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 ■i»ja :Ri.s.T M *«f.«i5Laa as ■iE!B*ti"iffi 1 *i»ai'"L^f/a*A"jiSM 
 
 SELECTED POEMS 
 
 LONGFELLOW, 
 
 MACAULAY, LOWELL, 
 
 BROWNING, BYRON, 
 
 SHELLEY 
 
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 1. Longfellow's Evangeline.* J J 
 
 2 Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish ; Elizabeth.* 
 
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SA«A~Ubf /^Al .^Wv^C^JjUft^^ 
 
Wfyt iKitarsfae ^Literature petite 
 
 SELECTED POEMS 
 
 LONGFELLOW, MACAULAY, LOWELL, 
 BROWNING, BYRON, SHELLEY 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTIONS AND NOTES 
 
 Prescribed by the Regents of the University 
 of the State of New York for the examina- 
 tions FOR THE PRELIMINARY CERTIFICATE IN ENGLISH 
 
 'xrszzrtrmszrm 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 Boston : 4 Park Street ; New York : 85 Fifth Avenue 
 Chicago : 378-388 Wabash Avenue 
 
/ 
 
 <^A 
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OCT. 2^ I9U5 
 ?.opyri£nx 
 
 i 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Skeleton in Armor. Longfellow . 1 
 
 Horatius. Macaulay 8 
 
 The Singing Leaves. Lowell 33 
 
 Rhcecus. Lowell 38 
 
 Washington — from Under the Old Elm. Lowell ... 44 
 
 Selection from Under the Willows. Lowell 50 
 
 Incident of the French Camp. Browning 54 
 
 Apostrophe to the Ocean. Byron 56 
 
 To A Skylark. Shelley ,*.*.«. 60 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Portra.it of Longfellow ....*.. Frontispiece 
 
 Horatius at the Bridge . . * 9 
 
 Portrait of Lowell 33 
 
 Portrait of Washington 45 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1869 BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 COPYRIGHT 1897 BY MABEL LOWELL BURNETT 
 COPYRIGHT 1905 BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
SELECTED POEMS 
 
 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 1 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 u 
 
 Speak ! speak ! thou fearful guest ! 
 Who, with thy hollow breast 
 Still in rude armor drest, 
 
 Comest to daunt me ! 
 Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 2 5 
 
 But with thy fleshless palms 
 Stretched, as if asking alms, 
 
 Why dost thou haunt me?" 
 
 Then, from those cavernous eyes 
 Pale flashes seemed to rise, 10 
 
 As when the Northern skies 
 Gleam in December ; 
 
 1 " This ballad was suggested to me," says Mr. Longfellow, 
 " while riding on the seashore at Newport. A year or two pre- 
 vious a skeleton had been dug up at Fall River, clad in broken 
 and corroded armor ; and the idea occurred to me of connecting 
 it with the Round Tower at Newport, generally known hitherto 
 as the Old Windmill, though now claimed by the Danes as a 
 work of their early ancestors." It is generally conceded now 
 that the Norsemen had nothing to do with the old mill at New- 
 port, which is a close copy of one standing at Chesterton, in 
 Warwickshire, England. The destruction of the armor shortly 
 after it was found has prevented any trustworthy examination of 
 it, to see if it was really Scandinavian or only Indian. The poet 
 sings as one haunted by the skeleton, and able to call out its 
 voice. 
 
 2 This old warrior was not embalmed as an Egyptian mummy. 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 And, like the water's flow 
 Under December's snow, 
 Came a dull voice of woe 15 
 
 From the heart's chamber. 
 
 <t 
 
 u 
 
 I was a Viking 1 old ! 
 
 My deeds, though manifold, 
 
 No Skald 2 in song has told, 
 
 No Saga 3 taught thee ! 20 
 
 Take heed, that in thy verse 
 Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
 Else dread a dead man's curse ; 
 
 For this I sought thee. 
 
 Far in the Northern Land, 25 
 
 By the wild Baltic's strand, 
 I, with my childish hand, 
 
 Tamed the gerfalcon ; 
 And, with my skates fast-bound, 
 Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 30 
 
 That the poor whimpering hound 
 
 Trembled to walk on. 
 
 " Oft to his frozen lair 
 Tracked I the grisly bear, 
 While from my path the hare 35 
 
 1 The Vik-ings took their name from an old Norse word, vik, 
 still used in Norway, signifying creek, because the sea-pirates 
 made their haunts among the indentations of the coast, and 
 sallied out thence in search of booty. 
 
 2 The Skald was the Norse chronicler and poet who sang of 
 brave deeds at the feasts of the warriors. 
 
 3 The Saga was the saying or chronicle of the heroic deeds. 
 There are many of these old sagas still preserved in Northern 
 literature. 
 
THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 3 
 
 Fled like a shadow ; 
 Oft through the forest dark 
 Followed the were-wolf 's ' bark, 
 Until the soaring lark 
 
 Sang from the meadow. 40 
 
 44 But when I older grew, 
 Joining a corsair's crew, 
 O'er the dark sea I flew 
 
 With the marauders. 
 Wild was the life we led ; 45 
 
 Many the souls that sped, 
 Many the hearts that bled, 
 By our stern orders. 
 
 " Many a wassail-bout 
 Wore the long winter out ; 50 
 
 Often our midnight shout 
 
 Set the cocks crowing, 
 As we the Berserk's 2 tale 
 Measured in cups of ale, 
 Draining the oaken pail, 55 
 
 Filled to o'erflowing. 
 
 " Once as I told in glee 
 Tales of the stormy sea, 
 
 1 In the fables of Northern Europe there were said to be men 
 who could change themselves into wolves at pleasure, and they 
 were called were-wolves. 
 
 2 There was a famous warrior in the fabulous history of Nor- 
 way who went into battle bare of armor (ber — bare ; scerke — a 
 shirt of mail), but possessed of a terrible rage ; he had twelve 
 sons like himself, who were also called Berserks or Berserkers, 
 and the phrase Berserker rage has come into use to express a 
 terrible fury which makes a man fearless and strong. 
 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 Soft eyes did gaze on me, 
 
 Burning, yet tender ; 60 
 
 And as the white stars shine 
 On the dark Norway pine, 
 On that dark heart of mine 
 
 Fell their soft splendor. 
 
 " I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 65 
 
 Yielding, yet half afraid, 
 And in the forest's shade 
 
 Our vows were plighted. 
 Under its loosened vest 
 Fluttered her little breast, 70 
 
 Like birds within their nest 
 
 By the hawk frighted. 
 
 " Bright in her father's hall 
 Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
 Loud sang the minstrels all, 75 
 
 Chanting his glory ; 
 When of old Hildebrand 
 I asked his daughter's hand, 
 Mute did the minstrels stand 
 
 To hear my story. 80 
 
 " While the brown ale he quaffed, 
 Loud then the champion laughed, 
 And as the wind-gusts waft 
 
 The sea-foam brightly, 
 So the loud laugh of scorn, 85 
 
 Out of those lips unshorn, 
 From the deep drinking-horn 
 
 Blew the foam lightly. 
 
THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 5 
 
 " She was a Prince's child, 
 I but a Viking wild, 90 
 
 And though she blushed and smiled, 
 
 I was discarded ! 
 Should not the dove so white 
 Follow the sea-mew's flight, 
 Why did they leave that night 95 
 
 Her nest unguarded ? 
 
 " Scarce had I put to sea, 
 Bearing the maid with me, 
 Fairest of all was she 
 
 Among the Norsemen ! 100 
 
 When on the white sea-strand, 
 Waving his armed hand, 
 Saw we old Hildebrand, 
 
 With twenty horsemen. 
 
 " Then launched they to the blast, 105 
 
 Bent like a reed each mast, 
 Yet we were gaining fast, 
 
 When the wind failed us ; 
 And with a sudden flaw 
 Came round the gusty Skaw, 1 110 
 
 So that our foe we saw 
 Laugh as he hailed us. 
 
 " And as to catch the gale 
 Round veered the flapping sail, 
 Death! was the helmsman's hail, 115 
 
 Death without quarter ! 
 
 1 Skaw : a promontory. The Icelandic word was skagi : cf . 
 Skager-Rack. 
 
HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW 
 
 Mid-ships with iron keel 
 Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
 Down her black hulk did reel 
 
 Through the black water ! 120 
 
 " As with his wings aslant, 
 Sails the fierce cormorant, 
 Seeking some rocky haunt, 
 
 With his prey laden ; 
 So toward the open main, 125 
 
 Beating to sea again, 
 Through the wild hurricane, 
 
 Bore I the maiden. 
 
 " Three weeks we westward bore, 
 And when the storm was o'er, 130 
 
 Cloud-like we saw the shore 
 
 Stretching to leeward ; 
 There for my lady's bower 
 Built I the lofty tower, 
 Which, to this very hour, 135 
 
 Stands looking seaward. 
 
 " There lived we many years ; 
 Time dried the maiden's tears ; 
 She had forgot her fears, 
 
 She was a mother ; 140 
 
 Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
 Under that tower she lies ; 
 Ne'er shall the sun arise 
 
 On such another ! 
 
 " Still grew my bosom then, 145 
 
 £sfill cis n. G+Qocnanf. -Fori ! 
 
 btill grew my bosom tn 
 Still as a stagnant fen ! 
 
THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 7 
 
 Hateful to me were men, 
 The sunlight hateful ! 
 In that vast forest here, 
 Clad in my warlike gear, 150 
 
 Fell I upon my spear, 
 0, death was grateful ! 
 
 u 
 
 Thus, seamed with many scars, 
 
 Bursting these prison bars, 
 
 Up to its native stars 155 
 
 My soul ascended ! 
 There from the flowing bowl 
 Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
 Skoal I x to the Northland ! skoal I " 
 
 Thus the tale ended. 160 
 
 1 " In Scandinavia," says Mr. Longfellow, " this is the cus- 
 tomary salutation when drinking a health. I have slightly 
 changed the orthography of the word [skal] in order to preserve 
 the correct pronunciation." 
 
HORATIUS 1 
 
 A LAY MADE ABOUT THE YEAR OF THE CITY CCCLX 
 
 LORD MACAULAY 
 
 1 
 
 Lars Porsena 2 of Clusium 
 By the Nine Gods 3 he swore 
 
 1 There can be little doubt that among those parts of early 
 Roman history which had a poetical origin was the legend of 
 Horatius Codes. We have several versions of the story, and 
 these versions differ from each other in points of no small im- 
 portance. It is remarkable that, according to Polybius, Horatius 
 defended the bridge alone, and perished in the waters. Accord- 
 ing to the chronicles which Livy and Dionysius followed, Hora- 
 tius had two companions, swam safe to shore, and was loaded 
 with honors and rewards. 
 
 It is by no means unlikely that there were two old Roman 
 lays about the defense of the bridge ; and that, while the story 
 which Livy has transmitted to us was preferred by the multi- 
 tude, the other, which ascribed the whole glory to Horatius 
 alone, may have been the favorite with the Horatian house. 
 
 The legendary history makes an Etruscan dynasty of three 
 kings, Tarquinius Priscus, Servius Tullius, and Tarquinius Super- 
 bus, to have ruled Rome successively; but the tyranny of the 
 house became so hateful that the Tarquinian family was ban- 
 ished, and a republic, governed by two magistrates called con- 
 suls, chosen annually, was set up 509 B. c, or in the year 244 
 from the foundation of Rome. Tarquin attempted, first by in- 
 trigue, then by open war, to recover his throne ; it was then that 
 he sought the alliance of Porsena, who ruled over Etruria, and 
 the ballad that follows narrates the exploit of Horatius when the 
 city was being defended. 
 
 2 Lars in the Etruscan tongue signifies chieftain, Clusium is 
 the modern Chiusi. 
 
 8 The Romans had a tradition that there were nine great 
 Etruscan gods. 
 
From drawing by George Scharf, Jr., in " Lays of Ancient Rome," by permission of the 
 publishers, Messrs. Longmans, Green & Co. 
 
HORATIUS 9 
 
 That the great house of Tarquin 
 Should suffer wrong no more. 
 
 By the Nine Gods he swore it, 5 
 
 And named a trysting day, 
 
 And bade his messengers ride forth 
 
 East and west and south and north, 
 To summon his array. 
 
 2 
 
 East and west and south and north 10 
 
 The messengers ride fast, 
 And tower and town and cottage 
 
 Have heard the trumpet's blast. 
 Shame on the false Etruscan 
 
 Who lingers in his home, 15 
 
 When Porsena of Clusium 
 
 Is on the march for Rome. 
 
 3 
 
 The horsemen and the footmen 
 
 Are pouring in amain 
 From many a stately market-place ; 20 
 
 From many a fruitful plain ; 
 From many a lonely hamlet, 
 
 Which, hid by beech and pine, 
 Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest 
 
 Of purple Apennine ; 25 
 
 4 
 
 From lordly Volaterrae, 1 
 
 Where scowls the far-famed hold 2 
 
 1 Volaterrce, modern Volterra. 
 
 2 "The situation of the Etruscan towns is one of the most 
 striking characteristics of Tuscan scenery. Many of them occupy 
 
10 LORD MACAU LAY 
 
 Piled by the hands of giants 
 
 For godlike kings of old; 
 From seagirt Populonia, 30 
 
 Whose sentinels descry 
 Sardinia's snowy mountain-tops 
 
 Fringing the southern sky ; 
 
 From the proud mart of Pisae, 1 
 
 Queen of the western waves, 35 
 
 Where ride Massilia's 2 triremes 
 
 Heavy with fair-haired slaves ; 3 
 From where sweet Clanis 4 wanders 
 
 Through corn and vines and flowers ; 
 From where Cortona lifts to heaven 40 
 
 Her diadem of towers. 
 
 6 
 
 Tall are the oaks whose acorns 
 
 Drop in dark Auser's 5 rill ; 
 Fat are the stags that champ the boughs 
 
 Of the Ciminian hill ; 45 
 
 surfaces of table-land surrounded by a series of gullies not visi- 
 ble from a distance. The traveller thus may be a whole day 
 reaching a place which in the morning may have seemed to him 
 but a little way off." — Dennis, Cities and Cemeteries of Etru- 
 ria. 
 
 1 Pisce, now Pisa. 
 
 3 Massilia, now Marseilles, which originally was a Greek colony 
 and a great commercial centre. 
 
 8 The fair-haired slaves were doubtless slaves from Gaul, 
 bought and sold by the Greek merchants. 
 
 4 Clanis, the modern la Chicana. 
 
 6 The Auser was a tributary stream of the river Arno. 
 
HORATIUS 11 
 
 Beyond all streams Clitumnus l 
 
 Is to the herdsman dear ; 
 Best of all pools the fowler loves 
 
 The great Volsinian mere. 2 
 
 7 
 But now no stroke of woodman 50 
 
 Is heard by Auser's rill ; 
 No hunter tracks the stag's green path 
 
 Up the Ciminian hill ; 
 Unwatched along Clitumnus 
 
 Grazes the milk-white steer ; 55 
 
 Unharmed the waterfowl may dip 
 
 In the Volsinian mere. 
 
 8 
 The harvests of Arretium, 3 
 
 This year, old men shall reap, 
 This year, young boys in Umbro 4 60 
 
 Shall plunge the struggling sheep ; 
 And in the vats of Luna, 
 
 This year, the must shall foam 
 Hound the white feet of laughing girls 
 
 Whose sires have marched to Rome. 65 
 
 9 
 There be thirty chosen prophets, 5 
 The wisest of the land, 
 
 1 Clitumnus, Clituno in modern times. 
 
 2 Volsinian mere, now known as Lago di Bolsena. 
 8 Arretium, now Arezzo. 
 
 4 Umbro, the river Ombrone. All this region was occupied 
 by the Etruscans, and since the men had gone to fight Rome, 
 only the old and very young would be left to carry on the work 
 of the country. 
 
 5 The Etruscan religion was one of sorcery, and their prophets 
 
12 LORD MA CAUL AY 
 
 Who alway by Lars Porsena 
 Both morn and evening stand : 
 
 Evening and morn the Thirty 70 
 
 Have turned the verses o'er, 
 
 Traced from the right on linen white * 
 By mighty seers of yore. 
 
 10 
 
 And with one voice the Thirty 
 
 Have their glad answer given : 75 
 
 " Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena ; 
 
 Go forth, beloved of Heaven : 
 Go, and return in glory 
 
 To Clusium's royal dome ; 
 And hang round Nurscia's altars 80 
 
 The golden shields of Rome." 
 
 11 
 
 And now hath every city 
 
 Sent up her tale of men : 2 
 The foot are fourscore thousand, 
 
 The horse are thousands ten* 85 
 
 Before the gates of Sutrium 3 
 
 Is met the great array. 
 A proud man was Lars Porsena 
 
 Upon the trysting day. 
 
 were augurs who sought to know the will of the gods by various 
 outward signs; such as the flight of birds, the direction of light- 
 ning, and the mystic writings of the prophets before them. 
 
 1 The Etruscan writing was from right to left. 
 
 2 Tale of men, cf. Milton's lines in L' Allegro, — 
 
 " And every shepherd tells his tale 
 Under the hawthorn, in the dale." 
 
 The tally which we keep is a kindred word. 
 
 8 Sutrium is Sutri to-day. 
 
HORATIUS 13 
 
 12 
 
 For all the Etruscan armies 90 
 
 Were ranged beneath his eye, 
 And many a banished Roman, 
 
 And many a stout ally ; 
 And with a mighty following 
 
 To join the muster came 95 
 
 The Tusculan Mamilius, 
 
 Prince of the Latian name. 
 
 13 ' 
 
 But by the yellow Tiber 
 
 Was tumult and affright : 
 From all the spacious champaign 100 
 
 To Rome men took their flight. 
 A mile around the city, 
 
 The throng stopped up the ways ; 
 A fearful sight it was to see 
 
 Through two long nights and days. 105 
 
 14 
 
 For aged folks on crutches, 
 
 And women great with child, 
 And mothers sobbing over babes 
 
 That clung to them and smiled, 
 And sick men borne in litters 110 
 
 High on the necks of slaves, 
 And troops of sunburnt husbandmen 
 
 With reaping-hooks and staves, 
 
 15 
 
 And droves of mules and asses 
 
 Laden with skins of wine, 115 
 
14 LORD MACAU LAY 
 
 And endless flocks of goats and sheep, 
 
 And endless herds of kine, 
 And endless trains of wagons 
 
 That creaked beneath the weight 
 Of corn-sacks and of household goods, 120 
 
 Choked every roaring gate. 
 
 16 
 
 Now, from the rock Tarpeian, 1 
 
 Could the wan burghers 2 spy 
 The line of blazing villages 
 
 Red in the midnight sky. 125 
 
 The Fathers of the City, 3 
 
 They sat all night and day, 
 For every hour some horseman came 
 
 With tidings of dismay. 
 
 17 
 
 To eastward and to westward 130 
 
 Have spread the Tuscan bands ; 
 Nor house nor fence nor dovecote 
 
 In Crustumerium stands. 
 Verbenna down to Ostia 4 
 
 Hath wasted all the plain ; 135 
 
 Astur hath stormed Janiculum, 5 
 
 And the stout guards are slain. 
 
 1 The Tarpeian rock was a cliff on the steepest side of the 
 Capitoline Hill in Rome, and overhung the Tiber. 
 
 2 Burghers, Macaulay uses a very modern word to describe the 
 men of Rome. 
 
 8 The Fathers of the City, otherwise the Senators of Rome. 
 
 4 Ostia, at the mouth of the Tiber, was the port of Rome. 
 
 5 The Janiculan hill was on \he right fcank pf £he Tiber. 
 
HORATIUS 15 
 
 18 
 
 Iwis, 1 in all the Senate, 
 
 There was no heart so bold, 
 But sore it ached, and fast it beat, 140 
 
 When that ill news was told. 
 Forthwith up rose the Consul, 
 
 Up rose the Fathers all ; 
 In haste they girded up their gowns, 
 
 And hied them to the wall. 145 
 
 19 
 
 They held a council standing 
 
 Before the River-Gate ; 
 Short time was there, ye well may guess, 
 
 For musing or debate. 
 Out spake the Consul roundly : 150 
 
 " The bridge 2 must straight go down ; 
 For, since Janiculum is lost, 
 
 Naught else can save the town." 
 
 20 
 
 Just then a scout came flying, 
 
 All wild with haste and fear ; 155 
 
 " To arms ! to arms ! Sir Consul : 
 
 Lars Porsena is here." 
 On the low hills to westward 
 
 The Consul fixed his eye, 
 
 1 Iwis t cf . Lowell's lines in Credidimus Jovem regnare : — 
 
 " God vanished long ago, iwis, 
 A mere subjective synthesis." 
 
 Its meaning is " certainly." 
 
 2 The bridge was the Sublieian bridge, said to have been 
 thrown across the Tiber by Ancus Martius in the year 114 of 
 the city. 
 
16 LORD MACAU LAY 
 
 And saw the swarthy storm of dust 160 
 
 Rise fast along the sky. 
 
 21 
 
 And nearer fast and nearer 
 
 Doth the red whirlwind come ; 
 And louder still and still more loud, 
 From underneath that rolling cloud, 165 
 
 Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud, 
 
 The trampling, and the hum. 
 And plainly and more plainly 
 
 Now through the gloom appears, 
 Far to left and far to right, 170 
 
 In broken gleams of dark-blue light, 
 The long array of helmets bright, 
 
 The long array of spears. 
 
 22 
 
 And plainly and more plainly 
 
 Above that glimmering line, 175 
 
 Now might ye see the banners 
 
 Of twelve fair cities shine ; l 
 But the banner of proud Clusium 
 
 Was highest of them all, 
 The terror of the Umbrian, 180 
 
 The terror of the Gaul. 
 
 23 
 
 And plainly and more plainly 
 
 Now might the burghers know, 
 By port and vest, 2 by horse and crest, 
 
 1 The Etruscan confederacy was composed of twelve cities. 
 
 2 By port and vest, by the way he carried himself and by his 
 dress. Vest, an abbreviation of vesture. 
 
HORATIUS y 17 
 
 Each warlike Lucumo. 1 185 
 
 There Cilnius of Arretium 
 
 On his fleet roan was seen ; 
 And Astur of the fourfold shield, 
 Girt with the brand none else may wield, 
 Tolumnius with the belt of gold, 190 
 
 And dark Verbenna from the hold 
 
 By reedy Thrasymene. 2 
 
 24 
 
 Fast by the royal standard, 
 
 O'erlooking all the war, 
 Lars Porsena of Clusium 195 
 
 Sat in his ivory car. 
 By the right wheel rode Mamilius, 3 
 
 Prince of the Latian name ; 
 And by the left false Sextus, 4 
 
 That wrought the deed of shame. 200 
 
 25 
 
 But when the face of Sextus 
 
 Was seen among the foes, 
 A yell that rent the firmament 
 
 From all the town arose. 
 On the house-tops was no woman 205 
 
 But spat towards him and hissed, 
 
 1 Lucumo was the name given by the Latin writers to the 
 Etruscan chiefs. 
 
 2 Thrasymene or Trasimenus is Lago di Perugia, and was fa- 
 mous in Roman history as the scene of a victory by Hannibal, the 
 Carthaginian general, over the Roman forces. 
 
 8 Octavius Mamilius of Tusculum married the daughter of 
 Tarquinius. 
 
 4 Sextus, a son of Tarquinius, and the one whose wickedness 
 was the immediate cause of the expulsion of the Tarquins. 
 
18 LORD MACAU LAY 
 
 No child but screamed out curses, 
 And shook its little fist. 
 
 26 
 But the Consul's brow was sad, 
 
 And the Consul's speech was low, 210 
 And darkly looked he at the wall, 
 And darkly at the foe. 
 " Their van will be upon us 
 
 Before the bridge goes down ; 
 And if they once may win the bridge, 215 
 What hope to save the town ? " 
 
 27 
 Then out spake brave Horatius, 
 The Captain of the Gate : 
 " To every man upon this earth 
 
 Death cometh soon or late. 220 
 
 And how can man die better 
 Than facing fearful odds, 
 For the ashes of his fathers, 
 And the temples of his Gods, 
 
 28 
 
 " And for the tender mother 225 
 
 Who dandled him to rest, 
 
 And for the wife who nurses 
 
 His baby at her breast, 
 
 And for the holy maidens 1 
 
 Who feed the eternal flame, 230 
 
 1 The Vestal Virgins were bound by vows of celibacy, and 
 tended the sacred fire of Vesta. The order survived till near 
 the close of the fourth century of our era. For a very interesting 
 account of the House of the Vestal Virgins, see Lanciani, An- 
 cient Rome in the Light of Recent Discoveries. 
 
HORATIUS 19 
 
 To save them from false Sextus 
 That wrought the deed of shame ? 
 
 29 
 
 " Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, 
 
 With all the speed ye may; 
 I, with two more to help me, 235 
 
 Will hold the foe in play. 
 In yon strait path a thousand 
 
 May well be stopped by three. 
 Now who will stand on either hand, 
 
 And keep the bridge with me ? " 240 
 
 30 
 
 Then out spake Spurius Lartius ; 
 A Ramnian 1 proud was he : 
 " Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 
 And keep the bridge with thee." 
 And out spake strong Herminius ; 245 
 
 Of Titian 2 blood was he : 
 " I will abide on thy left side, 
 
 And keep the bridge with thee." 
 
 31 
 
 " Horatius," quoth the Consul, 
 
 " As thou sayest, so let it be." 250 
 
 And straight against that great array 
 
 Forth went the dauntless Three. 
 For Romans in Rome's quarrel 
 
 Spared neither land nor gold, 
 
 1 The Ramnes were one of the three tribes who comprised the 
 Roman Patricians, or noble class. 
 
 2 The Tides were another of these three tribes. 
 
20 LORD MAC A UL AY 
 
 Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, 255 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 32 
 Then none was for a party ; 
 
 Then all were for the state ; 
 Then the great man helped the poor, 
 
 And the poor man loved the great : 260 
 
 Then lands were fairly portioned ; 
 
 Then spoils were fairly sold : 
 The Romans were like brothers 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 33 
 Now Roman is to Roman 265 
 
 More hateful than a foe, 
 And the Tribunes * beard the high, 
 
 And the Fathers grind the low. 
 As we wax hot in faction, 
 
 In battle we wax cold : 270 
 
 Wherefore men fight not as they fought 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 34 
 Now while the Three were tightening 
 
 Their harness on their backs, 
 The Consul was the foremost man 275 
 
 To take in hand an axe : 
 And Fathers mixed with Commons 2 
 
 Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, 
 
 1 The Tribunes were officers who represented the tribes of the 
 common people or Plebs of Rome. In the time when the ballad 
 is supposed to be written, there were two strong parties, the 
 Fathers or Patricians (Patres), and the Common People or Plebs. 
 
 2 Commons, Macaulay, an English Whig, used a political 
 word very dear to him, as representing the rise of English 
 parliamentary government. 
 
EORATIUS 21 
 
 And smote upon the planks above, 
 
 And loosed the props l below. 280 
 
 35 
 
 Meanwhile the Tuscan army, 
 
 Eight glorious to behold, 
 Came flashing back the noonday light, 
 Rank behind rank, like surges bright 
 
 Of a broad sea of gold. 285 
 
 Four hundred trumpets sounded 
 
 A peal of warlike glee, 
 As that great host, with measured tread, 
 And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
 Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head, 290 
 
 Where stood the dauntless Three. 
 
 36 
 The Three stood calm and silent, 
 
 And looked upon the foes, 
 And a great shout of laughter 
 
 From all the vanguard rose ; 295 
 
 And forth three chiefs came spurring 
 
 Before that deep array ; 
 To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, 
 And lifted high their shields, and flew 
 
 To win the narrow way ; 300 
 
 37 
 Aunus from green Tifernum, 2 
 Lord of the Hill of Vines ; 
 
 1 The props held up the bridge from below. The Latin word 
 for props was sublicce; hence the Sublician bridge. Cf. note to 
 1. 151. 
 
 2 Tifernum was on the west side of the Apennines, near the 
 souree of the Tiber. It is now Citta di Castello. 
 
22 LORD MACAULAY 
 
 And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves 
 
 Sicken in Ilva's * mines ; 
 And Picus, long to Clusium 305 
 
 Vassal in peace and war, 
 Who led to fight his Umbrian powers 
 From that gray crag where, girt with towers, 
 The fortress of Nequinum 2 lowers 
 
 O'er the pale waves of Nar. 310 
 
 38 
 
 Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus 
 
 Into the stream beneath : 
 Herminius struck at Seius, 
 
 And clove him to the teeth : 
 At Picus brave Horatius 315 
 
 Darted one fiery thrust ; 
 And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms 
 
 Clashed in the bloody dust. 
 
 39 
 
 Then Ocnus of Falerii 
 
 Rushed on the Roman Three ; 320 
 
 And Lausulus of Urgo, 
 
 The rover of the sea ; 3 
 And Aruns of Volsinium, 
 
 Who slew the great wild boar, 
 The great wild boar that had his den 325 
 
 Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen, 
 And wasted fields, and slaughtered men, 
 
 Along Albinia's shore. 
 
 1 Hva is the modern Elba, renowned as the island to which 
 Napoleon was banished. 
 
 2 Nequinum, now Narni, on the banks of the Nar. 
 
 3 The Etruscans were pirates as well as merchants. 
 
HORATIUS 23 
 
 40 
 
 Herminius smote down Aruns : 
 
 Lartius laid Ocnus low : 330 
 
 Right to the heart of Lausulus 
 
 Horatius sent a blow. 
 " Lie there," he cried, " fell pirate ! 
 
 No more, aghast and pale, 
 From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark 335 
 The track of thy destroying bark. 
 No more Campania's hinds shall fly 
 To woods and caverns when they spy 
 
 Thy thrice accursed sail." 
 
 41 
 
 But now no sound of laughter 340 
 
 Was heard among the foes. 
 A wild and wrathful clamor 
 
 From all the vanguard rose. 
 Six spears' lengths from the entrance 
 
 Halted that deep array, 345 
 
 And for a space no man came forth 
 
 To win the narrow way. 
 
 42 
 
 But hark ! the cry is Astur : 
 
 And lo ! the ranks divide ; 
 And the great Lord of Luna 350 
 
 Comes with his stately stride. 
 Upon his ample shoulders 
 
 Clangs loud the fourfold shield, 
 And in his hand he shakes the brand 
 
 Which none but he can wield. 355 
 
24 LORD MA CAUL AY 
 
 43 
 
 He smiled on those bold Romans 
 
 A smile serene and high ; 
 He eyed the flinching Tuscans, 
 
 And scorn was in his eye. 
 Quoth he, " The she-wolf's litter 1 360 
 
 Stand savagely at bay : 
 But will ye dare to follow, 
 
 If Astur clears the way ? 
 
 >? 
 
 44 
 
 Then, whirling up his broadsword 
 
 With both hands to the height, 365 
 
 He rushed against Horatius, 
 
 And smote with all his might. 
 With shield and blade Horatius 
 
 Right deftly turned the blow. 
 The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh ; 370 
 It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh : 
 The Tuscans raised a joyful cry 
 
 To see the red blood flow. 
 
 45 
 
 He reeled, and on Herminius 
 
 He leaned one breathing-space ; 375 
 
 Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds, 
 
 Sprang right at Astur's face. 
 Through teeth, and skull, and helmet, 
 
 So fierce a thrust he sped, 
 The good sword stood a handbreadth out 380 
 
 Behind the Tuscan's head. 
 
 1 The she-wolf's littery the Romans. The reference is to the 
 story of the suckling of Romulus and Remus by a she-wolf. 
 
HORATIUS 25 
 
 46 
 
 And the great Lord of Luna 
 
 Fell at that deadly stroke, 
 As falls on Mount Alvernus 
 
 A thunder-smitten oak. 385 
 
 Far o'er the crashing forest 
 
 The giant arms lie spread ; 
 And the pale augurs, muttering low, 
 
 Gaze on the blasted head. 
 
 / 47 
 
 On Astur's throat Horatius 390 
 
 Right firmly pressed his heel, 
 And thrice and four times tugged amain, 
 
 Ere he wrenched out the steel. 
 " And see," he cried, " the welcome, 
 
 Fair guests, that waits you here ! 395 
 
 What noble Lucumo comes next 
 
 To taste our Roman cheer ? " 
 
 48 
 
 But at his haughty challenge 
 
 A sullen murmur ran, 
 Mingled of wrath and shame and dread, 400 
 
 Along that glittering van. 
 There lacked not men of prowess, 
 
 Nor men of lordly race ; 
 For all Etruria's noblest 
 
 Were round the fatal place. 405 
 
 49 
 
 But all Etruria's noblest 
 Felt their hearts sink to see 
 
26 LORD MACAULAY 
 
 On the earth the bloody corpses, 
 
 In the path the dauntless Three : 
 And, from the ghastly entrance 410 
 
 Where those bold Romans stood, 
 All shrank, like boys who unaware, 
 Ranging the woods to start a hare, 
 Come to the mouth of the dark lair 
 Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 415 
 Lies amidst bones and blood. 
 
 50 
 Was none who would be foremost 
 
 To lead such dire attack : 
 But those behind cried " Forward ! " 
 
 And those before cried " Back ! " 420 
 
 And backward now and forward 
 
 Wavers the deep array ; 
 And on the tossing sea of steel, 
 To and fro the standards reel ; 
 And the victorious trumpet-peal 425 
 
 Dies fitfully away. 
 
 51 
 
 Yet one man for one moment 
 
 Stood out before the crowd ; 
 Well known was he to all the Three, 
 
 And they gave him greeting loud, 430 
 
 " Now welcome, welcome, Sextus ! 
 
 Now welcome to thy home ! 
 Why dost thou stay, and turn away? 
 
 Here lies the road to Rome." 
 
 52 
 Thrice looked he at the city ; 435 
 
 Thrice looked he at the dead ; 
 
HORATIUS 27 
 
 And thrice came on in fury, 
 
 And thrice turned back in dread ; 
 
 And, white with fear and hatred, 
 
 Scowled at the narrow way 440 
 
 Where, wallowing in a pool of blood, 
 The bravest Tuscans lay. 
 
 53 
 
 But meanwhile axe and lever 
 Have manfully been plied ; 
 And now the bridge hangs tottering 445 
 
 Above the boiling tide. 
 " Come back, come back, Horatius ! " 
 
 Loud cried the Fathers all. 
 " Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 
 
 Back, ere the ruin fall ! " 450 
 
 54 
 
 Back darted Spurius Lartius ; 
 
 Herminius darted back : 
 And, as they passed, beneath their feet 
 
 They felt the timbers crack. 
 But when they turned their faces, 455 
 
 And on the farther shore 
 Saw brave Horatius stand alone, 
 
 They would have crossed once more. 
 
 55 
 
 But with a crash like thunder 
 
 Fell every loosened beam, 460 
 
 And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 
 
 Lay right athwart the stream ; 
 And a long shout of triumph 
 
 Rose from the walls of Rome, 
 
28 LORD MA CAUL AY 
 
 As to the highest turret-tops 465 
 
 Was splashed the yellow foam. 
 
 56 
 
 And, like a horse unbroken 
 
 When first he feels the rein, 
 The furious river struggled hard, 
 
 And tossed his tawny mane, 470 
 
 And burst the curb, and bounded, 
 
 Rejoicing to be free, 
 And whirling down, in fierce career, 
 Battlement, and plank, and pier, 
 
 Rushed headlong to the sea. 475 
 
 57 
 
 Alone stood brave Horatius, 
 But constant still in mind ; 
 Thrice thirty thousand foes before, 
 And the broad flood behind. 
 " Down with him ! " cried false Sextus, 480 
 
 With a smile on his pale face. 
 " Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, 
 Now yield thee to our grace." 
 
 u 
 
 58 
 
 Round turned he, as not deigning 
 
 Those craven ranks to see ; 485 
 
 Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, 
 To Sextus naught spake he ; 
 
 But he saw on Palatinus 1 
 
 The white porch of his home ; 
 
 1 Mons Palatinus survives in the Palatine hill of modern 
 Rome. It was the hill on which Romulus founded the city of 
 Rome. 
 
HORATIUS 29 
 
 And he spake to the noble river 490 
 
 That rolls by the towers of Rome. 
 
 59 
 
 " O Tiber ! father Tiber ! 
 
 To whom the Romans pray, 
 A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, 
 
 Take thou in charge this day ! " 495 
 
 So he spake, and speaking sheathed 
 
 The good sword by his side, 
 And with his harness on his back 
 
 Plunged headlong in the tide. 
 
 60 
 
 No sound of joy or sorrow 500 
 
 Was heard from either bank ; 
 But friends and foes in dumb surprise, 
 With parted lips and straining eyes, 
 
 Stood gazing where he sank : 
 And when above the surges 505 
 
 They saw his crest appear, 
 All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, 
 And even the ranks of Tuscany 
 
 Could scarce forbear to cheer. 
 
 61 
 
 But fiercely ran the current, 510 
 
 Swollen high by months of rain : 
 And fast his blood was flowing, 
 
 And he was sore in pain, 
 And heavy with his armor, 
 
 And spent with changing blows : 515 
 
 And oft they thought him sinking, 
 
 But still again he rose. 
 
30 LORD MACAULAY 
 
 62 
 
 Never, I ween, did swimmer, 
 
 In such an evil ease, 
 Struggle through such a raging flood 520 
 
 Safe to the landing-place : 
 But his limbs were borne up bravely 
 
 By the brave heart within, 
 And our good father Tiber 
 
 Bore bravely up his chin. 525 
 
 63 
 
 " Curse on him ! " quoth false Sextus ; 
 " Will not the villain drown ? 
 But for this stay, ere close of day 
 We should have sacked the town ! " 
 " Heaven help him ! " quoth Lars Porsena, 530 
 " And bring him safe to shore ; 
 For such a gallant feat of arms 
 Was never seen before." 
 
 64 
 
 And now he feels the bottom ; 
 
 Now on dry earth he stands ; 535 
 
 Now round him throng the Fathers 
 
 To press his gory hands ; 
 And now, with shouts and clapping, 
 
 And noise of weeping loud, 
 He enters through the River-Gate, 540 
 
 Borne by the joyous crowd. 
 
 65 
 
 They gave him of the corn-land. 
 That was of public rig]it ? 
 
HORATIUS 31 
 
 As much as two strong oxen 
 
 Could plough from morn till night ; 545 
 
 And they made a molten image, 
 
 And set it up on high, 
 And there it stands unto this day 
 
 To witness if I lie. 
 
 66 
 
 It stands in the Comitium, 1 550 
 
 Plain for all folk to see ; 
 Horatius in his harness, 
 
 Halting upon one knee : 
 And underneath is written, 
 
 In letters all of gold, 555 
 
 How valiantly he kept the bridge 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 67 * 
 
 And still his name sounds stirring 
 
 Unto the men of Rome, 
 As the trumpet-blast that cries to them 560 
 
 To charge the Volscian home ; 
 And wives still pray to Juno 
 
 For boys with hearts as bold 
 As his who kept the bridge so well 
 
 In the brave days of old. 565 
 
 68 
 
 And in the nights of winter, 
 
 When the cold north-winds blow, 
 
 And the long howling of the wolves 
 Is heard amidst the snow ; 
 
 1 The Comitium was that part of the Forum which served as 
 the meeting-place of the Roman patricians. 
 
32 LORD MA CAUL AY 
 
 When round the lonely cottage 570 
 
 Roars loud the tempest's din, 
 And the good logs of Algidus * 
 
 Roar louder yet within ; 
 
 69 
 
 When the oldest cask is opened, 
 
 And the largest lamp is lit ; 575 
 
 When the chestnuts glow in the embers, 
 
 And the kid turns on the spit ; 
 When young and old in circle 
 
 Around the firebrands close ; 
 When the girls are weaving baskets, 580 
 
 And the lads are shaping bows ; 
 
 70 
 
 When the goodman mends his armor, 
 
 And trims his helmet's plume ; 
 When the goodwife's shuttle merrily 
 
 Goes flashing through the loom, 585 
 
 With weeping and with laughter 
 
 Still is the story told, 
 How well Horatius kept the bridge 
 
 In the brave days of old. 
 
 1 The Romans brought some of their firewood from the hill 
 of Algidus, about a dozen miles to the southeast of the town. 
 
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 From the crayon by S. W. Rouse in the possession of Professor Charles Eliot Norton 
 

 
THE SINGING LEAVES 
 
 A BALLAD i 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 " What fairings will ye that I bring ? " 
 Said the King to his daughters three ; 
 
 " For I to Vanity Fair 2 am boun, 
 Now say what shall they be ? " 
 
 Then up and spake the eldest daughter, 5 
 
 That lady tall and grand : 
 
 1 It is interesting to note the following characteristics of the 
 old ballad which Lowell has captured in this poem of 1854. 
 The setting is, properly, a time and place in which wonders 
 happen as matters of course ; the characters are all^ wonder- 
 people, — a king, princesses, and a page possessed of the magic 
 power of song. Nature, in the trees and the Singing Leaves, is 
 endowed with a human personality. The plot of the ballad is, 
 as of old it always was, a single incident, — a simple conflict be- 
 tween the two main characters. Lowell has also kept the ballad 
 form in the four-line stanzas with the second and fourth lines 
 rhyming ; in the free use of epithets ; in the repetition of words 
 and phrases ; and in the use of archaic forms such as fairings, 
 but and, shoon, etc. 
 
 2 The name of a fair held all the year round in the town of 
 Vanity in Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. " It beareth the name 
 because the town where it is kept is lighter than vanity, and also 
 because all that is there sold, or that cometh thither, is vanity." 
 The town lay on the way to the Celestial City, and the passing 
 through it was one of Pilgrim's temptations. 
 
34 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 u 
 
 Oh, bring me pearls and diamonds great, 
 And gold rings for my hand." 
 
 Thereafter spake the second daughter, 
 
 That was both white and red : 10 
 
 " For me bring silks that will stand alone, 
 And a gold comb for my head." 
 
 Then came the turn of the least daughter, 
 That was whiter than thistle-down, 
 
 And among the gold of her blithesome hair 15 
 Dim shone the golden crown. 
 
 " There came a bird this morning, 
 And sang 'neath my bower eaves, 
 Till I dreamed, as his music made me, 
 
 'Ask thou for the Singing Leaves.' ' 20 
 
 Then the brow of the King swelled crimson 
 With a flush of angry scorn : 
 " Well have ye spoken, my two eldest, 
 And chosen as ye were born ; 
 
 " But she, like a thing of peasant race, 25 
 
 That is happy binding the sheaves ; " 
 Then he saw her dead mother in her face, 
 And said, " Thou shalt have thy leaves." 
 
 / ii 
 
 He mounted and rode three days and nights 
 Till he came to Vanity Fair, 30 
 
 And 't was easy to buy the gems and the silk, 
 But no Singing Leaves were there. 
 
 \ 
 
THE SINGING LEAVES 35 
 
 Then deep in the greenwood rode he, 
 And asked of every tree, 
 " Oh, if you have ever a Singing Leaf, 35 
 
 I pray you give it me ! " 
 
 But the trees all kept their counsel, 
 
 And never a word said they, 
 Only there sighed from the pine-tops 
 
 A music of seas far away. 40 
 
 Only the pattering aspen 
 
 Made a sound of growing rain, 
 That fell ever faster and faster, 
 
 Then faltered to silence again. 
 
 " Oh, where shall I find a little foot-page 45 
 
 That would win both hose and shoon, 
 And will bring to me the Singing Leaves 
 If they grow under the moon ? " 
 
 Then lightly turned him Walter the page, 
 
 By the stirrup as he ran : 50 
 
 " Now pledge you me the truesome word 
 Of a king and gentleman, 
 
 u 
 
 That you will give me the first, first thing 
 
 You meet at your castle-gate, 
 And the Princess shall get the Singing Leaves, 55 
 
 Or mine be a traitor's fate." 
 
 The King's head dropt upon his breast 
 
 A moment, as it might be ; 
 'T will be my dog, he thought, and said, 
 
 " My faith I plight to thee." 60 
 
36 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 Then Walter took from next bis heart 
 A packet small and thin, 
 " Now give you this to the Princess Anne, 
 The Singing Leaves are therein." 
 
 in 
 
 As the King rode in at his castle-gate, 65 
 
 A maiden to meet him ran, 
 And " Welcome, father ! " she laughed and cried 
 
 Together, the Princess Anne. 
 
 " Lo, here the Singing Leaves," quoth he, 
 
 " And woe, but they cost me dear ! " 70 
 
 She took the packet, and the smile 
 Deepened down beneath the tear. 
 
 It deepened down till it reached her heart, 
 
 And then gushed up again, 
 And lighted her tears as the sudden sun 75 
 
 Transfigures the summer rain. 
 
 And the first Leaf, when it was opened, 
 
 Sang : "lam Walter the page, 
 And the songs I sing 'neath thy window 
 
 Are my only heritage." 80 
 
 And the second Leaf sang : " But in the land 
 That is neither on earth nor sea, 
 • My lute and I are lords of more 
 Than thrice this kingdom's fee." 
 
 And the third Leaf sang, " Be mine ! Be mine ! " 85 
 And ever it sang, " Be mine ! " 
 
THE SINGING LEAVES 37 
 
 Then sweeter it sang and ever sweeter, 
 And said, " I am thine, thine, thine ! " 
 
 At the first Leaf she grew pale enough, 
 
 At the second she turned aside, 90 
 
 At the third, 't was as if a lily flushed 
 With a rose's red heart's tide. 
 
 " Good counsel gave the bird," said she, 
 " I have my hope thrice o'er, 
 For they sing to my very heart," she said, 95 
 
 " And it sings to them evermore." 
 
 She brought to him her beauty and truth, 
 
 But and l broad earldoms three, 
 And he made her queen of the broader lands 
 
 He held of his lute in fee. 100 
 
 1 But and, archaic form for and also. Cf. from an old 
 
 ballad: — 
 
 " And they hae chased in gude green-wood 
 The buck but and the roe." 
 
EHGECUS x 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 God sends his teachers unto every age, 
 To every clime, and every race of men, 
 With revelations fitted to their growth 
 And shape of mind, nor gives the realm of Truth 
 Into the selfish rule of one sole race : 5 
 
 Therefore each form of worship that hath swayed 
 The life of man, and given it to grasp 
 The master-key of knowledge, reverence, 
 Infolds some germs of goodness and of right; 
 Else never had the eager soul, which loathes 10 
 The slothful down of pampered ignorance, 
 Found in it even a moment's fitful rest. 
 
 1 This early poem (1843) presents most convincingly a dis- 
 tinguishing characteristic of Lowell's verse. The poet's inspira- 
 tion here is one of those myths of long ago which never failed 
 to charm him ; and he adds his own personality to that myth in 
 the tone of moral earnestness in which he voices his theme. His 
 own criticism of his poetry was, — 
 
 " The top of the hill he will ne'er come nigh reaching, 
 Till he learns the distinction twixt singing and preaching." 
 
 Accordingly, we find here, not the language of great poetic pas- 
 sion, but the calm academic elegance of expression which, while 
 it fetters the muse, gives a stately freedom to the moral dignity 
 of the legend. Landor used the same theme in his poem, " The 
 Hamadryad," working, as Stedman says, " as a Grecian might, 
 giving the tale in chiselled verse, with no curious regard for its 
 teachings." But the New England conscience speaks in Lowell's 
 Rhoecus; and in his hands the myth becomes an allegory whose 
 simple lesson is, " Only the soul hath power o'er itself." 
 
RHCECUS 39 
 
 There is an instinct in the human heart 
 Which makes that all the fables it hath coined, 
 To justify the reign of its belief 15 
 
 And strengthen it by beauty's right divine, 
 Veil in their inner cells a mystic gift, 
 Which, like the hazel twig, 1 in faithful hands, 
 Points surely to the hidden springs of truth. 
 For, as in nature naught is made in vain, 20 
 
 But all things have within their hull of use 
 A wisdom and a meaning which may speak 
 Of spiritual secrets to the ear 
 Of spirit ; so, in whatsoe'er the heart 
 Hath fashioned for a solace to itself, 25 
 
 To make its inspirations suit its creed, 
 And from the niggard hands of falsehood wring 
 Its needful food of truth, there ever is 
 A sympathy with Nature, which reveals, 
 Not less than her own works, pure gleams of light 
 And earnest parables of inward lore. 31 
 
 Hear now this fairy legend of old Greece, 
 As full of gracious youth and beauty still 
 As the immortal freshness of that grace 
 Carved for all ages on some Attic frieze. 2 35 
 
 A youth named Ehoecus, wandering in the wood, 
 Saw an old oak just trembling to its fall, 
 And, feeling pity of so fair a tree, 
 He propped its gray trunk with admiring care, 
 And with a thoughtless footstep loitered on. 40 
 
 1 Hazel twig, a forked hazel twig held in the hand was sup- 
 posed to bend downward when carried over a place where ore or 
 water could be found. 
 
 2 Attic frieze, such as the frieze of the Parthenon with its won- 
 derful figures. 
 
40 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 But, as he turned, he heard a voice behind 
 
 That murmured " Rhoecus ! " 'T was as if the leaves, 
 
 Stirred by a passing breath, had murmured it, 
 
 And, while he paused bewildered, yet again 
 
 It murmured " Rhoecus ! " softer than a breeze. 45 
 
 He started and beheld with dizzy eyes 
 
 What seemed the substance of a happy dream 
 
 Stand there before him, spreading a warm glow 
 
 Within the green glooms of the shadowy oak. 
 
 It seemed a woman's shape, yet far too fair 50 
 
 To be a woman, and with eyes too meek 
 
 For any that were wont to mate with gods. 
 
 All naked like a goddess stood she there, 
 
 And like a goddess all too beautiful 
 
 To feel the guilt-born earthliness of shame. 55 
 
 " Rhoecus, I am the Dryad * of this tree," 
 Thus she began, dropping her low-toned words 
 Serene, and full, and clear, as drops of dew, 
 
 " And with it I am doomed to live and die ; 
 The rain and sunshine are my caterers, 60 
 
 Nor have I other bliss than simple life ; 
 Now ask me what thou wilt, that I can give, 
 And with a thankful joy it shall be thine." 
 
 Then Rhoecus, with a flutter at the heart, 
 Yet, by the prompting of such beauty, bold, 65 
 
 Answered : " What is there that can satisfy 
 The endless craving of the soul but love ? 
 Give me thy love, or but the hope of that 
 Which must be evermore my nature's goal." 
 After a little pause she said again, 70 
 
 But with a glimpse of sadness in her tone, 
 
 " I give it, Rhoecus, though a perilous gift ; 
 
 1 Dryad, the wood nymph whose life was bound up in the tree. 
 
RHCECUS 41 
 
 An hour before the sunset meet me here." 
 
 And straightway there was nothing he could see 
 
 But the green glooms beneath the shadowy oak, 75 
 
 And not a sound came to his straining ears 
 
 But the low trickling rustle of the leaves, 
 
 And far away upon an emerald slope 
 
 The falter of an idle shepherd's pipe. 
 
 Now, in those days of simpleness and faith, 80 
 Men did not think that happy things were dreams 
 Because they overstepped the narrow bourn 
 Of likelihood, but reverently deemed 
 Nothing too wondrous or too beautiful 
 To be the guerdon of a daring heart. 85 
 
 So Rhcecus made no doubt that he was blest, 
 And all along unto the city's gate 
 Earth seemed to spring beneath him as he walked, 
 The clear, broad sky looked bluer than its wont, 
 And he could scarce believe he had not wings, 90 
 Such sunshine seemed to glitter through his veins 
 Instead of blood, so light he felt and strange. 
 
 Young Rhcecus had a faithful heart enough, 
 But one that in the present dwelt too much, 
 And, taking with blithe welcome whatsoe'er 95 
 
 Chance gave of joy, was wholly bound in that, 
 Like the contented peasant of a vale, 
 Deemed it the world, and never looked beyond. 
 So, haply meeting in the afternoon 
 Some comrades who were playing at the dice, 100 
 He joined them, and forgot all else beside. 
 
 The dice were rattling at the merriest, 
 And Rhcecus, who had met but sorry luck, 
 
42 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 Just laughed in triumph at a happy throw, 104 
 
 When through the room there hummed a yellow bee 
 That buzzed about his ear with down-dropped legs 
 As if to light. And Rhoecus laughed and said, 
 Feeling how red and flushed he was with loss, 
 " By Venus ! does he take me for a rose ? " 
 And brushed him off with rough, impatient hand. 
 But still the bee came back, and thrice again 111 
 Rhoecus did beat him off with growing wrath. 
 Then through the window flew the wounded bee, 
 And Rhoecus, tracking him with angry eyes, 
 Saw a sharp mountain-peak of Thessaly 115 
 
 Against the red disk of the setting sun, — 
 And instantly the blood sank from his heart, 
 As if its very walls had caved away. 
 Without a word he turned, and, rushing forth, 
 Ran madly through the city and the gate, 120 
 
 And o'er the plain, which now the wood's long shade, 
 By the low sun thrown forward broad and dim, 
 Darkened wellnigh unto the city's wall. 
 
 Quite spent and out of breath he reached the tree, 
 And, listening fearfully, he heard once more 125 
 The low voice murmur " Rhoecus ! " close at hand : 
 Whereat he looked around hiei, but could see 
 Naught but the deepening glooms beneath the oak. 
 Then sighed the voice, " O Rhoecus ! nevermore 
 Shalt thou behold me or by day or night, 130 
 
 Me, who would fain have blessed thee with a love 
 More ripe and bounteous than ever yet 
 Filled up with nectar any mortal heart : 
 But thou didst scorn my humble messenger, 
 And sent'st him back to me with bruised wings. 135 
 We spirits only show to gentle eyes, 
 
RHCECUS 43 
 
 We ever ask an undivided love, 
 And he who scorns the least of Nature's works 
 Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all. 
 Farewell ! for thou canst never see me more." 140 
 
 Then Rhcecus beat his breast, and groaned aloud, 
 And cried, " Be pitiful ! forgive me yet 
 This once, and I shall never need it more ! " 
 " Alas ! " the voice returned, " 't is thou art blind, 
 Not I unmerciful ; I can forgive, 145 
 
 But have no skill to heal thy spirit's eyes ; 
 Only the soul hath power o'er itself." 
 With that again there murmured " Nevermore ! " 
 And Ehcecus after heard no other sound, 
 Except the rattling of the oak's crisp leaves, 150 
 Like the long surf upon a distant shore, 
 Raking the sea-worn pebbles up and down. 
 The night had gathered round him : o'er the plain 
 The city sparkled with its thousand lights, 
 And sounds of revel fell upon his ear 155 
 
 Harshly and like a curse ; above, the sky, 
 With all its bright sublimity of stars, 
 Deepened, and on his forehead smote the breeze : 
 Beauty was all around him and delight, 
 But from that eve he was alone on earth. 160 
 
UNDEK THE OLD ELM 1 
 
 Section upon Washington 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 Soldier and statesman, rarest unison ; 
 High-poised example of great duties done 
 
 1 Near Cambridge Common stands an old elm, having at its 
 base a stone with the inscription, " Under this tree Washington 
 first took command of the American Army, July 3d, 1115" 
 Upon the one hundredth anniversary of this day the citizens of 
 Cambridge held a celebration under the tree, and Mr. Lowell 
 read the ode from which these stanzas are quoted. It is one 
 of a trilogy of heroic odes written for three occasions that can 
 never again offer so great inspiration to a poet. The first ode 
 was that read at Concord on the hundredth anniversary of the 
 fight at Concord bridge ; the second was Under the Old Elm, 
 read at Cambridge on the one hundredth anniversary of Wash- 
 ington's taking command of the American army ; the third was 
 the Ode for the Fourth of July, read on the centennial of the 
 Declaration of Independence. Stedman remarks, " Underwood 
 has called the three odes an Alpine group, — yet each in its length 
 and unevenness brings to mind a Rocky Mountain chain in which 
 snowclad, sunlit peaks arise, connected by vaguely outlined 
 ridges of the Sierra." One of these peaks is, surely, this sec- 
 tion upon Washington. Lowell writes to a friend, " We, too, 
 here in my birthplace, having found out that something hap- 
 pened here a hundred years ago, must have our centennial ; and 
 since my friend and townsman Dr. Holmes could n't be had, I 
 felt bound to do all the poetry for the day. We have still stand- 
 ing the elm under which Washington took command of the 
 American army, and under which also Whitefield had preached 
 some thirty years before." The stanzas here selected comprise 
 the whole of the famous eulogy upon Washington. 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 {From the Trumbull portrait at Yale College) 
 
UNDER THE OLD ELM 45 
 
 Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn 
 
 As life's indifferent gifts to all men born ; 
 
 Dumb for himself, unless it were to God, 5 
 
 But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent, 
 
 Tramping the snow to coral * where they trod, 
 
 Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content ; 
 
 Modest, yet firm as Nature's self ; unblamed 
 
 Save by the men his nobler temper shamed ; 10 
 
 Never seduced through show of present good 
 
 By other than un setting lights to steer 
 
 New-trimmed in Heaven, nor than his steadfast 
 
 mood 
 More steadfast, far from rashness as from fear ; 
 Rigid, but with himself first, grasping still 15 
 
 In swerveless poise the wave-beat helm of will : 
 Not honored then or now because he wooed 
 The popular voice, but that he still withstood ; 
 Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one 
 Who was all this and ours, and all men's, — Wash- 
 ington. 20 
 
 Minds strong by fits, irregularly great, 
 That flash and darken like revolving lights, 
 Catch more the vulgar eye unschooled to wait 
 On the long curve of patient days and nights 
 Rounding a whole life to the circle fair 25 
 
 Of orbed fulfilment ; and this balanced soul, 
 So simple in its grandeur, coldly bare 
 Of draperies theatric, standing there 
 In perfect symmetry of self-control, 
 Seems not so great at first, but greater grows 30 
 
 Still as we look, and by experience learn 
 How grand this quiet is, how nobly stern 
 1 At Valley Forge. 
 
46 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 The discipline that wrought through life-long throes 
 That energetic passion of repose. 
 
 A nature too decorous * and severe, 35 
 
 Too self -respectful in its griefs and joys, 
 
 For ardent girls and boys 
 
 Who find no genius in a mind so clear 
 
 That its grave depths seem obvious and near, 
 
 Nor a soul great that made so little noise. 40 
 
 They feel no force in that calm-cadenced phrase, 
 
 The habitual full-dress of his well-bred mind, 
 
 That seems to pace the minuet's courtly maze 
 
 And tell of ampler leisures, roomier length of days. 
 
 His firm-based brain, to self so little kind 45 
 
 That no tumultuary blood could blind, 
 
 Formed to control men, not to amaze, 
 
 Looms not like those that borrow height of haze : 
 
 It was a world of statelier movement then 
 
 Than this we fret in, he a denizen 50 
 
 Of that ideal Rome that made a man for men. 
 
 The longer on this earth we live 
 
 And weigh the various qualities of men, 
 
 Seeing how most are fugitive, 
 
 Or fitful gifts, at best, of now and then, 55 
 
 Wind-wavered corpse-lights, daughters of the fen, 2 
 
 1 The rhythm shows the pronunciation to be deco'rous. The 
 poets vary in their usage. An analogous word is sonorous. 
 Decorum always has the accent on the second syllable. 
 
 2 The daughters of the fen, — will-o'-the-wisps. The Welsh 
 call the same phenomenon corpse-lights, because it was supposed 
 to forebode death, and to show the road that the corpse would 
 take. 
 
UNDER THE OLD ELM 47 
 
 The more we feel the high stern-featured beauty 
 
 Of plain devotedness to duty, 
 
 Steadfast and still, nor paid with mortal praise, 
 
 But finding amplest recompense 60 
 
 For life's ungarlanded expense 
 
 In work done squarely and unwasted days. 
 
 For this we honor him, that he could know 
 
 How sweet the service and how free 
 
 Of her, God's eldest daughter here below, 65 
 
 And choose in meanest raiment which was she. 
 
 Placid completeness, life without a fall 
 
 From faith or highest aims, truth's breachless wall, 
 
 Nor ever faltered 'neath the load 
 
 Of petty cares, that gall great hearts the most, 70 
 
 But kept right on the strenuous up-hill road, 
 
 Strong to the end, above complaint or boast : 
 
 The popular tempest on his rock-mailed coast 
 
 Wasted its wind-borne spray, 
 
 The noisy marvel of a day ; 75 
 
 His soul sate still in its unstormed abode. 
 
 Virginia gave us this imperial man 
 
 Cast in the massive mould 
 
 Of those high-statured ages old 
 
 Which into grander forms our mortal metal ran ; 80 
 
 She gave us this unblemished gentleman : 
 
 What shall we give her back but love and praise 
 
 As in the dear old unestranged days 
 
 Before the inevitable wrong began ? 
 
 Mother of States and undiminished men, 85 
 
 Thou gavest us a country, giving him, 
 
48 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 And we owe alway what we owed thee then : 
 
 The boon thou wouldst have snatched from us 
 
 again 
 Shines as before with no abatement dim. 
 A great man's memory is the only thing 90 
 
 With influence to outlast the present whim 
 And bind us as when here he knit our golden ring. 
 All of him that was subject to the hours 
 Lies in thy soil and makes it part of ours : 
 Across more recent graves, 95 
 
 Where unresentful Nature waves 
 Her pennons o'er the shot-ploughed sod, 
 Proclaiming the sweet Truce of God, 1 
 We from this consecrated plain stretch out 
 Our hands as free from afterthought or doubt 100 
 As here the united North 
 Poured her embrowned manhood forth 
 In welcome of our saviour and thy son. 
 Through battle we have better learned thy worth, 
 The long-breathed valor and undaunted will, 105 
 
 Which, like his own, the day's disaster done, 
 Could, safe in manhood, suffer and be still. 
 Both thine and ours the victory hardly won ; 
 If ever with distempered voice or pen 
 We have misdeemed thee, here we take it back, 110 
 And for the dead of both don common black. 
 
 1 The name is drawn from a compact in 1640 when the Church 
 forbade the barons to make any attack on their fellows between 
 sunset on Wednesday and sunrise on the following Monday, or 
 upon any ecclesiastical fast or feast day. It also provided that 
 no man was to molest a laborer working in the fields, or to lay 
 hands on any implement of husbandry, on pain of excommuni- 
 cation. 
 
UNDER THE OLD ELM 49 
 
 Be to us evermore as thou wast then, 
 
 As we forget thou hast not always been, 
 
 Mother of States and unpolluted men, 
 
 Virginia, fitly named from England's manly queen ! 115 
 
UNDER THE WILLOWS * 
 
 Selection 
 
 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 Frank-hearted hostess of the field and wood, 
 
 Gypsy, whose roof is every spreading tree, 
 
 June is the pearl of our New England year. 
 
 Still a surprisal, though expected long, 
 
 Her coming startles. Long she lies in wait, 5 
 
 Makes many a feint, peeps forth, draws coyly back, 
 
 Then, from some southern ambush in the sky, 
 
 With one great gush of blossom storms the world. 
 
 A week ago the sparrow was divine ; 
 
 The bluebird, shifting his light load of song 10 
 
 From post to post along the cheerless fence, 
 
 Was as a rhymer ere the poet come ; 
 
 But now, oh rapture ! sunshine winged and voiced, 
 
 1 (i The Willows was a clump of trees not far from Elm wood. 
 Lowell took a peculiar pleasure in their gnarled and umbrageous 
 forms, and wrote to Fields while the volume which took its title 
 from the trees was in press : * My heart was almost broken 
 yesterday by seeing nailed to my willow a board with these words 
 on it, " These trees for sale." The wretch is going to peddle them 
 for firewood ! If I had the money, I would buy the piece of ground 
 they stand on to save them, — the dear friends of a lifetime. 
 They would be a loss to the town. But what can we do ? They 
 belong to a man who values them by the cord. I wish Fenn 
 had sketched them at least. One of them I hope will stand a few 
 years yet in my poem, — but he might just as well have out- 
 lasted me and my works, making his own green ode every 
 summer.' " — LowelVs Poems, Cambridge Edition. 
 
UNDER THE WILLOWS 51 
 
 Pipe blown through by the warm wild breath of the 
 
 West 
 Shepherding his soft droves of fleecy cloud, 15 
 
 Gladness of woods, skies, waters, all in one, 
 The bobolink l has come, and, like the soul 
 Of the sweet season vocal in a bird, 
 Gurgles in ecstasy we know not what 
 Save June 1 Dear June 1 Now God be praised for 
 
 June. 20 
 
 May is a pious fraud of the almanac, 
 
 A ghastly parody of real Spring 
 
 Shaped out of snow and breathed with eastern wind ; 
 
 Or if, o'er-confident, she trust the date, 
 
 And, with her handful of anemones, 25 
 
 Herself as shivery, steal into the sun, 
 
 The season need but turn his hour-glass round, 
 
 And winter suddenly, like crazy Lear, 2 
 
 Reels back, and brings the dead May in his arms, 
 
 Her budding breasts and wan dislustred front 30 
 
 With frosty streaks and drifts of his white beard 
 
 All overblown. Then, warmly walled with books, 
 
 While my wood-fire supplies the sun's defect, 
 
 Whispering old forest-sagas in its dreams, 
 
 1 Bryant has a charming poem, Robert of Lincoln, in which the 
 light-hearted song of the bird gets a homelier but no less de- 
 lightful interpretation. See, also, Lowell's lines in Suthin' in the 
 Pastoral Line, No. VI. of the second series of The Biglow 
 Papers : — 
 
 " 'Nuff sed, June's bridesman, poet o' the year, 
 Gladness on wings, the bobolink is here ; 
 Half-hid in tip-top apple-blooms he swings, 
 Or climbs against the breeze with quiverin' wings, 
 Or, givin' way to 't in a mock despair, 
 Runs down, a brook o' laughter, thru the air." 
 
 2 In the fifth act of Shakespeare's King Lear, Lear enters with 
 Cordelia dead in his arms. 
 
52 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL 
 
 I take my May down from the happy shelf 35 
 
 Where perch the world's rare song-birds in a row, 
 Waiting my choice to open with full breast, 
 And beg an alms of spring-time, ne'er denied 
 In-doors by vernal Chancer, 1 whose fresh woods 
 Throb thick with merle and mavis all the year. 40 
 
 July breathes hot, sallows the crispy fields, 
 Curls up the wan leaves of the lilac-hedge, 
 And every eve cheats us with show of clouds 
 That braze the horizon's western rim, or hang 
 Motionless, with heaped canvas drooping idly, 45 
 
 Like a dim fleet by starving men besieged, 
 Conjectured half, and half descried afar, 
 Helpless of wind, and seeming to slip back 
 Adown the smooth curve of the oily sea. 
 
 But June is full of invitations sweet, 50 
 
 Forth from the chimney's yawn and thrice-read tomes 2 
 To leisurely delights and sauntering thoughts 
 That brook no ceiling narrower than the blue. 
 The cherry, drest for bridal, at my pane 
 Brushes, then listens, Will he come ? The bee, 55 
 
 1 Chaucer, cf . Longfellow's tribute to Chaucer : — 
 
 " He is the poet of the dawn, who wrote 
 The Canterbury Tales, and his old age 
 Made beautiful with song ; and, as I read 
 I hear the crowing cock, I hear the note 
 Of lark and linnet, and from every page 
 Rise odors of ploughed field or flowery mead." 
 
 2 Cf . Chaucer's lines : — 
 
 11 And as for me, though that I kon but lytee, 
 On bokes for to rede I me delyte, 
 
 Save, certeynely, when that the moneth of May 
 Is comen, and that I here the foules synge, 
 And that the floures gynnen for to sprynge, 
 Farewell my boke and my devocioun ! " 
 4 
 
UNDER THE WILLOWS 53 
 
 All dusty as a miller, takes his toll 
 
 Of powdery gold, and grumbles. What a day 
 
 To sun me and do nothing ! Nay, I think 
 
 Merely to bask and ripen is sometimes 
 
 The student's wiser business ; the brain 60 
 
 That forages all climes to line its cells, 
 
 Ranging both worlds on lightest wings of wish, 
 
 Will not distil the juices it has sucked 
 
 To the sweet substance of pellucid thought, 
 
 Except for him who hath the secret learned 65 
 
 To mix his blood with sunshine, and to take 
 
 The winds into his pulses. Hush ! 't is he ! 
 
 My oriole, my glance of summer fire, 
 
 Is come at last, and, ever on the watch, 
 
 Twitches the pack-thread I had lightly wound 70 
 
 About the bough to help his housekeeping, — 
 
 Twitches and scouts by turns, blessing his luck, 
 
 Yet fearing me who laid it in his way, 
 
 Nor, more than wiser we in our affairs, 
 
 Divines the providence that hides and helps, 75 
 
 Heave, ho ! Heave, oh ! he whistles as the twine 
 
 Slackens its hold ; once more, now ! and a flash 
 
 Lightens across the sunlight to the elm 
 
 Where his mate dangles at her cup of felt. 
 
 Nor all his booty is the thread ; he trails 80 
 
 My loosened thought with it along the air, 
 
 And I must follow, would I ever find 
 
 The inward rhyme to all this wealth of life. 
 
INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 1 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING 
 
 You know, we French stormed Ratisbon : 
 
 A mile or so away, 
 On a little mound, Napoleon 
 
 Stood on our storming-day ; 
 With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 5 
 
 Legs wide, arms locked behind, 
 As if to balance the prone brow 
 
 Oppressive with its mind. 
 
 Just as perhaps he mused " My plans 
 
 That soar, to earth may fall, 10 
 
 1 Although the background of this poem is the whole history 
 of Napoleon's fifth war with Austria in general, or the battle of 
 Regensburg (Ratisbon) in particular, Browning's interest is to 
 choose for his theme the one dramatic moment in the life of a 
 boy-soldier in the ranks. Browning's theory of poetry was that 
 its province is human life and action, and its theme any intense, 
 dramatic, personal act whether of the great or the humble. 
 
 " Take the least man of all mankind, as I, 
 Look at his head and heart, find how and why 
 He differs from his fellows utterly," 
 
 he says, and there the poet has his material. The theme of all 
 his short dramatic poems is such a disclosure of a man's soul in 
 a second. So here the whole of Napoleon's ambition flashes out 
 in two lines, the boy's devotion in a single stanza, and his sacri- 
 fice in three words. The Browning note of realism is evident in 
 the description of Napoleon; and that optimism which marked 
 him from contemporary poets speaks bravely in the boy's spirit- 
 ual victory, completely won, though at a dear cost. So this vivid 
 dramatic bit in its material, theme, and rapid treatment is a fair 
 type of the art of Browning's short poems. 
 
INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 55 
 
 Let once my army-leader Lannes 
 
 Waver at yonder wall," — 
 Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew 
 
 A rider, bound on bound 
 Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew 15 
 
 Until he reached the mound. 
 
 Then off there flung in smiling joy, 
 
 And held himself erect 
 By just his horse's mane, a boy : 
 
 You hardly could suspect — 20 
 
 (So tight he kept his lips compressed, 
 
 Scarce any blood came through) 
 You looked twice ere you saw his breast 
 
 Was all but shot in two. 
 
 " Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's grace 25 
 
 We 've got you Ratisbon ! 
 The Marshal 's in the market-place, 
 
 And you '11 be there anon 
 To see your flag-bird flap his vans 
 
 Where I, to heart's desire, 30 
 
 Perched him ! " The chief's eye flashed ; his plans 
 
 Soared up again like fire. 
 
 The chief's eye flashed ; but presently 
 
 Softened itself, as sheathes 
 A film the mother-eagle's eye 35 
 
 When her bruised eaglet breathes ; 
 "You're wounded ! " "Nay," the soldier's pride, 
 
 Touched to the quick, he said : 
 " I 'm killed, Sire ! " And his chief beside, 
 
 Smiling the boy fell dead. 40 
 
THE OCEAN 1 
 
 LORD BYRON 
 
 There is a pleasure in the pathless woods ; 
 There is a rapture on the lonely shore ; 
 There is society where none intrudes, 
 By the deep sea, and music in its roar : 
 I love not man the less, but nature more, 5 
 
 From these our interviews, in which I steal 
 From all I may be, or have been before, 
 To mingle with the universe, and feel 
 What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 
 
 1 From Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto IV, stanzas clxxviii- 
 clxxxiv. Bryon's verse is a good example of poetry condi- 
 tioned entirely by the temperament of the poet. Throughout 
 Childe Harold's Pilgrimage the writer poses as one who has " not 
 loved the world, nor the world him ; " and his deliberate aloof- 
 ness from life and its problems and conventions carried him into 
 an atmosphere purely romantic. If he ever took notice of life 
 at all, it was to rail at it from some vantage point of solitary 
 communion with nature or the past. The selection here quoted 
 shows exactly that attitude. The mood that rebels in this way 
 against life and refuses to face its responsibilities never can give 
 great poetry to the world ; but these stanzas do show that 
 Byron's emotions are intense and his power to make us share 
 them wonderful. It was after the publication of the first two 
 cantos of this poem that Byron " woke one morning to find him- 
 self famous." He once called himself " the grand Napoleon of 
 the realms of rhyme ;" and modern criticism, which attacks 
 Byron rather severely, condemns the spirit of the poet with 
 such absorption that it forgets, perhaps at times, the brilliancy 
 of his poetic style. 
 
THE OCEAN 57 
 
 Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, roll ! 10 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
 Man marks the earth with ruin ; his control 
 Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain 
 The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
 A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 15 
 
 When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
 He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
 Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown. 
 
 His steps are not upon thy paths ; thy fields 
 
 Are not a spoil for him ; thou dost arise 20 
 
 And shake him from thee; the vile strength he 
 
 wields 
 For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, 
 Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, 
 And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray, 
 And howling, to his gods, where haply lies 25 
 
 His petty hope in some near port or bay, 
 And dashest him again to earth : there let him lay. 1 
 
 The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
 Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, 
 And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 30 
 
 The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
 Their clay creator the vain title take 
 Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war, — 
 
 1 " This use of lay has caused considerable comment. Byron, 
 whether carelessly or intentionally, employs lay several times in 
 his poems as an intransitive verb. He might find authority for 
 this confusion of lie and lay in writers of the middle English 
 period; but it must be confessed that no great poet of the lan- 
 guage is so careless of his grammar as Byron." — Byron's Poems, 
 Cambridge Edition. 
 
58 LORD BYRON 
 
 These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 
 They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 35 
 Alike the Armada's 1 pride or spoils of Trafalgar* 2 
 
 Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee : 
 Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? 
 Thy waters washed them power while they were 
 
 free, 
 And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 40 
 
 The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 
 Has dried up realms to deserts : not so thou, 
 Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play ; 
 Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow ; 
 Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 45 
 
 Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
 Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 
 Calm or convulsed ; in breeze or gale or storm, 
 Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
 Dark-heaving, boundless, endless, and sublime, — 50 
 The image of Eternity, the throne 
 Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime 
 The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
 Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 
 
 And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy 55 
 
 Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 
 Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
 
 1 wantoned with thy breakers — they to me 
 Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
 
 i Armada, the fleet of Philip II of Spain defeated by Sir 
 Francis Drake. 
 
 2 Trafalgar, the famous battle in which Lord Nelson de- 
 feated Napoleon's navy. 
 
THE OCEAN 59 
 
 Made them a terror — 't was a pleasing fear, 60 
 For I was as it were a child of thee, 
 And trusted to thy billows far and near, 
 And laid thy hand upon thy mane, 1 — as I do here. 
 
 1 Mane, cf . Scott's lines in The Lay of the Last Minstrel : — 
 
 " Each wave was crested with tawny foam, 
 Like the mane of a chestnut steed." 
 
TO A SKYLAKK 1 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 Hail to thee, blithe spirit ! 
 
 Bird thou never wert, 
 That from heaven, or near it, 
 
 Pourest thy full heart 
 In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 5 
 
 Higher still and higher, 
 
 From the earth thou springest ; 
 
 1 No more perfect type of the pure lyric can be found in all 
 English literature than Shelley's Skylark. It has, to a degree 
 that cannot be measured, the first requisite of lyric poetry, — 
 the singing quality. One who yields to the spell of its music 
 forgets that the words are written and that he reads ; he simply 
 listens to a melody and a rhythm so spontaneous and ecstatic that 
 he soars with the skylark, " higher still and higher." And this 
 is the triumph of the lyric. Nothing more musical could be 
 conceived than the fluttering, rippling rhythm of the unusual 
 fifth lines in the stanzas. Secondly, the poem is purely subjec- 
 tive ; it has no substance but the emotion of the poet, thus ful- 
 filling the old law that a true lyric is the articulate cry of the 
 poet's soul. The cry here, as in much of Shelley's poetry, is a 
 sad one, making us believe indeed that " sweetest songs are those 
 that tell of saddest thought." His exquisite appreciation of 
 different aspects of nature is also preeminently a lyric quality. 
 One of the wonders of the poem is the wealth of similes running 
 through some ten stanzas, each coloring the poet's thought with 
 a new tinge of meaning. That speaks the abandonment to mood 
 out of which a lyric is born. Each stanza shows the delicate 
 fairy touch that made Shelley the " Ariel of Songsters ; " and 
 the passionate prayer of the last stanza seems to have been an- 
 swered long e'er the poet uttered it. 
 
TO A SKYLARK 61 
 
 Like a cloud of fire 
 
 The blue deep thou wingest, 
 And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 10 
 
 In the golden lightning 
 
 Of the sunken sun, 
 O'er which clouds are brightening, 
 
 Thou dost float and run ; 
 Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun. 15 
 
 The pale purple even 
 
 Melts around thy flight ; 
 Like a star of heaven, 
 
 In the broad daylight 
 Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight, 20 
 
 Keen as are the arrows 
 Of that silver sphere, 
 Whose intense lamp narrows 
 In the white dawn clear, 
 Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 25 
 
 All the earth and air 
 
 With thy voice is loud ; 
 As, when night is bare, 
 From one lonely cloud 
 The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is over- 
 flowed. . 30 
 
 What thou art we know not ; 
 
 What is most like thee ? 
 From rainbow clouds there flow not 
 
 Drops so bright to see, 
 As from thy presence showers a rain of melody — 35 
 
62 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 Like a poet hidden 
 
 In the light of thought, 
 Singing hymns unbidden, 
 
 Till the world is wrought 
 To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : 40 
 
 Like a high-born maiden 
 
 In a palace tower, 
 Soothing her love-laden 
 
 Soul in secret hour 
 With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower : 
 
 Like a glowworm golden 46 
 
 In a dell of dew, 
 Scattering unbeholden 
 Its aerial hue 
 Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the 
 view : 50 
 
 Like a rose embowered 
 
 In its own green leaves, 
 By warm winds deflowered, 
 Till the scent it gives 
 Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged 
 thieves. 55 
 
 Sound of vernal showers 
 
 On the twinkling grass, 
 Rain-awakened flowers, 
 
 All that ever was 
 Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 60 
 
 Teach us, sprite or bird, 
 
 What sweet thoughts are thine : 
 
TO A SKYLARK 63 
 
 I have never heard 
 Praise of love or wine 
 That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 65 
 
 Chorus hymeneal, 
 
 Or triumphal chaunt, 
 Matched with thine would be all 
 
 But an empty vaunt — 
 A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 70 
 
 What objects are the fountains 
 
 Of thy happy strain ? 
 What fields, or waves, or mountains ? 
 What shapes of sky or plain ? 
 What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of 
 pain ? 75 
 
 With thy clear keen joyance 
 
 Languor cannot be : 
 Shadow of annoyance 
 
 Never came near thee : 
 Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 80 
 
 Waking or asleep, 
 
 Thou of death must deem 
 Things more true and deep 
 
 Than we mortals dream, 
 Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? 
 
 We look before and after, 86 
 
 And pine for what is not : 
 Our sincerest laughter 
 
 With some pain is fraught : 
 Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest 
 
 thought. 90 
 
64 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 Yet if we could scorn 
 
 Hate, and pride, and fear ; 
 If we were things born 
 Not to shed a tear, 
 I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 95 
 
 Better than all measures 
 
 Of delightful sound, 
 Better than all treasures 
 
 That in books are found, 
 Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! 100 
 
 Teach me half the gladness 
 
 That thy brain must know, 
 Such harmonious madness 
 From my lips would flow, 
 The world should listen then, as I am listening now. 105 
 
THREE BOOKS ABOUT LITERATURE 
 
 A STUDENT'S HISTORY OF 
 ENGLISH LITERATURE 
 
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