains Image all their roof of leaves, Where the pine its garland weaves Of sapless green, and ivy dun. Round stems that never kiss the sun; 35 Where the lawns and pastures be And the sandhills of the sea; Where the melting hoar-frost wets The daisy-star that never sets. And wind-flowers and Aaolets 40 Which yet join not scent to hue Crown the pale year weak and new; cccviii] Book Fourth 3S1 When the night is left behind In the deep east, dim and bhnd, And the blue noon is over us, And the multitudinous 5 Billows murmur at our feet, Where the earth and ocean meet, And all things seem only one In the universal Sun. P. B. Shelley CCCVIII THE RECOLLECTION Now the last day of. many days All beautiful and bright as thou, The lovehest and the last, is dead: Rise, Memory, and write its praise! 5 Up — to thy wonted work! come, trace The epitaph of glory fled. For now the earth has changed its face, A frown is on the heaven's brow. We wander'd to the Pine Forest 10 That skirts the Ocean's foam; The lightest wind was in its nest, The tempest in its home. The whispering waves were half asleep, The clouds were gone to play, 15 And on the bosom of the deep The smile of heaven lay; It seem'd as if the hour were one Sent from beyond the skies Which scatter'd from above the sun 20 A Hght of Paradise! We paused amid the pines that stood The giants of the waste, Tortured by storms to shapes as rude As serpents interlaced,— 25 And soothed by every azure breath That under heaven is blown. 352 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccviii To harmonies and hues beneath, As tender as its own: Now all the tree-tops lay asleep Like green waves on the sea, 5 As still as in the silent deep The ocean-woods may be. How calm it was! — The silence there By such a chain was bound. That even the busy woodpecker 10 Made stiller with her sound The inviolable quietness; The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less The calm that round us grew. 15 There seem'd, from the remotest seat Of the white mountain waste To the soft flower beneath our feet, A magic circle traced, — A spirit interfused around, 20 A thrilling silent life; To momentary peace it bound Our mortal nature's strife; — And still I felt the centre of The magic circle there -25 Was one fair form that fill'd with love The lifeless atmosphere. We paused beside the pools that lie Under the forest bough; Each seem'd as 'twere a Httle sky 30 Gulf'd in a world below; A firmament of puiple light Which in the dark earth lay, More boundless than the depth of night And purer than the day — 35 In which the lovely forests grew As in the upper air, More perfect both in shape and hue Than any spreading there. There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn, 40 And through the dark-green wood cccix] Book Fourth 353 The white sun twinkling Hke the dawn Out of a speckled cloud. Sweet views in which our world above Can never well be seen b Were imaged in the water's love Of that fair forest green: And all was interfused beneath With an Elysian glow, An atmosphere without a breath, 10 A softer day below. Like one beloved, the scene had lent To the dark water's breast Its every leaf and lineament With more than truth exprest; 15 Until an envious wind crept by, Like an unwelcome thought Which from the mind's too faithful eye Blots one dear image out. — Though thou art ever fair and kind, 20 The forests ever green, Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind Than calm in waters- seen! P. B. Shelley CCCIX BY THE SEA It is a "beauteous evening, calm and free; The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquillity; 5 The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea: Listen! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder — everlastingly. Dear child! dear girl! that walkest with me here, 10 If thou appear untouch'd by solemn thought Thy nature is not therefore less divine: 354 Palgiave's Golden Treasury [cccix Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year, And worsliipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not. W. Wordsworth SONG TO THE EVENING STAR Star that bringest home the bee, And sett'st the weary labourer free! If any star shed peace, 'tis Thou That send'st it from above, 5 Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow Are sweet as hers we love. Come to the luxuriant skies, Whilst the landscape's odours rise, Wliilst far-off lo^\'ing herds are heard 10 And songs when toil is done. From cottages whose smoke unstirr'd Curls yellow in the sun. Star of love's soft interviews, Parted lovers on thee muse; 15 Their remembrancer in Heaven Of thrilling vows thou art. Too delicious to be riven By absence from the heart. T. Campbell CCCXI DATUR HORA QUIETI The sun upon the lake is low, The \\ild birds hush their song. The hills have evening's deepest glow, Yet Leonard tarries long. 6 Now all whom varied toil and care From home and love divide, In the calm sunset may repair Each to the loved one's side. cccxiii] Book Fourth 355 The noble dame, on turret liigh, Who waits her gallant knight, Looks to the western beam to spy The flash of armour bright. 5 The village maid, with hand on brow The level ray to shade, Upon the footpath watches now For Colin's darkening plaid. Now to their mates the wild swans row, 10 By day they swam apart, And to the thicket wanders slow The hind beside the hart. The woodlark at his partner's side Twitters his closing song — 15 All meet whom day and care divide, But Leonard tarries long! Sir W. Scott CCCXII TO THE MOON Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven, and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth,^ 5 And ever-changing, like a joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy? P. B. Shelley CCCXIII TO SLEEP A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by One after one; the sound of rain, and bees Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky; 5 I've thought of aU by turns, and yet do he Sleepless; and soon the smaU bird's melodies Must hear, first utter'd from my orchard trees. And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. 356 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxiii Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay^. And could not win thee, Sleep! by any stealth: So do not let me wear tonight away: Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? 5 Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health! W. Wordsworth cccxiv THE SOLDIER'S DREAM Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd, And the sentinel stars set their w^atch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 5 When reposing that night on my pallet of straw By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw; And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array 10 Far, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track: 'Twas Autumn,— and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; 15 I heard my oa^ti mountain-goats bleating aloft. And knew the sweet strain that the com-reaj>ers sung. Then pledged we the \\ine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, 20 And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. 'Stay — stay with us! — rest! — thou art weary and worn ! ' — And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; — But sorrow retuni'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away T. Campbell cccxv] Book Fourth 357 A DREAM OF THE UNKNOWN I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring, And gentle odours led my steps astray, Mix'd with a sound of waters murmuring 5 Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay- Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling Its green arms round the bosom of the stream. But kiss'd it and then fled, as Thou mightest in dream. There grew pied wind-flowers and \'iolets, 10 Daisies, those pearl'd Arcturi of the earth, The constellated flower that never sets; Faint oxhps; tender blue-bells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved; and that tall flower that wets Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears, 15 When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears. And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine. Green cow-bind and the moonlight-colour'd May, And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine Was the bright dew yet drain'd not by the day; 20 And wild roses, and ivy serpentine With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray; And flowers azure, black, and streak'd with gold, Fairer than any waken'd eyes behold. And nearer to the river's trembling edge 25 There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prank'd with white, And starry river-buds among the sedge. And floating water-lilies, broad and bright. Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge With moonlight beams of their own watery light; 30 And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. Methought that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a way 358 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxv That the same hues, which in their natural bowers Were mingled or opposed, the like array- Kept these imprison 'd children of the Hours Within my hand, — and then, elate and gay, 5 I hasten'd to the spot whence I had come That I might there present it — O! to Whom? P. B. Shelleij CCCXVI KUBLA KHAN In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man 5 Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round: And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree; 10 And here were forests ancient as the hills. Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Do\A-n the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted 15 As er'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if tliis earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced: 20 Amid whose s^^'ift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail. Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail: And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. 25 Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a hfeless ocean: And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far 30 Ancestral voices prophesying war! cccxvii] Book Fourth 359 The shadow of the dome of pleasure floated midway on the waves; vVhere was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. 6 Ir was a miracle of rare device, _ ,V sunny pleasure-dome with caves ot ice I *^ A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid, ^ 10 And on her dulcimer she play d, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, _ ro such a deep delight 'twould win me t5 xhat with music loud and long, I would build that dome m air. That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! Beware! 20 His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise. ^ ^^ ^^^^^^^^ CCCXVII THE INNER VISION Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes To pace the ground, if path be there or none, While a fair region round the traveller hes Which he forbears again to look upon; 3 Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, The work of Fancy, or some happy tone Of meditation, shpping in between The beauty coming and the beauty gone —If Thought and Love desert us, from that day 10 Let us break off all commerce with the Muse: With Thought and Love companions ot our way 360 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxvii Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, — The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay. W. Wordsworth THE REALM OF FANCY Ever let the Fancy roam; Pleasure never is at home: At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, Like to bubbles when rain pelteth; 5 Then let winged Fancy wander Through the thought still spread beyond hej*: Open wide the mind's cage-door, She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. O sweet Fancy! let her loose; *0 Summer's joys are spoilt by use, And the enjoying of the Spring Fades as does its blossoming; Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too, Blusliing through the mist and dew, 15 Cloys with tasting: What do then? Sit thee by the ingle, when The sear faggot blazes bright, Spirit of a winter's night; When the soundless earth is muffled, 20 And the caked snow is shuffled From the ploughboy's hea\y shoon; When the Night doth meet the Noon In a dark conspiracy To banish Even from her sky. 25 Sit thee there, and send abroad, With a mind self-overaw'd, Fancy, high-commission'd: — send herl She has vassals to attend her: She will bring, in spite of frost, 30 Beauties that the earth hath lost; She will bring thee, all together, All delights of summer weather; All the buds and bells of May, cccxviii] Book Fourth 361 From dewy sward or thorny spray; All the heaped Autumn's wealth, With a still, mysterious stealth: She will mix these pleasures up 5 Like three fit wines in a cup, And thou shalt quaff it:— thou shalt hear Distant harvest-carols clear; Rustle of the reaped corn; Sweet birds antheming the morn: 10 And, in the same moment — hark I 'Tis the early April lark. Or the rooks, with busy caw, Foraging for sticks and straw. Thou shalt, at one glance, behold 15 The daisy and the marigold; Wliite-plumed lilies, and the first Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst; Shaded hyacinth, alway Sappliire queen of the mid-May; 20 And every leaf, and every flower Pearled with the self-same shower. Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep Meagre from its celled sleep; And the snake all winter-thin 25 Cast on sunny bank its skin; Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see Hatching in the hawthorn-tree, When the hen-bird's wing doth rest Quiet on her mossy nest; 30 Then the hurry and alarm When the bee-hive casts its swarm Acorns ripe down-pattering, While the autumn breezes sing. Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose; 35 Everything is spoilt by use: Where's the cheek that doth not fade. Too much gazed at? Where's the maid Whose lip mature is ever new? Where's the eye, however blue, 40 Doth not weary? Where's the face One would meet in every place? Where's the voice, however soft, 362 Palgi'ave's Golden Treasury [cccxviii One would hear so very oft? At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. Let then winged Fancy find 5 Thee a mistress to thy mind: Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter, Ere the God of Torment taught her How to frowTi and how to cliide; With a waist and with a side 10 White as Hebe's, when her zone Slipt its golden clasp, and down Fell her kirtle to her feet, While she held the goblet sweet. And Jove grew languid. — Break the mesh 15 Of the Fancy's silken leash; Quickly break her prison-string. And such joys as these she'll bring. — Let the winged Fancy roam. Pleasure never is at home. J . Keats WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING I heard a thousand blended notes While in a grove I sate reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 5 To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran; And much it grieved my heart to think What Man has made of Man. Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, 10 The periwdnkle trail'd its wreaths; And 'tis my faith that everj'' flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around me hopp'd and play'd, Their thoughts I cannot measure, — 15 But the least motion which they made It seem'd a thrill of pleasure. cccxx] Book Fourth 363 The budding twigs spread out their fan To catch the breezy air; And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there. , 5 If this belief from heaven be sent, If such be Nature's holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What Man has made of Man? W. WordsworHh cccxx RUTH: OR THE INFLUENCES OF NATURE When Ruth was left half desolate Her father took another mate; And Ruth, not seven years old, A slighted child, at her own will 6 Went wandering over dale and hill, In thoughtless freedom, bold. And she had made a pipe of straw, And music from that pipe could draw Like sounds of winds and floods; 10 Had built a bower upon the green, As if she from her birth had been An infant of the woods. Beneath her father's roof, alone She seem'd to live; her thoughts her own; 15 Herself her own. delight: Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay; And passing thus the live-long day. She grew to woman's height. There came a youth from Georgia's shore — 20 A military casque he wore With splendid feathers drest; He brought them from the Cherokees; The feathers nodded in the breeze And made a gallant crest. 364 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxx From Indian blood you deem him sprung: But no! he spake the Enghsh tongue And bore a soldier's name; And, when America was free 6 From battle and from jeopardy, He 'cross the ocean came. With hues of genius on his cheek, In finest tones the youth could speak: — ^While he was yet a boy 10 The moon, the glory of the sun. And streams that murmur as they run Had been his dearest joy. He was a lovely youth! I guess The panther in the wilderness 15 Was not so fair as he; And when he chose to sport and play, No dolphin ever was so gay Upon the tropic sea. Among the Indians he had fought; 20 And ^^1th him many tales he brought Of pleasure and of fear; Such tales as, told to any maid By such a youth, in the green shade, Were perilous to hear. 25 He told of girls, a happy rout! Who quit their fold with dance and shout, Their pleasant Indian town, To gather strawberries all day long; Returning with a choral song ?0 When daylight is gone down. He spake of plants that hourly change Their blossoms, through a boundless range Of interminghng hues; With budding, fading, faded flowers, 35 They stand the wonder of the bowers From mom to evening dews. He told of the magnolia, spread High as a cloud, high over head I The cypress and her spire; cccxx] Book Fourth 365 — Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam Cover a hundred leagues, and seem To set the hills on fire. The youth of green savannahs spake, 5 And many an endless, endless lake With all its fairy crowds Of islands, that together lie As quietly as spots of sky Among the evening clouds. 10 'How pleasant,' then he said, 'it were A fisher or a hunter there. In sunshine or in shade To wander with an easy mind, And build a household fire, and fmd 15 A home in every glade! 'What days and w^hat bright years! Ah mel Our life were life indeed, with thee So pass'd in quiet bliss; And all the while/ said he, 'to know 20 That we were in a world of woe, On such an earth as this!' And then he sometimes interwove Fond thoughts about a father's love, 'For there,' said he, 'are spun 25 Around the heart such tender ties. That our own children to our eyes Are dearer than the sun. 'Sweet Ruth! and could you go with m My helpmate in the woods to be, 30 Our shed at night to rear; Or run, my own adopted bride, A sylvan huntress at my side. And drive the flying deer! 'Beloved Ruth!' — No more he said. 35 The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed A solitary tear: She thought again — and did agree "". With him to sail across the sea, And drive the flying deer. 366 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxx 'And now, as fitting is and right, We in the church our faith will plight, A husband and a wife.' Even so they did; and I may say 5 That to sweet Ruth that happy day Was more than human life. Through dream and vision did she sink, Delighted all the while to think That, on those lonesome floods 10 And green savannahs, she should share His board with lawful joy, and bear His name in the wild woods. But, as you have before been told, This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold, 15 And with his dancing crest So beautiful, through savage lands Had roam'd about, with vagrant bands Of Indians in the West. The wind, the tempest roaring high, 20 The tumult of a tropic sky Might W'ell be dangerous food For him, a youth to whom was given So much of earth — so much of heaven, And such impetuous blood. 25 Whatever in those climes he found Irregular in sight and sound Did to his mind impart A kindred impulse, seem'd alhed To liis owTi powers, and justified 30 The workings of his heart. Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought. The beauteous forms of Nature wrought, — Fair trees and gorgeous flowers; The breezes their own languor lent; 35 The stars had feelings, which they sent Into those favour'd bowers. Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween That sometimes there did intervene Pure hopes of high intent: cccxx] Book Fourth 367 For passions link'd to forms so fair And stately, needs must have their share Of noble sentiment. But ill he lived, much evil saw, 9 With men to whom no better law Nor better life was known; Deliberately and undeceived Those wild men's vices he received, And gave them back his own. 10 His genius and his moral frame Were thus impair'd, and he became ^ The slave of low desires: A man who wdthout self-control Would seek what the degraded soul 15 Unworthily admires. And yet he with no feign 'd delight Had woo'd the maiden, day and night Had loved her, night and morn: What could he less than love a maid 20 Whose heart with so much nature play'd — • So kind and so forlorn? Sometimes most earnestly he said^ 'O Ruth! I have been worse than dead; False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain 25 Encompass'd me on every side When I, in confidence and pride, Had cross'd the Atlantic main. 'Before me shone a glorious world Fresh as a banner bright, unfurl'd 30 To music suddenly: I look'd upon those hills and plains, And seem'd as if let loose from chains To live at liberty! 'No more of this — for now, by thee, 35 Dear Ruth! more happily set free^ With nobler zeal I burn; My soul from darkness is released , Like the whole sky when to the east The morning doth return.' 368 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccT" Full soon that better mind was gone; No hope, no wish remain'd, not one, — They stirr'd liim now no more; New objects did new pleasure give, 5 And once again he wish'd to live As lawless as before. Meanwhile, as thus \\ith him it fared, They for the voyage were prepared, And went to the sea-shore: 10 But, when they thither came, the youth Deserted his poor bride, and Ruth C!ould never find him more. iGrod help thee, Ruth! — Such pains she had That she in half a year was mad 15 And in a prison housed; And there, mth many a doleful song Made of wild words, her cup of wrong She fearfully caroused. Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, 20 N©r wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew. Nor pastimes of the May, — They all were with her in her cell; And a clear brook with cheerful knell Did o'er the pebbles play. 25 When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, There came a respite to her pain; She from her prison fled; But of the Vagrant none took thought; And where it liked her best she sought 30 Her shelter and her bread. Among the fields she breathed again: The master-current of her brain Ran permanent and free; And, coming to the banks of Tone, 35 There did she rest; and dwell alone Under the greenwood tree. The engines of her pain, the tools That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools, And airs that gently stir cccxx] Book Fourth 369 The vernal leaves — she loved them still, Nor ever tax'd them with the ill Which had been done to her. A bam her Winter bed supplies; 5 But, till the warmth of Summer skies And Summer days is gone, (And all do in this tale agree) She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree, And other home hath none. 10 An innocent life, yet far astray! And Ruth will, long before her day, Be broken down and old. Sore aches she needs must have! but less Of mind, than body's wretchedness, 15 From damp, and rain, and cold. If she is prest by want of food She from her dwelling in the wood Repairs to a road-side; And there she begs at one steep place 20 Where up and down with easy pace The horsemen-travellers ride. That oaten pipe of hers is mute Or thro-wTi away: but with a flute Her loneliness she cheers; 25 This flute, made of a hemlock stalk, At evening in his homeward walk The Quantock woodman hears. I, too, have pass'd her on the hills Setting her little water-mills 30 By spouts and fountains wild — Such small machinery as she tum'd Ere she had wept, ere she had mourned,— A young and happy child! Farewell! and when thy days are told, 3-5 Ill-fated Ruth! in hallow'd mould Thy corpse shall buried be; For thee a funeral bell shall ring. And all the congregation sing A Christian psalm for thee. W. Wordsworth 370 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxi WRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLS Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of Misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan. Never thus could voyage on 5 Day and night, and night and day. Drifting on his dreary way, With the solid darkness black Closing round his vessel's track: Whilst above, the sunless sky 10 Big with clouds, hangs heavily. And behind the tempest fleet Hurries on with lightning feet, Riving sail, and cord, and plank. Till the ship has almost drank 15 Death from the o'er-brimming deep; And sinks dowTi, down, like that sleep When the dreamer seems to be Weltering through eternity; And the dim low line before 20 Of a dark and distant shore Still recedes, as ever still Longing with divided will, But no power to seek or shun, He is ever drifted on 25 O'er the unreposing wave. To the haven of the grave. Ah, many flowering islands lie In the waters of wide Agony: To such a one tliis mom was led 30 My bark, by soft winds piloted. — 'Mid the mountains Euganean I stood listening to the paean With which the legion'd rooks did hail The Sun's uprise majestical: 35 Gathering round with wings all hoar, cccxxi] Book Fourth 371 Through the dewy mist they soar Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven Bursts; and then, — as clouds of even Fleck'd with fire and azure, lie 3 In the unfathomable sky, — So their plumes of purple grain Starr'd with drops of golden rain Gleam above the sunlight woods, As in silent multitudes 10 On the morning's fitful gale Through the broken mist they sail; And the vapours cloven and gleaming Follow down the dark steep streaming, Till all is bright, and clear, and still 15 Round the solitary hill. Beneath is spread like a green sea The waveless plain of Lombardy, Bounded by the vaporous air, Islanded by cities fair; 20 Underneath Day's azure eyes, Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, — A peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite's destined halls, Which her hoary sire now paves 25 With his blue and beaming waves. Lo! the sun upsp rings behind, Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined On the level quivering line Of the waters crystalline; 30 And before that chasm of light, As within a furnace bright, Column, tower, and dome, and spire. Shine like obehsks of fire, Pointing with inconstant motion 35 From the altar of dark ocean To the sapphire-tinted skies; As the flames of sacrifice From the marble shrines did rise As to pierce the dome of gold 40 Where Apollo spoke of old. Sun-girt City! thou hast been 372 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxi Ocean's cliild, and then his queen; Now is come a darker day, And thou soon must be his prey, If the power that raised thee here 5 Hallow^ so thy watery bier. A less drear ruin then than now, With thy conquest-branded brow Stooping to the slave of slaves From thy throne among the waves 10 Wilt thou be, — when the sea-mew Flies, as once before it flew, O'er thine isles depopulate, And all is in its ancient state, Save where many a palace-gate 15 With green sea-flowers overgro\NTi Like a rock of ocean's own. Topples o'er the abandon'd sea As the tides change sullenly. The fisher on his watery way 20 Wandering at the close of day, AVill spread liis sail and seize his oar Till he pass the gloomy shore, Lest thy dead should, from their sleep^ Bursting o'er the starlight deep, 25 Lead a rapid masque of death O'er the waters of his path. Noon descends around me now: 'Tis the noon of autumn's glow When a soft and purple mist 30 Like a vaporous amethyst, Or an air-dissolved star JVIingling light and fragrance, far From the curved horizon's bound To the point of heaven's profound, 35 Fills the overflowing sky; And the plains that silent lie Underneath; the leaves unsodden Where the infant Frost has trodden With his morning-winged feet 40 Whose bright print is gleaming yet; And the red and golden vines cccxxi] Book Fourth 373 Piercing with their trellised lines The rough, dark-skirted wilderness; The dun and bladed grass no less, Pointing from this hoary tower 5 In the windless air; the flower Glimmering at my feet; the line • Of the olive-sandalFd Apennine In the south dimly islanded; And the Alps, whose snows are spread 10 High between the clouds and sun; And of living things each one; And my spirit, which so long Darken'd this swaft stream of song, — Interpenetrated lie 15 By the glory of the sky; Be it love, light, harmony, Odour, or the soul of all Which from heaven like dew doth fall, Or the mind which feeds this verse, 20 Peopling the lone universe. Noon descends, and after noon Autumn's evening meets me soon, Leading the infantine moon And that one star, which to her 25 Almost seems to minister Half the crimson light she brings From the sunset's radiant springs: And the soft dreams of the morn (Which like -winged winds had borne 30 To that silent isle, which lies 'Mid remember'd agonies. The frail bark of this lone being), Pass, to other sufferers fleeing, And its ancient pilot, Pain, 35 Sits beside the helm again. Other flowering isles m^st be In the sea of Life and Agony i Other spirits float and flee O'er that gulf: Ev'n now, perhaps, 40 On some rock the wild wave wraps, 374 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxi With folded wings they waiting sit For my bark, to pilot it To some calm and blooming cove; Where for me, and those I love, 5 May a windless bower be built. Far from passion, pain, and guilt, In a dell 'mid lawny hills Which the \\ild sea-murmur fills, And soft sunshine, and the sound 10 Of old forests echoing round, And the light and smell di\ane Of all flowers that breathe and sliine. — AVe may live so happy there, That the Spirits of the Air 15 En\^'ing us, may ev'n entice To our healing paradise The polluting multitude: But their rage would be subdued B}^ that cUme di\ine and calm, 20 And the winds whose wings rain balm On the uplifted soul, and leaves Under which the bright sea heaves; While each breathless interval In their whisperings musical 25 The inspired soul supplies With its o\Mi deep melodies; And the Love which heals all strife Circling, like the breath of life. All things in that sweet abode 30 With its own mild brotherhood: — • They, not it, would change; and soon Every sprite beneath the moon Would repent its envj vain, And the Earth grow young again. P. B. Shelley cccxxii] Book Fourth ODE TO THE WEST WIND O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts froin an enchanter fleeing, Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, 5 Pestilence-stricken multitudes! O thou Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low. Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow 10 Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With hving hues and odours plain and hill; Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; Destroyer and Preserver; Hear, oh hear! 15 Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's com- motion, Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed. Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean. Angels of rain and lightning! there are spread On the blue surface of thine airy surge, 20 Like the bright hair uplifted from the head Of some fierce Maenad, ev'n from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith's height — The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge Of the dying year, to which this closing night 25 Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, Vaulted with all thy congregated might Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst: Oh hear! Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams 30 The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams, Beside a pumice isle in Baiae's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Qu'vering within the wave's intenser day. 376 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxii All overgrowTi \\ith azure moss, and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou For whose path the Atlantic's level powers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below 5 The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean, know Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear And tremble and despoil themselves: Oh heari If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; 10 If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than Thou, O uncontrollable! If even I were as in my boyhood, and could be 15 The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed Scarce seem'd a vision, — I vs^ould ne'er have striven As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. Oh! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud! 20 I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed! A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd One too like thee — tameless, and swift, and proud. Make me thy lyre, ev'n as the forest is: What if my leaves are falling like its own! 25 The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce. My spirit! be thou me, impetuous one! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe, 30 Like wither'd leaves, to quicken a new birth; And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as f^-om an unextinguish'd hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth 35 The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind? P. B. Shelley cccxxiii] Book Fourth 377 NATURE AND THE POET Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm, painted by Sir George Beaumont I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile! Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee: I saw thee every day; and all the while Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. 5 So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! So hke, so very like, was day to day! Whene'er I look'd, thy image still was there; It trembled, but it never pass'd away. How perfect was the calm! It seem'd no sleep, 10 No mood, which season takes away, or brings; I could have fancied that the mighty Deep Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. Ah! then — if mine had been the painter's hand To express what then I saw; and add the gleam 15 The hght that never was on sea or land, The consecration, and the Poet's dream, — I would have planted thee, thou hoary pile. Amid a world how different from this! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; 20 On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. Thou shouldst have seem'd a treasure-house divine Of peaceful years; a chronicle of heaven;^ Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine The very sweetest had to thee been given. 25 A picture had it been of lasting ease, Elysian quiet, without toil or strife; No motion but the moving tide; a breeze; Or merely silent Nature's breatliing life. 378 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxiii Such, in the fond iUusion of my heart, Such picture would I at that time have made; And seen the soul of truth in every part, A steadfast peace that might not be betray'd. 5 So once it would have been, — 'tis so no more; I have submitted to a new control: A power is gene, which nothing can restore; A deep distress hath humanized my soul. Not for a moment could I now behold 10 A smiHng sea, and be what I have been: The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old; This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the friend If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore, 15 This work of thine I blame not, but commend; This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. 'tis a passionate work! — yet wise and well, Well chosen is the spirit that is here; That hulk which labours in the deadly swell, 20 This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear! And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, 1 love to see the look with which it braves, — Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time — The lightning, the fierce AAind, and trampling waves, 25 — Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind! Such happiness, wherever it be known, Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, 30 And frequent sights of what is to be borne! Such sights, or worse, as are before me here: — - Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. W. Wordsworth cccxxv] Book Fourth 379 THE POET'S DREAM On a Poet's lips I slept Dreaming like a love-adept In the sound liis breathing kept; Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, 5 But feeds on the aerial kisses Of shapes that haunt Thought's wildernesses, He \^dll watch from dawn to gloom The lake-reflected sun illume The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, 10 Nor heed nor see what things they be — But from these create he can Forms more real than living Man, Nurslings of Immortality! P. B. Shelley cccxxv GLEN-ALMAIN, THE NARROW GLEN In this still place, remote from men, Sleeps Ossian, in the Narrow Glen; In tills still place, where murmurs on But one meek streamlet, only one: 5 He sang of battles, and the breath Of stormy war, and violent death; And should, methinks, when all was past, Have rightfully been laid at last Where rocks were rudely heap'd, and rent 10 As by a spirit turbulent; Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild. And everything unreconciled; In some complaining, dim retreat, For fear and melancholy meet; 15 But this is calm; there cannot be A more entire tranquillity. 380 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxv Does then the Bard sleep here indeed? Or is it but a groundless creed? What matters it? — I blame them not Whose fancy in this lonely spot 5 Was moved; and in such way express'd Their notion of its perfect rest. A convent, even a hermit's cell, Would break the silence of this Dell: It is not quiet, is not ease; 10 But something deeper far than these: The separation that is here Is of the grave; and of austere Yet happy feehngs of the dead: And, therefore, was it rightly said 15 That Ossian, last of all his race! Lies buried in this lonely place. W. Wordsworth CCCXXVI The World is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a. sordid boon! 5 This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon, The winds that will be howling at all hours And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers, For this, for every thing, we are out of tune; It moves us not. — Great God! I'd rather be 10 A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn, — So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. W. Wordsworth cccxxviii] Book Fourth 381 CCCXXVII WITHIN KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, With ill-match'd aims the Architect who plann'd (Albeit labouring for a scanty band Of white-robed Scholars only) tliis immense 5 And glorious work of fine intelligence! — Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore Of nicely-calculated less or more: — So deem'd the man who fashion'd for the sense These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof 10 Self-poised, and scoop'd into ten thousand cells Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering — and wandering on as loth to die; Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof That they were born for immortality. W. Wordsworth CCCXXVIII ODE ON A GRECIAN URN Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow- time, Sylvan historian, who canst thus express A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme 5 What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape Of deities or mortals, or of both, In Tempe or the dales of Arcady? What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? 10 What pipes and timbrels? What wdld ecstasy? Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone: 382 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxviii 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; 5 She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss. For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed Your leaves,, nor ever bid the Spring adieu; And, happy melodist, unwearied, 10 For ever piping songs for ever new; jNIore happy love! more happy, happy love! For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd. For ever panting, and for ever youpg; All breathing human passion far above, 15 That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, 20 And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore. Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of tliis folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore 25 Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede Of marble men and maidens overwrought, With forest branches and the trodden weed; 30 Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral! AVhen old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 35 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' — that is all Ye know on earth, and all ve need to know. J. Keats cccxxix] Book Fourth 383 YOUTH AND AGE Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee — Both were mine! Life went a-maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, 5 When I was young 1 When I was young? — Ah, woful when! Ah! for the change 'twixt Now and Then J This breatliing house not built with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, 10 O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands How hghtly then it flash'd along: Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide, That ask no aid of sail or oar, 15 That fear no spite of ^dnd or tide! Nought cared this body for wind or weather When youth and I Hved in't together. Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; Friendship is a sheltering tree; 20 O! the joys, that came down shower-like, Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, Ere I was old! Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere, Which tells me. Youth's no longer here! 25 O Youth! for years so many and sweet, 'Tis known that Thou and I were one, • I'll think it but a fond conceit — It cannot be, that Thou art gone! Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd: — 30 And thou wert aye a masker bold! What strange disguise hast now put on To make beheve that Thou art gone? I see these locks in silvery slips, This drooping gait, this alter'd size: 'i5 But Springtide blossoms on thy lips, And tears take sunshine from thine eyes I Life is but Thought: so think I will That Youth and I are house-mates stiU. 384 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxix Dew-drops are the gems of morning, But the tears of mournful eve! Where no hope is, Hfe's a warning That only serves to make us grieve 5 When we are old: — That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking-leave, Like some poor nigh-related guest That may not rudely be dismist, 10 Yet hath out-stay'd his welcome while, And tells the jest without the smile. S. T. Coleridge THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS We walk'd along, while bright and red Uprose the morning sun; And Matthew stopp'd, he look'd, and said ♦The will of God be done!' 5 A village schoolmaster was he, With hair of glittering gray; As blithe a man as you could see On a spring holiday. And on that morning, through the grass 10 And by the steaming rills We travell'd merrily, to pass A day among the hills. 'Our work,' said I, 'was well begun; Then, from thy breast what thought, 15 Beneath so beautiful a sun. So sad a sigh has brought?' A second time did Matthew stop; And fixing still his eye Upon the eastern mountain-top, 20 To me he made reply: cccxxx] Book Fourth 385 'Yon cloud with that long purple cleft Brings fresh into my mind A day like this, which I have left Full thirty years behind. 5 'And just above yon slope of corn Such colours, and no other, Were in the sky that April morn, Of this the very brother. *With rod and line I sued the sport 10 Which that sweet season gave. And to the church-yard come, stopp'd short Beside my daughter's grave. *Nine summers had she scarcely seen, The pride of all the vale; 15 And then she sang, — she would have been A very nightingale. 'Six feet in earth my Emma lay; And yet I loved her more — For so it scem'd, — than till that day 20 I e'er had loved before. 'And turning from her grave, I met, Beside the churchyard yew, A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet With points of morning dew. 25 'A basket on her head she bare; Her brow was smooth and white: To see a child so very fair, It was a pure dehght! 'No fountain from its rocky cave 30 E'er tripped with foot so free; She seem'd as happy as a wave That dances^ on the sea. 'There came from me a sigh of pain Which I could ill confine; 35 I look'd at her, and look'd again: And did not wish her mine!' 386 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxx — Matthew is in his grave, yet now Methinks I see him stand As at that moment, with a bough Of wilding in his hand W. Wordsworth cccxxxi THE FOUNTAIN A Conversation We talk'd with open heart, and tongue Affectionate and true, A pair of friends, though I was young, And Matthew seventy-two. 5 We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat; And from the turf a fountain broke And gurgled at our feet. 'Now, Matthew!' said I, 'let us match 10 This water's pleasant tune With some old border-song, or catch That suits a summer's noon; *0r of the church-clock and the chimes Sing here beneath the shade 15 That half-mad thing of ^^^tty rhymes Which you last April made!' In silence Matthew lay, and eyed The spring beneath tho tree; And thus the dear old man replied, 20 The gray-hair'd man of glee: 'No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears, How merrily it goes! 'Twnll murmur on a thousand years And flow as now it flows. 'jccxxxi] Book Fourth 387 'And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this fountain's brink. 5 'My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirr'd, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard. 'Thus fares it still in our decay: 10 And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away, Than what it leaves beliind. . 'The blackbird amid leafy trees, The lark above the hill, 15 Let loose their carols when they please, Are quiet when they will. 'With Nature never do they wage A foolish strife; they see A happy youth, and their old age 20 Is beautiful and free: 'But we are press'd by heavy laws; And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy, because We have been glad of yore. 25 'If there be one who need bemoan His kindred laid in earth. The household hearts that were his own, — ■ It is the man of mirth. 'My days, my friend, are almost gone, 30 My life has been approved. And many love me; but by none Am I enough beloved.' 'Now both liimself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains I 35 I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains: 388 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxxi 'And Matthew, for thy children dead I'll be a son to thee!' At this he grasp'd my hand and said, 'Alas! that cannot be.' 5 — ^We rose up from the fountain-side; And dowTi the smooth descent Of the green sheep-track did we glide; And through the wood we went; And ere we came to Leonard's rock 10 He sang those witty rhymes About the crazy old church-clock, And the bewilder'd chimes. W. Wordsworth CCCXXXII THE RIVER OF LIFE The more we live, more brief appear Our life's succeeding stages: A day to childhood seems a year, And years like passing ages. 5 The gladsome current of our youth, Ere passion yet disorders, Steals lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders. But as the care-worn cheek grows wan, 10 And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, Ye Stars, that measure life to man. Why seem your courses quicker? When joys have lost their bloom and breath And hfe itself is vapid, 15 Why, as we reach the Falls of Death Feel we its tide more rapid? It may be strange — yet who would change Time's course to slower speeding. When one by one our friends have gone 20 And left our bosoms bleeding? cccxxxiv] Book Fourth 389 Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fieetness; And those of youth, a seeming length, Proportion'd to their sweetness. T. Campbell CCCXXXIII THE HUMAN SEASONS Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: 5 He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings 10 He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness — to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature. J. Keats cccxxxiv A DIRGE Rough wind, that moanest loud Grief too sad for song; Wild wind, when sullen cloud Knells all the night long; Sad storm whose tears are vain. Bare woods whose branches stain, Deep caves and dreary main, — Wail for the world's wrong! P. B. Shelley 390 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxxv cccxxxv THRENOS O World! O Life! O Time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before: When vdW. return the glory of your prime? 5 No more — Oh, never more! Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight: Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight 10 No more — Oh, never more! P. B. Shelley CCCXXXVI THE TROSACHS There's not a nook mthin this solemn Pass, But were an apt confessional for One Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone. That Life is but a tale of morning grass 5 Wither'd at eve. From scenes of art which chase That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than gla Untouch'd, unbreathed upon: — Thrice happy quest, 10 If from a golden perch of aspen spray (October's workmanship to rival May), The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, Lulling the year, mth all its cares, to rest! W. Wordsworth cccxxxviii] Book Fourth 391 CCCXXXVII My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky : So was it when my hfe began, So is it now I am a man, 5 So be it when I shall grow old Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. TT'^. Wordsworth CCCXXXVIII ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight To me did seem Apparell'd in celestial light, 5 The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore; — Turn wheresoe'er I may, By night or day. The things which I have seen I now can see no more. 10 The rainbow comes and goes. And lovely is the rose; The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night 15 Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go. That there hath past away a glory from the earth. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song. 20 And while the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound, 392 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxxviii To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, And I again am strong. The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep; — 5 No more shall grief of mine the season wrong: I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, And all the earth is gay; Land and sea 10 Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday; — Thou child of joy Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy! 15 Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh -^ith you in your jubilee; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal, 20 The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all. Oh evil day! if I were sullen While Earth herself is adorning This sweet May-morning; And the children are culhng 25 On everj^ side In a thousand valleys far and wide. Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm And the babe leaps up on his mother's arm: — I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! ■30 — But there's a tree, of many, one, A single field which I have look'd upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: The pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: 35 Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where it is now, the glory and the dream? Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting 40 And Cometh from afar: cccxxxviii] Book Fourth 393 Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory we do come From God, who is our home: 5 Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy; 10 The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must trayel, still is Nature's priest, And by the \dsion splendid Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, 15 And fade into the light of common day. Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And, even with sometliing of a mother's mind And no unworthy aim, 20 The homely nurse doth all she can To make her foster-child, her inmate, Man, Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. Behold the Child among liis new-born blisses, 25 A six years' darling of a pigmy size! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses, With light upon him from his father's eyes! See, at his feet, some httle plan or chart, 30 Some fragment from his dream of human life. Shaped by himself witli newly-learned art; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, 35 And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife; But it will not be long Ere this be thrown aside, 40 And with new joy and pride 394 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxxviii The little actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his 'humorous stage' With all the Persons, dowTi to palsied Age, That life brings with her in her equipage; 5 As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thy soul's immensity; Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep 10 Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal Mind, — Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest 15 Which we are toiling all our lives to find, In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave; Thou, over whom thy Immortality Broods like the day, a master o'er a slave, A Presence which is not to be put by; 20 Thou little child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-bom freedom on thy being's height, Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at strife? 25 Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom lie upon thee with a weight Heavy as frost, and deep almost as Hfe! O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth live, 30 That Nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest, 35 Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest. With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast:^ — Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; 40 But for those obstinate questionings cccxxxviii] Book Fourth 395 Of sense and outward tilings, Fallings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized, 5 High instincts, before which our mortal nature Did tremble hke a guilty thing surprized: But for those first affections. Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, 10 Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, Are yet a master-light of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, 15 To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor man nor boy Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy! 20 Hence, in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither; Can in a moment travel thither — 25 And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. Then, sing ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound! 30 We, in thought, will join your throng Ye that pipe and ye that play. Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright 35 Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; 40 In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; 396 Palgrave's Golden Treasury [cccxxxviii In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. 5 And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Forbode not any severing of our loves! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquish'd one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway: 10 I love the brooks which do^ATi their channels fret Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they; The innocent brightness of a new-born day Is lovely yet; The clouds that gather round the setting sun 15 Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live. Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, 20 To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. W. Wordsworth cccxxxix Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory — Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead. Are heap'd for the beloved's bed; And so thy thoughts, when Thou art gone. Love itself shall slumber on, P. B. Shelley NOTES INDEX OF WRITERS AND INDEX OF FIRST LINES NOTES (1861—1891) Summary of Book First The Elizabethan Poetry, as it is rather vaguely termed, forms the substance of this Book, which contains pieces from Wyat under Henry VIII to Shakespeare midway through the reign of James I, and Drummond who carried on tlie early manner to a still later period. There is here a wide range of style; — from simplicity expressed in a language hardly yet broken-in to verse, — through the pastoral fancies and Italian conceits of the strictly Ehzabethan time, — to the passionate reality of Shake- speare: yet a general uniformity of tone prevails. Few readers can fail to observe the natural sweetness of the verse, the single- hearted straightforwardness of the thoughts: — nor less, the limi- tation of subject to the many phases of one passion, which then characterized our lyrical poetry, — unless when, as in especial with Shakespeare, the 'purple light of Love' is tempered by a spirit of sterner reflection. For the didactic verse of the century, although lyrical in form, yet very rarely rises to the pervading emotion, the golden cadence, proper to the lyric. It should be observed that this and the following Summaries apply in the main to the Collection here presented, in which (besides its restriction to Lyrical Poetry) a strictly representa- tive or historical Anthology has not been aimed at. Great excellence, in human art as in human character, has from the beginning of things been even more uniform than mediocrity, by virtue of the closeness of its approach to Nature: — and so far as the standard of Excellence kept in view has been attained in this volume, a comparative absence of extreme or temporary phases in style, a similarity of tone and manner, will be found throughout: — something neither modern nor ancient, but true and speaking to the heart of man alike throughout all ages. 399 400 Palgrave's Golden Treasury PAGE NO. 52 iii whist: hushed, quieted. — iv Rouse Memnon's mother: Awaken the Dawn from the dark Earth and the clouds where she is resting. This is one of that hmited class of early mythes which may be reasonablj' interpreted as representations of natural phenomena. " Aurora in the old mythology is mother of Memnon (the East), and wife of Tithonus (the appear- ances of Earth and Sky during the last hours of Night). She leaves him every morning in renewed youth, to prepare the way for Phoebus (the Sun), whilst Tithonus remains in perpetual old age and grayness. 53 — 1. 23 hy Peneus' stream: Phoebus loved the Nymph Daphne whom he met by the river Peneus in the vale of Tempe„ L. 27 AmphioiVs lyre: He was said to have built the walls of Thebes to the sound of his music. L. 35 Night like a drunkard reels: Compare Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene 3: 'The grey-eyed morn smiles,' &c. — It should be added that three lines, which appeared hopelessly misprinted, have been omitted in this Poem. 54 Ai Time's chest: in which he is figuratively supposed to lav up past treasures. So in Troilus, Act III, Scene 3,"^'Time hath a wallet at his back', &c. In the Arcadia, chest is used to signify tomb. 55 vii A fine example of the highwrought and conventional Elizabethan Pastoralism, which it would be unreason- able to criticise on the ground of the unshepherdlike or unreal character of some images suggested. Stanza 6 was perhaps inserted by Izaak Walton. 56 viii This beautiful lyric is one of several recovered from the very rare Elizabethan Song-books, for the publi- cation of which our thanks are due to Mr. A. H. BuUen (1887, 1888). 58 xii One stanza has been here omitted, in accordance with the principle noticed in the Preface. Similar omis- sions occur in a few other poems. The more serious abbreviation by which it has been attempted to bring Crashaw's 'Wishes' and Shelley's 'Euganean Hills,' with one or two more, within the scheme of this selec- tion, is commended with much diffidence to the judg- ment of readers acquainted with the original pieces. 59 xiii Sidney's poetry is singularly unequal; his short life, his frequent absorption in public employment, hin- dered doubtless the development of his genius. His great contemporary fame, second only, it appears, to Spenser's, has been hence obscured. At times he is heavy and even prosaic; his simplicity is rude and bare; his verse unmelodious. These, however, are the 'de- fects of his merits.' In a certain depth and chivalry of feeling, — in the rare and noble quality of disinter- estedness (to put it in one word), — he has no superior, hardly perhaps an equal, amongst our Poets: and after or beside Shakespeare's Sonnets, his Astrophel and Notes 401 PAGE NO. Stella, in the Editor's judgment, offers the most intense and powerful picture of the passion of love in the whole range of our poetry. — Hundreds of years: 'The very rapture of love,' says Mr. Ruskin; 'A lover like this does not believe his mistress can grow old or die.' 62 xix Readers who have visited Italy will be reminded of more than one picture by this gorgeous Vision of Beauty, equally sublime and pure in its Paradisaical natural- ness. Lodge wrote it on a voyage to 'the Islands of Terceras and the Canaries;' and he seems to have caught, in those southern seas, no small portion of the qualities which marked the almost contemporary Art of Venice, — the glory and the glow of Veronese, Titian, or Tin- toret. — From the same romance is No. 71: a charm- ing picture in the purest style of the later Itahan Renais- sance. The clear (1. 1) is the crystalline or outermost heaven of the old cosmography. For a fair there's fairer none: If you desire a Beauty, there is none more beautiful than Rosaline. 64 xxii Another gracious Ivric from an Elizabethan Song- book, first reprinted (it is believed) in Mr. W. J. Lin- ton's 'Rare Poems,' in 1883. 65 xxiii that fair thou owest: that beauty thou ownest. 66 xxv From one of the three Song-books of T. Campion, who appears to have been author of the words which he set to music. His merit as a lyrical poet (recognized in his own time, but since then forgotten) has been again brought to light by Mr. Bullen's taste and re- search: — swerving (st. 2) is his conjecture for chang- ing in the text of 1601. 70 xxxi the star Whose worth's unknown, although his height he taken: apparently, Whose stellar influence is uncal- culated, although his angular altitude from the plane of the astrolabe or artificial horizon used by astrologers has been determined. 70 xxxii This lovely song appears, as here given, in Putter - ham's 'Arte of English Poesie,' 1589. A longer and inferior form was published in the 'Arcadia' of 1590; but Puttenham's prefatory words clearly assign his version to Sidney's own authorship. 73 xxxvii keel: keep cooler by stirring round. 74 xxxix expense: loss. — xl prease: press. 75 xli Nativity, once in the main of light: when a star has risen and entered on the full stream of light; — another of the astrological phrases no longer familiar. Crooked eclipses: as coming athwart the Sun's apparent course. Wordsworth, thinking probably of the 'Venus' and the 'Lucrece,' said finely of Shakespeare: 'Shakespeare 402 Palgrave's Golden Treasury PAGE NO. could not have written an Epic; he would have died of plethora of thoug:ht.' This prodigrality of nature is exemplified equally in his Sonnets. The copious selec- tion here given (which from the wealth of the material, required greater consideration than any other portion of the Editor's task), — contains many that will not be fully felt and understood without some earnestness of thought on the reader's part. But he is not likely to regret the labour. 76 xlii iipon misprisioti growing: either, granted in error, or, on the growth of contempt. — xliii With the tone of this Sonnet compare Hamlet's 'Give me that man That is not passion's slave,' &c. Shakespeare's writings show the deepest sensitiveness to passion:— hence the attraction he felt in the con- trasting effects of apathy. 76 xliv grame: sorrow. Renaissance influences long impeded the return of English poets to the charming realism of this and a few other poems by Wyat. 78 xlv Pandion in the ancient fable was father to Philomela. 79 xlvii In the old legend it is now Philomela, now Procne (the swallow) who suffers violence from Tereus. This song has a fascination in its calm intensity of passion; that 'sad earnestness and vivid exactness' which Car- dinal Newman ascribes to the master-pieces of ancient poetry. 81 1 proved: approved. — li censures: judges. — lii Exquisite in its equably-balanced metrical flow. 82 liii Judging by its style, this beautiful example of old simplicity and feeling may, perhaps, be referred to the earlier years of Elizabeth. Late forgot: lately. 85 Ivii Printed in a little Anthology by Nicholas Breton, 1597. It is, however, a stronger and finer piece of work than any known to be his. — St. 1 silly: simple; dole: grief; chief: chiefly. St. 3 // there be.. . . : ob- scure: Perhaps, if there be any who speak harshly of thee, thy pain may plead for pity from Fate. This poem, with 60 and 143, are each graceful varia- tions of a long popular theme. 86 Iviii That busy archer: Cupid. Descries: used actively; points out. — 'The last line of this poem is a little ob- scured by transposition. He means. Do they call un- gratefulness there a virtue?' (C. Lamb). 87 lix White lope: suggested, Mr. Bullen notes, by a passage in Propertius (iii, 20) describing Spirits in the lower world : Vobiscum est lope, vobiscum Candida Tyro. 88 Ixii cypres or Cyprus, — used by the old writers for crape: whether from the French crespe or from the Island whence it was imported. Its accidental similarity in Notes 403 PAGE NO. spelling to cypress has, here and in Milton's Penseroso, probably confused readers. 89 Ixiii ramage: confused noise. 91 Ixvi 'I never saw anything like this funeral dirge,' says Charles Lamb, 'except the ditty which reminds Fer- dinand of his drowned father in the Tempest. As that is of the water, watery; so this is of the earth, earthy. Both have that intenseness of feeling, which seems to resolve itself into the element which it contemplates.' 93 Ixx Paraphrased from an Italian madrigal Non so conoscer poi Se voi le rose, o sian le rose in voi. 94 Ixxii crystal: fairness. 95 Ixxiii stare: starling. — Ixxiv This 'Spousal Verse' was written in honour of the Ladies Elizabeth and Katherine Somerset. Nowhere has Spenser more emphatically displayed himself as the very poet of Beauty: The Renaissance impulse in England is here seen at its highest and purest. The genius of Spenser, like Chaucer's, does itself justice only in poems of some length. Hence it is impossible to represent it in this volume by other pieces of equal merit, but of impracticable dimensions. And the same applies to such poems as the Lover's Lament or the Ancient Mariner. 96 — entrailed: twisted. Feateously: elegantly. 98 — shcnd: shame. 99 — a noble peer: Robert Devereux, second Lord Essex, then at the height of his brief triumph after taking Cadiz: hence the allusion foUowing to the Pillars of Hercules, placed near Gades by ancient legend. — — Elisa: Elizabeth. 100 — ivoins of Jove: the stars Castor and Pollux: baldric, belt; the zodiac. 102 Ixxix This lyric may with very high probability be as- signed to Campion, in whose first Book of Airs it ap- peared (1601). The evidence sometimes quoted ascrib- ing it to Lord Bacon appears to be valueless. Summary of Book Second. This division, embracing generally the latter eighty years of the Seventeenth century, contains the close of our Early poetical style and the commencement of the Modern. In Dryden we see the first master of the new: in Milton, whose genius dominates here as Shakespeare's in the former book, — the crown and con- summation of the early period. Their splendid Odes are far in advance of any prior attempts, Spenser's excepted: they 404 Palgrave's Golden Treasury exhibit that wider and grander range which years and experience and the struggles of the time conferred on Poetry. Our Muses now give expression to poUtical feeling, to religious thought, to a high philosophic statesmanship in writers such as Marvell, Herbert, and Wotton: whilst in Marvell and Milton, again, we find noble attempts, hitherto rare in our literature, at pure description of nature, destined in our own age to be continued and equalled. Meanwhile the poetry of simple passion, although before 1660 often deformed by verbal fancies and conceits of thought, and afterwards by levity and an artificial tone, — pro- duced in Herrick and Waller some charming pieces of more fin- ished art than the Elizabethan: until in the courtly compliments of Sedley it seems to exhaust itself, and lie almost dormant for the hundred years between the days of Wither and Suckling and the days of Burns and Cowper. — That the change from our early style to the modern brought with it at first a loss of nature and simplicity is undeniable: yet the bolder and wider scope which Poetry took between 1620 and 1700, and the successful efforts then made to gain greater clearness in expression, in their results have been no slight compensation. PAGE NO. 108 Ixxxv 1. 8 whist: hushed. — 1. 32 than: obsolete for theii: Pan: used here for the Lord of all. 109 — 1. 38 consort: Milton's spelling of this word, here and elsewhere, has been followed, as it is uncertain whether he used it in the sense of accompanying, or simply for concert. 111 — 1. 21 Lars and Lemures: household gods and spirits of relations dead. Flamens (1. 24) Roman priests. Thai twice-batter'd god (1. 29) Dagon. 112 — 1. 6 Osiris, the Egyptian god of Agriculture (here, perhaps by confusion with Apis, figured as a Bull), was torn to pieces by Typho and embalmed after death in a sacred chest. This mythe, reproduced in Syria and Greece in the legends of Thammuz, Adonis, and perhaps Absyrtus, may have originally signified the annual death of the Sun or the Year under the influ- ences of the winter darkness. Horus, the son of Osiris, as the New Year, in his turn overcomes Typho. L. 8 unshower'd grass: as watered by the Nile only. L. 33 youngest-teemed: last-born. Bright-harnessed (1. 37) armoured. 114 Ixxxvii The Late Massacre: the Vaudois persecution, carried on in 1655 by the Duke of Savoy. No more mighty Sonnet than this 'collect in verse,' as it has been justly named, probably can be found in any lan- guage. Readers should observe that it is constructed on the original Italian or Provengal model. This form, in a language such as ours, not affluent in rhyme, pre- sents great difficulties; the rhymes are apt to be forced, or the substance commonplace. But, when success- Notes 405 PAGE NO. fully handled, it has a unity and a beauty of effect which place the strict Sonnet above the less compact and less lyrical systems adopted by Shakespeare, Sid- ney, Spenser, and other Elizabethan poets. 115 Ixxxviii Cromwell returned from Ireland in 1650, and Marvell probably wrote his lines soon after, whilst liv- ing at Nunappleton in the Fairfax household. It is hence not surprising that (st. 21 — 24) he should have been deceived by Cromwell's professed submissiveness to the Parliament which, when it declined to register his decrees, he expelled by armed violence: — one despot- ism, by natural law, replacing another. The poet's insight has, however, truly prophesied that result in his last two lines. This Ode, beyond doubt one of the finest in our lan- guage, and more in Milton's style than has been reached by any other poet, is occasionally obscure from imita- tion of the condensed Latin syntax. The meaning of St. 5 is 'rivalry or hostihty are the same to a lofty spirit, and hmitation more hateful than opposition.' The allusion in st. 11 is to the old physical doctrines of the non-existence of a vacuum and the impenetra- bility of matter: — in st. 17 to the omen traditionally connected with the foundation of the Capitol at Rome: — forced, fated. The ancient belief that certain years in life complete natural periods and are hence peculiarly exposed to death, is introduced in st. 26 by the word climadey'ic. 118 Ixxxix Lycidas: The person here lamented is Milton's col- lege contemporary, Edward King, drowned in 1637 whilst crossing from Chester to Ireland, Strict Pastoral Poetry was first written or perfected by the Dorian Greeks settled in Sicily: but the con- ventional use of it, exhibited more magnificently in Lycidas than in any other pastoral, is apparently of Roman origin. Milton, employing the noble freedom of a great artist, has here united ancient mythology, with what may be called the modern mythology of Camus and Saint Peter, — to direct Christian images. Yet the poem, if it gains in historical interest, suffers in poetry by the harsh intrusion of the writer's narrow and violent theological politics. — The metrical structure of this glorious elegy is partly derived from Italian models. 119 — 1. 11 Sisters of the sacred well: the Muses, said to fre- quent the Pierian Spring at the foot of Mount Olyr pus, 120 — 1. 10 Mona: Anglesea, called by the Welsh poets, the Dark Island, from its dense forests. Deva (1. 11) the Dee: a river which may have derived its magical char- acter from Celtic traditions: it was long the boundary of Briton and English. — These places are introduced, as being near the scene of the shipwreck. Orpheus (1. 14) was torn to pieces by Thracian women, Amaryllis 406 Palgrave's Golden Treasury PAGE NO. and Neaera (1. 24, 25) names used here for the love- idols of poets: as Damoetas previously for a shepherd. L. 31 the blind Fury: Atropos, fabled to cut the thread of life. 121 Ixxxix Arethuse (1. 1) and Mincitis: Sicilian and Italian waters here alluded to as representing the pastoral poetry of Theocritus and Vergil. L. 4 oat: pipe, used here like Collins' oaten stop L 1, No. 186, for Song. L. 12 Hippotades: Aeolus, god of the Winds. Panope (1. 15) a Nereid. Certain names of local deities in the Hellenic mythology render some feature in the natural landscape, which the Greeks studied and analysed with their usual unequalled insight and feeling. Panope seems to express the boundlessness of the ocean-horizon when seen from a height, as compared with the limited sky-line of the land in hilly countries such as Greece or Asia Minor. Camus (1. 19) the Cam: put for King's University. The sanguine flower (1. 22) the Hyacinth of the ancients: probably our Iris. The Pilot (1. 25) Saint Peter, figuratively introduced as the head of the Church on earth, to foretell 'the ruin of our corrupted clergy,' as Milton regarded them, 'then in their heighth' under Laud's primacy. 122 — 1. 1 scrannel: screeching; apparently Milton's coinage (Masson). L. 5 the wolf: the Puritans of the time were excited to alarm and persecution by a few conversions to Roman Catholicism which had recently occurred. Alpheus (1. 9) a stream in Southern Greece, supposed to flow underseas to join the Arethuse. Swart star (1. 15) the Dog-star, called swarthy because its heliacal rising in ancient times occurred soon after midsummer: 1. 19 rathe: early. L. 36 moist vows: either tearful prayers, or prayers for one at sea. Bellcrus (1. 37) a giant, apparently created here by Milton to personify Belerium, the ancient title of the Land's End. The great Vision: — the story was that the Archangel Michael had appeared on the rock by Marazion in Mount's Bay which bears his name. Milton calls on him to turn his eyes from the south homeward, and to pity Lycidas, if his body has drifted into the troubled waters off the Land's End. Finisterre being the land due south of Marazion. two places in that district (then through our trade with Corunna probably less unfamiliar to Eng- lish ears), are named, — Nnmancos now Mujio in Galicia, Bayonn north of the Minho, or perhaps a fortified rock (one of the Cies Islands) not unlike Saint Michael's Mount, at the entrance of Vigo Bay. 123 Ixxxix 1. 6 ore: rays of golden light. Doric lay (1. 25) Sicilian, pastoral. 125 xciii The assault was an attack on London expected in 1642, when the troops of Charles I reached Brentford. 'Written on his door' was in the original title of this sonnet. Milton was then living in Aldersgate Street. Notes 407 PAGE NO. 125 xciii The Emathian Conqueror: When Thebes was destroyed (B.C. 335) and the citizens massacred by thousands, Alexander ordered the house of Pindar to be spared. 126 — 1. 2, the repeated air Of sad Electra's poet: Plutarch has a tale that when the Spartan confederacy in 404 B.C. took Athens, a proposal to demolish it was rejected through the effect produced on the commanders by hearing part of a chorus from the Electra of Euripides sung at a feast. There is however no apparent con- gruity between the lines quoted (167, 168 Ed. Dindorf) and the result ascribed to them. ^- xcv A fine example of a peculiar class of Poetry; — that written by thoughtful men who practised this Art but little. Jeremy Taylor, Bishop Berkeley, Dr. Johnson, Lord Macaulay, have left similar specimens. 128 xcviii These beautiful verses should be compared with Wordsworth's great Ode on Immortality: and a copy of Vaughan's very rare little volume appears in the list of Wordsworth's library. — In imaginative intensity, Vaughan stands beside his contemporary Marvell. 129 xcix Favonius: the spring wind. 130 c Themis: the goddess of justice. Skinner was grand- son by his mother to Sir E. Coke: — hence, as pointed out by Mr. Keightley, Milton's allusion to the bench. L. 8: Sweden was then at war with Poland, and France with the Spanish Netherlands. 132 ciii 1. 28 Sidneian showers: either in allusion to the con- versations in the 'Arcadia,' or to Sidney himself as a model of 'gentleness' in spirit and demeanour, 135 cv Delicate humour, delightfully united to thought, at once simple and subtle. It is full of conceit and para- dox, but these are imaginative, not as with most of our Seventeenth Century poets, intellectual only. 138 ex Elizabeth of Bohemia: Daughter to James I, and an- cestor of Sophia of Hanover. These lines are a fine specimen of gallant and courtly compliment. 139 cxi Lady M. Ley was daughter to Sir J. Ley, afterwards Earl of Marlborough, who died March, 1629, coinci- dently with the dissolution of the third Parliament of Charles' reign. Hence Milton poeticaUy compares his death to that of the Orator Isocrates of Athens, after Phihp's victory in 328 B.C. 143 cxviii A masterpiece of humour, grace, and gentle feeling, all, with Herrick's unfailing art, kept precisely within the peculiar key which he chose, — or Nature for him, — in his Pastorals. L. 2 the god unshorn: Imberbis Apollo. St. 2 beads: prayers. 146 cxxiii With better taste, and less diffuseness, Quarles might (one would think) have retained more of that 408 Palgrave's Golden Treasury PAGE NO. high place which he held in popular estimate among his contemporaries, 149 cxxvii From Prison: to which his active support of Charles I twice brought the high-spirited writer. L. 7 Gods: thus in the original; Lovelace, in his fanciful way, mak- ing here a mythological allusion. Birds, commonly substituted, is without authority. St. 3, I. 1 com- mitted: to prison. 150 exxviii St. 2 1. 4 blue-god: Neptune. 154 cxxxiii Waly waly: an exclamation of sorrow, the root and the pronunciation of which are preserved in the word caterwaul. Brae, hillside: burn, brook: busk, adorn. Saint Anton's Well: below Arthur's, Seat by Edinburgh. Cramasie, crimson. 155 cxxxiv This beautiful example of early simplicity is found in a Song-book of 1620. 156 cxxxv burd, maiden. 157 cxxxvi corbies, crows: fail, turf: hause, neck: tJieek, thatch. — If not in their origin, in their present form this, with the preceding poem and 133, appear due to the Seven- teenth Century, and have therefore been placed in Book II. 158 cxxxvii The poetical and the prosaic, after Cowley's fashion, blend curiously in this deeply-felt elegy. 162 cxli Perhaps no poem in this collection is more delicately fancied, more exquisitely finished. By placing his description of the Fawn ih a young girl's mouth, Mar- veil has, as it were, legitimated that abundance of 'imaginative hyperbole' to which he is always partial: he makes us feel it natural that a maiden's favourite should be whiter than milk, sweeter than sugar — 'lilies without, roses within.' The poet's imagination is justi- fied in its seeming extravagance by the intensity and unity with which it invests his picture. 163 cxlii The remark quoted in the note to No. 65 applies equally to these truly wonderful verses. Marvell here throws himself into the very soul of the Garden with the imaginative intensity of Shelley in his West Wind. — This poem appears also as a translation in Marvell's works. The most striking verses in it, here quoted as the book is rare, answer more or less to stanzas 2 and 6: — Alma Quies, teneo te! et te, germana~Quietis, Simplicitas! vos ergo diu per templa, per urbes Quaesivi, regum perque alta palatia, frustra: Sed vos hortorum per opaca silentia, longe Celarunt plantae virides, et concolor umbra. Notes 409 PAGE NO. 165 cxliii St. 3 tutties: nosegays. St. 4 sillij: simple. L'Allegro and II Penseroso. It is a striking proof of Milton's astonishing power, that these, the earliest great Lyrics of the Landscape in our language, should still remain supreme in their style for range, variety, and melodious beauty. The Bright and the Thoughtful aspects of Nature and of Life are their subjects: but each is preceded by a mythological introduction in a mixed Classical and Italian manner. — With that of L'Allegro may be compared a similar my the in the first Section of the first Book of S. Marmion's graceful Cupid and Psyche, 1637. 166 cxliv The mountain-nymph; compare Wordsworth's Son- net, No. 254. L. 38 is in apposition to the preceding, by a syntactical license not uncommon with Milton. 168 — 1. 14 Cynosure; the Pole Star. Corydon, Thyrsis, &c.: Shepherd names from the old Idylls. Rebeck (1. 28) an elementary form of violin. 169 — 1. 24 Sanson's learned sock: His comedies are deeply coloured by classical study. L. 28 Lydian airs: used here to express a light and festive style of ancient music. The 'Lydian Mode,' one of the seven original Greek Scales, is nearly identical with our 'Major.' 170 cxlv 1. 3 bestead: avail. L. 19 starr'd Ethiop queen: Cassi- opeia, the legendary Queen of Ethiopia, and thence translated amongst the constellations. 171 — Cynthia, the Moon: Milton seems here to have trans- ferred to her chariot the dragons anciently assigned to Demeter and to Medea. 172 — Hermes, called Trismegistus, a mystical writer of the Neo-Platonist school. L, 27 Thebes, &c.: subjects of Athenian Tragedy. Buskin'd (1. 30) tragic, in opposi- tion to sock above. L. 32 Musaeus: a poet in Mythol- ogy. L. 37 him that left half-told: Chaucer in his in- complete 'Squire's Tale.' 173 — great bards: Ariosto, Tasso, and Spenser, are here pre- sumably intended. L. 9 frounced: curled. The Attic Boy (1. 10) Cephalus. 174 cxlvi Emigrants supposed t(. be driven towards America by the government of Chavles I. 175 — 1. 9, 10. But apples, &c. A fine example of Marvell's imaginative hyperbole. • — cxlvii 1. 6 concent: harmony. 178 cxlix A lyric of a strange, fanciful, yet solemn beauty: — Cowley's style intensified by the mysticism of Henry More. — St. 2 monumeyit: the World. 179 cli Entitled 'A Song in Honour of St. Cecilia's Day: 1697.' 410 Palgrave's Golden Treasury Sum7nary of Book Third It is more difficult to characterize the English Poetry of the Eighteenth century than that of any other. For it was an age not only of spontaneous transition, but of bold experiment: it includes not only such absolute contrasts as distinguish the •Rape of the Lock' from the 'Parish Register,' but such vast contemporaneous differences as lie between Pope and Collins, Burns and Cowper. Yet we may clearly trace three leading moods or tendencies: — the aspects of courtly or educated life represented by Pope and carried to exhaustion by his followers; the poetry of Nature and of Man, viewed through a cultivated, and at the same time an impassioned frame of mind by Collins and Gray: — lastly, the study of vivid and simple narrative, in- cluding natural description, begun by Gay and Thomson, pur- sued by Burns and others in the north, and established in England by Goldsmith, Percy, Crabbe, and Cowper. Great varieties in style accompanied these diversities in aim: poets could not always distinguish the manner suitable for subjects so far apart: and the union of conventional and of common language, exhibited most conspicuously by Burns, has given a tone to the poetry of that century which is better explained by reference to its historical origin than by naming it artificial. There is. again, a nobleness of thought, a courageous aim at high and, in a strict sense manly, excellence in many of the writers: — nor can that period be justly termed tame and wanting in originality, which produced poem^s such as Pope's vSatires, Gray's Odes and Elegy, the ballads of Gay and Carey, the songs of Burns and Cowper. In truth Poetry a"t this, at as all times, was a more or less un- conscious mirror of the genius of the age: and the many complex causes which made the Eighteenth century the turning-time in modern European civilization are also more or less reflected in its verse. An intelligent reader will find the influence of Newton as markedly in the poems of Pope, as of Elizabeth in the plays of Shakespeare. On this great subject, however, these indications must here be sufficient. PAGE NO. 184 cliii We have no poet more marked by rapture, by the ecstasy which Plato held the note of genuine inspira- tion, than ColUns. Yet but twice or thrice do his Ivrics reach that simplicity, that sinceram sermonis Attici gratiam to which this ode testifies his enthu- siastic devotion. His style, as his friend Dr. Johnson trulv remarks, was obscure; his diction often harsh and' unskilfully laboured; he struggles nobly against the narrow, artificial manner of his age, but his too scanty years did not allow him to reach perfect mastery. St. 3' Hvbla: near Syracuse. Her lohose . . . icoe: the niehtineale, 'for which Sophocles seems to have enter- tained a peculiar fondness'; Collins here refers to the famous chorus in the Oedipus at Colomts. St. 4 Cephisus: the stream encircling Athens on the north and west, passing Colonus. St. 6 stay'd to sing: stayed her song Notes 411 PAGE NO. when Imperial tyranny was established at Rome. St. 7 refers to the Italian amourist poetry of the Renais- sance: In Collins' day, Dante was almost unknowri in England. St. 8 meeting soul: which moves sympatheti- cally towards Simplicity as she comes to inspire the poet. St. 9 Of these: Taste and Genius. The Bard. In 1757, when this splendid ode was com- pleted, so very little had been printed, whether in Wales or in. England, in regard to Welsh poetry, that it is hard to discover whence Gray drew his (Jymric allusions. The fabled massacre of tne Bards (shown to be whoUy groundless in Stephens' Literature of the Kymry) appears first in the family history of Sir John Wynn of Gwydir (cir. 1600), not pubhshed till 1773; but the story seems to have passed in MS. to Carte's History, whence it may have been taken by Gray. The references to high-horn Hoel and so]t Llewellyn; to Cadwallo and Urien; may, similarly, have been derived from the 'Specimens' of early Welsh poetry, by the Rev. E. Evans: — as, although not published till 1764, the MS., we learn from a letter to Dr. Wharton, was in Gray's hands by July 1760, and may have reached him by 1757. It is, however, doubtful whether Gray (of whose acquaintance with Welsh we have no evidence) must not have been also aided by some Welsh scholar. He is one of the poets least likely to. scatter epithets at random: 'soft' or gentle is the epithet emphatically and specially given to Llewelyn in contemporary Welsh poetry, and is hence here used with particular propriety. Yet, without such assistance as we have suggested, Gray could iiardly have selected the epithet, although applied to the King (p. 141-3) among a crowd of others, in Llygad Gwr's Ode, printed by Evans. — After lament- ing his comrades (st. 2, 3) the Bard prophesies the fate of Edward II, and the conquests of Edward III (4): his death and that of the Black Prince (5): of Richard II, with the wars of York and Lancaster, the murder of Henry VI {the meek usurper), and of Edward V and his brother (6). He turns to the glory and prosperity fol- lowing the accession of the Tudors (7), through Eliza- beth's reign (8): and concludes with a vision of the poetry of Shakespeare and Milton. 190 clix 1. 13 Glo'ster: Gilbert de Clare, son-in-law to Edward. Mortimer, one of the Lords Marchers of Wales. 191 clix High-born Hoel, soft Llewellyn (1. 15); the Dissertatio de Bardis of Evans names the first as son to the King Owain Gwynedd: Llewelyn, last King of North Wales, was murdered 1282. L. 16 Cadwallo: Cadwallon (died 631) and Urien Rheged (early kings of Gwynedd and Cumbria respectively) are mentioned by Evans (p. 78) as bards none of whose poetry is extant. L. 20 Modred: Evans supplies no data for "this name, which Gray (it has been supposed) uses for Merlin (Myrddin Wyllt), 412 Palgrave's Golden Treasury PAGE NO. held prophet as well as poet, — The Italicized lines mark where the Bard's song is joined by that of his prede- cessors departed. L. 22 Arvon: the shores of Carnar- vonshire opposite Anglesey. Whether intentionaUy or through ignorance of the real dates, Gray here seems to represent the Bard as speaking of these poets, all of earlier days, Llewelyn excepted, as his own contem- poraries at the close of the thirteenth century. Gray, whose penetrating and powerful genius rendered him in many ways an initiator in advance of his age, is probably the first of our poets who made some acquaint- ance with the rich and admirable poetry in which Wales from the Sixth Century has been fertile, — before and since his time so barbarously neglected, not in England only. Hence it has been thought worth while here to enter into a little detail upon his Cymric allusions., 192 — 1. 5 She-wolf: Isabel of France, adulterous Queen of Edward II.— L. 35 Towers of Julius: the Tower of Lon- don, built in part, according to tradition, by Julius Caesar. 193 — 1. 2 bristled boar: the badge of Richard III. L. 8 Half of thy heart: Queen Eleanor died soon after the con- quest of Wales. L. 18 Arthur: Henry VII named his eldest son thus, in deference to native feeling and story. 194 clxi The Highlanders called the battle of Culloden, Dru- mossie. 195 clxii lilting, singing blithely: loaning, broad lane: bughts, pens: scorning, rallying: dowie, dreary: daffin' and gab- bin', joking and chatting: leglin, milkpail: shearing, reaping: bandsters, sheaf-binders: lyart, grizzled: runkled, wrinkled: fteeching, coaxing: gloaming, twilight: bogle, ghost: dool, sorrow. 197 clxiv The Editor has found no authoritative text of this poem, to his mind superior to any other of its class in melody and pathos. Part is probably not later than the seventeenth century: in other stanzas a more mod- ern hand, much resembling Scott's, is traceable. Logan's {)oem (163) exhibits a knowledge rather of the old egend than of the old verses. — Hecht, promised; the obsolete hight: mavis, thrush: ilka, every: lav'rock, lark: haughs, valley-meadows: twined, parted from: marrow, mate: syne, then. 198 clxv The Royal George, of 108 guns, whilst undergoing a partial careening at Spithead, was overset about 10 A.M. Aug. 29, 1782. The total loss was believed to be nearly 1000 souls. — This little poem might be called one of our trial-pieces, in regard to taste. The reader who feels the vigour of description and the force of pathos underlying Cowper's bare and truly Greek sim- plicity of phrase, may assure himself se valde profecisse in poetry. Notes 413 PAGE NO. 201 clxvii A little masterpiece in a very difficult style: Catullus himself could hardly have bettered it. In grace, ten- derness, simplicity, and humour, it is worthy of the Ancients: and even more so, from the completeness and unity of the picture presented. 205 clxxii Perhaps no writer who has given such strong proofs of the poetic nature has left less satisfactory poetry than Thomson. Yet this song, with 'Rule Britannia' and a few others, must make us regret that he did not more seriously apply himself to lyrical writing. 206 clxxiv With what insight and tenderness, yet in how few words, has this painter-poet here himself told Love's Secret! 207 clxxvii 1. 1 Aeolian lyre: the Greeks ascribed the origin of their Lyrical Poetry to the Colonies of Aeolis in Asia Minor. 208 — Thracia's hills (1. 9) supposed a favourite resort of Mars. Feather'd king (1. 13) the Eagle of Jupiter, ad- mirably described by Pindar in a passage here imitated by Gray. Malta (1. 19) in Cyprus, where Cytherea (Venus) was especially worshipped. 209 — 1. 6 Hyperion: the Sun. St. 6—8 allude to the Poets of the Islands and Mainland of Greece, to those of Rome and of England. 210 — 1. 27 Theban Eagle: Pindar. 213 clxxviii 1. 5 chaste-eyed Queen: Diana. 214 clxxix From that wild rhapsody of mingled grandeur, ten- derness, and obscurity, that 'medley between inspira- tion and possession,' which poor Smart is believed to have written whilst in confinement for madness. 215 clxxxi the dreadful light: of life and experience. 216 clxxxii Attic warbler: the nightingale. 218 clxxxiv sleekit, sleek: bickering brattle, flittering flight: laith, loth: pattle, ploughstaff: whyles, at times: a daim- enicker, a corn-ear now and then: thrave, shock: lave, rest: foggage, after-grass: S7}ell, biting: but hald, with- out dwelling-place: thole, bear: cranreuch, hoar-frost: thy lane, alone: a-gley, oit the right line, awry. 225 clxxxviii stoure, dust-storm; braw, smart. 226 clxxxix scaith, hurt: tent, guard: steer, molest. 227 cxci drumlie, muddy: birk, birch. 228 cxcii greet, cry: daurna, dare not. — There can hardly exist a poem more truly tragic in the highest sense than this: nor, perhaps, Sappho excepted, has any Poetess equalled it. 414 Palgrave's Golden Treasury PAGE NO. 230 cxciii fou, merry with drink: coost, carried: vnco skeigh, very proud: gart, forced: abeigh, aside: Ailsa iraig, a rock in the Firth of Clyde: grat his een hleert, cried till his eves were bleared: lowpin, leaping: linn, waterfall: sair, sore: smoor'd, smothered: arouse and canty, blithe and gay. 231 cxciv Burns justly named this 'one of the most beautiful songs in the Scots or any other language.' One stanza, interpolated by Beattie, is here omitted: — it contains two good lines, but is out of harmony with the original poem. Bigonet, little cap: probably altered from be- guinette: thraw, twist: caller, fresh. 232 cxcv Burns himself, despite two attempts, failed to im- prove this little absolute masterpiece of music, ten- derness, and simplicity: this 'Romance of a life' in eight lines. — Eerie: strictly, scared: uneasy. 233 cxc\i airts, quarters: roiv, roll: shaw, small wood in a hollow, spinney: knowes, knolls. The last two stanzas are not by Burns. 234 cxcvii jo, sweetheart: brent, smooth: pow, head. cxcviii leal, faithful. St. 3 fain, happy. 235 cxcix Henry VI founded Eton. 238 CO Written in 1773, towards the beginning of Cowper's second attack of melancholy madness — a time when he altogether gave up prayer, saying, 'For him to implore mercy would only anger God the more.' Yet had he given it up when sane, it would have been 'njaior in- sania.' 241 cciii The Editor would venture to class in the very first rank this Sonnet, which, with 204, records Cowper's gratitude to the Lady whose affectionate care for many years gave what sweetness he could enjoy to a life radically wretched. Petrarch's sonnets have a more ethereal grace and a more perfect finish: Shakespeare's more passion; Milton's stand supreme in stateliness; Wordsworth's in depth and delicacy. But Cowper's unites with an exquisiteness in the turn of thought which the ancients would have called Irony, an intensity of pathetic tenderness peculiar to his lo^^ng and ingen- uous nature. — There is much mannerism, much that is unimportant or of now exhausted interest in his poems: but where he is great, it is with that elementary great- ness which rests on the most imiversal human feehngs, Cowper is our highest master in simple pathos. 243 cev Cowper's last oridnal poem, founded upon a story told in Anson's 'Voyages.' It was written March 1799; he died in next year's April. 245 cevi Very little except his name appears recoverable with regard to the author of this truly noble poem, which Notes 415 PAGE NO. appeared in the ' Scripscrapologia, or Collins' Doggerel Dish of All Sorts,' with three or four other pieces of merit, Birmingham, 1804. — Everlasting: used with side-allusion to a cloth so named, at the time when Collins wrote. Summary of Book Fourth It proves sufficiently the lavish wealth of our own age in Poetry that the pieces which, without conscious departure from the standard of Excellence, render this Book by far the longest, were with very few exceptions composed during the first thirty years of the Nineteenth century. Exhaustive reasons can hardly be given for the strangely sudden appearance of indi- vidual genius: that, however, which assigns the splendid national achievements of our recent poetry to an impulse from the France of the first Republic and Empire is inadequate. The first French Revolution was rather one result, — the most conspicuous, in- deed, yet itself in great measure essentially retrogressive, — of that wider and more potent spirit which through enquiry and attempt, through strength and weakness, sweeps mankind round the circles (not, as some too confidently argue, of Advance, but) of gradual Transformation: and it is to this that we must trace the literature of Modern Europe, But, without attempting dis- cussion on the motive causes of Scott, Wordsworth, Shelley, and others, we may observe that these Poets carried to further per- fection the later tendencies of the Century preceding, in sim- plicity of narrative, reverence for human Passion and Character in every sphere, and love of Nature for herself: — that, whilst maintaining on the whole the advances in art made since the Restoration, they renewed the half-forgotten melody and depth of tone which marked the best Elizabethan writers: — that, lastly, to what was thus inherited they added a richness in language and a variety in metre, a force and fire in narrative, a tender- ness and bloom in feeling, an insight into the finer passages of the Soul and the inner meanings of the landscape, a larger sense of Humanity, — hitherto scarcely attained, and perhaps unat- tainable even by predecessors of not inferior individual genius. In a word, the Nation which, after the Greeks in their glory, may fairly claim that during six centuries it has proved itself the most richly gifted of all nations for Poetry, expressed in these men the highest strength and prodigality of its nature. They interpreted the age to itself — hence the many phases of thought and style they present: — to sympathize with each, fervently and impartially, without fear and without fancifulness, is no doubt- ful step in the higher education of the soul. For purity in taste is absolutely proportionate to strength — and when once the mind has raised itself to grasp and to delight in excellence, those who love most will be found to love most wisely. But the gallery which this Book offers to the reader will aid him more than any preface. It is a royal Palace of Poetry which he is invited to enter: 416 Palgrave's Golden Treasury Adparet domus intus. et atria longa patescunt — though it is, indeed, to the sympathetic eye only that .its treas- ures will be visible. 247 ccviii This beautiful lyric, printed in 1783, seems to anticipate in its imaginative music that return to our great early age of song, which in Blake's own lifetime was to prove. — how gloriously! that the English Muses had resumed their 'ancient melody': — Keats, Shelley, Byron, — he overlived them all. 249 OCX stout Corfez: History would here suggest Balboa: (A.T.) It may be noticed, that to find in Chapman's Homer the 'pure serene' of the original, the reader must bring with him the imagination of the youthful poet;— he must be 'a Greek himself,' as Shelley finely said of Keats. 252 ccxii The most tender and true of Byron's smaller poems. 253 ccxiii This poem exemplifies the peculiar skill with which Scott employs proper names: — a rarely misleading sign of true poetical genius. 263 ccxxvi Simple as Lucy Graij seems, a mere narrative of what 'has been, and may be again,' yet every touch in the child's picture is marked by the deepest and purest ideal character. Hence, pathetic as the situa- tion is, this is not strictly a pathetic poem, such as Wordsworth gives us in 221, Lamb in 264, and Scott in his Maid of Neidpath, — 'almost more pathetic,' as Tennyson once remarked, 'than a man has the right to be.' And Lyte's lovely stanzas (224) suggest, per- haps, the same remark. 272 ccxxxv In this and in other instances the addition (or the change) of a Title has been risked, in hope that the aim of thje piece following may be grasped more clearly and immediately. 278 ccxiii This beautiful Sonnet was the last word of a youth, in whom, if the fulfillment may ever safely be pro- phesied from the promise, England lost one of the most rarely gifted in the long roll of her poets. Shakes- peare and Milton, had their lives been closed at twenty- five, would (so far as we know) have left poems of less excellence and hope than the youth who, from the petty school and the London surgery, passed at once to a place with them of 'high collateral glory.' 280 ccxlv It is impossible not to regret that Moore has written so little in this sweet and genuinely national style. 281 ccxlvi A masterly example of Byron's command of strong thoueht and close reasoning in verse: — as the next is equally characteristic of Shelley's wayward intensity. 290 ccliii Bonnivard. a Genevese, was imprisoned by the Duke of Savoy in Chillon on the lake of Geneva for his cour- Notes 417 PAGE NO. ageous defence of his country against the tyranny with which Piedmont threatened it during the first half of the Seventeenth century. — This noble Sonnet is worthy to stand near Milton's on the Vaudois massacre. 291 ccllv Switzerland was usurped by the French under Napo- leon in 1800: Venice in 1797 (255). 293 cclix This battle was fought Dec. 2, 1800, between the Austrians under Archduke John and the French under Moreau, in a forest near Munich. Hohen Linden means High Limetrees. 297 cclxii After the capture of Madrid by Napoleon, Sir J. Moore retreated before Soult and Ney to Corunna, and was killed whilst covering the embarkation of his troops, 307 cclxxii The Mermaid was the club-house of Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and other choice spirits of that age. 308 cclxxiii Maisie: Mary. — Scott has given us nothing more complete and lovely than this little song, which unites simplicity and dramatic power to a wild-wood music of the rarest quality. No moral is drawn, far less any conscious analysis of feeling attempted: — the pathetic meaning is left to be suggested by the mere present- ment of the situation. A narrow criticism has often named this, which may be called the Homeric manner superficial, from its apparent simple facility; but first- rate excellence in it is in truth one of the least com- mon triumphs of Poetry.— This style should be com- pared with what is not less perfect in its way, the search- ing out of inner feeling, the expression of hidden mean- ings, the revelation of the "heart of Nature and of the Soul within the Soul, — the analytical method, in short, — most completely represented by Wordsworth and by Shelley. 313 cclxxvii Wolfe resembled Keats, not only in his early death by consumption and the fluent freshness of his poetical style, but in beauty of character: — brave, tender, ener- getic, unselfish, modest. Is it fanciful to find some reflex of these qualities in the Burial and Mary? Out of the abundance of the heart . . . 314 cclxxviii correi: covert on a liillside. Cumber: trouble. 315 cclxxx This book has not a few poems of greater power and more perfect execution than Agnes and the extract which we have ventured to make from the deep-hearted author's Sad Thoughts (No. 224). But none are more emphatically marked by the note of exquisiteness. 316 cclxxxl St. 3 inch: island. 320 cclxxxiii From Poetry for Children (1809), by Charles and Mary Lamb. This tender and original little piece seems clearly to reveal the work of that noble-minded and aflaicted sister, who was at once the happiness, the 418 Palgrave's Golden Treasury PAGE NO. misery, and the life-long blessing of her equally noble- minded brother. 328 cclxxxix This poem has an exaltation and a glory, joined with an exquisiteness of expression, which place it in the higliest rank among the many masterpieces of its illus- trious Author. 339 ceo interlunar swoon: interval of the moon's invisibility. 344 ccciv Calpe: Gibraltar. Lofoden: the Maelstrom whirl- pool off the N.W. coast of Norway. 345 cccv This lovely poem refers here and there to a ballad bv Hamilton on the subject better treated in 163 and 164. 357 cccxv Arduri: seemingly used for northern stars. And wild roses, &c. Our language has perhaps no line mod- ulated with more subtle sweetness. 358 cccxvi Coleridge describes this poem as the fragment of a dream-vision, — perhaps, an opium-dream? — which composed itself in his mind when fallen asleep after reading a few hnes about 'the Khan Kubla' in Pur- chas' Pilgrimage. 362 cccx\'iii Ceres' daughter: Proserpine, God of Torment: Pluto. 370 cccxxi The leading idea of this beautiful description of a day's landscape in Italy appears to be — On the voyage of'^hfe are manv moments of pleasure, given by the sight of Nature, "who has power to heal even the worldli- ness and the uncharity of man. 371 — 1. 23 Amphitrite was daughter to Ocean. 375 cccxxii 1. 21 Maenad: a frenzied Nymph, attendant on Dionysos in the Greek mythology. May we not call this the most \n\-id, sustained, and impassioned amongst all Shelley's magical personifications of Nature? 376 — 1. 5 Plants under water sympathize with the seasons of the land, and hence with the wmds which affect them. 377 cccxxiii Written soon after the death, by shipwreck, of Wordsworth's brother John. This poem may be pro- fitablv compared with Shelley's following it. Each is the most complete expression of the innermost spirit of his art given bv these great Poets:— of that Idea which, as in the rase of the true Painter, (to quote the words of Revnolds,^ 'subsists only in the mind: Ihe sight never beheld it, nor has the hand expressed it: it is an idea residing in the breast of the artist, which he is always labouring to impart, and which he dies at last without imparting.' 378 — the Kind: the human race. Notes 419 PAGE NO. 381 cccxxvii the Royal Saint: Henry VI. 381 cccxxviii st. 4 this folk: its has been here plausibly but, perhaps, unnecessarily, conjectured. — Every one knows the general story of the Italian Renaissance, of the Revival of Letters. — From Petrarch's dav to our own, that ancient world has renewed its youth: Poets and artists, students and thinkers, have yielded themselves wholly to its fascination, and deeply penetrated its spirit. Yet perhaps no one more truly has vivified, whilst ideahzing, the picture of Greek country life in the fancied Golden Age, than Keats in these lovely (if somewhat unequally executed) stanzas: — his quick imagination, by a kind of 'natural magic,' more than supplying the scholarship which his youth had no opportunity of gaining. 155 cxxxiv These stanzas are by Richard Verstegan ( — c. 1635), a poet and antiquarian, published in his rare Odes (1601), under the title Our Blessed Ladies Lvllaby, and reprinted by Mr. Orby Shipley in his beautiful Carmina Mariana (1893). The four stanzas here given form the opening of a hymn of twenty-four. INDEX OF WRITERS WITH DATES OF BIRTH AND DEATH NUMBER Alexander, William (1580-1640). To Aurora xxix Barbauld, Anna Lsetitia (1743-1825). To Life ccvii Barnefield, Richard (16th century). The Nightingale xlv Beaumont, Francis (1586-1616). On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey . . . . xc Blake, William (1757-1827). Love's Secret clxxiv Infant Joy clxxx A Cradle Song clxxxi To the Muses ceviii Burns, Robert (1759-1796). Lament for Culloden clxi A Farewell clxviii Ye Banks and Braes o' Bonnie Doon .... clxxvi To a Mouse clxxxiv Mary Morison clxxxviii Bonnie Lesley clxxxix O my Luve's like a red, red rose cxe Highland Mary cxci Duncan Gray cxciii Jean exevi John Anderson cxcvli Byron, George Gordon Noel (1788-1824). All for Love ccxii There be none of Beauty's daughters .... ccxiv She walks in beauty, like the night ccxvi When we two parted ccxxxiv 421 422 Palgrave's Golden Treasury NUMBER Byron, G. G. N. {continued). Elegy on Thyrza ccxlvi On the Castle of Chillon ccliii Youth and Age cclxvi Elegy cclxxv Campbell, Thomas (1777-1844). Lord Ullin's Daughter ccxxv To the Evening Star ccxxxi Earl March look'd on his dying child ccxli Ye Mariners of England ccl Battle of the Baltic ccli Hohenlinden cclix The Beech Tree's Petition ccxcv Ode to Winter ecciv Song to the Evening Star cecx The Soldier's Dream cecxiv The River of Life cccxxxii Campion, Tliomas (c. 1567-1620). Basia xxv Advice to a Girl xxvi In Imagine Pertransit Homo 1 Sleep, angry beauty, sleep lii A Renunciation Iv O Crudelis Amor lix Sic Transit Ixxvi The man of life upright Ixxix A Hymn in Praise of Neptune ci Fortunati Nimium cxliii Carew, Thomas (1589-1639). The True Beauty cxii Carey, Henry ( 1743). Sally in bur Alley clxvii CiBBER, Colley (1671-1757). The Blind Boy civ Coleridge, Hartley (1796-1849). She is not fair to outward view ccx\-iii Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772-1834). Love (Genevieve) ccxi Kubla Khan cccxvi Youth and Age cccxxix Collins, John (18th century). Tomorrow ' cc\i Collins, William (1720-1756). Ode to Simplicity cliii Ode written in 1746 clx The Passions clxxviii Ode to Evening clxxxvi Index of Writers 423 NUMBER Cowley, Abraham (1618-1667). A Supplication cxxx On the Death of Mr. WiUiam Hervey .... cxxxvii CowPER, William (1731-1800). Loss of the lioyal George clxv To a Young Lady clxx The Poplar Field clxxxiii The Shrubbery cc The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk ccii To Marv Unwin cciii To the Same cciv The Castaway ccv Crashaw, Richard (1615?-1652). Wishes for the Supposed Mistress ciii Cunningham, Allan (1784-1842). A wet sheet and a flowing sea ccxlix Daniel, Samuel (1562-1619). Care-Charmer Sleep xlvi Dekker, Thomas ( 1638?). The Happy Heart Ixxv Devereux, Robert (Earl of Essex) (1567-1601). A Wish Ixxxiii Donne, John (1573-1631). Present in Absence xii Drayton, Michael (1563-1631). Love's Farewell xlix Drummond, William (1585-1649). Summons to Love iv A Lament Ixi To his Lute Ixiii This Life, which seems so fair Ixxvii The Lessons of Nature Ixxx Doth then the world go thus? Ixxxi Saint John Baptist Ixxxiv Dryden, John (1631-1700). Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687 Ixxxvi Alexander's Feast cli Elliott, Jane (18th century). The Flowers of the Forest (Flodden) clxii Fletcher, John (1576-1625). Melancholy ■ cxxxli Gay, John (1685-1732). Black-eyed Susan clxvi 424 Palgmve's Golden Treasury NUMBER Goldsmith, Oliver (1728-1774). When lovely woman stoops to folly clxxv Graham, Robert (1735-1797). If doughty deeds my lady please clxlx Gray, Thomas (1716-1771). Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude . . clii On a Favourite Cat clvi The Bard clix The Progress of Poesy clxxvii Ode on the Spring clxxxii Elegy written in a Country Churchyard . . . clxxxvii Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College . . cxcix Hymn to Adversity eel Greene, Robert (15617-1592). Sephestia's Song to her Child Ix Habington, William (1605-1645). Nox Nocti Indicat Scientiam cxlviii Herbert, George (1593-1632). The Gifts of God xcvii Herrick, Robert (1591-1674?). Counsel to Girls cviii To Dianeme cxiii Corinna's Maying cxviii The Poetry of Dress, I cxix " " " "II cxx To Anthea cxxiv To Blossoms cxxxix To Daffodils cxl Heywood, Thomas ( 1649?). Give my Love good-morrow Ixxiii Hood, Thomas (1798-1845). Past and Present cclxviii The Bridge of Sighs cclxxiv The Death Bed cclxxix JONSON, Ben (1574-1637). The Noble Nature xcvi Hymn to Diana cii To Celia cxvi Keats, John (1795-1821). Ode on the Poets ccix On first looking into Chapman's Homer . . . ccx Happy Insensibility ccxxxv La Belle Dame sans Merci ccxxxvii Bright Star! ccxlii The Terror of Death ccxliii The Mermaid Tavern cclxxii Index of Writers 425 NUMBER Keats, J. {continued). Ode to a Nightingale ccxc To one who has been long in city pent . . . ccxcii Ode to Autumn ccciii The Realm of Fancy cccx\iii Ode on a Grecian Urn cccxxviii The Human Seasons cccxxxiii Lamb, Mary (1764-1847). In Memoriam cclxxxiii Lamb, Charles (1775-1835). The Old Familiar Faces cclxiv Hester cclxxvi On an Infant dying as soon as born cclxxxii Lindsay, Anne (1750-1825). Auld Robin Gray cxcii Lodge, Thomas (1556-1625). Rosaline xix Rosalynd's Madrigal Ixxi Logan, John (1748-1788). The Braes of Yarrow clxiii Lovelace, Richard (1618-1658). To Lucasta, on going to the Wars cix To Althea from Prison cxxvii To Lucasta, going beyond the Seas cxxviii Lylye, John (1554-1600). Cupid and Campaspe Ixxii Lyte, Henry Francis (1793-1847). A Lost Love ccxxiv Agnes cclxxx Marlowe, Christopher (1562-1593). The Passionate Shepherd to his Love . . . . vii Marvell, Andrew (1620-1678). Horatian Ode, upon Cromwell's return from Ireland Ixxxviii The Picture of little T. C cv The Girl describes her Fawn cxli Thoughts in a Garden cxlii Song of the Emigrants in Bermuda cxlvl Mickle, WiUiam Julius (1734-1788). The Sailor's Wife cxciv Milton, John (1608-1674). Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity . . . Ixxxv On the late Massacre in Piedmont Ixxxvii Lycidas Ixxxix 426 Palgrave's Golden Treasury NUMBER Milton, J. (contimied). When the Assault was intended to the City . . xciii On his Blindness xciv To Mr. Lawrence xcix To Cyriack Skinner c To the Lady Margaret Ley exi L' Allegro cxliv II Penseroso cxlv At a Solemn Music cxlvii Moore, Thomas (1780-1852). Echoes ccxxix At the mid hour of night ccxlv Pro Patria Mori cclxi The Journey Onwards cclxv The Light of other Days cclxix Nairn, Carolina (1766-1845). The Land o' the Leal cxcviii Nash, Thomas (1567-1601?). Spring i NoRRis, John (1657-1711). Hymn to Darkness cxlix Philips, Ambrose (1671-1749). To Charlotte Pulteney clvii Pope, Alexander (1688-1744). Solitude cliv Prior, Matthew (1662-1721). The merchant, to secure his treasure clxxiii QuARLES, Francis (1592-1644). A Mystical Ecstasy cxxiii Rogers, Samuel (1762-1855). The Sleeping Beauty clxxi A Wish clxxxv Scott, Walter (1771-1832). The Outlaw ccxiii Jock of Hazeldean ccxxvii A Serenade ccxxx Where shall the Lover rest? ccxxxvi The Rover ccxxxviii The Maid of Neidpath ccxl Gathering Song of Donald the Black ccxlviii The Pride of Youth cclxxiii Coronach cclxxviii Rosabelle cclxxxi Huntinff Song cclxxxv Datur Hora Quieti cccxi Index of Writers 427 NUMBER Sedley, Charles (1639-1701). Child and Maiden cvi Not, Celia, that I juster am cxxvi Shakespeare, WilUam (1564-1616). The Fairy Lile, I ii "II iii Sonnet-Time and Love, I v II vi A Madrigal ix Under the greenwood tree x It was a lover and his lass xi Sonnet — Absence xiv " " XV " A Consolation xvi " The Unchangeable xvii Sonnet xviii » " To his Love xxiii " ' " " xxiv Love's Perjuries xxvii Sonnet — True Love xxxi Carpe Diem xxxv Winter xxxvii Sonnet — That time of year xxxviil Memory xxxix " Revolutions xli " Farewell! xlii " The Life without Passion xliii Frustra — Take, O take those lips away . . . xlviii Sonnet — Blind Love li Blow, blow, thou winter wind Ivi Dirge of Love Ixii Fidele — Fear no more the heat Ixiv A Sea Dirge Ixv Sonnet — Post Mortem Ixvii The Triumph of Death Ixviii Young Love Ixix Sonnet — Soul and Body Ixxviii The World's Way Ixxxil Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822). The Indian Serenade ccxv I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden ccxix Love's Philosophy ccxxviii To the Night ccxxxii The Flight of Love ccxxxix One word is too often profaned ccxlvii Stanzas written in Dejection near Naples . . . cclxx To a Skjdark cclxxxvii Ozymandias of Egypt ccxciii To a Lady, with a Guitar ccc The Invitation cccvii The Recollection cccviii To the Moon cccxii A Dream of the Unknown cccxv Written among the Euganean Hills cccxxi 428 Palgrave's Golden Treasury NUMBKR Shelley, P. B. (continued). Ode to the West Wind cccxxii The Poet's Dream cccxxiv A Dirge cccxxxiv Threnos cccxxxv Music, when soft voices die cccxxxix Shirley, James (1596-1666). The Last Conqueror xci Death the Leveller xcii, Sidney, Philip (1554-1586). Via Amoris xiii A Ditty xxxii Sleep xl The Nightingale xlvii The Moon Iviii Smart, Christopher (1722-1770). The Song of David clxxix SouTHEY, Robert (1774-1843). After Blenheim cclx The Scholar cclxxi Spenser, Edmund (1553-1598-9). Prothalamion Ixxiv Suckling, John (1608-9-1641). Encouragements to a Lover cxxix Sylvester, Joshua (1563-1618). Love's Omnipresence xxxiv Thomson, James (1700-1748). Rule Britannia clviii For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove clxxii Vaughan, Henry (1621-1695). The Retreat xcviii Friends in Paradise cxxxviii A Vision cl Verstegan, Richard (c. 1635). Upon my lap my sovereign sits cxxxiv Waller, Edmund (1605-1687). Go, lovely Rose cxv On a Girdle cxxii Webster, John ( 1638?). A Land Dirge Ixvi Wilmot, John (1647-1680). Constancy cvii Index of Writers 429 NUMBER Wither, George (1588-1667). The Manly Heart cxxxi Wolfe, Charles (1791-1823). The Burial of Sir John Moore cclxii To Mary cclxxvii Wordsworth, William (1770-1850). She was a phantom of delight ccxvii She dwelt among the untrodden ways .... ccxx I travell'd among unknown men ccxxi The Education of Nature ccxxii A slumber did my spirit seal ccxxiii Lucy Gray ccxxvi To a distant Friend ccxxxiii Desideria ccxliv Ode to Duty cclii England and Switzerland, 1802 ccliv On the extinction of the Venetian Republic . . cclv London, 1802 cclvi " " cclvii When I have borne in memory cclviii Simon Lee cclxiii A Lesson cclxvil The Affliction of Margaret cclxxxiv To the Skylark cclxxxvi The Green Linnet cclxxxviii To the Cuckoo cclxxxix Upon Westminster Bridge ccxci Composed at Neidpath Castle ccxciv Admonition to a Traveller ccxevi To the Highland Girl of Inversneyde .... ccxcvit The Reaper ccxcviii The Reverie of poor Susan ccxcix The Daffodils ccci To the Daisy cccii Yarrow Un visited, 1803 cccv Yarrow Visited, 1814 cccvi By the Sea . cccix To Sleep cccxiii The Inner Vision cccxvii Written in Early Spring cccxix Ruth, or the Influences of Nature cccxx Nature and the Poet cccxxiii Glen-Almain, the Narrow Glen cccxxv The World is too much with us cccxxvi Within King's College Chapel, Cambridge . . cccxxvii The Two April Mornings cccxxx The Fountain cccxxxi The Trossachs cccxxxvi My heart leaps up cccxxxvii Ode on Intimations of Immortality cccxxxviii WooTTON, Henrv (1568-1639). Character of a Happy Life xcv Ehzabeth of Bohemia ex 430 Palgrave^s Golden Treasury NUMBE'i Wyat, Thomas (1503-1542). A Supplication xxviii The Lover's Appeal xliv Anonymous. Omnia Vincit viii Colin XX A Picture xxi A Song for Music xxii In Lacrimas xxx Love's Insight xxxiii An honest Autolycus xxxvi The Unfaithful Shepherdess liii Advice to a Lover liv A sweet Lullaby Ivil A Dilemma Ixx The Great Adventurer civ Love in thy youth, fair Maid cxiv Cherry Ripe cxvii My Love in her attire cxxi Love not me for comely grace cxxv Forsaken cxxxiii Fair Helen cxxxv The Twa Corbies cxxxvi Willie Drowned in Yarrow clxiv Absence cxcv INDEX OF FIRST LINES PAGE A Chieftain to the Highlands bound 261 A child's a plaything for an hour 320 A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 355 A slumber did my spirit seal 260 A sweet disorder in the dress 145 A weary lot is thine, fair maid 275 A wet sheet and a flowing sea 285 Absence, hear thou this protestation 58 Ah, ChlorisI could I now but sit 136 Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh 267 All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd 199 All thoughts, all passions, all delights 249 And are ye sure the news is true 231 And is this — Yarrow? — This the Stream 347 And thou art dead, as young and fair 281 And wilt thou leave me thus 76 Ariel to Miranda:— Take 338 Art thou pale for weariness 355 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers 100 As it fell upon a day 77 As I was walking all alane 157 As slow our ship her foamy track 301 At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears . . 338 At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly . 280 Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones . . 114 Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake 207 Awake, awake, my Lyre 151 Bards of Passion and of Mirth 247 Beauty sat bathing by a spring 63 Behold her, single in the field 337 Being your slave, what should I do but tend 59 Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed 327 Best and brightest, come away 349 Bid me to live, and I will live 147 Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy 175 Blow, blow, thou winter wind 84 Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art .... 278 Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren 91 Calm was the day, and through the trembling air ... . 95 Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms 125 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the Sable Night 78 431 432 Palgrave's Golden Treasury PAGE Come away, come away, Death 88 Come, cheerful day, part of my Ufe to me 101 Come little babe, come silly soul 85 Come live with me and be my Love 55 Come, Sleep: O Sleep! the certain knot of peace 74 Cortle unto these yellow sands 52 Crabbed Age and Youth 56 Cupid and my Campaspe play'd 94 Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench 130 Daughter of Jove, relentless power 238 Daughter to that good Earl, once President 139 Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy lord 333 Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move .... 104 Down in yon garden sweet and gay 197 Drink to me only with thine eyes 142 Duncan Gray cam here to woo 230 Earl March look'd on his dying child 278 Earth has not anj^thing to show more fair 331 E'en like two httle bank-dividing brooks 146 Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind 290 Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky 323 Ever let the Fancy roam 360 Fain would I change that note 56 Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 161 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree 160 Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing 75 Fear no more the heat o' the sun 90 Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new .' . . 72 Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow 80 For ever. Fortune, wilt thou prove 205 Forget not yet the tried intent 68 Four Seasons fill the measure of the year 389 From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony 113 From Stirhng Castle we had seen 345 Full fathom five thy father lies 90 Gather ye rose-buds while j^e may 137 Gem of the crimson-colour'd Even 268 Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn 143 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 202 Go, lovely Rose 141 Hail thou most sacred venerable thing 178 Hail to thee, bhthe Spirit 324 Happy the man, whose wish and care 186 Happy those early days, when I 128 Happy were he could finish forth his fate 105 He that loves a rosy cheek 140 He is gone on the mountain 31-4 Hence, all you vain delights 153 Hence, loathed Melancholy 166 Hence, vain deluding Joys 170 He sang of God, the mighty source 214 High-way, since you my chief Parnassus be 59 Index of First Lines 433 PAGE How happy is he born and taught 126 How like a winter hath my absence been 60 flow sleep the brave who sink to rest 194 How sweet the answer Echo makes 267 How vainly men themselves amaze 163 I am monarch of all I survey 240 I arise from dreams of Thee 255 I cannot change, as others do 137 I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way 357 I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden 258 I have had playmates, I have had companions 300 I have no name 215 I heard a thousand blended notes 362 I meet thy pensive, moonlight face 261 I met a traveller from an antique land 332 I remember, I remember 304 I saw Eternity the other night 179 I saw her in childhood 315 I saw my lady weep 69 I saw where in the shroud did lurk 318 I travell'd among unknown men 258 I wander'd lonely as a -cloud 341 I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile 377 I wish I were where Helen lies 156 If aught '^f oaten stop or pastoral song 220 If doughty deeds my lady please 203 If I had thought thou couldst have died 313 If Thou survive my well-contented day 91 If to be absent were to be 150 I'm wearing awa', Jean 234 In a drear-nighted December 272 In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining .... 245 In the sweet shire of Cardigan 298 In this still place, remote from men 379 In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 358 It is a beauteous evening, calm and free 353 It is not growing like a tree 127 It was a dismal and a fearful night 158 It was a lover and his lass 58 It was a summer evening 294 I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking 195 Jack and Joan, they think no ill 165 John Anderson my jo, John 234 Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting 93 Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son ........ 129 Let nie not to the marriage of true minds 70 Life! I know not what thou art 246 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore ... 75 Like to the clear in highest sphere 62 Love in my bosom, like a bee 93 Love in thy youth, fair Maid, be wise 140 Love not me for comely grace . 148 Lol where the rosy-bosom'd Hours 216 434 Palgrave's Golden Treasury PAGE Many a green isle needs must be 370 Mar}'! I want a lyre with other strings 241 Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour 292 Mine be a cot beside the hill 219 Mortality, behold and fear 123 Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 359 Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold 249 Music, when soft voices die 396 My days among the Dead are past 307 My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 329 My heart leaps up when I behold 391 My Love in her attire doth shew her wit 146 My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow .... 89 My thoughts hold mortal strife 88 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his 70 Never love unless you can 66 Never seek to tell thy love 206 No longer mourn for me when I am dead 92 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note 297 Not, Celia, that I juster am 148 Now the golden Morn aloft 183 Now the last day of many days 351 O blithe new-comer! I have heard 328 O Brignall banks are wild and fair 253 O Friend! I know not which way I must look 292 O happy shades! to me unblest 238 O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm 68 O leave this barren spot to me 333 O listen, listen, ladies gay 316 O lovers' eyes are sharp to see 277 O Mary, at thy window be 225 O me! what eyes hath love put in my head 81 O Mistress mine, where are you roaming 72 O my Luve's like a red, red rose 227 O never say that I was false of heart 61 O saw ye bonnie Lesley 226 O say what is that thing call'd Light 186 O talk not to me of a name great in story 252 O Thou, by Nature taught 184 O waly waly up the bank 154 O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms 274 O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being . . . 375 O World! O Life! O Time 390 Obscurest night involved the sky 243 Of all the girls that are so smart 201 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 233 Of Nelson and the North 287 Of Neptune's empire let us sing 130 Of this fair volume which we World do name 103 Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray 263 Oft in the stilly night 305 Oh snatch'd away in beauty's bloom 312 On a day, alack the day 67 On a Poet's lips I slept 379 I Index of First Lines 435 PAGE Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee 291 One more Unfortunate 309 One word is too often profaned 283 On Linden, when the sun was low 293 Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd . . 356 Over the mountains 134 Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day 95 Phoebus, arise 52 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 283 Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth 102 Proud Maisie is in the wood 308 Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair 131 Rough Wind, that meanest loud 389 Ruin seize thee, ruthless King 190 Season of mist and mellow fruitfulness 343 See with what simplicity 135 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day 65 Shall I, wasting in despair 152 She dwelt among the untrodden ways 258 She is not fair to outward view 257 She walks, in beauty, like the night 256 She was a Phantom of delight 256 Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea ... 54 Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part .... 80 Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me 81 Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile 204 Sleep, sleep, beauty bright 215 Souls of Poets dead and gone 307 Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king . . 51 Star that bringest home the bee 354 Stern Daughter of the Voice of God 289 Surprized by joy — impatient as the wind 280 Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes 140 Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 335 Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory .... 64 Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade 204 Swiftly walk over the western wave 269 Take, O take those lips away 79 Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense 381 Tell me not. Sweet, I am unkind , 138 Tell me where is Fancy bred 92 That time of year thou may'st in me behold 73 That which her slender waist confined 146 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day 222 The forward youth that would appear 115 The fountains mingle with the river 266 The glories of our blood and state 124 The last and gi'eatest Herald of Heaven's King 105 The lovely lass o' Inverness 194 The man of life upright 102 The merchant, to secure his treasure, 205 436 Palgrave^s Golden Treasury PAGE The more we live, more brief appear 388 The Nightingale, as soon as April bringeth 78 The poplars are fell'd; farewell to the shade 217 There be none of Beauty's daughters 254 There is a flower, the lesser Celandine 303 There is a garden in her face 142 There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away 302 There's not a nook within this solemn Pass 390 There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream . . .391 The sea hath many thousand sands 83 The sun is warm, the sky is clear 306 The sun upon the lake is low 354 The tv/entieth year is well-nigh past 242 The world is too much with us; late and soon 380 They are all gone into the world of Hght 159 They that have power to hurt, and will do none .... 76 This is the month, and this the happy morn 106 This Life, which seems so fair 101 Though others may her brow adore 71 Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white 84 Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness 381 Three years she grew in sun and shower 259 Thy braes were bonny. Yarrow stream 196 Timely blossom. Infant fair 188 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry 104 Toll for the Brave 198 To me, fair Friend, you never can be old 61 To one who has been long in city pent 332 Turn back, you wanton flyer 66 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 179 'Twas on a lofty vase's side 187 Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea 291 Under the greenwood tree 57 Upon my lap my sovereign sits 155 Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying 383 Victorious men of earth, no more 124 Waken, lords and ladies gay 322 Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie 218 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee .87 Weep you no more, sad fountains 64 Were I as base as is the lowly plain 71 We talk'd with open heart, and tongue 386 We walk'd along, while bright and red 384 We watch'd her breathing thro' the night 315 Whenas in silks my Julia goes 145 When Britain first at Heaven's command 189 When first the fiery-mantled Sun 344 When God at first m.ade Man 128 When he who adores thee has left but the name .... 296 When icicles hang by the wall 73 When I consider how my light is spent 126 When I have borne in memory what has tamed 293 When I have fears that I may cease to be 279 i Index of First Lines 437 PAGE When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 54 When I survey the bright 176 When I think on the happy days 232 When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes 60 When in the chronicle of wasted time 65 When lovely woman stoops to folly 206 When Love with unconfined wings 149 When maidens such as Hester die 312 When Music, heavenly maid, was young 211 When Ruth was left half desolate 363 When the lamp is shatter'd 276 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame . 228 When thou must home to shades of underground .... 87 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 74 When we two parted 271 Where art thou, my beloved Son 320 Where shall the lover rest 272 Where the bee sucks, there suck I 52 Where the remote Bermudas ride 174 Whether on Ida's shady brow 247 While that the sun with his beams hot 82 Whoe'er she be 132 Why art thou silent? Is thy love a plant 270 Why so pale and wan, fond lover 150 Why weep ye by the tide, ladie 265 With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies . . 86 With little here to do or see 341 With sweetest milk and sugar first 162 Ye banks and braes and streams around 227 Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon • . . . . 207 Ye distant spires, ye antique towers 235 Ye Mariners of England 285 Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye 334 Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more 118 You meaner beauties of the night 138 H 451 85 !i A* - " e ,