POETRY FOR SCHOOLS DESIGNED FOR READZXra AKD RECZTATZOK. THE IVHOI^E SELECTED FROi>I THE BEST POET«^ ENGLISH LANGUAGE. »Y THE AWTHOR OF AMERICAN POPULAR LESSON.^ Not mavble nor the gilded monunabiats Of priacav, shall ouUive this powerful rbjntie." ShMhspe^rf SICOND EDITION REVISED AND CORRECTED NEW-YORK % ^IfSIlSHEB ET WHITE, GALLAHER AKD WHlTHv AUx. Ming Jr. Printtr, 1830, .f\-3o 8Z0 Southern District of New-York, ss. BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the 23d day of Jauuarv m tn. fifty-secondyearof the Independence of the Um>P^ ^tifLc ^ V ? tnli^^'t^ "".f^^'] ^.^^^^^' oftL said' oYstnt ia^Idfpol'ed m this office, the title of a Book, the right ^rhereof they Sa^ proprietors, m the words foUowing, lu wit .- ^ '^'^ ^' Ju ^^^^P /Of Schools ; designed for Reading and Recitation Thr. *' Not marble, nor the gilded mouuments Of princes, shall outlive this poirerfiil rhyme. ' JSxl^r-^''^^^)^ ^^\^''^ ""^ *^^ Congress of the United-States. fjfi innip. ^ ^^ \^ '?® encouragement of learning, by securiqo the copies of maps, charts and books to the authors and proprietor? SnTL";?/.^!^ ^."^T^J^^ ^'"^^^ ^^^^'^ mentioned ;" And Si^ to ?nr fhi t^l'^^^' ^^'^ ^^^'. ^"PPJen^entary to an Act entitled An Ac° Sf.i^f f^couragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps WnJ tV;« ? °*;k'' ^"^ ^^^ ^"^°"" ^°^ proprietors of such copies, du- Ti ?hi . '°?^*^^'"®'° mentioned, and extending Ihe benefits thereof priiits.^ designing, engraving, aud etching historical and othtr F. J. BETTS, Clerk of the Southera District of New- York. OCT 7j 1938 ^V CONTENTS. Pase. I'reface . - - - Nature of Poetry Figures of Speech History of English Poetry Spenser . . - - Sir Philip Sidney Sir Waller Raiei^g-h Una and the Red Cross Knight Chivalry . - - - . 3 Oak and the Briar— a fable Inscription for a bust of ShakBpearcB Shakspeare tSonnet to Shakspeare, lubert and Prince Arthur embroke, Salisbury, and Btgod, enry IV and Prince Heory enry V. and Chief Justice, ?ne from Cymbeline, 'on - - - • verses to My Father Sentence pronounced on Adam EBd Et©, The Departure from Paradise Parthia, Rome, Description of Rome Modern Rome Niobe, Athens The Lady in Comus, Song- in Comiis Comus and the Lady Dryden Tournaments Extracts from Palamon h Arcitc, Roadicea The Druids Scene from Caractacus Capture of Caraetacus War ton, - - ^- • The Grave of Prince Arthur, ^Irs. Hemans, '"' 3«rial of William the Conqueror, ; VI 13 28 . 38 . 46 . 48 = 49 Sptns&r^ 60 . 52 Sptnstr, 56 Akenside, 59 . 60 Milton, 61 Shakspeare 63 Skakspear, 67 Shakspeare, 68 Shakspeare, 73 Shakspeare, 78 . 82 Milton, 84 Milton, 96 Milton, 88 Milton, 91 Milton, 92 Pope, 95 Byron, 97 Pope's Homer, 911 Milton, 99 Milton, 101 Milton, 102 Milton, 102 . 107 . 107 , 113 Cowper, 118 . 120 - Mason, 121 •Mason, 123 . 126 Waston, 125 . 133 [rs, Hemans, 133 CONTENTS. Extract fiom Windsor Forest - - Pope. 136 The Crusades Tlie Crusade — a Poem - - - Warton, Joanna Bailie ... . - Prince Edward in prison - - - Mm Baillie, Prince Edward and his keeper, - - - - ib. - Sir Walter Scott - The Last Minstrel fValter Scott, tmprovisatori, Gatt, The Child of Branksorae .... Scott, - ib The Galliard's White Horse, - - - Scott, - 155 Border Wars, Scott, - 158 The Gathering- -:.... Scott, - 15i» Roderick Dhu, Scott, - 160 The Alarm, - - - . . . - Scott, - 160 TheTeviot Scott, - 161 Lord Surrey, 16^ Surrey's Vision, Scott, - 16G Constance de Beverly . . _ . Scott, - 168 Illustrations of the story of Constance ... 174 Lady of the Lake, ..... Scott, - 17G The Chase, - Scott, - 177 Ellen Douglas, - Scott, - 181 Rokebv, - Scott, - 18H Matilda, Scott, ■ 187 Redmond O'Neal, Scott, - 191 Homer, - - 191 Mose's Song:, Exodus, - 191 Remarks on the lUiad and Odyssey, - - . 19i5 Parting: of Hector and Andromache. - Popt's Homer 195 Revenge of Achilles, - - • . . ib. 200 Funeral of Hector . - . . ib. - 20J Sarpedon - - . - - . - ?6. - 205 Death of Sarpedon - - . . ib. - 207 Ulysses, - - - - - . ib. • 209 Calypso, - - - . - . t6. - 21] Ulysses and Gryllus — from the French, - Fenelon, 2H Wisdom, - . - . - Proverbs, - 218 Circt's Palace, . . - . Pope's Homer 219 Argus, - - . - . . ib. . 220 'tr^ek Poets .... . ooij Eschylus, .--..- - ib. Scene from the Tragedy of Eschylus, — Potter's Tran.'laitoi: 225 l^ophocles ..--.- 227 Antigone, - . - - - - 22S Antigone and Ismene, - - Franklin's Sophocles, 229 Euripides, - - - - - - , . 232 [phigenia, -..--- . 234 Scene from the Trrgedy of IpUigenia, - Translation, ib. • phigenia and Chorus, - - - do. • 237 Southey, .... |. - 239 iloderick in Solitude, - - - Southey, 24" C'OSTENTi Pelayo and his Cliildren Relig-ion of Greece, Heavenly Love, . - . - Lord Byron, Nighi fit Corinth, Decapitation of Hugo, Prisoner of Chillon, • Turkey, . . . - . V^ision of Belshazzar, Battle of Waterloo, Ball of Brussels - - . . Wordsworth, - The Bee, Forsaken Indian Woman, - The Solitary Reaper, - - \ndrew Marvel I, . . . , The Emigrants, . . . . Henry Vaughan . . . Early Rising and Prayer The Timber, - . - The Rainbow, ... The Wreath, . . . . Thomson, .... Intellectual Labour - Collins, . . - - - Verses on the Death of Thomson Hassan, the Camel Driver , <^ay, The Butterfly anr^ the Snail, I'Le Hare aod ir^any Friends, Extract from the Pleasures of MerriOry, The Alps at Daybreak, Sir John Moore, - - - Verses on ihe Death of Sir John ?.loore Co'.vper, . . . - - The Poet, ... - Crazy Kate, - . . . A Tale, . - . . . Verses on a Spaniel, c^;(?. - Jveply to tlie Verses, Verses to Mrs. Bodhara, - The Castaway, .... The Loss of the Royal Georg-e, - Johnson, . . . . - Anningait and Ajut, Verses on the Death of Robert Levet, - Gray, - - . . ' . Ode on the Spring, - - - . Verses on the De'ath of a Cat, - Campbell, - . . - . Lochiel's WarniDg", Ode to V^' inter, . . - . 1* Page. Southey, 243 Percival, 246 Southty, 247 - ib. Byron, 248 Byron, 249 Byron, 250 Byron, 268 Byron, ib. Byron, 255 Byron, 2fi6 - 858 Wordsioorth , 259 ib. 26 i lb.. 263 . 264 Marvell, 265 . 266 Vaxmhan ib. tb. 267 - ib. 267 ib. 268 - 260 Thompson 270 - S72 Collins, 272 ib. 273 - 274 Gay, 275 - ib. 276 Rogers^ 278 - ib. 280 - 281 TFolfe, - 282 - 283 Cowper, 284 ib. ib. ib. 285 2h. 287 ib. 288 ib. 289 ib. 289 ib. '291 - 292 Johnsort, 293 ib. 299 - 300 Gray J 300 Gray, 301 - 302 Campbell, 306 ib. 308 I^•TRODUCTIO^. affected by their beauty, and that, in after life, when the higher powers have been cultivated they couhl discover their inspiration and enjoyments to have grown not only from nature but knowledge, This is certianly true of many who have read Shak- speare and Milton as tasks, or because they loved the sound of thcinvords — and that this fondness for the sound of poetry or oloquence docs exist in young minds, before the s'tbjects of cither can be comprehended, may some- times be observed. The writer has seen a boy of seven years listen to the pages of Burke with fixed and delight- ed attention, and has known a little girl two years young- er as much excited and gratified by the reading of fine po- etry — yet in both instances it was not a genuine com- prehension of beauty, but an influence of sympathetic affection. A parent's tastes, and animated pleasure, im- parted this lively interest to the fu!l-toned periods of the orator, and the magic numbers of the poet — and these early indications of taste and enthusiasm are rare. The greater part of young persons do not love literature, be- cause they do not understand it — do not begin at the be- ginning. In our common schools we make our children read disputes upon the comparative excellence of Reason and Revelation,* and require them to recite Pope's Messiah, the Dialogue between Brutus and Cassius, and a multitude more of difficult passage from the poets. I never knew a boy who could explain the first lines of the Messiah, or who could tell the matter of disputes be- tween the complotters of Caesar's death — and only be- See English Render, Dialoj^e between Locke tnd Bayle. INTKODUCTIO.N J a cause boys are not instructed in elementary lacts in re- lation in those pieces, or any others of this character. How repugnant this mode of cultivating literary taste is? to some highly endowed minds, is happily expressed by one whose memory, and whose genius*, in its creations will endure for ever. * =^ * * ''labbhord' Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake, The drill'd dulllesson, forced down word by word In my repugnant youth, with pleaureto record Aught that recalls the daily drug which turn'd My sickening memory ; and though Time hath taugh My mind to meditate what then it learn'd. Yet such the fixed inveteracy wrought By the impatience of my early thought That, with the freshness wearing out before My mind could relish what it might have sought If free to choose, I cannot now restore Its health ; but what it then detested, still abhor.'' In a note upon these lines this high authority express es all that I would say upon this subject. " I wish,'' says Lord Byron, ** to express that we become tired of the task before we can comprehend the beauty ; that we learn by rote before we can get by heart ; that the freshness is worn away, and the future pleasure and ad- vantage deadened and destroyed, by the didactic antici pation, at an age when we can neither feel nor under- stand the compositions which it requires an acquain- tance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, to relish, INTRODUCTION. or to reason upon. For the same reason we never can be aware of the fulness of some of the finest passages of Shakespcar, ('To be or not to be,' for instance,) from the habit of having them hammered iftto us at eight years old, as an exercise, not of mind but memory : so that when we are old enough to enjoy them, the taste is gone, and the appetite palled. In some parts of the Continent, young persons are taught from more common authors, and do not read the best classics till their maturity." In conformity to these views, and my own experience in relation to education, I have endeavored to prepare a school-book ; and in order to compose it, I resorted to the purest fountains of English verse, and took what I found suitable to my humble purpose. I left the more elevated and sublime portions of the poets who supplied mc, and appropriated to my selection such passages only as I believed wGuld, with a little exposition, be useful and agreeable to young readers. As a bird does not lead her new-fledged offspring to the skies in her first flight with them, so I would dictate short excursions to the unformed faculties of the human mind, that young readers, feeling their own power and felicity as they proceed, may at length be able and willing, without assistance, to ascend " the brightest heaven of inven lion." In the modes of education in present fashion, civil and political history is presented to young minds at an early period of study, but literary history — the peaceful influ- ence of mind upon mind — is wholly neglected ; and those who arc initiated in the most remarkable passages of Shakspearc, Milton, and other great authors, are taught INTRODUCTION. jX lothirig at school of these memorable men and their con- ;emporaries. It is a debt posterity which owes to genius, ;o attach the memory of the man to his works, and to ieep him and his contemporaries in the view of sue seeding ages. I had only sufficient space simply to intro- hice authors and their relations to contemporary society. 3ut I intended to suggest this relation, to awaken inquiry, give my readers some acquaintance with the history )f English poets and poety, and also to show them the •elations of English poetry to the rest of their intellectual Kirsuits. I hope my purpose will be eiFecied, and that Poetry for Schools will be acceptable' to teachers and )upils. miv-Yorh, July, 1830. POETRY FOR S0H0OX.S. ..►►^«"«^ NATURE OF POETRY. Whatever exists, is divided into mind and matter. Philosophers Jo not accurately define the difference of mind and matter, but the body of animals, or living beings, which appears to die, and the " insensible clod" which we tread upon, are composed of matter. Every creature possessed of animal hfe, is, in some degree, " in- stinct with spirit" — en<'owed with some consciousness of v. ants, and some sense of supply and of enjoyment — thisw intelligence. Intelligence, in man, is called Mind. The minds of men are very different — some are wise, and others are foolish — some minds acquire great knowledge, and others on- ly understand a few facts. Boys at school call others who are ea- sily puzzled in arithmetic, or who are incapable of learning long lessons dunces. Those u ho are capable of thinking with attention, who acquire knowledge readily, and who accurately renjember what they have learned, are said to possess abilities ; and one, who besides learning his tasks with facility, can compose verses, or write a story of his cwn invention, possesses genius. Some me7i excel others as the boy of genius excels the dunce. The genius and the dunce grow to be men, but they always remain the genius and the dunce. Genius is, properly, the talent of discovery — the talent in one mind of conceiving, and of displaying to others something pre- viously unthought of Genius is a capability to produce much advantage and pleasure to mankind. Genius may be very differ- ently employed by differeat individuals. Columbus was a man of genius. He manifested his genius when he meditated in one hemisphere of our globe upon another which had never been explored, when he devised means to navigate unknown seas, and when he persevered in his great enterprise till he had accomplish- ed it. Mr. Fulton, the mechanician, who applied the steam engine to navigation, was a man of genius. Benjamin West, the painter, was a man of geniua* He painted roany fine pictures, and 14 rOETRY rOR SCHOOLS. raong others, the subjects of which were taken from the gospelj *' Christ healing the sick." In this picture, Mr. West represent- ed in his gracious countenance the benevolence of Jesus ; a va- riety of diseases in those who surrounded him ; and the emotions of desire, hope and gratitude in those who expected to be, or who had been restored to health. The power to do all this so much surpasses the powers of common men that it serves for a clear illustration of genius. Bonaparte who conquered in many battles, by his power of contolling other men obtained thefirst magistracy m Freancand who after dethroning kings in Europe, gave kingdoms to his brothers ; and who, after having slain his thousands and tens of thousands, devised wise and practical improvements in the condi- tion of those he permitted to live, was a man of great genius — though he is only to be admired and imitated so far as he effected or intended good to mankind. — But there is another order of ge- nius — men, who having ceased to live, still speak — who are known and honoured for their thoughts when then actions are forgotten, and with whom we may be familiar, thongh we can never see them. These are the authors of books, who have re- corded their beautiful ideas, that others may be better, and wiser^ and happier than they could be without the intelligence supplied from these divine minds. Shakspeare, who wrote the plays which almost every reader of the English language possesses ; and Milton, the author of Paradise Lost, were men of this class of genius. We should be thankful to God that such men have ever lived. They exalt our nature, and procure for us pleasures which we could not enjoy if some minds did not differ from others in glo- ry. — If we could not enrich our understandings with the thoughts of others, we should be like savages, in ignorance — or like bees and beavers : men of no age would be more cultivated or impro- ved than their ancestors who lived centuries before them. The body has different functions : eyes for seeing, ears for hearing, &c. The mind also has its different operations. After we have been instructed in the nature of different objects, and have been taught their names, and the proper use of our senses, we learn to distinguish one substance from another, and we re- member the qualities of these various substances ; thus, if a lighted lamp and a rose are set before us, we instantly compre- hend that the lamp is an invention of art, and the rose a produc- tion of nature j that the lamp is for use, and the rose for orna- rOETBY rOE SCHOOLS. lu ment ; that the lampjlame diffuses hght and heat, and that the ose dehghts us by its beauty and its fragrance. The different properties of these objects, though they were first perceived by tlie senses of sight and smell are comprehended by the mi7id. This consciousness of the presence of the lamp and t\)erose, given to the mind by the sight and smell, is called a perception VVe receive from the presence of these objects a certain feeling that they indeed exist and are before us. This exhibition to our minds of the lamp and the rose, we call a de- monstration^ or certainty. We understand thatthelamp and the rose are not ahke — we then distinguish or compare them, and comprehend the different qualities of the two things. When wo reflect, as we must, upon the different properties of these objects, we exert the power of comparing things, which is judgment. But suppose we did not see either of these objects, and, should read the falh>wing passages of poetry : " How far the little candle throws its beams !" Shaltspeare, And, " I will show you what is beautiful : it is a rose fully blown. See how she sits upon her mossy stem, hke the queen of all the flowers. Her leaves glow like fire, and the air is filled with her sweet odour." — Barhauld. In reading the former passage, we should immediately remem- ber, that in stjme dark night, while we were yet far from a house we clearly perceived the light of a candle, and we know the light to have proceeded from that candle to our eyes. We first knew this by d. perception of »he light, and we comprehend that the light was a candle flame, and not another thing by our judg- ment. When we read of the extended reach of the candle beams, we know that the fact mentioned is true, because it has been de- monstrated to us at a former time. The present certainty of for- merly acquired knowledge, is the memory of that knowledge. As we know Jiow far the little candle throws its heams, so wc also know that the properties of the rose are well described. With our eyes shut, and far from the candle or the rose, we com- prehend the properties of both objects — we perceive them with the " mind's eye." as Shakspeare says. This mind's eye is the imagination. Before the imagination can be employed upon absent objects, that is, before we can think about, or reflect upon, absent objects, we must exert the powers of Perception, Judg- ment and Memory. It is, then, by effort of memurv and of imagination that wc POETRY Ton SCHOOLSv form an idea of absent objects ; and by imagination we compre- hend what is written in books, or represented in pictures which exhibit beautiful images. The imagination of an ignorant per- son is not powerful — he thinks almost always .of objects before liis eyes ; but the imagination of a fine poet is a noble faculty. The poet, or the artist, comprehends and feels more than other men, and he makes others feel, in some measure, as he feels. The imagination of him wiio writes a fine poem, or a tale, produ- ces invention, or the combination and composition of something new. The imagination of .1 well instructed jierson, who perhaps can invent nothing, produces taste — which is a power of taking pleasure in something beautiful and elegant that may be presented to us. The same taste, or enjoyment of the beautiful, must exist in the mind of the writer of a poem or tale, or in tlie mind of an artist, as well as in tliat of a person who delights in reading a poem, or beholding a good picture The sympathy of taste makes the poet write — he expects to be admired, unci t) e same sym- pathy makes other persons admire and enjoy the works of genius. AD that is written in books is literature. Literature is written ianguage : it is divided into 2?ro«e and |>oeiri/. Quadrupeds have four feet, is a prose sentence. *• Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. And waste its sweetness on the desert air," h poetry. Poetry is generally written in verse Verse is a cer- tain measure or quantity of sound, expressed in words, at regular times, during the whole of a poem. This measure or metre, consists of a certain number of syllables in the printed lines of a poem. *' Heroic metre, which is the most usual kind, consists of lines of ten syllables. *Pope's and Milton's works are chiefly written in this metre ; but Pope wrote in rhyme, and Milton chiefly in blank verse : — * Soft as the wily fox is seen to creep. Where bask on sunny banks the simple sheep.' — Pope* Each of these lines consist of ten syllables ; and the last words of each of them, ' creep' and sheep,'' rhyme to each other ; that is, they resemble each other in sound. * Ye mists and exhalations that now rise From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, Till the sun paints your fleecy skirts with gold.' — j\UltQU< *Pope and Milton. are English poets. POETRY I OK SCHOOLS. 17 Each of these lines also consists of ten syllables ; but though ■hey are not in rhyme, we easily distinguish them from prose. The difference consists in the choice of words, and in their ar- rangement, as may be perceived by reading the same words in an. order different from that in which they are at present placed. The ear will then 'feel that the cadance or sound is unlike prose : and the understanding will know that the sense is conveyed in words different from those used in history or in a newspaper. All verses are not written in lines of ten syllables ; some are written in eight, and some few in twelve ; indeed we meet with lines in poetry of every number of syllables from three to four- teen. In poetry words are not used literally^ as for the most part, in prose. Snow is ti'hife^ expresses what is literally true — The words, snow is wJdte, exactly express what we know to be true ; but, the golden sun diffuses his beams over the face of nature^ is an expression d\XegQ\.\\ei figurative. We understand not that the sun is gold, but that his yellow lustre resembles the appearance of gold. These words only signify that the sun shines upon the surface of the earth, and the objects which are upon the earth- Truth describes something which really exists, as God made the world. Fiction describes something which might exist, or has been supposed to exist, yet is not now really in existence. One of Gay's Fables begins, " Remote from cities lived a swain," and proceeds to relate a conversation of a shepherd and a philo- sopher. There have been many shepherds and philosophers; but probably no particular shepherd and philosopher ever met, and held the conversation which Gay describes ; yet a shepherd and philosopher might talk together in that manner. Gay's Shepherd and Philosopher is a Fable or Fiction. It is proper to distinguish between fiction and a lie. A fiction is an avowed iU' vention — a Lie is a false declaration intended to deceive. English poetry includes the inventions of English poets, and their translations from other languages: from Greek and Latin, and from the modern languages of Europe, besides a few from the oriental, or Asiatic languages. Owr poetry, (for whatever ie written in the English language properly belongs to the Ameri- cans who speak it,) is divided into many kinds : the Sacred;, Classical, Romantic, Dramatic, &c. Sacred Poetry relates to serious subjects, to the scriptures, and to the praise of God. Mil- ton's Paradise Lost, and Watts's Hymns, are sacred poetry^ ae^ 2* 1 5 POETBV^ FOR SCHOOL^i SO arc many parts of the Old Testament. Classica'C poetry is that which has been translated from Greek and Latin. Pope'B translation of Homer's Iliad, and Dryden's translation of Virgil, are classical Poetry. Romantic Poetry, or metrical romance^ re- lates a tale in verse : as the Lady of the Lake, by Sir Walter Scott. Dramatic poetry is composed of poems in Dialogue, or discourse of persons which relates a story : Shakspeare's Lear, and the tragedy of Douglas, are of this class. In order to understand the greater part of pociry, it is necessa- ry to know something of Mythology and Classical Fable. A young reader may get this information from the Classical Diction- ary, a book in very common use. Poetry which relates to fie- tions taken from the north of Europe, alludes often to Scandina- vian Mythology, or to the superstitions of the more northern na- tions of Europe. The writers of Romantic poetry have supplied notes to their works, which make their text very clear. The Epic poem relates a long history of some great event. It has what is called the beginning, middle, and end of the action. The beginning is the cause of what follows ; the middle relates the progress or carrying-on of the action : the end is its catastro- phe^ or finishing. Homer's Iliad is an Epic poem — the story re- lated in^it, is a war between the Princes of Greece and those ol Troy. The cawse of the war was the elopement of Helen, a Grecian princess, with a young Trojan. The war itself consis- ted of a series of engagements or battles between the Greeks and Trojans, which are described by Homer in many successive books of the Iliad ; and ihe catastrophe, or end of the poem, is the death of Hector, the Trojan prince, who alone could defend Troy ; and the destruction of that city by the Greeks, must be supposed immediately to follow. When a long tale in verse relates some private history, which includes but a small number of persons in the action, it is Metri- cal Romance. The Ode was perhaps originally designed to be sung. It is a poem usually addressed to some real or ideal personage, or it cele- brates some distinguished individual. Gray's Ode to Spring, is addressed to the season of Spring, upon the supposition that she is a female, endowed with the capacity of knowing what is ad- dressed to her, and of answering the prayer of the poet. Dry- den's Alexander's Feast, is an ode which celebrates the music of the ancients, but it was first written to be recited or sung on St. Cecilia's Day. St. Cecilia is a Catholic Saint, the supposed inventress of the harp. A painter has represented her attended % St. Peter and St. Paul, with an angel hovering over thwn rOETKX FOR SUHOOLS. ID listening to the music she made, which was to represent,, that it was beheved she drew angels from Heaven. Mr. Dryden writes thus of her : *' At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store Enlarged the former narrow bounds^ And added length to solemn sounds. With nature's mother-wit, and art 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.'' Dryden in Alexander's Feast represents that after his conquest f>f Persia, Alexander of Macedon celebrated his victory in a great festival at Persepolis ; that upon this occasion Timotheus played upon the lyre, a stringed instrument in use among the Greeks, and sang various kinds of airs. Timotheus began his songs, by pro- claiming that Alexander ,was the son of Jove, the supreme god of the Greeks ; and Alexander, in his weak folly believed him In this sense Timotheus " raised a mortal to the skies." Some centuries after Timotheus lived, it is said that St. Cecilia "en- larged the bounds" of ancient music, by the invention of the harp — an instrument with more strings, and capable of produ- cing a greater variety of sounds than the ancient lyre. It was customary among tlie Greeksfor musicians or poets, who excelled all others to receive a wreath, or crown at the pubhc fes- tivals, as a mark of admiration from those who heard them, and as the reward of their excellence. Timotheus might have received such ^a crown, but Dryden because she surpassed him in his art commands him to resign it to St. Cecilia'or to divide it with her. If in prose writing, an author should speak of two persons living at different periods of time, as contemporaries ^ or existing together, it would be called an anachronism, or disregard of time — but poets are sometimes allowed to sp'jak thus, and their liberty to exceed the limits of strict truth, is poetic license. The Elegy is a melancholy poem, written upon some subject which of itself excites the feeling of sadness. The most popu- lar and most beautiful elegy in our language, is Gray's, upon a country churchyard. It celebrates no distinguished individual, but was composed under a deep feeling that it is appointed to all men, once to die ; and, that each " in his narrow bed forever iaid," all men are equals or in the same condition. A tender. 2D rOETHY FOK FCUOOLS. sorrow for tlic fate of the dead, and a veneration for those moral and intellectual capacities for excellence and happiness, which God dispenses without respect to fortune or power, seem to have inspired this most exquisite production. The young cannot com- prehend all its beanty and trutii, but in mature life, it is impossi- ble that he who feels for all that live, should not be affected by this sweet picture of the lot of mortality, and the virtues of hum- ble life. The Ballad is a narrative song. Ballads are usually composed among a rude people in the early ages of society, and after so- ciety becomes more highly civilised, some writers imitate the old ballads ; but m highly polished communities ballads are too sim- ple to please as new and original, — to be interesting, they must, refer to the manners of a past age. The Children in the Wood is a pretty bailad, and well known. The Eclogue is a narrative, or descriptive poem, meant to ex- liibit the particular manners of some few individuals in a country. The Eclogue is often a conversation. Collins' Eclogues are raucii read — one of them, Hassan the Camel Driver, will be found in this collection. Satire, in its best character, is a moral lecture in verse — a cen- sure upon something whirh is respected without deserving to be so — of some pfT^on who is generally approved, or of some pre- vailing conrfwci which is allowed without much blame. Satire endeavours to make its subject, whatever it is, contemptible. Sa- tire is sometimes wholesome correction of what is wrong, and sometimes it is mean malignity, the spirit which a writer of talents expresses against some person whom he unworthily hates. Juve- nal's Satires from the Latin are translated into the English — they describe the corrupt manners of the people in Rome, during the reigns of the emperors, Xero, Domitian, and Trajan. In English poetry. Pope's and Young's Satre's are of this description — they attack follies and persons, ridiculous in their time. Satire is like a caricature, it diverts when first known, but unless it is very just and happy, it soon ceases lo give pleasure. The Epitaph is designed for a memorial of the dead, and is generally a few verses inscribed upon a tombstone. The fol- wing has been much admired. *' ON THE C0I7NTESS OP PEMBROKE. *' Underneath this sable hearse liies the subject of all verse. Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother. Death, ere thou hast killed another IPOETRT FOR SCHOOLS. 21 Fair, and learned, and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee." — Ben Johnson, This epitaph expresses very higii praise. Before another so , exalted by all merit as this lady was, should die, Death himself would cease to number his victims, for she surpassed all who should live after her. But this 13 hyperbole, or exaggeration. These lines are pretty, B.::d epigrammatic, that is the words have a variety of meaning, unexpectedly and happily presented to the mind of ihe reader — but they are wantmg in simplicity. Sim- plicity is a single purpose. — 7'he epitaph not only praises Lady Pembroke, it intimates the disrrjily of her brother, Sir Philip Sid- ney, and of her son, the earl of Pembroke, and it disparages the rest of her sex by comparison with her ; — still it is, — (as we sometimes apply this rvord to expressive language,) very happy) it conveys much in a few words. One of Mr. Pope's epitaphs is a very pure and beautiful tribute to a good woman. " EPITAPH Oy MBS. CORBET. ** Here rests a v»'oman good without pretence, Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense. No conquest she but o'er herself desired, No art essayed, but not to be admired. Passion and pride were to her soul unknown Convinced that virtue only is our own, So unaffected so composed a mind. So firm, yet soft, so strong. yet-Sufeh"n*d Heaven, ?•= its -purest gold, by tortures tried — The saint sustained it, but the woman died." The simplicity of this epitaph is perfectly obvious. The Epigram is a few verses expressing a perspicuous and pointed meaning, and it usually conveys a brief satire. Mild William Clarke, grandfather to Dr. Clarke the traveller, com- posed an epigram on seeing the inscription which is engraved over the vault, or family tomb of the Dukes of Richmond. — The inscription is Damns ultima — m English, the last house y and the epigram, the following : — ** Did he who thus inscribed the wall Not read or not believe Saint Paul. Who says there is, where'er it stands. Another house not made with hands — Or may we gather from these words That house is not a house of Lords T'^ POETKY For SCHOOTS. IheTvnter here intimates that something which suggests the idea of eternal hfe, ought to be written ever the place of the body's interment. St.. Pa„l says, in the New Testament, and alludin.- to the immortality of the soul, there is " a house not made with hands, eternal m the heavens." Our Saviour says, - in my fatli er s house arc many mansions,"— many places suitable to be as signed to my followers in a future atate of existence. Mr. Clarke, who was a christian, on seeing the toHib of the Lords of Ricli- mond, instantly thought of those other mansions of the dead : and because this noble race thus appeared to regard the grave as their last rest, he means at once to satirise and reprove their seeming unbelief, by insinuating, that, perhaps the heavenly ha^ bitation mentioned by Paul would not suit the pride of Lords, or that Lord-, though they enjoy high honours on earth, might be excluded from an inheritance in heaven. Besides, the kinds of poetry, that have been mentioned, there ^roihemachheroic, and the pastoral. The. i/ioc7c-heroic gives a tanciful importance to trivial things. The commencement of t^owper's Task is mock-heroic The poet describes the orogres- sive elegance of seats at dilferent times in Britijiin. The whole passage is sprightly and amusing. ^' ^ ''Time was, when^clothing sumptuous or for use, feave their own painted skins, our sires had none. As yet black breeches were not; satin smooth, Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile : The hardy ehiei^upcr! the rugged rock Washed by the sea, or on the grave!!}' bsnk Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring l(»ud, Fearless of wrong, reposed his weary strength. Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next Th<^ birthday of invention ; weak at first. Dull in design, and clumsy to perform. .Toint stools were then created ; on three legs Upborne they, stood. Three legs upholding firm A massy slab, in fashion square or round. On such a stool immortal Alfred sat, And swayed the sceptre of his infant realms: And such in ancient halls and mansions drear May still be seen ; but perforated sore, And drilled in holes, the solid oak is found, By worms voracious eating through and througli. At length a generation more refined Improved the simple plan ; made three legs four, ttoETJir FOK SCHOOLS. ^,"5 Gave them a twisted form Termicular, And o'er the seat with plenteous wadding stuffed^ Induced a splendid cover, gr&en and blue, Yellow and red, of tapestrv lichly wrought And woven close, or needlework sublime. There might you see the piony spread wide, The fuil-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, Lapdog and lambkin with biack staring eyes, .^nd parrots with twin cherries in their beak. Now came the cane from India smooth and bright With Nature's varnish ; severed mto stripes, That interlaced each other, these supplied Of texture firm a lattice work, that braced The new machine, and it became a chair. But restless was the chair ; the back erect Distress'd the weary loins, that felt no ease ; The slippery seat betrayed the sliding part That pressed it, and the feet hung dangling down, Anxious in vain to find the distaut floor. These for the rich : the rest, whom Fate had placed In modest mediocrity content "With base materials, sat on well tann'd hides. Obdurate and unyielding, glassy sjpooth, With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn, Or scarlet crewel, m the cushion fixod, If cushion might be call'd, what harder seemed Than the firm oak of which the frame was formed. No want of timber then was felt or fear'd In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood Ponderous and fix'd by its own massy weight. But elbows still were wanting ; these, some say. An alderman of Cripplegate contrived -, And some»scribe the invention to a priest, Burly and big and studious of his ease. But rude at first and not with easy slope Receding wide they pressed against the ribs, And bruised the side ; and, elevated high, Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears. Long time elapsed or ere our rugged sires Complained, though incommodiously pent in, And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex. Ingenious Fancy, never better pleased Than when employed to accommodate the fair, ,. 24 POETEY FOR SCHOOLS. Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised The soft settee ; une elbow at oach end And in the midst an el!H)w it received. United y«t divided, twauj aj once. So sit two kings of Brtntford on one throne ; And so two citizens, who take the air, Close packed and srnihng. mi ^ chaise and one. But relaxation of the languid frame, By soft recumbency of ouistretched limbs, Was bliss reserved for iiajjpier days. So slow The prowth of what is excellent; so hard To attain perfection in this nether world. Thus first Necessity invonlert stools, Convenience 7iext suggested elbow-chairs, And Luxury the accomplished sofa last." Pastoral poetry, as the name indicates, describes the shepherd's life, and indeed many modns ot' rural occupation and pleasure In America we have no peisons professedly devoted to the care of flocks, but in Asia arid Eurone, fr»an time immemorial, this mode of life has been followed by oon^iHprable numbers. It is neces- sarily lonely and quiet, and disposes tiie mind to reflection. When Moses was a shepherd in Midian, he saw the vision of God ; when the shepherds mentioned by St. Luke, were '' keep- ing watch over their flocks by night, the glory of the Lord shone round about them." There is something pesuliarly innocent and interesting in the occupation ofsl^epherds ; and the state of their minds, detached from the conimon business of life, may be dipos- cd to be highly favourable to poetic thought ; but notwithalanding this presumtpion, Pa.s and the individual whose name is substituted for his : as, we ctii. a wise man, a Franklin, and a base one, a Catiline. Such a Me- tonymy as this, is a sort of comparison. When the na7ne of a place is used to convey the idea of its inhabitants, the expression is Metonymy : as when we say '' the resources of Britain are im- mense," we mean, the resources of the people of Britain. Cicero says — " To omit Greece, which always claimed the pre-eminence for eloquence ; and Athens, the inventress of all sciences, where the art of speaking was invented and perfected ; in this city of ours, no studies have prevailed more than that of eloquence." Here the words Greece and Athens stand to denote the inhab- itants of those places ; and it is this usage of the city or country for the inhabitants which forms the metonomy. A Synecdoche puts the whole for a part, or a part for the whole, as, " Thy growing virtues justified my cares, And promised comfort to my silver hairs.^'' Pope's Homer. The silver hairs signify the old age of the speaker. An Hyperbole is a figure that goes beyond the bounds of strict truth, and represents things as much greater, better, or worse, than they really are. Sir Walter Scott says of Ellen, in the Lady of the Lake : " E'en the light hare-bell lifts its head Elastic from her airy tread." This is Hyperbole. Ellen was lively and light, but her foot- prints must have broken the tender herb. However, we under- stand this to be poetic license, and admire the delicate illustra- tion of her slight tbrm and animated motion. Irony is common to poetry and prose — it is an expression of one idea, when we would convey the idea of its opposite ex- treme : thus, in common conversation, in order to ridicule his choice, we say, when we think a friend has preferred an inferior to a better thing '* 1 admire your taste.^' In Scott's Rokeby two assassins are described watching their intended victims. One of them approaches a young man whom he fears, and when he discovers who he is, suddenly withdraws ; upon this his com- panion laughs grimly^ and says, *' A trusty mate art thou, to fear A single arm, and aid so near." POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 31 This is Irony. An expressive example of iroisy may be found ia Kings I. XVIII Chapter. But the whole passage must be read, that the irony may be obvious. The false prophets of Israel had taught the people the idola- tries of Syria, but Elijah, the prophet of God, was instructed to convince them of their folly. In compliance with the request of Elijah, Ahab, king of Israel, called together an assembly of the people, and of the prophets of Baal, their idol ; and Elijah pro- ceeded to expose their crime in the manner thus described : " So Ahab sent unto all the children of Israel, and gathered the prophets together unto mount Carnjel. And Elijah came unto all the people, and said, How long halt ye between two opmions? if the Lord be God, follow him : but if Baal, then follow him. And the people answered him not a word. Then said Elijah unto the people, I, even I only, remain a prophet of the Lord : but Baal's prophets are four hundred and fifty men. Let them therefore give us two bullocks ; and let them choose one bullock for themselves, and cut it in pieces, and lay it on wood, and put no fire under : and I will dress the other bullock, and lay it on wood, and put no fire under : and call ye on the name of your gods, and I will call on the name of the Lord : and the God that ansvvereth by fire, let him be God. And all the people answered and said. It is well spoken. " And Elijah said unto the prophets of Baal, Choose you one bullock for yourselves, and dress it first : for ye are many ; and call on the name of your gods, but put no fire under. And they took the bullock which was given them, and they dressed it, and called on the name of Baal from morning even until noon, say- ing, O Baal, hear us. But there was no voice, nor any that an» swered. And they leaped upon the altar which was made. And it came to pass at noon, that Elijah mocked them, and said. Cry aloud : for he is a god ; either he is talking, or he is pursuing, or he is in a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth, and must be awaked. And they cried aloud, and cut themselves after their manner with knives and lancets, till the blood gushed out upon them. And it came to pass, when mid-day was past, and they prophesied until the time of the offering of the evening sacrifice, that there was neither voice, nor any to answer nor any that re- garded/' Interrogation is asking a question. When the interrogation is made in writing, or public speaking, and no reply is expected^ it is used to induce the hearer to reflect with attention, and an- swer to his own reason, if the speaker's argument be not just and forcible. 1 J roETRY I»Or SCHOOLS. When Habakkuk, the Hebrew prophet, forewarns his country- men of God's vindictive justice, that is, his punishment of their sins, which had been revealed to him, and of which he speaks as if it were past, he says .* <'Was the Lord displeased against the rivers? Was thy wrath against the sca?^^ An obvious answer would be, No — God is not displeased with ihe rivers, nor angry against the sea ; but lie wounds the head of the wicked, and as a whirlwind, he scatters the nations that of- fend. Exclamation is little more than a cry — a sudden, broken ex- pression of surprise, pleasure, contempt, indignation, or pain. The Duke, in Shakspeare's Twelfth Night, relieving his melan- choly with music, exclaims : *' That strain again ! it had a dying fall ! Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breaths unon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour." This example o^ exclamation from Shakspeare, expresses rap- lure — unexpected, lively delight. The next from Cicero ex- presses sorrow for his banishment, and pleasure at the idea of his honourable return to Rome : " Oh mournful day to the senate and all good men ! calami- tous to the senate, afflictive to me and my family ; but to poster- ity glorious, and worthy of admiration !" Pro Sexi. chap. 12. Thus the exclamation adapts itself to the passion which adopts it. Climax is the enumeration of many particulars in one period or whole sense, intended to produce one effect of persuasion or convictioa in the minds to which it is addressed. In climax or gradation the most important idea of the whole assemblage is the Itist mentioned. From the beginning to the end of the climax it is proper that each particular enumerated should rise in dignity of sense above the preceding. Mr. Walker in his Rhetorical Grammar gives an example of Climax fr»m the Spectator: *' Mr. Addison has a beautiful climax of circumstances arising one above another, when he is describing the treatment of Ne- groes in the West Indies, who sometimes, upon the death of their POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 33 masters, or upon changing their service, hang themselves upon the next tree. * Who can forbear admiring their fidehty, though it expresses itself in so dreadful a manner? What might not that savage greatness of soul, which appears in these poor wretches on many- occasions, be raised to, were it rightly cultivated? and what co- lour of excuse can there be for the contempt with which we treat this part of our species? That we should not put them upon the common foot of humanity ; that we should only pet an insignifi- cant fine upon the man who murders them, nay, thai we should, as much as in us lies, cut them oflf from the prospects of happi- ness in another world as well as in this, and deny them that which we look upon as tne proper means tor attaining it?' " Here Mr. Addison first mentions the virtues of the poor negroes, and then contrasts the cruel treatment of white men with their deserts. This cruel treatment in fact is this : TVe — Mr. Addison meant the Europeans, but his remarks apply to some Americans of the present age — We, says he in effect, deny them to possess the understandings of men ; we consider them brute animals ; we do not punish their murderers ; and we not only deprive them of lihrrty and the sympathies that exist between man and man in this world, but we refuse to consider them as immortal beings, and withhold from them the knowledge neces- sary to their salvation. — It is very plain that the last articles of this passage — the immortal soul, and its final happiness in hea- ven — are considerations of greater magnitude, in regard to the negro character, the abuse it has suffered, and the redress that the author here claims for it, than any he had previously detailed. This example is not taken from poetry, but CJunax is a figure "which occurs in poetry. Anticlimax is often used as to denote a foolish representation of facts, which exaggerates the unim- portant, and gives the least regard to the more important par- ticulars under consideration. Apostrophe is an abrupt address to the absent. It sometimes partakes of the character of personification : as St. Paul, in holy rapture, exclaims, " Oh Grave ! where is thy victory ? Oh Death I where is thy sling ?" " This figure,'' says Walker, " is seldom used ; but when, in a violent commotion, the speaker turns himself on all sides, and appeals to the living and the dead, to angels and to men, to rocks, groves, and rivers, for the justice of his cause, or calls upon them to sympathise with his joy, grief, or resentment," J POETRY FOR FCHOOLS. The Minstrel, in Scott's Lay, breaks out, at the thought of hi;^ beloved country, into this apostrophe : *• O Caladonia, stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child ! Land of brown hoath ;;nd shaggry wood, Land of the luountain and the flood, Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er uniie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand !" Personification is the investing of qualities, or things inanimate with the character of persons, or the introducing of dead or ab- sent persons as if they were alive and present. This is at once one of the boldest and finest figures in rhetoric. Poets are pro- digal in their use of this figure. The following example of the figure of personification is from Milton's Comus. The poet personifies Virtue, Wisdom, and Contemplation : " Virtue could see to do what virtue would By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were m the flat ^ea sunk. And Wisdom's self Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, Where with her best nurse. Contemplation, She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, That in the various bustle of resort Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired." Cowper has personified Winter, as the " King of intimate delights, Fire-side enjoyments, homeborn happiness" — rxnd has introduced him in a very picturesque description : thus " O Winter, ruler of the inverted year, Thy scattered hair with sleet like ashes fili'd, Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks Fringed with a beard made white with other snows Than those of age, thy forehead wrapp'd in cloudS; A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy' throne A sliding car. indebted to no wheels, But urged by storms along its slippery way, — I love thee, all unlovely as thou scem'stj And dreaded as thou art I'^ POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 35 Allegory is a prolonged use of figures, so connected in sense as to form a parable or fable. Gray's Ode to Adversity is an al- ''^gory. " ODE TO ADVERSITY. " Daughter of Jove, relentless power, '1 hou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad affright, afflict the best ! Bound in thy adamantine chain, The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple t} rants vainly groan ^ With pangs unlielt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy sire to send on earth Virtue, his darling child, designed, To thee he gave the heav'nly birth, And bade to form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurse ! thy rigid lore With patience many a year she bore : What sorrow was, thou badest her know, . And from her own she learned to melt at others' \vo. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy, And leave us leisure to be good. Light they disperse ; and with them go The summer friend, the flattering foe ; By vain prosperity received. To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. Wisdom in sable garb array'd, Immersed in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid. With leaden eye that loves the ground^ Still on thy solemn steps attend : Warm Charity, the general friendj With Justice, to herself severe, And Pity, dropping soft the sadly pleasing tear. Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head, Dread Goddess, lay thy chast'ning hand ! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Not circled with the vengeful band >b rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. (As by the impious thou art seen) W'.rh thundering voice, and threateningUiien; With screaming horror's funeral cry, Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty : Thy form benign, oh Goddess ! wear, Thy milder mfluence impart, Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to vi^ound my heart. The generous spark extinct revive, Teach me to love, and to forgive. Exact my own defects to scan. What others are to feel, and know myself a man." Mr. Gray has thus personified Misfortune or Adversity. He has represented her as the daughter of the supreme Deity ; but employed to " affright the bad, and afflict the best men" — *' Whom he loveth, he chasteneth," or purifieth, say the Hebrew- Scriptures. Perhaps this excellent poet had this passage in his mind when he wrote this stanza. *' Sweet are the uses of ad- versity," says Shakspeare-, and so has Gray represented them. — " By the sadness of the countenance, the heart is made better," says Solomon. Taught by our sufferings, we learn to pity others ; we abandon our follies, and gain leisure to be good. When we are in affliction, the sordid, and the frivolous, who shared the pleasures of our prosperity, forsake us ; but our virtues — wisdom, meditation, charity, justice, and pity, remam with us, and con- sole us. The poet, having asserted this, changes the form of his verses to apostrophe, and entreats the goddess, as he terms Ad- versity, to spare him from the severest inflictions of her hand, and to purify and exalt his heart. Young persons should commit these fine verses to memory. Antithesis is a figure by whicn words and ideas very different; or contrary, are placed together, in contrast or opposition, that they may mutually set off and illustrate each other. In Blair's Sermon on Gentleness the annexed example of Anti- thesis may be found : " As there is a worldly happiness which God perceives to be no more than disguised misery ; as there are worldly honours which in his estimation are reproach : so there is a worldly wis- dom which in his sight isfoolishness. Of this worldly wisdom the characters are given in the Scriptures, and placed in contrast wit! those of the wisdom which is from above. The one is the wisdoii of the crafty; the other that of the upright: the one terminates rOETRY FOR SCHOOLa in selfishness; the other in charity: the one is full of strife and bitter envying s ; the other o^ mercy and of good fruits. ^^ The antithetical words of this passage are printed in italics— Happiness and misery, honour and reproach, icisdom and fool- ishness, are ideas in direct opposition — and the remaining anti- theses of the period are, it is presumed, quite as clear. The preceding definitions are not as full as might be, but they are simple, and necessary to be understood in order to read poe- try with good taste and satisfaction. There must be elementary books in common use, which give more critical and elaborate in- stances of the artificial structure of poetic diction. 38 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. HISTORY OF ENGLISH POETRY. Young persons at all instructed in modern history know, that the English language is formed from several more ancient langu- ages. The Romans carried the Latin into Britain half a century before the birth of Christ. About four hundred years after, the Saxons, a warlike people from Germany, succeeded the Romans as masters of England, and, with their dominion, introduced and established their speech. The language of England for several centuries was what is called the Anglo-Saxon, but this was super- seded, in great measure, by the Norman French. In 1066, Wil- liam, Duke of Normandy, in France, conquered England, and established his power in the country. He brought with him a multitude of followers whom he distributed over the kingdom, and caused the ministration of religion and the laws to be announced in the Norman French. This language gradually combined it- self with the previous dialect of England, and our English lan- guage, by slow degrees, has been drawn from these sources. The Anglo-Saxons were not wholly without literature ; they had wandermg minstrels who sung verses, and in their convents some of the priests composed in rhyme. The Normans brought to England their own poetry, which consisted chiefly of songs, satires, morality, and rhyming chronicles. But in the twelfth century, the Crusades, or religious wars, carried on by the Euro- peans in Palestine, furnished romantic adventures which the poets rehearsed in verse ; and at the same time, narrative poems from scripture, and classical subjects began to appear in England. In the thirteenth century it became customary for the minstrels to " sing devotional strains to the harp on Sundays, for the edifica- tion of the people, instead of the verses on gayer subjects which v/ere sung at public entertainments." The first original poem of any extent in the English language is ascribed to Robert Langlande, a priest. It describes the Christian life, and the abuses of religion under the authority of the Pope. It is to the honour of poetry that among the first ef- forts of her power over a partially civilized people she should fearlessly utter the dictates of trutli, unbouglit and undismayed by arbitrary princes, and selfish priests. " The mind," says Mr. Campbell, speaking of Langlande, " is struck with his rude voice, proclaiming independent and popular sentiments, from an age of slavery and superstition, and thundering a prediction in the ear of papacy j which was doomed to be literally fulfilled at the dis* j.\jj^±x*.i. JPUxv oo.^penser with his family to England. He died at London, January, 1699, He was buried, accordi^ig to iiis own desire, near the tomb of Chau- cer ; and the most celebrated poets of the time (Shakspeare was probably of the number) followed his hearse, and threw tributary verses into his grave. SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. Sir Philip Sidney was the must celebrated man of his age. — The question immediately occurs — for what ? — " Traits of cha- racter will distinguish great men independent of their pens or their swords," remarks Mr. Campbell, ' The contemporaries of Sidney knew the man : and foreigners, no less than his own countrymen, seem to have felt, from his personal influence and conversation, an homage for him, that could only be paid to a commanding intellect guiding the principles of a noble heart." He spent part of his short life in the court of Queen Elizabeth-, and another very brilliant portion of it in military service and another very brilliant portion of it in military service upon the continent. As a courtier, a scholar, and a soldier, he command- ed the admiration of Europe, and all England wore mourning at his death. This event happened in 1580. when he was only 32 years of age. His writings are obsolete, but we sometimes hear of Sir Phillip Sidney's Arcadia. This is an incomplete romance which he left. Miss Lucy Aikin says of the Arcadia, that "fer- vour of eloquence," "nice discrimination of character," and "pu- rity of thought," " stamp it for the offspring of a noble mind." " His death," continues Miss Aikin, " was worthy of the best parts of his hfe : he showed himself to the last devout, courageous, and serene. His wife, the beautiful daughter of Walsingham ; his brother Robert, to whom he had performed the part rather of an anxious and indulgent parent than of a brother ; and many sorrowing friends, surrounded his bed. Their grief was, beyond a doubt, sincere and poignant, as well as that of the many persons of letters and of worth who gloried in his friend- ship, and flourished by his bountiful patronage." Such a man's name and example should still serve to kindle in the bosom of youth the animating giow of virtuous emulation. Lord Thurlow, a late Lord Chancellor of England, wrote a pret- ty Bonaet on Sidney's pictuje. rOBTBY FOR SCHOOLS. 49 ^* The man that looks, sweet Sidney, in thy face, Beholding there love's truest majesty, And the soft image of departed grace, Shall fill his mind with magnanimity : There may he read unfeigned humility, And golden pity, born of heavenly brood, Unsullied thoughts of immortality, And musing virtue, prodigal of blood : Yes in this map of what is fair and good. This glorious index of a lieavenly book ; Not seldom, as in youthful years he stood, Divinest Spencer would admiring look ; And, framing thence high wit and pure desire, Imagined deeds, that set the world on fire 1 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. Sir Walter Raleigh was born at Hayes Farm in Devonshire, 1552, and was beheaded in London, 1618. He is memorable or his understanding, his knowledge, and his enterprising spirit. During the reign of Elizabeth, Raleigh performed many honora- ble services in the British navy, and fitted out, and some- times accompanied, ships of discovery which explored the coasts of North and South America. After the accession of James H, Elizabeth's successor, Raleigh was indicted and tried for treason, upon the charge of attempting to place Lady Ara- bella Stuart upon the throne of England ; and though he was not condemned, he suffered fifteen years of imprisonment. When Raleigh was liberated, he obtained a commission from the King, and commanded an expedition against Guiana, in South America. In this enterprise he was unsuccessful, though he committed some depredations upon the Spaniards who were in possession of the country. On his return to England he was tried upon the former accusation, and sentenced to death. The sentence was immediately executed, and a life of singular vicissitudes, in which the prosperity was adorned by eminent accomplishments, and the adversity sustained by admirable fortitude, was thus cruelly ter- minated. 50 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. UNA AND THE REDCROSS KNIGHT. " The heavenly Una and her railk-white amb." — Wordsworth " A gentle knight wns pricking* on the plain, Ycladt in mighty arms and silver shield, Wherein olil dints of deep wounds did remain. The cruel marks of many a bloody field ; Yet arms till that time did he never wield ; His angry steed did ciiide his foaming bit. As much disdaining to the curb to jield : Full jolly knight he seemed, and fair did sit, As one for knightly joustsj and fierce encounters fit. But on his breast a bloody cross he bore. The dear remembrance of his dying Lord, For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore, And dead (as living) ever him adored : Upon his shield the like was also scored. § For sovereign hope, which in his help he had : Right faithful true he was in deed and word ; But of his ciieer did seem too solemn sad : Yet nothing did he dread ; but ever was ydrad.l! Upon a great adventure he was bound, That greatest Gloriana to him gave, That greatest glorious queen of fairy lend, To win him worship, and her grace to have, Which of all earthly things he most did crave , And ever as he rode his heart did yearn To prove his puissance in battle brave Upon his foe, and his new force to learn ; Upon his foe, a dragon horrible and stern. A lovely lady rode him fair beside. Upon a lowly ass more white than snow ; Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide Under a veil, that wimpledli was full low. And over all a black stole*^ she did throw, As one that inly mourned ; so was she sad. And heavy sat upon her palfry slow ; Seemed in heart seme hidden care she had, And by her in a line a milk-white lamb she led. ■■ Riding. t Attired. t Contests of skill at arms. ^ Engraved. |l Dreaded. If Prawn closely. ** Robe. POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. ^l So pure an innocent, as that same lamb, She was in life and every virtuous lore, And by descent from royal lineage came Of ancient kings and queens, that had of yore Their sceptres stretcht from ^* to western shore. And all the world in their subjection held ; Till that infernal fiend with foul uproar Forewasted all their land and them expelled : Whom to avenge, she had this knight from far compelled. Behind her far away a dwarf did lag-, That lazy seemed in being ever last, Or wearied with bearing of her bag Of needments at his back. Thus as they past The day with clouds was sudden overcast, And angry Jove an hideous storm of rain Did pour into his leman's lap so fast. That every wight to shroud it did constrain. And this fair couple eke to shroud themselves were fain. Enforced to seek some covert nigh at hand, A shady grove not far away they spied, That promised aid the tempest to withstand ; Whose lofty trees, yclad with summer's pride, Did spread so broad, they heaven's light did hide, Not pierceable with power of any star : And all within were paths and alleys wide, With footing worn, und leading inward far : Fair harbour, that them seems ; so in they entred are^ x\nd forth they pass, with pleasure forward led. Joying to hear the bird's sweet harmony. Which therein shrouded from the tempest's dread. Seemed in their song to scorn the crud sky. Much can they praise the trees so straight and higli. The sailing Pine, the Cedar proud and tall. The vine-prop Elm, the Poplar never dry. The bailder Oak, sole king of forests all, The Aspin good for staves, the Cypress funeral, The Laurel, meed of mighty conquerors And poets sage, the Fir that weepeth still, The Willow, worn of forlorn paramours, The Yew, obedient to the bender's will, POETRY FOR ?CH00L3. The Birch for shafts, the Sallow for the mill, The Myrrh sweet bleeding in the bitter wound, The warlike Beech, the Ash for nothing ill, The fruitful Olive, and the Plantain round, The carver Holme, the Ma[)le seldom inward sound : Led with delight they thus beguile the way, Until the blustering storm is overblown, AVhen, weenmg'^ to return, whence ihey did stray, They cannot tind that path which first was shown, But wander to and fro in ways unknown, Furthest from end then, when they nearest ween, That makes them doubt thtvir wits be not their own ; So many paths, so many turnings seen, That which of them to take, in divers doubts they been. Spenser. These verses are easily comprehended. Every young person should know something of Chivalry. That institution had once great influence upon the manners and happiness of Europe. The situation of Una, and the nature of her protector's character and office, will not be understood without some acquaintance with the meaning of chivalry. CniVALRY. The origin of Chivalry was briefly this: — France, Spain, En- gland, Germany, Italy and Holland, once belonged to the Ro- man Empire ; but armies from the North of Europe invaded these more southern countries, overthrew the Roman power, and at different times took possession of the places they conquered. "When they had made themselves masters of a country, J he great leaders of the armies took large tracts of land ; and their follow- ers, that is the soldiers they commanded, together with such of the original inhabitants of the countries as they permitted to live, became the vassals of these great men. These poor people were not acquainted with the useful arts or comforts of hfe which we enjoy, but they could take care of cat- tle, cultivate the soil in a rude and imperfect manner, could help to erect the castle and church of their master, and could follow Uim to battle. This latter service, togetlier with a great part of * ••resuming. FOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. bJ the cattle and corn which they could procure from the cultivationt of the soil, they gave to their lords. The lords always kep many of their vassals in their houses or castles, and usually wen^ out with a considerable number of them as attendants. This was partly for show, and partly for safety. These followers were called Retainers, and when they went abroad with their master formed his Retinue. The more people a great lord had about his person, the better was he guarded, and the more was he feared. In the present happier age of the world, when every man has his own business, and property, and leisure, and enjoyments, no great man has any right t© the services of so many of his fellow- men ; nor has he any need of them, for he has nothing to fear from the violence of others — 'le is protecied by the laws of his country, and what is better, by the humanity of all men, who* have learned in some measure, to respect one another's lives and property, and to know, in order that all may be happy, all must be safe, and protected by each other. But a thousand years ago men lived very differently. The lands which had been seized by the great lords of Europe, were not exactly bounded, each proprietor or landholder did not pre- cisely know how much belonged to himself: so that the owners of property which lay together often claimed the same ; and as there were not courts of justice to inquire into and settle their rights, they and their vassals fought about them. Many of the richer and more powerful lords, wanting to become still more rich and powerful, and having no sense of religion, of justice, or mercy — none of the fear of God or love of man — murdered their aieighbours, set fire to their houses, carried off their property, and claimed their lands : on these occasions the ladies were ofteri treated in a barbarous manner. A remarkable instance of this may be found in Shakspear's Tragedy of Macbeth. Macbeth, a Scottish nobleman, invited Duncan, king of Scotland, to his castle, and there murdered him^ that he might be king instead of Duncan. On the murder of the 5cing, his two sons fled from Scotland in fear of their lives. Mac- duff, a Scottish lord, followed Malcolm, one of the young princes, into England ; upon which the usurper Macbeth was so enraged, that he vowed to revenge himself upon Macduff for feis desertion. In order to do this, Macbeth resolved upon killing Macduff's in^ Jiocent family, which he had left behind, and he accordingly gave orders for this cruel act. When the bloody work was done, Rosse* a friend of the unfortunate family, escaped into Englant^ 5* 54 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. to inform Macduff of it. He found him talking to Malcolm, and after preparing his mind, relates the event. *' liosse. Your castle is surprised, your wife and babes Sa- vagely slaughtered ! Malcolm. Merciful heaven ! Macduff. My children too ? Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all That could be found. Macd. And I must be from thence !— My wife kill'd too ? Rosse. I have said. Mai Let us make medicine of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief. Macd. He has no children ! — All my pretty ones ? — Did you say all ? Rosse. All. Macd. What, all my pretty chickens and their dam ?" Macbeth, Act IV. Scene 3. You will observe that Malcolm proposes to make amends for this cruel injury by some " great revenge," that is, by some act of equal cruelty to the murderers of Macduff's wife and children. This was the way in which people ai that time usually endeavour- ed to satisfy themselves, but they only continued a strife which the descendants of both parties felt bound never to forget nor forgive, and which, many long years after the first offence was given, caused fresh quarrels, murders, and destruction of pro- perty. In this stat$ of violence and danger, many people lived in con- stant and great fear, and were always prepared to expect, and to defend themselves against an enemy. The rich lived in strong castles, surrounded by. walls and gates, a watch was kept to look out for the approach of their foes, and, before the discovery of gunpowder and the use of firearms, the knights — that is, the gen- tlemen soldiers — used generally to wear armour. Then, as at all times, there were good men — some who w^re not weak and timid, or ferocious and cruel, who could not see the acts of these barbarians without indignation against them, and compassion for the unfortunate victims of their cruelty. The distress or the ladies, above all, inspired the just and the generous with a desire to serve them, and to save them from the dreadful calamities to which they were exposed. Many noblemen and brave soldiers devoted themselves to the redress of injuries inflict- ed upon all good persons, and particularly upon the young and POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. ^^ the beautiful of the female sex. These formed what is called the ''' TL^'younrme^ who composed the order of Chivalry could not be admitted into it unless they possessed strength and courage, and were distinguished by truth and honour ; and this bemg known, made ambitious youth desirous to be so distinguished, that they mioht be worthy to assert justice, and to defend mnocence ; that the'v might become objects of admiration and praise and form at once the protectors and ornaments of society. To be all this, it was necessary that they should not only be fearless and powerful, but that they should also be pleasing and interesting : that they should perfectly understand the use of a^ms to prevail over their enemies, and be masters of every graceful accomplishment to in- spire the affection of their friends. Many arts of little use at that time were then necessary, and tbese arts exhibited much grace and skill The management of fiery horses, the throwing of the pike, (a sharp instrument use^ in ancient warfare,) and the exercise ot the bow, were taught to young men with as much, and more pains, than dancing, fencing, and music now require. Horse- manship, archery, &c. require great presence of mind and strength of body, and show elegance of person and quickness ot ofthought to the utmost advantage. , , .. For along time Chivalry did much good, but at length it went out of use, because laws were made and enforced that compelled people to live peaceably together, so that the arts that belonged to Chivalry only served for amusement, and Knights or Cham- pions used to practise a sort of mock fighting, as a mere trial ot strength and skill, not intending to kill one another, but to spare the hfe of him who should be proved the weakest; and the most beautiful lady present at the encounter., used to give a prize to the victorious knight. These public spectacles were at last given up but not all at once, for so iate as the year 1600, and after- wards, we read of young gentlemen who were taught all the ex- ercises of Chivalry. ' These remarks do not refer exclusively to the preceding extract from Spenser, but thev also serve to explain other pieces m this collection. The distressed condition of Una exemphfies the suf- ferings to which the young and beautiful wer« exposed m a rude age, and the devotedness of her attendant is a further illustration of the sentiments and services of a disinterested knight-errant m Ijehalf of endangered innocence. oG ?OBTRT FOR SCHOOLS. THE FABLE OP THE OAK AND THE BRIAK. " There grew an agect tree on the green, . A goodly Oak sometimes had it been, With arms full strong and largely displayed, But of their leaves they were disarrayed : The body big and mightily pight, Throughly rooted, and of wondrous height j Whilom* had been the king of the field, And mochel mastj to the husband did yield, And with his nuts larded many swine, But now the gray moss marred his rine, His bared boughs were beaten with storms, His top was bald, and wasted with worms, His honour decayed, his braunchessere.J Hard by his side grew a bragging Breere, Which proudly thrust into th' element, And seemed to threat the firmament : It was imbellisht with blossoms fair, And thereto age wonted to repair ; The shepherd's daughters to gather flowres^ To paint their garlands with his colowres ; And in his small bushes used to shroud, The sweet nightingale sirjging so loud, W^hich made this foohsh Breere wax so bold,. That on a time he cast him to scold, And sneb the good Oak, for he was old. Why stand'st there (quoth he) thou brutish block '^ Nor for fruit nor for shadow servts thy stock ; Seest how fresh my flowres been spread, Died in lily white and crimson red. With leaves engrained in lusty green, Colours meet to cloath a maiden queen ? Thy waste bigness but cumbers the ground, And dirks the beauty of my blossoms round * Tht mouldy moss, which thee accloyeth, My cinnamon smell too much annoyeth : Wherefore soon I rede§ thee hence remove, Lest thou the price of my displeasure prove. So spake this bold Breere with great disdain, Little him answered the Oak again, But yielded, with shame and griefadawed.il That of a weed he was ovei-craw'd.U * rormerly. t Many acorns. t Dry. i Advigc. Ij Dejeclf* If Triumphed over. rOETKY FOR SCHOOLS. *^* It chaunced after upon a day, The husband-man's self to come that way, Of custom to surview his ground, And his trees of state in compass round: Him when the spightful Breere had espyed^ He causeless complained, and loudly cried Unto his lord, stirrm^ up stern strife : O my liege Lord ! the god of my hfe,. Please you pond* your suppliant's plamt, Caused of wrong and cruel constraint, Which I your poor vassal daily endure ; And but your goodness the same recurc, Am like for desperate dolej to die, Through felonous force of mine enemy. Greatly aghast with this piteous plea, Him rested the good man on the lea. And bad the Breere in his plaint proceed. With painted words then gan this proud weed (As most used ambitious folk) His coloured crime with crait to cloke. Ah, my Sovereign 1 lord of creatures all, Thou placer of plants both humble and tall. Was not I planted of thine own hand. To be the primrose of all thy land, With flowring blossoms to furnish the prime, And scarlet berries in sommer-time ? How falls it then that this faded Oak, Whose body is sere, whose branches broke, Whose naked arms stretch unto the fire, Unto such tyranny doth aspire,. Hindring with his shade my h^vely light, And robbing me of the sweet sun's sight ? So beat his old boughs my tender side. That oft the bloud springeth from woundes wide ; Untimely my flowers forced to fall, That been the honour of your coronal ;| And oft he lets his canker-worms light Upon my branches, to work me more spight; And of his hoary locks doth cast. Wherewith my fresh flowerets been defast : For this, and many more such outrage, Craving your godlyhead to assuage . « Consider, t Grief. I Wreath of flowers, chapl-t. 5* POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. The rancorous rigour of his might ; Nought ask I, but onely to hold my right, Submitting mc to your good sufierance, And praying to be guarded from grievauncc. To this Oak cast him to reply Well as he couth ; but his enemy Had kindled such coles of displeasure, That the good man nouldj stay his leisure, But home him hasted with furious heat, increasing his wrath many a threat ; His harmful hatchet he hent| in hand, (Alas ! that it so ready should stand !) And to the field alone he speedeth, (Aye little help to harm there needeth) Anger nould let him speak to the tree, Enaunter his rage mought cooled be, But to the root bent his sturdy stroke, And made many wounds in the waste Oak. The axe's edge did oft turn again, As half unwilling to cut the grain, Seemed the senseless iron did fear, Or to wrong holy eld did forbear ; For it had been an antient tree, Sacred with many a mystery, And often crost with the priests's crew, And often hallowed with holy-water dew ; But like fancies weren foolery. And brough ton this Oak to this misery ; For nought might they quitten him from decay, «For fiercely the good man at him did lay. The block oft groaned under his blow. And sighed to see his near overthrow. In fine, the steel liad pierced his pith, Then down to the ground he fell forthwith. His wondrous weight niatio the ground to quake. Th' earth sunk under him, and seem'd to shake There lieth the Oak pitied of none. Now stands the Breere like a lord alone, Puff'd up With pride and vain pleasance ; But all this glee bad no conlmuance : For eft3oons§ winter 'gan to approach, t Would not. t Took ! $Not long after. POBTKY FOR SCHOOLS. f>9 The blustering Boreas did encroach, And beat upon this solitary Breere, For now no succour was seen him neere. Now 'gan he repent his pride too late, For naked left and disconsolate, The biting frost nipt his stalk dead, The watry wet weighed down his head, And heaped snow burdened him so sore, That now upright he can stand no more ; And being down is trod in the durt Of cattel, and brouzed, and sorely hurt. Such was th' end of this ambitious Breere, For scorning eld " Spenser. INSCRIPTION FOR A BUST OP SHAKSPEAEK. O youths and virgins : O declining old : Oh pale misfortune's slaves : O ye who dwell Unknown with humble quiet : ye who wait In courts, or fill the golden seat of kings : O sons of sport and pleasure : O thou wretch That weep'st for jealous love, or the sore wounds Of conscious guilt, or Death's rapacious hand Which left thee void of hope : O ye who roam In exile ; ye who through the embattled field Seek bright renown, or who for nobler palms Contend, the leaders of a public cause ; Approach : behold this marble, know ye not The features ? Hath not oft his faithful tongue Told you the fashion of your own estate, The secrets of your bosom ? Here then, round His monument, with reverence while you stand, Say to each other, " This was Shakspeare's form Who walked in every path of human life ; Felt every passion, and to all mankind Doth now, will ever, that experience yield Which only his own genius could acquire.'* Akenside. 00 rOETUY FOR SCHOOLS. SlIAKSPEAKE. "I speak this truth, thou art of poets, king.'' — Thurlow. This dramatic poet 16 justly estetmed by those who speak the Enghsh lanpnage, as the moat interesting writer in the world. There are f^w so highly endowed as to he able to comprehend the wealth and magnitude of Shakspeare' genius in all its variety and comprehensiveness, but there are none perha'^js within even the remotest influences of Knglish literature, that have not felt the power of this mighty master in some of those numerous passages of his works whicli have j)asseot;tby for schools. Huh. I have sworn to do it ; And with hot irons must I burn them out. Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it 1 The iron of itself, though heat red hot. Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears. And quench his fiery indignation, f^ven in the matter of mine innocence : Nay, after that, consume away in rust, But for containing fire to harm mme eye. Are you more stubborn-hard than liammered iron 1 An if an angel should have come to me, And told me, Hubert should put out mme eyes, I would not have believed no tongue, but Hubert's. Hub. Come forth. Do, as 1 bid you do [Stamps. Re-enter Attendants, with cord^ irons, &c. Arth. O, save me, Hubei:t, save me ! my eyes are out. Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. Hub. Give me the irun, I say, and bmd him here. Arth. Alas, what ner^d you be so boist'rous rough ? I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound ', Nay, hear me, Hubert ! drive these men away, And I will sit as quiot as a lamb ; I will not stir, nor v ince, nor speak a word, Nor look upon the iron angetly : Thrust but these men awas, and I'll forgive you, Whatever torment you do pui me to. Hicb. Go, stand withm ; let me alone with him. 1 At. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. [£a*e Arth. Alas, I then have chid away my friend j He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart :— Let him come back, that his compassion may Give life to yours. Huh. Come, boy, prepare yourself. Arth. Is there no remedy ? Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. O heaven !~that there were but a mote in yours^ A grain, adust, a gnat, a wand'ring hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense 1 Then, feeling what small things are boist'rous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. Huh. Is this your promise ? go to, hold your tongue. 4* «^ QSr rOETRV FOR FClIOOtS. Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. So I may keep mine eyes ; O, spare mine eyes ; Though to no use, but still to look on you ! Lo by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm me. Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arih. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief Being create for comfort, to be used In undeserved extremes : See else yourself; There is no malice in this burning coal ; The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, And strewed repentant ashes on his head. Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; And, like a dog, that is compelled to fight, Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. All things, that you should use to do me wrong. Deny their oflice : only you do lack That mercy, which fieice fire, and iron, extends, Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine eyct For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy. With this same very iron to burn them out. Arth. O, now you look like Hubert ! all this whik You were disguised. Hub. Peace : no more. Adieu ; Your uncle must not know but )'our are dead : I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure, That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world. Will not offend thee. Arth. O heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert. Hub. Silence ; no more : Go closely in with me ; Much danger do 1 undergo for thee. [Exeunt. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. I hope you act in this bloody business, by some higher authority than your own cru- elty or selfishness. It is necessary that poor men, in the seryio^ POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. D' of arbilrar? princes, should act their wicked wills. If you do as you are commanded, you are not so guilty as if you devised ot your own heart such horrible deeds; but if you do this without some such justification— dread the punishment due to your cru- elty. All this is implied in this passage. Heat— Heated is the modern participle. *' The participle heat, though now obsolete, was in use in our author's time. So in the sacred writings : ' He commanded that they should heat the furnace one seven times more than it was wont to be heat. Dan. Ill 19:' Tarre. — To stimulate, to set on. SCENE III. Arthur on the castle wall. Arth. The wall is high ; and yet will I leap down : (Jood ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not !-— There's few, or none, do know me ; if they did, This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me quite. I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture it. ff I get down, and do not break my limbs, ril find a thousand shifts to get away : As good to die and go, as die and stay. Oh me 1 my uncle's spirit is in these stones : — Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ! Enter Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigod, Sal. This is the prison : What is he lies here ? [Seeing Arthur. Pern. O death, made proud with pure and princely beauty The earth hath not a hole to hide this deed. Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done. Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. Big. Or when he doomed this beauty to a grave, Found it too precious princely for a grave. Sal Sir Richard, what think you? Have you beucld-. Or have you read, or heard ? or could you think ? Or do you almost think, although you see, That you do see ? could thought, without this object. Form such another ? This is the very top. The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest, Of murder's aims : this is the bloodiest shame> The wildest savag'ry, the vilest stroke. That ever wall-ey'd wrath, or staring rage, Presented to the tears of soft remorse. G8 roETRy for schools. Pern. All murd'^rs past do stand excused in this. — It is a bloody work ; The graceless action of a heavy hand, If that it be the work of any hand. Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ? — We had a kind of light, what would ensue, It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ; The practice, and the purpose, of tue k«ng :— * From whose obedience I forbid my soul, Kneeling before this ruin ofsweel life, And breathing to his breathless excellence The incense of a vou\ a holy vow / Never to taste the pleasures of the world, Never to be infected with delight. Nor conversant with case and idleness^ Till I have set a glory to this hand. By giving it the worship of revenge. Fern. Big. Our souls reiigiousiy confirm thy words. Revenge, to a certain extent, is the love of justice. It ha& been shown, in the brief sketch which was given of the origin and principal object of Chivalry, that its pur[»ose was not only to defend innocence, but to punish those who should injure the weak and unprotected. The knights of that age, not only made a vow to serve God, and the interests of humanity, when they were initiated, but, on setting out upor. a special enterprise, they solemnly devoted themselves to the work before them. — In con- formity to this practice, Salisbury kneels beside the dead body of Arthur, and vo.vs never to take pleasure or rest till he has punish- ed the wretches who wrought his deuth. HENRY IV. Henry, Duke of Lancaster, siirnamed Bolingbroke, was son of John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, third son of Edward III., king of England. Richard II. was the predecessor of Henry IV. Richard was the rightful king, but he had no talent for go- vernment, and during his reign all England was in a state of con- fusion and civil warfare. In consequence of his mis-government^ Richard was deposed and thrown into prison. He was a son oi Edward, called from the black armour which he wore, the Blacfc Prince. The Black Prince was the eldest son of Edward III., the duke of Clarence was his second son, and John of Gaunt the POETRY FOB SCHOOLS. 69 third. When Richard was deposed, a descendant of the duke of Clarence, Mortimer, duke of York, was the legal successor to the throne, but Henry Bolingbroke set aside Mortimer's claim, and caused himself to be crowned King. Henry IV. died March 1413, in the 14th year of his reign. At the age of twenty-five Henry V. succeeded his father. Du- ring his short reign of nine years he exhibited such qualities as are much admired in a rude age. He possessed great personal courage, a spirit of military enterprise, talent for command, and patient perseverance in the accomplishment of iiis purposes. Ac- cording to history, his deportment was singularly graceful and dignified, and his power of self-government even more extraor- dinary than his control of other men. Shakspeare, in the last act of Henry IV. has given a very touching scene — it is the closing one of the king's life, in which lie gives his latest counsel to the Prince of Wales. The king being ill, has his crown displaced from his head, and falls asleep. At this moment the prince enters the apartment of his father, and perceiving his condition, tenderly laments it, but removes the crown, and swears to maintain his right to it. The king awakes, eagerly demands who has taken away the crown, and seeing prince Henry, requests to be left alone with him, and they then conler together thus : Hekey IV. and Peikce Henry:. K. Hen, Come hither to me. Harry. P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. K, Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought : 1 stay too long by thee, 1 weary thee. Dost thou so hunger lor mv empty chair, That thou wilt needs invrst thee with mine honours Before thy hour be ripe ? O foolish youth ! Thou seek'st the greatness that wilf overwhelm thee> Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity Is held from falling with so weak a wind. That it will quickly drop : my day is dim. Thou hast stol'n that, which, after some (gw hours. Were thine witnout offence ; and, at my death, Thou hast sealed up my expectation : Thy life did manifest, thou lovMst me not, And thou wilt have me die assured of it. Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thought^J ; Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart, U POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. To Stab at half an hour of my life. What ! can'st thou not forbear me half an hour ! Then get tliec gone ; and tiig mv grave thyself; And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear. That thou art crowned, not that 1 am dead. Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse, Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head : Only compound me with forgotten dust ; Give that, which gave thee life, unto the worms. Pluck down my officers, break n»y decrees ; For now the time is come to mock at form, Harry the fifth is crowned : — U[», vanity ! Down, royal state ! all you aa^e counsellors, hence And to the English court assemble now. From every region, apes of idleness! Now, neighbour confines, purge you of your scum : Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance, Revel the night ; rob, murder, and commit The oldest sins the newest kind of ways? Be happy, he will trouble \ou no more : Englaiid shall double gild his treble guilt ; England shall give him office, honour, might : For the fifth Harry from curbed licence plucks The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog Shall flesh his tooth in every inn:ic*^nt. my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! When that my care could not withhold thy riots, What wilt thou do, when not la thy care ? O, thou wilt be a wilderness again. Peopled with wolves, thy old iniiabirants ! P. Hen. O, pardon me, my liege ! but for my tears, The moist impediments unto my speech, [Kneeling. 1 had forestalled this dear and depp rebuke, Ere you with grief had sp. ke, and I had heard The course of it so far. There is your crown ; And He that wears the crown nnmortally, Long guard it yours ! If I affect it more, Than as your honour, and as your renown. Let me no more from this obedience r'se, (Which my most true and inward-'luteous spirit Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending! Heaven witness with me, when 1 here came in. And found no course of breath within your majesty. POETBY FOB SCHOOLS. How cold it struck my heart ! if I do feign, O, let me in my present wildness die ; And never live to show th' incredulous world The noble change that I have purposed J Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, (And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,) I spake unto the crown, as having sense. And thus upbraided it. The care on thee depending^ Hath fed upon the body of my father ; Therefore^ thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. And thou, most fine ^ most honoured, most renowned. Hast eat thy bearer up. Thus, my most royal liege, Accusing it, I put it on n)y head ; To try with it, — as with an enemy, That had before my face murdered my father,- The quarrel of a true inheritor. But if it did infect my blood with joy, Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride ; If ari^ rebel or vain spirit of mine Did, with the least affection of a welcome. Give entertainment to the might of it, Let €rod forever keep it from my head ! And make me as the poorest vassal is, That doth with awe and terror kneel to it! K. Hen. O my son ! Heaven put it in thy mind, to take it hence. That thou might'st win the more thy father's love. Pleading so widely in excuse of it. Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; And hear, T think, the very latest counsel That ever T shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son. By what by-paths, and indirect, crooked ways, I met this crown ; and I myself know v.^ell5 How troublesome it sat upon my head : To thee it shall descend with better quiet. Better opinion, better confirmation ; For all the soil of the achievement goes With me into the earth. It seemed in me, But as an honour snatched with boist'rous hand 5 And I had many living, to upbraid My gain of it by their assistances ; Which daily grew to quarrel, and to bloodshed. What in me was purchased^ Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort j *J2 POETRY FOB SCHOOLS. So thou the garland wear'st successively. Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do. Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ; And all thy friends, which thou must make thy friends Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out ; By whose fell workmg I was first advanced, And by whose power I well might lodge a fear To be again displaced : which to avoid, I cut them off; and had a purpose now To lead out many to the Holy Land ; Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look Too near unto my state. Therefore, my Harry, Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence borne out. May waste the memory of the former days. More would 1 but my lungs are wasted so. That strength of speech is utterly denied me. How I came by the crown, O God, forgive ! And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! P. Hen. My gracious liege, You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me ; Then plain, and right, must tny possession be : Which I, with more than with a common pain. 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. HENRY V. The nohle change that he nad purposed, as he bound his brow? with the crown of his dying father, was exemplified in Prince Henry when he became King of England. One circumstance of his public conduct, which is finely exhibited by Shakspeare, is il- lustrative of his respect for the constitution and laws of his king- dom, and as an example of his disinterestedness and veneration for justice, does honour to his memory " Henry the Fifth, when Prince of Wales, was wild, and in the disgraceful society of Sir John Falstaff, Poins, and other idlers, committed several offences against the laws. Some of his attend- ants had been taken up by the officers of justice, for a riot, and were brought before the chief justice. Sir William Gascoigne. While they were in court, prince Henry came, and rudely de- manded that they should be released. The chief justice refused. TJie prince insulted, and, it is supposed, even struck the judge. The chief justice ^>ith great dignity kept his seat upon the bencb^ rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 73 and in the authoritative tone of a rnan, to whom the execution of the laws is intrusted, rebuked the prince, and ordered him to be taken into custody. To this the prmce, recollectmg hia duty, becomingly submitted.*' It is related by an old historian that Prince Henry, being or- dered to prison, " doing reverence" to the judge, departed, and went to the Kmg's bench, as he was commanded. One of his attendants, displeased at this indignity, (as he deemed it,) offered to the prince, and thinking to incense the King against the chief justice, repaired to his majesty with the whole affair. The King-^ on hearing the circumstance, paused for a moment, and then^ lifting his eyes and clasped hands to Heaven, exclaimed, "Omer- ciful God ! how much above all other men, am I indebted to thine infinite goodness ; especially that thou has given me a judge who feareth not to minister justice, and also a son who can suffer worthily and obey justice." " After the death of his father, when Henry became king, the nation expected he would give himself up to amusement and in- temperance ; but on the contrary, he immediately assumed the deportment and conduct of a wise monarch, and, dismissing from his presence his former companions, instead of disgracing the chief justice who had committed him, he thanked him for the firmness and dignity with which he had executed the laws, and conferred great favours upon him ." King Henry, the Princes his brothers, and the Chief Justicjs:. Ch. Just. Good morrow ; and heaven save your majesty ! King. This new and gorgeous garment, majesty, Sits not so easy on me as you think. — Brothers, you mix your sadness with some fear ; This is the English, not the Turkish court. . good brothers — be assured, I'll be your father and your brother too ; Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares. P. John and the others. We hope no other from your ma^ jesty. King. You all look strangely on me : — and you most ; You are, I think, assured I love you not. Ch. Just. I am assured, if I be measured rightly, Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. King. No ! How might a prince of my great hopes forget So great indignities you laid upon me 74 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. What ! rate, rebuke, and roughly send to prison Th' immediate heir of England ? Was this easy ? May this be washed m Letlie, and forgotten ? Ch. Just. 1 then did use the person of your father : The image of his power lay then in me : And, in th' administration of his law, Whiles I was busy for the commonwealth, Your highness pleased to forget my place, The majesty and power of law and justice, The image of the king whom I presented, And struck me in my very seal of judgment : Whereon, as ao offender to your father, J gave bold way to my authority, And did commit you. If the deed were ill, Ee you contented, wearing now the garland, To have a son set your decrees at nought ; To pluck down justice from your awful bench ; To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword That guards the peace and safety of your person ; Nay, more ; to spurn at your most royal image, And mock your workmgs in a second body. Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours : Be now the father, and propose a son ; Hear your own dignity so much profaned. See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted. Behold yourselfso by a son disdained ; And then imagine me taking your part, And, in your power, soft silencmg your son : After this cold considerance, sentence me ; And as you are a king, speak in your state, AVhat 1 have done, th:U misbecame my }/lacc. My person, or my liege's sovereignty. King. You arc right, justice, and you weigh this well Therefore, still bear the balance, and the sword : And T do wisii your honours may increase, Till you do live to see a son of mine Oflend you, and obey you, as I did. Ho shall I live to speak my father's words ;— Happy am /, that have a man so hold., That dares do justice on my proper son : And not less happy having such a son. That would deliver up his grtatness so Into the hands of justice. — You did commit me < POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. Jjj For which, I do commit into your hand Th' unstain'd sword that you have used to bear ; With this remembrance, — That you use the same With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit, That you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand ; You shall be as a father to my youth : My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear : And I will stoop and humble my intents To your well-practised, wise directions. And, princes all, believe me. I beseech you ; My father's gone into his grave, and in His tomb lie all my wild affections ; And with his spirit sadly I survive. To mock the expectation of the world ; To frustrate prophecies ; and to raze out Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down After my seeming. The tide of" blood in me Hath proudly flowed in vanity till now : JVow doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea ; Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, And flow henceforth in formal majesty. Now call we our high court of parliament: And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel, That the great body of our state may go in equal rank with the best governed nation ; > That war, or peace, or both at once, may be As things acquainted and familiar to us ; — In which you, father, shall have foreujost hand. [ To the Lord Chief Justice. This is the English, not the Turkish court. — Brothers, why should you fear me ? — You are not in the despotic country of Turkey, where a monarch, through fear that his brothers should kill him, in order that one of them may usurp the throne, to se- cure his own life takes theirs. You are in Britain, where our knowledge and laws make me your protector ; and the institutions we live under induce me to trust as well as to defend you. Mr. Edgeworth, in Poetry Explained, has rendered the reply to the King into the following prose ; — When the King asks, Was thisee^y ? Can it he easily forgotten ? the judge's remonstrance *iC POETEY FOR SCHOOLS. signifies, '' I then represented the person of your fatlier (who Is supposed to be present in this court of justice ;) his power was then in me, and whilst I was administering the laws, and busy for the common-weal (for the common good,) your highness forgot my office — forgot the power and majesty of the laws and of jus- tice — you forgot your father, v.hom T represented, and struck me on the bench of justice ; whereupon I boldly exerted my author- ity, and sent you to prison. " If you think this wrong, you must be contented when, now you wear the garland, (the crown,) to have jour son set your de- crees at nought, to have him pull down the authority of your judg- ment-seat, to trip and slop the current course of law, and to take off the edge and power of the sword of justice, which guards the peace aud safety of your person ; nay more, you must submit to have your son affront your own royal image, represented and act- ing in the person of your judge, whom you substitute in your place. ••' Question your royal thoughts ; make the case your own ; suppose yourself a father, and that you had a son ; suppose you heard your dignity scorned, and that you saw your laws disdamed ; then imagine me taking your part, and by your power, inherent in me, silencing your son. After having brought these images hefore your mind, and after cool consideration, pass sentence upon me ; and as you are a king, speak, not as a private person, but in the dignity of your public capacity, and declare what 1 have done unbecoming of my office, my person, or your sover- eignty.'' Your highness. — Highness is now a title of honour or respect, addressed in the sons and daughters of the kirig ; formerly it was used in addressing the king or queen." *' The Garland. — Shakspeare, in two or three places, calls the crown the garland." '* Liege's sovereignty. — Liege properly means a person to fvhom a certain duty or obedience is owmg. Formtrly, after the conquest of England by William the Conqueror, when the land of the kingdom was divided amongst his followers, or vassals, in the same manner that lands were usually divided upon the continent, every man, instead of paying rent m money for the land which he held, was bound to supply the person from whom he held it, with a certain number of armed men, on horseback, or on foot. The person to whom he owed this service, was called his liege lord. Persons who were themselves princes, frequently had litge lords over them ; in particular, the emperor pf Germany had a great rOFTTBY FOR SCHOOlrS. TY siumb^rof princes and dukes for his vassals, who were all bound lohim as their liege lord." Therefore still bear the balance and the sword — The chief jus« tice of the king's bench has neither a balance (a pair of scales,) nor a sword, carried before him ; but the allegorical figure of Jus- tice is represented in painting and statuary by a female figure blind- fold, to show that Justice should not respect the persons of people ; with a balance in her left band, to denote that she weighs carefully beforeshe determines ; and with a sword in her right hand, to de* note that Justice can punish offenders with the sword of the law. The Roman magistrates had axes surrounded with rods, carried before them, as emblems of punishment ; the rods to punish small- er offences, the axe to punish greater crimes with death Though the judges have not swords carried before them, yet the king of England, who is the head of the law, and who is represented by the chief justice of the king's bench, has the sword of state carried be- fore him on days of ceremony. '' 'And, princes all, believe me. I beseech you ; My father's gone mto his grave ; and in His tomb lie all mv wild affections, * And, princes, believe me, my father has carried my wildness and youthful follies into his grave with him, foi all my former af- fections or propensities lie there ; and his sedate spirit hves in me, to disappoint the expectation which the world has of my being a a dissipated monarch, and to contradict prophesies and opinions which were formed from my former conduct.' " According to the old histories of Britain, about seventy years before the birth of our saviour, a prince named Lud reigned over the southern part of the island. Lud was murdered, and his broth- er Cassibelan excluded his sons from the throne, and usurped the sovereign power. In the ninth year of the r^ign of Cassibelan, Juhus Caesar, the Roman general, invaded Britain, and Tenan- tius, the younger son of Lud, aided him. When Cassibelan died, Tenantius was restored to his inheritance and agreed to pay tribute to the Romans. Cassibelan had not been so submissive, for when Caesar sent to Mm a messenger, demanding that he should contess himself sub- ject to Rome ; should pay homage, or acknowledge the authori- ty of the Roman government over himself and his dominions; and, moreover, should pay tribute to Rome, Cassibelan refused, paying thatj '♦ The ambition of the RoAians was insatiable, who 7* ^^ POETRY FOR SCHOOIS. i^ouldnot suffer Britain, to them Knew world, placed by nature in the ocean and beyond the bounds of thtir empire, to lie unmo- lested." Cymbeline, the son of Tenantius succeeded his father. In his youth Cymbeline was sent to Rome to be educated, was caress- ed by Augustus, and called the/mndofthe Roman people. The Romans liked to have hereditary princes, of partially conquered countries, come to their capital and dwell with them, that the former might learn their language and laws, and respect their power ; and, when they should return to their own dominions, make their subjects feel that it was desirable to submit to the con- querors. The Romans did not always act thus, for in the first periods of their conquests they treated captive princes with ex- Creme indignity. Shakspeare, represents that Cymbeline refused to pay tribute to Rome, but a commentator thinks this was not the fact, but that 'Tenantius might have refused to pay tribute. Whatever was the truth, Shakspeare imputes this refractoriness to Cymbehne. In 4he play, or History of Cymbeline, Belarius, a British lord, is sup- posed by Cymbeline to connive with the Romans against himself, and, as a punishment, he banished Belarius from his court. Belarius, being unjustly accused by his sovereign, took ven- geance upon him by carrying off two young princes, his sons, and keeping them in a cave till they had grown to be men. At that time the princes became tired of their lonely life in the woods, and thus remonstrated with Belarius. SCENE a Forest with a Cave, in Wales. Enter Belarius, Guiderius, and Arviragus. Bel. A goodly day ! not to keep house, with such Whose roof's as low as ours : see, boys ! this gate instructs you how t'adore the heav'ns ; and bows you To morning's holy office. Gates of monarchs Are arched so high, that giants may jet through And keep their impioui turbans on, without Good-morrow to tho sun. Hail, thou fair heav'n ! Guid- Hail, heaven! Arv. Hail, heaven ! Bel. Now for our mountain sport, up to yon hili Your legs are young : = Oh, this life ^s. nobler than attending for a check ; POETRY FOB SCHOOLS. VO Hicher, than doing nothing for a bauble ; Prouder, than rusthng in unpaid-for silk : No life to ours. Guid. Out of your proof you speak ; we, poor, unfledged Have never winged from view o'th' nest ; nor know, What air's from home Haply, this life is best, If quiet life is best ; sweeter to you. That have a sharper known ; well corresponding With your stiff age ; but unto us, it is A cell of ignorance ; travelling abed; A prison, for a debtor that not dares To stride a limit. Arv. What should we speak of. When we are old as you ? when we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December ? how, In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away ? We have seen nothing - We're beastly ; subtle as the fox for prey. Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat : Our valour is to chase what flies ; our cage We make a choir, as doth the prisoned bird, And sing our bondage freely. Bel. How you speak ! Did you but know the city's usuries, And felt them knowingly ; the art o'th' court, As hard to leave, as keep ; whose top to climb; Is certain falling ; or so slippery, that The fear's as bad as falling ; the toil of war : A pain, that only seems to seek out danger I'th' name of fame and honour ; And hath as oft a sland'rous epitaph, As record of fair act ; nay many time. Doth ill deserve, by doing well : what's worse, Must curtesy at the censure : Oh, boys, this storj The world may read in me : my body's marked With Roman swords ; and my report was once First with the best of note. Cymbeline lov'd me ; And when a soldier was the theme, my name Was not far oflf : then was I as a tree , Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But, in one night, A storm, or robbery, call it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves ; And I«ft me bare to weather. QQ POETBY FOR SCUOOLg. Guid. Uncertain favour ! Bel My fault being notiiirjg, as I have told youofl But that two villains (whose false oaths prevailed Before my perfect honour) swore to CymbelinCy I was confederate with the Romans : so Followed my banisljment ; and, these twenty years, This rock and these demesnes have been my world ; Where I have lived at honest freedom ; But, up to th' mountains This is not hunters' language ; he, that strikes The venison first, shall be the Lord o'th' feast ; To him the other two shall minister, And we will fear no poison, which attends In place of greater state : Pll meet you in the valleys. [Exeunt Guid. and Arvir. How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature ! These boys know little, they are sons to th' King ; Nor Cymbeline dreams, that they are alive. They think, they're mine ; tho' trained up thus meinly I'th' cave, there, on the brow, their thoughts do hit The roof of palaces ; and nature prompts them, In simple and low things, to prince it, much Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore (The heir of Cymbeline and Britaine. whom The King his father ailed Guiderius) Jove! When on my three-foot-stool I sit, and tell The warlike feats Fve done, his spirits fly out Into my story : say, " thus mine enemy fell, " And thus I set my foot upon his neck'' even then The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats. Strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture That acts my words — The younger brother CadwaU, (Once, Arviragus) in as like a figure Strikes life into my speech, and shews much more Ilis own conceiving. — Hark, the game is rouzed.— Oh Cymbeline ! heaven and my conscience know, Thou didst unjustly banish me : whereon, At three and two years old, I stole these babes ; Thinking to bar thee of succession, as Thou reft'st me of mj lands. Euriphile, Thou wast their nurse ; they take thee for their mothet. And every day do honour to thy grave ; TOtT'RV FOR SCHOOLS. SI Myself BelariuSy that am Morgan called, They take for natural father. The ganie*s up. [Exit, this gate. Instructs you how to adore the heavens. &c. This humble habitation of ours teaches our hearts humility. The palaces of princes encourage their pride, but as we roust bow our heads to pass out of this low cave, so we are reminded to prostrate ourselves before the majesty of Heaven. Oh this life Is nobler y &c. Inexperienced youths, in this safe retreat, you know not the fol- lies and vices of mankind. No life is so desirable as ours, for its innocence, peace, and security. Out of your 'proof you speak, &c. You know, for you have lived in the world, what it is — good or bad — but we, unhappily, have received no such information. When we shall become as old as you, how deplorably unfurnish- ed with all knowledge will our minds be — what shall we know to discourse opon ? How you speak y &c. Did you but know the vices of men who inhabit cities ; the arts practised in king's houses ; the needless and cruel toil of war ; the slanders which sometimes follow the best men and the best conduct ; and the submissions which must be made to un- just censurers, you would not desire to abandon your present con- dition for one where so much may be suffered. It may be interesting to the young reader to be told that at ihe conclusion of this drama, the princes were restored to their father, the integrity of Belarius was vindicated, and he was re ceived into favor by Cymbeline. rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. MILTO^'. '' Thy soul was like a star and ducltapari : Th(»u hadst a voice whose sound was like the sca, Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free, So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart Tlie lowliest duties on herself did lay." — Wordsworth. Milton, who is riglitly classed among the most exalted of Brit- ish poets, was the son of a gentlemai. in the middle rank of soci- ety, but the m .ral dignity of his character would have done hon- our to any station. For abjuring the Roman Catholic, and pro- fessing the Protestant faith, the elder Milton was disinherited by his father, and compelled to make his way in the world by indus- try and integrity only ; b»it his ability in business secured to him a competent estate, and the happy turn of his mind rendered a mod- erate fortune sufficient From the childhood of the poet, his father discerned his extraordinary endowments, and trained him with suitable care and skill. Milton was at first educated by a private tutor, then sent to a public school in London, and, at a proper age, was entered ut t 'e university of Cambridge. After his collegiate studies were finished, he spent a few years in a de- lightful rural retirement at Horton in Buckinghamshire, and at the age of thirty repaired to the continent of Europe. All the influ- ences of domestic culture, of self-application, and of foreign trav- el, tended to give the highest finish to the character of a man on whom nature had bestowed the most beautiful countenance, and the most sublime soul. During his residence in France and Italy, Milton's virtues and accomplishments gained him the friendship of some of the most gifted men of the age He lived, in respect to his own country, at a period of political trouble ; but he was neither " a bigot of the iron time" of Cromwell, nor a sycophant in the licentious court of Charles II. He was a true republican, and Cromwell, had distinguished him : consequently, after the Stuart ascended the throne, he fell into obscurity and neglect. But what was in* rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. S3 finitely more afflictive, he was totally deprived of sight at the age of forty-two years. The happiness of this great man depended little upon fortune. His intellectuaj and moral worth gave dig- nity to his condition, and when he was removed from active life, he was not forsaken of honourable friendships. His divine com- •placency, and the consolations that sustained his spirit, are ex- hibited by his own declarations. A person engaged in a controversy with Milton, enraged at the zeal with which he supported the cause of civil and religious liberty, reproached him with his blindness, as a retribution of God upon the principles which he had defended Upon this oc- casion, the poet made the following reply to his accuser : ** I do not regard my lot either with wearmess or compunc- tion ; 1 continue in the same sentiments fixed and immoveable, I do not think God displeased with me, neither is he displeased ; on the contrary, I experience and thankfully acknowledge his paternal clemency and beniirnity towards me in every thing that is of the greatest moment ; specially in this, that he himself ' on- soling and encouragintf my spirit, 1 acquiesce without a murmur in his sacred dispensations. It is through his grace that I find my friends, even more than before, kind and officious towards me — that they are my consolers, honourers, visiters, and assistants. Those who are ui the higliest consideration in the republic, find-, ing that the light of my ey^s d^()arted from me, not being sloth- ful and inactive, but while I was '»vith constancy and resolution placing myself in the foremost post of danger, for the defence of sacred liberty, do not on their part desert me. Nor is it an oc- casion of anguish to mc, though you count it miserable, that I am fallen in vulgar estiaiation into the class of the blind, the un- fortunate, the wretched, and the helpless ; since my hope is, that I am thus brought nearer to the mercy and protection of the uni- versal Father. *' There is a path, as the apostle teaches me, through weak- ness to a more consummate strength ; let me therefore be help- less, so that in my debility the better and more immortal part of our human nature may be more effectually displayed ; so that amidst my darkness, the light of the Divine countenance may shine forth more bright — than shall I be at once helpless, and yet of giant strength: blind, yet of vision most penetrating: thus may I be in this helplessness carried on to fulness of joy, and in this darkness surrounded with the light of eternal day."'— Translated from the Latin of MiUon) JDefensio Secunda, ^4 rOETRY POtt SCHOOLS. The more powerful of Milton^s poems may be found in dif- ferent collections of poetry, as well as in his entire works ; such passage3 as were suitable to this book are here inserted. CoW'* per has translated from Milton's Latin poetry some endearing verses to the poet's father — they are an affecting acknowledge^ ment of the benefits he had derived from that exemplary parent. "TO MY FATHER. •** Thou hatest not the gentle Muse, My father I for thou never badst me tread The beaten path, and broad, that leadst right on To opulence, nor didst condemn thy son To the insipid clamours of the bar, To laws voluminous, and ill observed ; But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill My mind with treasure, led'st me far away From city-din to deep retreats, to banks And streams Aonian : and, with free consent, Didst place me happy at Apollo's side. I speak not now, on more important themes Intent, of common benefits, and such As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts, My Father ! who, when I had opened once Ti)e stores of Roman rlietoric, and learned The full-toned language of the eloquent Greeks, Whose lofty music graced the lips of Jove, Thyself did'st counsel me to add the flow'rs That Gallia boasts, those too, with which the smooth fLalian his degen'rate speech adorns, That witnesses his mixture with the Goth ; And Palastine's prophetic songs divine. To sum the whole, whate'er the heav'n contains, The earth beneath it, and the air between, The rivers and the restless deep, may all Prove intellectual gain to me, my wish Concurring with thy will ; science herself, All cloud remov'd, inclines her beautious head. And offers me the lip, if dull of heart, I shrink not, and decline her gracious boon. POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. ft5 Go now, and gather dross, ye sordid minds, That covet it ; what could my Father more ? What more could Jove himself, unles he gave His own abode, the heav'n, in which he reigns ? More eligible gifts than these were not Apollo's to his son, had they been safe, As they were insecure, who made the boy The world's vice-luminary, bade him rule The radiant chariot of the day, and bind To his young brows his own all-dazzling wreath, I therefore, although last and least, my place Among the learned in the laurel grove Will hold, and where the conqu'ror's ivy twines, Henceforth exempt from the unletter'd throng Profane, nor even to be seen by such. Away, then, sleepless Care, Complaint, away, And, Envy, with ihy "jealous leer malign I" Nor let the monster Calumny shoot forth Her venomed tongue at me. Detested foes ! Ye all are impotent against my peace, S^'or T am privileged, and bear my breast Safe, and too high, for your viperian wound. But thou ! my Father, since to render thanks Equivalent, and to requite by deeds Thy liberality, exceeds my power, Suffice it, that I thus record thy gifts, And bear them treasured in a grateful mind ! Ye too, the favoiite pastime of my youth, My voluntary numbers, if ye dare To hope longevity, and to survive Your master's funeral, not soon absorbed In the oblivious Lethaean gulf. Shall to futurity perhaps convey This theme, and by these praises of my sire Improve the Fathers of a distant age !" The hoy^ the world's vice-luminary. — In mythology is is rela« ted that Apollo, or the Sun, permitted his son Phaeton to driva the celestial coursers, which, according to the fable, bear the suQ round the earth, and that the unpractised charioteer would hare set the world on fire, had he not been precipitated into the liw 3j IPOEtRY FOB SCHOOT^. Lethacan gulf .-^Those who tasted the waters of Lethe forgot tlie past. Milton's minor pieces were written before he was thirty: the Paradise Lost was published when he had attained the age ot sixty years. Comus, L'Allegro, and Penseroso, are delightful, but Paradise Lost has a power and elevation in it, a variety, ami sublimity of excellence, which have given to Milton that rank as a sacred poet which belongs to him only. But his fame was not awarded to him while he lived— his place in society was humble, and he was never distinguished during his life but by a few ot his more discerning contemporaries „ , , , r , ,. "He stood alone," says Mr Campbell,'^ and aloof above his times, the bard of immortal subjects, and, as far as there is per- petuity in language, of immortal tame. The very choice of those subiects bespoke a contempt of any spf^cies of excellence that was attainable by other men. TherR is something that overawes the mind in conceiving his long deliberated selection of that theme- Ins attempting it when his eyes v/ere shut upon the face of nature —his dependence, we might almost say, on supernatural inspira- tion and in the calm air of strength with which he opens Paradise Lost, beginning a imghtv performance without the appearance of an effort 'leaking the subject all in all, his powers could no where else have enjoved the same scope. It was only from the heicrht of this great argument that he could look back upon eter- nity past, and forward upon eternity to come, that he could sur- vey the abyss of infernal darkness, open visions of Paradise, or ascend to heaven and breathe empyreal air." . r.i The subject of Paradise Lost, is taken from that portion ot the Hebrew Scriptures which relates to our first parents. It sup- poses what many Christians admit to be true in theology, that God placed the first human pair in a happy condition and pro- mised that they and all their posterity should remain for ever in that happy state, provided they would obey God ; but that, it they would disobey the divine commands, they should be punish- ed They disobeyed God, were driven out of Paradise and they and all their descendants were, thenceforth, |made hable to sin. sorrow, and death. . Satan, a mahgnant spirit, tempted the first woman to break the prohibition of God, she tempted her husband, and both m con. sequence of their weakness, were driven out from Lden, their primitive dweUing place, and destined to - l^^our and sorrow in some other region. The only allcviaUon which their expui- poETRv van SCHOOLS. 67 131011 from Paradise admitted, was the promise of God, that " one greater man" than Adam should restore his descendants to the nioral image of God, which they had forfeited, and likewise re- concile them to God's government and will. SENTENCE TRONOUNCED ON ADAM AND EVE. In the Xlth Book of the Paradise Lost, Adam and Eve, after they had broken the divine command, are represented as lament- ing their offence, when Michael, a spirit sent from God, descends to them, and commands them to leave their native Paradise. Per reiving his approach, Adam to Eve •" thus spake : Eve, now expect great tidings, which perhaps Of us will soon determine, or impose New laws to be observed ; for I descry From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill One of the heav'niy host, and by his gait. None of the meanest, some great potentate Or of the thrones above, such majesty Invests him coming ; yet not terrible, That I should fear, nor sociably mild, As Raphael, that I should much confide, But solemn and sublime, whom not t' offend, With reverence I must meet, and thou retire. He ended ; and the Archangel soon drew nigh. Notm his shape celestial, but as man Clad to meet man ; over his lucid arms A military vest of purple Jloiced, Livelier than MeliboBan, or the grain Of Sarra, worn by kings and heroes old In time of truce ; Ins had dipt the woof; His starry helm unbuckled showed him prime In manhood where youth ended ; by his side As in a glist'ninsr zodiac hung the sword, Satan's dire dread, and in his hand the spear. Adam bowed low : he kingly from his state Inclined not, but his coming thus declared : Adam, heav'n's high behest no preface needs : Sufficient that thy prayVs are heard, and death, Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress, Defeated of his seizure many days Given thee of grace, wherein thou may'st repent. And one bad act with many deeds well done <^5 rOETRY FOR SCHOOLS. Mayst cover : well may then thy Lord appeased Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious cldim But longer in this Paradise to dwell Permits not ; to remove thee I am come, And send thee from the garden forth to till The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil. He added not, for Adam at the r.ews Heart-struck with chilhng gripe of sorrow stood, That all his senses bound ; Eve, who unseen Yei all had heard, with audible lament Discover'd soon the place of her retire." A military vest, &c. — Fhis magnificent attire of the archan gel is compared with that of Asiatic kings, who in ancient times endeavoured in their warfare to astonish their enemies by their splendour, as well as to overcome hem by their military prowess. Iris had dipt the ivoof — The «>oq/'of any texture is composed of the transverse threads which interlace the threads that form the warp of the woven substance. Iris is the goddess of the rainbow, which exhibits all the prismatic colours, and coneequent- 3j the most pure and vivid hues in nature. THE DEPARTURE FROM PARADISE. The archangel fulfils the commission with which God had in- trusted him with peculiar tenderness to our first parents. They are not driven without gracious preparation into an untried condition of existence. Michael " ascends in the vision of God" with Adam, and foreshows to him the degeneracy and misery of his posterity, but to console him for these tremendous prospects, he reveals to him " salvation by Jesus Christ" — the reformation of a '* per^ verted world»" and the commencement of a kingdom, *' Founded in righteousness and peace and love, To bring forth fruits, joy and eternal bliss." Thus enlightened and encouraged, Adam submissively replies. to his celestial visitant — *' Greatly instructed 1 shall hence depart, Greatly in peace of thought, and have my fill Of knowledge, what this vessel can contain j Beyond which was my folly to aspire. Henceforth I learn, that to obev is best, And love with fear the only God, to walk As in his presence, ever to observe I POETRY FOR SCHOOTJ?, 5^ Ills providence, and on him sole depend ; Merciful over all his works, with good Still overcoming evil, and by small Accomplishing great things, by things deemed weak Subverting worldly strong, and worldly wise By simply meek : that suffering for truth's sake Is fortitude to highest victory. And to the faithful, death the gate of life — • Taught this by his example whom I now Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blest. To whom thus also th' angel last replied. This having learned, thou hast attained the sum Of wisdom ; hope no higher though all the starS Thou knewest by name, and all th' ethereal pow'rs^ All secrets of the deep, all Nature's works. Or works of God in heav'n, air, earth, or sea, And all the riches of this world enjoy 'dst. And all the rui«, one em 'ire ; only add Deeds to thy knowledge answerable, add faith. Add virtue, patience, temperance, add love. By name to come, called Charity, the soul Of all the rest : then wilt thou not be loath To leave this Paradise, but shalt p- ssess A Paradise within thee, happier tar. Let us descend now therefore from this top Of speculation ; for the hour precise Exacts our parting hence ; and see, the guards, By me encamped on ynder hill, — expect Their motion, at whose front a flaming sword In signal of remove, waves fiercely round ; We may no longer stay : go, waken Eve ; Iler also I with gentle dreams have calmed Portending good, and all her spirits composed To meek submission : thou at season fit Let her with thee partake what thou hast heard^. Chiefly what may concern her faith to know ; That ye may live, which will be many days, Both in one faith unanimous though sad, With cause, for evils past, yet much more cheered With meditation on the happy end He ended, and they both descend the hill ; D^gcended, Adjim to the bow'r where Eve 9(f rOETEir FOR SCHOOE^.^ Lay sleeping ran before, but found her waked , And thus with words not sad she him received. Whence thou return*st, and whither went'st, I kiiow^. For God is also in sleep, and dreams advise, Which he hath sent propitious, some great good Presaging, since with sorrow and heart's distress Wearied I fell asleep : but now lead on ; In me is no delay ; with thee to go. Is to stay here ; without thee here to stay, Is to go hence unwilling ; thou to me Art all things under heav'n, all places thou, Who for my wilful crime art banished hence. This further consolation yet secure I carry hence ; thous^h all by me is lost, Such favor I unworthy am vouchsafed, By me the promised seed shall all restore. So spake our mother Eve, and Adam heard Well pleased, but answered not ; for now too nigL Th' archangel stood, and from th' other hill To their fix'd station, all m bright array The cherubim descended ; on the ground Gliding meteorous, as evening mist Risen from a river o*er the marish glides, And gathers ground fast at the lab'rer's heel Homeward returning. High in front advanced. The brandished sword of God before them blazed Fierce as a comet ; which with torrid heat, And vapour as the Lybian air adust, Began to parch that temperate clime ; whereat In either hand the hastening Angel caught Our lingering parents, and to th' eastern gate Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast To the subjected plain ; then disappeared. They looking back, all th' eastern side beheld Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms : Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them soon The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide : They hand in hand, with wand'ring steps and slo^v? Through Eden took their solitary way. POT^TB* von SCHOOIS. 9f PARTHIA. The subject of Paradise Regained may be found in the fourth chapter of the gospel of St. Matthew — it is what is commonly called the Temptation of Christ. When this event occurred, our Saviour had attained the age of thirty years, and was about to begin that moral revolution in the world, which his teaching and example afterwards accomplished. From the gospel history it appears that at this time an evil spirit counselled him to assume the state of a temporal prince ; but to have done this he must have accommodated himself to prevailing vices and institutions wholly incompatible with his high office, and as he came into the world in the name of the Lord his God, he resolved to serve him only, and not the Prince of this world. The tempter " taking him into an exceeding high mountain j showed him all the kingdoms of the world, and the glory oi them." The most remarkable nations then existing were the Parthians, the Greeks and Ro.nans. Parthia, on the ancient maps, was the country immediately east of Syria, and south of the Caspian sea, and contained at that time a populous and pow- erful state. Among the kingdoms which, according to MiltoDj passed under the survey of Jesus, was Parthia, and he has dC" scribed its warfare — military prowess, or mere physical force, being the chief distinction of that barbarous nation. There Artaxata, Teredon. Ctesiphon, Turning with easy eye thou may'st behold. All these the Parthian, now some ages past^ By great Arsaces led. who founded first That empire, under his dominion holds From the luxurious kings of Antioch won. And just in time thou com'st to have a view Of his great power ; for now the Parthian king In Ctesiphon hath gathered all his host Against the Scythian, whose incursions wild Have wasted Sogdiana ; to her aid He marches now in haste. See. though from far. His thousands, in what martial equipage They issue forth, steel bows, and shafts, their armSj Of equal dread in flight, or in pursuit ; All horsemen, in which fight they most excel ; See how in warhke muster they appear, la rhombs and wedges, and half-moons, and wings> Sii POETRY ron scnoniA He looked, and saw what numbers numberless The city-gdtes out-poured, light armed troops In coats of mail and military pride ; In mail their horses clad, yet fleet and strong, Prancing their riders bore, the flower and choice Of many provinces from bound to bound, He saw them in their forms of battle ranged, How quick they wheeled, and flying behind them she Sharp sleet of arrowy showers agamat the face Of their pursuers, and overcame by flight ; The field all iron cast a gleammg brown : Nor wanted clouds of foot, nor on each horn Cuirassiers all in steel for standing fight, Chariots or elephants endorsed with towers Of archers, nor of laboring pioneers A multitude with spades *nd axes armed * To lay hills plain, fell woods, or valleys fill, Or where plain was, raise hill, or overlay With bridges rivers proud, as with a yoke ; Mules after these, camels and dromedaries, And wagons fraught with u ensils of war. Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp, When Agrican with all his northern powers Besieged Albracca, as rom mces tell. The city of Gallaphorne, from whence to win The fairest of her sex Angelica His daughter, sought by many prowest knight Both Paynim, and the peers of Charlemagne : Such and so numerous was their chivalry." Agrican with all his northern powers, &c. — This and the five following|lines furnish a comparison between some fictitious army and that of Parthia. Charletnagne was Emperor of the Franks, since called the French, and a great promoter of the civilization of Europe. He lived A. D. 800, but the French romance wri ters composed many fictions concerning his achievements, and fc one of these Milton refers in this place, Proivest knighis. — Courageous and strong knighlSi P«»/m>.— Pagan, rOETKV FOR SCHOOLS* e^ ROME. Milton had been at Rome. Her ruins still testify her forme matn ficence, and he doubtless fel'- all that the contemplation ot ^r^departed glory inspires. The time he describes was in the reTgn of Tiberius, the successor of Augustus. The city of Rome hTbeen increasing in riches and f -^^<^- ^^^ .^^^ ^^cS and for three of these centuries the Ro:nan ^^^f^^^^^f ^^^^^^ bevond the limits of Italy. The commerce of ^^^^^^^'^^ from Britain to India ; and the inhabitants of this vast metropolis computed to be sev;ral millions, consisted, like Jerusalem ol crr««1or«nd^^ heaven, that is, of people from all countnes then civilized. This is sufficiently plain from the ammated dc^ scription given of Rome by Milton : *« He brought our Saviour to the western side Of that high mountain, whence he might behold Another plain, thence in the midst Divided by a river, of whose banks On each side an imperial city stood, With tow'rs and temples proudly elevate On sev'n small hills, with palaces adorned, Porches an i theatres, baths, aqueducts, Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs, Gardens and groves presented to his eyes, Above the height of mountains interposed. The city which thou seest no other deem Than great and glorious Rome, queen of the eartii So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched Of nations : there the capitol thou seest Above the rest lifting his stately head On the Tarpeian rock, her citadel Impregnable ; and there mount Palatine, Th' imperial palace, compass huge and high The structure, skill of noblest architects. With gilded battlements, conspicuous far. Turrets and terraces, and glittering spires ; Many a fair edifice besides, more like Houses of God, thou may'si behold Outside and inside both, pillars and roots, ^^ roETRr FOTi scnooig. ] Carved work, the hand of famed artificers In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold. Thence to tlie gates cast round thine eye, and sec What conflux issuing forth, or entering in, Pra3tors, proconsuls to their provinces Hastin?, or to return, in robes of state ; Lictors and rods, tlie ensigns of their power, Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings ; Or embassies from regions far remote. In various habits on the Appian road, Or on tir iEinilian, some from farthest south, Syene, and where the shadow both way falls, Meroe Nilotic isl«, and more to west. The realm of I'occhus to the Black-moor sea ; From th' Asian kings and Parthian among these, From India and the golden Chersonese, And utmost Indian isle Taprobane, Dusk faces with wliito silken turbans wreathed From Gallia, Gades, and the British west. Germans and Scythians, and Sarmatians north Beyond Danubiusto the Tauric pool. AH nations now to Rome obedience pay» To Rome's great Em >eror, whose wide domain In ample territory, wealth and power, Civility of manners, arts and arms. And long renown, thou justly mayest prefer Before the Parthian ; the^e two thrones except, The rest are barbarous, and scarce worth the sight. Shared among petty kings too far removed ; These havuig shown ihee, I have shown thee all The kingdoms of the world, and all their glory." The reader who has been instructed in history, knows that this .splendour has in the course of years passed away, and that though travellers still resort to Rome for the gratification of curiosity, yet the monuments of its greatness form the present attraction to it. Under the Emperors, such bloody civil wars raged at Rome, that ik became an unsafe and unhappy residence; the arts of peace were neglected, and its population insensibly diminished. The Goths and other barbarians devastated the empire ; and in A. D. 176 Rome was abandoned by its last Emperor. Then Genseric and Alaric, two barbarian generals, with their infatuated armies, took and ravaged the city of the Caesars. But they did not cn rOBTRY FOB SCHOOLS. 9^ iirMv demolish it— it has ever retained its name, and after its con- querors grew weary of destruction, civilization sprung up from its^as^s.^ 800 Charlemagne, who included Italy in his domin- ions yielded the city to the Pope, formerly the Bishop of Rome From that time Rome became the capital of a new dommion^ that of the Catholic religion : and the fine arts of pamtmg, sculp- ture and architecture, have attamed to high perfection in modern Rome Still Rome continual^ decays, and its present popula- tion httle exceeds 100,000. Mr. Pope describes Rome thus ! *' See the wild waste of all-devourirg years 1 How Rome her own sad sepulchre r-.ppears, With nodding arches, broken temples spread The very tombs now vanished like their dead ! Imperial wonders raised on nations spoiled. Where mixed with slaves the groaning martyr toiled i Huge theatres, that now unpeopled woods, Now drained a distant cuntry of her floods : Fanes, which admiring gods with pride survey ; Statues of men scarce l-ss alive than they 1 Some felt the silent stroke of mouldcrmg age, Some hostile fury, some religious rage. Barbarian bhndness, Christian zeal conspire, And Papal piety, and Gothic fire. Perhaps, by its own ruins saved from flame. Some buried marb'-e half preserves a name ; That name the learned with fierce disputes pursue, And give to Titus old Vespasian's due." Barbarian blindness. Christian zeal conspire, And Papal piety, and Gothic fre — These several causes contributed to the destruction of Rome^ The Goths with undiscermng fury, burnt, battered down and buried many beautiful works of ancient arts ; and the Catholic Christians, finding among the buildmgs of Rome ^lany heathen temples and manv statues of ancient gods and heroes, thought it their duty to destroy those remains of Paganism. Soine buried marble half preserves a name. It has become desirable among the curious and the learned t6 recover and identify as much as possible of the buried sculpture of ancient Rome. Much of this has been dismterred, and many dQ POETHY FOB SCHOOLS. disputes among connoisseurs have originated in the doublful chaf' acter of these marbles. The most animated and touching commemoration of ruined Rome is by Lord Byron. This great poet visited that city within a few years of this time, and his imagination, saddened in all its views by affliction, has formed a most striking picture of the des- olation of that great Babylon. — *' Oh Rome ! my country ! city of the soul! The orphans of the heart must turn to thee, Lone mother of dead empires ! and control In their shut breasts their pettv misery. What are our woes and sufferance ? come and see The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way O'er steps of broken throne.- and temples, Ye ! Whose agonies are evils of a day — A world is at our feet as fragile as our clay. The Niobe of nations ! there she stands, Childless and crownless, in her voiceless wo j An empty urn within her withered hands, Whose holy dust was scatter'd long ago ; The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; The very sepulchres lie tenantless or their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow, Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? Hise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress. The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, Have dealt upon the seven-hill'd city's pride ; She saw her glories star by star expire. And up the steep barbarian monarchs ride, Where the car climbed the capitol ; far and wide Temple and tower went down, nor left a site :*— Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void, O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, And say, ' here was, or is,' where all is doubly night ? The double night of ages, and of her, Night's daughter, Ignorance, hath wrapt and wraps All round us ; we but feel our way to err : The ocean hath his chart, the stars their map, And Knowledge spreads them in her ample lap ; POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. But Rome is as the desert, where we steer Stumbhng o'er recollections ; now we clap Our hands, and cry ' Eureka !' it is clear — - When but some false mirage of ruin rises near, Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass The conquror's sword in bearing fame away ! Alas, for TuUy's voice, and Virgil's lay, And Livy's pictur'd page ! — but these shall be Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free !' The Niobe of nations. — This metaphor alludes to a well-known classical fable. Niobe, a princess of Lydia, had twelve beauti- ful children, six sons and six daughters. Latona, the mother of Diana and Apollo, had only those two children, but Niobe boast- ed that herself and her beautiful children were more proper ol> jects of worship than Latona and her children. To punish this insolence, Apollo and Diana destroyed Niobe's sons and daugh- ters ; and Niobe, overwhelmed by her misfortune, was changed to stone, and became the source of a rivulet. This account of Niobe is taken from Homer. Achilles, in the twenty-fourth book of the Iliad, says to Priam, who is mourning the death of his sow HectoT, "But now the peaceful hours of sacred night Demand refection, and to rest invite : Nor thou, O father ! thus consumed with wo, The common cares that nourish life, forego. Not thus did Niobe, of form divine, A parent once, whose sorrows equalled thine : Six youthful sons, as many blooming maids, In one sad day beheld the Stygian shades ; These by Apollo's silver bow were slain, Those, Cynthia's arrows stretched upon the plain. So was her pride chastised by wrath divine, Who matched her own with bright Latona's line ; But two the goddess, twelve the queen enjoyed ; Those boasted twelve th' avenging two destroyed. Steeped in their blood, and in the dust outspread^ 9 ?D POETRY FOR BCUOOfLff, Nine days neglected lay exposed the dead ; None by to weep lliem, to inhume them none ; (For Jove had lamed the nation ail to stone :) The gods themselves at length relenting gave Th' unhappy race the honours of a grave, Herself a rock (for such was heaven's high will,) Thro' deserts wild now pours a weeping rill ; Where round the bed whence Achelous springs, The wat'ry fairies dance in mazy rings, There high on Sypalus his shaggy brow. She stands her own sad monument of wo ; The rock for ever lasts, the tears for ever flow." Mirage^ an optical illusion which occurs in sandy deserts. The distant sands to the eye of the thirsty traveller assumes the ap- pearance of water, and he fancies that he shall be refreshed, but as he approaches the supposed wares he is cruelly undeceived. — In the same manner, the poet supposes that a traveller who should seek in modern Rome for some object of which he has read in works of antiquity, would be as much deceived in imagin- ing he had got sight of it as the traveller in the desert is deceived by the mirage. The last stanza, from Lord Byron, laments the intellectual de- generacy of modern Rome, where no patriot like Brutus, no ora- tor like Cicero, no poet like Virgil, no historian like Livy, now exists. Yet, the poet intimates that the spirit of these immortal minds yet lives, and may still revive the genius of liberty which has been stifled by the influences of despotism and superstition. In describing the glories of the world, to disregard a place ^vhere the human mind had attained the highest perfection, and where the arts had flourished for ages, would have been an over- sight not at all characteristic of the pervading intelligence which comprehended the various genius of them all. Therefore, before he descends from the mount of observation, the tempter stops awhile to point out the distinguishing genius of Athens. That city had then for two centuries been under the dominion of Rome, but her language, her monuments, her traditions, and many of her institutions still existed ; and thither the best educated of the Homans resorted to complete their course of study. Milton's verses represent Athens thus ; POETRY FOB SCHOOIS. 99 Behoia Where on the iEgean shore a city stands Built nobly, pure the air, and light the soil, Athens the eye of Gteece, mother of arts And eloquence, native to famous wits Or hospitable, in her sweet recess, City or suburban, studious walks and shades ► See there the olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where th- Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long. There flowery hill Hymettus with the sound Of bees' industrious murmur oft invites To studious musing ; there Ilissus rolls His whisp'ring stream ; within the wall then view The schools of ancient sages ; his who bred Great Alexander to subdue the world, Lyceum there, and painted Stoa next : Tiiere shalt thou hestr and learn the seeret powei^ Of harmony in tones and numbers hit By voice or hand, and various measured rerse, iEolian charms and Dorian lyric odes, And bis who gare them breath, but higher sung. Blind Melesigenes thence Homer called, Whose poem Phcebus challeng^jd for his own. Thence what the lofty grave tragedians taught In chorus or iambic , teachers best Of moral prudence, with delight received In brief sententious precepts, while they treat Of fate and chance, and change in human hfe ; High actions and high passions best describing. Thence to the famous orators repair, Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence Wielded at will that fierce democratic. Shook th' arsenal and fulmined oTer Greece, To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne. To sage philosophy next lend thine ear, From heav'n descended to the low-rooft house Of Socrates; see there his tenement, Whom well inspired the oracle pronounced Wisest of men ; from whose mouth issued forth Mellifluous streams that watered a'l the schools Of academics, old and new, with those Sirnamed Peripatetics, and the sect Epicurean, and the Stoic severe 200 POETEY FOR SCHOOLS. The poets, orators, and philosophical schools of Athens arc only mentioned here, ^schylus, Sophocles, and Euripides were the grave tragedians— ^eac^er* best of moral prudence. The challenge of Phoebus means that Homer's poetry was declared by some to be that of Apollo himself. jEoUan charms and Do- rian lyric odes, alludes to different measures and dialects of Greek poetry. He, who bred great Alexander, was the philoso- pher Aristotle. The chief of the thundering orators, was De- mosthenes, who exhorted his countrymen, by the most powerful eloquence, to resist Philip of Macedon ; and Socrates was so pure, humble, and powerful a moralist, that he has sometimes been compared with the founder of our religion. COMUS. Among the ancients, Comus was the God of low pleasures- - of those noisy and foolish frolics which are suited to night rather /nan to day, and which some ignorant and iuteinperate people dehght in. Milton's Masque of Comus is a beautiful poem : it is founded upon the supposed power which Comus possesses over the minds of the pure and wise, and over the weak and sensual. Milton presumes that when men devote themselves to the rites of Comus, that is to excessive drinking, and, as the Gospel says, to *' riotous living," they become m reality feeas?^, though they know not that they are thus dei^raded, but, that jf the mind is firm in good principles, it will resist every attraction of vice, and retain its innocence under the strongf^st temptations. Comus ivas written in the dramatic form, to be represented by the Earl of Bridgewater's family at Ludlow Castle. The Fable of Comus is this— A beautiful lady, accompanied by her two brothers, is journeying through the perplexed paths of a drear wood. A spirit from heaven, charged with the care of the yount; travellers, secretly watches over them, but the brothers for a while are separated from their sister. The lady, in the absence of her brothers, is found by Comus, but she resists all his attrac- tions ; and though she is endangered, finally escapes from his snares. " Comus enters with a charming-rod in one hand, his glass in the other ; with him a rout of monsters, headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel glistening ; they came in making a riotous and unruly noise, with torches in their hands." The lady hears this noise, but does not see the revellers. She yOF.TRf FOR SCBTOOLS. 101 is introduced listening and in doubt, but encouraging herself in her own innocence, and in the gracious protection of the " Su- preme Good." The Lady enters. " This way the noise was, if niine ear be true, My best guide now ; methought it was the sound Of riot and ill-managed merriment, Such as the jocund flute, or gamesome pipe Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds, When from their teeming flocks, and granges full, In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan, And thank the gods amiss, I should be loath To meet the rudeness, and swilled insolence Of such lafe wassailers ; yet O where else Shall I inform my unacquainted feet In the blind mazes of this tangled wood ? My brothers, when they saw me wearied out With this long way^ resolving here to lodge Under the spreading favor of these pines, Stept, as they said, to the next thicket side To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit As the kind hospitable woods provide. They left me then, when the grey-hooded Even. Like a sad votaiistin Palmer's weed, Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phccbus' wain. But where they are, and why they came not back.. Is now the labour of my thoughts: * * * ^ * * * ^ thousand fantasies Begin to throng into my memory. Of calling shapes, and beck'ning shadows dire, And aery tongues, that syllable mens' names, On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses. These thoughts may startie well, but not astound The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended By strong siding champion, conscience. — welcome pure-ey'd Faith, white-handed Hope, Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings, And thou unblemished form of chastity ; 1 see ye visibly, and now believe That he, the Supreme Good, t' whom all things ill Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, Would send a glist'ring guardian if need were To keep mv life and honour untssailed, 9*^ i 02 i^oETRY FOB icnoot? Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night ? T did not err, there does a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night, And casts a gleam over this tufted grove. I cannot hallow to my brothers, but Such noise as I can make to be heard farthes? I'll venture, for my new enlivened spirits Prompt me ; and they perhaps are not far off. SONG. Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen Within they aery shell. By slow Meander's margent green, A.fld in the violet embroidered vale. Where the love-lorn nightingale Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair That like thy Narcissus are ? O if thou have Hid them in some flow'ry cave. Tell me but where, Sweet queen of parly, daughter of the sphere, So may'st thou be translated to the skies, And give resounding grace to all heav'n's harmonies CoMUs appears to tlie lady in the disguise of a shepherds Com. Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould ^^i Breatli such divine, enchanting ravishment ? Sure something holy lodges in that breast. And with these raptures moves the "vocal air To testify his hidden residence : How sweetly did they float upon the wings Of silence, through the empty vaulted night, At every fall smoothing the raven down Of darkness till it smiled ! I have oft heard My Mother Circe with the Sirens three , Amidst the flowery kirtled Naiades Culling their potent herbs, and baleful drugs, Who as they sung, would take the prisoned soul, And lap it in Elysium ; Scylla wept, And chid her barking waves into attention, Apdfell Charybdis murmured soft applause, POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. lOo Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the seus€j And in sweet madness robbed it of itself; But such a sacred, and homefelt delight. Such sober certainty of waking bliss I never heard till now. Pll speak to her^ And she shall be my queen. Hail foreign wonder. Whom certain these rough shades did never breeds Unless the goddess that in rural shrine Dwell'st here with Pan, or Silvan, by blest Song Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog To touch the prosp'rous growth of this tall wood. Lady. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is that praise lost That is addressed to unattending ears ; Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift How to regain my severed company, Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo To give me answer from her mossy couch. Comus, What chance, good lady, hath bereft you thus ? Lady. Dim darkness and this leafy labyrinth. Cornw^. Could that divide you from near-ushering guides '; Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf Comus. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why ? Lady. To seek i' th' valley some cool friendly sprint, Comus. And left your fair side all unguarded, Lady ? Lady. They were but twain, and purposed quick return Comus. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them. Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit ! Comus. Imports their loss, beside the present need ? Lady. No less than if I should my brothers lose. Comus. Were they of manly prime, or youthful bloom ? Lady. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazored lips. Comus, Two such I saw what time the labored ox In his loose traces from the furrow came, And the swinkt hedger at his supper sat ; 1 saw them uader a green mantling vine That crawls along the side of yon small hill, Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; Their port was more than human, as they stood ; I took it for a faery vision Of some gay creatures of the element. That in the colours of the rainbow live, And play i' th' plighted clouds. 1 was awe-struckj And as I passed, I worshiped ; if those you seek; U w«rQ a journey like the path to Heaven^ . ? ^04 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. To help you find them. Lady. Gentle Villager, What readiest way would bring me to that place . Comus. Due west it rises from this shrubby point. Lady. To find out that, ^ood Sher)herd, I suppose. In such a scant alk.wance of star-light, Would overtask tho b^st land-pilot's art. Without the sure guess of well-practised fce(. Comus. I know each lane, and every alley ^reen. Dingle, or bushy dell ofthis wild wood. "^ And every bosky bourn from side to side, My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood j And if you stray-attendance be yet lodg'd, Or shroud within these limits, i shall know Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark From her thatched pallet rouse ; if otherwise I can conduct you, Lady, to a low But loyal cottage, vhere you may be safe Till further quest. Lady. Shepherd, J take thy word, And trust thy honest offered ct)urtesy, Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds With smoky rafters, than m tap'stry halls And courts of princes, where ii first was named, And yet is most pretended : in a place Less warranted than this, or less secure, 1 can not be, that I siiould fear to change it. Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial To my proportions strength. Shepherd', lead on/ " Milton has been accused as being deficient in respect to the lemale character. He speaks of Eve, in regard to Adam, as '' not equal," and seems to consider her as not altogether worthy to discourse with the anjrel who came from Heaven to Paradise 13ut nothing can surpa.v^s the delicacy and elevation of sentiment with which he represents the Lady in Comus, nor does he seem to consider her as a solitary instance of the excellence and loveli- ness peculiar to her sex. The celestial Spirit who attends the brothers and their sister distinguishes between those low-minded beings, all whose thoughts are limited to this world, and that superior order, ' POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. J0{> •'-- tliatbydue steps aspire To lay their just hands on that golden key That opes the palace of Eternity : — To such my errand is^^ — says he. And the Lady's brotliers, when they have left her, arc relieved by the conviction of her exalted purity of their natural apprehension for her safety. One of them says — My sister is not so defenceless left As you imagine ; she has a hidden strength Which you remember not. •H- * ^^ *•}(■■)(■ ^ So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity. That when a soul is found sincerely so, A thousand liveried Angels lacky her, Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, And in clear dream and solemn vision. Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, Till oft converse with heavenly habitants Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape, The unpolluted temple of the mind. And turn it by degrees to the soul's essencej Till all be made immortal," Circe — the mother of Coinus, was an enchantress who inhabit ed an island of the Mediterranean, and who, like her son, trans- formed her associates to brutes. The Syrens three — were females who inhabited a small island near Sicily. They charmed Faarines by their delightful voiceSj and made them delay their voyage. Scylla wept. — Scylla was a female who was transformed to a monster by the arts of Circe, and was fixed to the strait of Messi- na. A whirlpool on the coast opposite to Scylla was Charyhdis Naiades. Young and beautiful virgins who presided over rivers and fountains. Echo sweetest nymph. — Echo is the return of sound — but the mythology supposes that Echo is the voice of a female, who, as a punishment for loquacity, is invisible, and only permitted to re- peat the words of others. Narcissus was a beautiful youth whom Echo loved. 106 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. Meander — was a river of Asia Minor, remarkable for its wind- ing course Pan and Sylvan — were wood gods. ' Hebe — a youthful goddess, very beautiful. Canova's statue of Hebe is among the most admired works of that artist. »RYD«Jr. This eminent poet was born in 1631, and died in 1700. Hie poetry is not of a character to interest the young, but the pass- ages inserted among these specimens serve to illustrate the manners of a past age, and therefore properly belong to a collection of poetry which is intended not merely to contain ver- ses, but also to exhibit facts that are connected with the poetry of the English language. TOURNAMENTS. Chivalry went out of use because the laws in Europe were im- proved by the increasing kPiOvvlcrig!^ and good sense of the peo- ple. When the order of government and the authority of the laws were generally understood and acknowledged in England, the rights of all people were no longer defended by the strife of arms, but were settled by courts of justice, and all ranks of the nation learned to respect each other. The English barons first disputed the arbitrary power of the kmgs, and the people learned from their example to consider themselves men ; and all classes in society, because they knew better, left off preying upon their weaker neighbors. The English nobility, when fighting began to be less needed as as a defence, began to take care of their estates, and at length they gave up the military service of the vassals, who continued peaceable laboroers upon the grounds of the landholders. The laws and the public opinion no longer permitted men to take up arms except in the service of the state, when the Parliament and the king should order them to do so. The evils which had disturbed society, for the want of knowl- edge, and the want of laws properly administered, ceased to ex- ist ; but the amusements and public spect^icles which had been con- nected with Chivalry, tboiigt) Chivalry no longer continued as the profession of gentlemen, still interested people. The most mem rosTRyroB SCHOOLS. 107 orable of the exhibitions connected with Chivalry, was the Tourna- ment or Passage of Anns. This was a trial of strength and skill at the rarious exercises which the Knights-errant and gentlemen- soldiers had practised in actual warfare. The Tournament was usually held by the desire of some prince or distinguished noble- man, and was practised in France and England. The novel of Ivanhoe gives a delighfuldescription of a tournament held at Ash- by in the county of Leicester in England It may be that this very tournament never took place, but without doubt that interesting relation is a faithful picture of such tournaments as were actually exhibited. For the purpose of exhibiting the tournament, a smooth surface of ground of considerable extent was chosen, and an oblong square, about a quarter of a mile in length, and an eighth of a mile in breadth, was enclosed by palisades :— gates at the oppo- site ends of this enclosure admitted the combatants. The tents or pavilions of these Champions were ornamented with flags and pennons — these were of the particular colour which was usually worn by the Knights. " The cords of the tents were of the same colour. Before each pavilion was suspended the shield of the Knight by whom it was occupied, and beside it stood his squire, quaintly disguised as a savage or sylvan man, or in some other fantastic dress, according to the taste of his master, and the char- acter which he was pleased to assume during the game. From the entrance into the lists, a gently sloping passage led up to the platform on which the tents were pitched, and the whole was guarded by men-at-arms." The vvhol« enclosed space was called the Lists. To regulate the proceedings, and to preserve order, trumpeters, heralds, and armed men were disposed in suitable places within the lists. To enter the lists, is a figurative expression still used to signify enter- ing into competition with others in a difficult undertaking. The Champions were the Challengers — those who defied others to contend with them for the mastery in certain exercises. At the extremity of the lists, opposite to that occupied by the Champions, as a space reserved for such ^' Knights as might be disposed to enter the lists with the challengers, behind which were placed tents containing refreshments of every kind for their ac- commodation, with armourers, farriers, and other attendants in readiness to give their services wherever they might be necessary, ^' The exterior of the lists was in part occupied by temporary galleries spread with tapestry and carpets, and accommodated with cushions for the convenience of those ladies and nobles whe !08 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. attended the tournament. A narrow space, betwixt these galleries and the lists, gave accommodation for yeomanry and spectators of a better degree than the mere vulgar, and might be compared to the pit of a theatre. The promiscuous multitude arranged themselves upon large banks of lurf prepared for the purpose, which, aided by the natural elevation of the ground, enabled them to look over the galleries and obtain a fair view into the lists. Be* sides the accommodation which these situations afforded, many hundreds perched themselves on the branches of surrounding trees, and even the steeple of the neighbouring church was crowd- ed with spectators." '^ Neither duty nor mfirmity could keep youth or age from such exhibitions." A gallery, more distinguished and adorned than the others was, on these occasions, fitted up for the presiding prince and his retinue ; and opposite to it was another gallery for the ac- commodation of the most noble and beautiful ladies. From among these the conquering Knight waa expected to choose the fairest, whose office it was to crown the hero of the day with her own hand— and this lady, after she had been thus distinguish- ed, was considered as the Queen of Love and Beautv. These were " Such sights as poets dream On summer eve by haunted stream." It was assemblies collected upon such brilliant occasions, con« Cerning which Milton wrote, that, throngs of knights and barons bold In weeds of peace high triumphs hold, And store of ladies with bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace whom all commend." Tournaments have been compared to the Olympic ^ames of ancient Greece, but the circumstance of admitting the ladies, and that of clothing the combatants with art and elegance, made the Tournament a far more beautiful spectacle than the contests of Greece. The design of the combatants at the tournaments was for one of the antagonists to disable the other, either, by throwing him frorn his horse or breaking his lance. The skill which was mu- tually displayed in managing the horse, and in maintaining a long contest with grace and activity, made these exhibitions very in POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 109 leresting ; and, as it always happened, that for some reason or other, one of the antagonists would, at the commencement of the trial, be preferred to the other, the hopes and fears of his admir- ers formed great part of the pleasure derived from the exhibition. The challengers proposed to others who would come, the De- fiance — which means, that they declared their personal dignity and skill in arms superior to any adversary's, unless it should be found upon trial that those who dared to encounter were able to vanquish them. The number of challengers mentioned in Ivanhoe was five ; the challengers were not to refuse to encounter any that should propose themselves. Any knight who should come might select his antagonist by touching his shield with his lance. If the touch was made with the blunt end of the lance, that intimated that the combat was to be conducted without a designed attack upon the lifeof either combatant ; but if the shield was touched with the sharp end, it intimated that the Knights v/ere to fight as in actual battle. *' When the Knights present had accomplished their vow, by oach of them breaking five lances, the Prince who should preside at the tournament was to declare the victor in the first day's tour- ney, who should receive, as prize, a war-horse of exquisite beau- ty and matchless strength ; and in addition to this reward of val- our, it was announced he should have the pecuhar honour of nam- ing the Queen of Love and Beauty, by whom the prize should be given on the ensuing day. *' It was also announced that on the second day, there should be a general tournament, in which all the Knights present, who were desirous to win praise, might take part ; and being divided into two bands of equal numbers, might fight it out manfully, until the signal was given by the Prince to cease the combat. The elected Queen of Love and Beauty was then to crown the Knight whom the Prince should adjudge to have borne himself best in this second day, with a coronet composed of thin gold plate, cut into the shape of a laurel crown. On this second day the knightly games ceased. But on that which followed, feats of archery"^ of bull-baiting and other popular amusements, were to be practised for the more immediate amusement of the populace. *' The lists presented a most splendid spectacle. The sloping galleries were crowded with all that was noble, great, wealthy, and beautiful in the country ; and the contrast of the various Oresse^ oi" thiRse dignified spectators, rendeied the view asgaj a§^ 10 110 rOETRY FOR 8CH0019. it was rich, while the interior and lower space, filled with the sul)- stantial burgesses and yeomen of merry England, formed, in their more plain attire, a dark fringe, or border, around this circle of brilliant embroidery, relieving, and, at the same time, setting off its splendour. Before the commencement of the tournament the laws which regulated it were proclaimed by a herald, and order was preserv- ed by men-at arms, or marshals, who carried battle axes in their hands, and sometimes struck the disorderly with the pommel of their swords. " The heralds ceaeed their proclamation with their usual cry of 'Largesse, largesse, gallant Knights ;' and gold and silver pie- ces were showered on them from the galleries, it being a high point of chivalry to exhibit liberality towards those who were ac- counted the brightest ornaments of their age. The bounty of the spectators was acknowledged by the customary shouts of 'Love of Ladies — Death of Champions — Honour to the Generous — Glo- ry to the Brave !'' To which the more humble spectators added their acclamations, and a numerous band of trumpeters the flour- ish of their martial instruments. ^' When these sounds had ceased, the heralds withdrew from the lists in gay and gUttering procession, and none remained within them save the marshals of the field, who, armed cap-a-pee, sat on horseback, motionless as statues, at the opposite ends of the lists. Meantime, the enclosed space at the northern extremity of the lists, large as it was, was completely crowded with Knights desirous to prove their skill against the challengers, and, when viewed from the galleries, presented the appearance of a sea of waving plumage, intermixed with glistening helmets, and tall lances, to the extremities of which were, in many cases, attach- ed small pennons of about a span's-breadth, which, fluttering in the air as the breeze caught them, joined with the restless motion of the feathers to add liveliness to the scene. " At length the barriers were opened, and five Knights, chosen by lot, advanced slowly mto the area ; a single champion riding in front, and the other four following in pairs." The foregoing description is borrowed from Ivanhoe : it leaves the tournament at its commencement, but it tells the uninformed what a tournament was. All that was proclaimed was done — • The strife followed, — some were defeated and some were victori- ous — some retired from the field covered with blood and wounds, mortified and disgraced ; others went oflf in due time, followed by looks of admiration and acclamations of praise. The erown ' ri>&TRY FOB SCHOOLS. Ill of that day was the renown of all their days, and the name of the Knight was not afterwards mentioned without that of the field of his glory. But *' The Knights are dust, And their good swords are rust," and all that they did, lives only in the page of the poet. " Their % escutcheons have long mouldered from the walls of their castles. Their castles themselves are but green mounds and shattered ruins — the place that once knew them knows them no more — nay, many a race since theirs has died out and been forgotten in the very land which they occupied, with ah the authority of feudal proprietoi s and feudal lords. What then would it avail the reader to know their names, of the evanescent symbols of their martial rank !" Theirs was not true glory. There is another glory, the most durable and the most estimable — it is that which follows great services rendered to mankind by great goodness and great genius. That navigator who gave one half of the world to the other half — that poet whom Milton calls, " Dear son of memory, great heir of fame" — those defenders of religion who feared not principali- ties and powers, but counted their lives cheap, so that they showed the truth and established it ,- and that peaceful legislator %vho gave his name to the wild woods, and laid the foundation of a state, according to the rules of the gospel, have all benefited mankind, and inherit true fame. — One by his immortal pen has sweetened and gladdened life, and the others by their divers la- bours, have relieved men from burthens grievous to be borne. — They have taken off fetters from the human understanding, have given a wider sphere to human intelligence, and a better di- rection to human conduct. As was very natural, the ancient warriors held their horses in high esteem : they even fancied that this most beautiful of ani- mals entered into their feelings, and partook of their glory or their irrief. The rider would -bestride The noble steed as if he felt himself In his own proper seat. — Look how he leans To cherish him ; and how the gallant horse Curves up his stately neck, and bends his head. n2 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. As if again to court that gentle touch, And answer to the voice that praises him." And afterwards upon the spot where his lord might have been ylain or conquered, this faithful animal would sometimes be found. *' his silver mane Sprinkled with blood, which hung on every hair Aspersed like dew drops — trembling th(,re he stood From the toil of battle, and at times sent forth His tremulous voice, far echoing wide and shrill, A frequent anxious cry, with which he seemed To call the master whom he loved so well, And who had thus again forsaken him." These verses of Mr. Southey's describe Orelio, the vvar-Iiorse of of Roderick, the last Gothic king of Spain. Attachment and admiration for the horse, appear to be almost universal. The Hebrew poet, whoever he was who composed the book of Job, has given a sublime description of the war- horse : *' Hast thou given the horse strength ? hast thou clothed his neck witii thunder ? Canst thou make him afraid as a grass- hopper ? The glory of his nostrils is terrible. He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength : he goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted ; neither turneth he back from the sword. The quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear and the shield. He swal\(»weth the ground with fierceness and rage : neither believeth he that it is the sound of the trumpet. He saith among the trumpets, Ha, ha, and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the .'^bouting." EXTRACT FROM PALAMON ATv'D ARCITE ' " In Athens all was pleasure, mirth and play, All proper to the spring, and sprightly May. Now scarce the dawning day began to spring, As at a signal given, the streets witli clamors ring At once the crowd arose ; confused and high Even from the heaven was heard a shouting cry. The neighing of the generous horse was heard, For battle by the busy groom prepared ; Rustling of harness ; rattling of the shield ; Clattering of armour, furbished for the field. Crowds, to the castle, mounted up the street, POETRY FOE SCHOOLS. ItS Battering the pavement with their courser's feet ; The greedy sight might, there, devour the gold Of gUttering arms, too dazzling to behold : And polished steel that cast the view aside, And crested morions, with their plumy pride. Knights, with a long retinue of their squires, In gaudy liveries march, and quaint attires. One laced the helm, another held the lance : A third the shining buckler did advance. The courser pawed the ground with restless feet And, snorting, foamed, and champed the golden bit. The smiths and armoers on palfreys ride. Files in their hands, and hammers at their side, And nails for loosen'd spears, and thongs for shields provide. The yeoman guard Hie streets in seemly bands ; And clowns come crowding on with cudgels in their hands. The trumpets, next the gate, in order, placed, Attend the sign to sound the martial blast ; The palare-yard is filTed wth floating tides. The throng is in the midst : the common crew Shut out, the hall admits the better few ; In knots they stand or in a ank they walk, Serious in aspect, earnest in their talk : Factious, and fav'ring this, or t' other side. As their strong fancy, or weak reason guide : Their wagers back their wishes ; numbers hold With the fair-freckled king, and beard of gold : So vig'rous are his eyes, such rays they cast, So prominent his eagle's beak is placed. But most their looks on the black monarch bend, His rising muscles, and his strength commend : His double-biting axe and beamy spear. Each asking a gigantic force to rear. All spoke as partial favor moved his mind : And, safe themselves, at others' cost divined. Waked by the cries, th' Athenian chief arose, The knightly forms of combat to dispose ; And passing through th' obsequious guards, he satf Conspicuous on a throne, sublime in state ; There, for the two contending knights he sent : Armed cap-a-pee, with rev'rence low they bent ^ He smiled on both, and with superior lopk 10^ 1 1 4 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. Alike their offered adoratioR took. The people press on every side, to sec Their awful prince, and hear his higii decree. Then signing to the heralds with his hand, They gave his orders from their lofty stand. Silence is thrice enjoined ; then thus, aloud, The king-at-arms bespeaks the knights, and listening crowd ' Our sovereign lord has pondered in iiis mind The means to spare the blood of gentle kind ; The keener edge of battle to rebate, The troops for honor fighting, nor for hate. He wills, not death should terminate the strife ; And wounds, should wounds ensue, be short of life : But issues, ere the fight, his dread command, That slings afar, and poniards hand to hand, JBe banished from the field ; that none shall dare ] With shortened swords to stab in closer war ; But in fair combat fight with manly strength, Nor push with biting point, butstrdie at length. The tourney is allowed but one career. Of the tough ash, with the sharp-grinded spear ; But knights unhorsed may ri.«e from oflf the plain, And fight on foot, their honor to regain ; Nor, if at mischief taken, on the ground Be slain, but pris'ners to the piliar bound, At either barrier placed ; nor (captives made) Be freed, or armed anew the fight invade. The chief of either side, beseft of life, Or yielded to his foe, concludes the strife. Thus dooms the lord ! — Now valiant knights, and young Fight each his fill, with swords and maces long.' The herald ends : the vaulted firmament With loud acclaims and vast applause is rent : * Heaven guard a prince so gracious and so good, So just, and yet so provident of blood !' This was the general cry. The trumpets sound j And warlike symphony is heard around. The marching troops through Athens take their waj^, The great earl-marshal orders their array. The fair, from high, the passing pomp behold ; A rain of flow'rs is from the windows rolled. The casements are with golden tissue spread, And horses' hoofs, for earth, on silken t«ip'8try trend \ POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 11'^ Tl/e king goes midmost, and the rivals ride In equal rank, and close his either side. Next after these, there rode the royal wife. With Emily, the cause and the reward of strife. The following cavalcade, by three and three. Proceed by titles marshaled in degree. Thus through the southern gate they take their way, And at the list arrived ere prime of day. There, parting from the king, the chiefs divide, And, wheeling East and West, before their many ride. Ah' Athenian monarch mounts his throne on high. And, after him, the queen, and Emily : Next these, the kindred of the crown are graced With nearer seats, and lords by ladies placed. ^ Scarce were they seated, when with clamours loud In rushed at once a rude promiscuous crowd. Now changed the jarring noise to whispers low. As winds forsaking seas more softly blow ; When at the western gate, on which the car Is placed alott. that bears the God of War, Proud Arcite entering armed, before his train, Stops at the barrier, and divides the plain. Red was his banner, and displayed abroad The bloody colours of his patron god.* At the self moment enters Palamon The gate of Venus and the rising sun ; Waved by the wanton winds, his banner flies, All maiden white, and shares the people's eyes. From East to West, look all the world around, Two troops go matched were never to be found. Thus ranged, the herald for the last proclaims A silence, while they answered to their names : The tale was just, and then the gates were closed ; And chief to chief, and troop to troop opposed. The heralds last retired, and loudly cried. At this, the challenger, with fierce defy, His trumpet sounds, the challenged makes reply i With clangor rings the field, resounds the vaulted sky. Their visors closed, their lances in the rest, Or at the helmet pointed, or the crest j 510 poETny for schools, Tiiey vanish from the barrier, speed the race, And, spurring, see decrease the middle space. Full oft the rivals met ; and neither spared His utmost force ; and each forgot to ward. Both were by turns unhorsed ; the jealous blows Fall Uiick and heavy, when on foot they close. So deep their faulchions bite, that every stroke Pierced to the quick ; and equal wounds they gave and took So when a tiger sucks the bullock's blood, The swains come armed between, and both to distance driYC At length, as fate foredoomed, and all things tend By course of time to their appointed end ; The strong Emetrius came in Arcite's aid, And Palamon with odds was overlaid, Unyielded as he was, and to the pillar bound. The royal judge, on his tribunal placed, Who had beheld the fight from first to last, Bade, ' Cease the war ;' pronouncing, from on high. * Arcite of Thebes had won the beautious Emily.' The sound of trumpets to the voire replied. And round the royal lists the Heralds cried, ' Arcite of Thebes has won the beauteous bride.* The people rend the skies with vast ap" ause ; All own the chief, when tbrtime owns the cause." The preceding verses nearly agree with the description of a tournament, taken from Ivan hoe. Dryden's sc^^ne of the tour- nament is Athens. Whether sii-h a spectacle was ever exhibit- ed there, is doubtful ; but the earlier English poets did not re- gSitd local probability , which, according to the present practice of writers of prose or poetic fable, is become mdispensable. A few of the expressions used in this description may not be readily understood. Crested morions^ with their plumy pride. — The morion was the cap worn by the Knights, adorned with a plume, and expressing in its appearance something of the dignity r»f the wearer. The squires in gaudy liveries inarch. — Livery is a dress ap- propriated to a particular order of persons. In modern times., the dress of men-servants appertaining to a gentleman's family is called livery, and is usually only a red, blu§, or ydlow edging to (he cape and cuffs of the man's coat. POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. 117 Palfreys, travelling horses, of mettle and appearance inferior to the war horse. Yeomen^ soldiers employed as guards and attendants. The rank of the subordinate persons engaged in the private warfare of the middle ages is very clearly displayed in the first Canto of Scott's Lay : " Nine and twenty Knights of fame Hung their shields in Branksome hall ; Nine and twenty squires of name Brought them their steeds from bower to stall ; Nine and twenty Yeonen tall Waited duteous on them all. -Numbers hold With theyaw' freckled King,