i\ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. ®]^p. dapijrig]^ !f ti* "-^^^3 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. •HEN LOVELY WOMAN STOO?S TO FOLLY." — Page 155. THE GOLDEN TREASURY t-F THE BEST SONGS AND LYRICAL POEMS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE SELECTED ANP ARRANGED WITH NOTES FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE FELLOW OF EXETER COLLEGE, OXFORD XEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION ^ OF ^0^ NEW YORK rOCl ly 1893 1 FREDERICK A. STOKES C PUBLISHERS Of washv \-. i//^^.^ V- r Copyright^ iSqj, By Frederick A. Stokes Company, CONTENTS Page Dedication ...... vii Preface . . . » . . . ix Book I Book II SO • • • • 129 aoo Book III ..... , Book IV Notes . . . . Index of "Writers <....» • 375 • . . 395 Index of First Lines . . - . . . 398 Els TOP "Keifi&va Ka$l— Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to life thou might'st him yet recover ! M, Dray ion XXXVIII TO HLS 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. Since that dear Voice which did thy sounds approve, Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow. Book First. 2^. Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above, V^hat art thou but a harbinorer of woe ? Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more. 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, XXXIX BLIND LOVE OME ! what eyes hath love put in my head Which have no correspondence with true sight ! Or if they have, where is my judgment fled That censures falsely what they see aright ? 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 tnie, 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 30 The Golden Treasury XL 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. In shadow of a green oak-tree Upon his pipe this song play'd he : Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untnie Love, adieu Love ; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love So long as I was in your sight I was your heart, your soul, and treasure j And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd Burning in flames beyond all measure : — Three days endured your love to me. And it was lost in other three ! Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love ; Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. Another Shepherd you did see 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. Adieu Love, adieu Love, untrue Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love j Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 'l^. % ^ " ANOTHER SHEPHEKD YOl' DID SEE." — Page 3C. Book First 3 1 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, untnie Love, Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu Love ; Your mind is light, soon lost for new lovci Anoiu XLI A RENUNCIATION' IF women could be fair, and yet not fond, Or that their love were firm, not fickle still, 1 Avould not marvel that they make men bond By service long to purchase their good-will ; But when I see how frail those creatures are, I muse that men forget themselves so far. To mark the choice they make, and how they change. How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan ; Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range, These gentle birds that fly from man to man ; Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist. And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list ? Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both. To pass the time when nothing else can please. And train them to our lure with subtle oath. Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease ; And then we say when we their fancy try, To play with fools, O what a fool was I ! E. Vere, Earl of Oxfora 32 The Golden Treasury XLII BLOW, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude ; Thy tooth is not so keen Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly ; Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, Thou dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, 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 loving mere foily s Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! This life is most jolly. W. Shakespeare XLII I MADRIGAL MY thoughts hold mortal strife ; I do detest my life, And with lamenting cries Peace to my soul to bring Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize % — But he, grim grinning King, Book First 33 Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprize, Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come. W. Drummond XLIV DIRGE OF LOVE COME away, come away, Death, And in sad cypres let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O prepare it ! My part of death no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet On my black cofiin 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. Lay me, O where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there. W. Shakespeare XLV FIDELE FEAR no more the heat o' the sun Nor the furious winter's rages j Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone and ta'en thy wages : 34 The Golden Treasury Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ; Care no more to clothe and eat ; To thee the reed is as the oak : The sceptre, learning, physic, must AH follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning flash Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; Fear not slander, censure rash ; Thou hast finish'd joy and moan : All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust, W. Shakes^ean XLVI A SEA DIRGE FULL fathom five thy father liesf Of his bones are coral made ; Those are pearls that were his e}'es : Nothing of him 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. W, Shakespeare' Book First 35 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. 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 hirm j But keep the wolf far thence, that 's foe to men, For witli his nails he '11 dig them up again. J. Webster XLVIII 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 ; Compare them with the bettering of the time, And though they be outstripp'd by eveiy 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 — ' 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 • j6 The Golden Treasury But since he died, and poets better prove, Theirs for their style I '11 read, his for his love.* W. Shakespeare XLIX 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 this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell j Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it ; for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe. O if, I say, you look upon this verse When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse. But let your love even with my life decay ; Lest the wise world should look into your moan. And mock you with me after I am gone. W, Shakespeare MADRIGAL TELL me where is Fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head ? How begot, how nourished. ? Reply, reply. Book First 37 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 '11 begin it, — Ding, dong, beU. — Ding, dong, bell. W. Shakespeare CUPJD 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 ; 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 ciystal of his brow, And then the dimple on his chin ; All these did my Campaspe win : At 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. Lylye LII PACK, clouds, away, and welcome day, With night we banish sorrow ; Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft To give my Love good-morrow ! Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from tlie lark I '11 borrow i JJJ The Golden Treasury Bird i^rune thy wing, nightingale sing. To give my Love good-morrow ; To give my Love good-morrow Notes from them both I '11 borrow. Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast, Sing birds in eveiy furrow ; And from each hill, let music shrill Give my fair Love good-morrow J Blackbird and thrush in every bush. Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow ! You pretty elves, amongst yourselves Sing my fair Love good-morrow ; To give my Love good-morrow Sing birds in every furrow ! T. Heywood LIII PROTHALAMION CALM was the day, and through the trembling ail Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play — A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair ; 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) Walk'd forth to ease my pain Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames j Whose rutty banlc, the which his river hems, Was painted all with variable flowers, And all the meads adorn'd with dainty gems Book First 39 Fit to deck maidens' bowers. And crown their paramours Against the bridal day, wliich is not long ; Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. There in a meadow by the river's side A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy, All lovely daughtei-s 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 Made of fine twigs, entrailed curiously, In v/hich 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 They gatlier'd some ; the violet, 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' pasies Against the bridal day, which was not long x Sweet Thames ! lam softly, till I end my song. With that I saw two swans of goodly hue Come softly s\vimming down along the lee ; Two fairer birds I yet did never see ; The snow which 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, Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near j So purely white they were 40 The Golden Treasury That even the gentle stream, the which them bare, Seem'd foul to them, and bade his billows spare To wet their silken feathers, lest they miglit Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair. And mar their beauties bright That shone as Heaven's light Against their bridal day, which was not long ; Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 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, Uiey stood amazed still Their wondering eyes to fill ; 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 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 eardi did fresh array ; So fresh they seem'd as day, Even as their bridal day, which 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. That to the sense did fragrant odours yield. All which upon those goodly birds they threw And all the waves did strew. That like old Peneus' waters they did seem Book First 41 When down along by pleasant Tempe's shore Scatter'd with flowers, through Thessaly they stream, That they appear, through lilies' 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, The which presenting all in trim array. 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 : Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. ' Ye gentle birds I 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 Of your love's complement ; 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 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 Which may your foes confound, And make your joys I'edound Upon your bridal day, which is not long : Sweet Thames 1 run softly, till I end my song, ' So ended she ; and all the rest around To her redoubled that her undersong, 42 The Goktcn Treasury Which said their bridal day should not be long t And gentle Echo from the neighbour ground Their accents did resound. So forth those joyous birds did pass along Adown 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 his stream run slow. And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell '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 Against their wedding day, which was not long : Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. At length they all to merry London came, To merry London, my most kindly nui-se. That to me gave this life's first native source. Though from another place I take my name. An house of ancient fame : There when they came whereas those bricky tov/ers The which on Thames broad aged back do ride. Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers, There whilome 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, 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! mn softly, till I end my song. Book First 43 Vet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, Great England's glorj.- and the world's wide wonder. Whose dreadful name late thro' all Spain did thunder. And Hercules' two pillars standing near Did make to quake and fear : P'air 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 ; That through thy prowess and victorious arms Thy countiy may be freed from foreign harms. And great Eliza's glorious name may ring Through all the world, fill'd with thy wide alarms Which some brave Muse may sing 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 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. 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 siglil Which deck the baldric of tlie Heavens bright ; They two, forth pacing to the river's side. Received those two fair brides, their love's delighi^ Which, at th' appointed tide, j Each one did make his bride 44 The Golden Treasioy Against their bridal day, which is not long : Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. E. Spenser LIV THE HAPPY HEART ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ? O sweet content ! Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed ? O punishment ! Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed To add to golden numbers, golden numl^ers ? O sweet content ! O sweet O sweet content ! Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; Honest labour bears a lovely face ; 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 1 O punishment ! 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 ; Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny ! T. Dekk^r T LV HIS Life, which seems so fair. Is like a bubble blown up in the air Book First. ^c By sporting children's breath, Who chase it every where And strive who can most motion it bequeath. And though it sometimes seem of its own 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 light ■ — But in that pomp it doth not long appear ; For when 't is most admired, in a thought, Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought. W. Drummojid LVI SOUL AND BODY POOR Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? 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 serv'ant's loss. And let that pine to aggravate thy store \ Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; Within be fed, without 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 Coldest Treasu7y LVII LIFE THE World 's a bubble, and the Life of Man Less than a span : In his conception wretched, from the wonr-b So to the tomb ; Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years With cares and fears. Who then to frail mortality shall trust. But limns on water, or but writes in dust. Yet whilst with sorrow here we live opprest, What life is best ? Courts are but only superficial schools To dandle fools : The rural parts are turn'd into a den Of savage men : And where 's a city from foul vice so free, But may be term'd the worst of all the three ? Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed. Or pains his head : Those that live single, take it for a curse. Or do things worse : Some would have children : those that have them^ r Or wish them gone : What is it, then, to have, or have no wife. But single thraldom, or a double strife ? Our own afifection still at home to please Is a disease : To cross the seas to any foreign soil. Peril and toil : Book First 4y Wars with their noise affright us ; when they cease, We are worse in peace ; — What then remains, but that we still should cry For being born, or, being born, to die ? Lord Bacon LVIII 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 dear might read the art and wisdom rare : Find out his power which wildest powers doth tame. His providence extending everywhere. His justice which proud rebels doth not spare, In every page, no period of the same. But silly we, like foolish children, rest Well pleased with colour'd vellum, leaves of golcl. 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 some picture on the margin wrought. W. Drummond LIX DOTH then the world go thus, doth all thus niovej Is this the justice which on Earth we find ? Is this that firm decree which all doth bind ? Are these your influences, Powers above ? 4S The Golden Treasury Those souls which vice's moody mists most blind, Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove ; And tbey who thee, poor idol Virtue ! love, Ply like a feather toss'd by storm and wind. ^h ! if a Providence doth sway this all Why should best minds groan under most distress ? Or why should pride humility make thrall, And injuries the innocent oppress ? Heavens ! hinder, stop this fate ; or grant a time When good may have, as well as bad, their prime ! W. Drtwwiond LX THE WORLD'S WAY TIRED with all these, for restful death I cry — As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority. And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill. And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, And captive Good attending captain 111 : — — Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that, to die, I leave my I.ove alone. W. Shakes pea n Book First 49 LXI SAIMT 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. 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 him appear, long since from earth exiled. There burst he forth : All ye whose hopes rely On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn, Repent, repent, and from old errors turn ! — Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry ? Only the echoes, which he made relent, Rung from their flinty caves, Repent ! Repent ! W, Drummon^ BOOK SECOND Lxn ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY THIS is the month, and this the happy mom, Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal Kinjj Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring ; For so the holy sages once did sing That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious Form, that Light unsufiferable, And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside ; and, here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the Infant God? Book Second 51 Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain To welcome him to this his new abode, Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod. Hath took no print of the approaching light. And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? See how from far, upon the eastern road, The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet : O run, prevent them with thy humble ode And lay it lowly at his blessed feet ; Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel quire From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire. THE HYMN' It was the winter wild While the heaven-born Child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; Nature in awe to him Had 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 She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with mnocent snow ; And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame. The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; Confounded, that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities. 52 The Golden Treasury But he, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace ; She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ; And waving wide her myrtle wand. She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. No war, or battle's sound "Was heard the world around : The idle spear and shield were high up hung ; The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood ; The tmmpet spake not to the armed throng ; And kings sat still with awful eye. As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began : The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kist 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 stedfast gaze. Bending one way their precious influence ; And will not take their flight For all the morning light. Or Lucifer that often wam'd them thence ; But in their glimmering orbs did glow LFntii their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. Book Second jj And though the shady gloom Had given day her room, ^ The sun himself withheld his wonted speed. And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new-enlighten'd world no more should need : He saw a gi-eater Sun appear Than his bright throne, or burning axletrec, could bear. The shepherds on the lawn Or ere the pomt of dawn Sate simply chatting in a rustic row j Full little thought they then That .the migl ty Pan Was kindly come to live with them beloAV ; 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 As never was by mortal finger strook — Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took : The air, such pleasure loth to lose. With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly cIosq Nature that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat the aery region thrilling. Now was almost won To think her part was done. And that her reign had here its last ftilfilling ; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heaven and earth in happier unkw. '54 ^'/''^ Golden Trmsury At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light That with long beams the shamefaced night array'd | The helmed CherulDim And s worded Seraphim Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, Harping in loud and solemn quire With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heii; Such music (as 't is said) Before was never made But when of old the sons of morning sung. While the Creator great His constellations set And the well-balanced world on hinges hung ; And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep, Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! Once bless our human €a,rs, If ye have power to touch our senses so j And let your silver chime Move in melodious time ; And let the base of heaven's deep organ blow ; And with your ninefold harmony Make up full concert to the angelic symphony. For if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will ran back, and fetch the age of gold; And speckled vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous, sin will melt from earthly mould ; And Hell itself will pass away. And leave .her dolorous mansions to the peering day. Book Second 55 Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering ; And Heaven, as at some festival. Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. But wisest Fate says No ; This must not yet be so ; The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy 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 thro' the deep ; With such a horrid clang As on mount Sinai rang While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake : ''"he aged Earth aghast With terrour of that blast Shall from the surface to the centre shake, When, at the world's last session, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throng And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins ; for from this happy day The old Dragon, under ground In straiter limits bound. Not half so far casts his usurped sway ; And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swindges the scaly horrour of his folded tail. 56 The Golden Treasury The oracles are dumb ; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving : Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving : No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. The lonely mountains o'er And the resounding shore A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament ; From haunted spring and dale Edged with poplar pale The parting Genius is with sighing sent ; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn, In consecrated earth And on the holy hearth The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ; In urns, and altars round A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seal. Peor and Baalim Forsake their temples dim. With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine , And mooned Ashtaroth Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn, In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammua mourn. Book Second 57 And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue ; In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove, or green, Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud : Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest ; Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud ; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark The sable stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. He feels from Juda's land The dreaded infant's hand ; The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ; Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide. Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew. So, when the sun in bed Curtain'd with cloudy red Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave ; And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved mazQ cS The Golden Treasury But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest ; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending : Heaven's youngest-teemed star Hath fixed her polish 'd car, Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending : And all about the courtly stable Bright-hamess'd angels sit in order serviceable. J. Milton SONG FOR SAINT CECILIA'S DAY, 1687 FROM Harmony, from heavenly Harmony This universal frame began : When Nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high. Arise, ye more than dead ! Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry- In order to their stations leap. And music's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began : From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in Man. What passion cannot Music raise and quell ? When Jubal struck the chorded shell His listening brethren stood around, And, wondering, on their faces fell To worship that celestial sound. Book Second 59 Less than a God they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell? The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double double double beat Of the thundering drum Cries, ' Hark ! the foes come ; Charge, charge, 't is too late to retreat ! ' The soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs and desperation. Fury, frantic indignation. Depth of pains, and height of passioii For the fair disdainful dame. But oh! what art can teach. What human voice can reach The sacred organ's praise ? Notes inspiring holy love. Notes that wing their heavenly ways To mend the choirs above. Orpheus could lead the savage race. And trees uprooted left their place Sequacious of the lyre : 6o The Golden Treasury But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher : When to her Organ vocal breath was given An Angel heard, and straight appear'd — Mistaking Earth for Heaven! Grand Cho7-us As from the power of sacred lays The spheres began to move, And sung the great Creator's praise To all the blest above ; So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour. The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die. And Music shall untune the sky. J. Dryden LXIV ON THE LATE MASSACRE lAF PIEMONT 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 Forget not : In thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that roll'd Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans 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 •o9^J'z,^_^-aaavHJdv xhdivhxs gnv 'ciavHH -ihonv nx I yf*v^5^. Book Second 6 1 The triple tyrant, that from these may grow A hundred-fold, who, having learnt Thy way Early may fly the Babylonian woe. y. Milton LXV HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELVS, RE TURN FROM IRELAND THE forward youth that would appeal^,. Must now forsake his Muses deai^ Nor in the shadows sing His numbers languishing. T is 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 In the inglorious arts of peace, But throvigh adventurous war Urged his active star : And like the three-fork'd lightning first^ Breaking the clouds where it was nurs^, Did thorough his own side His fiery way divide : For 't is all one to courage high The emulous, or enemy ; And with such, to enclose Is more than to oppose. 62 The Golden Treasury Then burning through the air he went And palaces and temples rent ; And Caesar's head at last Did through his laurels blast T is madness to resist or blame The face of angry heaven's flame ; And if we would speak true, Much to the Man is due Who, from his private gardens, where He lived reserved and austere (As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot) Could by industrious valour climb To ruin the great work of time. 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 As men are strong or weak. Nature, that hateth emptiness. Allows of penetration less. And therefore must make room Where greater spirits come. What field of all the civil war Where his were not the deepest scar ? And Hampton shows what part He had of wiser art. Book Second 63 Where, twining subtle fears with hope, 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 : While round the armed bands Did clap their bloody hands ; He nothing common did or mean Upon that memorable scene. But with his keener eye The axe's edge did try ; Nor 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 Which first assured the forced power : So when they did design The Capitol's first Hne, A Bleeding Head, where they begun. Did fright the architects to run ; And yet in that the State Foresaw its happy fate ! And now the Irish are ashamed To see themselves in one year tamed : So much one man can do That does both act and know. 64 The Golden Treasury They can affirm his praises best, And have, though overcome, confest How good he is, how just And fit for highest trust ; 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 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 So when the falcon high Falls heavy from the sky, She, having kill'd, no more does search But on the next green bough to perch. Where, when he first docs lure, The falconer has her sure. — 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, To Italy an Hannibal, And to all states not free Shall climacteric be. Book Second 65 The Pict no shelter now sliall find Within his parti-colour'd mind. But from this valour, sad Shrink underneath the plaid — Happy, if in the tufted brake The English hunter him mistake. Nor lay his hounds in near The Caledonian deer. But Thou, the War's and Fortune's son, March indefatigably on ; And for the last effect Still keep the sword erect : Besides the force it has to fright The spirits of the shady night, The same arts that did gain A power, must it maintain. A. Marvdl LXVI L YCIDAS Elegy on a Friend drozvned in the Irish Chanttd YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude. And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due : For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Voung Lycidas, and hath not left his peer : 5 66 The Golden Treasioy Who would not sing for Lycidas ? he knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind. Without the meed of some, melodious tear. Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring. Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string ; Hence with denial vain and coy excuse : So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favour my destined urn ; And as he passes, turn And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill. Together both, ere the high lawns appear'd Under the opening eyelids of the mom, We drove a-field, and both together heard What time the gray fly winds her sultry horn. Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of nighi ; Oft till the star, that rose at evening bright, Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, [wheel, Temper'd to the oaten flute ; Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad sound would not be absent long > And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone. Now thou art gone, and never must return ! Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, Book Second 67 A-nd all their echoes, mourn : The willows and the hazel copses green Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays : — - As killing as the canker to the rose, ' Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear When first the white-thorn blows ; Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear. Where were ye. Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? For neither were ye playing on the steep Where your old bards, the famous Di-uids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : Ay me ! I fondly dream — Had ye been there — for what could that have done \ What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, Whom universal nature did lament. When by the rout that made the hideous roar His goiy visage dowTi the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore ? Alas ! what boots it with incessant care To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade And strictly meditate the thankless Muse ? W^ere it not better done, as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade. Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair ? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; 68 The Golden Treasury But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the bhnd Fury with the abhorred shears And slits the thin-spun life. ' But not the praise* Phoebus replied, and touch'd my trembling ears ; * Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off to the world, nor in broad nimour lies : But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes And perfect witness of all-judging Jove ; As he pronounces lastly on each deed. Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.' O fountain Arethuse, and thou 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, 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 That blows from off each beaked promontory : They knew not of his story ; And sage Hippotades their answer brings. That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd ; The air was calm, and on the level brine Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd. It M^as 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. His mantle haiiy, and his bonnet sedge Book Second 69 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 1 * Last came, and last did go The pilot of the Galilean lake ; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain) ; He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : * How well. could I have spared for thee, young swain, Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake Creep and intrude and climb into the fold ! Of other care they little reckoning make Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest ; Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook, or have 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 Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw ; The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed. But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread : Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said : — But that two-lvmded engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more.' Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past That shrunk thy streams ; return, Sicilian Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing bro-^ks 7© The Golden Treasury On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks 5 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» 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. And every flower that sad embroidery wears : Bid amarantus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears To strew the laureat hearse where Lycid lies. For, so to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise ; Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas Wash far away, — where'er thy bones are liurl'd, Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, Visitest the bottom of the monstrous world ; Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, Where the great Vision of the guarded mount Looks towards Namancos and Bayona's hold, - — Look homeward, Angel now, and melt with ruthj — And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth ! Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead. Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor j So sinks the day-star in the ocean -bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Book Second 71 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 ; 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 Tn solemn .troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing, in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood. Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills. While the still morn went out with sandals gray j He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay : And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills. 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 LXVII ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY MORTALITY, behold and fear What a change of flesh is here I Think how many royal bones Sleep within these heaps of stones ; Hie Golden Treasury Here they lie, had realms and lands. Who now want strength to stir their hands, Where from tlieir pulpits seal'd with dust They preach, ' In greatness is no trust.* Here 's an acre sown indeed With the richest royallest seed 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 I' Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruin'd sides of Icings : Here 's a world of pomp and state Buried in dust, once dead by fate. F. Beaumont Lxvrii THE LAST CONQUEROR ICTORIOUS men of earth, no more Proclaim how wide your empires are ; Though you bind -in every shore And your triumphs reach as far As night or day, Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey And mingle with forgotten ashes, when Death calls ye to the crowd of common Devouring Famine, Plague, and War, 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 ; V Book Second 73 A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart 7. Skirls LXIX DEATH THE LEVELLER THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things j There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the uust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield j They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath "When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow ; Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor- victim bleeds : Your heads must come To the cold tomb j Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. y. Shirley 74 The Golden Treasury LXX WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDEB TO THE CITY CAPTAIN, or Colonel, or Knight in arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seizQ If deed of honour did thee ever please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms. 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 : The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower 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 LXXI ON HIS BLINDNESS WHEN I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and widq And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide, — Doth God exact day-labour, light denied ? I fondly ask : — But Patience, to prevent Book Second 75 That murmur, soon replies ; God doth not need Either man's work, or his own gifts : who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best : His state Ts kingly ; thousands at his bidding speed And post o'er land and ocean without rest : — They also serve who only stand and wait. y. Milton 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. Not tied unto the world with care Of public fame, or private breath ; Who envies none that chance doth raise Or vice ; Who never understood How deepest wounds are given by pr£use i Nor rules of state, but rules of good : Who hath his life from rumours freed, Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make accusers great ; Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend ; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend^ yO The Golden Treasury — This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands ; Kv^ having nothing, yet hath all. Sir H. Wotton I THE NOBLE NATURE T 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 : 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 ; And in short measures life may perfect be. B. Jonson LXXIV THE GIFTS OF GOD WHEN God at first made Man, Having a glass of blessings standing by ; Let us (said he) pour on him all we can : Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, Contract into a span. 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, Rest in the bottom lay. Book Second 77 For if I should (said he) Bestow this jewel also on my creature. He would adore my gifts instead of me. And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature : So both should losers be. Yet let him keep the rest. But keep them with repining restlessness : Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to my breast. G. Herbert LXXV THE RETREAT HAPPY those early days, when I Shined in my Angel-infancy ! Before I understood this place Appointed for my second race. Or taught my soul to fancy aught But a white, celestial thought ; When yet I had not walk'd above A mile or two from my first Love, 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 78 The Gohwi Treasury A several sin to every sense, But felt through all this fleshly dresb Bright shoots of everlastingness. O how I long to travel back, And tread again that ancient track ! That I might once more reach that pla'iis^ Where first I left my glorious train ; From whence th' enlighten'd spirit sees That shady City of Palm trees : But ah ! my soul with too much stay Is drunk, and staggers in the way : — Some men a forward motion love, But I by backward steps would move ; And when this dust falls to the urn, In that state I came, return. //. Vaughan- LXXVI TO MR. LAWRENCE LAWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank and ways are tnire Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining ? Time will run On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice^ Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice Book Second 79 Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air ? He who of those delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise. y. Milton LXXVII 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 ; 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 intends, and what the Frencli, To measure life learn thou betimes, and know Toward solid good what leads the nearest way ; For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, And disapproves that care, though wise in show, That with superfluous burden loads the day. And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains. J. Milton LXXVIII HYMN TO DIANA QUEEN and Huntress, chaste and fair. Now the svm is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep : Hespems entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright. 8o The Golden Treasiiry Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose ; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close : Bless us then with wished sight. Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart And thy crystal -shining quiver ; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever : Thou that mak'st a day of night, Goddess excellently bright ! B. jfonson WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS WHOE'ER she be, That not impossible She That shall command my heart and me ; Where'er she lie, 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 to our earth ; Till that divine Idea take a shrine Of crystal flesh, through which to shine t — Meet you her, my Wishes, Bespeak her to my blisses, And be ye call'd, my absent kisses. Book Seconi^ I wish her beauty That owes not all its duty To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie : Something more than Taffata or tissue can, Or rampant feather, or rich fan. A face that 's best By its own beauty drest, And can alone command the rest : A face made up Out of no other shop Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. Sydneian showers Of sweet discourse, whose powers Can crown old Winter's head with flowers, Whate'er delight Can make day's forehead bright Or give down to the wings of night. Soft silken hours, 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 : Days, that in spite • Of darkness, by the light Of a clear mind are day all nig^ht. 6 82 The Golden Treasiuy Life, that dares send A challenge to his end, And when it comes, say, ' Welcome, friend,' I wish her store Of worth may leave her poor Of wishes ; and I wish no more. — Now, if Time knows That Her, whose radiant brows Weave them a garland of my vows ; Her that dares be What these lines wish to see : I seek no further, it is She. 'T is She, and here Lo ! I unclothe and clear My wishes' cloudy character. Such worth as this is Shall fix my flying wishes, And determine them to kisses. Let her full glory, My fancies, fly before ye ; Be ye my fictions : — but her story. R. Crashant LXXX THE GREAT ADVENTURER OVER the mountains And over the waves. Under the fountains And under the graves ; Book Second S'^J^ Under floods that are deepest, "Which Neptune obey ; Over rocks that are steepest Love will find out the way. Where there is no place For the glow-worm to lie ; Where there is no space For receipt of a fly ; Where the midge dares not venturfc Lest herself fast she lay ; If love come, he will enter And soon find out his way. You may esteem him A child for his might ; Or you may deem him 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. 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 kina. Do the best that you may, Blind love, if so ye call him, Will find out his way. You may train the eagle To stoop to your fist ; ^^4 '^^'-^ Golden Treasury Or you may inveigle The phoenix of the east ; The lioness, ye may move her To give o'er her prey ; But you '11 ne'er stop a lover : He will find out his way. Anotu LXXXI CHILD AND MAIDEN" AH, Chloris ! could I now but sit As unconcern'd as when Your infant beauty could beget No happiness or pain ! 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 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, So love as unperceived did fly, And center'd in my breast. My passion with your beauty grew, While Cupid at my heart Still as his mother favour'd you Threw a new flaming dart : Book Second 85 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 LXXXII 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. The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sunj The higher he 's a getting The sooner will his race be nin, And nearer he 's to setting. 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 ; And while ye may, go marry : For having lost but once your primes You may for ever tarry. R. Herrick .86 71ie Golden Treasury LXXXIII TO LUCAS TA, 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. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field ; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore , I could not love thee. Dear, so much. Loved I not Honour more. Colonel Lovelace LXXXIV ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA YOU meaner beauties of the night. Which poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light. You common people of the skies, What are you, when the Moon shall rise ? Ye violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year As if the spring were all your own, — What are you, when the Rose is blown ! Book Second %f Ye curious chanters of the wood That warble forth dame Nature's lays, Thuiking your passions understood By your weak accents ; what 's your praise When Philomel her voice doth raise ? So when my Mistress shall be seen In sweetness of her looks and mind, By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not design'd Th' eclipse and glory of her kind ? Sir H. Wotton LXXXV TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY DAUGHTER to that good earl, once President Of England's council and her treasuiy, Who lived in both, unstain'd with gold or fee, And left them both, more in himself content, Till the sad breaking of that parliament Broke him, as that dishonest victory At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty, Kill'd with report that old man eloquent ; — Though later born than to have known the days 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 tioie, And to possess them, honour'd Margaret. y. Milton The Goldm Treasury LXXXVI THE LOVELINESS OF LOVE IT is not Beauty I demand, A oystal brow, the moon's despair. Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand. Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair ; Tell me not of your starry eyes, Your lips that seem on roses fed, Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed : — A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours, A breath that softer music speaks Than summer winds a-wooing flower% These are but gauds : nay what are lips ? Coral beneath the ocean-stream, Whose brink when your adventurer slip? Full oft he perisheth on them. And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft That wave hot youth to fields of blood ! Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft. Do Greece or Ilium any good ? Eyes can with baleful ardour bum ; Poison can breath, that erst perfumed ; There 's many a white band holds an ura With lovers' hearts to dust consumed. Book Second 89 For crystal brows there 's nought within; They are but empty cells for pride ; He who the Syren's hair would win Is mostly strangled in the tide. Give me, instead of Beauty's bust, A tender heart, a loyal mind Which with temptation I would trust. Yet never link'd with error find, — One in whose gentle bosom I Could pour my secret heart of woes, Like the care-burthen'd honey-fly That hides his murmurs in the rose, — My earthly Comforter ! whose love So indefeasible might be That, when my spirit wonn'd above, Hers could not stay, for sympathy. Anon, LXXXVII THE TRUE BEAUTY HE that loves a rosy cheek Or a coral lip admires. Or from starlike eyes doth seek Fuel to maintain his fires ; As old Time makes these decay, So Ills flames must waste away. But a smooth and steadfast mind. Gentle thoughts, and calm desires. Hearts with equal love combined, Kindle never-dying fires : — 90 The Golden Treasury Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. T. Carew LXXXVIII 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 : Be you not proud of that rich hair Which wantons with the lovesick air ; Wlienas that ruby which you wear, Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, Will last to be a precious stone When all your world of beauty 's gone. R. Jlerrick LXXXIX GO, lovely Rose ! Tell her, that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee. How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her that 's young And shuns to have her graces spied. That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired : Book Second Bid her come forth, wSuffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired. Then die ! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee : How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair ! E. Waller xc TO CELIA DRINK to me only with thine eyes. And I will pledge with mine ; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I '11 not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine ; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not wither'd be ; But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent'st it back to me ; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee ! B, Janson 91 92 The Golden Treasury xci CHERRY-RIPE THERE is a garden in her face Where roses and white Hlies blow A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow ; There cherries grow that none may buy. Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do ciy. Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearl a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow Yet them no peer nor prince may buy, Till Cheny-Ripe themselves do cry. 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 These sacred cherries to come nigh, — Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry ! Anon» XCII THE POETRY OF DRESS A SWEET disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness : — A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction, — t^' HER E^ES LIK E ANGEI.S WATCH 1 HEM STILL." — Page 92. Book Second 93 An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher, — A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbands to flow confusedly, — A winning wave, deserving note, 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 XCIII 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 MY Love in her attire doth shew her wit, It doth so well become her : For every season she hath dressings fit, For Winter, Spring, and Summer. No beauty she doth miss When all her robes are on : But Beauty's self she is When all her robes are gone. Anon, 94 The Golden Treasury xcv ON A GIRDLE THAT which her slender waist confined Shall now my joyful temples bind : No monarch but would give his crown His arms might do what this has done. It was my Heaven's extremest sphere. The pale which held that lovely deer : My joy, my grief, my hope, my love Did all within this circle move. A narrow compass ! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair s Give me but what this ribband bound, Take all the rest the Sun goes round. £. Waller xcvi TO ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING BID me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be : Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee. A heart as soft, a heart as kind, A heart as sound and free As in the whole world thou canst find. That heart I '11 give to thee. Book Second 95 Bid that heart stay, and it will stay. To honour thy decree : Or bid it languish quite away. And 't shall do so for thee. Bid me to weep, and I will weep While I have eyes to see : And having none, yet I will keep A heart to weep for thee. Bid me despair, and I '11 despair. Under that cypress-tree : Or bid me die, and I will dare E'en Death, to die for thee. 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 XCVII LOVE not me for comely grace, For my pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part. No, nor for my constant heart, — For those may fail, or turn to ill. So thou and I shall sever : Keep therefore a true woman's eye,' And love me still, but know not why— So hast thou the same reason still To doat upon me ever ! Anon, 96 7'he Golden Treasury XCVIII 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 But I am tied to very thee By every thought I have ; Thy face I only care to see, Thy heart I only crave. All that in woman is adored In thy dear self I find — For the whole sex can but afford The handsome and the kind. Why then should I seek further store. And still make love anew ? When change itself can give no more, 'T is easy to be true. Sir a Sedley XCIX TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON WHEN Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates. And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates ; When I lie tangled in her hair And fetter'd to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty. Book Second gy "When flowing cups nm swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses crown'd. Our hearts with loyal flames ; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free — Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty. When, linnet-like confined, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty 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. Stone walls do not a prison make. Nor iron bars a cage ; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage : If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty. Colonel Lovelace TO LUCASTA, ON GOING BEYOND THE SEAS I F to be absent were to be Away from thee ; 7 98 The Golden Treasury Or that when I am gone You or I were alone ; Then, my Lucasta, might I crave Pity from blustering wind, or swaliowmg wave. Though seas and land betwixt us both. Our faith and troth, Like separated souls, All time and space controls : Above the highest sphere we meet Unseen, unknown, and greet as AngeW greet So then we do anticipate 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 CI 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 ? Prythee, why so pale ? Why so dull and mute, young sinner ? Prythee, why so mute ? Will, when speaking well can't win her. Saying nothing do 't ? Prythee, why so mute ? Book Second 99 Quit, quit, for shame ! tliis will not move. This cannot take her ; If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her : The D— 1 take her ! Sir J. Stickling CII A SUPPLICATION AWAKE, awake, my Lyre ! And tell thy silent master's humble tale In sounds that may prevail ; Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire : Though so exalted she And I so lowly be Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony. Hark ! how the strings awake : And, though the moving hand approach not near. Themselves vdth 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. Weak Lyre ! thy virtue sure Is useless here, since thou art only found To cure, but not to wound. And she to wound, but not to cure. Too weak too wilt thou prove My passion to remove ; Physic to other ills, thou 'rt nourishment to love. X) The Golden Treasury Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre ! For thou canst never tell my humble tale In sounds that will prevail. Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire ; All thy vain mirth lay by, Bid thy strings 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 my cheeks make pale with care 'Cause another's rosy are ? Be she fairer than the day Or the flowery meads in May — If she be not so to me What care I how fair she be ? Shall my foolish heart be pined 'Cause I see a woman kind ; Or a well disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature ? Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove or pelican, If she be not so to me What care I how kind she be ? Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love ? Or her merit's value known Make me quite forget mine own ? Book Second io| Be she with that goodness blest "Which may gain her name of Best ; If she seem not such to me, What care I how good she be ? 'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die ? Those that bear a noble mind Where they want of riches find, Think what with them they would do Who without them dare to woo ; And unless that mind I see, What care I though great she be ? Great or good, or kind or fair, I will ne'er the more despair ; If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve ; If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go ; For if she be not for me. What care I for whom she be ? G, Wither CIV MELANCHOL V HENCE, all you vain delights. As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly : There 's nought in this life sweet If man wei"e wise to see 't. But only melancholy, O sweetest Melancholy i The Golden Treasury Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, A sigh that piercing mortifies, 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 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. y. Fletcher CV TO A LOCK OF HAIR THY hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright As in that well-remember'd night When first thy mystic braid was wove, And first my Agnes whisper'd love. Since then how often hast thou prest The torrid zone of this wild breast. Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell With the first sin that peopled hell ; A breast whose Ijlood 's a troubled ocean, Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion I if such clime thou canst endure Yet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure. What conquest o'er each erring thought Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought i 1 had not wander'd far and wide With such an angel for my guide ; Book Second 103 Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me If she had lived, and lived to love me. Not then this world's wild joys had been To me one savage hunting scene. My sole delight the headlong race And frantic hurry of the chase ; To start, pursue, and bring to bay. Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey, Then — from the carcass turn away ! Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed. And soothed each wound which pride inflamed : — Yes, God and man might now approve me if thou hadst lived, and lived to love me ! Sir W. Scott CVl THE FORSAKEN BRIDE OWALY waly up the bank;. And waly waly down the brae. And waly waly yon burn-side Where I and my Love wont to gael I leant my back unto an aik, I thought it was a trasty tree ; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my time Love did lichtly me. O waly waly, but love be bonny A little time while it is new ; But when 't is auld, it waxeth cauld And fades awa' like morning dew. O wherefore should I busk my head ? Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? 104 The Golden Treasury For my trae Love has me forsook. And says he '11 never loe me main Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed ; The sheets shall ne'er be prest by me : Saint Antony's well sail be my drink, Since my true Love has forsaken me. Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw And shake the green leaves afF the tree? gentle Death, when wilt thou come ? For of my life I am weari'e. 'T is not the frost that freezes fell. Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 'T is not sic cauld that makes me cry. But my Love's heart grown cauld to mc When we came in by Glasgow town We were a comely sight to see ; My Love was clad in the black velvet. And I mysell in cramasie. But had I vnst, before I kist. That love had been sae ill to win ; 1 had lockt my heart in a case of gowd And pinn'd it with a siller pin. And, O ! if my young babe were bom. And set upon the nurse's knee. And I mysell were dead and gane, And the green grass gjowii^ over me * Book Second ro< cvir FAIR HELEN' I WISH I were where Helen lies : Night and day on me she cries ; O that I were where Helen lies On fair Kirconnell lea ! Curst be the heart that thought the thought. And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me I think na but my heart was sair When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair I 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, None but my foe to be my guide, On fair Kirconnell lea,; I lighted down my sword to draw, I hacked him in pieces sma', I hacked him in pieces sma', For her sake that died for me. Helen fair, beyond compare ! 1 '11 make a garland of thy hair Shall bind my heart for evermair Until the day I die. I06 The Golden Treasury O that I were where Helen lies I Night and day on me she cries ; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, ' Haste and come to me 1 * Helen fair ! O Helen chaste ! If I were with thee, I were blest, Where thou lies low and takes thy rest On fair Kirconnell lea. 1 wish my grave were growing green, 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. Anort^ CVIII THE TWA CORBIES AS I was walking all alane I heard twa corbies making a mane ; The tane unto the t' other say, * Where sail we gang and dine to-day T' * — 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 fai)* Book Second I07 ' His hound is to the hunting gane. His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame. His lady 's ta'en another mate, So we may mak our dinner sweet. * Ye '11 sit on his white hause-bane, And I '11 pick out his bonny blue een : Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair We '11 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, The wind sail blaw for evermair. ' Anofu CIX 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. What, were ye bom to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night ? 'T was pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth. And lose you quite. I<^ Tfie Goldefi Treasury But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave i And after they have shown their pride Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave. 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 his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song ; And, having pray'd together, we "Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you. We have as short a Spring ; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing. We die. As your hours do, and dry Away Like to the Summer's rain ; Or as the pearls of morning's dew Ne'er to be found again. R. Herrick Book Second 109 CXI THOUGHTS IN A CARD EM HOW vainly men themselves amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays. And their incessant labours see Crown'd from some single herb or tree. Whose short and narrow-verged shade Does prudently their toils upbraid ; While all tlie flowers and trees do close To weave the garlands of Repose. Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, And Innocence thy sister dear ? Mistaken long, I sought you then In busy companies of men : Your sacred plants, if here below. Only among the plants will grow ; Society is all but rude To this delicious solitude. No white nor red was ever seen So amorous as this lovely green. Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, Cut in these trees their mistress' name : Little, alas, they know or heed How far these beauties her exceed ! Fair trees ! where'er your barks I wound, No name shall but your own be found. When we have run our passion's heat Love hither makes his best retreat : The gods, who mortal beauty chase. Still in a tree did end their race : no The Golden Treasury 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 I Ripe apples drop about my head ; The luscious clusters of the vine Upon ray mouth do crush their wine ; The nectarine and curious peach Into my hands themselves do reach ; Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Ensnared with flowers, 1 fall on grass. Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness ; The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find 5 Yet it creates, transcending these. Far other worlds, and other seas ; Annihilating all that 's made To a green thought in a green shade. Here at the fountain's sliding foot Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside My soul into the boughs does glide ; There, like a bird, it sits and sings. Then whets and 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; HEART-EASING MIKTH." — Page 11 Book Secojtd III After a place so pure and sweet, What other help could yet be meet f But 't was beyond a mortal's share To wander solitaiy there : Two paradises are in one, To live in Paradise alone. How well the skilful gardener drew Of flowers and herbs this dial new I Where, from above, the milder sun Does throug-h a fragrant zodiac run : And, as it works, th'' industrious bee Computes its time as well as we. How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckon'd, but with herbs and flowers ! A. Marvell cxrr r ALLEGRO HENCE, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight bora In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy I Find out some uncouth cell Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings And the night-raven sings ; There under ebon shades^ and low-brow'd rocks As ragged as thy locks. In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. But come, thou Goddess fair and free, In heaven yclep'd Euphrosyne, And by men, heart-easing Mirth, Whom lovely Venus at a birth 112 The Golden Treasury With two sister Graces more To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore : Or whether (as some sager sing) The frolic wind that breathes the spring Zephyr, with Aurora playing, As he met her once a-Maying — There on beds of violets blue And fresh-bloviTi roses wash'd in dew Fill'd her with thee, a daughter fair, So buxom, blithe, and debonair. Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful jollity, Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles. Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek ; Sport that wrinkled Care derides. And Laughter holding both his sides : — Come, and trip it as you go On the light fantastic toe ; And in thy right hand lead with thee The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty ; And if I give thee honour due Mirth, admit me of thy crew, To live with her, and live with thee In unreproved pleasures free ; To hear the lark begin his flight And singing startle the dull night From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled davni doth rise ; Tlien to come, in spite of sorrow. And at my window bid good -morrow Through the sweetbriar, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine : Book Second 113 While the cock with lively din Scatters the rear of darkness thin, And to the stack, or the barn-door. Stoutly struts his dames before : Oft listening how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn, From the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing shrilL Sometime walking, not unseen, By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green. Right against the eastern gate Where the great Sun begins his state Robed in flames and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; While the ploughman, near at band, Whistles o'er the furrow'd land. And the milkmaid singeth blithe. And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught n'^w uleasuitJ Whilst the landscape round it measure* ; Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray ; Mountains, on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest ; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide ; Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some Beauty lies. The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. Hard by, a cottage chimney smoke» From betwixt two aged oaks, 8 114 The Golden Treasury Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, Are at their savouiy dinner set Of herbs, and other countiy messes "Which the neat-handed PhiUis dresses | And then in haste her bower she leaves With Thestyhs to bind the sheaves ; Or, if the earher season lead. To the tann'd haycock in the mead. Sometimes with secure delight The upland hamlets will invite. When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth and many a maid. Dancing in the chequer'd shade ; And young and old come forth to play On a sun-shine holy-day, Till the live-long day -light fail : Then to the spicy nut-brown ale. With stories told of many a feat, How laeiy 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 To earn his cream-bowl duly set, When in one night, ere glimpse of mom. His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn That ten day-labourers could not end ; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And, stretch'd out all the chimney's lengthy Basks at the fire his hairy strength ; And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings. Thus done the tales, to bed they creep. By whispering winds soon luU'd asleep, Book Second 115 Tower'd cities please us then And the busy hum of men, Where throngs of knights and barons bold In weeds of peace high triumphs hold, With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To Avin her grace, whom all commend. There let Hymen oft appear In saffron robe, with taper clear. And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry ; Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's leamied sock be on. Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever against eating cares Lap me in soft Lydian airs Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce In notes, with many a winding bout Of linked sweetness long drawn out, With wanton heed and giddy cunning. The melting voice through mazes running. Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony ; That Orpheus' self may heave his head From golden slumber, on a bed Of heap'd Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto, to have quite set free His half-regain'd Eurydice. Il6 The Golden Treasury These delights if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to live. J. Milton CXIII IL PENSEROSO HENCE, vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly without father bred I How little you bestead Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys 1 Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams, Or likest hovering dreams The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy ! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue; Black, but such as in esteem Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, Or tiiat starr'd Ethiop queen that strove To set her beauty's praise above The sea nymphs, and their powers offended; Yet thou art higher far descended : Thee bright-hair'd Vesta, long of yore, To solitary Saturn bore; His daughter she ; in Saturn's reign Such mixture was not held a stain : Book Second Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost grove, While yet there was no fear of Jove. Come, pensive nun, devout and pure. Sober, steadfast, and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain Flowing with majestic train, And sable stole of cypres lawn Over thy decent shoulders drawn : Come, but keep thy wonted state. With even step, and musing gait. And looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes : There, held in holy passion still. Forget thyself to marble, till With a sad leaden downward cast Thou fix them on the earth as fast : And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet. And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing : And add to tliese retired Leisure That in trim gardens takes his pleasure : -«r But first, and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing Grading the fieiy -wheeled throne. The cherub Contemplation ; And the mute Silence hist along, 'Less Philomel will deign a song In her sweetest saddest plight. Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke Gently o'er die aecustora'd oak. ri7 Il8 The Golden Treasury — 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 ; 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 Through the heaven's wide pathless way. And oft, as if her he ,d she bow'd. Stooping through a fkecy cloud. 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 j Or, if the air will not permit, Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom ; Far from all resort of mirth. Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the belman's drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm. Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen in some high lonely tower. Where I may oft out-watcli the Bear With thrice-great Hermes, or imsphere? The spirit of Plato, to nnfold What worlds or what vast regions hold The immortal mind, that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook : And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood, or under ground, Book Second Whose power hath a true consent With planet, or with element. 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 Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. But, O sad Virgin, that thy power Might i*aise Musaeus from his bower. Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string. Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek And made Hell grant what Love did seek ! Or call up him that left half-told The story of Cambuscan bold, Of Camball, and of Algarsife, And who had Canace to wife That own'd the virtuous ring and glass ; And of the wondrous horse of brass On which the Tartar king did ride : And if aught else great bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have sung Of turneys, and of trophies hung. Of forests, and enchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear. Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale careetj Till civil-suited Morn appear, Not trick'd and frounced as she was wont With the Attic Boy to hunt, But kercheft in a comely cloud While rocking winds are piping loud, Or usher'd with a shower still. When the gust hath blown his fill, 19 The Golden Treasioy £i/ding on the rustling leaves With minute drops from off the eaves. And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, goddess, binng To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak, Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke, Was never heard the nymphs to daunt Or fright them from their hallow'd haunto 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. And the waters murmuring, With such concert as they keep Entice the dewy-feather'd Sleep ; And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings in aeiy stream 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, Or the unseen Genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail i'o walk the studious cloister's palc^ And love the high -embo wed roof. With antique pillars massy proof. And storied windows richly dight Casting a dim religious light : There let the pealing organ blow To the full-voiced quire below Cook Second 121 In service high and anthems clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear. Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage. The hairy gown and mossy cell Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth show, And every herb that sips the dew ; Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain. These pleasures, Melancholy, give, And I with thee will choose to live. J. Milton CXIV 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. ' What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the watery maze Where He the huge sea monsters wracks. That lift the deep upon their backs, Unto an isle so long unknown. 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 everything. 122 The Golden Treasury 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, And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows : He makes the figs our mouths to meet. And throws the melons at our feet ; But apples, plants of such a price, No tree could ever bear them twice. With cedars chosen by his hand From Lebanon he stores the land ; And makes the hollow seas that roar Proclaim the ambergris on shore. He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel's pearl upon our coast ; And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound His name. O let our voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, Which then perhaps rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexique bay ! ' • — Thus sung they in the English boat A holy and a cheerful note : And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time. A. Marvell cxv AT A SOLEMN MUSIC BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse i Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce ; Book Second 1 23 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, 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 Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms Hymns devout and holy psalms Singing everlastingly : Tliat we on earth, with undiscording voice 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 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 erelong To his celestial concert us unite, To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light ! J. Milton cxvr ALEXANDER'S FEAST, OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC J'np WAS at the royal feast for Persia won X By Philip's warlike son — Aloft in awful state The godlike hero sate On his im';erial throne : 124 ^'^''^ Golden Treasury 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 Sate like a blooming Eastern bride In flower of youth and beauty's pride : — Happy, happy, happy pair ! None but the brave None but the brave None but the brave deserves the fair I Timotheus placed on high Amid the tuneful quire With flying fingers touch'd the lyre : The trembling notes ascend the sky And heavenly joys inspire. The song began from Jove Who left his blissful seats above — Such is the power of mighty love ! A dragon's fiery form belied the god ; Sublime on radiant spires he rode When he to fair Olympia prest, And while he sought her snowy 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 I A present deity ! they shout around : A present deity ! the vaulted roofs rebound I With ravish'd ears The monarch hears, Assumes the god ; Affects to nod And seems to shake the spheres. Book Sccoiui 125 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 ! 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, Di'inking joys did first ordain ; Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : Rich the treasure Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; Fought all his battles o'er again, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain ! The master saw the madness rise, His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes ; And while he Heaven and Earth defied Changed his hand and check'd his pride. He chose a mournful Muse Soft pity to infuse : He sung Darius great and good. By too severe a fate Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fallen from his high estate, And weltering in his blood ; Deserted, at his utmost need, By those his former bounty fed ; On the bare earth exposed he lies With not a friend to close his eyes. 126 The Golden Treasury — 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. The mighty master smiled to see That love was in the next degree ; 'T was but a kindred sound to move. For pity melts the mind to love. Softly sweet, in Lydian measures Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble, Honour but an empty bubble, Never ending, still beginning ; Fighting still, and still destroying ; If the world be v/oith 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 > 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, 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 ! Break his bands of sleep asunder And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. Book Second 127 Hark, hark ! the horrid sound Has raised up his head : As awaked from the dead And amazed he stares around. Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries. See the Furies arise ! See the snakes that they rear How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! Behold a ghastly band Each a torch in his hand ! Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain And unburied remain Inglorious on the plain : 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. — The princes applaud with a furious joy : And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to dcsij-oy ; Thais led the way To light him to his prey. And like another Helen, fired another Troy 5 — Thus, long ago. Ere heaving bellows leam'd to blow, While organs yet were mute, Timotheus, to his breathing flute And sounding lyre Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft ^fifcyr^* At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store 128 The Golden Treasury Enlarged the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. — Let old Timotheus yield the prize Or both divide the crown ; He raised a mortal to the skies ; She drew an angel down ! y. Dryden BOOK THIRD 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 : 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-born flocks, in rustic dance, Frisking ply their feeble feet ; Forgetful of tl.eir wintry trance The birds his presence greet : But chief, the sky-lark warbles high His trembling thrilling ecstasy ; And lessening from the dazzled sight, Melts into air and liquid light. 9 130 The Golden Treasury Yesterday the sullen year Saw the snowy whirlwind fly ; Mute was the music of the air. The herd stood drooping by : Their raptures now that wildly flow- No yesterday nor morrow know ; 'T is Man alone that joy descries "With foi-ward and reverted eyes. Smiles on past Misfortune's brow Soft Reflection's hand can trace, And o'er the cheek of Sorrow throw A melancholy grace ; "While Hope prolongs our happier hour. Or deepest shades, that dimly lour And blacken round our weaiy way, Gilds with a gleam of distant day. Still, where rosy Pleasure leads, See a kindred Grief pursue ; Behind the steps that Misery treads Approaching Comfort view : The hues of bliss more brightly glow Chastised by sabler tints of woe, And blended form, with artful strife, The strength and harmony of life. See the wretch that long has tost On the thorny bed of pain, At length repair his vigour lost And breathe and walk again : The meanest floweret of the vale. The simplest note that swells the gale. The common sun, the air, the skies. To him are opening Paradise. T. Gray WHOSE TREES IN SUMMER YIELD HIM SHADE, IN WINTER, FIRE." — Page 131. Book Third 131 CXVIII THE QUIET LIFE HAPPY the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire ; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter, fire. Blest, who can unconcem'dly find Hours, days, and years, slide soft away In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day, Sound sleep by night ; study and ease Together mix'd j sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown ; Thus unlamented let me die ; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie. A. Pope CXI3C THE BLIND BOY o SAY wliat is that thing call'd Light, Wl'kU I trust ne'er enjoy ; 132 The Golden Treasury What are the blessings of the sight, O tell your poor blind boy ! You talk of wondrous things you see. You say the sun shines bright ; I feel him warni, but how can he Or make it day or night ? My day or night myself I make Whene'er I sleep or play ; And could I ever keep awake With me 't were always day. With heavy sighs I often hear 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 : Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, Although a poor blind boy. C, Cibber cxx ON" A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLD FISHES ''T^ WAS on a lofty vase's side J- Where China's gayest art had dyed The azure flowers that blow, Demurest of the tabby kind The pensive Selima, reclined. Gazed on the lake below. Book Third i:. Her conscious tail her joy declaied : The fair round face, the snowy beartl. The velvet of her paws, 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 'rnidst the tide Two angel forms were seen to glide, The Genii of the stream : Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue Through richest purple, to the view Betray'd a golden gleam. 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 ? What Cat 's averse to Fish ? Presumptuovis maid ! with looks intent Again she stretch'd, again she bent, Nor knew the gidf between — Malignant Fate sat by and smiled — - The slippery verge her feet beguiled ; She tumbled headlong in ! Eight times emerging from the flood She mew'd to every wateiy God Some speedy aid to send : — No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd. Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard — A favourite has no friend ! 134 'J^^i<^ Golden ' Treasury From hence, ye Beauties ! undeceived Know one false step is ne'er retrieved, And be with caution bold : Not all that tempts your wandering eyes And heedless hearts, is lawful prize, Nor all that glisters, gold \ T. Gray cxxi 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. Pleasing, without skill to please ; Little gossip, blitlie and liale. Tattling many a broken tale, Singing many a tuneless song. 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, Yet too innocent to blush ; Like the linnet in the bush To the mother-linnet's note Moduling her slender throat ; Chirping forth thy petty joys. Wanton in the change of toys, Like the linnet green, in May Flitting to each bloomy spray ; Wearied then and glad of rest. Book Third Like the linnet in the nest : — This thy present happy lot This, in time will be forgot : Other pleasures, other cares. Ever-busy 1 ime prepares ; And tliou shalt in thy daughter see, This picture, once, resembled thee. A. Philips CXXII RULE BRITANNIA WHEN Britain first at Heaven's command Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of her land, And guai-dian angels sung the strain : Rule Britannia ! Britannia rule the waves I 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 The dread and envy of them all. 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. 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. 1^3 136 77/^? Golden Treasury To thee belongs the rural I'eign ; 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 ; Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd, And manly hearts to guard the fair : — Rule Britannia ! Britannia rule the waves ! Britons never shall be slaves ! y. Thomson THE BARD Pindaric Ode ' 7~) UIN seize thee, ruthless King ! XX. Confusion on thy banners wait ! Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing They mock the air with idle state. Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall aA'ail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears ! ' — Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride Of the first Edward scatter'd wild dismay, As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side He wound with toilsome march his long array : — Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance ; ' To arms ! ' cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quivering lance. Book Third I37 On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood. Robed in the sable garb of woe With haggard eyes the Poet stood ; (Loose his beard and hoaiy 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 : ' Hark, how each giant oak and desert-cave Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath ! O'er thee, O King ! their hundred arms they wave, Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe ; Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day. To high-born 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 Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon 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 ; 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 — 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 hannony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. 138 The Golden Treasury * 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. 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 ! She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled mate, From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of Heaven ! What terrors round him wait. Amazement in his van, with Flight combined. And Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind, ' Mighty victor, mighty lord, Low on his funeral couch he lies ! No pitying heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies. Is the sable warrior fled ? Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. The swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were born ? — Gone to salute the rising morn. Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While proudly riding o'er the azure realm In gallant trim the gilded Vessel goes : Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm : Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind's sway, That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey. ' Fill high the sparkling bowl, The rich repast prepare ; Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : Close by the regal chair Book Third 135 Fell Thirst and Famine scowl 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 squadrons mow their way. 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 usurper's holy head ! Above, below, the rose of snow, Twined with her blushing foe, we spread : The bristled boar in infant-gore Wallows beneath the thorny shade. Now, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom, Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. * Edward, lo ! 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 ;) Stay, O 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 O ! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height Descending slow their glittering skirts unroll ? Visions of glory, spare my aching 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 ! ' Girt with many a bai-on bold Sublime their stany fronts they rear; 140 T*Iie Golden Treasury And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old In bearded majesty, appear. In the midst a form divine ! Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-Line : Her lion-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 ? Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear ; They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. Bright Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings, Waves in the eye of Heaven her many-colour'd wings, * The verse adorn again Fierce War and faithful Love And Truth severe by faiiy Fiction drest. In buskin'd measures move Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain, With Horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. A voice as of the cherub-choir 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 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 : with joy I see The different doom our fates assign : Be thine Despair and sceptred Care ; To trium]5h 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 Book Third CXXIV ODE WRITTEN IN MDCCXLVI 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. She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung : There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray. To bless the turf that wraps their clay. And Freedom shall awhile repair To dwell a weeping hermit there ! W, Collins LAMENT FOR CULLODEN THE lovely lass o' Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see \ For e'en and morn she cries, Alas ! And aye the saut tear blin's her ee : Drumossie moor — Drumossie day — A vra.efu' day it was to me ! For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three. Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay. Their graves are growing green to see : 14s 142 The Golden Treasury And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's ee ! Now wae to thee, thou cniel lord, A bluidy man I trow thou be ; For mony a heart thou hast made sair That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee. R. Burns cxxvi LAMENT FOR FLO DDE N I'VE heard them lilting at our ewe-milking, Lasses a' lilting before dawn o' day ; But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning — The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning^ Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae ; Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing, Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away. In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, 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 ; But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie — The Flowers of the Forest are waded away. Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border ! The English, for ance, by guile wan the day ; The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost, 'he prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. Book Third We ni hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking ; Women and bainis are heartless and wae ; Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning — The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. y. Elliott CXXVII THE BRAES OF YARROW THY braes were bonny, Yarrow streara. When first on them I met my lever j Thy braes how dreary, Yan'ow stream. When now tliy waves his body cover I 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 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 ; — Now he is wedded to his grave Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow 1 Sweet were his words when last we met ; My passion I as freely told him ; Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought That I should never more behold him ! Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow ; Thrice did the water-^vraith ascend. And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow. ^43 144 ^^^^ Golden Treasury 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 him east, they sought him west, They sought him all the forest thorough ; They only saw the cloud of night, They only heard the roar of Yarrow. 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 ! 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. No other youth shall be my marrow — I '11 seek thy body in the stream, And then with thee I '11 sleep in Yarrow, • — The tear did never leave her cheek, No other youth became her marrow ; She found his body in the stream. And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. y. Logan CXXVIII 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 V/illie ! Book Third 145 * Willie 's rare, and Willie 's fair, And Willie 's wondrous bonny ; And Willie heclit to marry me Gin e'er he married ony. * O gentle wind, that bloweth south. From where my Love repaireth, Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth And tell me how he fareth ! * O tell sweet Willie to come doun And hear the mavis singing, A-nd see the birds on ilka bush And leaves around them hinging. * The lav'rock there, wi' her white breasl And gentle throat sae narrow ; There 's sport eneuch for gentlemen On Leader haughs and YaiTow. * O Leader haughs are wide and braid And Yarrow haughs are bonny ; There Willie hecht to many me If e'er he married ony. * But Willie 's gone, whom I thought on^ 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 '11 mak' it narrow. For a' the live-lang winter night I lie twined o' my marrow. 10 1^6 The Golden Treasiay * O came ye by yon water-side ? Pou'd you the rose or lily ? Or came you by yon meadow green. 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 drown'd in Yarrow ! Ation» cxxix LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGR TOLL for the Brave ! The brave that are no more ! All sunk beneath the wave Fast by their native shore ! Eight hundred of the brave Whose courage well was tried. Had made the vessel heel And laid her on her side. A land-breeze shook the shroud And she was overset ; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. Book Third 147 It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up Once dreaded by our foes ! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound. And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main : But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er ; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. W. Cowper cxxx BLACK-EYED SUSAN" ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd. The streamers waving in the wind. When black-eyed Susan came aboard ; ' O ! where shall I my true-love find ? Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true If my sweet William sails among the crew.' 148 The Golden Treasury 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 : 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 pinions to his breast If chance his mate's shrill call he hear, 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 ; 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 Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind : They '11 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. * 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 Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. Book Thiti 149 •Though battle call me from tliy arras Let not my pretty Susan mourn ; Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms William shall to his Dear return. Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye ' The boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosom spread ; No longer must she stay aboard ; They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head. Her iessenmg boat unwilling rows to land ; * Adieu ! ' she cries -, and waved her lily harid/ J. Gay SALLY IN OUR ALLEY OF all the girls that are so smart Tliere 's none like pretty Sally j She is the darling of my heart. And she lives in our alley. There is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally ; She is the darling of my heart. And she lives in our alley. Her father he makes cabbage-nets And through the streets does cry 'em % Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy 'em ; But sure such folks could ne'er beget So sweet a gii-1 as Sally ! She is the darling of my heart. And she lives in our alley. 150 The Golden Treasury When she is by, I leave my work, I love her so sincerely ; My master comes like any Turk, And bangs me most severely — But let him bang his bellyful, I '11 bear it all for Sally ; She is the darling of my heart. And she lives in our alley. Of all the days that 's in the week I 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 To walk abroad with Sally ; She is the darling of my heait, And she lives in our alley. My master carries me to church. And often am I blamed Because I leave him in the lurch As soon as text is named ; 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. then I shall have money ; I '11 hoard it up, and box it all, 1 '11 give it to my honey : I would it were ten thousand pound, I 'd give it all to Sally ; She is the darling of my heart. And she lives in our alley. Bock Third My master and the neighbours all Make game of me and Sally, And, but for her, I 'd better be A slave and row a galley ; But when my seven long years are out O then I '11 marry Sally, — O then we '11 wed, and then we '11 bed. But not in our alley ! H. Carty CXXXII A FAREWELL GO fetch to me a pint o' wine, And fill it in a silver tassie ; That I may drink before I go A service to my bonnie lassie ; The boat rocks at the pier of Leith, Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferrjr, The ship rides by the Berwick-law, A.nd I maun leave my bonnie Maiy. The trumpets sound, the banners fly. The glittering spears are ranked ready ; The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and bloody ; But it 's not the roar o' sea or shore Wad make me langer wish to tany ; Nor shouts o' war that 's heard afar — It 's leaving thee, my Bonnie Mary. R, Burns IS J [^2 The Golden Treasury IF doughty deeds my lady please Right soon I '11 mount my steed ; And strong his arm, and fast his seat That bears frae me the meed. I '11 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 \ O tell me how to woo thee ! For thy dear sake, nae care I '11 take Tho' ne'er another trow me. If gay attire delight thine eye I 'U dight me in array ; I '11 tend thy chamber door all night. And squire thee all the day. If sweetest sounds can win thine ear. These sounds I '11 strive to catch ; Thy voice I '11 steal to woo thysell, 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. 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 ' Then tell me how to woo thee, Love \ O tell me how to woo thee ! ^^ FAR FROM THE WORLD's GAY, BUSY THRONG, "—/"a^^ 153. Book Third 153 For thy dear sake, nae care I '11 take, Tho' ne'er another trow me. Graham of Gartmore CXXXIV TO A YOUNG LADY SWEET stream, that winds through yonder glade^ Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — Silent and chaste she steals along. Far from the world's gay busy throng : With gentle yet prevailing force, Intent upon her destined course j Graceful and useful all she does, Blessing and blest where'er she goes j Pure-bosom'd as that wateiy glass, And Heaven reflected in her face. W. Coivper cxxxv THE SLEEPING BEAUTY SLEEP on, and dream of Heaven awhile--' Tho' shut so close thy laughing eyes, Thy rosy lips still wear a smile And move, and breathe delicious sighs 1 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 1 She starts, she trembles, and she weeps \ Her fair hands folded on her breas : 154 The Golden Treasury • — And now, how like a saint she sleeps t A seraph in the realms of rest ! 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 CXXXVI 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 ? Bid us sigh on from day to day, And wish and wish the soul away ; Till youth and genial years are flcvm. And all the life of life is gone ? But busy, busy still art thou, 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 ; All other blessings I resign. Make but the dear Amanda mine. J, Thomson Book Tliird 155 THt, merchant, to secure his treasure. Conveys it in a borrow'd name ; Euphelia serves to grace my measure, But Cloe is my real flame. 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, But with my numbers mix my sighs ; And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise, I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes. Fair Cloe blush'd : Euphelia frown'd : I sung, and gazed ; I play'd, and trembled t And Venus to the Loves around Remark'd how ill we all dissembled. ]\L Prior 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 eveiy eye, To give repentance to her lover And wring his bosom, is — to die. O. Goldsmith 156 The Golden Treasury cxxxix YE banks and braes o' bonnie Doon How can ye bloom sae fair ! How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae fu' o' care ! 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 '11 break my heart, thou bonnie bird 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, 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, But left the thorn wi' me. R. Burns CXL THE PROGRESS OF POESY A Pindaric Ode A WAKE, Aeolian lyre, awake, l\. And give to rapture all thy trembling stiings. Book Third 157 From Helicon's harmonious springs A thousand rills their mazy progress take : The laughing flowers that round them blow- Drink life and fragrance as they flow. Now the rich stream of Music winds along Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong, Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign ; Now rolling down the steep amain Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. O Sovereign of the willing soul, Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, Enchanting shell ! the sullen Cares And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. On Thracia's hills the Lord of War Has curb'd the fuiy 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 : Quench'd in dark clouds of slumber lie The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. Thee the voice, the dance, obey Temper'd to thy warbled lay. O'er Idaiia's velvet-green The rosy-crowned Loves are seen On Cytherea's day. With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, Frisking light in frolic measures ; Now pursuing, now retreating, Now in circling troops they meet : To brisk notes in cadence beating Glance their many-twinkling feet. 158 The Golden Treasury Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare : Where'er she turns the Graces homage pay : With arms sublime that float upon the air In gliding state she wins her easy way : O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. Man's feeble race what ills await ! Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's Aveeping train. And Death, sad refuge from the storms of Fate ! The fond complaint, my song, disprove, And justify the laws of Jove. Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse ? Night, and all her sickly dews, Her spectres wan, and birds of boding crj' He gives to range the dreary sky : Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. In climes beyond the solar road Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, The Muse has broke the twilight gloom To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. And oft, beneath the odorous shade Of Chili's boundless forests laid. She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat In loose numbers wildly sweet Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. Her track, where'er the Goddess roves, Glory pursue, and generous Shame, Th' unconquerable ?dind, and Freedom's holy flame. Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Isles, that crown th' Aegean deep. Book Third 159 Fields that cool Ilissus laves Or where Maeander's amber waves In lingering lab'rinths creep, How do your tuneful echoes languish. 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 : Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour, Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, They sought, O Albion ! next, thy sea-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 Her awful face : the dauntless Child Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled. This pencil take (she said), whose coloure clear Richly paint the vernal year : Thine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy \ This can unlock the gates of Joy ; Of Horror that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic Tears. Nor second He, that rode sublime Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy The secrets of the Abyss to spy : He pass'd the flaming bounds of Place and Time : The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze Where Angels tremble while they gaze, i6o The Golde)i Treasury He saw ; but blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night. Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear Two coursers of ethereal race With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace. Hark, his hands the lyre explore J Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, Scatters- from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe, and words that bum. But ah ! 't is heard no more O ! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit 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 ; 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 : Beneath the Good how far — but far above the Great 7! Gray CXLI THE PASSIONS An Ode for Music HEN Music, heavenly maid, was young, w While yet in early Greece she sung, The Passions oft, to hear her shell, Throng'd around her magic cell Book Third i6l Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, Possest beyond the Muse's painting ; By turns they felt the glowing mind Disturb'd, delighted, raised, refined : 'Till once, 't is said, when all were firedj 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, 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. 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 nide clash he struck the lyre And swept with hurried hand the strings* With w^oeful measures wan Despair — Low sullen sounds his grief beguiled, A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 'T was sad by fits, by starts 't was wild. But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair. What was thy delighted measure ? Still it whisper'd promised pleasure And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail f Still would her touch the strain prolong ; And from the rocks, the woods, the vale She call'd on Echo still through all the song ; II 1 62 The Golaen 'Ireasitry And, where her sweetest theme she chose, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golde* hair ; — And longer had she sung- : — but Avith a frown Revenge impatient rose ; He threw his biood-stain'd sword in thunder down ; And with a withering look The war-denouncing trumpet took And blew a blast so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ! And ever and anon he beat The doubling drum with furious heat ; And, though sometimes, each dreary pause between. Dejected Pity at his side Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting froni his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd : Sad proof of thy distressful state ! Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd ; And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hatu With eyes up-raised, as one inspired. Pale Melancholy sat retired ; 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 Bubbling runnels join'd the sound ; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stola Book Third i^)-^ Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round an holy cahn diffusing, Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away. But O ! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 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 ! 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 leap'd up, and seized his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial : He, with viny crown advancing. First to the lively pipe his hand addrest : But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best : 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. 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, O Music ! sphere-descended maid, Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid J 164 The Golden Treasury Why, goddess, why, to us denied, Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ? As in that loved Athenian bower 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 ? Arise, as in that elder time, Wai-m, energic, chaste, sublime ! Thy wonders, in that god-like age, Fill thy recording Sister's page ; — ■ 'T is said, and I believe the tale, Thy humblest reed could more prevail. Had more of strength, diviner rage, Than all which charms this laggard age. E'en all at once together found Cecilia's mingled world of sound : — O bid our vain endeavours cease : Revive the just designs of Greece : Return in all thy simple state ! Confirm the tales her sons relate ! W. Collins CXLII 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 ! The Attic warbler pours her throat Responsive to the cuckoo's note, Book Third 165 The untaught harmony of Spring : While, whispering pleasure as they fly, Cool Zephyrs through the clear blue sky Their gather'd fragrance fling. Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch A broader, browner shade, Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade, jBeside 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, How indigent the Great ! Still is the toiling hand of Care ; The panting herds repose : Vet hark, how thro' the peopled ail The busy murmur glows ! 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 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. Alike the busy and the gay But flatter thro' life's little day, In Fortune's varying colours drest : l66 The Golden Treasury Bru^h'd by the hand of rough Mischance Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance 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 ! 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 — We frolic while 't is May. T. Gray cxLiir 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. Twelve years have elapsed since I last 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 Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat ; And the scene v/here his melody charm'd me before Resounds with his sweet-flov/ing ditty no more. Book riurd idi My fugitive years are all hasting away, And I must ere long lie as lowly as they. With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head. Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 'T is a sight to engage me, if anything can. To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ; Short-lived as we are, our enjoyments, I see Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we, W. Cowper CXLIV TO A FIELD MOUSE WEE, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O what a panic 's in thy breastie I Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle ! I wad be laith to rin and chase thee Wi' murd'ring pattle \ I 'm truly sony man's dominion Has broken nature's social union. And justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, And fellow-mortal ! I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve j What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live I A daimen icker in a thrave 'S a sma' request : I '11 get a blessin' wi' the lave, And never miss 't ! |68 The Golden Treasury Tliy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' : And naething, now, to big a new ane, ^' ^^SS^-ge green ! And bleak December's winds ensuin' Baith snell and keen ! Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste And weary winter comin' fast And cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell. Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! Now thou 's turn'd out for a' thy trouble But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble And cranreuch cauld ! But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane In proving foresight may be vain ; The best laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley. And lea'e us nought but grief and pain. For promised joy. Still thou art blest, compared wi' me I The present only toucheth thee : But, och ! I backward cast my e'e On prospects drear ! And foi"ward, tho' I canna see, I guess and fcai-. R. Burna Book Third 169 CXLV A WISH MINE be a cot beside the hill ; A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear 5 A willowy brook that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch Shall twitter from her clay-built nest ; Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch. And share my meal, a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing In russet-gown and apron blue. The village-church among the trees, Where first our marriage-vows were given. With merry peals shall swell the breeze And point with taper spire to Heaven. -5". Rogers CXLVI TO EVENING F aught of oaten stop or pastoral song May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest Like thy own solemn springs, Thy springs, and dying gales ; X70 The Goldat Treasury 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 With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises midst the twilight path, Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum, — Now teach me, maid composed, To breathe some soften'd strain Whose numbers, stealing through thy dark'ning vale. May not unseemly with its stillness suit j As musing slow I hail Thy genial loved return. For when thy folding-star arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant Hours, and Elves Who slept in buds the day, And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with scdgC And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still The pensive Pleasures sweet. Prepare thy shado^vy car. Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene ; Or find some n;in midst its dreary dells, Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams. Book Third 171 Or if chill blustering winds or driving rain Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut That, from the mountain's side, Views wilds and swelling lloods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires ; And hears their simple bell ; and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil. While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont. And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! While Summer loves to sport Beneath thy lingering light ; While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves j Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train And nidely rends thy robes ; So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, Thy gentlest influence own. And love thy favourite name ! W. Collins CXLVII ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD THE curfev/ tolls the knell of parting day. The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea. The ploughman homeward plods his weary w»y. And leaves the world to darkness and"' to me. 172 The Golden Treasury Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight. And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds : Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap. Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn. The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn. No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth sliall burn Or busy housewife ply her evening care : No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team afield ! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke \ Let not Ambition mock their useful toil. Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ! Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. Book Third 1 73 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Await alike th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise. Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust. Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death ? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page Rich Avith the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear : Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood. Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest. Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 174 "^^^^ Golde7i Treastiry Th' applause of list'ning senates to command. The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their histor}' in a nation's eyes Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone Their grooving virtues, but their crimes confined \ Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide. To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect Some frail memorial still erected nigh, "With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing lingering look behind ? Book Tliird 175 On some fond breast the parting soul relies. Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead. Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say. Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away. To meet the sun upon the upland lawn ; There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch. And pore upon the brook that babbles by. Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; Another came ; nor yet beside the rill. Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne, -*» Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn. 176 The Golden Treasury THE EPITAPH Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown ; Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; Heaven did a recompense as largely send : He gave to Misery all he had, a tear. He gain'd from Heaven, 't was 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 CXLVIII MARY MORISON OMARY, at thy window be, It is the wish'd, the tiysted hour I Those smiles and glances let me see That make the miser's treasure poor : How blythely wad I bide the stoure, A weary slave frae sun to sun. Could I the rich reward secure, The lovely Mary Morison. Yestreen when to the trembling string The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing, — I sat, but neither heard nor saw : "o ^:ARV, AT THV ^vINDu^v BE." — Puge 176. Book Third \1'J 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 Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee ? Or canst thou break that heart of his, Whase only faut is loving thee ? If love for love thou wilt na gie, At least be pity to me shown ; A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Mary Morison. R. Burns CXLIX BONNIE LESLEY OSAW ye bonnie Lesley As she gaed o'er the border 5 She 's gane, like Alexander, To spread her conquests farther. 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, Thy subjects we, before thee ; Thou art divine, fair Lesley, The hearts o' men adore thee. The dell he could na scaith thee. Or aught that wad belang thee ; 12 t78 The Golden Treasiuy He 'd look into thy bonnie face, And say ' I canna wrang thee ! * The Powers aboon will tent thee ; Misfortune sha' na steer thee ; Thou 'rt like themselves sae lovely That ill they '11 ne'er let near thee. Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie ! That we may brag we hae a lass There 's nane again sae bonnie. R. BM'- Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more : My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me ? O tell me I yet have a friend. Though a friend I am never to see. 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 light 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, The beast is laid down in his lair ; 13 ig^4 'J^^^'^ Goldoi Treasury Even here is a season of rest, And I to my cabin repair. There 's mercy in every place, And mercy, encouraging thought I Gives even affliction a grace And reconciles man to his lot W. Cowper CLXI TO MARY UN WIN MARY ! I want a lyre with other strings, Such aid from heaven as some have feign'd they drtrvv, An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new And undebased by praise of meaner things, That ere through age or woe I shed my wings 1 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 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 all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine ; And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee minCi W, CowPer Book Third 195 CLxir TO THE SAME THE twentieth year is well nigh jDast Since first our sky was overcast ; Ah would that this might be the last ! My Mary ! Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow — 'T was my distress that brought thee low. My Maiy ! Thy needles, once a shining store, 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, 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, My Mary ! Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream ; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Maiy ! 196 The Golden Treasury 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, What sight worth seeing could I see? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Maiy ! Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet gently press'd, press gently mine. My Mary ! 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 press'd with ill. 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 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 — My Maiy ! W. Cou'J>er Book Third 197 CLXIII THE DYING MAN IN HIS GARDEN WHY, Damon, with the forward day Dost thou thy httle spot survey, From tree to tree, with doubtful cheer. Pursue the progress of the year, What winds arise, what rains descend, When thou before that year shalt end ? What do thy noontide walks avail, To clear the leaf, and pick the snail. Then wantonly to death decree An insect usefuller than thee ? Thou and the worm are brother-kind. As low, as earthy, and as blind. Vain wretch ! canst thou expect to see The downy peach make court to thee ? Or that thy sense shall ever meet The bean-flower's deep-embosom'd sweet Exhaling with an evening blast ? Thy evenings then will all be past ! Thy narrow pride, thy fancied green (For vanity 's in little seen), All must be left when Death appears. In spite of wishes, groans, and tears ; Nor one of all thy plants that grow But Rosemaiy will with thee go. G> Stwell 193 The Golden Treasury TO-MORROW IN the downhill of life, when I find I 'm declining, May my lot no less fortunate be Than a snug elbow-chair can afford for reclining. And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea ; With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, While I carol away idle sorrow, And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn Look forward with hope for to-morrow. With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too, 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 ; I '11 envy no nabob his riches or fame, Nor what honours await him to-morrow. From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely Secured by a neighbouring hill ; And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly By the sound of a murmuring rill : And v/hile peace and plenty I find at my board, With a heart free from sickness and sorrow, With my friends may I share what to-day may afford. And let them spread the table to-morrow. And Avhen I at last must throw off this frail covering Which I 've worn for three-score years and ten, On the brink of the grave I '11 not seek to keep hovering, Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again : Book Third 199 But my face in the glass I '11 serenely survey, And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow ; As this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare to-day. May become everlasting to-morrow. — Collins CLXV 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. Life ! we 've been long together Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 'T is hard to part when friends are dear — Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear ; — Then steal away, give little warning. Choose thine own time ; Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter clime Bid me Good Morning. A. L. Barbauld BOOK FOURTH OiV FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. MUCH have I travell'd in the realms of gold And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : — Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; Or like stout Cortez — when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific, and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien. y. Keats Book Fourth 20l ODE ON THE POETS BARDS of Passion and of Mirth Ye have left your souls on earth 1 Have ye souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new ? — Yes, and those of heaven commune With the spheres of sun and moon ; With the noise of fountains wonderous And the parle of voices thunderous ; With the whisper of heaven's trees And one another, in soft ease Seated on Elysian lawns Browsed by none but Dian's fawns ; Underneath large blue-bells tented. Where the daisies are rose-scented, And the rose herself has got Perfume which on earth is not ; Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth ; Philosophic numbers smooth ; Tales and golden histories Of heaven and its mystei-ies. Thus ye live on high, and then On the earth ye live again ; And the souls ye left behind you Teach us, here, the way to find you Where your other souls are joying, Never slumber'd, never cloying. Here, your earth-born souls still speak To mortals, of their little week ; 202 The Golden Treasury Of their sorrows and delights ; Of their passions and their spites ; Of their glory and their shame ; What doth strengthen and what maim Thus ye teach us, every day, Wisdom, though fled far away. Bards of Passion and of Mirth Ye have left your souls on earth ! Ye have souls in heaven too, Double-lived in regions new ! y. Keats CLXVIII LOVE ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay Beside the ruin'd tower. The moonshine stealing o'er the scene Had blended with the lights of eve ; And she was there, my hope, my joy. My own dear Genevieve ! She lean'd against the armed man. The statue of the armed knight ; She stood and listened to my lay, Amid the lingering light. Book Fourth 203 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, I sang an old and moving story — - An old rude song, that suited well . That ruin wild and hoary. She listen'd with a flitting blush. With downcast eyes and modest grace ; 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 The Lady of the Land. I told her how he pined : and ah ! The deep, the low, the pleading tone With which I sang another's love Interpreted my own. She listen'd 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 That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, And that he cross'd the mountain-woods, Nor rested day nor night ; 204 The Golden Treastcry That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade^ And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade, There came and look'd him in the face An angel beautiful and bright ; And that he knew it was a Fiend, This miserable Knight ! And that unknowing what he did. He 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 ; And how she tended him in vain ; And ever strove to expiate The scorn that crazed his brain ; And that she nursed him in a cave, And how his madness went away. When on the yellow forest-leaves A dying man he lay ; - — His dying words — but when I reach'd That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My faltering voice and pausing harp Disturb'd her soul with pity ! All impulses of soul and sense Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve j The music and the doleful tale, The rich and balmy eve ; Book Fourth 205 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, She blush'd with love, and virgin shame ; And like the murmur of a dream, I. heard her breathe my name. Her bosom heaved — sne stepp'd aside, As conscious of my look she stept — Then suddenly, with timorous eye She tied to me and wept. She half enclosed me with her arms, She press'd me with a meek embrace ; And bending back her head, look'd up. And gazed upon my face. 'T was partly love, and partly fear, And partly 't was a bashful art That I might rather feel, than see The swelling of her heart. I calm'd her fears, and she was calm. And told her love with virgin pride ; And so I won my Genevieve, My bright and beauteous Bride. 16: T. Coleridge 2b6 • The Golden Treasury CLXIX ALL FOR LOVE OTALK not to me of a name great in story ; The days of our youth are the days of our glory j And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled ? 'T is but as a dead flower wdth May -dew besprinkled : Then away with all such from the head that is hoary — "What care I for the wreaths that can only give glorj' ? Fame ! — if I e'er took delight in thy praises, ^T was 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 ; 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 CLXX THE OUTLAW OBRIGNALL banks are wild and fan And Greta woods are green. And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer-queen. H,.AST IS HEAKl. AT MERKV MOKN ' '- 7 a^'. .CJ Book Fourth 207 And as I rode by Dalton-Hall Beneath the turrets high, A Maiden on the castle-wall Was singing merrily : * O Brignall banks are fresh and fair. And Greta woods are green ; I 'd rather rove with Edmund there Than reign our English queen.' * If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, To leave both tower and town. Thou first must guess what life lead we That dwell by dale and down. And if thou canst that riddle read, As read full well you may, Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed 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. * I read you by your bugle-hom And by your palfrey good, I read you for a ranger sworn To keep the king's greenwood.' *A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, And 't is at peep of light ; His blast is heard at mcriy mom, And mine at dead of night.' Yet sung she ' Brignall banks are fair, And Greta woods are gay ; I would I were with Edmund there To reign his Queen of May ! io8 The Golden Treasury * With burnish'd brand and musketoon So gallantly you come, I read you for a bold Dragoon That lists the tuck of drum.' * I list no more the tuck of drum, No more the tmmpet hear ; But when the beetle sounds his hum My comrades take the spear. And O ! though Brignall banks be fair And Greta woods be gay, Yet mickle must the maiden dare Would reign my Queen of May. * Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I '11 die ! 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. Nor think what we are now. ' C/ior^fs Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green. And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer-queen. S^r W. Scott Book Fourth 20g CLXXI THERE be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic like Thee ; And like music on tlie waters Is thy sweet voice to me : When, as if its sound were causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming, And the lull'd winds seem dreaming : And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep, Whose breast is gently heaving As an infant's asleep : So the spirit bows before thee To listen and adore thee ; With a full but soft emotion, Like the swell of Summer's ocean. Lord Byron CLXXII LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR I ARISE from dreams of Thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low And the stars are shining bright : I arise from dreams of thee, And a spirit in my feet Has led me — who knows how ? To thy chamber-window, Sweet ! 14 2I€» The Golden Treasury The wandering airs they faint On the dark, the silent stream — The champak odours fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream j The nightingale's complaint It dies upon her heart, As I must die on thine O beloved as thou art ! lift me from the grass ! 1 die, I faint, I fail ! Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white, alas ! My heart beats loud and fast ; O ! press it close to thine again Where it will break at last. P, B. ShdUy CLXXIII SHE walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and stany skies, And all that 's best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes, Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which 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 Or softly lightens o'er her face, Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. Book Fourth 2\\ And on that cheek and o'er that brow So soft, so cahn, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow But tell of days in goodness spent, — A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent. Lord Byron SHE was a phantom of delight When first she gleam'd upon my sight j A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament ; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair ; Like Twihght's, too, her dusky hair ; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn ; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay. I saw her upon nearer view, A spirit, yet a woman too ! Her household motions light and fre^ And steps of virgin -liberty ; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet ; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food. For transient sorrows, simple wiles. Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine : SI 2 The Golden Treasury A being breathing thoughtful breath, A ti-aveller 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 ; And yet a Spirit still, and bright "With something of an angel-light. IV. Words-djortk SHE is not fair to outward view As many maidens be ; Her loveliness I never knew Until she smiled on me. 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 The love-light in her eye : Her very frowns are fairer far Than smiles of other maidens are. H. CoUrtdgi 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 ; Book Fourth 213 Innocent is the heart's devotion With which I worship thine. P. B. Shelley CLXXVII THE LOST LOVE SHE dwelt among the iintrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove ; A maid whom there were none to praise. And very few to love. A violet by a mossy stone Half-hidden from the eye ! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be ; But she is in her grave, and O ! The difference to me ! W. Wordsworth CLXXVII I ITRAVELL'D among unknown men In lands beyond the sea j Nor, England ! did I know till tlien What love I bore to thee. 'T is past, that melancholy dream ! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time, for still I seem To love thee more and more. 214 '^^^ Golden Treasury Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire ; And she I cherish'd turn'd her wheel Beside an Enghsh fire. Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd The bowers where Lucy play'd ; And thine too is the last green field That Lucy's eyes survey'd. W. Wordsworth CLXXIX THE EDUCATION OF NATURE THREE years she grew in sun and showgirl Then Nature said, * A lovelier flower On earth was never sown : This child I to myself will take ; She shall be mine, and I will make A lady of my own. * Myself will to my darling be Both law and impulse ; and with me The girl, in rock and plain In earth and heaven, in glade and bower Shall feel an overseeing power To kindle or restrain. * She shall be sportive as the fawn That wild vdth glee across the lawn 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. Book Fourth 215 *The floating clouds their state shall lend To her ; for her the willow bend ; Nor shall she fail to see E'en in the motions of the storm Grace that shall mould the maiden's form By silent sympathy. * The stars of midnight shall be dear To her ; and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round. And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face. ' And vital feelings of delight Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell ; Such thoughts to Lucy I will give While she and I together live Here in this happy dell. ' Thus Nature spake — The work was done—* How soon my Lucy's race was run ! She died, and left to me This heath, this calm and quiet scene ; The memory of what has been, And never more will be. W. Wordsworth CLXXX 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. 2i6 The Goldeti Treastoy No motion has she now, no force ; She neither hears nor sees ; Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course With rocks, and stones, and trees ! W. Wordsworth CLXXXI LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound Cries ' Boatman, do not tarry ! And I '11 give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry ! ' * Now who be ye, would cross LochgyU This dark and stormy water ? ' * O I 'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this. Lord Ullin's daughter, * 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 — Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover ! ' Out spoke the hardy Highland wight * I '11 go, my chief, I 'm ready : It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady : — • "the chief ok ULVa's isle."— /"rt^^ 216. Book Fourth 217 * And by my word ! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry ; So though the waves are raging white I '11 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. But still as wilder 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, * Though tempests round us gather ; I '11 meet the raging of the skies. But not an angiy father.' The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her, — When, O ! too strong for human hand The tempest gather'd o'er her. And still they row'd amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing : Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, — His wrath was changed to wailing. 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. 2iS The Golden Treasury ' Come back ! come back ! ' he cried in grief * Across this stormy water : And I '11 forgive your Highland chief, My daughter ! — O my daughter ! 'T was vain : the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing : The waters vnld went o'er his child. And he was left lamenting. T. Campbell JOCK a HAZELDEAISr < "X T 7HY weep ye by the tide, ladie? V V Why weep ye by the tide ? I '11 wed ye to my youngest son. And ye sail be his bride : 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, And dry that cheek so pale ; Young Frank is chief of Errington And lord of Langley-dale ; His step is first in peaceful ha', His sword in battle keen ' — 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. Book Fourth 219 Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; And you the foremost o' them a' Shall ride our forest-queen ' — But aye she loot the tears down fa* For Jock of Hazeldean. 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' ; The ladie was not seen ! She 's o'er the Border, and awa' Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. Sir W. Scott CLXXXIII FREEDOM AND LOVE HOW delicious is the winning Of a kiss at love's beginning. When two mutual hearts are sighing For the knot there 's no untying ! Yet remember, 'midst your wooing. Love has bliss, but Love has ruing ; Other smiles may make you fickle, Tears for other channs may trickle. Love he comes, and Love he tarries. Just as fate or fancy carries ; Longest stays, when sorest chidden ; Laughs and flies, when press'd and bidden. 220 TJie Golden Treasury Bind the sea to slumber stilly, Bind its odour to the lily, Bind the aspen ne'er to quiver, Then bind Love to last for ever. Love 's a fire that needs renewal Of fresh beauty for its fuel : Love's wing moults when caged and captured, Only free, he soars enraptured. Can you keep the b^e from ranging Or the ringdove's neck from changing? No ! nor fetter'd Love from dying In the knot there 's no untying. T. Campbell CLXXXIV LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY THE fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the ocean. The winds of heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion ; 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 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 — Book Fourth 221 What are all these kissings worth, If thou kiss not me ? P. B, Shelley CLXXXV 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 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 The songs repeat. 'T is when the sigh, — in youth sincere And only then, The sigh that 's breathed for one to hear — Is by that one, that only Dear Breathed back again. T. Moore CLXXXVI 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. 222 The Golden Treasury The lai-k, his lay who trill'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 Her shepherd's suit to hear ; To beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born Cavalier. 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 W, ScoU CLXXXVII 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? 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 So kind a star thou seem'st to be. Sure some enamour'd orb above Descends and burns to meet with thee I Thine is the breathing, blushing hour When all unheavenly passions fly. Book Fourth 223 Chased by the soul-subduing power Of Love's delicious witchery. O ! sacred to the fall of day Queen of propitious stai's, appear. And early rise, and long delay "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 down ; — 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 Shine where my charmer's sweeter breath Embalms the soft exhaling dew, "Where dying winds a sigh bequeath To kiss the cheek of rosy hue : — "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 In converse sweet to wander far-^ O bring with thee my Caroline, And thou shalt be my Ruling Star ! T. Campbell 224 The Golden Treasury CLXXXVIII TO THE NIGHT SWIFTLY walk over the western wavCi Spirit of Night ! Out of the misty eastern cave "Where all the long and lone daylight Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear Which make thee terrible and dear, — Swift be thy flight ! Wrap thy form in a mantle gray Star-inwrought ! Blind with thine hair the eyes of day, Kiss her until she be wearied out, Then wander o'er city, and sea, and land Touching all with thine opiate wand — Come, long-sought ! 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 Lingering like an unloved guest, I sigh'd for thee. Thy brother Death came, and cried Wouldst thou me ? Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmur'd like a noon-tide bee Shall I nestle near thy side ? Wouldst thou me ? — And I replied No, not thee ! Book Fourth 225 Death will come when thou art dead. Soon, too soon — Sleep will come when thou art fled ; Of neither would I ask the boon I ask of thee, beloved Night — Swift be thine approaching flight, Come soon, soon ! P. B. Shelley CLXXXIX 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 ? Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant, Bound to thy service with unceasing care — The mind's least generous wish a mendicant For nought but what thy happiness could spare. Speak ! — though this soft warm heart, once free to hold A thousand tender pleasures, thine 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 I W, Wordsworth IS 226 The Golden Treasury cxc 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 ! The dew of the morning Sunk chill 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. They name thee before m^ 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. Book Fourth 227 If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee ? — - With silence and tears. Lord Byron cxci HAPPY INSENSIBILITY IN a drear-nighted December Too happy, happy Tree Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity ; The north cannot undo them "With a sleety whistle through them. Nor frozen thawings glue them From budding at the prime. In a drear-nighted December Too happy, happy Brook Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look ; But with a sweet forgetting They stay their crystal fretting. Never, never petting About the frozen time. Ah would 't were so with many A gentle girl and boy ! But were there ever any Writhed not at passed joy ? To know the change and feel it^ When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steal it — - Was never said in rhyme. J. Keats 228 The Golden Treasury CXCII WHERE shall the lover rest Whom the fates sever From his true maiden's breast Parted for ever ? Where, through groves deep ai? nigh Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die Under the willow. Eleu loro Soft shall be his pillow. There, through the summer day Cool streams are laving : There, while the tempests sway, Scarce are boughs waving ; There thy rest shalt thou take. Parted for ever, Never again to wake Never, O never ! Eleu loro Never, O never ! Where shall the traitor rest. He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, Ruin, and leave her ? In the lost battle. Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying ; Eleu loro There shall he be lying. Book Fourth 22.^ Her wing shall the eagle flap O'er the false-hearted ; His warm blood the wolf shall lap Ere life be parted : Shame and dishonour sit By his grave ever ; Blessing shall hallow it Never, O never ! Eleu loro Never, O never ! Sir W. Scott CXCIII LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI ^C\ WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms» \J Alone and palely loitering ? The sedge has wither'd from the lake. And no birds sing. « O what can ail thee, knight-at-arras, So haggard and so woe-begone ? The squirrel's granaiy is full. And the harvest 's done. * I see a lily on thy brow With anguish moist and fever-dew, And on thy cheeks a fading rose Fast withereth too. ' *I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful — a fairy's child, Her hair Avas long, her foot was light. And her eyes were wild. 230 The Golden Treasury * I made a garland foi- her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone 5 She look'd at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. * I set her on my pacing steed And nothing else saw all day long, For sidelong would she bend, and sing A fairy's song. * She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild and manna-dew, And sure in language strange she said **I love thee true." * She took me to her elfin grot. And there she wept, and sigh'd full sore, And there I shut her wild wild eyes With kisses four. * And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dream'd — Ah ! woe betide ! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill's side. * I saw pale kings and princes too. Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ; They cried — " La belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall ! " * I saw their starved lips in the gloam With horrid warning gaped vsdde. And I awoke and found me here On the cold hill's side. Book Fourth 231 •And this is why I sojourn here Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake And no birds sing. ' y. Keats CXCIV THE ROVER « A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, XJL A weary lot is thine ! To pull the thorn thy brow to braid. And press the rue for wine. A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, A feather of the blue, A doublet of the Lincoln green — No more of me you knew My Love ! No more of me you knew. * The morn is merry June, I trow. The rose is budding fain ; But she shall bloom in winter snow Ere we two meet again. ' He turn'd his charger as he spak0 Upon the river shore. He gave the bridle-reins a shake, Said ' Adieu for evermore My Love ! And adieu for evermore.' Sir W, Scott E32 The Golden Treasury THE FLIGHT OF LOVE WHEN the lamp is shatter'd The hght in the dust lies dead-- When the cloud is scatter'd, The rainbow's glory is shed. "When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remember'd not ; When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot As music and splendour Survive not the lamp and the lute. The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute — No song but sad dirges. Like the wind through a ruin'd cell. Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman's knell. When hearts have once mingled, Love first leaves the well-built nest; The weak one is singled To endure what it once posi.esst O Love ! who bewailest The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier I Its passions will rock thee As the storms rock the ravens on high , Bright reason will mock thee T^ike the sun from a wintry sky. Book Fourth 233 From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home Leave thee naked to laughter, "When leaves fall and cold winds come. P. B. Shelley CXCVI THE MAID OF NEIDPATH O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see, And lovers' ears in hearing ; And love, in life's extremity Can lend an hour of cheering. Disease had been in Mary's bower And slow decay from moui-ning, Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower To watch her Love's returning. All sunk and dim her eyes so bright. Her form decay'd by pining, Till through her wasted hand, at night. You saw the taper shining. By fits a sultiy hectic hue Across her cheek was flying ; By fits so ashy pale she grew Her maidens thought her dying. Yet keenest powers to see and hear Seem'd in her frame residing ; Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear She heard her lover's riding ; Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd She knew and waved to greet him, And o'er the battlement did bend As on the wing to meet him. 23:( The Golaen Treasury He came — he pass'd — an heedless gaze As o'er some stranger glancing ; Her Avelcome, spoke in faltering phrase. Lost in his coui"ser's prancing — Tlie castle-arch, whose hollow tone Returns each whisper spoken, Could scarcely catch the feeble moan Which told her heart was broken. Sir W. Scott CXCVII THE MAID OF NEIDPATH EARL March look'd on his dying child, And smit with grief to view her — The youth, he cried, whom I exiled Shall be restored to woo her. She 's at the window many an hour His coming to discover : And he look'd up to Ellen's bower And she look'd on her lover — But ah ! so pale, he knew her not. Though her smile on him was dwelling — And am I then forgot — forgot ? It broke the heart of Ellen. In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs. Her cheek is cold as ashes ; Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes To lift their silken lashes. T, Campbell Book Fourth 235 CXCVIII BRIGHT Star ! would I were steadfast as thou art — Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night. And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores. Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors : — No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast To feel for ever its soft fall and swell. Awake for ever in a sweet unrest ; Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever, — or else swoon to death. J, Keats CXCIX THE TERROR OF DEA TH WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain. Before high-piled books, in charact'ry Hold like rich gamers the full-ripen'd grain ; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; 236 -The Golden Treasury And when I feel, fair Creature of an hour ! That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the fairy power Of unreflecting love — then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink. y. Keats cc DESIDERIA SURPRISED by joy — impatient as ihe wind — I turn'd to share the transport — O with whom But Thee — deep buried in the silent tomb. That spot which no vicissitude can find ? Love, faithful love recall'd thee to my mind — But how could I forget thee ? through what power Even for the least division of an hour Have I been so beguiled as to be blind To my most grievous loss ? — That thought's return "Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn. Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more ; That neither present time, nor years unborn Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. W. Wordsworth Book Fourth 237 AT the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye ; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there And tell me our love is remember'd, even in the sky ! Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear "When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on the ear ; And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls, I think, O my Love ! 't is thy voice, from the Kingdom of Souls Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear. T. Moore ecu ELEGY ON THYRZA AND thou art dead, as young and fair As aught of mortal birth ; And forms so soft and charms so rare Too soon retum'd to Earth ! Though Earth received them in her bedj-v And o'er the spot the crowd may tread In carelessness or mirth. There is an eye which could not brook A moment on that grave to look. 238 The Golden Treasury I will not ask where thou liest low Nor gaze upon the spot ; There flowers or weeds at will may grow So I behold them not : It is enough for me to prove That what I loved and long must love Like common earth can rot ; To me there needs no stone to tell 'T is Notliing that I loved so well. Yet did I love thee to the last, As fervently as thou Who didst not change through all the past And canst not alter now. The love where Death has set his seal Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, Nor falsehood disavow : And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. The better days of life were ours ; The worst can be but mine : The sun that cheers, the storm that lours Shall never more be thine. The silence of that dreamless sleep I envy now too much to weep ; Nor need I to repine That all those charms have pass'd away I might have watch'd through long decay. The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd Must fall the earliest prey ; Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, The leaves must drop away. Book Fourth 239 And yet it were a greater grief To watch it withering, leaf by leaf, Tlian see it pluck'd to-day ; Since earthly eye but ill can bear To trace the change to foul from fair. I know not if I could have borne To see thy beauties fade ; The night that follow'd such a mom Had worn a deeper shade : Thy day without a cloud hath past. And thou wert lovely to the last, Extinguish'd, not decay'd ; As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high. As once I wept if I could weep. My tears might well be shed To think I was not near, to keep One vigil o'er thy bed : To gaze, how fondly ! on thy fac^ To fold thee in a faint embrace, Uphold thy drooping head ; And show that love, however vain. Nor thou nor I can feel again. Yet how much less it were to gain, Though thou hast left me free, The lovelies^ things that still remain Than thus remember thee ! The all of thine that cannot die Through dark and dread Eternity Returns again to me, And more thy buried love endears Than aught except its living years. Lord Bvron 240 The Golden Treasury ONE word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdain'd For thee to disdain it. One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother, And Pity from thee more dear Than that from another. I can give not what men call love ; But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above And the Heavens reject not : The desire of the moth for the star, Of the night for the morrow, The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow ? P. B. Shelley cciv GATHERING SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu Pibroch of Donuil Wake thy wild voice anew. Summon Clan Conuil. Come away, come away, Hark to the summons ! Come in your war-array. Gentles and commons. Boj',' Fourth 241 Come -Vriii deep glen, and From mountain so rocky ; The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlocky. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one. Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one. Leave untended the herd, The flock without shelter ; Leave the corpse uninterr'd, The bride at the altar ; Leave the deer, leave the steer. Leave nets and barges : Come with your fighting gear. Broadswords and targes. Come as the winds come, when Forests are rended, Come as the waves come, when Navies are stranded : Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster. Chief, vassal, page and groom, Tenant and master. Fast they come, fast they come ; See how they gather ! Wide waves the eagle plume Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades^ Forward each man set ! 16 242 77/1? Golden Treasury Pibroch of Donuil Dhu Knell for the onset ! Sir W. Scott CCV A WET sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast And fills the white and rustling sail And bends the gallant mast ; And bends the gallant mast, my boys. While like tl>2 eagle free Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. O for a soft and gentle wind ! I heard a fair one ciy ; But give to me the snoring breeze And white waves heaving high ; And white waves heaving high, my lads, The good ship tight and free — The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we. There 's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud j But hark the music, mariners ! The wind is piping loud ; The wind is piping loud, my boys. The lightning flashes free — While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea. A. Ctinningha7n AWAV TH«: GOOD SHIP FLIES, AND LEAVES OLD ENGLAND f)N THE LEE." — Page -2^2^. Book Fourth 243 YE Mariners of England That guard our native seas ! Whose flag has braved, a thousand years. The battle and the breeze ! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe : And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow ; While the battle rages loud and long And the stormy winds do blow. The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave — For the deck it was their field of fame. And Ocean was their grave : Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep. While the stormy winds do blow ; While the battle rages loud and long And the stormy wincb do blow. Britannia needs no bulwarks No towers along the steep ; Her march is o'er the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below — As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow ; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow- 244 The Golden Treasury The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn ; Till danger's troubled night depart And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean -warriors 1 Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow ; When the fieiy fight is heard no moie, And the storm has ceased to blow. T. Camplell CCVII BATTLE OF THE BALTIC OF Nelson and the North Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown. And her arms along the deep proudly shoDC j By each gun the lighted brand In a bold determined hand. And the Prince of all the land Led them on. Like leviathans afloat Lay their bulwarks on the brine ; While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line : It was ten of April morn by the chime* As they drifted on their path There was silence deep as death ; And the boldest held his breath For a time. Book Fourth 245 But tlie might of England flush'd To anticipate the scene j And her van the fleeter rush'd O'er the deadly space between, * Hearts of oak ! ' our captains cried, when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships. Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. Again ! again ! again ! And the havoc did not slack. Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back ; — Their shots along the deep slowly boom ?•— Then ceased — and all is wail. As they strike the shatter'd sail j Or in conflagration pale Light the gloom. Out spoke the victor then As he hail'd them o'er the wave, * Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! And we conquer but to save : — So peace instead of death let us bring t But yield, proud foe, thy fleet With the crews, at England's feet. And make submission meet To our King, ' Then Denmark blest our chief That he gave her M'^ounds repose j And the sounds of joy and grief From her people wildly rose. 246 The Golden Treasury As death withdrew his shades from the day I While the sun look'd smiling bright O'er a wide and woeful sight. Where the fires of funeral light Died away. Now joy, old England, raise I For the tidings of thy might. By the festal cities' blaze, Whilst the wine-cup shines in light 5 And yet amidst that joy and uproar. Let us think of them that sleep Full many a fathom deep By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore ! Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride Once so faithful and so true. On the deck of fame that died With the gallant good Riou : Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave f While the billow mournful rolls And the mermaid's song condoles Singing glory to the souls Of the brave I T* Campkk CCVIII ODE TO DUTY STERN Daughter of the voice of God I O Duty ! if that name thou love Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove ; Book Fourth 247 Thou who art victory and law Wlien empty terrors overawe : From vain temptations dost set free, And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity ! There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them ; who, in love and truth Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth : Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot. Who do thy work, and know it not : O ! if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power ! around therr cast. Serene will be our days and bright And happy will our nature be When love is an unerring light, And joy its own security. And they a blissful course may hold Ev'n now who, not unwisely bold, Live in the spirit of this creed ; Yet find that other strength, according to tlieii need I, loving freedom, and untried. No sport of every random gust. Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust : And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferr'd The task, in smoother walks to stray ; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. Through no disturbance of my soul Or strong compunction in me wrought. 248 The Golden Treastiry I supplicate for tliy controul, But in the quietness of thought : Me this uncharter'd freedom tires ; I feel the weight of chance desires : My hopes no more must change their namb ^ I long for a repose which ever is the same. Stern lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear The Godhead's most benignant grace ; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face : Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, And fragrance in thy footing treads ; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong ; And the most ancient Heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power I I call thee : I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour ; O let my weakness have an end ! Give unto me, made lowly wise. The spii-it of self-sacrifice ; The confidence of reason give ; And in the light of Truth thy bondman let me live. W. Wordsi.ijorth ccix ON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON ETERNAL Spirit of the chainless Mind ! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty, tliou art- For there thy habitation is the heart — The heart which love of Thee alone can bind Book Fourth 2.iif) And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd, To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom. Their country conquers with their martyrdom And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind, Chillon ! thy prison is a holy place And thy sad floor an altar, for 't was trod, Until his veiy steps have left a trace Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod, By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface ! For they appeal from tyranny to God. Loi-d Byron ccx ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND 1802 TWO Voices are there, one is of the Sea, One of the Mountains, each a mighty voice : In both from age to age thou didst rejoice. They were thy chosen music, Liberty ! There came a tyrant, and with holy glee Thou fought'st against him, — but hast vainly striven i Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. — Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft ; Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left — For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be That Mountain floods should thunder as before, And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, And neither awful Voice be heard by Thee ! W. Wordsivorth 250 The Goldeti Treasury ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC. ONCE did She hold the gorgeous East in fee And was the safeguard of the West ; the worth Of Venice did not fall below her birth, Venice, the eldest child of liberty. She was a maiden city, bright and free ; No guile seduced, no force could violate ; And when she took unto herself a mate. She must espouse the everlasting Sea. And what if she had seen those glories fade, Those titles vanish, and that strength decay, — Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid When her long life hath reach'd its final day : Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade Of that which once was great has pass'd av.ay. W. V/ordsworth ccxir LONDON, MDCCCII O FRIEND ! I know not which way 7 'nust look For comfort, being, as I am, oppres' To think that now our life is only drest For show ; mean handiwork of craftsman, crv-^k. Or groom ! — We must run glittering like i bropU In the open sunshine, or we are unblest ; The wealthiest man among us is the best* No grandeur now in Nature or in book f^ Book Foiirlli Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, This is idolatry ; and these we adore : Plain living and high thinking are no more : The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone ; our peace, our fearful innocence, And pure religion breathing household laws. W. Wordsworth CCXIII THE SAME MILTON ! thou shouldst be living at this hour : England hath need of thee : she is a fen Of stagnant waters : altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower Of inward happiness. We are selfish men : O ! raise us up, return to us again ; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart : Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea. Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free ; So didst thou travel on life's common way In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay. W, Wordsworth^ ^52 The Golden Treasury ccxiv WHEN I have borne in memory what has tamed Great nations ; how ennobling thoughts depart When men change swords for ledgers, and desert The student's bower for gold, — some fears unnamed I had, my Country ! — am I to be blamed ? But when I think of thee, and what thou art, Verily, in the bottom of my heart Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. For dearly must we prize thee ; we who find In thee a bulwark of the cause of men ; And I by my affection was beguiled : What wonder if a Poet now and then, Among the many movements of his mind, Felt for thee as a lover or a child ! W. Wordsworth ccxv HOHENLINDEN' ON Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. Book Fourth 253 By torch and trumpet fast array'd Each horseman drew his battle-blade. And furious eveiy charger neigh'd To join the dreadful revehy. Then shook the hills with thunder riven ; Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven ; And louder than the bolts of Heaven Far flash'd the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow ; And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'T is morn ; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun. Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye Brave Who rush to gloiy, or the grave ! Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry ! Few, few shall part, where many meet ! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. T. Campbell 254 ^^^ Golden Treasury CCXVI AFTER BLENHEIM IT was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done. And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun ; And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine. She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found ; He came to ask what he had found That was so large and smooth and round Old Kaspar took it from the boy Who stood expectant by ; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh *'T is some poor fellow's skull,' said h^ * Who fell in the great victory. ' *I find them in the garden, For there 's many here about ; And often when I go to plough The ploughshare turns them out. For many thousand men, ' said he, * Were slain in that great victory. ' 'Now tell us what 't was all about,' Youn^ Peterkin he cries ; Book Fourth 255 And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes ; * Now tell us all about the war, And what they fought each other for.' *It was the English,' Kaspar cried, ' Who put the French to rout ; But what they fought each other for I could not well make out. But every body said, ' quoth he, * That 't was a famous victory. * My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by ; They burnt his dwelling to the ground. And he was forced to fly : So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head. * With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide, And many a childing mother then And new-born baby died : But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory. * They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won ; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun : But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. * Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won A vi/4 /-.111- rrr\f\r\ Prini^f» TTnorpni^ • ' And our good Prince Eugene 256 The Golden Treasury * Why 't was a very wicked thing ! ' Said little Wilhelmine ; *Nay . . nay . . my little girl,' quoth he, * It was a famous victory. * And every body praised the Duke Who this great fight did win.' * But what good came of it at last ? ' Quoth little Peterkin : — * Why that I cannot tell,' said he, * But 't was a famous victoiy. ' R. Souihey PRO P ATRIA MORI WHEN he who adores thee has left but the name Of his fault and his sorrows behind, ! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame Of a life that for thee was resign'd ! Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn, Thy tears shall efface their decree ; For, Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, I have been but too faithful to thee. With thee were the dreams of my earliest love ; Every thought of my reason was thine : In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above Thy name shall be mingled with mine ! O ! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live The days of thy glory to see ; But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give Is the pride of thus dying for thee. T. Moore Book Fourth CCXVII3 257 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOuRE A T CORUNNA NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corpse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. "We buried him darkly at dead of night. The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him , But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said And we spoke not a word of sorrow, But Ave steadfastly gazed on the face that wab dead. And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought as we hollow'd his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that 's gone And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — But little he '11 reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave Avhere a Briton has laid him. 17 25S I'kc Golden Trcasiuy But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring: And M^e heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and goiy ; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone* But we left him alone with his glory. C. Wolfe SIMON LEE, THE OLD LJUNTSMaN' IN the sweet shire of Cardigan, Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall, An old man dwells, a little man, I 've heard he once was tall. Full five-and-thirty years he lived A running huntsman merry ; And still the centre of his cheek Is red as a ripe cherry. No man like him the horn could sound, And hill and valley rang with glee, When Echo bandied round and round The halloo of Simon Lee. In those proud days he little cai-ed For husbandry or tillage ; To blither tasks did Simon rouse The sleepers of the village. He all the country could outrun, Could leave both man and horse behind ; Book Foiirih. • 259 And often, ere the chase was done, He reel'd and \vas stone-blind. And still there 's something in the world At which liis heart rejoices ; For when the chiming hounds are out, He dearly loves their voices. But O the heavy change ! — bereft Of health, strength, friends and kindred, see Old Simon to the world is left In liveried poverty : His master 's dead, and no one now Dwells in the Hall of Ivor ; Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead ; He is the sole survivor. And he is lean and he is sick. His body dwindled and awiy Rests upon ankles swoln and thick ; His legs are thin and dry. He has no son, he has no child ; His wife, an aged woman. Lives with him, near the waterfall, Upon the village common. Beside their moss-grown hut of clay. Not twenty paces from the door, A scrap of land they have, but ther Are poorest of the poor. This scrap of land he from the heath Enclosed when he was stronger ; But what avails the land to them Which he can till no longer ? 26o The Golden Treastny Oft, working by her husband's side, Ruth does what Simon cannot do ; For she, with scanty cause for pride, Is stouter of the two. And, though you with your utmost skill From labour could not wean them, 'T is little, veiy little, all That they can do between them. Few months of life has he in store As he to you will tell. For still, the more he works, the more Do his M'eak ankles swell. My gentle reader, I perceive How patiently you 've waited. And now I fear that you expect Some tale will be related. O reader ! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can Drirtg; O gentle reader ! you would find A tale in everything. What more I have to say is short, And you must kindly take it : It is no tale ; but should you think, Perhaps a tale you '11 make it. One summer-day I chanced to see This old man doing all he could To unearth the root of an old tree„ A stump of rotten wood. The mattock totter'd in his hand : So vain was his endeavour Book Fourth 261 That at the root of the old tree He might have work'd for ever, * You 're overtask'd, good Simon Le^ Give me your tool,' to him I said ; And at the word right gladly he Received my proffer'd aid. I struck, and with a single blow The tangled root I sever'd, At which the poor old man so long And vainly had endeavour'd. The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seem'd to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done, — I 've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning ; Alas ! the gratitude of men Has oftener left me mourning. W. Wordsworth ccxx THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES 1HAVE had playmates, I have had companions In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days | All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have been laiighing, I have been carousing. Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies ; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. fe02 The Golden Treasury I loved a Love once, fairest among women : Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her — All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man : Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly ; Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhoodj Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling 1 So might we talk of the old familiar faces. How some they have died, and some they have left mq And some are taken from me ; all are departed ; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. C, Lamb CCXXI THE JOURNEY ONWARDS AS slow our ship her foamy track Against the wind was cleaving, Her trembling pennant still look'd back To that dear isle 't was leaving. So loth we part from all we love. From all the links that bind us ; So turn our hearts, as on we rove, To those v/e Ve left behind us ! Book Fourth 263 When, round the bowl, of vanish'd years We talk with joyous seeming — With smiles that might as well be tears. So faint, so sad their beaming ; While memory brings us back again Each early tie that twined us, O, sweet 's the cup that circles then To those we 've left behind us ! And when, in other climes, we meet Some isle or vale enchanting, Where all looks flowery wild and sweet. And nought but love is wanting ; We think how great had been our biiss If Heaven had but assign'd us To live and die in scenes like this, With some we 've left behind us ! As travellers oft look back at eve When eastward darkly going, To gaze upon that light they leave Still faint behind them glowinig, — So, when the close of pleasure's day To gloom hath near consign'd us. We turn to catch one fading ray Of joy that 's left behind us. T. Moore CCXXII YOUTH AND AGE THERE 'S not a joy the world can give like that U takes away When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay ; 264 The Golden Treasury *T is not on youth's smooth cheek the bhish alone which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past. Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess : The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own ; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 't is where the ice appears. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth dis- tract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their fonner hope of rest ; 'T is but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe. All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and giay beneath. ,0 could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, (Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a vanish'd scene, — As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be. So midst the wither'd waste of life, those tears would flow to me ! Lord Byron Book Fourth 265 CCXXIII A LESSOJSr THERE is a flower, the Lesser Celandine, That shrinks like many more from cold and rain, And the first moment that the sun may shine, Bright as the sun himself, 't is out again ! When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, Or 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. And recognized it, though an alter'd form, Now standing forth an offering to the blast, And buffeted at will by rain and storm, I stopp'd and said, with inly-mutter'd voice, * It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold j This neither is its courage nor its choice. But its necessity in being old. * 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, 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. Wordszuorik 266 The Golden Treasury ccxxiv PAST AND PRESENT I REMEMBER, I remember The house where I was born. The little window where the sun Came peeping in at mom ; He never came a wink too soon Nor brought too long a day ; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away. I remember, I remember The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups — Those flowers made of light ! The lilacs where the robin built^ And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday, — . The tree is living yet 1 I remember, I remember Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing ; My spirit flew in feathers then That is so heavy now. And summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. I remember, I remember The fir-trees dark and high ; I used to think their slender tops Were close against the sky : CjjI: Fotirlh 267 It was a childish ignorance, But now 't is little joy To know I 'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. T. Hood THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS OFT in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me. Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me : The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken ; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken ! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me. Sad Memoiy brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends so link'd together I 've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted. Whose lights are fled Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed I 268 The Golden Treasury Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me. Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. T Moore ccxxvi INVOCA TION' RARELY, rarely, comest thou. Spirit of Delight ! Wherefoi-e hast thou left me no\r Many a day and night ? Many a weary night and day 'T is since thou art fled away. How shall ever one like me Win thee back again ? With the joyous and the free Thou wilt scoff at pain. Spirit false ! thou hast forgot All but those who need thee not. As a lizard with the shade Of a trembling leaf. Thou with sorrow art dismay'd ; Even the sighs of grief Reproach thee, that thou art not near^, And reproach thou wilt not hear. Let me set my mournful ditty To a merry measure ; — Thou wilt never come for pity, Thou wilt come for pleasure ; — - Book Fourth 269 Pity then will cut away Those cruel wings, and thou wilt stay. I love all that thou lovest, Spirit of Delight ! The fresh Earth in new leaves drest And the starry night ; Autumn evening, and the morn When the golden mists are bom. I Iov€ snow and all the forms Of the radiant frost ; I love waves, and winds, and storms. Everything almost Which is Nature's, and may be Untainted by man's misery. I love tranquil solitude, And such society As is quiet, wise, and good ; Between thee and me What diff 'rence ? but thou dost possess The things I seek, not love them less. I love Love — though he has wings. And like light can flee. And above all other things, Spirit, I love thee — Thou art love and life ! O come ! Make once more my heart thy home ! P. B. Shelley 270 The Golden Treasury STANZAS V/RITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR NAPLES THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, Blue isles and snowy mountains wear The purple noon's transparent light : The breath of the moist air is light Around its unexpanded buds ; Like many a voice of one delight — The winds', the birds', the ocean-floods' — The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's. I see the Deep's imtrampled floor "With green and purple sea-weeds strown ; I see the waves upon the shore Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown : I sit upon the sands alone ; The lightning of the 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, 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 ; Others I see whom these surround — Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ; To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. Book Foiirlh 271 Yet now despair itself is mild Even as the winds and waters are ; I could lie down like a tired child. And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear. Till death like sleep might steal on rne. And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. F. B. Shelley CCXXVIII 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 ; 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 How much to them I owe, My cheeks have often been bedew'd With tears of thoughtful gratitude. My thoughts are with the Dead ; with them I live in long-past years. Their virtues love, their faults coiidemn, Partake their hopes and fears. And from their lessons seek and find Instruction with an humble mind. 272 7'he Golden Treasury My hopes are with the Dead ; anon My place with them will be, And I with them shall travel on Through all Futurity ; Yet leaving here a name, I trust, That will not perish in the dust. R, Southey CCXXIX THE MERMAID TAVERN SOULS of Poets dead and gone What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern. Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern ? Have ye tippled drink more fine Than mine host's Canaiy wine? Or are fruits of Paradise Sweeter than those dainty pies Of Venison ? O generous food ! Drest as though bold Robin Hood Would, with his Maid Marian, Sup and bowse from horn and can. I have heard that on a day Mine host's signboard flew away Nobody knew whither, till 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 divine, And pledging with contented smack The Merniaicl in the Zodiac ! Book Fourth 271 Souls of Poets dead and gone What Elysium have ye known — Happy field or mossy cavern — Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern ? P ccxxx TJIB PRIDE OF YOUTH ROUD Maisie is in the wood. Walking so early ; Sweet Robin sits on the bush Singing so rarely. *Tell me, thou bonny bird, When shall I marry me ? ' ♦ When six braw gentlemen Kirkward shall cany ye. ' * Who makes the bridal bed, Birdie, say truly ? ' * The gray -headed sexton That delves the grave duly. *The glowworm o'er grave and stcne Shall light thee steady ; The owl from the steeple sing Welcome, proud lady.' Sir W. Scott i8 ^74 ^^^ Goldcji Ti-easury ccxxxi THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS ONE more Unfortunate Weaiy of breath Rashly importunate, Gone to her death ! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care ; Fashion'd so slenderly. Young, and so fair ! Look at her garments Clinging like cerements ; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing ; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully j Think of her mournfully. Gently and humanly ; Not of the stains of her— All that remains of her Now is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and undutiful ; Past all dishonour. Death has left on her Only the beautiful. ^' Look Fourth 275 Still, for all slips of het», One of Eve's family — Wipe those poor lips of hers Oozing so clammily. Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb. Her fair auburn tresses ; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home ? Who was her father ? Who was her mother ? Had she a sister ? Had she a brother ? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other? Alas ! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun ! O ! it was pitiful ! Near a whole city fuU, Home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feelings had changed : Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence ; Even God's providence Seemincr estranc-cd. 276 The Golden Treasury Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement. From garret to basement, She stood with amazement, Houseless by night. The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shiver; But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river: Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery Swift tobehurl'd — Anywhere, anywhere Out of the world ! In she plunged boldly. No matter how coldly The rough river ran. Over the brink of it, — Picture it, think of it, Dissolute Man ! Lave in it, drink of it^ Then, if you can ! Take her up tenderly. Lift her with care ; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair ! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly. Book Fourth 271 Decently, kindly, Smooth, and compose them ; And her eyes, close them. Staring so blindly ! Dreadfully staring Thro' muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fix'd on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurr'd by contumely Cold inhumanity Burning insanity Into her rest. — Cross her hands humbly As if praying dumbly. Over her breast ! Owning her weakness, Her evil behaviour, And leaving, with meekness. Her sins to her Saviour ! T. Hood ccxxxii ELEGY OSNATCH'D away in beauty's bloom ! On thee shall press no ponderous tomb j But on thy turf shall roses rear Their leaves, the earliest of the year, And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom : '< TJie Golckn Treasury And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head. And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering pause and lightly tread ; Fond wretch \ as if her step disturbed the dead I Away ! we know that tears are vain, That Death nor heeds nor hears distress : Will this unteach us to complain ? Or make one mourner weep the less ? And thou, who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are weL Lord ByroH CCXXXIII HESTER WHEN maidens such as Hester die Their place ye may not well supply, Though ye among a thousand try With vain endeavour. 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, 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 't was not pride. It was a joy to that allied She did inherit. Book Fourth Her parents held the Quaker rule Which doth the human feeling cool ; But slie was train'd in Nature's schoolj Nature had blest her. 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 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, A bliss that would not go away, A sweet forewarning ? C. Lamb CCXXXIV CORONACH HE is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain. When our need was the sorest. The fount reappeai'ing From the raindrops shall borrow But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow ! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, 279 eSo The Golden Treasury But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are seres^ But our flower was in flushing When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in cumber. Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber ! Like the dew on the mountain. Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and forever ! Sir W, ScoU THE DEA TH BED WE watch'd her breathing thro' the nighty Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. But when the morn came dim and sad And chill Avith early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed — she had Another morn than ours. T,Hood Book Fourth 281 CCXXXVI 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 crew. And, gentle lady, deign to stay ! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day, * 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 nigK * Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet shroud swathed round lady gay ; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch ^ Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ? ' * 'T is not because Lord Lindesay's heir To-night at Roslin leads the ball, But that my lady-mother there Sits lonely in her castle-hall. * 'T is not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well. But that my sire the wine will chide If 't is not fill'd by Rosabelle.' 282 TIw Golden Treasury — O'er Roslin all that dreary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 'T was broader than the watch-fire's lightj, And redder than the bright moonbeam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 'T was seen from Dryden's groves of oak. And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden. Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie, Each Baron, for a sable shroud, Sheath'd in his iron panoply. Seem'd all on fire within, around, Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; Shone every pillar foliage-bound, And glimmer'd all the dead men's malt Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — So still they blaze, when fate is nigh The lordly line of high Saint Clair. There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold Lie buried within that proud chapelle j Each one the holy vault doth hold, But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! And each Saint Clair was buried there With candle, with book, and with knell i But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. Sir W. Scotl Book Fourth 283 CCXXXVII ON AN INFANT DYING AS SOON AS BORN I SAW where in the shroud did lurk A curious frame of Nature's work ; A fiow'ret crushed in the bud A nameless piece of Babyhood Was in her cradle-coffin lying ; Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying : So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb For darker closets of the tomb ! She did but ope an eye, and put A clear beam forth, then straight up shut For the long dark : ne'er more to see Through glasses of mortality. Riddle of destiny, who can show What thy short visit meant, or know 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 ? 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 2 Limbs so firm, they seem'd to assure Life of health, and days mature : Woman's self in miniature ! Limbs so fair, they might supply (Themselves now but cold imagery) The sculptor to make Beauty by. Or did the stern-eyed Fate descry The Golden Treasury- 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 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, like this, should fall More brief than fly ephemeral That has his day ; while shrivell'd crones Stiffen with age to stocks and stones ; And crabbed use the conscience sears In sinners of an hundred years. — Mother's prattle, mother's kiss, Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss : Rites, which custom does impose, Silver bells, and baby clothes ; Coral redder than those lips Which pale death did late eclipse ; Music framed for infants' glee, Whistle never tuned for thee ; Though thou want'st not, thou shalt have them^ Loving hearts were they which gave them. Let not one be missing ; nurse. See them laid upon the hearse Of infant slain by doom perverse. Why should kings and nobles have Pictured trophies to their grave, And we, churls, to thee deny Thy pretty toys with thee to lie — A more harmless vanity ? C. Lamb Book Fourth 285 CCXXXVIII THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET WHERE art thou, my beloved Son, Where art thou, worse to me than dead 1 find me, prosperous or undone ! Or if the grave be now thy bed, Why am I ignorant of the same That I may rest ; and neither blame Nor sorrow may attend thy name ? Seven years, alas ! to have received No tidings of an only child — To have despair'd, have hoped, believed. And be for evermore beguiled Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss I 1 catch at them, and then I miss ; Was ever darkness like to-this? He was among the prime in worth, An object beauteous to behold ; Well born, well bred ; I sent him forth Ingenuous, innocent, and bold : If things ensued that wanted grace, As hath been said, they were not base ; And never blush was on my face. 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 ! He knows it not, he cannot guess ; Years to a mother bring distress ; But do not make her love the less. 286 The Goldeii Treasury Neglect me ! no, I suffer'd long From that ill thought : and being blind Said ' Pride shall help me in my wrong : Kind mother have I been, as kind As ever breathed : ' and that is true ; I 've v^et my path with tears like dew, Weeping for him when no one knew. My Son, if thou be humbled, poor, Hopeless of honour and of gain, ! do not dread thy mother's door, Tliink not of me with grief and pain : 1 now can see with better eyes ; And worldly grandeur I despise And fortune with'her gifts and lies. Alas ! the fowls of heaven have wings And blasts of heaven will aid their flight ; They mount — how short a voyage brings 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 groaii Maim'd, mangled by inhuman men ; Or thou upon a desert thrown Inheritest the lion's den ; Or hast been summon'd to the deep Thou, thou, and all thy mates, to keep An incommunicable sleep. I look for ghosts : but none will foi-oe Their way to me ; 't is falsely said That there was ever intercourse Between the living and the dead : Book Fourth 287 For surely then I should have sight Of him I wait for day and night With love and longings infinite. My apprehensions come in crowds ; I dread the rustling of the grass ; The very shadows of the clouds Have power to shake me as they pass ; I question things, and do not find One that will answer to my mind ; And all the world appears unkind. Beyond participation lie My troubles, and beyond relief: If any chance to heave a sigh They pity me, and not my grief. Then come to me, my Son, or send Some tidings that my woes may end ? I have no other earthly friend. W. Wardsworttt CCXXXIX HUNTING SONG WAKEN, lords and ladies gay, On the mountain dawns the day ; All the jolly chase is here With hawk and horse and hunting-spear ; Hounds are in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, Merrily merrily mingle they, ' Waken, lords and ladies gay.' 288 The Golden Treastny Waken, lords and ladies gay, The mist has left the mountain gray, Springlets in the dawn are steaming, Diamonds on the brake are gleaming. And foresters have busy been To track the buck in thicket green ; Now we come to chant our lay * Waken, lords and ladies gay.' Waken, lords and ladies gay. To the greenwood haste away ; We can show you where he lies, Fleet of foot and tall of size ; 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 Waken, lords and ladies gay ! Tell them youth and mirth and glee Run a course as well as we ; Time, stern huntsman ! who can balk. Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk ; Think of this, and rise with day, Gentle lords and ladies gay ! Sir W. Scott Book Fourth 280 CCXL TO THE SKYLARK ETHEREAL minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky ! Dost thou despise the earth where cares aoouna ! Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still ! To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler ! — that love-prompted strain — 'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond — Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain : Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege ! to smg All independent of the leafy Spring. Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; A privacy of glorious light is thine. 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 I W* Wordsworth CCXLI TO A SKYLARK AIL to thee, blithe Spirit I Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 19 H 2^ The Golden Treasury Higher still and higher From the earth thou spnngest Like a cloud of fire ; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun O'er which clouds are brightening. Thou dost float and run, Like an unbodied joy whose race is jus\. begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight ; Like a star of heaven In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy ^nrill delight : Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare. From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, andneaven is overfloVd, What thou art we know not ; What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showeis a rain of melody. Book Fourth 291 Like a poet hidden In the light of thought. Singing hymns unbidden. Till the world is wi^ought To sympathy witli hopes and fears it heeded not i Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower : Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew. Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among tlie 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 Makes faint with too much sweet these hea^7•-winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awaken'd flowers. All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music. doth surpass. Teach us, sprite or bird. What sweet thoughts are thine : 292 The Golden Treasury I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divme. Chorus hymeneal Or triumphal chaunt Match'd with thine, would be all But an empty vaunt — A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden M^ant What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ! What fields, or waves, or mountauis? What shapes of sl<;y or plain ? What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be : Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee : Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. * Waking or asleep Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream. Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? We look before and after And pine for what is not : Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught ; Our SM'cetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Book Fourth 293 Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear j If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound. Better than all treasures That in books are found, T hy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know. Such hannonious madness From my lips would flow The world should listen then, as I am listening now ! P. B. Shelley CCXLII THE GREEN LINNET BENEATH these fruit-tree boughs that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of Spring's unclouded weather. In this 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 mavk'd, the happiest guest In all this covert of the blest : 294 ^^^^' Golden Treasury Hail to Thee, far above the rest In joy of voice and pinion ! Thou, Linnet ! in thy green array Presiding Spirit here to-day 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 Art sole in thy employment ; A Life, a Presence like the air, Scattering thy gladness without car^ Too blest with any one to pair, Thyself thy own enjoyment. Amid yon tuft of hazel-trees That twinkle to the gusty breeze. Behold him perch'd in ecstasies Yet seeming still to hover ; There, where the flutter of his wings 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 ; Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves Pours forth his song in gushes, As if by that exulting strain He mock'd and treated with disdam The voiceless Form he chose to feign While fluttering in the bushes. W. Words-oortk Book Fourth 295 CCXLIII TO THE CUCKOO O BLITHE new-comer ! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice : Cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering Voice ? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear ; From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off and near. Though babbling only to the vale Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing, A voice, a mysteiy ; The same whom in my school-boy days 1 listen'd to ; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways 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 ! 296 The Golden Treasury And I can listen to thee yet ; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again. O blessed bird ! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, faiiy place That is fit home for Thee ! W. Wordsiborik ccxnv ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk; 3r emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and I.ethe -wards had sunk : 'T is not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thy happiness, — That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of summer in full-throated ease. O for a draught of vintage, that hath been Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, Tasting of Flora and the countiy -green. Dance, and Proven9al song, and sun-burnt mirth I P for a beaker full of the warm South, Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, With beaded bubbles \vinking at the brim And purple-stained mouth ; That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, And with thee fade away into the forest dim : Book Fourth 297 Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What tliou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret Here, where men sit and hear each other groan j Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs. Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies ; Where but to think is to be full of sorrow And leaden-eyed despairs ; Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes. Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, But on the viewless wings of Poesy, Though the dull brain perplexes and retards : Already with thee ! tender is the night, And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays ; But here there is no light Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Through verdurous glooms and winding mossj ways. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet. Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs. But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet Wherewith the seasonable month endows The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild ; White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves ; And mid-May's eldest child The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 298 The Golden Trmstuy Darkling I listen ; and for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme^ To take into the air my quiet breath ; Now more than ever seems it rich to die, To cease upon the midnight with no pain, While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy ! Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — To thy high requiem become a sod. Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! No hungry generations tread thee down ; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown : Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. Forlorn ! the veiy word is like a bell To toll me back from thee to my sole self ! Adieu J the fancy cannot cheat so well As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Past the near meadows, over the still stream, Up the hill-side ; and now 't is buried deep In the next valley-glades : Was it a vision, or a waking dream ? Fled is that music ; — do I wake or sleep ? y. Keats Book Fourth 299 CCXLV UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, Sept. 3, 1S02 EARTH has not anything to show more fan- : 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 The beauty of the morning : silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky. All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour valley, rock, or hil! ; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! The river glideth at his own sweet will : Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; And all that mighty heart is lying still ! W. Wordrjoorth CCXLVI 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 frown 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; 300 The Golden Treasiuy And on the pedestal these words appear : ' 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 CCXLVII COMPOSED A TNEIDPA TH CASTLE, THE PROPERTY OF LORD QUE ENS BERRY, 1803 DEGENERATE Douglas ! O 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 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 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 ■/ /,^'%^ ^V'., ^^^0 ^ ^w THE LOVELY COTTAGE IN ITS GUARDIAN i^OOK.'"~Pa£e 70l. Book Fourth 301 CCXLVIII ADMONITION- TO A TRAVELLER YES, there is holy pleasure in thine eye ! — The lovely cottage in the guardian nook Hath stirr'd thee deeply ; with its own dear brook. Its own small pastui-e, almost its own sky ! But covet not the abode — O do not sigh As many do, repining while they look ; Intruders who would tear from Nature's book This precious leaf with harsh impiety : ^- Think what the home would be if it were thine, Even thine, though few thy wants ! — Roof, window, door. The very flowers are sacred to the Poor, The roses to the porch which they entwine : Yea, all that now enchants thee, from the day On which it should be touch'd would melt away ! W. Wordsworth CCXLIX TO THE HIGHLAND GIRL OF INVERSNAI3 SWEET Highland Girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower ! Twice seven consenting yeai-s have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head : And these gray rocks, this household lawn, These trees — a veil just half withdrawn^ 302 The Golden Treasury This fall of water that doth make A murmur near the silent lake. This little bay, a quiet road That holds in shelter thy abode ; In truth together ye do seem Like something fashion'd in a dream ; Such forms as from their covert peep When earthly cares are laid asleep ! But O fair Creature ! in the light Of common day, so heavenly bright, I bless Thee, Vision as thou art, I bless thee with a human heart : God shield thee to thy latest years ! I neither know thee 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 lace 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 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. Soft smiles, by human kindness bred ; And seemliness complete, that sways Thy courtesies, about thee plays ; With no restraint, but such as springs From quick and eager visi tings Book Foicrth 303 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, Seen birds of tempest-loving kind. Thus beating up against the wind. What hand but would a garland culi For thee who art so beautiful ? happy pleasure ! here to dwell Beside thee in some heathy dell ; Adopt your homely ways and dress, A shepherd,, thou a shepherdess f But I could frame a wish for thee More like a grave reality : Thou art to me but as a wave Of the wild sea : and I would have Some claim upon thee, if I could, Though but of common neighbourhood» What joy to hear thee, and to see ! Thy elder brother I would be. Thy father, anything to thee. Now thanks to Heaven ! that of its grace Hath led me to this lonely place ; Joy have I had ; and going hence 1 bear away my recompense. In spots like these it is we prize Our memory, feel that she hath eyes: Then why should I be loth to stir ? I feel this place was made for her ; To give new pleasure like the past. Continued long as life shall last. 3Q4 The Golden Treasury Nor am I loth, though pleased at lieart, Sweet Highland Girl I from thee to j^art ; For I, methinks, till I grow old As fair before me shall behold As I do now, the cabin small, The lake, the bay, the waterfall ; And Thee, the spirit of them all ! W. Wordnoortk CCL THE REAPER BEHOLD her, single in the field. Yon solitary Highland Lass ! Reaping and singing by herself; Stop here, or gently pass ! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain ; O listen ! for the vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers in some shady haunt. Among Arabian sands : No sweeter voice was ever heard In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird. Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. "Will no one tell me what she sings? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago : Book Fourth 3^5 Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day ? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again ! Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang As if her song could have no ending ; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending ; I listen'd till I had my fill ; And as I mounted up the hill The music in my heart I bore Long after it was heard no more. W. Wordsworth CCLI THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN T 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. 'T is a note of enchantment ; what ails her ? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale Down which she so often has 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. 20 A 3o6 The Goldeit Treasury She looks, and her heart is in heaven : but they fade, The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; The stream Mali not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the colours have all pass'd away from her eyes \ IV. Wordsworf.h TO A LADY, WITH A GUITAR ARIEL to Miranda .- — Take This slave of music, for the sake Of him, who is the slave of thee ; And teach it all the harmony In which thou canst, and only thou. Make the delighted spirit glow. Till joy denies itself again, And, too intense, is turn'd to pain. For by permission and command Of thine own Prince Ferdinand, Poor Ariel sends this silent token Of more than ever can be spoken ; Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who From life to life must still pursue Your happiness, for thus alone Can Ariel ever find his own j From Prospero's enchanted cell, 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. When you die, the silent Moon In her interlunar swoon Is not sadder in her cell Book Fourth 30/ Than deserted Ariel ; When you Hve again on earth, Like an unseen Star of birth Ariel guides you o'er the sea Of life from your nativity : Many changes have been run Since Ferdinand and you begun Your course of love, and Ariel still Has 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 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. The artist who this viol 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 On the wind-swept Apennine ; And dreaming, some of autumn past. And some of spring approaching fast, And some of April bud" und showers, And some of songs in J Jy bowers. And all of love ; and so this tree — O that such our death may be ! — Died in sleep, and felt no pain, To live in happier form again : From which, beneath Heaven's fairest star, The artibt wrought this loved Guitax ; 3o8 The Golden Treasury 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, And summer winds in sylvan cells % — For it had learnt all harmonies Of the plains and of the skies, Of the forests and the mountains. And the many-voiced fountains ; The clearest echoes of the hills, The softest notes of falling rills, The melodies of birds and bees. The murmuring of summer seas. And pattering rain, and breathing dew. And airs of evening ; and it knew That seldom -heard mysterious sound Which, driven on its diurnal rounds As it floats through boundless day_ Our world enkindles on its way : — 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 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, It keeps its higliest holiest tone For one beloved Friend alone. P. B. Shelley Book Fourth 309 CCLIII THE DAFFODILS IWANDER'D lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hiUs, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils, 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 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 Outdid the sparkling waves in glee : — • 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 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 daff"odils. W. Wordsworth 3IO The Golden Treasury CCLIV TO THE DAISY WITH litttle here to do or see Of things that in the great world "be^ Sweet Daisy ! oft I talk to thee For thou art worthy, Thou unassuming commonplace Of Nature, with that homely face. And yet with something of a grace Which love makes for thee I Oft on the dappled turf at ease I sit and play with similes. Loose types of things through all degrees^ Thoughts of thy raising ; 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 ; Or sprightly maiden, of Love's court, In thy simplicity the sport Of all temptations ; A queen in crown of rubies drest ; A starveling in a scanty vest ; Are all, as seems to suit thee best. Thy appellations. A little Cyclops, with one eye Staring to th3-eaten and defy, Book Fourth 311 That thought comes next — and instantly The freak is over. The shape will vanish, and behold ! A silver shield with lx)ss of gold That spreads itself, some fairy bold In fight to cover. 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, witli glittering crest. 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 I call thee, and to that cleave fast, Sweet silent Creature ! That breath'st with me in sun and air, Do thou, as thou art wont, repair My heart with gladness, and a share Of thy meek nature ! W. Wordsworth CCLV ODE TO AUTUMN SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring \vith him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the tliatch-eaves run 312 The Golden Treasury To bend with apples the moss'd cottage -trees. And (ill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells Witli a sweet kernel ; to set budding more And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. Who hath not seen Thee oft amid thy store ? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granaiy floor, 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 twdned flowers ; And sometime like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; Or by a cider-press, with patient look. Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are theyT Think not of them, — thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river-sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn ; Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. y. Agents Book Fourth 313 CCLVI ODE TO WINTER Germany, December^ 1 800. WHEN first the fiery-mantled Sun His heavenly race began to run, Round the earth and ocean blue His children four the Seasons flew: — 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 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 j A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown, A ripe sheaf bound her zone. But howling Winter fled afar To hills that prop the polar star ; And loves on deer-borne car to ride With barren darkness at his 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 — Save when adown the ravaged globe He travels on his native storm. Deflowering Nature's grassy robe And trampling on her faded form j 314 '^^^'^ Golden Ireasiiry Till light's returning Lord assume The shaft that drives him to his northern field. Of power to pierce his raven plume And crystal-cover'd shield. Or sire of storms ! whose savage ear The Lapland drum delights to hear, When Frenzy with her bloodshot eye Implores thy dreadful deity — Archangel ! Power of desolation ! Fast descending as thou art, Say, hath mortal invocation Spells to touch thy stony heart : 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 Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lend. And gently on the orphan head Of Innocence descend. But chiefly spare, O king of clouds ' The sailor on his aiiy shrouds. 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. Or the dark-brown Danube roars. O 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! Book Fourth 315 Alas ! e'en 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 CCLVII 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 ; And when we came to Clovenford, Then said my 'winsome Marrow,' ' Whate'er betide, we '11 turn aside, And see the Braes of Yarrow. ' * Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town. Who have been buying, selling. Go back to Yarrow, 't is their own, Each maiden to her dwelling ! On Yarrow's banks let herons feed, Hares couch, and rabbits burrow. But we will downward with the Tweed, Nor turn aside to Yarrow. * There 's Galla Water, Leader Haughs, Both lying right before us ; And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed The lintwhites sing in chorus ; There 's pleasant Tiviotdale, a land Made blythe with plough and harrow : 31 6 The Golden Treasury Why throw away a needful day To go in search of Yarrow ? "What 's Yarrow but a river bare That glides the dark hills under ? There are a thousand such elsewhere As worthy of your wonder. ' — Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn ; My true-love sigh'd for sorrov/, And look'd me in the face, to think I thus could speak of Yarrow ! * O green,' said I, ' are Yarrow's holms. And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! Fair hangs the apple frae the roc^, But we will leave it growing. O'er hilly path and open strath We '11 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 ; 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 we know There 's such a place as Yarrow. ' Be Yarrow stream unseen, unkno\vn j It must, or we shall rue it : We have a vision of our own, Ah ! why should we undo it ? Book fourth 317 The treasured dreams of times long past. We '11 keep them, winsome Marrow ! For Ayhen we 're there, although 't is fair, 'T will be another Yarrow I * If care wnth freezing years should come And wandering seem but folly, — Should we be loth to stir from home. And yet be melancholy ; Should life be dull, and spirits low, 'T will soothe us in our sorrow That earth has something yet to show, The bonny Holms of Yarrow ! ' IV. IVordnvorth CCLVTII YARROW VISITED September^ 1 8 14 AND is this — Yarrow? — Tills the Streaw^ Of which my fancy cherish'd, So faithfully, a waking dream. An image that hath perish'd ? 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 With uncontroll'd meanderings ; Nor have these eyes by greener hills Been soothed, in all my wanderings. And, througii her depths, Saint Mary's Lake Is visibly delighted ; 3*^ The Golden Treasury For not a feature of those hills Is in the mirror slighted. A blue sky bencls o'er Yarrow Val^ Save where that pearly whiteness Is round the rising sun diffused, A tender hazy brightness ; Mild dawn of promise ! that excludes All profitless dejection ; Though not unwilling here to admit A pensive recollection. Where was it that the famous Flower Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding ? His bed perchance was yon smooth moimd On which the herd is feeding : And haply from this crystal pool, Now peaceful as the morning, The water-Wraith ascended thrice. And gave his doleful warning. Delicious is the Lay that sings The haunts of happy lovers, The path that leads them to the grov«^ 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 ! But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation : Book Fourth 319 Meek loveliness is round thee spread, 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, With Yarrow winding through the pomp Of cultivated Nature ; And rising from those lofty groves Behold a ruin hoary, The shatter'd front of Newark's Towers, Renown'd in Border story. 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 ! Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, A covert for protection Of studious ease and genei-ous cares. And every chaste affection ! How sweet on this autumnal day The wild-wood fruits to gather, And on my true-love's forehead plant A crest of blooming heather ! And what if I enwreathed my own? 'T were no offence to reason ; The sober hills thus deck their brovrs To meet the wintiy season. I see — but not by sight alone Loved Yarrow, have I won thee ; 3^0 The Golden Treasury A ray of Fancy still survives — Her sunshine plays upon thee ! Thy ever-youthful waters keep A course of lively pleasure ; And gladsome notes niy lips can breathe Accordant to the measure. 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, Thy genuine image. Yarrow ! Will dwell with me, to heighten joy And cheer my mind in sorrow. W. Wordsworth CCLIX THE INVITATION BEST and Brightest, come away. Fairer far than this fair day. Which, like thee, to those in sorrow Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow To the rough year just awake In its cradle on the brake. The brightest hour of unborn Spring Through the winter wandering, Found, it seems, the halcyon mom To hoar February born ; Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth. It kiss'd the forehead of the earth, And smiled upon the silent sea, And bade the frozen streams be free. Book Fourth 321 And waked to music all their fountains, And breathed upon the frozen mountains^, And like a prophetess of May Strew'd flowers upon the barren way, Making the wintiy world appear Like one on whom thou smilest, Dear. Away, away, from men and towns. To the wild wood and the downs — To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Its music, lest it should not find An echo in another's mind, 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, 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 sviil| Where the lawns and pastures be And the sand-hills of the sea, Where the melting hoar-frost wets The daisy-star that never sets, And wind-flowers and violets Which yet join not scent to hue Crown the pale year weak and newj When the night is left behind In the deep east, dim and blind, And the blue noon is over us, And the multitudinous 21 322 The Golden Treasury Billows murmur at our feet, Where the earth and ocean meet. And all things seem only one In the universal Sun. P. B. Shelley CCLX THE RECOLLECTION' NOW the last day of many days All beautiful and bright as thou. The loveliest and the last, is dead, Rise, Memoiy, and wi'ite its praise ! Up, do thy wonted work ! come, trace The epitaph of glory fled, For now the Earth has changed its facCj A frown is on the Heaven's brow. We wander'd to the Pine Forest 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, 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 A light of Paradise ! We paused amid the pines that stood The giants of the waste. Tortured by storms to shapes as nule As serpent^^ interlaced, — Book Fourth 323 And soothed by every azure breath That under heaven is blown To harmonies and hues beneath. As tender as its own : Now all the tree-tops lay asleep Like green waves on the sea, As still as in the silent deep The ocean -woods may be. How calm it was ! — the silence thei-e By such a chain was bound, That even the busy woodpecker Made stiller by her sound The inviolable quietness ; The breath of peace we drew With its soft motion made not less The calm that round us grev/. There seem'd from the remotest seat Of the wide mountain waste To the soft flower beneath our feet A magic circle traced, A spirit interfused around, A thrilling silent life ; To momentaiy peace it bound Our mortal nature's strife ; — And still I felt the centre of The magic circle there Was one fair Form that fitll'd with lore The lifeless atmosphere. We paused beside the pools that lip Under the forest bough ; Each seem'd as 't were a little sky Gulf 'd in a world below ; 324 The Golden Treasioy A firmament of purple light Which in the dark earth lay, More boundless than the depth of night And purer than the day — 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. And through tlie dark green wood The white sun twinkling like the dawn Out of a speckled cloud. Sweet views which in our world above Can never well be seen Were imaged by the water's love Of that fair forest green : And all was interfused beneath With an Ely si an glow, An atmosphere without a breath, 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 ; 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. The forests ever green. Less oft is peace in Shelley's mind Than calm in waters seen ! P, /;. Shelley IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENING, CALM AND FREE." — Page 325. Book Fourth 325 CCLXI 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 ; 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 witli me lier^ If thou appear untouch'd by solemn thought Thy nature is not therefore less divine : Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year, And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not. W. Wordsworth CCLXI I TO THE EVENING STAR STAR that bringest home the bee. And sett'st the weary labourer free I If any star shed peace, 't is Thou That send'st it from above, Appearing when Heaven's breath and brow Are sweet as hers we love. Come to the luxuriant skies, Whilst the landscape's odours rise. 326 The Golden Jreasnry Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard 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 ; Their remembrancer in Heaven Of thrilling vows thou art. Too delicious to be riven By absence from the heart. T. Campbell DATUR MORA QUIET! THE sun upon the lake is low, The wild birds hush their song. The hills have evening's deepest glow. Yet Leonard tarries long. 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. The noble dame on turret high. Who waits her gallant knight. Looks to the western beam to spy The flash of armour bright. The village maid, with hand on brow The level i-ay to shade, Upon the footpath watches now For Colin's darkening plaid. no:>k Fourth 327 Now to their mates the wild swans row. 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 — All meet whom day and care divide. But Leonard tarries long ! Sir W. Scott CCLXIV 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, — And ever-changing, like a joyless eye That iinds no object wortR its constancy? P. B. Shelley CCLXV A WIDOW bird sate mourning for her Love Upon a wintiy bough ; The frozen wind crept on above, The freezing stream below. There was no leaf upon the forest bare. No flower upon the ground. And little motion in the air Except the mill-wheel's sound. ..RB.ShdLy. 328 The Golden Treasury CCLXVI 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, wliite sheets of water, and pure sky j I 've thought of all by turns, and still I lie Sleepless ; and soon the small birds' melodies Must hear, first utter'd from my orchard trees. And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. 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 to-night away : Witliout Thee what is all the morning's wealth ? Come, blessed barrier between day and day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health ! W. IVordsivorth CCLXVII THE SOLDIER'S DREAM OUR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd. And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowcr'd, The weaiy to sleep, and the wounded to die. A\'Tien reposing that night on my pallet of straw By tlie wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw ; And thrice ere tlie morning I dreamt it again. Book rotirth 329 Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array Far, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track : ''T was 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 ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never ta part ; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, 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 return'd with the dawning of morn. And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. T. Campbell CCLXVIII A DREAM OF THE UNKNOWN- IDREAM'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 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 mi.^htest in dream. 330 The Golden Treasury There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, Daisies, those pearl'd Arcturi of the earth. The constellated flower that never sets ; Faint ox -lips ; tender blue-bells, at whose birth The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that wets Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears, When the low wind, its playmate's voice, it hears. And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, Green cow-bind and the moonlight-colour'd May, And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine Was the bright dew yet drain'd not by the day ; 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 There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prankt with white, And starry river-buds among the sedge, And floating water-lilies, broad and bright, Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge With moonlight beams of their own wateiy light ; And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. Methought that of these visionary flowers I made a nosegay, bound in such a way That the same hues, which in their natural bowers Were mingled or opposed, the like array Kept these imprison'd children of the Hours Within my hand, — and then, elate and gay, I hasten'd to the spot whence I had come That I might there present it — O ! to Whom? P. B. SJidley Book Fourth 33 j CCLXIX THE INNER VISION MOST sweet it is with unuplifted eyes To pace the ground, if path there be or none, While a fair region round the Traveller lies Which he forbears again to look upon ; 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 Let us break off all commerce with the Muse : With Thought and Love companions of our way — 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 CCLXX 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 ; Then let winged Fancy wander Through the thought still spread beyond her . Open wide the mind's cage-door, She '11 dart forth, and cloudward soar. 332 The Golden Treasu7y O sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; Summer's joys are spoilt by use, And the enjoying of the Spring Fades as doe= its blossoming : Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too Blushing through the mist and dew 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, And the caked snow is shuffled From the ploughboy's heavy shoon ; When the Night doth meet the Noon In a dark conspiracy To banish Even from her sky. — Sit thee there, and send abroad With a mind self-overawed Fancy, high-commission'd : — send her! She has vassals to attend her ; She will bring, in spite of frost, Beauties that the earth hath lost ; She will bring thee, all together. All delights of summer weather ; All the buds and bells of May From dewy sward or thorny spray ; All tlie heaped Autumn's wealth, With a still, mysterious stealth ; She will mix these pleasures up 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 : Book Fourth ^^j^ And in the same moment — hark ! 'T is the early April lark, Or the rooks, with busy caw. Foraging for sticks and straw. Thou shalt, at one glance, behold The daisy and the marigold ; White-plumed lilies, and the first Hedge -grown primrose that hath burst; Shaded hyacinth, alway Sapphire queen of the mid-May ; And every leaf, and eveiy 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 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 ; Then the hurry and alarm When the bee-hive casts its swarm; Acorns ripe down-pattering While the autumn breezes sing. O sweet Fancy ! let her loose , 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, Doth not weary ? Where 's the face One would meet in every place ? Where 's the voice, however soft, 334 The Golden Treasiny One would hear so very oft ? At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. Let then winged Fancy find Thee a mistress to thy mind : Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter, Ere the God of Tonnent taught her How to frown and how to chide ; With a waist and with a side 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 langiiid. — Break the raeah Of the Fancy's silken leash ; Quickly break her prison-string, And such joys as these she '11 bring : — Let the winged Fancy roam I Pleasure never is at home. J. Keats CCLXXI HYMN TO THE SPIRIT OF NA TURE LIFE of Life ! Thy lips enkindle With their love the breatli betv/cen them j And thy smiles before they dwindle Make the cold air fire ; then screen them In those locks, whei-e v/hoso gazes Faints, entangled in their mazes. Child of Light ! Thy limbs are burning Through the veil wliich seems to hide tliem. Book Fourth 335 As the radiant lines of morning Through thin clouds, ere they divide tliem ; And this atmosphere divinest Shrouds thee wheresoe'er thou shinest. Fair are others : none beholds Thee ; But thy voice sounds low and tender Like the fairest, for it folds thee Froni the sight, that liquid splendour ; And all feel, yet see thee never, — As I feel now, lost for ever J Lamp of Earth ! where'er thou movest, Its dim shapes are clad with brightness^ And the souls of whom thou lovest Walk upon the winds with lightness Till they fail, as I am failing, Dizzy, lost, yet unbewailing ! P. B. Shelley CCLXXII WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING I HEARD a thousand blended notes While in a grove I sat reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thought Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 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. The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths ; 33^ TJic Golden Treasip-y And 't is my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. The birds around nie hopp'd and play'd. Their tliouglits I cannot measure — But the least motion which they made It seem'd a thrill of pleasure. 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. 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 ? IV. Wordsworth RUTH: OR THE INFL UENCES OF NA TURR WHEN Ruth was left half desolate Her father took another mate ; And Ruth, not seven years old^ A slighted child, at her own will 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 ; Had built a bower uj^on the green, As if she from her birth had been An infant of the wood;;. Book Fourth 337 Beneath her father's roof, alone She seem'd to live ; her thoughts her own ; Herself her own delight : Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay, She pass'd her time ; and in this way Grew up to woman's height. There came a youth from Georgia's shore—* 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. From Indian blood you deem him sprung I But no ! he spake the English tongue And bore a soldier's name ; And, when America was free 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 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 giiess The panther in the wilderness Was not so fair as he ; And when he chose to sport and play. No dolphin ever was so gay Upon the tropic sea. 22 33^ The Golden Trcas^nry Among the Indians he had fought ^ And with 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. 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 When daylight is gone down. He spake of plants that hourly change Their blossoms, through a boundless rank's Of intermingling hues ; With budding, fading, faded flowers. They stand the wonder of the bowers From morn to evening dews. He told of the Magnolia, spread High as a cloud, high over head ! The cypress and her spire ; — 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^ 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. Book Fourth 339 And then lie said, * How sweet 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 find A home in eveiy glade ! What days and what bright years ! Ah me ! Our life were life indeed, with Thee So pass'd in quiet bliss ; And all the while,' said he, ' to know 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 Around the heart such tender ties, That our own children to our eyes Are dearer than the sun. Sweet Ruth ! and could you go witli xalt My helpmate in the woods to be. Our shed at night to rear ; Or nm, my own adopted bride, A sylvan huntress at my side, And drive the flying deer ! Beloved Ruth ! ' — No more he said. 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. 340 The Golden Treasury * 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 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 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. And with his dancing crest So beautiful, through savage lands Had roam'd about with vagrant band* Of Indians in the West. The wi;-i, the tempest roaring high, The tumult of a tropic sky Might well be dangerous food For him, a youth to whom was given So much of earth — so much of heavet^ And such impetuous blood. Whatever in those climes he found Irregular in sight or sound Did to his mind impart A kindred impulse, seem'd allied To his own powers, and justified The workinr^s of his heart Hook Fourth 341 Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought, The beauteous forms of Nature wrought, •— Fair trees and gorgeous flowers j The breezes their own languor lent ; 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 : For passions link'd to forms so fair And stately, needs must have their sharj Of noble sentiment But ill he lived, much evil saw 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. His genius and his moral frame Were tlius impair'd, and he became The slave of low desires : A man who without self-control Would seek what the degraded soul Unwortliily 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 Whose heart with so much nature play'(> *= So kind and so forlorn ? 34* The Golden Treasury Sometimes most earnestly he said, * O Ruth ! I have been worse than dead j False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain Encompass'd me on every side When I, in confidence and pride, Had cross'd the Atlantic main. Before me shone a glorious w^orld Fresh as a banner bright, unfurl'd 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. 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.' Full soon that better mind was gone ; No hope, no wish remain'd, not one. — » They stirr'd him now no more ; New objects did new pleasure give. And once again he wish'd to live As lawless as before. Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared. They for the voyage were prepared, And went to the sea-shore : But, when they thither came, the youth Deserted his poor bride, and Ruth Ceuld never find him more. . Book Fourth 343 God help thee, Ruth ! — Such pains she had That she in half a year was mad And in a prison housed ; And there exulting in her wrongs,- Among the music of her songs She fearfully caroused. Yet sometimes milder hours she knew. Nor 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. When Rudi 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 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, 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 The vernal leaves — she loved them still. Nor ever tax'd them with the ill Which had been done to her. 344 The Golden Treasury A bam her Winter bed supplies ; But, till the waiTnth 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. 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, 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. Where up and down with easy pace The horsemen-travellers ride. That oaten pipe of hers is mute Or thrown away : but with a flute Her loneliness she cheers ; 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 By spouts and fountains v/ild — - Such small machinery as she tum'd Ere she had wept, ere she had moum'd^ A young and happy child ! Book Fourth 345 Farewell ! and when thy clays are told. Ill-fated Ruth ! in hallow Vl 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 CCLXXIV WRITTEN m THE EUGANEAN I/ILLS, NORTH ITALY 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 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 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 Death from the o'er-brimming deep ; And sinks down, down, like that sleep When the dreamer seems to be Weltering through eternity ; And the dim low line before Of a dark and distant shore Still recedes, as ever still Longiuij with divided will. 346 The Golden Treasurr But no power to seek or shun. He is ever drifted on O'er the unreposing wave, To the haven of the grave. Ay, many flowering islands lie In the waters of wide agony : To such a one this morn was led My bark, by soft winds piloted. — 'Mid the mountains Euganean I stood listening to the paean "With which the legion'd rooks did hail The Sun's uprise majestical : Gathering round with wings all hoar, Through the dewy mist they soar Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven Bursts, and then, — as clouds of even Fleck'd with fire and azure, lie In the unfathomable sky, — So their plumes of purple grain Starr'd with drops of golden rain Gleam above the sunlight woods. As in silent multitudes On the morning's fitful gale Through the broken mist they sail ; And the vapours cloven and gleaming Follow down the dark steep streaming^ Till all is bright, and clear, and still Round the solitary hill. Beneath is spread like a green sea The waveless plain of Lombardy, Bounded by the vaporous air, Islanded by cities fair ; Look Fourth 347 Underneath day's azure eyes, Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, — A peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite's destined halls, Which her hoaiy sire now paves With his blue and beaming waves- Lo ! the sun upsprings behind, Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined On the level quivering line Of the waters crystalline ; And before that chasm of light- As within a furnace bright, Column, tower, and dome, and spir^ Shine like obelisks of fire, Pointing with inconstant motion From the altar of dark ocean To the sapphire-tinted skies ; As the flames of sacrifice From the marble shrines did rise As to pierce the dome of gold Where Apollo spoke of old. Sun-girt City ! thou hast been Ocean's child, and then his queen t Now is come a darker day, And thou soon must be his prey. If the power that raised thee here Hallow so thy wateiy 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. Wilt thou be, — when the sea-mew Flies, as once before it flew. 348 The Golden Treasury O'er thine isles depopulate, And all is in its ancient state, Save where many a palace-gate With green sea-flowers overgrown 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 Wandering at the close of day, Will spread his sail and seize his oar Till he pass the gloomy shore, Lest thy dead should, from their sleep Bursting o'er the starlight deep. Lead a rapid masque of death O'er the waters of his path. Noon descends around me now : 'T is the noon of autumn's glow. When a soft and purple mist Like a vaporous amethyst. Or an air-dissolved star Mingling light and fragrance, far From the curved horizon's bound To the point of heaven's profound^ Fills the overflowing sky ; And the plains that silent lie Underneath ; the leaves unsodden Where the infant frost has trodden W^ith his rnorning-winged feet Whose bright \iX\vA. is gleaming yet 5 And the red and golden vines Piercing with their trellised lines The rough, dark-skirted wilderness ; The dun and liladed gi-ass no less. Book FourtA 34 j Pointing from this hoary towef In tlie windless air ; the flower Glimmering at my feet ; the line Of the olive-sandall'd Apennine In the south dimly islanded ; And the Alps, whose snoAvs are spread High between the clouds and sun j And of living things each one ; And my spirit, which so long Darken'd this s\vift stream of song, — Interpenetrated lie By the glory of the sky ; Be it love, light, harmony, Odour, or the soul of all Which from heaven like dew doth fall, Or the mind which leeds this verse 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 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 bornS 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, Sits beside the helm again. 35^ ^'^ Golden Treasury Other flowering isles must be In the sea of life and agony : Other spirits float and flee O'er that gulf : even Jiow, perhaps, On some rock the wild wave wraps. With folding winds they waiting sit For my bark, to pilot it To some calm and blooming cove. Where for me, and those I love, May a windless bower be built, Far from passion, pain, and guilt. In a dell 'mid lawny hills Which the wild sea-murmur fills, And soft sunshine, and the sound Of old forests echoing round, And the light and smell divine Of all flowers that breathe and shine. — We may live so happy there, That the spirits of the air Envying us, may even entice To our healing paradise The polluting multitude ; But their rage would be subdued By that clime divine and calm. And the winds whose wings rain balm On the uplifted soul, and leaves Under which the bright sea heaves ; While each breathless interval In-their whisperings musical The inspired soul supplies With its own deep melodies ; And the Love which heals all strife Circling, like the breath of life. All things in that sweet abode Book Fourth 35 1 With its own mild brotherhood. They, not it, would change ; and soon Every sprite beneath the moon Would repent its envy vain, And the Earth grow young again J P, B. SheUey CCLXXV ODE TO THE WEST WIND OWILD West Wind, thou breath of Autuir.n'i being, Thou, from whose tinseen presence the leaves dead Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing. Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red, Pestilence-stricken multitudes : O thou Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low. Each like a corpse within its grave, until Thine azure sister of the spring shall blow Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) With living hues and odours plain and hill : Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere ; Destroyer and Presei-ver ; Hear, O hear I Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's commotion. Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean, Angels of rain and lightning ; there are spread On the blue surface of thine airy surge, Like the bright hair uplifted from the head Of some fierce Maenad, ev'n from the dim verge Of the horizon to the zenith's height — 352 The Golden Treasury The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge Of the dying year, to which this closing nir;:ht Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, Vaulted with all thy congregated might Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst : O hear ! Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay 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 Quivering within the M-ave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou For whose path the Atlantic's level powers Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below The sea-blooms ar-d the oozy woods which wear The sapless foliage of the ocean, know Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear And tremble and despoil themselves : O hear ! If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear ; If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee ; A wave to pant beneath thy power, and sharo The impulse of thy strength, only less free Than Thou, O uncontrollable ! If even I were as in my boyhood, and could be The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven, As then, when to outstrip the skyey speed Scarce seem'd a vision, I would ne'er have striven As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need. lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 1 fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! Book Fourth 353 A heavy weight of hours has chain'd and bow'd One too hke 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 ! The tumult of thy mighty harmonies Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, Sweet though in sadness. Be thou. Spirit fierce. My spirit ! be thou me, impetuous one ! Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like wither'd leaves to quicken a new birth ; And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguish'd hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind !f Be through my lips to unawaken'd earth The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind ? P. B. S/iiUey ccLxxvr NATURE AND THE POET Suggested by a Picture of Peek Castle in a Storm, fainted 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. So pure the sky, so quiet was the air ! So like, 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. 554 The Golden Treasury How perfect was the calm ! It seem'd no sleep^ 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 ^leaix The light that never was on sea or land, The consecration, and the Poet's dream, — I would have planted thee, tliou hoary pile. Amid a world how different from this ! Beside a sea that could not cease to smile ; On tranquil land, beneath a slcy of bliss. A picture had it been of lasting ease, Elysian quiet, without toil or strife ; No motion but the moving tide, a breeze. Or merely silent Nature's breathing life. Such, in the fond illusion of my heart. Such picture would I at that time have made ; And seen the soul of truth in eveiy part, A steadfast peace that might not be betray*d. So once it would have been, — - 't is so no more ; I have submitted to a new control : A power is gone, which nothing can restore ; A deep distress hath humanized my soul. Not for a moment could I now behold A smiling sea, and be what I have been : The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old ; This, which I know, 1 speak with mind serene. X ■THIS HUGE CASTLE, STANDING HERE SUBLIME." — Page 355. Book Fottrtk 353 Then, Beaumont, Friend ! who would have been the friend If he had lived, of him whom I deplore, This work of thine I blame not, but commend ; This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. O, 't is a passionate work ! — yet wise and well. Well chosen is the spirit that is here ; That hulk which labours in the deadly swell, This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear ! And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, I love to see the look with which it braves — Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time — The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. 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 't is surely blind. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, 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 CCLXXVII THE POETS DREAM ON a Poet's lips I slept Dreaming like a love-adept In the sound his breathing kept ; 35^ The Golden Treasury Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses, But feeds on the aerial kisses Of shapes that haunt Thought's wildernesseSc He will watch from dawn to gloom The lake-reflected sun illume The yellow bees in the ivy -bloom, Nor heed nor see what things they be — But from these create he can Forms more real than living Man, Nurslings of Immortality ! P. B. Shelley CCLXXVIII THE World is too much with us ; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers ; Little we see in Nature that is ours ; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon, The winds that will be howling at all hours And are up-gather'd 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 forloiri ; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. W. Wordnuorli^ Book Fourth 357 WITHIN KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE TAX p.ot the royal Saint with vain expense, With ill-match'd aims the Architect who plana'd (Albeit labouring for a scanty band Of white-robed Scholars only) this immense 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 Self-poised, and scoop'd into ten thousand cells Where light and shade repose, where music dwells Lingering and Avandering on as loth to die — Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldcth proof That they were bom for immortality. W. Wordsworth CCLXXX YOUTH AND AGE VERSE, a breeze 'mid blossom.s straying, Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee — Both were mine ! Life went a-maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, When I was young ! When I was young ? — Ah, woful When ! Ah ! for the change 'twixt Now and Then ! 358 The Golden Treasury This body that does me grievous wrong,. O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands How lightly 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, That fear no spite of wind or tide ! Nought cared this body for wind or weathe'i When Youth and I lived in 't together. Flowers are lovely ; Lo\^ is flower-like ; Friendship is a sheltering tree ; O ! the joys, that came down shower-like, Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, Ere I was old ! Ere I M^as old ? — Ah, M^ful Ere, Which tells me, Youth 's no longer here I Youth ! for years so many and sweet 'T is known that Thou and I were one, 1 '11 think it but a fond conceit — It cannot be, that Thou art gone ! Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd : — And thou wert aye a masker bold ! What strange disguise hast now put on To make believe that thou art gone ? I see these locks in silveiy slips, This drooping gait, this alter'd size : But Springtide blossoms on thy lips, And tears take sunshine from thine eyes \ Life is but Thought : so think I will That Youth and I are housemates still. Dew-drops are the gems of morning, But the tears of mournful eve ! Book Fourth 359 Where no hope is, Hfe 's a warning That only serves to make lis grieve When we are old : — That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking-leave, Like some iX)or nigli-related guest That may not rudely be dismist. Yet hath out-stay'd his welcome while, And tells the jest without the smile. -.S'. T. Colcridjre CCLXXXI 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 V A village schoolmaster M-as 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 And by the steaming rills We traveird merrily, to pass A day among the hills. *Our work,' said I, 'was well begun; Then, from thy breast what thought, Beneath so beautiful a sun, So sad a sigli has brought ? ' 360 The Golden Treasury A second time did Matthew stop ; And fixing still his eye Upon the eastern mountain-top, To me he made reply : * Yon cloud with that long purple cleft Brings fresh into my mind A day like this, which I have left Full thirty years behind. * 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 Which that sweet season gave, And coming to the church, stopp'd short Beside my daughter's grave. 'Nine summers had she scarcely seen, The pride of all the vale ; And then she sang : — she would have beoii A very nightingale. * Six feet in earth my Emma lay ; And yet I loved her more — For so it seem'd — than till that day I e'er had loved before. * And turning from her grave, T met Beside the church-yard yew A blooming Girl, Avhose hair Avas wet With points of morning; dew. Book Fourth 361 * A "basket on her head she bare ; Her brow was smooth and white : To see a child so very fair, It was a pure delight ! * No fountain from its rocky cave E'er tripp'd 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 ; I look'd at her, and look'd again : And did not wish her mine ! ' — 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 CCLXXXII 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. We lay beneath a spreading oak, Beside a mossy seat ; And from the turf a fountain broke And gurgled at our feet. 362 The Golden Treasury * Now, Matthew ! ' said I, ' let us match This water's pleasant tune With some old border song, or catch That suits a summer's noon. * Or of the church-clock and the chimes Sing here beneath the shade That half-mad thing of witty rhymes Which you last April made ! ' In silence Matthew lay, and eyed The spring beneath the tree ; And thus the dear old man replied, The gray-hair'd man of glee : * No check, no stay, this Streamlet fearSs How merrily it goes \ 'T will murmur on a thousand years And flow as now it flows. * And here, on this delightful day, I cannot choose but think How oft, a vigorous man, I lay Beside this fountain's brink. ' 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 : And yet the wiser mind Mourns less for what Age takes away, Thau what it leaves behind. Book Fottrth 363 * The blackbird amid leafy trees — The lark above the hill 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 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. * 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. My life has been approved. And many love me ; but by none Am I enough beloved.' ' Now both himself and me he wrongs, The man who thus complains ! I live and sing my idle songs Upon these happy plains : * And Matthew, for thy children dead I '11 be a son to thee ! ' At this he grasp'd my hand and said, ' Alas ! that cannot be. ' j64 The Golden Tre 378 Notes Page No. other of the astrologica.' phrases no longer familiar. Crooked eclipses : as coming athwart the Sun's ap- parent course. Wordsworth, thinking probably of the ' Venus ' and the ' Lucrece,' said finely of Shakespeare : ' Shake- speare could not have written an Epic ; he would have died of plethora of thought.' This prodigality of nature is exemplified equally in his Sonnets. The copious selection 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 with- out some earnestness of thought on the reader's part But he is not likely to regret the labour. B4 XXXI upon misprision growing: either, granted in error, or, on the growth of contempt. — XXXli With the tone of this Sonnet compare Hamlet's ' Give me that man That is not passion's slave ' &c. Shake- speare's writings show the deepest sensitiveness to passion : — hence the attraction he felt in the con- trasting efifects of apathy. 25 XXXIII grame: sorrow. It was long before English Poetry returned to the charming simplicity of this and a few other poems by Wyat. 26 XXXIV Pandion in the ancient fable was father to Philomela. 28 XXXVIII ramage: confused noise. 29 XXXIX censures: judges. 30 XL By its style this beautiful example of old simplicity and feeling may be referred to the early years of Elizabeth. Late forgot : lately. 31 XLI ^laggards : the least tamable hawks. 33 XLiv cypres or Cyprus, — used by the old writers for crape ; whether from the French crcspe or from the Island whence it was imported. Its accidental similarity in spelling X.O cypressYiZ.'!,, here and in Milton's Penseroso, probably confused readers. 34 XLVi, XLVii 'I never saw anything like this funeral dirge,' says Charles Lamb, ' except the ditty which reminds Ferdinand of his drowned father in the Tempest. As that is of the water, watery ; so t'ais is of the earth, earthy. Both have that intenseness of feeling, which seems to resolve itself into the element which it coa- tctophtrs.' Notes 379 fRge No. 37 LI crystal: fairness. 38 Liii This ' Spousal Verse ' was written in honour of the Ladies Elizabeth and Katherine Somerset. Although beautiful, it is inferior to the ' Epithalamion ' on Spen- ser's own marriage, — omitted with great reluctance as not in harmony with modern manners. 3g — 1. 13 feateoitsly: elegantly. 42 — 1. n shend: put out ^3 — \. X a noble peer: Robert Devereux, second Lord Essex, then at the height of his brief triumph after taking Cadiz : hence the allusion following to the Pillars of Hercules, placed near Gades by ancient legend. L. 13 Eliza: Elizabeth. L. 29 tivins 0/ Jove : the stars Castor and Pollux : baldric, belt : the zodiac. 46 LVII A fine example of a peculiar class of Poetry ; — that written by thoughtful men who practised this Art but little. Wotton's, lxxii, is another. Jeremy Taylor, Bishop Berkeley, Dr. Johnson, Lord Macaulay, have left similar specimens. Summary of Book Second This division, embracing the latter eighty years of the seven- tenth 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 consummation of the early period. Their splendid Odes are far in advance of any prior attempts, Spenser's excepted : they exhibit the wider and grander range which years and experience and the struggles of the time conferred on Poetry. Our Muses now give expres- sion to political 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 the first noble at- tempts at pure description of nature, destined in our own ages to be continued and equalled. Meanwhile the poetry of simple passion, although before 1660 often deformed by verbal fancies and conceits of thought, and afterward by levity and an artificial tone, — produced in Herrick and Waller some charming pieces of more finished art than the Elizabethan : until in the courtly compliments of Sedley it seems to exhaust itself, and He almosi 380 Notes dormant for the hundred years betv/een 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 far bolder and wider scope which Poetry took between 1620 and 1700, and the successful efforts then made to gain greater clearness in expres- sion, in their results have been no slight compensation. Page No. 52 Lxii 1. 20 whist: hushed. 53 — 1-13 P(in: used here for the Lord of all. 56 — 1. 19 Lars and Leimires : household gods and spirits of relations dead. Flamens (1. 22) Roman priests. That twice-batter'd god (1. 27) Dagon. 57 — 1. 9 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, represents the annual death of the Sun or the Year under the influences of the winter darkness. Horus, the son of Osiris, as the New Year, in his turn overcomes Typho. — It suited the genius of Milton's time to regard this primeval poetry and philosophy of the seasons, which has a further refer- ence to the contest of Good and Evil in Creation, as 9. malignant idolatry. Shelley's Chorus in Hellas, 'Worlds on worlds,' treats the subject in a larger and sweeter spirit. L. 11 unshower'd grass : as watered by the Nile only. 60 LXIV The Late Massacre : the Vaudois persecution, carried on in 1655 by the Duke of Savoy. This 'collect in verse,' as it has been justly named, is the most mighty Sonnet in any language known to the Editor. Read- ers should observe that, unlike our sonnets of the six- teenth century, it is constructed on the original Italian or Provencal model, — unquestionably far superior to the imperfect form employed by Shakespeare and Drummond. 6r LXV Cromwell returned from Ireland in 1650. Hence the prophecies not strictly fulfilled of his deference to th« Parliament, in stanzas 21-24. N^otes 381 Page No. This Ode, beyond doubt one of the finest in out language, and more in Milton's style than has been reached by any other poet, is occasionally obscure from imitation of the condensed Latin syntax. The meaning of st. 5 is ' rivalry or hostility are the same to a lofty spirit, and limitation more hateful than op- position.' The allusion in sL 11 is to the old physical doctrines of the nonexistence of a vacuum and the impenetrability of matter : — in st. 17, to the omen traditionally connected with the foundation of the Capitol at Rome. 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 climacteric. 65 Lxvi Lycidas. The person lamented is Milton's college friend 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. — The metrical structure of this glorious poem is part- ly derived from Italian models. 66 — 1. 6 Sisiers of the sacred ivell: the Muses said tu frequent the fountain Helicon on Mount Parnassus. 67 — 1. 14 Mona : Anglesea, called by the Welsh Inis Dowil or the Dark Island, from its dense forests. Deva (1. 15) the Dee : a river which probably derived its magical character from Celtic traditions : it was long the boundary of Briton and Saxon. — These places are introduced, as being near the scene of the shipwreck. O^-phens (1. 18) was torn to pieces by Thracian women. A maryllis and Neaera (1. 28, 29) names used here for the love-idols of poets : as Damoetas previously for a shepherd. 68 — 1.3 the blind Fury : Atropos, fabled to cut the thread of life. Aret/iuse (I. 13) and jMinciiis: Sicilian and Italian waters here alluded to as synonymous with 382 Notes Page No. the pastoral poetry of Theocritus and Virgil. L. 16 oat: pipe, used here like Collins' oaten stop, 1. i. No. CXLVI, for Song. L. 24 Hippotades : Aeolus, god of the Winds. Pa7iope (1. 27) a Nereid. The names of local deities in the Hellenic mythology express generally some feature in the natural land- scape, which the Greeks studied and analyzed with their usual unequalled insight and feeling. Panope represents the boundlessness of the ocean-horizon when seen from a height, as compared with the lim- ited horizon of the land in hilly countries such as Greece or Asia Minor. Catmts (1. 31) the Cam; put for King's University. 69 LXVI 1. 2 The sa>tgume /lower : the Hyacinth of the an- cients ; probably our Iris. The pilot (1. 5) Saint Peter, figuratively introduced as the head of the Church on earth, to foretell ' the ruin of our corrupted clergy, then in their heighth' under Laud's primacy, L. 24 the wolf: Popery. Alpheus (1. 28) a stream in Southern Greece, supposed to flow underseas to join the Arethuse. ^ — 1. I Swart star : the Dogstar, called swarthy because its heliacal rising in ancient times occurred soon after midsummer. L. 22 -moist voavs : either tearful pray- ers, or prayers for one at sea. Bcllerns (1. 23) a giant, apparently created here by Milton to personify Belle- rium, 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 wa- ters off the Land's End. Finisterre 'oeing the land due south of Marazion, two places in that district (then by our trade with Corunna probably less im- familiar to English ears) are named, — Naniancos now Mujio in Galicia, Bayona north of the Minho, 01 perhaps a fortified rock (one of the Cies Islands) not unlike Saint Michael's Mount, at the entrance of Vigo Bay. L. 33 ore : rays of golden light. ys ^~ I. 19 Doric lay : Sicilian, pastoral. 54 LXX The assault was an attack on London expected in JVo'cs 383 Page No. T642, when the troops of Charles I reached Brent- ford. 'Written on his door'wa.9 in the original title of this sonnet. Milton was then living in Aldersgate Street. ^74 LXX 1. 10 The Einaihian conqueror: When Thebes was destroyed (b.c. 335) and the citizens nmssacred by thousands, Alexander ordered the house of Pindar to be spared. He was as incapable of appreciating the Poet as Lewis XIV. of appreciating Racine : but even the narrow and barbarian mind of Alexander could understand the advantage of a showy act of homage to Poetry. — — \. 12 the repeated air 0/ sad Electro's j^oei: Amongst Plutarch's vague stories, he says that when the Spar- tan 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 congruity between the lines quoted (167, 168 Ed. Dindorf) and the result as- cribed to them. 76 Lxxiii This high-toned and lovely Madrigal is quite in the style, and worthy of, the 'pure Simonides.' 77 Lxxv Vaughan's beautiful though quaint verses should be compared with Wordsworth's great Ode, No. CCLXXXVII. 78 Lxxvi Favo7tius : the .spring wind, 79 Lxxvii 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. 81 Lxxix 1. 13 Sydjician sho7vers: either in allusion to the conversations in the 'Arcadia,' or to Sidney himself as a model of ' gentleness ' in spirit and demeanour. 86 Lxxxiv Elizabeth o^ Bohemia : Daughter to James I, and ancestor to Sophia of Hanover. These lines arc a fine specimen of gallant and courtly compliment. 87 Lxxxv Lady M. Ley was daughter to Sir J. Ley, afterwards Earl of Marlborough, who died March, 1628-g, coin- cidently with the dissolution of the third Parliament of Charles's reign. Hence Milton poetically compares 384 Note: Page No. his death to that of the Orator Isocrates of Athens, after Philip's victory in 328 B.C. 92 xcii, xciii These are quite a Painter's poems. 96 xcix From Prison : to which his active support of Charles I. twice brought the high-spirited writer. 102 cv Inserted in Book II as written in the character of a Soldier of Fortune in the Seventeenth Century. 103 cvi IVafy ivaly : an e.xclamation of sorrow, the root and the pronunciation of which are preserved in the word caterwatil. Brae, hillside : bnrn, brook : busk, adorn. Saiftt Antoti's well: at the foot of Arthur's Seat by Edinburgh. Cranuisie, crimson. 105 cvii bui'd, maiden. 106 cviii corbies, crows :_/«//, turf: hmise, neck: ikeek, thatch. — If not in their origin, in their present form this and the two preceding poems appear due to the Seven- teenth Century, and have therefore been placed in Cook II. lOQ CXI The remark quoted in the note to No. XLVII applies equally to these truly wonderful verses, which, like ' Lycidas,' may be regarded as a test of any reader's insight into the most poetical aspects of Poetry. The general differences between them are vast : but in imaginative intensity Marvell and Shelley are closely related. — This poem is printed as a translation in Marveli's works : but the original Latin is obviously his own. 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. L'A lli^ro and II Penseroso. It is a striking proof of ]M ikon's astonishing power, that these, the earliest p)ire Descriptive Lyrics in our language, should still remain the best in a style which so many great poets have since attempted. The Bright and the Thought- ful aspects of Nature are their subjects : but each i« preceded by a mythological introduction in a mivwi Notes 385 page No. Classical and lialian manner. The meaning of the first is that Gaiety is the child of Nature ; of the sec- ond, that Pensiveness is the daughter of Sorrow and Genius. Ill cxii 1. 2: Perverse ingenuity has conjectured that foi Cerberus we should read Erebus, who in the My- thology is brother at once and husband of Night. But the issue of that union is not Sadness, but Day and Aether : — completing the circle of primary Crea- tion, as the parents are both children of Chaos, the first-begotten of all things. (Hesiod.) z\r /—I. 22 the moufitain nyttzph ; compare Wordsworth's Sonnet, No. ccx. 113 .— I. 14 is in appositio7t to the preceding, by a grammat- ical license not uncommon with Milton. L. 19 tells his tale : counts his flock. Cynosure (1. 32) the Pole Star. 114 r \. 1 CorydoH, T/ijyrs2s Sec. : Shepherd names from the old Idylls. 115 -^ I. 16 JonsotCs learned sock: — the gaiety of our age would find little pleasure in his elaborate comedies. J-,. 20 Lydian airs: a light and festive style of an- cient music. 116 cxii, (. 3 bestead: avail. L. 19 starr'd Ethiop queen: Cassiopeia, the legendary Queen of Ethiopia, and thence translated amongst the constellations. H7 — (. 33 Cynthia: the Moon: her chariot is drawn by dragons in ancient representations. ii3 — . 1. 28 Hermes, called Trismegistus, a mystical writer of the Neo-Platonist school. iig — I. 5 Thebes &c. : subjects of Athenian Tragedv Buskin.'' d (1. 8) tragic. L. 10 Mtisaeus: a poet in Mythology. L. 15 hitn that left half -told: Chau- cer, in his incomplete 'Squire's Tale.' L. 22 great bards: Ariosto, Tasso, and Spenser are here intended. L. 29 frounced: curled. The A tiic Boy (1. 30) Cephalus. 121 cxiv Emigrants supposed to be driven towards America by the government of Charles I. J22 — 1. 9, 10 But apples, &c. A fine example of MarveD's imaginative hyperbole. T23 L.w 1. 2 concent: harmony. 2^ 386 Notes Sinnmary 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 divergences of thought 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 Collms and Gray: — lastly, the study of vivid and simple narrative, in- cluding natural description, begun by Gay and Thomson, pursued 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 the language of courtly and of common life, exhibited most conspicuously by Burns, has given a tone to the poetry of that century which is better explained by reference to its histori- cal origin, than by naming it, in the common criticism of our day, 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 want- ing in originality, which produced poems such as Pope's Satires, Gray's Odes and Elegy, the ballads of Gay and Carey, the songs of Burns and Cowper. In truth Poetry at this as at all times was a more or less unconscious mirror of the genius of the age : and the brave and admirable spirit of Enquiry wliich made the eighteenth century the turning-time in European civilization is reflected faithfully 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. 136 cxxiii 77/^? Bard. This Ode is founded on a fable that Ed' ward I, after conquering Wales, put the native Poets to death. — After lamenting his comrades (st. 2, 3) the Bard prophesies the fate of Edward II and the can- quests of Edward III (4) : his death and that of ihc Notes 387 Page No. r>lack Prince (5) : of Richard II, with the wars of York and Lancaster, the murder of Henry VI (the meek tisurper), and of Edward V and his brother (6). He turns to the glory and prosperity following the accession of the Tudors (7), through Elizabeth's reign (8) : and concludes with a vision of the poetry of Shakespeare and Milton. 136 cxxiil 1. 13 Glo'ster: Gilbert de Clare, son-in-law to Edward. Mortimer, one of the Lords Marchers of Wales. 137 — \. 21 A rvon : the shores of Carnarvonshire opposite Anglesey. 138 — 1. 9 She"wolf: Isabel of France, adulterous Queen of Edward II. I3g — 1. 7 Towers of ynlius: the Tower of London, built in part, according to tradition, by Julius Caesar. L. 13 bristled boar: the badge of Richard III. L. ig Half of thy heart : Queen Eleanor died soon after the conquest of Wales. L. 29 Arthur: Henry VII named his eldest son thus, in deference to British feeling and legend. 141 cxxv The Highlanders called the battle of CuUoden, Dru- mossie. 142 cxxvi liltiiig, singing blithely : loaning, broad lane : htghts, pens : scorning, rallying : dowie, dreary . daffin' and gabbin\ joking and chatting : leglin, milkpail : shear- ing, reaping : bandsters, sheaf-binders : lyart, griz- zled : runkled, wrinkled : fleeching, coaxing : gloam- ing, twilight : bogle, ghost : dool, sorrow. 144 cxxviil The Editor has found no authoritative text of this poem, in his judgment 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 modem hand, much resembling Scott's, is traceable. Logan's poem (cxxvn) exhibits a knowledge rather of the old legend than of the old verses. —Hecht, prom- ised : the obsolete hight : mavis, thrush : ilka, every : laverock, lark : hanghs, valley-meadows : twined, part- ed from : ma-rro^v, mate : syne, then. i46 cxxix The Royal George, of 108 guns, whilst undergoing a partial careening in Portsmouth Harbour, was overset about 10 A.M. Aug. 29, 1782. The total loss was be* lieved to be near 1000 souls. 388 Nates Page No. 149 cxxxi 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 tho Ancients ; and even more so, from the completeness and unity of the picture presented. 154 cxxxvi Perhaps no writer who has given such strong proofs of the poetic nature has left less satisfactory poetry than Thomson. Yet he touched little which he did not beautify : and this song, with ' Rule Britannia ' and a few others, must make us regret that he did not more seriously apply himself to lyrical writing. 156 CXL \. \ A eoliati lyre : the Greeks ascribed the origin of their Lyrical Poetry to the colonies of Aeolis in Asia Minor. 157 — 1. 15 Thracia^s hills: supposed a favourite resort of Mars. Feather'd king (1. 19) the Eagle of Jupiter, admirably described by Pindar in a passage here im- itated by Gray. Idalia (1. 25) in Cyprus, where Cy- therea (Venus) was especially worshipped. 158 — 1. 18 //jA^-wi : the Sun. St. 6-8 allude to the Poets of the Islands and Mainland of Greece, to those of Rome and of England. 160 — 1. 15 Theban Eagle: Pindar. 163 CXLI I. IX chaste-eyed Qiieen: Diana. 164 cxLii Attic warbler: the nightingale. 167 cxLiv sleekit, sleek : bickering brattle, flittering flight : laith, loth : pattle, ploughstaff : whylcs, at times : a daimen icker, a corn-ear now and then : thrave, shock : lave, rest : foggage, aftergrass : sfiell, biting : but kald, without dwelling-place : thole, bear : cran- reicch, hoarfrost : thy lane, alone : a-gley, off the right line, awry. 171 CXLVII Perhaps the noblest stanzas in our language. 176 cxLViii stotire, dust-storm : braiu, smart. 177 cxLix scaith, hurt : tent, guard : steer, molest, 179 CLi druvtlie, muddy : birk, birch. 181 CLii greet, cry : daurna, dare not. — There can hardly exist a poem more truly tragic in the highest sense than this : nor, except Sappho, has any Poetess known to the Editor equalled it in excellence. — cuii /ou, merry with drink : coost, carried : unco skeigli, vcr>' proud ; gari, forced : ab;igk, aside : A ilsa Craig. Xotcc 389 Page No. a rock in the Firth of Clyde : grai his een bleert^ cried till his eyes were bleared : Icnvpiti, leaping : //««, waterfall : sair, sore : sinoor'd, smothered : crottse and entity, blythe and gay. 183 C.LIV Burns justly named this 'one of the most beautiful songs in the Scots or any other language.' One verse, interpolated by Beattie, is here omitted : — it contains two good lines, but is quite out of harmony with the original poem. Bigottet, little cap ; probably altered from begiiinette: thraw, twist: caller, fresh. 184 CLV iiiris, quarters : row, roll : shaw, small wood in a hollow, spinney : knoives, knolls. 185 CLVi jo, sweetheart : brent, smooth : pow, head. 186 CLVH leal, faithful : fain, happy. 187 CLViii Henry VI founded Eton. ig4 CLXi The Editor knows no Sonnet more remarkable than this, which, with CLXii, records Cowper's gratitude to the Lady whose affectionate care for many years gave what sweetness he could enjoy to a life radically wretched. Petarch's sonnets have a more ethereal grace and a more perfect finish ; Shakespeare's more passion ; Milton's stand supreme in stateliness, Words- worth'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 pa- thetic tenderness peculiar to his loving and ingenu- ous nature. — There is much mannerism, much that is unimportant or of now exhausted interest in hi ; poems : but where he is great, it is with that ele- mentary greatness which rests on the most universal human feelings. Cowper is our highest master in simple pathos. 197 cLxn; fancied green : cherished garden. 198 CLXiv Nothing except his surname appears recoverable with regard to the author of this truly noble poem. It should be noted as exhibiting a rare excellence, — the climax of simple sublimity. It is a lesson of high instructiveness to examine the essential qualities which give first-rate poetical rank to lyrics such as 'To-morrow' or 'Sally in our Alley,' when compared with poems written (if the phrase may hi allowed) in. keys so different as the subtle sv/eetness 390 Notes of Shelley, the grandeur of Gray and Milton, or the delightful Pastoralism of the Elizabethan verse. In- telligent readers will gain hence a clear understanding of the vast imaginative range of Poetry; — through what wide oscillations the mind and the taste of a nation may pass ; — how many are the roads which Truth and Nature open to Excellence. Su7nmary of Book Fo7irik It proves sufficiently the lavish wealth of our own age in Poetry, that the pieces which, without conscious departure from the stand- ard of Excellence, render this Book by far the longest, were with very few exceptions composed during the first thirt3/ years of the nineteenth century. Exhaustive reasons can hardly be given for the strangely sudden appearance of individual genius : but none, in the Editor's judgment, can be less adequate than that which assigns the splendid national achievements of our recent poetry to an impulse from the frantic follies and criminal wars that at the time disgraced the least essentially civilized of our foreign neigh- bours. The first French Revolution was rather, in his opinion, one result, and in itself by no means the most important, of that far wider and greater spirit which through enquiry and doubt, through pain and triumph, sweeps mankind round the circles of its gradual development : and it is to this that we must trace the literature of modern Europe. But, without more detailed discus- sion on the motive causes of Scott, Wordsworth, Campbell, Keats, and Shelley, we may observe that these Poets, with others, carried to further perfection the later tendencies of the Century preced- ing, in simplicity of narrative, reverence for human Passion and Character in every sphere, and impassioned love of Nature : — 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 tenderness and bloom in feeling, an insight into the finer passages of the Soul and the inner meanings of the landscape, a larger and wiser Humanity, — hitherto hardly attained, and perhaps unattainable even by predecessors of not inferior individual gem ius. In a word, the Nation which, after the Greeks in their glo» ry, has been the most gifted of all nations for Pox;try, expye'sss^ N'oUs 391 \a. these men the highest strength and prt)digaHty of its nature. They interpreted the age to itself — hence the many phases of thought and style they present : — to sympathize with each, fer- 'vently and impartially, without fear and without fancifulness, is no doubtful step in the higher education of the Soul. For, as fiith the Affections and the Conscience, Purity in Taste is abso- lutely 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. Page No. 200 QL-XVi stout Cortez: History requires here 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. 206 CLXix The most tender and true of Byron's smaller poems. — CLXX This poem, with ccxxxvi, exemplifies the peculiar skill with which Scott employs proper names ; — nor i? there a surer sign of high poetical genius. 227 cxci The Editor in this and in other instances has risked the addition (or the change) of a Title, that the aim of the verses following may be grasped naore clearly and immediately. 235 cxcviii NatJire's Eremite: like a solitary thing in Nature. — This beautiful Sonnet was the last word of a poet deserving the title ' marvellous boy ' in a much higher sense than Chatterton. If the fulfilment may ever safely be prophesied from the promise, England ap- pears to have lost in Keats one whose gifts in Poetry h.ave rarely been surpassed. Shakespeare, Milton, and Wordsworth, had their lives been closed at twen- ty-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.' 237 cci It is impossible not to regret that Moore has written so little in this sweet and genuinely national style. — ecu A masterly example of Byron's command of strong thought and close reasoning in verse : — as the next is equally characteristic of Shelley's wayward inten- sity, and cciv of the dramat'c power, the vital identi' 392 Notes Page No. fication of tlie poet with other limes and characteni, in which Scott is second only to Shakespeare. 248 ccix Bonnivard, a Gcnevese, was imprisoned by the Duke of Savoy in Chillon on the lake of Geneva for hi? courageous 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 mas^ sacre. 249 ccx Switzerland was usurped by the French under Napo- leon in 1800 : Venice in 1797 (ccxi). 252 ccxv This battle was fought Dec. 2, 1800, between the Austrians under Archduke John and the French an- der Moreau, in a forest near Munich. Hohen Linden means High Lime trees. 257 ccxviii After the capture of Madrid by Napoleon, Sir J. Moore retreated before Soult and Ncy to Corunna, and was killed whilst covering the embarcation of his troops. His tomb, built by Ney, bears this inscription : 'John Moore, leader of the English armies, slain in battle, 1809.' 272 ccxxix The Mermaid was the club-house of Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and other choice spirits of that age. 273 ccxxx Maisie: Mary. Scott has given us nothing more complete and lovely than this little song, which unites simplicity and dramatic power to a wildwood 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. Inexperienced critics have often named this, which may be called the Homeric manner, superficial, from its apparent simple facility : but first-rate excellence in it (as shown here, in cxcvr, CLVi, and cxxix) is m truth one of the least common triumphs of Poetry. — This style should be compared with what is not less perfect in its way, the searching out of inner feelings, 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. «8o ccy^^xiv cor-rei: covert on a hillside. Cumber: trouble. Notes ' 393 T>^M No. 2S0 ccxxxv Two intermediate stanzas have been here omitted They are very ingenious, but, of all poetical qualities, ingenuity is least in accordance with pathos. 295 ccxLUi This poem has an exaltation and a glory, joined with an exquisiteness of expression, which place it in the highest rank amongst the many masterpieces of its illustrious Author. '-306 CCLII interlunar sivoon : interval of the Moon's invisibility. 313 ccLVi Crt/A: Gibraltar. Lo/oden: the Maelstrom whirl- pool off the N.W. coast of Norway. 315 CCLVII This lovely poem refers here and there to a ballad by Hamilton on the subject better treated in cxxvii and CXXVIII. 330 ccLXVlii Arctu^i: seemingly used for northern stars.— A nd loild roses &r'c. Our language has m line mod- ulated with more subtle sweetness. A good poet might have written A7id roses wild: — yet this slight change would disenchant the verse of its peculiar beauty. 534 CCLXX Cere^ daughter: Proserpine. God 0/ Torment: Pluto. CCLXXI This impassioned address expresses Shelley's most rapt imaginations, and is the direct modern represent- ative of the feelings which led the Greeks to the wor- ship of Nature. 345 ccLXXiv The leading idea of this beautiful description of a day's landscape in Italy is expressed with an obscurity not unfrequent with its author. It appears to be, — On the voyage of life are many moments of pleasure, given by the sight of Nature, who has power to heal even the worldliness and the uncharity of man. 3^7 1. 4 Amphitrite was daughter to Ocean. ^ — 1. 22 Sun-girt City : It is difficult not to believe that the correct reading is Sea-girt. Many of Shelley's poems appear to have been printed in England during his residence abroad : others were printed from his manuscripts after his death. Hence probably the tex^ of no English Poet after 1660 contains so many errors See the Note on No. ix. 351 CCLXXV 1. 21 Maenad: a frenzied Nymph, attendant on Dionysus in the Greek mythology. 352 — I 17 Plants under water sympathize with the seas';ns 394 Notes Page No. of the land, and hence with the winds which affect them. 553 CCLXXVi Written soon after the death, by shipwreck, of Wordsworth's brother John. This Poem should be compared with Shelley's following it. Each is the most complete expression of the innermost spirit of his art given by these great Poets : — of that Idea which, as in the case of the true Painter, (to quote the words of Reynolds,) 'subsists only in the mind: The 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 al last without imparting.' 355 — the Kind: the human race. 356 ccLXXviii Proteus represented the everlasting changes, unir ed with ever-recurrent sameness, of the Sea. 357 ccLXXix the royal Saint : Henry VI. INDEX OF WRITERS WITH DATES OF BIRTH AND DEATH Alexander, WllUain (1580-1640), xxii Bacon, Francis (1561- 1626), Lvn Barbauld, Anna LaetiUa (1743- 1825), CLXV Barnefield, Richard (i6th Century), xxxiv Beaumont, Francis (1586- 1616), lxvh Burns, Robert (1759- 1796), cxxv, cxxxn, cxxxix, cxuv, CXLVIII, CXLIX, CI., CLI, CLIII, CLV, CLVI Byron, George Gordon Noel (1788- 1824), clxix, clxxi, clxxiii, cxc, ecu, ccix, ccxxii, ccxxxii Campbell, Thomas (1777-1844). clxxxi, clxxxiii. clxxxvii, CXCVII, CCVI, CCVII, CCXV, CCLVI, cclxii, cclxvii, cclxxxiii Carew, Thomas (1589-1639). lxxxvii Carey, Henry ( 1743). cxxxi CiBBER, Colley (1671 -1757). cxix Coleridge, Hartley (1796 -1849), CLXXV Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772-1834), clxviii, cclxxx Collins, William (1720-1756), cxxiv, cxli, cxlvi Collins, (i8th Century), clxiv Constable, Henry (156-7-1604?) xv Cowley, Abraham (1618- 1667), cii COWPER, William (173I-1800), CXXIX, CXXXIV, CXLIII, CLX, CLXI, CLXII Crashaw, Richard (i6i5?-i652), Lxxix Cunningham, Allan (1784-1842), ccv Daniel, Samuel (1562-1619), xxxv Dekker, Thomas ( 1638?), Liv Drayton, Michael (1563-1631), xxxvii Drummond, William (1585-1649), 11, xxxvm, XLiii, lv, lviii, LIX, LXI Dryden, John (1631-1700', LXiii, cxvi 396 Index of Writers Elliott, Jane (i8th Century), cxxvi Fletcher, John (1576- 1625), civ Gay, John (1688-1732), cxxx Goldsmith, Oliver (1728- 1774), cxxxviii Graham, (1735 -1797), cxxxni Gray, Thomas (1716-1771), cxvii, cxx, cxxiii, cxl, cxlh CXLVII, clviii, clix Herbert, George (1593 -1632), lxxiv Herrick, Robert (1591-1674?), lxxxii, lxxxviii, xcii, xciii, xcvi, cix, ex Heywood, Thomas ( 1649?), lii Hood, Thomas (1798- 1845), ccxxiv, ccxxxi, ccxxxv JONSON 6611(1574-1637), LXXIII, LXXVIII, XC Keats, John (1795-1821), cLxvt, clxvii, cxci, cxciii, cxcvm, CXCIX, CCXXIX, CCXLIV, CCLV, CCLXX, CCLXXXIV Lamb, Charles (1775-1835), ccxx, ccxxxiii, ccxxxvii Lindsay, Anne (1750- 1S25), clii Lodge, Thomas (1556-1625), xvi Logan, John (1748- 17S8), cxxvii Lovelace, Richard (1618-1658), lxxxiii, xcix, c Lylye, John (1554-1600), Li Marlowe, Christopher (1562 -1593), v Marvell, Andrew (1620- 167S), lxv, cxi, cxiv Mickle, Wilham Julius (1734- 17SG), cliv MlLTON, John (1608 -1674), LXII, LXIV, LXVI, LXX, LXXI, LXXVI, LXXVII, LXXXV, CXII, CXIII, CXV Moore, Thomas (1780-1852), clxxxv, cci, ccxvii, ccxxi, ccxxt Nairn, Carolina (1766- 1845), CLVir Nash, Thomas (1567-1601 ?), i Philips, Ambrose (1671-1749), cxxi Pope, Alexander (16S8-1744), cxviii Prior, Matthew (1664- 1721), cxxxwi Rogers, Samuel (1762 -1855), cxxxv, rxLV Index of Writers 397 Scott, Walter (1771-1832), cv, clxx, clxxxii. clxx>yi, cxcii, CXCIV, CXCVf. CCIV, CCXXX, CCXXXIV, CCXXXVI, CCXXXIX. CCLXIH Sedley, Charles (1639- 1701), lxxxi, xcviii Sewei.l, George ( 1726), CLxm Shakespeare, William (1564- 1616), iii, iv, vi, vii, viii, x, xi, XII, XIII, XIV, XVIII, XIX, XX, XXIII, XXVI, XXVII, XXVIII, XXIX, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, xxxvr, XXXIX, xlii, xliv, xlv, xlvi, XLVIII, XLIX, L, LVI, LX Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1795 -1822), clxxii, clxxvi, clxxxiv, CLXXXVIII, CXCV, CCIII, CCXXVI, CCXXVII, CCXLI, CCXLVI, CCLII, CCLIX, CCLX, CCLXIV, CCLXV, CCLXVIII, CCLXXI, CCLXXIV, CCLXXV, CCLXXVII, CCLXXXV, CCLXXXVIII Shirley, James (1596- 1666), lxviii, lxix Sidney, Philip (1554 -1586), xxiv SouTHEY, Robert (1774- 1843), ccxvi, ccxxviH Spenser, Edmund (1553-1598-9^ liii Suckling, John (1608-9-1641), ci Sylvester, Joshua (1563-1618}, xxv Thomson, James (1700- 1748}, cxxii, cxxxvi Vaughan, Henrj' (1621-1695), Lxxv Vere, Edward (1534-1604), xli Waller, Edmund (1605-16S7), lxxxix, xcv Webster, John ( 1638?), xlvii Wither, George (1588 -1667), cm Wolfe, Charles (1791-1823), ccxviii Wordsworth, William (1770- 1850), clxxiv, clxxvii, clxxviii, CLXXIX, CLXXX, CLXXXIX, CC, CCVIII, CCX, CCXI, CCXII, CCXIII, CCXIV, CCXIX, CCXXIII, CCXXXVIII, CCXL, CCXLII, CCXLIII, CCXLV, CCXLVII, CCXLVIII, CCXLIX, CCL, CCLI, CCLIII, CCLIV, CCLVII, CCLVIII, CCLXI, CCLXVI, CCLXIX, CCLXXII, CCLXXIII, CCLXXVI, CCLXXVIII, CCLXXIX, CCLXXXI, CCLXXXII, CCLXXXVI, CCLXXXVII WoTTON, Henry (1568- 1639), lxxii, lxxxiv Wyat, Thomas (1503-1542), xxi, xxxiii trNKKOVVN : IX, XVII, XL, LXXX, LXXXVI, XCI, XCIV, XCVII. CVI, evil, CVIII, CXXVIII INDEX OF FIRST LINES Absence, hear thou my protestation S A Chieftain to the Highlands bound 216 A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 328 Ah, Chloris ! could I now but sit 84 Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh 221 All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd 147 All thoughts, all passions, all delights 202 And are ye sure the news is true i8c And is this — Yarrow? — This the Stream 317 And thou art dead, as young and fair 237 And wilt thou leave me thus 25 Ariel to Miranda : — Take 306 Art thou pale for weariness 327 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers 44 As it fell upon a day 26 As I was walking all alane 106 A slumber did my spirit seal 215 As slow our ship her foamy track 262 A sweet disorder in the dress 92 At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears . . 305 At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly . . 237 Avenge, O Lord ! thy slaughter'd Saints, whose bones , . 60 Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake 156 Awake, awake, my Lyre 99 A weary lot is thine, fair maid 23 t A wet sheet and a flowing sea 242 A widow bird sate mourning for her Love 327 Bards of Passion and of Mirth 20X Beauty sat bathing by a spring . i- Index of Firs f Li ties ^r^n Behold lier, single in the field 304 Being your slave, what should I do but tend 8 Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed 293 Best and Brightest, come away 320 Bid me to live, and I will live . 94 Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy 122 Blow, blow, thou winter wind 32 Bright Star ! would I were steadfast as thou art .... 235 Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren 35 Calm was the day, and through the trembling air ... . 38 Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in arms 74 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night 27 Come away, come away, Death 33 Come live with me and be my Love 4 Crabbed Age and Youth 6 Cupid and my Campaspe play'd 37 Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench 79 Daughter of Jove, relentless power 190 Daughter to that good earl, once President 87 Degenerate Douglas ! O the unworthy lord 300 Diaphenia like the dafTadowndilly 12 Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move .... 47 Down in yon garden sweet and gay 144 Drink to me only with thine eyes 91 Duncan Gray cam here to woo 181 Earl March look'd on his dying child 234 Earth has not anything to show more fair 299 Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind 248 Ethereal Minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky 289 Ever let the Fancy roam 331 Fair Daffodils, we weep to sec 108 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree 107 Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing 23 Fear no more the heat o' the sun 33 For ever, P'ortune, wilt thou prove 154 Forget not yet the tried intent 17 Four Seasons fill the measure of the year 365 From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony 58 400 Index of Fust Lines From Stirling Castle we had seen 315 Full fathom five thy father lies 34 Gather ye rose-buds while ye may 85 Gem of the crimson-colour'd Even 222 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 151 Go, lovely Rose 90 Hail to thee, blithe Spirit 289 Happy the man, whose wish and care 131 Happy those early days, when I 77 He that loves a rosy cheek 89 He is gone on the mountain 279 Hence, all you vain delights loi Hence, loathed Melancholy iii Hence, vain deluding Joys 116 How delicious is the winning 219 How happy is he born and taught 75 How like a winter hath my absence been 9 How sleep the Brave who sink to rest 141 How sweet the answer Echo makes 221 How vainly men themselves amaze 109 I am monarch of all I survey 192 I arise from dreams of Thee 209 I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way 329 If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song 169 If doughty deeds my lady please 152 I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden 212 If Thou survive my well-contented day 35 If to be absent were to be 97 If women could be fair, and yet not fond 31 I have had playmates, I have had companions 261 I heard a thousand blended notes 335 I met a traveller from an antique land 299 I 'm wearing awa', Jean 186 In a drear-nighted December 227 In the downhill of life, when I find I 'm declining .... 198 In the sweet shire of Cardigan 258 I remember, I remember 266 I saw where in the shroud did lurk 283 It is a beauteous evening, calm and free 325 Uhfex of First Lines 401 It is not Beauty I demand 88 It is not growing like a tree 76 I travell'd among imknown men 213 It was a lover and his lass 7 It was a summer evening 254 I 've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking 141 I wander'd lonely as a cloud 3og I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile 353 I wish I were where Helen lies 105 John Anderson my jo, John 185 Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son 78 Let me not to the marriage of true minds 18 Life ! I know not what thou art igg Life of Life ! Thy lips enkindle 334 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore ... 23 Like to the clear in highest sphere 12 Love not me for comely grace 55 Lo I where the rosy-bosom'd Hours 164 Many a green isle needs must be 345 Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings 194 Milton I thou shouldst be living at this hour 251 Mine be a cot beside the hill 169 Mortality, behold and fear 71 Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 331 Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold 200 Music, when soft voices die 373 My days among the Dead are past 271 My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 296 My heart leaps up when I behold 366 My Love in her attire doth shew her wit 93 My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow .... 28 My thoughts hold mortal strife 32 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his 19 No longer mourn for me when I am dead 36 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note 257 Not, Celia, that I juster am 96 Now the golden Morn aloft 129 Now the last day of many days 322 402 Index of First Lines O blithe new-comer ! I have heard sgtj O Brignall banks are wild and fair 206 Of all the girls that are so smart 149 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw iS-tj Of Nelson and the North 244 O Friend ! I know not which way I must look 250 Of this fair volume which we World do name 47 Oft in the stilly night 267 O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm 18 O listen, listen, ladies gay 281 O lovers' eyes are sharp to see 233 O Mary, at thy window be ... , 176 O me ! what eyes hath love put in my head 2g O Mistress mine, where are you roaming 20 O my Luve 's like a red, red rose 178 On a day, alack the day \(i On a Poet's lips I slept 355 Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee 250 One more Unfortunate . . . . = 274 O never say that I was false of heart 10 One word is too often profaned 240 On Linden, when the sun was low . . , „ 252 O saw ye bonnie Lesley 177 O say what is that thing call'd Light 131 O snatch'd away in beauty's bloom 277 O talk not to me of a name great in story 2o5 Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lov/er'd . . 32S Over the mountains 82 O waly waly up the bank 103 O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms , , 229 O wild West Wind, thou bi-eath of Autumn's be!ng . . . 351 O World ! O Life ! O Time ! 366 Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day 37 Plicebus, arise 2 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu 240 Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth 45 Proud Maisie is in the wood 273 Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair 79 Rarely, rarely, comest thou 268 Ruin seize thee, ruthless King , . , . , i:?6 Index of First Lines 403 Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness 311 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day 15 Shall I, wasting in despair 100 She dwelt among the untrodden ways 213 She is not fair to outward view 212 She walks in beauty, like the night 210 She was a phantom of delight 2H Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea ... 4 Since there 's no help, come let us kiss and part .... 28 Sleep on,. and dream of Heaven awhile 153 Souls of Poets dead and gone 272 Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king ... i Star that bringest home the bee . 325 Stern Daughter of the voice of God 246 Surprised by joy — impatient as the wind 236 Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes 90 Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 301 Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade .... 153 Swiftly walk over the western wave 224 Take, O take those lips away 27 Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense 357 Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind 86 Tell me where is P'ancy bred 36 That time of year thou may'st In me behold 21 That which her slender waist confined 94 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day 171 The forward youth that would appear 61 The fountains mingle with the river 220 The glories of our blood and state 73 The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King .... 49 The lovely lass o' Inverness 141 The merchant, to secure his treasure i55 The more we live, more brief appear 3^4 The poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade 166 There be none of Beauty's daughters 209 There is a flower, the Lesser Celandine 265 There is a garden in her face 92 There 's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away 263 There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream . . . 367 The sun is warm, the sky is clear ■ . . 27a The sun upon the lake is low . . . . ' 32^ 404 Index of First Lines The twentieth year is well nigh past 195 The World is too much with us ; late and soon 356 The World 's a bubble, and the Life of Man 46 They that have power to hurt, and will do none .... 24 This is the month, and this the happy morn 50 This Life, which seems so fair 44 Three years she grew in sun and shower 214 Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream 143 Thy hue, dear pledge,* is pure and bright 102 Timelj' blossom. Infant fair 134 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry ,..,., 48 Toll for the Brave 146 To me, fair Friend, you ne\er can be old ■ t 'T was at the royal feast for Persia won 123 'T was on a lofty vase's side 132 Two Voices are there, one is of the Sea 249 Under the greenwood tree 6 "Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying 357 Victorious men of earth, no more 72 Waken, lords and ladies gay , . . 287 Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous bcastie 167 Were I as base as is the lowly plain 19 We talk'd with open heart, and tongue 361 We walk'd along, while bright and red ....... 359 Wc watch'd her breathing thro' the night 2C0 Whenas in silks my Julia goes 93 When Britain first at Heaven's command 135 When first the fiery- mantled Sun 313 When God at first made Man . 76 When he who adores thee has left but the name .... 256 When icicles hang by the wall 21 When I consider how my light is spent 74 When I have borne in memory what has tamed .... 252 When I have fears that I may cease to be 233 When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 3 V/hen in disgrace with fortime and men's eyes 10 When in the chronicle of wasted time 15 When lovely woman stoops to folly 155 V/hen Love with unconfined wiags gfi Index of First Lines 4C5 When maidens such as Hester die 278 When Music, heavenly maid, was young 160 Wlien Ruth was left half desolate 336 When the lamp is shatter'd 232 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame . . 180 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 22 When we two parted 226 Where art thou, my beloved Son 285 Where shall the lover rest 228 Where the remote Bermudas ride 121 While that the sun with his beams hot 30 Whoe'er she be 80 Why art thou silent ! Is thy love a plant 225 Why, Damon, with the forward day 197 Why so pale and wan, fond lover 98 Why weep ye by the tide, ladie 218 With little here to do or see 310 Ye banks and braes and streams around 179 Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 156 Ye distant spires, ye antique towers 187 Ye Mariners of England 243 Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye 301 Yet once more, O 5'e laurels, and once more 63 Vou meaner beauties of the night 86 UNIFORM IN STYLE AND PRICE, IN FREDER- ICK A. STOKES company's "WILD ROSE SERIES*' OF POETS, WELL PRINTED AND DAINTILY BOUND, ARE : GEORGE ELIOTS POEMS. THE SPANISH GYPSY. GOETHE'S FAUST. THE GOLDEN TREASURY, /!m< i^'. T. PaU grave. THOMAS GRAY'S POEMS. HEINE'S BOOK OF SONGS. IMITATION OF CHRIST, hy Thomas A Ketnpis. LUCILE, hy 07ven Merediih. POINT LACE AND DIAMONDS, /-j 6Vc;/-6' F. Baker. TENNYSON'S LYRICAL POEMS. W. M. THACKERAY'S POEMS. WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE, hy William Watson. Each one vohiiiic^ \6)!io, on Jlne /'nj>er, ivuir juargins. 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