Songs of Three Centuries by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Title:Songs of three centuries. Ed. by John Greenleaf Whittier.

Household ed. …

Author:Whittier, John Greenleaf, 1807-1892. ed.

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Print Source:Songs of three centuries. Ed. by John Greenleaf Whittier. Household ed. …

Whittier, John Greenleaf, 1807-1892. ed.

xviii, 352 p. 11 pl., port. 19 1/2cm.

Boston,

Houghton, Mifflin and company,

1883.

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JOHN GREEN LEAF WHITTIER’~ WRITINGS. POETICAL WORKS. Household Edition. I vol. s2mo $2.00 Cambridge Edition. 3 vol& crown Svo. With Portrait &75 vol 2mo. With Portrait and Steel Plate 3.50 Blue and Gold Edition.

2 vols. With Portrait 2.50 Diamond Edition 1.00 Red-Line Edition Portrait and 12 illustrations, full gilt 2.50 Library Edition. Ivo. With Portrait and 32 illustrations. Cloth, full gilt, $4.00; half calf, $~.oo; morocco, or tree calf9.00 SEPARATE WORKS. THE TENT ON THE BEACH, and Other Poems 1.00 AMONG THE HILLS, and Other Poems 1.00 MIRIAM, and Other Poems 1.00

THE PENNSYLVANIA PILGRIM. Illustrations 1.00 HAZEL-BLOSSOMS 5 00 VISION OF

ECHARD, and Other Poems 1.25 THE KING’S MISSIVE, and Other Poems. Steel Portrait 1.00 SNOW-BOUND: A Winter Idyl. s6mo 1.25 Vest-Pocket Edition. 10
illustrations.50 Holiday Edition. 40 fine illustrations Cloth, $5
morocco…. 9.00 MAUD MULLER. Illustrated Cloth, $3 5o; morocco 7.00

BALLADS OF NEW ENGLAND. tl0 illustrations. Svo, cloth, $5.00 morocco 9.00

MABEL MARTIN Holiday Volume. ~S illustrations. 8vo, cloth, morocco 9.00

THE SAME. s6mo. 21 illustrations 1.50 THE RIVER PATH Finely illuslrated, $s.50; morocco, or tree calf 5.00 PROSE WORKS. Camhridge Edition. 2
vol& crown Svo. With Portrait 4.50 Edited by Mr. Whittier. SONGS OF

THREE CENTURIES. A volume of choice Poems. With Introductory Essay.

Household Edition, samo, $a.~ Illustrated Library Edition, $~.o~ half calf, $~.oo; morocco, or tree calf, $9.00. THE JOURNAL OF JOHN WOOLMAN.

With an Introduction. $s 50. CHILD-LIFE. Poetical Selections. Profusely illustrated. Cloth, full gilt, $~.25. CHILD-LIFE IN PROSE. Copiously illustrated. Cloth, full gilt, $2.25. ***For sale by all Booksellers. Sen4
ost-j5ala, on recet1 ojfrice by Ike Publishers, HOUGHToN, MIFFLIN & C0., BOSTON, MASS.

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SONGS OF TllR~I~I~ C~NTUR~tES. EDITED BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER BOSTON: HOUGlITON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY. D Rtfl~v~tbe 1Pr~~, antbrtbS. 1883.

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COPYRIGHT, ~875. BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.

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~?>` PREFACE. Twould be doing injustice to the compiler of this volume to suppose that his work implied any lack of appreciation of the excellent anthologies akeady published in this country. Dana’s “llousehold Book of Poetry is no misnomer; and the honored names of Bryant and Emerson are a sufficient guaranty for “Parnassus” and the “Library of Song.” With no thought of superseding or even of entering into direct competition with these large and valuable collections, it has been my design to gather up in a comparatively small volume, easily accessible to all classes of readers, the wisest thoughts, rarest fancies, and devoutest hymns of the metrical authors of the last three centuries. To use Shelley’s definition of poetry, I have endeavored to give something like “a record of the best thoughts and happiest moments of the best and happiest minds.” The plan of my work has compelle~ me to confine myself, in a great measure, to the lyrical productions of the authors quoted, and to use only the briefer poems of the old dramatists and such voluininous writers as Spenser, Milton, Dryden, Cowper, Pope, Byron, Scott, Wordsworth, and the Brownings.

Of course, no anthology, however ample its extracts, could do justice to the illimitable genius of Shakespeare. It is possible that it may be thought an undue prominence has been given to the poetry of the period beginning with Cowper and reaching down to Tennyson and his living contemporaries. But it must be considered that the last century has been prolific in song; and, if Shakespeare and Milton still keep their unapproachable position, “souls like stars that dwell apart,” there can be little doubt that the critical essayist of the twentieth century will make a large advance upon the present estimate, not only of Cowper and Burns, but of Wordsworth, Coleridge, Shelley, Keats, Browning, Tennycon, and Emerson. It will be seen that the middle of the sixteenth century is the earliest date of my citations. The great name of Chaucer does not appear; and some of the best of the early ballad poetry of England and Scotland has been reluc

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iv PREFACE. tantly omitted. James I., whose Queen’s Quhair has hidden his kingly crown under the poet’s garland, William Dunbar, and Sackville, Earl of Borset, may well be thought worthy of a place in any collection of English verse, but the language and rhythm of these writers render them welluigh unintelligible to the ordinary reader. The selections I have made indicate, in a general way, my preferences; but I have not felt at liberty to oppose my own judgment or prejudice to the best critical authorities, or to attempt a reversal of the verdicts of Time. It would be too much to hope that I have, in all cases, made the best possible exposition of an author’s productions. Judging from my own experience in looking over selected poems, I cannot doubt that my readers will often have occasion to question the wisdom of my choice, and regret the onussion of favorite pieces. It is rarely that persons of equal capacity for right judging can be found to coincide entirely in regard to the merits of a particular poem. The canons of criticism are by no means fixed and infallible; and the fashion of poetry, like that of the world, “passeth away.” Not only every age, but every reader, holds the right of private judgment. It would be difficult for any literary inquisitor-general to render a good reason for condemning as a heretic the man who finds the “Castle of Indolence”

pleasanter reading than the “Faerie Queene,” who prefers Cowper to Dryden, Scott to Byron, and Shelley to Scott, who passes by Moore’s “Lalla Rookh”to take up Clough’s “Bothie of Tober-na Vuolich,” who thinks Emerson’s “Threnody” better than Milton’s “Lycidas,” and who would not exchange a good old ballad or a song of Burns for the stateliest of epics.

I he considerable space which I have given to American authors will, I trust, find its justification in the citations from their writings. The poetical literature of our country can scarcely be said to have a longer date than that of a single generation. As a matter of fact, the very fathers of it are still living. It really commenced with Bryant’s “Thanatopsis” and Dan&s “Buccaneer.” The grave, philosophic tone, chaste simplicity of langu’ye, freedom of versification, and freshness and truth of illustration, which marked the former poem, and the terse realism of the “Buccaneer,” with its stern pictures of life and nature drawn with few strokes sharp and vigorous as those of Retzsch’s outlines, left the weak imitators of an artificial school without an audience. All further attempts to colonize the hills and pastures of New England from old mythologies were abandoned; our boys and girls no longer figured in impossible pastorals. If we have no longer ambitious Columbiads and Conquests of Canaan, we have at least truth and nature, wit and wisdom, in Bryant’s “Robert of Lincoln,” Emerson’s” llumblebee,” Lowell’s “Courtin’,”

and “The One-lloss Shay” of llolmes. In dealing with contemporary writers I have found myself embarrassed by

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PREFACE. V the very large number of really noticeable poems, many of which, although in my own estimation vastly better than those of some of the old versifiers whose age and general reputation have secured them a place in this volume, I have been compelled to omit solely from lack of space. The future gleaner in the fields over which I have passed will doubtless find many an ungarnered sheaf quite as well worth preserving as these I have gathered within the scanty limits of my compendium. The rare humorists of our time, especially such poets as Holmes and Lowell, can be only partially represented in these necessarily brief selections. It may be observed that the three divisions of the book do not strictly correspond to the headings which indicate them, - the first, for instance, beginning before Shakespeare and ending somewhat after Milton. It is difficult to be quite exact in such classifications; and as it seemed desirable to make their number as small as possible, I trust the few leading names mentioned may serve to characterize the periods they accompany with a sufficient degree of accuracy. Pope was doubtless the great master of what is sometimes spoken of as artificial verse, shaping the mould of poetic thought for his own and the succeeding generation; but as Dryden stands in point of time nearer to the colossal naine which closes the first period of English song, he has been chosen as a representative of the second, in connection and contrast with Burns, who, in his vigorous rebound from the measured pomp of rhymed heroics to the sturdiest and homeliest Scottish simplicity, gave to the modern lyric its inspiration, striking for the age the musical pitch of true and tender emotion, as decidedly as Wordsworth has touched for it the key-note of the thoughtful hannonies of natural and intellectual beauty. Tennyson undoubtedly stands at the head of all living singers, and his name might well serve as the high-water mark of modern verse; but as our volnine gives a liberal space to American authorship, I have ventured to let the name of the author of “Evangeline” represent, as it well may, the presant poetic culture of our English-speaking people at home and abroad. While by no means holding myself to a strict responsibility as regards the sentiment and language of the poems which make up this volume, and while I must confess to a large tolerance of personal individuality manifesting itself in widely varying forms of expression, I have still somewhat scrupulously endeavored to avoid in my selections everything which seemed liable to the charge of irreverence or questionable morality. In this respect the poetry of the last quarter of a century, with a few exceptions, has been noteworthy for purity of thought and language, as well as for earnestness and religious feeling. The Muse of our time is a free but profoundly reverent inquirer; it is rarely found in “the seat of the scorner.” If it does not always speak in the prescribed language of creed and formula, its utterances often give evidence of fresh communion with that Eternal Spirit whose

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vi PREFACE. responses are never in any age or clime withheld from the devout questioner. Iy great effort has been to make a thoroughly readable book. With this in view I have not given tedions extracts from dill plays and weary epics, but have gathered up the best of the old ballads and short, timeapproved poems, and drawn largely from contemporary writers and the waifs and estrays of unknown authors. I have also, as a specialty of the work, made a careful selection of the best hymns in our language. I am prepared to lind my method open to criticism from some quarters, but I have catered not so much for the scholarly few as for the great mass of readers to whose “snatched leisure” my brief lyrical selections would seem to have a special adaptation. It only remains for me to acknowledge the valuable suggestions and aid I have received from various sources during the preparation of this volume, and especially the essential assistance I have had from Lucv L~nco~ of Beverly Farms, to whose services I have before been indebted in the cou~ pilation of “Child Life.” J. G. W.

AMEsBURT, 9th mo., 1875.

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COXTENTS. FROM SHAKESPEARE TO MILTON. PA0~ THOUGHT Lord Thomas ~aux. 3

MAJESTY OF GOD Thomas Stermhold.. 3 No AGE CONTENT WITH HIS OWN ESTATE IL

Howard, Earl of S~rey 3 PLEASURE MIXED WITH PAIN Sir Thomas Wyatt.. 4 A DESCRIPTION OF SUCH A ONE AS HE WOULD LOVE.. 4 THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO

HIS LOVE. ~hmstopher Marlowe. 4 THE NYMPH’S REPLY Sir Walter Raleigh.. 5

THE PILGRIM.. 5 THE SOUL’S ERRAND`C 5 SONNETS Sir rhilTh Sidney.. 6 LAMENT

FOR ASTROPHEL (SIR PHILIP SIDNEY) Matthew Roydom… 7 ANGELIC MINISTRY

Edolund Spenser… 7 THE TRUE WOMAN C’ CC 7 FROM THE EPITHALAMIUM CC CC..

8 UNA AND THE LION CC CC.. 8 TEE HOUSE OF RICHES CC CC 9 TEE BOWER OF

BLISS C’ CC 9 CONTENT AND RICH Robert Southwell… 10 A SUMMER’S DAY

Ale~ander Hume.. 10 THE SOUL Sir John Davies… 11 CONTENTMENT Thomas Nash…. 12 TEE LESSONS OF NAtURE William Drnemmond. 12 To HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA. Sir Henry Wottom.. 13 TEE GOOD MAN “.. 13 REVENGE OF

INJURIES Lady Elizabeth Carew. 13 FROM AN EPISTLE TO THE COUNTESS OFCUMBER

LAND Samuel Daniel… 14 MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS - William Ryrd… 15

SONGS: ARIEL’S SONG William Shahespeare. 16 THE FAIRY TO PUCK`C CC. 16

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viii CONTENTS. AMIENS’S SONG Willia~ Shake~eare.. 16 A SEA DiRGE C’ C 16

HARK! HARK! THE LARK`C C 16 UNDER THE GREENWOOD-TREE`C CC 16 DIRGE FOR

FIDELE CC 16 SONNETS CC CC 17 THE NOBLE NATURE Bem Jonsom 15 SONG OF

HESPERUS 15 ON LUCY, CoUNTRSS OF BEDFORD 19 THE SWEET NEGLECT 19 How NEAR

TO GOOD IS WHAT IS FAIR! 19 EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH L. H 19 LOVE WILL FIND

OUT THE WAY - Unknown 19 MAY-DAY SONG`C 20 BEGoNE DULL CARE C’ 20 FARRWELL

TO THE FAIRIES Bishop Bichard Corbett 20 ROBIN GooDFELLoW Unknown 21 EDoM

0’ GORDON CC 22 TAKE THY AULD CLOAK ABOUT THEE ” 24 TEE BARRING 0’ THE

DOOR C’ 24 HE THAT LOVES A ROSY CHEEK Thomas Carew -… 25 THE SIRENS’

SONG William Browne… 25 SONG C’ C.. 25 FAIR AND UNWORTHY Sir Bobert Ayton…. 26 MUSIC William Strode…. 26 GOOD-MORROW Thomas Heywood -.. 26

SEARCH AFTER GOD`C CC.. 26 SIC VITA Henry KWig 27 ELEGY C’ CC 28 I`LL

NEVER LOVE THEE MORE Marq~eis of Montrose.. 28 DEATH THE LEVELLER James Shirley -.. - 28 CELINDA E. Herbert (Earl of Cherbury) 29 EVENING HYMN Sir Thomas Browne.. - 29 WISHES Bichard Urashaw -. - 29 To ALTERA Sir Bichard Love lace - - 30 To LUCASTA C’.. - 30 To DAFFODILS Bobert Herrick -.. - 30

To BLOSSOMS “… - 31 To KEEP A TRUE LENT CC CC. - 31 VIRTUE Ucorge Herbert -.. - 31 THE FLOWER C’ CC… - 31 REST C’ -. - - 32 TBE BIRD try Vaughan… - 32 THEY ARE ALL GONE CC - 33 FOR ONE THAT HEARS HIMSELF MUCH

PRAISED (;eorge Wtther -.. - 33

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CONTENTS. ix COMPANIONSHIP OF THE MUSE (;eorge Wither… 34 THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN Andrew Marvell… 34 THE BERMUDAS ” “… 35 HYMN ON THE NATIVITY

John Milton…. 35 ON ARRIVING AT THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE ” “…. 38 ON

HIS BLINDNESS…. 38 PRAYER Thomas Blwood… 39 RESIGNATION
ichardBater… 39 IN PRISON Sir ~oger L’Estrange. 39 OLD AGE AND DEATH

Edm~nd Wailer.. 40 OF MYSELF Abraham Cowley.. 40 LIBERTY ” “.. 41 FROM

DRYDEN TO BURNS. SONG FOR SAINT CECILIA’S DAY, 1687.. John Dryden.. 45

UNDER MILTON’S PICTURE.. 46 CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON C’`. 46 REASON. 46

MORNING HYMN Thomas Ken.. 46 HYMN Joseph Addison. 47 PARAPHRASE OF PSALM

XXIII`C CC 47 THE UNlVERSAL PRAYER Alexander Pope. 48 HAPPINESS C’ CC. 48

SONG Allan Ramsay. 49 THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY AND EVERY BODY John ~ay 50 CARELESS CONTENT John Byrom.. 51 FROM THE “CASTLE OF INDOLENCE” -..

James Thomeon. - 51 A HYMN`C C 52 GRONGAR HILL John Dyer 54 THE BRARS OF

YARROW William ITamilton 56 THE HEAVENLY LAND Isaac Watts.. 57 YE GOLDEN

LAMPS OF HEAVEN, FAREWELL! Thelip Doddrn’dge - 58 JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL

Charles Wesley. 58 LOVE DIVINE, ALL LOVE EXCELLING. -. A~gHst~s AL Toplady 58 ON THE DEATH OF DR. LEVETT am~el Johnson. 59 THE SCHOOLMISTRESS William Shenstone - 59 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD Thomas ~ray.. - 60

ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE ” “.. - 62 DIRGE IN CYMBELINE

William Collins. - 63 ODE TO EVENING ” “. - 64 THE CHAMELEON James Merrick. 64 FROM “THE DESERTED YILLAGE” Oliver Coldsmith. 65

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x CONTENTS. THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY J’homas Percy. 67 Loss OF THE ROYAL

GEORGE Wit1ia~ Uowper. 69 LINES TO MY MOTHER’S PICTURE….. 69 MYSTERIRS

OF PROVIDENCE C’ CC 71 THE MARINER’S WIFE Wi1am JEliNS Mkk~ 71 THE

HERMIT James Beattie~.. 72 THE DEAD Johm Lamghor~e. 73 THE THREE WARNINGS

Mrs. Thrale.. 73 THE SABBATH OF THE SOUL Am~a L. Barbauld 74 Tii~E DEATH

OF THE YIRTUoUS CC CC 74 LIFE CC 75 WHAT AILS THIS HEART 0’ MINE? Susa~~a B7amire 75 To THE CUCKOO Johm Logam.. 75 YARRoW STREAM.. 75 BONNIE GEORGE

CAMPBELL Umkmowm 76 WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY… C’ 76 LADY MARY ANN

CC 77 THE BoATIE ROWS CC 77 GLENLoGIE CC 75 JOHN DAVIDSON C’ 78 HAD 1 A HEART FOR FALSEHOOD FRAMED.. Btchard B. Sherndan. 79 THE MINSTREL’S SONG

IN ELLA Thomas Chattertom.. 79 ISAAC ASEFoRD Ceorge Crabbe…. 80 A WISH

Sam~et Bogers… Si ITALIAN SONG CC CC 81 OF A’ THE AIRTS THE WIND CAN

BLAW Bobert Burms…. 82 MARY MORISoN CC CC.. 82 HIGHLAND MARY CC CC.. 82

To MARY IN HEAVEN C’ CC.. 83 A YISIoN CC CC.. 83 A BARD’S EPITAPH CC CC..

83 ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON`C C.. 54 AULD ROBIN GRAY Lady Amme Barmard. 85 THE TIGER William Blake… 85 To THE MUSES C’ CC.. 86 TIlE

GoWAN GLITTERS ON THE SWARD Joamma Baillie… 86 TEE LAND 0’ TEE LEAL Lady Carolime Nairm. 86 THE S%DIER’S RETURN Robert Bloom~eld.. 87 LAMENT FOR

FLoDDEN Jame Elliott…. 88 TEE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE BURN Robert Tammahill.. 88 THE BEARS 0’ BALQUHITHER “… 88 To THE LADY ANNE HAMILTON

William B. Spencer. 89 THE DEAD WHO HAVE DIED IN THE LORD James Classford… 89 NIGHT AND DEATH Joseph Blanco White. 89 ODE TO AN INDIAN

GOLD COIN John Ley&m…. 90

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CONTENTS. xi WRITTEN AFTER RECOVERY FROM A DANGEROUS ILLNESS Sir ffum~hry Davy.. 90 CUPID GROWN CAREFUL ~orge Croly…. 91 To THE HERB ROSEMARY

Henry Kirke WMte.. 92 To AN EARLY PRIMROSE C’ “.. 92 TEE STAR OF BETHLEHEM

C’ 93 LINES WRITTEN IN RICHMOND CHURCHYARD, YORKSHIRE Herbert Knowles…

93 FROM WORDSWORTH TO LONGFELLOW. INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY William Wordswortk 97 THE DAFFODILS “`C 99 To TEE CUCKOO ” ” 100 A MEMORY ” ” 100

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT ” ” 100 YARROW UNVISITED C’ CC 101 ON A PICTURE OF PEELE CASTLE IN A STORM C’ C 101 ODE TO DUTY C’ CC 102 To SLEEP`C CC 103 THE WORLD`C 103 To THE RIVER DUDDON ” ” 103 YOUNG LOCHINVAR

Sir Walter Scott.. 104 A SERENADE.. 105 SONG.. 105 LAY OF THE IMPRISONED

HUNTSMAN.. 105 THE TROSACES.. 105 CORONACH.. 106 HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID..

107 CHRISTMAS-TIME.. 107 GENEVIEVE am~l Taylor Coleridge 108 HYMN BEFORE

SUNRISE IN THE YALE OF CHA MOUNI ” ” ” 109 CHRISTABEL ” ” ” 110 STANEAS

Robert Southey… 117 THE INCHCAPE ROCK C’… 117 BROUGH BELLS… 118 THE

HOUSEKEEPER Charles Lamb… 120 THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES ” “… 120 HESTER “

“… 120 WHEN MAGGY GANGS AWAY James Hogg…. 121 THE RAPTURE OF

KILMENY…. 121 FLY TO THE DESERT Thomas ffoore… 123 THE MID HOUR OF

NIGHT ” “… 124 THE YALE OF AVOCA ” “… 124

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xii CONTENTS. O THOU WHO DRY ST THE MOURNER’S TEAR Th~nas Moore…. 124

THOU ART, 0 GOD! C’ CC.. 124 SME WALKS IN BEAUTY Lord Byrom 125 THE

DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB`C CC 125 THE LAKE OF GENEVA 126 MONT BLANC 126

THE IMMORTAL MIND CC CC 126 STANEAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR NAPLES Percy Bysshe Shelley 127 To A SKYLARK C’ CC 127 ONE WORD IS TOO OFTEN PROFANED

CC CC CC 128 THE EVE OF SAINT AGNES Johm Keats 129 THE COMMON LOT James Mrn~gomery. 135 FOREVER WITH THE LORD C’. 135 PRAYER CC CC. 136 WHILST

THEE I SEEK ffelen Maria WiUian~ 136 THERE WAS SILENCE IN HEAVEN Unkuowm 136 To A BEREAVED MOTHER Johm Quincy Adams 137 LAMENT Walter Savage Landor 137 THE LAST MAN Thomas Cam~bell 138 GLENARA “`C 138 LORD ULLIN’S DAUGHTER

CC CC 139 HYMN TO THE FLOWERS Horace Smith. 140 ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN

MUMMY`C 141 A GHOST AT NOON Ebenezer Elliott. 142 FOREST WORSHIP CC CC.

142 CORN-LAW HYMN C’ CC.. 143 IF THOU WERT BY MY SIDE Beginald Heber 143

NOT OURS THE YOWS Bernard Barton 144 AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE Leigh Hunt 144

ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL C’ C’ 144 A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA Allan Cunningham.. 144 THOU MAST SWORN BY THY GOD CC CC.. 145 SIlE`S GANE TO

DWALL IN HEAVEN… 145 THE EVENING CLOUD John Wilson…. 146 FROM THE

RECESSES Sir John Bowrnng… 146 HYMN C’… 146 THE BUCKET Samuel Woodworth.. 147 AFTER A SUMMER SHOWER Andrews Norton… 147 MARINER’S HYMN

Caroline Bowles Southey. 148 THE SOUL’S DEFIANCE Lavinia Stoddard… 148

0, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD? William Knox…. 149 THE

JACKDAW OF RHEIMS Bichard H Barham.. 150 MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE

Bichard Henry Wilde. 152 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. Charles Wolj~….

152

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CONTENTS. xiii SWEET HOME John Howard Payme. 153 THE CHILDE’S DESTINY

Felicia Hemans 153 KINDRED HEARTS 154 MARRIAGE Maria Brooks 154 MAY James C. Percival.. 155 To SENECA LAKE.. 155 THE FALL OF NIAGARA John C. C.

Brainard. 155 EPITHALAMIUM. 156 THE MEMORY OF THE HEART Baniel Webster 156

THE AMERICAN FLAG Joseph Bodman Brake. 156 PASSING AWAY John Pierpont 157

To CONGRESS 158 JEANIE MORRISON William Motherwell. 159 THE SONG OF THE

SHIRT Thomas Hood 160 MORNING MEDITATIONS 160 SONG ” ” 161 RUTH 161 HYMN

OF NATURE W. B. 0. Peabody.. 162 I WOULD NOT LIVE ARWAY W. A. Muhlenberg..

162 THE IRISH EMIGRANT Lody Bufferin 163 THE BELLE OF THE BALL Winthrop M.

Praed. 163 LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP William Leggett.. 165 A HEALTH Edward Coate Pink~iey 165 BURNS Fitz-Creene Halleck. 165 ON A PORTRAIT OF RED JACKET..

166 SONNET William Lloyd Carrison 168 AMBITION John Neal 168 PILGRIM SONG

Ceorge Lunt 168 THE FAMILY MEETING Charles Sprague.. 169 OUR MARY Henry Scott Riddell. l6~ THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR Samuel Ferguson.. 170 THE

BELLS OF SHANDON Francis Mahony (Father Prout) 171 UNSEEN SPIRITS

Nathaniel Parker Willis 172 FROM MELANIE 172 BINGEN ON THE RHINE Caroline Elizabeth Norton 173 THE SABBATH Edward Lord Lytton. 174 FAITH Frances Anne Kemble. 175 HYMN John Sterling 175 LABOR Fra~wes S. Osgood.. 175 THE

PRESENT HEAVEN Jones Very 176 To THE PAINTED COLUMBINE 176 EVENING SONG

Thomas Miller 177 MORNING John Keble 177 INWARD MUSIC 178 0 SAVIoUR! WHOSE

MERCY ir Bobert Crant.. 178

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xiv CONTENTS. TRUST 1)eam of Canterbury… 179 A PETITION TO TIME B. W.

rrocter (Barry Cornwall) 179 A PRAYER IN SICKNESS ” ” “. 179 TEE BROOKSIDE

Bichard AIonckton Mimes. 181 TEE MEN OF OLD ” ” “. 180 TEE PALM AND THE

PINE C’ “. 180 TIBBIE INGLIS Mary Howitt 181 THE DEPARTURE OF THE

SWALLOW.. Wi1lia~ Howitt…. 182 Lucy’s FLITTIN’ rvilltam La~dlaw 182

SUMMER DAYS U~known 183 LOSSES Frances Browns 184 WE ARE BRETHREN A Robert Nicoll 184 THE ISLAND Richard H. Dana 185 THE PIRATE 186 THE SPECTRE HORSE

185 To A WATERFOWL TVillsam C~llen Bryant. 187 THANATOPsIS C’ C. 187 THE

DEATH OF THE FLOWERS ” ” “. 188 To TEE FRINGED GENTIAN`C. 189 THE

BATTLE-FIELD ” ” “. 189 FROM “TEE RIVULET” ” ” “. 190 THE BURIAL OF LOVE

C’. 190 THE SLEEP Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 190 BERTHA IN THE LANE ” “

“. 191 A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT ” ” “. 193 COWPER’S GRAVE ” ” “. 194 AT THE

CHURCH GATE Wi7ltam Makepeace Thackeray 195 MARIANA Alfred Tennyson.. 195

“BREAK, BREAK, BREAK!” “.. 196 MEMORY ” 196 DOUBT ” 197 THE LARGER HOPE “

197 GARDEN SONG ” 198 BUGLE SONG ” ” 199 THE APOLOGY Ralph Waldo Emerson 199 To EV~ ” ” ” 199 TRINE EYES STILL SHONE ” ” ” 200 EACH AN-D ALL ” “

200 THE PROBLEM ” ” ” 200 BOSTON HYMN ” “`~ 201 THE SOUL’S PROPHECY ” “

202 THE BELLS Edgar A. roe 202 EVELYN HOPE Robert Browning 203 RABBI BE~EzRA ” 204 THE LOST LEADER 207

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CONTENTS. xv PAUL REVERE’S RIDE Henry W. Longfellow.. 207 MAIDENHOOD. C’

CC 209 A PSALM OF LIFE ” 209 RESIGNATION ” 210 SANTA FILOMENA ” 211
llAWTHORNE ” 211 TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW Cerald Massey 2 TEE GRAVE BY THE

LAKE John C. Whittier 212 MY BIRTHDAY CC CC 214 THE YANISHERS CC CC 215 In SCHOOL-DAYS C’ CC 215 LAUS Dvo! CC CC 216 TEE EVE OF ELECTION`C CC 216 THE

TOUCHSTONE William Allingham 217 SMALL BEGINNINGS Charles Mackay.. 218

TUBAL CAIN “.. 218 THE LIVING TEMPLE Oliver Wendell Holmes 219 DOROTHY Q “

” 219 THE YOICELESS ” ” 220 ROBINSON OF LEYDEN CC CC CC 221 THE DEACON’S

MASTERPIECE ” ” 221 THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS CC CC CC 223 UNDER THE YIOLETS

” ” 223 THE liERITAGE James Bussell Lowell 224 NEW ENGLAND SPRING ” 224

THE COURTIN ” 225 AMBROSE ” 226 AFTER THE BURIAL ” 227 COMMEMORATION ODE “

228 THE ALPINE SHEEP Maria ~ite Lowell 229 CAMPANILE BE PISA Thomas W.

Farsons 230 ON A BUST OF DANTE CC CC 231 WISHING John C Saxe.. 232 SLEEP

AND DEATH “.. 232 A STILL DAY IN AUTUMN Sarah Helen Whitman 233 THE

SETTLER Alfred B Street. 234 KNOWING Christopher r. Cranch 234 SLEEPY
llOLLOW William E. Channing 235 FROM “A TRIBUTE TO A SERVANT” Julia Ward Howe. 235 BATTLE llYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. 236 INSPIRATION IL D Thoreau.. 236

MILTON’S PRAYER IN BLINDNESS. Elizabeth LThyd Howell 237 THE BURIAL OF

MOSES C. F Alexander. 237 CHRISTMAS llYMN B’. H Sears… 238 THE WAY, THE

TRUTH, AND THE LIFE Theodore Parker. 239

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xVl CONTENTS. THE WILL OF GOD Frederic William Faber 239 THE RIGHT MUST

WIN ” ” ” 239 SEEN AND UNSEEN David A. Wasson.. 240 ALL`S WELL ” “.. 241

ROYALTY ” “.. 241 THE KINGDOM OF GOD ~ichard Chenevix Trench 241 THE NEW

SINAI Arthur Hugh Clough. 242 FROM THE “BOTHIE OF TOBER-NAVUOLICH”. 243

THE STREAM OF LIFE. 243 QUA CUESUM YENTUS. 244 THE GOLDEN SUNSET Samuel Longfellow.. 244 QUIET FROM GOD Unknown 244 THE LOVE OF GOD Eliza Scudder… 245 NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE Sarah F. Ada~~s.. 245 M~ TIMES ARE

IN THY HAND Anna L. Waring.. 246 CANA James Freeman Clarke 246 THE INNER

CALM Horatius Bonar… 247 THE MASTER’S TOUCH ” “… 247 Uv AHOYF W.

Alexander… 247 THE OTHER WORLD Harmet Beecher Stowe. 248 O HAY I JOIN

THE CHOIR INVISIBLE!.. Mrs. Lewes (Ceorge Eliot) 248 THE THREE FISHERS

Charles Kingsley.. 249 THE SANDS OF DEE ” “. 249 A~MYTH ” “.. 250 CORING

HOME Dinah MuThek Craik. 250 Too LATE ” ” “. 250 OUTWARD BOUND ” ” “. 250

UNTIL DEATH Elizabeth Akers Allen 251 WHY THUS LONGING? Harriet Winslow Sewall 251 WOMAN Coventry Patmore.. 252 THE CHASE ” “.. 252 THE LOVER “

“.. 253 THE SHEFEERD-BOY Letitia B. Landon.. 253 DEATH AND THE YOUTH ” “..

254 THE SISTERS Aubrey Dc Vere.. 254 KEUMLEY Alice Carey 254 THE SURE

WITNESS ” ” 255 HER LAST POEM 255 FIELD PREACHING Phebe Carey 256 NEARER

HOME 256 PEACE 257 KEITIl OF RAVELSTON Sydney Dobell… 257 EVENTIDE

Thomas Burbridge.. 258 THE ICONOCLAST Bose Terry Cooke.. 258 “IT IS MORE

BLESSED.. 259

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CONTENTS. xvii LOVE Anne C. (Lynch) Botta 259 INDIAN NAMES Lydia IL

Sigourney 260 ETEENAL LIGHT William IL Furness 260 WOEDSWORTH James T.

Fields 260 THE BURIAL OF THE DANE.. ilenry Howard Brownell. 261 THE

MOUNTAINS Ba yard Taylor 262 AN ORIENTAL IDYL 262 THE VOYAGEES`C 262 THE

SONG OF THE CAMP.. C’ C 263 THE POET OF TO-DAY S. J~ LIppincott (~~ace Greenwood) 263 LADY BARBARA Alexander Smith 264 THE TERRACE AT BERNE

Matthew Arnold 265 URANIA`C 266 THE LAST WORD C’ C 266 THE ARTIST Bobert Lord Lytton 266 BERTHA Anne Whitney 265 THE UPRIGHT SOUL J. IL Perkins 269
o LASSIE AYONT THE HILL!. George Macdonald 270 HYMN FOR THE MOTHER. C’ CC

270 AN ANGEL’S VISIT Eliza Sproat Turner.. 271 AFTER DEATH Chrnstina Bossetti 272 WEARY CC CC 272 THE SUNFLOWER Bora GreenweU 272 VESP~RS C’ CC

273 CHARITY Elizabeth IL Whittier.. 273 THE MEETING WATERS.. C’ CC 273

WIlEN THE GRASS SHALL COVER ME Elizabeth Akers Al~em.. 273 AGAIN Unknown 274 A STRIP OF BLUE Lucy Larco~ 274 BY THE FIRESIDE`C CC 275 DOWN THE

SLOPE Charlotte P. Hawes.. 276 THE TWO WORLDS Uaknown 276 SUNLIGHT AND

STARLIGHT.. Adeline B. T. Whitney 277 “I WILL ABIDE IN THINE HOUSE”`C CC

CC 277 O~ER THE RIVER Nancy A. W. Priest. 277 JUDGE NOT Adelaide A.

Procter. 278 FRIEND SORROW`C CC 278 THE CLOSING SCENE Thomas B’~chanan Bead 279 THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE Jean IngeThw 280 SEVEN

TIMES FOUR 2S2 SEVEN TIMES SEVEN 282 BEFORE THE RAIN Thomas Bailey Aldrich 283 AFTER THE RAIN`C CC CC 283 PIsCATAQUA RIVER CC CC C 283

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Xvili CONTENTS. THE GREEN GNOME Robert R~~chanan…. 284 THE DOORSTEP B.

C. Stedman 285 PAN IN WALL STREET`C CC 285 A MATCH Algernon Charles Swinburne 286 NEVER AGAIN B. IL Stoddard 287 LAuDWARD`C CC 287 NOVEMBER

287 AT SEA J. T. Trowbridge 287 iN THE DEFENCES B. A. Allen (Florence Percy). 288 OUR HEROES Edna Bean Proctor 389 DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER ~eorge IL

Boker 290 THE HOUSE IN THE MEADOW. Louise Chandler Moulton… 290 THE LATE

SPRING`C CC… 291 iN JUNE Nora Perry 291 AFTER THE BALL CC CC 292 THE

JESTER’S SERMON W Thornbury 293 CLIMBING Annie Fields… 294 CORONATION He len Hunt 294 THE WAY TO SING C’ CC 295 THE SEA-LIMITS Dante Gabriel Rossetti.. 295 A SUMMER DAY Celia Thaxter 295 SUBMISSION C’ CC 296 MARCH

William Morris 297 THE CRICKETS Harriet MeEwen KTh~ball 297 ALL`S WELL CC

CC CC. 298 THE SURVIVORS Harriet W. Preston.. 298 IN THE SEA Hiram Rich 298 CONCHA Francis Bret ~arte 299 DICKENS IN CAMP`C CC 301 THE PURITAN

LOVERS Annie B. Green (Marian Douglas) 302 BEFORE THE GATE William B.

Howells.. 303 MY OLD KENTUCKY NURSE S. H. B. Piatt 303 THE OLD-FASHIONED

CHOIR B. F. Taylor 304 MAIzINI Laura C. Redden 304 UNAWARES CC CC 305 A WOMAN’S LOVE John Hay 305 ON THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 306 ALL THE RIVERS CC CC CC 306 WHITE UNDERNEATH Rebecca S. Palfrey 307

LISTENING FOR GOD William C. Gannett 307 GOD KNOWETH Mary G. Brainerd 307

A SONG OF TRUST John W. Chadwick 308 PRE-EXISTENCE Paul H. Hayne 309 FROM

THE WOODS CC CC 309

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CONTENTS. xii BALLAD OF TUE BRIDES OF QUAIR… isa CrMg Knox… 310 SPRING

IN CAROLINA Henry Timrod… 311 TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE Walter F.

Mitchell.. 311 HEREAFTER Harriet Prescott Spoiford 312 SONG ” ” ” 313

AERAEL William Winter. 313 FROM “WALKER IN NICARAGUA”… Joaquin Miller…

313 SUNRISE IN YENICE ” “… 314 DIFFERENT POINTS OF YIEW Unknown 314

BIRCH STREAM Anna Boynton Averill 315 DRIYING HOME THE Cows Kate Patnam Osgood. 316 WAITING Lizzie C. Parker.. 316 “HE AND SUE” Edwin Arnold…

317 AFTER DEATH IN ARABIA ” “… 318 UNSEEN Unknown 318 THE QUIET MEETING

Harriet 0. Nelson.. 319 MIDWINTER W. J. Linton… 320 DEFINITIONS ” “…

320 READY Margaret J. Preston. 321 A BIRD’S MINISTRY ” “. 321 WUAT IS THE

USE? Erastus W. Ellsworth. 321 ABRAHAM LINCOLN Tom TayThr 324 HYMN TO

CHRIST Mrs. Miles 325 TUE BLUE AND THE GRAY F. M. Finch 326 TUE STATUE

Henry Abbey 326 WAITING John Burroughs… 327 IN THE MIST Sarah Woolsey…

327 THE MORNING STREET John James Piatt.. 328 DAWN Bichard W. Cilder.. 328

THE SOWER ” “.. 329 TUE DANCE William Bell Scott.. 329 COME TO ME, DEAREST

Joseph Brennan… 330 TUE MUSIC-LESSON OF CONFUCIUS… Charles C. Leland..

331 MINE OWN ” “.. 333 URvASI Helen Barron Bostwick 334 TUE FISHERMAN’S

FUNERAL Unknown 334 ON RECROSSING THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS IN WINTER, AFTER

MANY YEARS.. John C. Fremont. 335 JULY DAWNING UnknowH 335 TUE FISHERMAN’S

SUMMONS 336 WORK Mary N. Prescott. 337 Two MOODS ” “. 337 SONG OF A FELLOW-WORKER Arthur O’Shaughnessy 337

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xx CONTENTS. ITALY. A PROPHECY Archdeacon Hare 338 EPITAPH T. K. Hervey 339 THE BLACKBIRD Frederick Tennyson 340 FATE John A. Dorgan. 341 THE

PETRIFIED FERN Mary Botles Branch 341

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LIST OF AITTliORS. Page ABBEY, HENRY. BAXTER, RICHARD Pags The Statue…..

326 Resignation 39 ADAMS, JOHN QUINCY. BEATTIE, JAMES. Bereaved Mother, To a…. 137 Hermit, The….. 2 ADAMS, SARAH F. BLAKE, WILLIAM. Nearer, my God, to Thee… 245 Muses, To the 86 Tiger, The 85 ADDISON, JOSEPH.

BLAMIRE SUSANNA. of Psalm XXIIL.. 4~j’ What a’ its this Heart 0~ mine?..

75 ALDRICH, THOMAS BAILEY BLOOMFIELD, ROBERT. After the Rain. 283

Soldier’s Return, The…. 87 Before the Rain 283 BORER, GEORGE H.

Piscataqua River 83 Dirge for a Soldier…. 290 ALEXANDER, C. F. BONAR, HORATIUS. Burial of Moses, The…. 237 Inner Calm, The….. 247 Master’s Touch, The…. 247 ALEXANDER W Up Ahove 247 BOSTWICK, HELEN BARRON. Urvasi 334 ALLEN, ELIZABETH AKERS (FLORENCE BOTTA, ANNE C. (LYNCIl). PERCY) Love 259 In the Defences 288 When the Grass shall cover me. 273 BOWRING, SIR

JOHN. Until Death 251 From the Recesses. 146 Hymn. 146 ALLINGHAM, WILLIAM.

Touchstone, The… 217 BRAINARD JOHN G. C. Epithala’mium 156 ARNOLD, EDWIN. Fall of Niagara, The…. 155 After Death in Arahia.. BRAINERD, MARY

G. “He and She”….. 31 God knoweth….. 307 ARNOLD, MATTHEW. BRANCH MARY

BOLLES. Last Word, The. 266 Petrined Fern, The…. 341 Terrsce at Berne, The. 265 Urania.. 266 BRENNAN, JOSEPH. Come to me, Dearest…. 330

AVERILL, ANNA BOYNTON. Birch Stream 315 BROOKS, MARM. AYTON, SIR ROBERT.

Marriage 154 Fair and Unworthy…. 26 BROWNE, FRANCES. BAILLIE, JOANNA.

Losses…. 184 The Gowan glltters on the Sward.. 86 BROWNE, SIR THOMAS.

BAItBAULD, ARNA L. Evening Hymn 29 Death of the Virtuous, The.. 74 BROWNE, WILLIAM. Life.. 75 Sirens’ Song, The 25 Sahbath of the Soul, The.. 74 Song 5 BARHAM, RICHARD H. BROWNELL, HENRY IIOWARTh Jackdaw of Rheims, The…

150 Burial of the Dane, The… 261 BARNARD, LADY ANNE. BROWNING, ELIZABETIl BARRETT. Auld Robin Gray… 85 Bertha in the Lane. 191 Cowper’s Grave 94 BARTON, BERNARD. Musical Instrument, A. 193 Not ours the Vows…. 144 Sleep, The 1o

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xxii LIST OF AUTHORS. BROWNING, ROBERT CLOUGH, ARTlIUR lIUGlI. Evelyn Hope. 2013 “Bothie of Tober-Navuolich,” From the 243 Lost Leader, The 207

New Sinai, The…. 242 Rahhi Ben Ezra 204 Qoa Cursum Ventus…. 244

BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN Stream of Life, The. 243 Battle-Field, The…189

COLERIDGE, SAMUEL TAYLOR. Burial of Love, The. 190 Christahel 110 Death of the Flowers, The.. 188 Genevieve. 108 Fringed Gentian, To the 189 Hymn hefore Sunrise in the Vale of Thanatopsis. 187 Chamonni.. 109 “The Rivulet,” From 190 COLLINS, WILLIAM. Waterfowl, To a 187 Dirge in Cimheline 63 BUCHANAN, ROBERT. Evening, Ode to 64 Green Gnome, The…. 284

COOKE, ROSE TERRY BURNS, ROBERT. Iconoclast, The…258 “It is more hiessed”… 259 Bard’s Epitaph, A…. 88 Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson. 84 CORBETT, BISHOP RICHARD. Highland Mary 82 Farewell to the Fairies. 20 Mary in Heaven, To. CO Mary Morison 82 WLEY, ABRAHAM. Of a’

the Airts the Wind can hiaw 82 Liherty 41 Vision, A ~ Of myself 40

BURBIDGE, THOMAS. COWPER, WILLIAM. Eventide ~ My Mother’s Picture, Lines to.. 69 Mysteries of Providence…. 71 BURROUGHS, JOHN Royal George, Loss of the… 69 Waiting 327 CRABBE, GEORGE. BYRD, WILLIAM. Isaac Ashford 80

My Mind to me a Kingdom is.. 15 CRAIK, DINAH MULOCK. BYROM, JOHN. Coming Home 250 Careless Content… 5~ Outward Bound.250 Too Late 250 BYRON, LORD. Destruction of Sennacherih, The. 125 CRANCH, CHRISTOPHER P. Immortal Mind, The.. 126 Stanzas 254 Lake of Geneva, The..126 CRASHAW, RICHARD.

Mont Blanc 126 Wishes 29 She walks in Beauty.. 125 CROLY, GEORGE.

CAMPBELL, THOMAS. Glenara 138 Cupid grown carefui…. 91 Last Man, The..138 CUNNINGHAM, ALLAN. Lord Ullin’s Daughter 139 A wet Sheet and a flowing Sea.. 144 She`s gane to dwall in Heaven.. 145 CANTERBURY, DEAN OF.

Thou hast sworn hy thy God.. 145 Trust.179 DANA, RICHARD H. CAREW, LADY

ELIZABETH. Island, The.185 Revenge of Injuries…. 13 Pirate, The. 185

Spectre Horse, The 186 CAREW, THOMAS. He that loves a rosy Cheek… ~

DANIEL, SAMUEL. From an Epistle to the Countess of CumCAREY, ALICE berland 14 Her Last Poem 255 DAVIES, SIR JOHN. Krumley 254 Soul, The….. 11 Sure Witness, The 255 DAVY, SIR HUMPHRY. CAREY, PHEBE Written after Recovery from aDangerous Field Preaching. 256 Illness.. 90 N~arer Home 256 Peace 257 DOBELL, SYDNEY. Keith of Raveiston….. 257 CHADWICK, JOHN W. Song of Trust, A..308 DODDRIDGE, PHILIP. Ye golden Lamps of Heaven, farewell’. 58

CHANNING, WILLIAM E DORGAN, JOHN A. Sleepy hollow 231 Fate……341

CHATTERTON, THOMAS. DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAN. Minstrel’s Song in Ella, The…

71 American Flag, The…. 156 CLARKE, JAMES FREEMAN. DRUMMOND, WILMAM.

Cana……246 Lessons of Nature, The…. 12

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LIST OF AUTHORS. XXili DRYDEN. JOHN. GREENWELL, DORA. Character of a Good Parson… 46 Sunflower, The 272 Reason….. 46 Vespers 278 Song for St.

Cecilia’s Day. 1687.. 45 Under Milton’s Picture… 46 ElALLECK, FITE-GREENE. DUFFERIN, LADY. Burns 5 Red Jacket, On a Portrait of.. 166

Irish Emirgant, The….163 HAMILTON, WILLIAM. DYER, JOlIN. Braes of Yarrow, The…. 56 Grongar Hill…. 54 ELLIOTT, EBENEZER. HARE, ARCHDEACON. Corn.Law Hymn….. 143 Italy. A Prophecy.338 Forest Worship…,. 142 HARTE, FRANCIS BRET. Ghost at Noon A 142 Concha. 299

ELLIOTT, JANE. Dickens in Camp.. 801 Lament for Flodden…. 88 HAWES, CHARLOTTE P. ELLSWORTH, ERASTUS W. Down the Slope…..276 What is the Use?…..321 HAY, JOHN. Woman’s Love, A…..805 ELWOOD, THOMAS. Prayer 39

HAYNE, PAUL H. From the Woods….. 809 EMERSON, RALPH WALDO. Apology, The 199 Pre.existence 809 Boston Hymn 201 HEBER, REGINALD. Each and All.. 200

H thou wert by my Side.143 Problem, The 200 HEMANS F Soul’s Prophecy, The..202, ELICIA. Thine Eyes still shone 200 Childe~s Destiny, The. 158 To Eva 199 Kindred Hearts 154 FABER, FREDERIC WILLIAM HERBERT, EDWARD (EARL

OF CHER The Right must win 289 BURY). The Will of God 239 Celinda. 29

FERGUSON, SAMUEL HERBERT, GEORGE. Forging of the Anchor, The.170 Flower, The 81 Rest 82 FIELDS, ANNIE Virtue Climhiug 294 81 FIELDS, JAMES T.

IlERRICK, ROBERT. Blossoms, To 81 Wordsworth 260 Daffodils, To…. 80

FINCH, F. M To keep a True Lent… 81 Blue and the Gray, The….826

HERVEY, T. K. FREMONT, JOlIN C. On recrossing the Rocky Mountains in Epitaph 889 Winter, after many Years…335 HEYWOOD, THOMAS. FURNESS, WILLIAM H Good.Morrow…. 26 Eternal Light…… 260 Search after God GANNETT, WILLIAM C. HOGG, JAMES. Listening for God….. 807 Rapture of Kilmeny, The. 121 GARRISON, WILLIAM LLOYD. When Maggy gangs away..121

Sonnet 168 HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL. GAY, JOHN. Chambered Nautilus, The..

228 The Painter who pleased Nobody and Deacon’s Masterpiece, The.. 221

Everyhody….. 50 Dorothy Q 219 GILDER, RICHARD W. Living Temple, The..219

Dawn…..828 Robinson of Leyden… 221 The Sower 829 Under the Violets….

228 GLASSFORD, JAMES. Voiceless, The.. 220 The Dead who have died in the Lord. 89 HOOD, THOMAS GOLDSMITII, OLIVER. Morning Meditations…160 The Deserted Village,” From.. 65 Ruth 1 GRANT, SIR ROBERT. Song….161 O

Saviour! whose mercy… 178 Song of the Shirt, The.. 160 ~RAY, THOMAS.

HOWARD, HENRY, EARL OF SURREY. Elegy written in a Country Churchyard 60 No Age content with his own Escate. 8 Ode on a distant Prospect of Eton College 62 HOWE, JULIA WARD. GREEN, ANNIE D. (MARIAN DOUGLA8). “A Tribute to a Servant” Puritan Lovers, The.. 302 Battle,, From.285 Hymn of th9

Republi9. 23fl

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Xxiv LIST OF AUTHORS. I~bWE~L, ELIZABETH LLOYD LAMB, CHARLES. Mllton’s Prayer in Bllndness 287 Hester 120 Housekeeper, The 120 IlOWELLS, WILLIAM

D. Old Familiar Faces, The 120 Before the Gate.303 LANDON, LETITIA E.

llOWITT, MARY. Death and the Youth 254 Tibbie Inglis 181 Shepherd-Boy, The..253 HOWITT, WILLIAM. LANDOR, WALTER SAVAGE. lepartare of the Swallow, The..182 Lament 187 IlUME, ALEXANDER. IANGHORNE, JOHN. Summer’s Day, A….. 10 Dead, The 73 RUNT, HELEN LARCOM, LUCY. Coronation 294 By the Fireside 275 Way to sing, The 283 Strip of Blue, A.274 RUNT, LEIGH.

LEGGETT, WILLIAM. Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel. 144 Love and Friendship….165 An Angel in the House….144 LELAND, CHARLES G. INGELOW, JEAN. Mine Own 333 High Ti~ on the Coast of lincoinshire, The Music-Lesson of Confucius.331 The.. Seven Times Four…. 282 ESTRANGE, SIR ROGER. Ssven Times Seven 282 In Prison 39 LEWES MRS. (GEORGE ELIOT). JOHNSON, SAMUEL. 0
may I join the Choir invisible!.248 Death of Dr. Levett, On the… 59

LEYDEN, JOHN. JONSON, BEN. Ode to an Indian Gold Coin.. 90 Epitaph on Elizabeth L. H… 19 How near to Good is what is Fsir!.. 19 LINTON, W. J.

Noble Nature, The…. 18 Definitions 320 On Lucy, Countess of Bedford.. 19

~Bdwinter 20 Song of Hesperus…. 18 LIPPINCOTT, SARA J. (GRACE GREEN

Sweet Neglect, The….. 19 WOOD). KEATS, JOHN. Poet of To-day, The….268

Saint Agnes, The Eve of….129 LOGAN, JOHN. KEBLE, JOHN Cuckoo, To the 75

Inward Music 178 Yarrow Stream…. 75 Morning 177 LONGFELLOW, HENRY W.

REMBLE, FRANCES ANNE. Hawthorne 211 Faith…….175 Maidenhood 209 Paul Revere’s Ride 207 KEN, THOMAS. Psalm of Life, A 209 Mormug Hymn….. 46

Resignation 210 Santa Filomena 211 KIMBALL, HARRIET McEWEN. All`s Well 29~

LONGFELLOW, SAMUEL. Crickete, The 297 Golden Sunset, The….244 KING, HENRY LOVELACE, SIR RICHARD. Elegy ~ Althea,To 30 Sic Vita 27 Lucasta, To 30 KINGSLEY, CHARLES. LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL. After the Burial…..227

Myth, A. Ambrose 226 Sands of Des, The 249 Commemoration Ode….228 Three Fishers, The 249 Courtin’, The….. 225 KNOWLES, HERBERT Heritage, The 224

Lines written in Richmond Churchyard, New England Spring…. 224 Yorkshire 93 LOWELL, MARIA WHITE. KNOX, ISA CRAIG. Alpine Sheep, The…..229 flridss of Quzir, The Ballad of the..310 LUNT, GEORGE. KNOX, WILLIAM. Pilgrim Song 168 0, why should the Spirit of Mortal be LYTTON, EDWARD LORD. proud? 149

Sabbath, The 174 LAIDLAW, WILLIAM LYTTON, ROBERT LORD Lucy`S Flittin’ 182

Artist, The 266

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LIST OF AUTHORS. XX? MACDONALD, GEORG~. NEAL, JOUK. Hyniu f~ the Muther…. 270 Ambition. 168 O Lassie ayont the Hill!…270 NELSON, HARRIET 0. MACKAY, CHARLES Quiet Meeting, The….319 Small Beginnings 218

Tubal Cain 1S NICOLL, ROBERT. We are Brethren a’ 1S MAHONY, FRANCIS

(FATHER PROUT). NORTON ANDREWS. Bells of Shandon, The…. 171 After`a Summer Shower…. 147 MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER. NORTON CAROLINE ELIZABETH.

Passionate Shepherd to his Love, The. 4 Binge’n on the Rhine…. 173

MARVELL, ANDREW. OSGOOD, FRANCES S. Bermudas, The…. 85 Labor Thoughts in a Garden…. 84….. 175 MASSEY, GERALD. OSGOOD, KATE PUTNAM. Today and To-morrow….212 Driving Home the Cows….816 MERRICK, JAMES 0’ SHAUGHNES

SY, ARTHUR. Chameleon, The 64 Song of a Fellow-Worker… 337 MICKLE, WILLIAM JULIUS. PALFREY, REBECCA S. Mariner~s Wife The… 71 White Underneath 807 MILES, MRS PARKER, LIZZIE G. Hymn to Christ 325 Waiting 816

MILLER, JOAQUIN. PARKER, THEODORE. Sunrise in Venice…. ~~ The Way, the Truth, and the Life.. 289 “Walker in Nicaragua,” From.. 813 PARSONS, THOMAS W. MILLER, THOMAS Campanile do Pisa…. 230 Evening Song 177 On a Bust of Dante… 28t PATMORE, COVENTRY. MILNES, RICHARD MONCKTON (LORD

Chase, The 252 HOUGllTON). Lover The 253 Brookeide, The 180 Woma’n 252 Men of Old, The 180 Palm and the Pine, The…181 PAYNE, JOHN HOWARD. MILTON, JOHN Sweet Home.153 Hymn on the Nativity 35 PEABODY, W. B. 0. Sonnets 38

Hymn of Nature…..162 MITCHELL, WALTER F. PERCIVAL, JAMES G. Tacking Ship off Shore….311 May.. 155 Seneca Lake, To.. 155 MONTGOMERY, JAMES. Common Lot The 135 PERCY, THOMAS. Forever with the Lord 135 Friar of Orders Gray, The… 67 Prayer 136 PERKINS, J. H. MONTROSE, MARQUIS OF. Upright Soul, The 269 I`11 never love thee more… 28 PERRY, NORA. MOORE, THOMAS. After the Ball…. 292 Fly to the Desert….. 123 In June….. 291 Mid Hour of Night, The… 124 PHELPS ELIZABETH STUART. 0 Thou who dry’st the Mourner’s Tear. 124 All th’e Rivers….. 306 Vale of Avoca, The 124 On the Bridge of Sighs…. 306 Thou art, 0 God! 124 MORRIS, WILLIAM. PIAFT, JOHN JAMES. The Morning Street…. 325 March……297 PIATT, S. M. B. MOTHERWELL, WILLIAM.

My Old Kentucky Nurse…303 Jeanie Morrison…..159 PIERPONT, JOHN.

MOULTON, LOUISE CHANDLER. Congress, To 158 House in the Meadow, The… 290

Passing Away 157 Late Spring, The…. 291 PINKNEY, EDWARD COATE.

MUHLENBERG, W. A. Health, A. 165 I would not live aiway…. 162 POE, EDGAR

A. NAIRN, LADY CAROLINIL Bells, The 202 Land o’ the Leal, The…. 86 POPE, ALEXANDER. NASH, THOMAS. Happiness….. 48 Contentment….. 12 Universal Prayer, The. 45

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xxvi LIST OF ~UTHORS. PRAED, WINTHROP MACKWORTH. SCUDDER, ELIZA. Belle of the Ball, The…. 163 Love of God, The… 245 PRESCOTT, MARY N SEARS, E.

H. Two Moods 337 Christmas Hymn…..238 Work ~~ SEWALL, HARRIET WINSLOW.

PRESTON, HARRIET W Why thus longing?…..251 Survivors, The 298

SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM. PRESTON, MARGARET J Songs. 16 Ready.. 321 Sonnets 17

Bird’s Ministry, A PRIEST, NANCY A. W. SlIELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE. One Word is too often profaned.. 128 Over the River 277 Skylark, To a 127 PROCTER, ADELAIDE A Stanzas written in Dejection near Naples 127 Friend Sorrow 278

SHENSTONE, WILLIAM. Judge Not 278 Schoolmistress, The…. 59 PROCTER, BRYAN WALLER (BARRY SHERIDAN, RICHARD BRINSLEY. CORNWALL). Had I a Heart for Falsehood framed. 79 Petition to Time, A…. 179 Prayer in Sickness A 179 SHIRLEY, JAMES. Death the Leveller….. 28 PROCTOR, EDNA DEAN. Our Heroes……289 SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP. Sonnets……. 6 RALEIGH, SIR WALTER.

Nymph’s Reply, The ~ SIGOURNEY. LYDIA H. Pilgrim, The 5 Indian Names……

260 Soul’s Errand, The.. ~ SMITH, ALEXANDER. RAM SAY, ALLAN Lady Barbara 264 Song 49 SMITH, HORACE. READ, THOMAS BUCHANAN Egyptian Mummy, Address to an. 141 Closing Scene, The 279 Hymn to the Flowers…. 140 REDDEN, LAURA C SOUTHEY, CAROLINE BOWLES. Mazzini 304 Mariner’s Hymn….. 148

Unawares 305 SOUTHEY, ROBERT. RICH, HIRAM. Brough Bells…..118 In the Sea…… ~~ Inchcape Rock, The 117 Stanzas 117 RIDDELL, HENRY SCOTT. Our Mary 169 SOUTHWELL, ROBERT. Content and Rich…. 10 ROGERS, SAMUEL.

Italian Song 81 SPENCER, WILLIAM R. Wish, A 81 Lady Anne Hamilton, To the.. 59 ROSSETTI, DANTE GABRIEL. SPENSER, EDMUND. Sea-Limits, The…..

295 Angelic Ministry 7 Bower of Bliss, The 9 ROSSETTI, CHRISTINA. “The Epithalamium,” From.. S After Death. 272 House of Riches, The… 9 Weary 272 True Woman, The Una and the Lion 8 ROYDON, MATTHEW. Lament for Astrophel (Sir Philip Sidney) 7 SPOFFORD, HARRIET PRESCOTT. Hereafter 312

SAXE, JOHN G. Song Sleep and Death…. 282 Wishing…….232 SPRAGUE, CHARLES. SCOTT,- SIR WALTER Family Meeting, The..169 Christmas-Time..107

STEDMAN, F. C. Coronach 106 Doorstep, The 285 Hebrew Maid, Hymn of the.

107 Pan in Wall Street. Imprisoned Huntsman, Lay of the 105 STERLING JOHN.

Serenade A 105 Song 105 Hymn 175 Young The 105 STERNHOLD, THOMAS.

Lochinvar…. 104 Majesty of God….. 3 SCOTT, WILLIAM BELL. STODDARD, LAYINIA. Dance, The 329 The Soul’s Defiance….145

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LIST OF AUTHOi~S. xxvii STODDARD, R. II TURNER, ELIZA SPROAT. Landward 287

Angel’s Visit An Never Again 287. 2fl November 287 UNKNOWN. Again 274

STREET, ALFRED B. Barring 0~ the Door, The.. 24 Settler, The 284 Begone dull Care!… 20 Boatie rows, The. 7 STRODE, WILLIAM. Bonnie George Campbell. 6 Music 26 Different Points of View 814 Edom 0 Gordon 22 STOWE, HARRIET BEECHER. Fisherman’s Funeral, The 334 Other World The. 248

Fisherman’s Summons, The.336 Glenlogie 8 SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES. John Davidson. S Match, A…..286 July dawning.. 885 TANNAHILL, ROBERT. Lady Mary Ann… 77 Braes 0’ Balquhither, The… ~ Love will find out the Way..

19 Midges dance aboon the Born, The 88 May.Day Song….. 20 Quiet from God… 244 TAYLOR, BAVARD. Robin Goodfellow….. 21 Mountains, The… 262

Summer Days… 183 Oriental Idyl, An…..262 Take thy Auld Cloak abont thee. 24 Song of the Camp, The… 263 There was Silence in Heaven. 136

Voyagers, The 262 Two Worlds, The 276 Unseen 818 TAYLOR, B. F. Waly, waly, but Love be bonny. 76 Old-fashioned Choir, The…804 VAUGHAN, HENRY.

TAYLOR, TOM. Bird, The 82 Abraham Lincoln…. 824 They are all gone…..

83 TENNYSON, ALFRED VAUX, LORD THOMAS. Break, break, break!” 196 Thought 8

Bugle Song 199 VERE AUDREY DE. Doubt 197 Sisters, The….254 Garden Song 198 Larger Hope, The 197 VERY JONES. Manana 195 Pa\nted~ Columbine, To the..176 Memory 196 Present Heaven, The.. 176 TENNYSON, FREDERICK. WALLER

EDMUND. Blackbird, The 840 Old A~ge and Death…. 40 THACKERAY, WILLIAM

MAKEPEACH WARING ANNA L At the Chnrch Gate…. 195 My Times are in Thy Hand…246 THAXTER, CELIA WASSON DAVID A. Submission 296 All a \Yeii 241

Summer Day, A 295 Royalty 241 THOMSON, JAMES. Seen and Unseen… 240 “The Castle of Indolence,” From. 51 WATTS ISAAC. hymn, A…… 52 Heav’enly Land, The. 57 THOREAU, H. B WEBSTER DANIEL Inspiration 286 Memor~~~ of the Heart, The…156 THORNBURY, G. W. WESLEY, ClIARLES. Jester’s Sermon, The… 298 Jesus, Lover of my Soul.. 58 THRALE, MRS-WHITE, HENRY KIRKE.

Three Warnings, The. 78 Early Primrose, To an.. 92 Herb Rosemary, To the…. 92 TIMROD, HENRY. Star of Bethlehem, The… 98 Spring in Carolina 811 TOPLADY, AUGUSTUS M. WHITE, JOSEPH BLANCO. Night and Death 89 Love Divine, all Love excelling.. 58 WHITMAN, SARAlI HELEN. TRENCll, RICIlARD

CHENEVIX. A Still Day in Autumn…288 Kingdom of God, The….241

TROWBRIDGE J F WHITNEY, ADELINE D. T `~I will abide in thine House”.. 277

At Sea 287 Sunlight and Starlight….277

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xxviii LIST OF AUTHORS. WHITNEY, ANNE. WOLFE, CHARLES. Bertha 268 Burial of Sir John Moore, The. 152 WHITTIER, ELIZABETH H. Charity 273 WOODWORTH, SAMUEL. Meetiog 4ters, The…. 273 Bucket, The 147 WHITTIER, JOHN G.

WOOLSEY, SARAH. Eve of Election, The 216 In the Mist 327 Grave by the Lake The 212 In School-Days 215 WORDSWORTH, WILHAM. Laos Deo! 216 Cuckoo, To the 100 My Birthday 214 Daffodils The 99 The Vaoishers 215 Intimations of Immortality 97 Memory, A 100 WILDE, RICHARD HENRY Ode to Duty. 102 My Life is like the Summer Rose.. 152 Peele Castle in a Storm, On a Picture of 101

WILLIAMS, HELEN MARIA. River Duddon, To the… 103 Whilst Thee I seek…..

136 She was a Phantom of Delight.. 100 WILLIS, NATHANIEL PARKER. Sleep, To 103 “Melanie,” From…. 172 World, The 103 Unseen Spirits…. 172 Yarrow Unvisited 101 WILSON, JOHN. WOTTON, SIR IlENRY. Evening Cloud, The….146

Good Mao, The….. 13 WINTER, WILLIAM To his Mistress, the Queen of Bohemia 13 Azrael 313 WYATT, SIR THOMAS. WITHER, GEORGE. A Description of such a one as he would Companionship of the Muse… 34 love 4 For one that hears hImself much praised 33 Pleasure mixed with Pain.

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FROM SHAKESPEARE TO MILTON.

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FROM SHAKESPEARE TO MILTON. LORD TllOMAS VAUX. TllOMAS STERNllOLTh [isio-i557.j [Died i549.J THOUGHT. MAJESTY OF GOTh WHEN all is done and said, THE Lord descended from above, In the end this shall you find: And bowed the heavens most high, lie most of all dotli bathe in bliss And underneath his feet he cast That bath a quiet mind; The darkness of the sky. And, clear from worldly cares, To deem can be content On cherubim and seraphim The sweetest time in all his life Full royally he rode, In thinking to be spent. And on the wings of mi ity winds Came flying all abroa The body subject is To fickle Fortune’s power, lle sat serene upon the floods, And to a million of mishaps Their fury to restrain; Is casual every hour; And he, as sovereign Lord and King, And Death in time doth change For evermore shall reign. It to a clod of clay; When as the mind, which is divine, ______ Runs never to decay. Companion none is like llENRY

ROWARD, EARL OF Unto the mind alone, For many have been harmed by speech, - SURREY. Through thinking, few, or none. [isi~ -1547.] Fear oftentimes restraineth words, But makes not thoughts to cease; NO AGE CONTENT WITH

HIS OWN And he speaks best, that bath the skill ESTATE. When for to hold his peace. LAID in my quiet bed, Our wealth leaves us at death, In study as I were, Our kinsmen at the grave: I saw within my troubled head But virtues of the mind unto A heap of thoughts appear. The heavens with us we have; Wherefore, for virtue’s sake, And every thought did show I can be well content So livelv in mine eyes, The sweetest time of all my life That now~I sighed, and then I smiled, To deem in thinking spent. As cause of thoughts did rise.

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4 SONGS OF TllREE CENTURIES. I saw the little boy, SIR TllOMAS WYATT. In thought how oft that be Did wish of God, to scape the rod, [1~oa - 1542.]

A tall young man to he. PLEASURE MIXED WITH PAIN. The young man eke tbat feels His bones wfth pains opprest, YENoMoU5 thorns that are so sharp and How he would he a rich old man, keen To live and lie at rest: Bear flowers, we see, full fresh and fair of hue: The rich old man that sees Poison is also put in medicine, His end draw on so sore, And unto man his health doth oft How he would he a boy again, renew. To live so much the more. The fire that all things eke consumeth Whereat full oft I smiled, clean, To see how all these three, ~Iay hurt and heal: then if that this From boy to man, from man to boy, I trust be true, Would chop and change degree: some time my harm may be my _ health, And musing thus, I think, Since every woe is joined with some The case is very strange, wealth. That man from wealth, to live in woe, Doth ever seek to change. A DESCRIPTION

OF SUCH A ONE AS Thus thoughtful as I lay, HE WOULD LOVE. I saw my withered skin, How it doth show my dented thews, A FACE that should content me wondrous The flesh was worn so thin; well, Should not be fair, but lovely to behold And eke my toothless chaps, With gladsome cheer, all grief for to ex The gates of my right way, pel; That opes and shuts as I do speak, Wfth sober looks so would I that it Do thus unto me say: should “The white and boarish hairs, Speak without words, such words as none can tell; The messengers of age, The tress also should be of crispid gold.

That show, like lines of true belief, With wit and these, might chance I That this life doth assuage; might be tied, “Bid thee lay hand, and feel And knit again with knot that should not slide. Them hanging on my chin.

The which do write two ages past, _______ The third now coming in. “Hang up, therefore, the bit Of thy young wanton time; CllRISTOPllER MARLOWE.

And thou that therein beaten art, [1564 - 1593.] The happiest life define.” Whereat I sighed, and said, THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS

“Farewell my wonted joy! LOVE. Truss up thy pack, and trudge from me, CoME
live with me, and be my love, To every little boy; And we will all the pleasures prove, “And tell them thus from me, That valleys, groves, and bills and fields, Wood or steepy mountain yields. Their fime most happy is, if to their time they reason had, And we will sit upon the rocks, To know the truth of this.” Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks

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SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 5 By shallow rivers, to whose falls But could youth last, and love still breed, Melodious birds sing madrigals. Had joys no date, nor age no need, Then these delights my mind might move And I will make thee beds of roses, To live with thee and be tisy love. And a thousand fragrant posies; A cap of flowers and a kirtle, Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle; THE PILGRIM. A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull-GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet, Fair lined slippers for the cold,` My staff of faith to walk upon; With buckles of the purest gold; My scrip of joy, immortal diet; My bottle of salvation; A belt of straw and ivy buds, My gown of glory (hope’s true gauge), With coral clasps and amber studs: And thus I`11 take my pilgrimage. And if these pleasures may thee move, Blood must be my body’s`balmer, Come live with me, and be my love. Whilst my soul, a quiet Palmer, Travelleth towards the land of Heaven; The shepherd swains shall dance and No other balm will there be given. sing, Over the silver mountains, For thy delight, each May-morning: Where spring the nectar fountains, If these delights thy mind may move, There will I kiss the bowl of bliss, Then live with me, and be my love. And drink mine everlasting fill Upon every milken hill; My soul will be a-dry before, But after, it will thirst no more. Then, by that happy, blissful day, More peaceful pilgrims I shall see, SIR WALTER RALEIGll. That have cast off their rags of clay, And walk apparelled fresh, like me. [1552-i6i8.] THE NYMPH’S

REPLY. THE SOUL’S ERRAND. IF all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd’s tongue, Go, soul, the body’s guest, These prefty pleasures might me move Upon a thankless errand! To live with thee, and be thy love. Fear not to touch the best, The truth shall be thy warrant: Time drives the flocks from field to fold, Go, since I needs must die, Y~heu rivers rage aiid rocks grow cold; And give the world the lie. And Philoinel becometh dumb, The rest complain of cares to come. Go, tell the court it glows, And sbiues like rotten wood; The flowers do fade, and wanton fields Go, tell the church it shows To wayward winter reckoning yields; What`5 good, and doth no good: A honey tongue, a heart of gall, If church and court reply, Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall. Then give them both the lie. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Tell potentates they live Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Acting by others’ actions; Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten, Not loved unless they give, In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Not strong but by their factions: If potentates reply, Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Give potentates the lie. Thy coral clasps and amber studs, - All these in me no means can move Tell men of high condition To come to thee and be thy love.

That rule affairs of state,

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6 SONGS OF TllREE CENTURIES. Their purpose is ambition, Tell, manhood shakes off pity; Their practice only hate: Tell, virtue least preferreth: And if they once reply, And if they do reply, Then give them all the lie.

Spare not to give the lie. Tell them that brave it most, So when thou hast, as I They beg for more by spending, Commanded thee, done blabbing, Who in their greatest cost, Although to give the lie Seek nothing but commending: Deserves no less than stabbing, And if they make reply, Yet stab at thee who will, Then give them all the lie. No stab the soul can kill. Tell zeal it lacks devotion, Tell love it is but lust, Tell ilme it is but motion, Tell flesh it is but dust: ~IR PllILIP SIDNEY. And wish them not reply, For thou must give the lie. [1514 - xs86.] SONNETS. Tell age it daily wasteth, Tell honor how it alters, WITH how sad steps, 0

Moon! thou Tell beauty how she blasteth, dhub’st the skies, Tell favor how she falters: How silently, and wfth how wan a face! And as they shall reply, What may it be, that even in heavenly Give every one the lie. place That busy Archer his sharp arrows tries? Tell wit how much it wrangles Sure, if that long with love acquainted In tickle points of niceness; eyes Tell wisdom she entangles Can judge of love, thou feel’st a lover’s Herself in over-wiseness: case; And when they do reply, I read it in thy looks, thylangiiished grace Straight give them both the lie. To me that feel the like thy state descries. Then, even of fellowship, 0 Moon, tell me, Tell physic of her boldness, Is constant love deemed there hut want Tell skill it is pretension, of wit? Tell charity of coldness, Are beauties there asproudashere they be? Tell law it is contention: Do they above love to be loved, and yet And as they do reply, Those lovers scorn whom that love doth So give them still the lie. possess? Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? Tell fortune of her blindness, Tell nature of decay, Tell friendship of unkindness, Tell justice of delay: C0ML’, Sleep, 0 Sleep, the certain knot And if they will reply, of peace, Then give them all the lie. The baiting-place of wit, the balm2f woe;, The poor man’s wealth, the prisoner 5 Tell arts they have no soundness, release, But vary by esteeming; The indifferent judge between the high Tell schools they want profoundness, and low. And stand too much on seeming: With shield of proof shield me from out If arts and schools reply, the prease Give arts and schools the lie. Of those fierce darts, Despair at me doth throw; Tell faith it`a fled the city;0 make in me those civil wars to cease! Tell how the country erreth; I will good tribute pay, if thou do So.

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MATTllEW ROYDON. - EDMUND SPENSER. 7 Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest Did never muse inspire beneath bed; A poet’s brain with finer store. A chamber deaf to noise and blind to He wrote of love wfth high conceit light; And beauty reared above her height. A rosy garland, and a weary head. And ifthese things, as thine right, ________ ~1ove not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me Livelier than elsewhere Stella’s image see.

EDMUND SPEN~ER. [1553-1599.] MATTllEW ROYDON. ANGELIC MINISTRY. AND is there care in Heaven? And is LAMENT FOR ASTROPHEL (SIR PHILIP there love SIDNEY). In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, Th~ ma You knew, -
who knew not Astrophel2 y compassion of their evils move? That I should live to say I knew, There is, - else mnch more wretched And have not iii possession still! - Of were the case men than beasts: but 0 the exceed Things known permit me to renew. Of him you know his merit such Of ing grace hiA-icat God, that loves bis creatures so, I cannot say-you hear-too much. And all his works with mercy doth em brace, Within these woods of Arcady That blessed angds he sends to and fro, He chief delight and pleasure took; To serve to wicked man, to serve his And on the mountain Partheny, wicked foe! Upon the crystal liquid brook, The muses met him every day, - How oft do they their silver bowers leave, Taught him to sing, and write, and To come to succor us that succor want! say. How oft do they with golden pinions cleave When he descended down the mount The flitting skies, like flyIng pursuivant, His personage seemed most divine; Against foul fiends to aid us militant! A thousand graces one might comit They for us fight, they watch and duly Upon his lovely, cheerful eyne.

ward, To hear him speak, and see him And their bright squadrons round about smile, us plant; You were in Paradise the while. And all for love and nothing for reward; A sweet, attractive kind of grace; 0, why should heavenly God to men A full assurance given by looks; have such regard?

Continual comfort in a face; The lineaments of gospel books: I trow that countenance cannot lie THE TRUE WOMAN. Whose thoughts are legible in the eye. Tnnica.happy she that is so well assured Above all others this is he Unto herself, and settled so in heart, Who erst approved in his song, That nefther will for better be allured, That love and honor might agree, Ne fears to worse with any chance to start, And that pure love will do nowrong. But like a steady ship doth strongly part Sweet saints, it is no sin or blame The usging waves, and keeps he? course To love a man of virtuous name. aright; Ne ought for tempest doth from it depart, Did never love so sweetly breathe - Ne ought for fairer weather’s false de In any mortal breast before: light.

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8 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Such self-assurance need not fear the The pledge of all your band? spite Sing, ye sweet angela! Alleluia sing, Of grndging foes, ne favor seek of friends; That all the woods may answer, and your But in the stay of her own steadfast might, echo ring. Neither to one herself or other bends. Iost happy abe that most assured doth reat, UNA AND THE LION. But be most happy who such one loves ONE day, nigh weary of the irksome way, beat. - From her unliaaty beast abe did alight; And on the graaa her dainty limbs did lay FROM THE EPITHALAMIUM. In secret shadow, far from all men’s sight; From her fair bead her fillet alie undight, OPEN the temple-gates unto my love. And laid her stole aside: her angel’s face, Open them wide that she may enter in, As the great eye of heaven, shin6d bright, And all the posts adorn as doth behove, And made a sunshine in a shady place; And all the pillars deck with garlands Did never mortal eye behold such hcav trim, For to receive this saint wfth honor due, enly grace. That cometh in to you. It fortun6d, out of the thickest wood, Vith trembling steps and humble rev. A ramping lion nish6d suddenly, erence Hunting full greedy after savage blood; She comeili iii before the Almighty’s view: Soon as the royal virgin he did spy, Of her, ye virgins! learn obedience, With gaping mouth at her ran greedily, When so ye come into il~ese holy places, To have at once devoured her tendei corse; To humble your proml faces. But to the prey when as he drew more Bring her up to the high altar, that she nigh, The may His bloody rage assuag6d wfth remorse, sacred ceremonies there partake, And, with the sight amazed, forgot his The which do endless matrimony make; furious force. And let the roaring organs loudly play The praises of the Lord, in lively notes, Instead thereof he kissed her weary feet, The whiles with hollow throats And licked lier lily hands with fawuhig The choristers the joyous anthems sing,tongue, That all the woods may answer, and As he her wronge’d innocence did weet. their echo ring. 0 how can beautyanaster the moat strong, And simide truth subdue avengilig wroii Behold whiles she before the altar stands, Whose yielded pride and proud subnais Hearing the holypriestthat to her speaks, sion, And blesses herwith his two happy hands, Still dreading death, when she had How red the roses flush up in her cheeks! marked long, And the pure snow, with goodly vermeil Her heart`gan melt in great compassion, stain, And drizzlhig tears did shed for pure Like crimson dyed in grain, affection. That even the angels, which continually About the sacred altar do remain, The lion would not leave lier desolate, Forget their service, and about her fly, But with her went along, as a strong Oft peeping in her face, that seems niore guard fair Of her chaste person, and a faithful mate The more they mi it stare; Of her sad troubles, and misfoftuneshard. But her sad eyes, still fastened on the Still, when she slept, he kept both watch ground, and ward; Are governed with goodly modesty, And, when she waked, lie waited diligent, Thaf suffers not one look to glance a~vry, With humble servi~e to her will preWhich may let in a little thought un-pared: sound. Fromber fair eyes lie took eommandnieiit, Wisy blush ye, Love! to give to me your And ever by her looks conceived her in hand, tent

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EDMUND SPENSER. 9 THE HOUSE OF RICHES. The painted flowers, the trees upshoot ing higb, THAT house’s form wifl~in was rude and The dales for shade, the hills for breath strong, ing space, Like an huge cave hewn out of rocky clift, The trembling groves, the crystal runFrom whose rough vault the ragged nil)g by; breaches hung And that which all fair works doth most Embossed with massy gold of glorious aggrace, gift, The art, which all that wrought, apAnd wfth rich metal loaded every rift, pear6d in no place. That heavy ruin they did seem to threat; And over them Arachne high did lift One would have thought (so cunningly Her cunning web, and spread her subtle the rude net, And scorn6d parts were mingled with the Enwrapped in foul smoke and clouds fine) more black than jet. That nature had for wantonness ensued Art, and that art at nature did reBoth roof, and floor, and walls, were all pine; of gold, So stri Ving each the other to underBut overgrown with dust and old de-mine, cay, Each did the other’s work more beautify; And hid in darkness, that none could So differing both in wills, agreed in behold fine: The hue thereof: for view of cheerful So all agreed through sweet diversity, day This garden to adorn with all variety. Did never in that house itself display, But a faint shadow of uncertain light; Eftsoons they heard a most melodious Such as a lamp whose life does fade away; sound, Or as the loon, clothed with cloudy Of all that might delight a dainty ear, night, Such as at once might not on living Does show to him that walks in fear and ground, sad affright. Save in this paradise be heard elsewhere: Riht hard it was for wight which did In all that room was nothing to be seen a it hear, But huge great iron chests, and coffers To read what manner music that might strong, be: All barred with double bends, that none For all that pleasing is to living ear, could ween Was there consorted in one harmony; Them to enforce by violence or wrong; Birds, voices, instruments, winds, waOn every side they placed were along. ters, all agree. But all the ground with sculls was scat ter6d And dead men’s bones, which round about The joyous birds, shrouded in cheerfal were flung; Their shade, notes unto the voice attempered Whose lives, it seemed, whilome there sweet; were shed, The migelical soft trembling voices ma~le And their vile carcasses now left unbuned. To tlie instruments divine respondence meet; - The silver sounding instruments did meet THE BOWER OF BLISS. With the base murmur of the water’s fall: THERFIhe mostdaintyparadiseonground The water’s fall with difference discreet, Itself doth offer to his sober eye, Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did In which eli pleasures plenteously call: abound, The gentle warbling wind low answered And none does others’

happiness envy; to all.

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10 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. ROBERT SOUTllWELL. I turn a late.enrag6d foe Into a quiet friend; [i~6o-1595.] And, taught with often proof, CONTENT

AND RICH. A tempered calm I find To be most solace to itself, I ~WELL in grace’s courts, Best cure for angry mind. Enriched with virtue’s rights; Faith guides my wit, love leads my will, Spare diet is my fare, Hope all my mind delights. My clothes more fit than fine; Iii lowly vales I mount I know I feed and clothe a foe To pleasure’s highest pitch, That, pampered, would repine. My simple dress sure honor brings, I envy not their hap My poor estate is rich. Whom favor doth advance: My conscience is my crown, I take no pleasure in their pain Contented thoughts my rest; That have less happy chance. My heart is happy in itself; My bliss is in niy breast. To rise by others’ fall I deem a losing gain: Enough, I reckon wealth; All states with others’ ruins built A mean, the surest lot, To ruins run ama in. That lies too high for base contempt, Too low for envy’s shot. No change of fortune’s calms Can cast my comforts down: My wishes are but few, When fortune smiles, I smile to think All easy to fulfil; I make the limits of my power How quickly she will frown; The bounds unto my will.

And when, in froward mood, I have no hopes but one, She proved an angry foe, Which is of heavenly reign: Ssiiall gain I found to let her come, Effects attained, or not desired, Less loss to let lier go. All lower hopes refrain. Ifeel no care of coin, Well-doiiig is niy wealth: My mind to me an empire is, While grace affordeth health. ALEXANDER llUME. [About 1599.] I clip high-climbing thoughts, The wings of swelling pride: A SUMMER’S DAY. Their fate is worst, that from the height Of greater honor slide. THE time so tranquil is and clear, That nowhere shall ye find, Silk sails of largest size Save on a high and barren hill, The storm doth soonest tear: An air of passing wind. I bear so 16w and small a sail As freeth me from fear. All trees and simples, great and small, That balmy leaf do bear, I wresfie not with rage Than they were painted on a wall, While fury’s flame doth burn; No more they move or stir. It is in vain to stop the stream Until the tide doth tun~. The ships becalmed upon the seas, Hang up their sails to dry; But when the flame is out, The herds, beneath the leafy trees, And ebbing wrath doth end, Among the flowers they lie.

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SIR JOHN DAVIES. 11 Great is the calm, for everywhereAnd as the moisture which the thirsty The wind is settling down: earth The smoke goes upright in the air, Sucks from the sea to fill her empty From every tower and town. veins, From out her womb at last doth take a What pleasure, then, to walk and see, birtb, Along a river clear, And runs a lymph along the grassy The perfect form ef every tree plains Within the deep appear: Long doth she stay, as lotli to leave the land The bells and circles on the waves, From whose soft side the first did issue From leaping of the trout; make; The salmon from their creels and. caves She tastes all places, turns to every hand, Come gliding in and out. Her flowery banks unwilling to for sake. O sure it were a seemly thing, While all is still and calm, Yet Nature so her streams doth lead and The praise of God to play and sing, carry, With trumpet and with shaim! As that her course doth make no final stay, All laborers draw home at even, Till she herself unto the Ocean marry, And can to others say, Within whose watery bosom first she “Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, lay. Who sent this summer day.” Even so the soul, which in this earthly mould The spirit of God doth secretly in fuse, Because at first she doth the earth be SIR JOHN DAYIE hold, And only this material world she views. [1570-1626.] At first her mother Earth she holdeth THE SOUL. dear, And doth en~brace the world, and AGAIN, how can she but immortal be, worldly things. When with the motions of both will She flies close by the ground and hovers and wit here, She still aspireth to eternity, And n~ounts not up with her celestial And never rests till she attain to it? wings: Water in conduit-pipes can rise no higher Yet under heaven she cannot light on Than the well-head from whence it first aught doth spring: That with her heavenly nature doth Then, since to eternal God she doth as-agree; pire, She cannot rest, she cannot fix her She canndt be but an eternal thing. thought, She cannot in this world contented be. “All moving things to other things do move For who did ever yet, in honor, wealth, Of the same kind, which shows their Or pleasure of the sense, contentment nature such”; find? So earth falls down, and fire doth mount Who ever ceased to wish when he had above, wealth? Till both their proper elements do Or having wisdom was not vexed in touch. mind?

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12 SONGS OF THREE`UENTURli~S. Then as a bee, which among weeds doth There is she crowned with garlands of fall, content; Which seem sweet flowers with lustre There doth she manna eat, and nectar fresh and gay, drink: She lights on that and il~is, and tasteth That presence doth such high delights all; present, But pleased with none, doth rise and As never tongue could speak, nor soar away. heart could think. So when the soul finds here no true con-_______ tent, And like Noah’s dove can no sure TllOMA~ NASll. footing take, She doth return from whence she first -

(1564-i6oo.] was sent, And flies to Him that first her wings CONTEN~ENT.

did make. So while the virgin soul on earth doth NEVER loved ambitiously to climb, Or thrust my hand too far into tise fir stay, To be in heaven sure is a blessed tiling, She, wooed and tempted in ten thou-But, Atlas-like, to prop heaven on one’s By sand ways, back these great powers which on the earth Cannot but be more labor than delight. bear sway, Such is the state of men in honor placed: The wisdom of the world, wealth, They are gold vessels made for servile pleasure, praise: uses; her tinse High trees that keep the weather from With these sometimes she doth low houses, beguile, But cannot shield the tempest from them These do by fibs her fantasy possess; selves. But she distastes them all within a while, I love to dwell betwixt the hills and dales, And in the sweetest finds a tedious-Neither to be so great as to be envied, ness; Nor yet so poor the world should pity me. But if upon the world’s Almighty King She once doth fix her humble, loving Who tbougbt; drawn in every thing, WILLIAM by his picture -. And sacred messages, her love hath sought; [is8s - 1649.] Of him she thinks she cannot think too THE LESSONS OF NATURE. much; This honey tasted still, is ever sweet; OF this fair volume which we World do The pleasure of her ravished thought is name such, If we the sheets and leaves could turn As almost here she with her bliss doth with care, meet.

Of him who it corrects, and did it frame, We clear might read the art and wisdom But when in heaven she shall his essence rare: see, This is her sovereign good, and perfect Find out his power which wildest powers bliss, dotli tame, Her longings, wishiugs, hopes, all fin-His provi(lence extending everywhere, ished be, His justice which proud rebels doth not Her joys are full, her motions rest in spare, this. In every page, no period of the same.

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SIR HENRY WOTTON. - LADY ELIZABETH CAREW. 13 But silly we, like foolish children, rest Untied unto the worldly care Well pleased with colored vellum, leaves Of public fame, or private breath; of gold, Fair dangling ribbons, leaving what is Who envies none that chance doth raise, best, Or vice; who never understood On the great writer a sense ne er taking How deepest wounds are given by praise; hold; Nor rules of state, but rules of good; Or if by chance we stay our minds on Who hath his life from rumors freed, aught, Whose conscience is his strong retreat; It is some picture on tile margin wrought. Whose state can neither fiatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great; Who God doth late and early pray, More of his grace than gifts to lend; SIB~ llENRY ~YOTTON. And entertains the harmless day With a religious book or friend: [1568 - 1639.] This man is freed from servIle bands, TO ms MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; BOHEMIA. Lord of himself, though not of lands, You meaner beauties of the night, And having nothing, yet hath all. That poorly satisfy onr eyes More by your number than your light! You common people of the skies!

What are you, when the sun shall rise? LADY ELIZABETll CARE~ You curious chanters of the wood, [About 1613.] Tbat warble forth dame Nature’s lays, Thinking your voices understood REVENGE OF INJURIES. By your weak accents!

what`a your TuE fairest action of our human l~,re praise When Philomel her voice shall raise? Is scorning to revenge an injury; For who forgives without a further str)8e, You violets that first appear, His adversary’s heart to him doth Ue; By your pure purple mantles known, And`t is a firmer conquest truly said, Like the proud virgins of the year, To win the heart, than overthrow the head. As if the spring were all your own! What are you, when the rose is blown? If we a woftily enamy do find, To yield to worth it must be nohly done; o, when my mistress shall be seen But if of baser metal he his mind, In form and beauty of her mind; In base revenge there is no h~nor won. By virtue first, then choice, a Queen! Who would a worthy courage overthrow? Tell me, if she were not designed And who would wrestle wftl’ a worthless The eclipse and glory of her kind? foe? We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield; THE GOOD MAN. Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor: How happy is he born and tanglit, Great hearts are tasked beyond their That serveth not another’s will; puwer but seld; Whose annor is his honest fl~ought, The weakest lion will the loudest roar. And simple truth his utmost skill! Truth’s school for certain doth this same allow; Whose passions not his masters are, High-heartedness doth sometimes teach Whose soul is still prepared for death, to bow.

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14 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. A noble heart doth teach a virtuous He looks upon the mightiest monarch’s scorn: wars To scorn to owe a duty overlong; But only as on stately robberies; To scorn to be for benefits forborne; Where evermore the fortune that prevails To scorn to lie; to scorn to do a wrong; Must be tbe right: the ill-succeeding mars To scorn to bear an injury in mind; The fairest and the best faced enterprise. To scorn a free-born heart slave-like to Great pirate Poi~pey lesser l~irates quails: bind. Justice, he sees (as if seducid), still Conspires with power, whose cause must But if for wrongs we needs revenge must not be ill. have, Then be our vengeance of the noblest And whilst distraught ambition coin kind.

passes, Do we his body from our fury save, And is encompassed; whilst as craft de And let our hate prevail against his ceives, mind? And is deceived: whilst man doth ransack What can`gainst him a greater vengeance man, be, And builds on blood, and rises by distress; Than make his foe more worthy far than And the inheritance of desolation leaves he? To great-expecting hopes: he looks there on, As from the shore of peace, with unwet eye, And bears no venture in impiety. SAMUEL DANIEL. Thus, madam, fares that man, that hath (1s62-i6i9.J prepared A rest for his desires; and sees all things OM AN EPISTLE TO THE COUNT-Beneath him; and bath learned this book ESS OF CUMBERLAND. of man, Full of the notes of frailty; and compared HE that of such a height hath built his The best of glory with her sufferings: mind, By whom, I see, you labor all you can And reared the dwelling of his thoughts To plant yourheart; and set your thoughts so strong, as ii ear As neither fear nor hope can shake the His glorious mansion, as your powers can frame beas-. Of his resolv6d powers; nor all the wind Of vanity or malice pierce to wrong Which, madam, are so soundly tashiond His settled peace, or to disturb the same: By that clear judgment, that bath carried What a fair seat bath he, from whence he you The may Beyond the feeble limits of your kind, boundless wastes and wilds of man As they can stand against the strongest survey? head Passion can make; inured to any hue And with how free an eye doth he look The world can cast: it cannot cast that down mind Upon these lower regions of turmoil? Out of her form of goodness, that doth see Where all the storms of passions mainly Both what the best and worst of earth beat can be. On flesh and blood: where honor, power, renown, Which makes, that whatsoever here beAre only gay afflictions, golden toil; falls, Where greatness stands upon as feeble You in the region of yourself remain: feet, Where no vain breath of the impudent As frailty doth; and only great doth seem molests To little minds, who do it so esteem. That bath secured within the brazen walls

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WILLIAM BYRD. 15 Of a clear conscience, that (without all I see how plenty surfeits oft, stain) And hasty cliinbers soonest fall; Rises in peace, in innocency rests; I see that such as sit aloft Whilst all that Malice from without pro-Mishap doth threaten most of alL cures These get with toil, and keep with fear; Shows her own ugly heart, but hurts not Such cares my mind could never hear. yours. No princely pomp nor wealthy store, And whereas none rejoice more in revenge, No force to win the victory, Than women use to do; yet you well No wily wit to salve a sore, know, No shape to win a lover’s eye, - That wrong is better checked by being To none of these I yield as thrall; contemned, For why, my mind despiseth alL Than being pursued; leaving to him to avenge, Some have too much, yet still they crave; To whom it appertains. Wherein you show I little have, yet seek no more. How wofthily your clearness hath con-They are but poor, though much they demned have; Base malediction, living in the dark, And I am rich with little store. That at the rays of goodness still doth They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; bark. They lack, I lend; they pine, I live. Knowing the heart of man is set to be I laugh not at another’s loss, The centre of this world, about the which I grudge not at another’s gain; These revolutions of disturbances No worldly wavc my mind can toss; Still roll; where all the aspects of misery I brook that is an oilier’s bane.

Predominate: whose strong effects are I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend; such, I loathe not life, nor dread mine end. As he must bear, being powerless to re dress: I joy not in no earthly bliss; And that unless above himself he can I weigh not Croesu a’ wealth a straw; Erect himself, how poor a thing is man. For care, I care not what it is; I fear not fortune’s fatal law; My mind is such as may not move For beauty bright, or force of love. WILLIAM BYRD. I wish but what I have at will; I wander not to seek for more; I54o-1623.] 1 like the plain, I climb no hill; In greatest storms I sit on shore, MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM`s And faugh at them that toil in vain To get what must be lost again. M mind to me a kingdom is; Such perfect joy therein I find I kiss not where I wish to kill; As far exceeds all earthly bliss I feign not love where most I hate; That God or Nature hath assigned; I break no sleep to win my will; Though much I want that most would I wait not at the mighty’s gate. haYe, I scorn no poor, I fear no rich; Yet still my mind forbids to crave. I feel no want, nor have too much. Content I live; this is my stay, - The court nor cart I like nor loathe; I seek no more than may suffice. Extremes are counted worst of all; I press to hear no haughty sway;The golden mean betwixt them both Look, what I lack my mind supplies. Doth surest sit, and fears no fall; Lo! thus I triumph like a king, This is my choice; for why, I find Content with that my mind doth bring. No wealth is like a ~uiet mind.

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16 SONGS OF TllREE CENTURIES. My wealth is health and perfect ease; Though thou the waters warp, My conscience clear my chief defence; Thy sting is not so sharp I never seek by bribes to please, As friend remembered not.

Nor by desert to give offence. Thus do I live, thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I! A SEA DIRGE. FULL fathom five thy father lies: Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: WILLIAM

~llAKLSPEAIt~E. Noiliing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change (1164-i6i6j Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly flog his knell: SONGS. Hark! now I hear them, - Ding, dong, bell. ARIEL’S

SONG. WRERE the bee sucks, there lurk I; HARK! HARK! THE LARK! In a cowslip’s bell I lie; There I couch whesi owls do cry; HARK! hark! the lark at heaven’s gate On the bat’s back I do fly. sings, After sunimer merrily, And Phoebus`gins arise, Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, His steeds to water at tbose springs Under the blossom that bangs on the On chaliced flowers that lies; bough. And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes; With everything that pretty bin; THE FAIRY TO PUCK. My lady sweet, arise. OVER hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, UNDER THE GREENWOOD-TREE. Thorough flood, thorough fire, UNDER the greenwood-tree I ~o wander everywhere, Who loves to lie with me, Swifter than the moon’s spbere. And tune his merry note And I serve the Fairy Queen, Unto the sweet bird’s throat, To dew her orbs upon the green; Come hither, conic hither, come hither; The cowslips tall her pensioners be, Here shall lie see In their gold coats spots you see, - No enemy, Those be rubies, fairy favors; But winter and rough weather. In those freckles live their savors. I niust go seek sonic dewdrops here, Who doth ambition shun, And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear. And loves to live i’ the sun, Seeking the food lie eats, - And pleased with what he gets, AMIENS’S SONG. Come hither, come hither, come hither! Here shall he see BLOW, blow, thou winter wind, No enemy, Thou art not so unkind But winter and rough weathei-. As man’s ingratitude; - Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, DIRGE FOR FIDELE. Although thy breath be rude. FEAR no more the heat o’ the sun, Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, Nor the furious winter’s rages; That dost not bite so nigh Thou thy worldly task hast done, As benefits forgot: Home art gone, and ta’en thy wages:

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WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 17 Golden lads and girls all must, And with old woes new wail my dear As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. time’s waste: Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, Fear no more the frown 0’ the great, For precious friends hid in death’s date Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; less night, Care no more to clothe, and eat; And weep afresh love’s long-since-can To thee the reed is as the oak: celled woe, The sceptre, learning, physic, must And moan the expense of many a van. All follow this, and come to dust. ished sight. Fear no more the lightning flash, Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er The sad account of fore-bemoan6d moan, Fear not slander, censure rash; Which I new pay as if not paid before. Thou hast finished joy and moan: But if the while I think on thee, dear All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. All friend, losses are restored, and sorrows No exorciser harm thee! end. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! Ghost unlaid forbear thee!

Nothing ill come near thee! THAT time of year thou mayst in me be Quiet consummation have; hold And renown6d he thy grave. When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, SONNETS. Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. WHEN in disgrace with fortune and In me thou seest the twilight of such day, men’s eyes, As after sunset fadeth in the west, I all alone beweep my outcast state, Which by and by black night doth take And trouble deaf heaven with my boot-away, less cries, Death’s second sdf, that seals up all in And look upon myself, and curse my laye, rest. Wishing me like to one more rich in In me thou seest the glowing of such hope, fire, Featured like him, like him with friends That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, possessed,, As the death-bed whereon it must exDesiring this man’s art, and that man a pire, scope, Consumed with that which it was ii ourWith what I most enjoy contented least; ished by. Yet in these thoughts myself almost de-This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy spising, love more strong, Haply I think on thee, - and then my To love that well which thou must state (Like to the lark at break of day arising leave erelong. From sullen earth) sings hymns at heav en’s gate; For thy sweet love remembered, such THEY that have power to hurt and will wealth brings, do none, That then I scorn to change my state That do not do the thing they most do with kings. show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, WIrEN to the sessions of sweet silent Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow; thought They rightly do inherit heaven’s graces, I summon up remembrance of things past, And husband nature’s riches from exI sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, pense; 2

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18 SONGS OF TllREE CENTURIES. They are the lords and owners of their No!

Time, thou shalt not boast that I faces, do cbange: Others but stewards of their excellence. Thy pyramids built up with newer might The summer’s flower is to the summer To mc are nothing novel, nothing strange; sweet, They are but dressings of a fornier sight. Though to itself it only live and die; Our dates are brief, and therefore we But if that flower with base infection admire meet, ~That thou dost foist upon us that is old; The basest weed outbraves his dignity: And rather make them born to our desire, For sweetest things turn sourest by Than think that we before have heard their deeds; them told. Lilies that fester smell far worse than Thy registers and thee I both defy, weeds. Not wonderingat the present nor the past; - For thy records and what we see do lie, Made more or less by thy continual haste: ALAs,`tistrue, I have gone hereandthere, This I do vow, and this shall ever be, And made myself a motley to the view, I will be true, despite thy scythe and Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap thee.

what is most dear, Made old offences of affections new. Most true it is, that I have looked on truth Askance and strangely; but, by all above, BEN

JONSON. These blenches gave my heart another z574-i637.J youth, And worse essays proved thee my best of love. THE NOBLE NATURE. Now all is done, save what shall have no IT is not growing like a tree end: Mine appetite I never more will grind In bulk, doth make man better be; On newer proof, to try an older friend, r standing long an oak, three hundred A God in love, to whom lam confined. To year, Then give me welcome, next my heaven fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: the best, A lily of a day Even to thy pure and most most loving Is fairer far in May, breast.

Altbough it fJl and die that night, - It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see; LET me ot to tbe marriage of true minds And in short measures life may perfect be. Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove; SONG OF HESPERUS. Ono; it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests, and is never QUEEN, and huntress, chaste and fair, shaken; It is the star to every wanderin bark Now the sun is laid to sleep, Whose worth`a unknown, ~~~~~g Lis Seated in thy silver chair, hei~ht be taken. State in wonted manner keep: Love`a not Time’s fool, though rosy lips Hesperus entreats thy light, and cheeks Goddess excellently bright. Within his bending sickle’s compass Earth, let not thy envious shade come; Love alters not with his brief hours and Dare itself to interpose; weeks, Cynthia’s shining orb was made But bears it out even to the edge of doom. Heaven to clear, when day did close: If this be error, and upon me proved, Bless us then with wisbe’d sight, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. Goddess excellently bright.

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UNKNOWN. 19 Lay thy bow of pearl apart, HOW NEAR TO GOOD IS WHAT IS FAIR

And thy crystal shining quiver; How near to good is what is fair! Give unto tise flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever: Which we no sooner see, Thou that makest a day of night, But with the lines and outward air Goddess excellently b~ght. Our senses taken he. We wish to see it still, and prove What ways we may deserve We court, we praise, we more than love, ON LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. We are not grieved to serve. TRIs morning, timely rapt with holy fire, I thought to fi~rm unto my zealous Muse, EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH L. H. What kind of creature I could most desire To honor, serve, and love; as poets use, WouLDar fl~ou hear what man can say I meant to make her fair, and free, and In a little?- reader, stay! Of wise, Underneath this stone doth lie greatest blood, and yet more good As much beauty as could die, - than great; Which in life did liarhor give Imeant the day-star should not brighter To more virtue than doth live. Nor rise, like influence from his lucent If at all she had a fiiult, Leave it buried in this vault. seat. One name was Elizabeth, - I meant she should be courteous, facile, The other, let it sleep with death. sweet Fitter where it died to tell, Hatiiig that solemn vice of greatness, Than that it lived at all. Farewdl! pride; I meant each softest virtue there should _______ meet, Fit in that softer bosom to reside. Only a learned and a manly soul UNKNOWN. I purposed her; that should, with even powers, [I3efore i649.J The rock, the spindle, and the shears control LOVE WILL

FIND OUT THE WAY. Of Destiny, and spin her own free hours. Such when I meant to feign, and wished OVER the mountains, to see, And under the waves, My Muse bade, Bedford write, and that Over the fountains, was she.

And under the graves, Under floods which are deepest, Which Neptune obey, THE SWEET NEGLECT. Over rocks which are steepest, Love will find out the way. STILL to be neat, still to be drest, Where there is no place As you were going to a feast: For the glow-worm to lie, Still to be powdered, still perfumed: Where there is no place Lady, it is to be presumed, For the receipt of a fly, Though art’s hid causes are not found, Where the gnat dares not venture, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Lest herself fast she lay, If Love come he will enter, Give me a look, give me a face, And find out fl~e way. That makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: If that he were hidden, Such sweet neglect more taketh me, And all men that are, Than all the adulteries of art, Were strictly forbidden That strike mine eyes, but not my heart. That place to declare;

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20 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Winds that have no abidings, UNKNOWN. Pitying their delay, Would come and bring him tidings, (Before 1649.) And direct him the way. BEGONE DULL CARE! If the earth should part hiiu, lle would gallop it o’er; BEaoNE dull care! If the seas should o’erthwart him, I prithee begone from me: He would swirn to the shore. Begone dull care!

Should his love become a swallow, Thou and I can never agree. Through the air to stray, Long while thou hast been tarrying here, Love will lend wings to follow, And fain thou wouldst me kill; And will find out the way.

But i’ faith, dull care, Thou never shalt have thy will. There is no striving To cross his intent, Too much care There is no contriving Will make a young man gray; His plots to prevent; Too much care But if once the message greet him, Will turn an old man to clay. That his true love doth stay, My wife shall dance, and I will sing, If death should come and meet him, So merrily pass the day; Love will find out tile way. For I hold it is the wisest thing, To drive dull care away. Hence, dull care, I`11 none of thy company; UNKNOWN. Hence, dull care, Thou art no pair for me.

(Before 1659.) We`11 hunt the wild boar through the wold, MAY-DAY SONG. So merrily pass the day; And then at night, o’er a cheerful bowl, REMEMBER us poor Mayers all! We`11 drive dull care away. And thus do we begin To lead our lives in righteousness, _______ Or else we die in sin. We have been rambling all the night, BISllOP B~ICllARI) CORBETT. And almost all the day; And now returned back again, (1582-i635.J We have brought you a branch of May. FAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES. A brauch of May we have brought you, And at your door it stands: FAREWELL rewards and fairies It is but a sprout, out Good housewifes now may say, But it`a well budded For now foul sluts in dafrics By the work of our Lord’s hands. Do fare as well as they.

And though they sweep their heartha ne The lieavenly gates are open wide, less Our paths are beaten plain; Than maids were wont to do; And if a man be not too far gone, Yet who of late, for cleanliness, He may return again. Finds sixpence in her shoe? The moon shines bright, and the stars Lament, lament, old Abbeys, give a h.glit, The fairies’ lost command; A little before it is day; They did but change priests’ babies, So God bless you all, both great and But some have changed your land; small, And all your children sprung from thence And send you a joyful May! Are now grown Puritans;

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UNKNOWN. 21 Who live as changelings ever since, More swift than lightning can I fly For love of your domains. About this airy welkin soon, And, h~ a minute’s space, descry At morning and at evening both, Each thing that`a done below the moon. You merry were and glad, There`a not a hag So little care of sleep or sloth Or ghost shall wag, These pretty ladies had; Or crv,`ware goblins! where I go; When Tom came home from labor, But Robin I Or Cis to milking rose, Their feasts will spy, Then merrily went their tabor, And send them home with ho, ho, ho! And nimbly went their toes.

Whene’er such wanderers I meet, Witness those rings and roundelays As from their night-sports they trudge Of theirs, which yet remain, home, Were footed in Queen Mary’s days With counterfeiting voice I greet, On many a grassy plain; And call them on with me to roam: But since of late Elizabeth, Through woods, through lakes; And later, James came in, Through bogs, through brakes; They never danced on any heath Or else, unseen, ith them I go. As when the time bath been. All in the nick, To play some trick, By which we note the fairies And frolic it, with ho, ho, ho! Were of the old profession, Their songs were Ave-Maries, Sometimes I meet them like a man, Their dances were procession: Soinetinies an ox, sometimes a liomid; But now, alas! they all are dead, And to a horse I turn me can, Or gone beyond the seas; To trip and trot about them rouiid. Or farther for religion fled; Or else they take their ease. But if to ride My back they stride, A telltale in their company More swift than wind away I go, never could endure, O’er hedge and lands, They Through pools and ponds, And whoso kept not secretly I hurry, laughing, ho, ho, ho! Their mirth, was punished sure; It was a just and Christian deed, To pinch such black and blue: When lads and lasses merry be, 0, how the commonwealth doth need With possets and with junkets fine; Such justices as you! Unseen of all the company, I eat their cakes and sip their wine! And, to make sport, I puff and snort: UNKNOWN. And out the candles I do blow: The maids I kiss, They shriek-Who`a this 2 (I3efre 1649.J I answer naught but ho, ho, ho!

ROBIN GOODFELLOW. Yet now and then, the maids to please, FROM Oberon, in fairy-land, At midnight I card up their wool; The king of ghosts and shadows there, And, while they sleep and take their Mad Robin I, at his command, ease, Am sent to view the night-sports here. With wheel to threads their flax I pull. What revel rout I grind at mill Is kept about, Their malt up still; In every corner where I g~ I dress their hemp; I spin their tow; I will o’ersee, If any wake, And merry be, And would me take, And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho! I wend me, laughing, ho, lio, ho!

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22 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. When any need to borrow aught, UNKNOWN. We lend them what they do require: And for the use demand we naught; (Before i649.J Our own is all we do desire. If to repay EDOM 0’ GORDON. They do delay, Abroad amongst them then 1 go, IT fell about the Martinmas, And night by night, When the wind blew shrill and cauld, I them atfright, Said Edom 0’ Gordon to his men, With pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, “We maun draw to a hauld. ho! “And whatna hauld sall we draw to, When lazy queans have naught to do, My merry men and me? But study how to cog and lie; We will gae to the house of the Rodes, To make debate and mischief too, To see that fair ladye.” `Twixt one another secretly: 1 mark their gloze, The lady stood on her castle wa’, And it disclose Beheld baith dale and down; To them whom they have wron cred so When I have done There she was aware of a host of men I get me gone, Came riding towards the town. And leave them scolding, ho ho ho! “0 see ye not, my merry men a’, 0 see ye not what I see? When men do traps and engines set Methinks I see a host of men; In loopholes, where the venuin creep, I marvel who they be.” Who from their folds and houses get Their ducks and geese, and lambs and She weened it had been her lovely lord, sheep; As he cam’ riding bame; I spy the gin, It was the traitor, Edom 0’ Gordon, And enter in, Wha recked nor sin nor shame. And seem a vemlin taken so; But when they there She had nae sooner buskit hersell, Approach me near, And putten on her gown, I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho! Till Edom 0’ Gordon all’ his men Were round about the town. By wells and rills, in meadows gree;a, We nightly dance our heyday guise; They bad nae sooner supper set, And to our fairy king and queen, Nae sooner said the grace, We chant our moonlight minstrelsies. But Edom 0’ Gordon an’ his men When larks`gin sing, Were lighted about the place. Away we fling; And babes new-born steal as we go; The lady ran up to her tower-head, And elf in bed We leave in stead, As fast as she could hie, And wend us laughing ho, ho, ho! To see if by her fair speeches She could wi’ him agree. From hag-bred Merlin’s time, have I Thus nightly revelled to and fro; “Come doun to me, ye lady gay, nd for my pranks men call me by Come doun, come doun to me; The name of Robin Goodfellow. This night sail ye lig within mine arms, Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, To-morrow my bride sail be.” Who haunt the nights, The bags and goNins do me know; “I winna come down, ye fause Gordon, And beldames old I winna come down to thee; My feats have told, I winna forsake my ain dear lord, - So vale, vale; ho, ho, ho! And he is na far frae me.”

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UNKNOWN. 23 Gie owre your house, ye lady fair, But on the point 0’

Gordon’s spear Gie owre your house to me; She gat a deadly fa’. Or I sail burn yoursell therein, But and your babies three.” 0 bonnie, bonnie was her mouth, And cherry were her cheeks, “I winna gie owre, ye fause Gordon, And clear, clear was her yellow hafr, To nae sic traitor as thee; Whereon the red blood dreeps. And if ye burn my ain dear babes, My lord sail mak’

ye dree. Then Wi’ his spear he turned her owre; O gin her face was wan “Now reach my pistol, Gland, my man, He said, “Ye are the fi,fst that e’er And charge ye weel my gun; I wished alive again. For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher, My babes, we been undone!” He cam’ and lookit again at her; O gin her skin was white! She stood upon her castle wa’, “I might bee spared that bonnie face And let twa bullets flee: To hae been some man’s delight.” She missed that bluidy butcher’s heart, And only razed his knee.

“Busk and boun, my merry men a’, For ill dooms I do guess “Set fire to the house!” quo’ fause Gordon, I cannot look on il~at bonnie face Wud wi’ dule and ire: As it lies on the grass.” “Fause ladye, ye sail rue that shot As ye burn iu the fire!” “Wha looks to freits, my master dear, Its freits will follow fl~em; “Waewoftb,waeworthy~ Jock,myman! Let it ne’er be said that Ed,o,m 0’ Gordon I paid ye weel your fee; Was daunted by a dame. Why pu’ ye out the grund-wa’ stane, Lets in the reek to me? But when the ladye saw the fire Come flaming o’er her head, “And e’en wae worth ye, Jock, my man! She wept, and kissed her children twain, I paid ye weel your hire; Says, “Bairns, we been but dead.” Why pu’ ye out the grund-wa’ stane, To me lets in the fire?” The Gordon then his bugle New, And said, “Awa’, awa’! “Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye, This house 0’ the Rodes is a’ in a flame; Ye paid me weel my fee: I hauld it time to ga’.” But now I`in Edom 0’ Gordon’s man, Maun either do or dee.” And this way lookit her ain dear lord, As he came owre the lea; O then bespake her little son, He saw his castle a’ in a lowe, Sat on the nurse’s knee: Sae far as he could see.

Says, “0 mfther dear, gie owrethishouse, For the reek it smothers me. “Put on, put on, my wighty men, As fast as ye can dri’e! I wad gie a’ my goud, my bairn, For he that`a hindmost 0’ \lie thrang Sae wad I a’ my fee, Sail ne’er get good 0’ me. For ae blast 0’ the western wind, To blaw the reek fra thee.” Then some they rade, and some they ran, Out-owre the grass and bent; 0 then bespake her daughter dear, - But ere the foremost could win up, She was baith jimp and sma’: Baith lady and babes were brent. “0 row’

me in a pair 0’ sheets, And tow me o’er the wa’!” And after the Gordon he is gane, Sae fast as he might dri’e; They row’d her in a pair 0’ sheets, And soon i’ the Gordon’sfoulheart’sblude And tow’d her owre the wa’; He`a wroken his fair ladye.

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24 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. UNKNOWN. If thou wilt prove a good husband, R’en take thy auld cloak about thee.” TAKE THY AULD CLOAK ABOUT THEE.

Bell, my wife, she loves not strife, IN winter, when the rain rained cauld, But she will rule me if she can: And frost and snow were on the hill, And oft, to lead a quiet life, And Boreas with his blasts sac bauld I`m forced to yield, though I`m gud~. Was threat’ning all our kyc to kill; man. Then Bell, my wife, wha loves not strife, It`a not for a man with a woman to She said to me right hastilie, threape “Get up, gudeman, save Crummie’s life, Unless he first give o’er the plea And take thy auld cloak about thee! As we began so will we leave, And I’ll take my auld cloak about me. “Cow Cn~mmie is a useful cow, And she is come of a good kin’; _______ Aft has she wet the bairnies’ mou’, And I am laith that she should pine: et up, gudeman, it is fu’ time! UNKNOWN. The sun shines frac the lift sac hie; nth never made a gracious end, - THE BARRING 0’ THE DOOR.

Gac, take thy auld cloak about fl~ce!” IT fell about the Martinmas time, My cloak was once a gude gray cloak, And a gay time it was than, When it was fitting for my wear; When our gudewife got puddings to ~ut no’v it`a scantly worth a groat, make, For I hac worn`t this thirty year: And she boiled them in the pan. Let`a spend the gear that we hac won, We little ken the day we`11 dcc; The wind sac cauld blew east and north, Vhen I’ll be prond, since I hac sworn It blew into the floor: To han a new cloak about mc.” Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife, “Gac out and bar the door!”

“In days when our King Robert reigned, His breeches cost but half a crown; “My hand is in my huswif’s kap, ~e said they were a groat too dear, Gudeman, as ye may see; And ca’d the tailor thief and loun. An’ it should nan be barred this hundred tie was the king that wore the crown, year, And thou the man of low degree: It`a no be barred for me.” [t`s pride puts a’

the country down, Sac take thy auld cloak about thee!” They made a paction`tween them twa, They made it firm m~d sure, “0 Bell, my wife, why dost thou flout? That the first word whae’er should speak Now is now, and then was then. Should rise and bar the door. Seek anywhere the woAd throughout, Thou ken’st not clowns from gentle-Then by there came twa gentlemen men. At twelve o’clock at night; They are clad in black, green, yellow, And they could neither see house nor and gray, hall, Sac far above their ain degree: Nor coal nor candle light. Once in my life I`11 do as they, For I`11 have a new cloak about me.” And first they ate the white puddings, And then they ate the black; “Gudeman, I wot it`a thirty year Though muckle thought the gudewife to Sin’ we did ann anither ken, hersel’, And we han had atween us twa Yet ne’cr a word she spak’. Of lads and bonnie lasses ten New they are women grown and men, Then said the one unto the other, I wish and pray weci may they be: “Here, man, tak’ ye my knife!

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THOMAS GAREW. -WILLIAM BROWNE. 25 Do ye tak’ aff the auld man’s beard, Perfumes far sweeter than the best And I’ll kiss the gudewife.” That make the phoenix urn and nest: Fear not your ships, “But there`a nae water in the house, Nor any to oppose you save our lips: And what shall we do than?” But come on shore, “What ails ye at the puddin’ broo Where no joy dies till love has gotten That boils into the pan?” more. 0, up then started our gudeman, For swelling waves our panting breasts, And an angry man was he: Where never storms arise, “Will ye kiss my wife before my een, Exchange; and be awhile our guests: And scaud me wi’ puddin’ bree?” For stars, gaze on our eyes. The compass, love shall hourly sing, Then lip and started our gudewife, And, as lie goes about the ring, Gied three skips on the floor: We will not miss “Gudeman, ye`ve spoken the foremost To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. word, - Get up and bar the door!” SONG.

SHALL I tell you whom I love? Hearken then awhile to me, TllOMAS CARL~Y.

And if such a woman move As I now shall versify, (1589-1639.1 Be assured,`t is she, or none, That I love, and love alone. lIE THAT LOVES A ROSY CHEEK. HE that loves a rosy cheek, Nature did her so much right, Or a coral lip admires, As she scorns the help of art, Or from starlike eyes doth seek In as many virtues dight Fuel to maintain his fires; 50As e’er yet embraced a heart. As old Time makes these decay, much good so truly tried, Souse for less were deified. So his flames must waste away. But a smooth and steadfast mind, Wit she hath, without desire Gentle thoughts, and calm desires To make known how mudi she hath; Hearts with equal love combined, And her anger flames no higher Kindle ii ever-dying fires; -

Than may fitly sweeten wrath. Where these are not, I despise Full of pity as may be, Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. Though perliaps not so to me.

_______ Reason masters every sense, And her virtues grace her birth: Lovely as all excellence, WILLIAM BROWNE. Modest iii her most of mirth: Likelihood enough to prove (1590-1645.J Only worth could kindle love. THE

SIRENS’ SONG. Such she is; and if you know Sucli a one as I have sung, -

Svuuu hither, steer your winged pines, Be she brown, or fair, or so, All beaten manners: Th~it ~1ie be but somewbile young, - Here lie undiscovered mines, Be assured,`t is she, or none, A prey to passengers: That I love, and love alone.

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26 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. SIR ROBERT AYTON. TllOMAS llEYWOOD.

[1570-1638.) [About i64o.J FAIR AND UNWORTHY. GOOD-MORROW. I DO confess thou`ft smooth and fair, PACK clouds away, m~d wdcome day, And I might have gone near to love With night we banish Soflow; Had I thee, Sweet air, blow soft; mount, larks, aloft, slOt found the lightest prayer To give my love good-morrow. That lips could speak, bad power to Wings from the wind to please her mind, move thee: Notes from the lark I`11 borrow; But I can let thee now alone, Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing, As worthy to be loved by none. To give my love good-mon~ow. I do confess thou`rt sweet; yet find Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast; Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, Sing, birds, in every flirrow; Thy favors are but like the wind, And fi~m each hill let music shnll That kisses everything it meets; Give my fair love good-monow. And since thou caust with more than one, Blackbird and thrush in every bush, Thou`rt worthy to be kissed by none.

Stare, linnet, and cock-spmwow; You pretty elves, among yourselves, The morning rose that untouched stands Sing my fair love good-morrow. Armed with her briers, how sweetly smells! But plucked and strained through ruder SEARCH AFTER GOD. hands, No ~nore her sweetness wfth her dwells, I SOUGIlT thee romid about, 0 thou my But scent and beauty both are gone, God! And leaves fall from her, one by one. In thin a abode. I said unto the esith, “Speak, art thou Such fate, erelong, will thee betide, he?”

When thou bast handled been She answered me, awhile, “I am not.” I iliquired of creatures all, Like sere flowers to be thrown aside: In general, And I will sigh, while some will smile, Contained thereiu. They with one voice To see thy love for more than one proclaim Hath brought thee to be loved by none. That none amongst them challenged such a name. I asked the seas and all the deeps below, ~Iy God to know; WILLIAM STRODE. I asked the reptiles and whatever is Iii the abyss, - (i6oo-1644.) Even from the shrimp to the leviathan Inquiry ran; MUSIC. But in those deserts which no line can sound, 0 LULL me, lull me, charming air! The God I sought for was not to be found. ~Iy senses rock with wonder sweet: Like snow on wool thy failings are; I asked the air if that were he! but lo Soft, like a spirit’s, are thy feet! It told me “No.” Grief who need fear I from the towering eagle to the wren That bath all ear? Demanded then Down let him lie If any feathered fowl`mongst them were And slumbei.ing die, such; And ebmige his soul for harmony! But they all, much

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HENRY KING. 27 Offended with my question, in full choir, I answered: The all-potent, sole, imAnswered, “To find thy,, God thou must mense, look higher. Surpassing sense; Unspeakable, inscrntable, eternal, I asked the heavens, sun, moon, and Lord over all; stars; but they The only teivible, strong, just, and true, Said, “We obey Who hath no end, and no beginning The God thou seekest.” I asked what kiiew. eye or ear Could see or hear,-

He is the well of life, for he doth give What in tlse world I might descry or To all that live know Both breath and being; he is the Creatoi Above, below; Both of the water, With an unanimous voice, all these things Earth, air, and fire. Of all things that said, subsist We are not God, but we by him were He hath the list, - made.” Of all the heavenly host, or what earth claims, I asked the woAd’s great universal mass He keeps the scroll, and calls them by If that God was;` their names. ~fliich with a mighty and strong voice And now, my God, by thine illumining replied, As stnpefled, -
grace, “I am not he, 0 man! for know that I (So far Thy glorious face By him on high forth as it may discovered be) Iethinks I see Was fashioned first of nothing; thus And though invisiHe and’ infinite, instated And swayed by him by whom I was To human sight created.” Thou, in thy mercy, justice, truth, ap pearest, smooth-tongued In which, to our weak sense, thou comest I sought the court; but nearest. flattery there Deceived each ear; 0, make us apt to seek and quick to find, In the thronged city there was selling, Thou, God, most kind! buying, Swearin and lying; Give us love, hope, and fiuth, in thee to trust, I’ the country, craft in simpleness ar-Thou, God, most just! rayed, Remit all our offences, we entreat, “Yain is$ then I said, - my pains Grant tL~MtoO,5~} good! most great! search, williiig, though be great; quest Where my God is there can be no deceit.” May, through thy grace, admit us A scrutiny within myself I fl~en`mongst the blest. “0 man, Even thus began What more could I say Than dust and clay, - Frail, mortal, fading, a mere puff, a blast, llENPLY

KING. That cannot last; F~59I - i669.J Enthroned to-day, to-morrow in an urn, Formed from that earth to which I must SIC VITA. return? LIKE to the falling of a star, I asked myself what tida great God might Or as the flights of eagles are; be Or like the fresh spring’s gaudy hue, That fashioned me. Or silver drops of morning dew;

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28 SONGS OF TllhEE CENTURIES. Or like a wind that chafes the flood, MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. Or bubbles which on water stood: Even such is man, whose borrowed light [1612-i65o.] Is straight called in, and paid tonight. The wind blows out, the bubble dies; I`LL NEVER LOVE THEE MOR~

The spring entombed in autumn lies; The dew dries up, the star is shot; Mv dear and only love, I pray The flight is past, - and man forgot. That little world of thee Be governed by no other sway But purest monarchy: For if couftision have a part, ELEGY. Which virtuous souls abhor, I`11 call a synod in my heart, SLEEP on, my love, in thy cold bed, And never love thee more. Never to be disquieted! My last good night! Thou wilt not wake As Alexander I will reign, Till I thy fate shall overtake; And I will reign alone; Till age, or grief, or sickness must My thoughts did evermore disdain Marry n)y body to that dust A rival on my throne. It so much loves, and fill the roorh lle either fears his fate too much, My heart keeps empty iii thy tomb. Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the toncli, Stay for me there! I will unt fail To gain or lose it all.

To meet thee in that hollow vale. And think not much of my delay: I am already on the way, And follow thee with all the speel Desire can make, or sorrow breed. JAMES SllIRLEY. Each minute is a short degree, And every hour a step towards thee. E1596-i666.J At night, when I betake to rest, Next morn I rise nearer my west DEATH THE LEVELLER. Of life, almost by eight hours’ sail, Than when sleep breathed his drowsygale. THE glories of our blood and state Thus from the sun my vessel steers, Are shadows, not substanfial il~ngs; And my day’s compass downward bears: There is no armor 5(~l05t fate Nor labor I to stem the tide Death lays his ic~ band on k’ings: Through which to thee I swfftly glide. Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, `T is true, wiil~ sbame and grief I yield, And in the dust be equal made Thou, like the van, first took’st the field, With the poor crooked scythe and spade. And gotten bait the victory, In thus adventuring to (1i0 Some men with swords may reap the fic id, Before me, whose more yeaI’s might crave Aiid plant fresh laurels where they A just precedence in the grave. kill; But hark! my pulse, like a soft drum, But their strong nerves at last must yiAd; Beats my approach, tells thee I come: They tame but one another still: And slow howe’er iuy marches be, Early or late I shall at last sit down by thee. Tisey stoop to fate, And must give up theb-niurmuring breath The thought of this bids me go on, When they, pale captives, creep to death. Aid u-nit my dis~olution With hope and comfoft.

Dear forgive The garlands wither on your brow; The erinie, - I am content to live ilien boast no more your mighty deeds; Divided, with but half a heart, Upon Death’s purple altar now Till we shall meet, and never part.

See where the victor-victim bleeds;

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SIR TIlOMAS BROWNE. - RICRARD CRASRAW. 29 Your heads must come Whilst I do rest, my soul advance; To the cold to nib Make my sleep a holy trance: Only the actioiis of tlse just That I may, my rest being wrought, Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. Awake bito some holy ilsought, And wfth as active vigor run My course, as doth the nimble sun. Sleep is a death; 0, make nie try, By sleeping, what it is to die: EDWARD llER~ERT, (EARL Oi And as gently lay my head CliERBURY.) On my grave as now my bed. llowe’er I rest, great God, let me (8-68] Awake again at last with thee. 151 14.

And thus assured, behold I li~ CELINDA. Securely, or to wake or die. These are my drowsy days; in vain WALKING thus towards a pleasant grove, I do now wake to sleep agaili: Whiels did, it seemed, iii siew delight 0, come that hour when I shall never The pleasures of tise time uiiite Sleep thus again, but wake forever. To give a trhimph to their love, - They stayed at last, and on the grass Repos6d so as o’er lils breast Slie bowed lsei.

gR~ciou a head to rest, Such a weight as no burden was. RICllARD CRASllAW.

Long their fixed eyes to heaven bent Unchanged they did never move, (1605-1650.] As if so great and pure a love No lass but it could represent.

WISHES. These eyes agahi thine eyes shall see, Thy lianils again these hands infold, Ws’ox’i~u she be, And all cliasfe pl~~asures can be told, That not hupossible She Shall wi4i us everlastiughe. That shall command my heart and me; Let ilaen 110 doubt, Celiuda, touch, Much less your fidrest mind invade; Whei~e’er she lie, Were not our souls immortal made, Our equal loves can make them such.” Locked up froni moftal eye In shady leaves of destiny, Till that npe birth Of studied Fate stand fort~, SIR

TllO~iAS BROWNE. And teacls her fair steps to our earth (1605 - 1682.]

Till that diviiae Idea take a shnne EVENING HYMN. Of crystal flesh, through which to shine: TilE night is come; like to the day, Depart not thou, gleat God, away. - Meet you her, my Wishes, Let not my sins, black as the night, Bespeak her to my blisses, Fcli1ise the lustre of thy light.

And be ye called, nay absent kisses. Reep in my horizon: for to me The sun makes not the day, but thee. I wish her beauty Thou whose nature cannot sleep, That owes not all its duty On my temples sentry keep: To gaudy tire, or glist’ring shoe-tie: Guard me`galust those watchful foes, Wh050
eves are open while`nine close. Something more than Let no dreams my head infest Taffeta or tissue can, But such as Jacob’s teniples blest. Or rampant feather, or rich fan.

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30 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. A face il~at`5 best By its own beauty drest, IR RICllARD LOVELACE, And can alone command the rest: [i6i5 - i68.0 A face made up TO ALTHEA. Out of no ofl~er shop Than what Nature’s whfte band sets ope. WIlEN love with unconfin6d wings Hovers within my gates, Sydnelan showcrs And my divine Aithee brings Of sweet discourse, whose powers To whisper at my ~tes Can crown old Vinter’s head wfth flow-When I lie tangled in her hair, ers. And fettered to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Whate’er delight Inow no such liberty. Can make day’s forehead bright Or give down to the wings of night. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Soft silken hours, Iinds innocent and quiet take Open suns, shady bowers; Tlat for a hei’mitage: `Bove all, nothing wfthin that lowers. If I have freedom in aJy love, And in my soul am free, - Days, that need borrow Angels alone that soar above No part of their good morrow Enjoy such liberty. From a fore-spent night of sorrow Days, that in spite Of darkuess, by the light TO LUCASTA. Of a clear nIhld aic day all night. TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind, Life, that dares send That from the nunnery A challenge to his end; Of tl~y chaste breast, and quiet mind, And when it comes, says, “Wdcom~ To war and arn~s I fly.

friend.” True: a new mistress row I chase, I wish her store The first foe in the field; Of wofth may leave her poor And with a stronger faith emburce Of wishes; and I wish - no more. A sword, a horse, a shield. -

Now, if Time knows Yet this il~constancy is such, That Her, whose radiant brows - As you too shall adore; Weave them a gariand of my vows; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more. Her il~at dares be What these lines wish to see: _______ I seek no flirther, it is She. `T is She, and here ROBERT RERRICK. Lo! I unclothe nd clear Iy wishes’ cloudy character. (,59, - i674.J Such worth as this is TO DAFFODILS. Shall fix my flying wishes, And determine them to kisses. FAIR Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon: I~et her full glory, As yet the early-rising inn Iy fancies, fly before ye; Has not attained his noon: Be ye my fictions: - but her story. - Stay, stay,

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GEORGE llERBERTh 31 Until the hasting day No:`t is a fast to dole Has run Thy sheaf of wheat, But to the even song; And meat, And, having prayed together, we Unto the hungry soul. Will go with you along. It is to fast from strife, We have short time to stay as you, From 01(1 debate We have as short a spring; And hate; As quick a growth to meet decay, To circumcise thy life. As you, or anything. We die, To show a heart grief-rent; As your hours do, and dry To starve thy sin, Away Not bin: Like to the summer’s rain, And that`5 to keep thy Lent. Or as the pearls of morning’s dew, Ne’er to he found again. TO BLOSSOMS. G1~ORGL llERBLRT.

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, [1593-16334 Why do ye fall so fast? Your date is not so past, VIRTUE. But you may stay yet bere awhile, SWEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright, To blush and gently smile, The bridal of the earth and sky, And go at last. The dew shall weep tliy fidl tonight; What! were ye born to be For thou must die. An hour or half’s delight, And so to bid good-night? Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, was pity Nature brought ye forth Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Merely to show your worth, Thy root is ever ill its grave, And lose you quite. And thou must die. But you are lovely leaves, where we Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, May read how soon things have A hex where sweets compacted lie, Their end, though ne’er so brave; My music shows ye have your closes, And after they have shown their pride, And all must die. Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal, TO KEEP A TRUE LENT. Then chiefly lives. Is thisa fast, to keep The larder lean, And clean THE FLOWER. From fat of veals and sheep? How fresh, 0 Lord, how sweet and Is it to quit the dish clean Of flesh, yet still Are thy returns! e’en as the flowers in To fill spfl’ng; The platter high with fish? To which, besides their own demesne, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure Is it to fast an hour, bring. Or rag’d to go, Grief melts away Or show Like snow in May, A downcast look, and sour? As if there were no such cold thing.

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32 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Who would have thought my shriv-REST. elled heart WHEN God at first made nsan, Could have recovered greenness? It was Having a glass of blessiiigs standing by, gone “Let us,” said he, “pour on bins all we Quite under ground; as flowers depart can: To see their mother-root, when they have Let the world’s riches, whichdisperse’dlie, blown; Contract into a span.” Where they together, All the bard weather, So strength first made a way; Dead to the world, keep house Un-Then beauty flowed; then wisdom, honor, known. I)leasure: These are thy wonders, Lord of power, When alniost all was out, Cod made a stay, and quickening, bringing down Perceiving that alone, of all liis treasure, Killing Rest in the bottom lay. to hell And up to heaven in an hour- “For if I slsould,” said he, Making a chiming of a passing bell. “Bestow this jewel also on niy creature, We say amiss, He would adore my gifts instead of me, This or that is: And restin nature, not the God of nature; Thy word is all, if we could spell. So both should losers be. O that I once past changing were, “Yet let him keep the rest, Fast in thy Paradise, where no flower But keepil~emwfth repinbig restlessness: can wither! Many a spring I shoot up fair Let hiin be rids and weary, that at least, Offering at heaven, growing and groan-If goodness lead him not, yet weariness ing thither; Iay toss him to my breast.” Nor doth my flower ______ Want a spniig-shower, My sins and I joining together. llENIY VAUGllAN. But while I grow in a straight line, Still upwards bent, as if heaven were (1614-1695.] mine own, THE BIRD. Thy anger comes, and I decline: What frost to that? what pole is not the HITHER thou com’st. The busy wind zone all night Where all things burn, Blew through thy lodging, where thy When thou dost turn, own warm wing And the least frown of thine is shown? Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm, And now in age I bud again, For which coarse man seems much the fitter born, After so many deaths I live and wnte; Rained on thy bed I once more smell the dew and rain, And harmless head; And relish versing: 0 my only Light, It cannot be And now, as fresh and cheerful as the That I am he light, On whom tlsy tempests fell all night.

Thv little heart in early hymns doth sing Unto that Providence whose unseen arm These are thy wonders, Lord of love, Curbed them, and clothed thee well and To make us see we are but flowers that warm. glide; All things that be praise Him; and had Which when we once can find and Their lesson taught them when first prove, made. Thou hast a gai~eii for us, where to bide. Who would be more, So hills and valleys into singing breal~

Swelling through stor~ And though poor stones have nefther Forfeit their Paradise by their pride. speech nor tongue,

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GEORGE WITHER. 33 While active winds and streams both ruii These are your walks, and you have aud speak, showed them mc Yet stones are deep in admiration. To kindle my cold love. Thw~ pl~ise and prayer here beneath the sun Dear, beauteous death, - the jewel of tlse Iake lesser mornings, when the great just, - are done. Shining nowhere but in the dark! What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, For each inclos6d spirit is a star Could man outlook that mark! Inlightuing his owo little sphere, Whose light, though fetcht and borrow6d He that hath found some fledged bird’s from far, nest may know, Both mornings makes and evenings At first sight, if the bird be flown; there. But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, But as these birds of light make a land That is to him unknown. glal, Chirping their solemn matins on each And yet, as angels in some brighter tree; dreams So in the shades of night some dark Call to the soul when man doth sleep, fowLs be, So some strange thoughts transcend our Whose heavy notes make all that hear wonted themes, them sad. And into glory peep. The turtle then ill palm-trees mourns, If a star were confined into a tomb, While owls and satyrs bowl; Her captive flames must needs burn The pleasant laud to brimstone turns, there; And all her streams grow foul.

But when the hand that iockt her up gives room, Brightness and mirth, and love and faith, She`11 shine through all the sphere. all fly, Till the dayspring breaks forth again 0 Father of eternal life, and all from high.

Created glories under thee! Resui~e thy spirit from this world of thrall Into true liberty! TIlEY ARE ALL GONE. Either disperse these mists, which bl~t T~~v are all gone into the world of light, and fill And I alone sit lingering here! Iy perspective still as they pass; heir very memory is fair and bright, Or else remove me henee unto that hill And Toy sad thoughts doth clear. Where I shall need no glass. It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast ________ Like stars TT~00 some gloomy grove, Or those faiiit beams in which this bill is drest After the sun’s remove. GEOPtGFA WITllER. I see them walking in an air of glory, (1585-1667.] Whose light doth trample on iny days; FOR ONE THAT HEARS HIMSELF My days, whlch are at best but dull and MUCH PRAISED. hoary, Mere glimmering and decays. Mv sins and follies, Lord! by thee Fron others hidden are, O holy hope! and high humility, - That such good words are spoke of me, High as the heavens above! As now and then I hear 3

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34 SONGS OF TllREE CENTURIES. For sure if others knew me such, By her help I also now Such as myself I k~iow, Make this churlish place allow I should have been dispraised as much Some things that may sweeten gla4 As I am praised now. ness, In tlie very gall of sadness. The praise, therefore, which I have heard, The dull loneness, tlie black shade, Delights not so my niind, That these hanging vaults have made; As those things make iny heart afeard, The strange music of the waves, Which in myself I fiiid: Beating on these hollow caves; And I had rather to be blamed, This black den which rocks emboss, So I were blameless made, Overgrown with eldest moss; Than for inuch virtue to be famed, T he rude portals that give light When I no virtues had. More to terror than delight; This my d~amber of neglect, slanders to an innocent Walled about with disrespect, - Though From all these, and tbis dull air, Sometinies do hitter grow, A fit object for despair, Their bitterness procures content, She bath taught me by her might If clear himself he know. And when a virtuous man bath erred, To draw comfort and delight. If praised himself he hear, Therefore, ilion best earthly bliss, I will cherish thee for this. It makes him grieve, and more afeard Than if he slandered were. 1 nesy, thou sweet’st content That e’er heaven to mortals lent: Though il~ey as a trifle leave thee, Lord!

therefore make my heart upright, Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive Whate’er my deeds do seem; thee; And righteous rather in tliy sight, Though thou be to them a scorn, Than in the world’s esteem. That to naught but earth are born, - And if aught good appear to be Let niy life fin longer he In any act of mine, Than I am in love with thee! Let thankflilness be found in me, And all the praise be thine. ANDI~LW

MAitVELL. COMPANIONSHIP OF THE MUSE. I62- i675.J SliE (loth tell me where to borrow ~omfbrt in the midst of sorrow; THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN.

Makes the desolatest pl ace To her presence be a grace, llow vainly men il~emsdves amaze, And the blackest discontents To win the palm, the oak, or hays: Be her fairest on~aments. And their incessant labors see In my former days of bliss, Crowned from some single herb or Her divine skill taught no this, tree, That from everything I saw Whose short and narrow-verg6d shade I could some invention draw, Does pn~dently their toils upbraid; And raise pleasure to her height, While all the flowers and trees do Through il~e meanest object’s sight, close, By the morniur of a spring, To weave the gaAan ds of repose. Or the least bough’s rnstle~ing.

By a daisy, who~e leaves spread, Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, Shut when Titan goes to bed; And Innocence, thy sister dear? Or a shady bush or t1~e, Mistaken long, I sought you then She could ~nore in fo so in me, In busy com})anies of n1en. Than all nature’s beauties can Your sacred plants, if here below, In some other wiser man. Only among these plaiits will grow.

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JOHN MILTON. 35 Society is all but rude THE BERMUDAS. To this delicious solitude. WHERE the remote Bermudas ride No white nor red was ever seen In the ocean’s bosom u~espied, So amorous as this lovely green. From a sniall boat that rowed along, Fond lovers, cruel as fl~eir flame, The listening winds received this song: Cut in these trees their mistress’ name. What should we do but sing His praise Little, alas, they know or heed, That led us through the watery maze How far these beauties her exceed! Where he the huge sea monsters racks, Fair tracs! wherc’er your barks I wound That lift the deep upon their hacks, No name shall but your own be found.` Unto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own? What wondrous life is this I lead! He lands us on a grassy stage, Ripe apples di’op about my head. Safe from the storms and prelates’ rage. The luscious clusters of fl~e vine He gave us this eternal spring Upon my mouth do crush their wine. Which here enai~els everything, The neetmine, and curious licach, And sends the fowls to us in care, Into my hands fl~emsAves do reach. On daily visits through the air. Stumbling on melons, as I pass, He hangs in shades the orange bright, lusnared with flowers, I fall on grass. Like golden lamps iii a green night, Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less And does iii the pomegrsnates close Wfthdraws into its happiness, - Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. The mind, il~at ocean where each kind He makes the figs our mouths to meet, Does straight its own resemblance find And throws the melons at our feet, Yet it creates transcending these, With apples, plants of such a price, Far other worlds and other seas; No tree could ever bear them twice. Amilbilating all that`5 made With cedars, chosen by his hand, To a green thought in a green shade. From Lebanon be stores the land; Here at the fountain’s sliding foot, And makes the hollow seas fliat roar, Or at some fl-nit-tree’s mossy root, Proclaim the ambergris on shore. Casting tlie body’s vest aside, He cast (of which we rather boast) My soul into the boughs does glide; The gospel’s pearl upon our coast; There, like a bird, it sits and sings, And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound his name. Then whets and claps its silver wings, And, till prei}ared for longer flight, 0, let our voice his praise exalt, Waves in its plumes the various light. Till it arrive at heaven’s vault, Which then perhaps rebounding may Such was the happy garden state, Echo beyond the Mexic bay.” While man there walked without a Thus sang they in the English boat mate: After a place so pure and sweet, A holy and a cheerful note; What other help could yet be meet! And all the way, to guide their chime, But`t was beyond a mortal’s share With falling oars they kept the time. To wander solitary there: Two paradises are in one, To live in paradise alone. JOHN MILTON. JIow well the skilful gm-dener drew Of flowers and herbs this dial new! ~i6c8 - 1674.1 Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run: HYMN ON THE

NATIVITY. And, as it works, the industuous bee Computes its time as well as we. IT was the winter wild How could such sweet and wholesome While the heaven-horn child hours All meanly wrapt in the rude manger B(‘ reckoned, but with herbs and flow-lies; ers? Nature, in awe of him

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36 SONGS OF THREL’ CENTURIES. Had doffed tier gaudy trim, For all tlie morning light, With her great Master so to sympathize: Or Lucifer liad often warned them It was no season then for her tlience; To wanton with the sm~, her lusty para-But in their ghmmering orbs did glow, mour. Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. Only with speeches fair She wooes the gentle air, And, though tlie shady gloom To hide her guilty front with innocent Had giveli day lier room, snow; The sun himself withheld his wonted And on her naked shame, siieed, Pollute with sinful blame, And hid his head for shame, The saintly veil of niaiden-white to As his inferior flame throw; The new-enlightened woild no more Confounded, that her Maker’s eyes should need; Should look so near upon her foul deform-He saw a greater sun appear ities. Than his bright throne, or burning axle tree, could hear. But he, her fears to cease, Sent down the nieek-eyed Peace: The shepherds on the lawn, She, crowned with olive green, came Or ere the point of dawn, softly sliding Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; Down through the turning sphere, Full little thought they theis His ready harbinger, That the mighty Pan With turtle wing the amorous clouds Was kindly come to live with them be dividing; low; And, waving wide her myftle wand Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, She strikes a universal peace throug’h sea Was all that did theh-silly thoughts so and land. busy keep. When such music sweet No war or battle’s sound Their hearts aiid ears did greet, Was heard the world around: As never was by mortal fingers strook, The idle spear and shield were high up-Divinely warbled voice hung The hooked chariot stood Answering the stn.nge’d noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture Unstained wfth hostile blood; took: The trumpet spake not to the arm6d The air, such pleasure loath to lose, thron~- With thousand echoes still prolongs each And kings sat still with awful eye, heavenly close. As if they surely knew their sovereign lord was by. Nature, that heard such sound, Beneath tlie hollow round But peaceful was il~e night, Of Cynthia’s seat, the airy region Wherein the Prince of Light thrilling, His reign of peace upon the earthbegan: Now was almost won, The winds, wfth wonder whist, To think her part was done, Smoothly the waters kissed, And that her reign had here its last Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, ftilfllling; Who now bath quite forgot to rave, She knew such han~ony alone While birds of calm sit brooding on the Could hold all heaven and earth in happier charmed wave.

union. The stars, with deep amaze, At last surrounds their sight Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, A globe of circular light, Bending one way their precious infin-That wit ii mug beams the shame-faced ence; iiight arrayed; And will not take their flight, The helm ed cherubim,

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JOHN MILTON. 37 And sworded seraphim, Must redeem our loss, Are seen iii glittering ranks with wings So both himself and us to glorify: displayed, Yet first, to those ychained in sleep, Harping in loud and solemn quire, The wakefnl trump of doom must thunder Wfth unexpressive notes, to Heaven’s through the deep, new-boru heir. With such a hornd clang Such music as`t is said As on Mount Sinai r~n Before was never made, While the red a’ fire and smouldering But when of old the sons of morning clouds outbrake; sung, The aged earth aghast, While the Creator great With terror of that blast, His constellations set, Shall from the surface to the centre And the well-bjanced world on hinges shake; hung, When, at the world’s last session, And cast the dark foundations deep, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall And bid the weltenug waves their oozy spread his throne. channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres, And then at last our bliss, Once bless our human ears, Full and perfect is, If ye have power to touch our senses so; But now begins for, from this happy And let your silver chime day, Move in melodious time; The old dragon, underground, And let the bass of Heaven’s deep organ In straiter limits bound, blow; Not half so far casts his usurp6d sway; And, with your ninefold harmony, And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Make up full concert to the angelic sym-Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. phony. The oracles are dumb; For, if such holy song No voice or hideous hum Enwrap our fancy long, Runs through the arch6d roof in words Tiine will run back, and fetch the age deceiving. of gold; Apollo from his shrine And speckled Vanity Can no more divine, Will sicken soon and die, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos And leprous Sin will melt from earthly leaving. mould; No nightly trance, or breathe’d spell, And Hell itself will pass away, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from tlie And leave her dolorous mansions to the propbetic celL
peering day. Yea, Truth and Justice then The londy mountains o’er, Will down return to in en, And the resounding shore, Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories A voice of weeping heard and loud Mercy wearing, From lament; haunted spring and dale, Throned in celestial sheen, Edged with poplar pale, With radiant feet the tissued clouds The parting Genius is wfth sighing sent; down steering; With fiower-inwoven tresses torn, And Heaven, as at some festival, The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled Will open wide the gates of her high thickets mourn. palace hall. In consecrated earth, But wisest Fate says no, And on the holy hearth, This must not yet be so The Lars and Lemures mourn with mid The babe yet lies in s4iiling infancy, night plaint. That on the bitter cross In urns and altars round,

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38 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. A drear and dying sound Troop to the infernal jail, Affrights the Flamens at their service Each fettered ghost slips to his several quaint; grave; And the chill marble seems to sweat, And the yellow-skirted fays While each peculiar power foregoes his Fly after tbe night-steeds, leaving their wonted seat. moon-loved maze. Peor and Baa~lim But see, the Yirgin blest Forsake their temples dim Hath laid her babe to rest; With that twice-battered God of Pales. Time is our tedious song should here tine; have ending: And moon6d Ashtaroth, Heaven’s youngest-teem6d star Hoe van’s queen and mother both, Hath fixed her polished car, Now sits not girt wfth tapers’ holy Her sleeping Lord wfth handmaid lamp shine; atteudb~g; The Libyac Hammon shrinks his horn; And all about the coui~tly stable In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Bright-harnessed angels sit in order ser Thammuz mourn. viceable. And sullen Moloch, fled, SONNETS. Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue: ON ARRIVING AT THE AGE OF TWENTYIn vain with cymbals’

ring THREE. They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about thefurnaceblue: How soon hath Time, the subtle thief The brutish gods of Nile as fast, of youth, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. Stolen on his wing my three-and-twen tieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career, Nor is Osiris seen But my late spring no bud or blossom In Memphian grove or green, showeth. Trampling the unshowered grass with Perhaps my semNance might deceive the lowings loud; Nor can he be at rest truth, That I to manhood am arrived so near, Wiiliin his sacred chest, And inward ripeness doth much less Naught but profoundest hell can be his appear, shroud; That some more tienely-happy spirits In vain with timbrelled anthems dark endu’th. The sable-stole’d sorcerers bear his wor-Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow, shipped ark. It shall be still in strictestmeasureeven To that same lot, however mean orhigh, He feels from Judah’s land Toward which Time leads me, and the The dreaded infant’s hand, will of Heaven; The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky All is, if I have grace to use it so, eyne; As ever in my great Taskmaster’s eye. Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide Not Typhon h’uge ending in snaky ON

HIS BLINDNESS. twine; Our babe, to show his Godhead true, WREN I consider how my light is spent, Can in his swaddling bands control the Ere half my days in this dark world damu6d crew. and wide, And that one talent, which is death to So, when the sun in bed, hide, Curtained wfth cloudy red, Lodged with me useless, though my sou) Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, more bent The flocking shadows pale To serve therewith my Maker, andpres~n~

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TllOMAS ELWOOD. - SIR ROGER L’ESTRANGE. 39 My true account, lest be returning Christ leads me through no darker rooms chide; Than he went through before; “Doth God exact day-labor, light He that into God’s kingdons comes denied?” Must cuter by his door. (fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent Come, Lord, when grace has made me That murmur, soon replies, “God doth meet not need Thy blessed face to see; Either man’s work or his own gifts: who For if tisy work on earth be sweet, best What will thy glory be? Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state Then shall I end my sad complaints, Is kingly; thousands at his bidding And weary, sinful days; speed, And join with the triumphant saints And post o’er land and ocean without That sing Jehovah’s praise. rest; My knowledge of that life is small, They also serve who only stand and The eye of faith is dim; wait.” But`t is enough that Ckflst knows all, And I shall be with him.

TllOMAS ELWOOD. (1639-I7I3.J ~IR ROGER L’ESTRANGE. PRAYER. [i6i6-17o4.J

UNTo the glory of thy Holy Name, IN PRISON. Eternal God! whom I both love and fear, Here bear I witness that I never came BEAT on, proud billows; Boreas, blow; Before thy throne and found thee Swell, curl6d waves, high as Jove’s loath to hear, roof; But, ever ready wfth an open ear. Your incivility doth show And though sometimes thou seem’st thy That innocence is tempest proof; face to hide Though surly Nereus frown, my thoughts As one that hath liis love withdrawn are calm; from rne, Then strike, Affliction, for thy wounds `T is that my faith may to the full be are balm. tried, And I thereby may only better see That which the world miscalls a jail How weak I am when not upheld by A private closet is to me; Thee. Whilst a good conscience is my bail, And innocence my liberty: Locks, bars, and solitude together met, RICllARD BAXTER. Make me no prisoner, but an anchoret. [i6i5-1691.1 1, whilst I wisht to be retired, Into this private room was turned; RESIGNATION. As if their wisdoms had conspired The salamander should be burned; LoRD, it belongs not to my care, Or like those sophists, that would drown Whether I die or live: a To love and serve thee is my share, I am constrained to suffer what I wish.

And this thy grace must give. If life be long, I will be glad, The cynic loves his poverty; That I may long obey; The pelican her wilderness; If short, yet why should I be sad And`t is the Indian’s pride to be To soar to endless day? Naked on frozen Caucasus:

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40 SONG~ OF THREE CENTURIES. Contentment cannot smart; stoics we Whi,lst loyal thoughts do still repair see T accompany my solitude: Make torments easier to their apathy. Although rebellion do my body bind, My king alone can captivate my mind. These manacles upon my arm I as my mistress’ favors wear; _______ And for to keep my ankles warm I have some iron shackles there: These walls are but my garrison; this cell, EDMUND WALLER. VUch men call jail, doth prove my cit adeL EiOos-1687.] I’m in the cabinet lockt up, OLD AGE AND DEATH. Like some high-prized margar Or, like the Great Mogul or Po ite,TH pe, E seas are quiet when the winds give Am cloistered up from public sight: So o’er; Retiredness is a piece of majesty, calm are we when passions are 110 An thus, proud sultan, I`m as great as For more. thee. then we know how vain it was to boast Here sin for want of food must starve, Of fleeting things, too certain to be lost.

There tempting objects are n otseen; Clouds of affection from our younger eyes And these strong walls do only serve To keep vice out, and keep me in: Conceal that emptiness which age deMalice of late`a grown charitable sure; The scries. I`m not committed, but am kept secure. soul’s dark cottae battered and decayed, Lets in new light tbrough chinks that So he that struck at Jason’s life, time has made. Thinking t’ have made his purpose sure, Stronger by weakness, wiser men become, By a malicious friendly knife As they draw near to their eternal home. Did only wound hiin to a cure. Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is Leaving tbe old, both worlds at once meant they view, Mischief, ofttimes proves favor by the That stand upon the threshold of the event. new. Have you not seen the nightingale, A prisoner like, coopt in a cage, How doth she chant her wonted tale, ABRAHAM COWLEY. In that her nauow hermitao’e? Even then her charming me~ody doth [i6i8 -1667.] prove That all her bars are trees, her cage a OF MYSELF. grove. THis only grant me, that my means may I am that bird, whom they combine lie Thus to deprive of liberty; Too low for envy, for contempt too high. But though they do my cor a confine, Some honor I ~would have, Yet maugre hate, my son is free: Not from great deeds, but good alone; And though immured, yet can I chirp, The unknown are better than ill known: and sing Rumor can ope the grave. Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king. Acquaintance I would have, but when`t depends My soul is free as ambient air, Not on the number, but the choice, of Although my baser part`a immured, friends.

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ABRAHAM COWLEY. 41 Books should, not business, entertain LIBERT?. the light, And sleep, as undisturbed as death, the WHERE honor or where conscience does night. not bind, My house a cottage more No other law shall shackle me; Than palace and should fitting be Slave to myself I will not be: For all my use, no luxury. Nor shall my future actions be confined My garden painted o’er By my own present mind. With Nature’s hand, not Art’s; and Who by resolves and vows engaged does pleasures yield, stand Horace might envy in his Sabine field. For days that yet belong to Fate, Does, like an unthrift, mortgage his Thus would I double my life’s fading estate space; Before it fails into his hand. For he that rnns it well twice runs his The boudman of the cloister so race. All that he does receive does always owe; And in this true deli~ht And still as time comes in, it goes away, These unbought sports, th~ h’appy state, Not to enjoy, but debts to pay. I would not fear, nor wish, my fate; Unhappy slave! and pupil to a bell! But boldly say each night, NV hich his hour’s work, as well as hours, To-morrow let my sun his beams display, does tell! Or in clouds hide them; I have lived to-Unhappy to the last, the kind releasing day. knell.

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FROM bRYDf~N TO BURNS.

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F’~OM DRYDEN TO BURNS. JOllN DRYDEN. The soft complabsing flute In dying notes discovers [1631 - 1701.] The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whispered by the warSONG FOR SAINT CECILIA’S DAY, 1687. bling lute. FRoM
harmony, from heavenly harmon This universal frame began: y, Sharp violins proclaim When Nature underneath a heap Their jealous pangs and desperation, Of jarring atoms lay, Fury, frantic indignation, And could not heave her head, Depth of pains, and heigist of passion, The tuneful voice was heard from high, For the fair, disdainful dame. Arise, ye more than dead! Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry But 0, what art can teach, In order to their stations leap, What human voicc can reach, And music’s power obey. The sacred orga1~‘s praise? From harmony, frona heavenly harmony, Notes inspiflug holy love, This universal frame began: Notes that wing their heavenly ways From harmony to harmony To mend the choirs above. Through all the co nipass of the notes it ran, Tise diapason closing full in man. Orpheus could lead the savage race, And trees uprooted left tlseir place, What passion cannot music raise and quell2

Sequacious of the lyre: When Jubal struck the chorded shel~ But bright Cecilia raised the wonder His listening brethren stood around higher; And, wondenug, on their faces fell When t? her organ vocal breath was To worship that celestial sound. given, Less than a God they thought there could An m~gel beard, and straight appeared, not dwell Iistaking earth for heaven Within the hollow of that shell That spoke so sweetly and so well. GRAND CHORUS. What passion cannot music raise and quell? As from the power of sacred lays The trumpet’s loud clangor The spheres began to move, Excites us to arms, And sung the great Creator’s praise With shrill notes of anger To all the blest above; And moftal alarms. So when the last and dreadful hour The double double double beat This crumbling pageant shall devour, Of the thundering druni The trunipet shall be heaul on high, Cries, Ha‘k! the foes come; The dea~l shall live, the living die, Charge, charge,`t is too late to retreat!” And music shall untune the sky.

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40 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. UNDER MILTON’S PICTURE. He taught the gospel rather than the law; THREE Poets, in three distant ages born, And forced himself to drive; but loved Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. to draw.

The first in loftiness of thought sur-For fear but freezes minds; but love, like passed; heat, The next in majesty in both the last. Exhales the soul sublime, to seek her The force of Nature could no farther go; native seat. To make a third, she joined the former To threats the stubborn siiineroft is hard, two. Wrapped in his crimes, against the storm prepared; But when the milder beams of mercy CHARACTER OF A GOOD PARSON.

play, He melts, and throws his cumbrous cloak A PARISH priest was of the pilgrim away. train; Lightni~~g and thunder (heaven’s artilAn awful, reverend, and religious man. lery) His eyes diffused a venerable grace, As harbingers before the Almighty fly: And charity itself was in his face.

Those but proebtim his style, and disapRich was his soul, though his attire was pear; (As poor The stiller sounds succeed, and God is God bath clothed his own ambassa-there. dor); For such, on earth, his blessed Redeemer REASON. bore. Of sixty years he seemed; and well might DIM as the borrowed beams of moon and last To sixty more, but that he lived too fast, To stars lonely, weary, wandering travellers, Refined himself to soul, to curb the sense, Is reason to the soul: and 55 011 high, And made almost a Sill of abstinence. Those tOllill( fires discover but the sky, Yet had his aspect nothing of severe, Not But suds a face as promised isim sIncere.

light us here; so reason’s glimmer. Nothing reserved or sullen was to see; Was ing ray lent, not to assure our doubtfal way, But sweet regards, and pleasing sanefity. But 1illt w% his accent, and his action free. And guide us upward to a better day. as those nih With eloquence innate his tongue was When a tly tapers disappear day’s bright lord ascends our armed; hemisphere Though harsh fise precept, yet the peo-So pale grows reason at religion’s sight. - plc charmed. For, letting down the golden chain from So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural high, light. He drew his audience upward to the sky: And oft with holy hymns he charmed their ears (A music more melodious than the TllOMAS KEN. spheres); For David left him, when he went to rest, [1637 - 1711.1 His lyre; and after him he sun the best. a MORNING HYMN. He bore his great commission in his look But sweetly tempered awe, and softened AWAKE, my smil, and with the suu all he spoke. Thy daily course of duty run He preached the joys of heaven and pains Shake off (lull sloth, and joyful 1se of hell, To pay thy morning sacrifice. And wan~ed the sinner with becoming zeal; Wake, Slid lift lip thyself, niy heart, But on eternal mercy loved to dwell. And with the angels bear thy part,

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JOSEPH ADDISON. 47 Who all night tong unweaned sing Yet theu from all my griefs, 0 Lord, High Praises to the eternal King. Thy mercy set me free, Whilst in 4~e confidence of prayer, All praise to Thee, who safe hast kept, My faith took hold on thee. And hast refreshed me whfist I slept; Grant, Lord, when I fron~ death shall For, though in dreadful whirls we hung, wake, High on the broken wave, I may of endless light partake. I knew thou wert not slow to hear, Nor impotent to save. Lord, I my vows to thee renew; Disperse my sins as morning dew; The storm was laid, the winds reti~‘ed Guard my first springs of thought and Obedient to thy will; will, The sea, that roared at thy command, And with thyself my spirit fill. At tisy coinmaisd was still. Direct, control, suggest, this day, In midst of dangers, fears, and death, All I design, or do, or say; Thy goodness I’ll adore, That all my powers, with all their might, And pn~ise thee for thy mercies past, In thy sole glory may unite. And humbly hope for more.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow; My life, if thou preserv’st my life, Praise hiiu, all creatures here below; Thy sacrifice shall be; Praise him above, ye heavenly host; And dea4s, if death must be my dooiij, Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Shall join my soul to thee. JO SEP11

ADDISON. PARAPHRASE OF PSALM XXIIL [Ie7~ - 1719.1 THE Lord my pasture shall prepare, And feed me with a shepherd’s care HYMN. His presence shall roy wants supply, And guard me with a watchfi~i eye Ho~v are thy servants blest, 0 Lord! My noonday walks he shall attend, How si’re is their defence! And all my midnight hours defend. Eternal Wisdom is their guide, Their help Omnipoteiice. When in the sultry glebe I faint, In foreign realms and lands remote, Or on the thirsty mountain pant, Supported by thy care, To fiwtile vales and dewy meads Through burning climes I passed unhurt, Mv we~ry, waudeung steps he leads, And breathed in tainted air.

Where~peaceftsl rivers, soft and slow, Amid the verdant landscape flow.

Thy mercy sweetened every toil, Thou~h i Made evemy region please; n the paths of death I tread, The hoary Alpine hills it warmed, With gloomy horrors overspread, And smoothed the Tyrrhene seas. My steadfast heart shall fear no ill; For thou, 0 Lord, art with me still Think, 0 my soul, devoutly think, Thy fi4endly crook shall give me aid, How, with aff~ghted eyes, And guide me through the dreadful shade. Thou saw’ st the wide extended deep In all its horrors rise. Though in a bare and rugged way, Through devio~~s lonely ilds I stray, Confusion dwelt in every face, Thy bounty shall my wants beguile, And fear in every hcart; The barren wilderness shall snYile, When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs, Wiil
si~ddengree~isandherbage crowned, O’ercame the pilot’s art. And streams shall murmur all around.

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48 SONGS OF TllREE CENTURIES. ALEXANDER POPE. 0, lead me wheresoe’er I go, Through this day’s life or death. [i688 - 1744.] This day be bread and peace my lot; THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. All else beneath the sun Thou know’st if best bestowed or not, FATnER of all! in every age, And let thy will be done! In every clime adored, By saint, by savnge, and by sage, To thee, whose temple is all space, - Jehovah, Jove, or Lord! Whose altar, earth, sea, skies, - Thou great First Cause, least understood, One chorus let all beings raise All Nature’s incense rise Who all my sense confined To know but this, that thou art good, And that myself am bliiid; Yet gave me, in this dark estate, HAPPINESS. To see the good from ill; 0 llAPPINR55! our being’s end and aim! And, bindiiig nature fast in fate, Good, pleasure, ease, content! whate’er Left free the human will. thy name That something still, which prompts the What conscience dictates to be done, ete~~al sigh; Or warns me not to do, For which we bear to live or dare to This teach me more than hell to shun, die That more than heaven pursue. Which still so near us, yet beyond us lies, What blessings thy free bounty gives O’erlookcd, seen double by the fool, and Let me not cast away wise. or God is paid when man receives: Plant of celestial seed! if dropped be To enjoy is to obey. low, Say, in what mortal soil thou deigii’st to Yet not to earth’s contracted span grow? Thy goodness let me bound, Fair opening to some court’s propitious Or think thee Lord alone of man, shrine, When thousand worlds are round. Or deep with diamonds in the flaming mine? Let not this weak, unknowing band Twined with the wreaths Parnassian Presume thy bolts to throw, laurels yield, And deal damnation round ile land Or reaped in iron harvests of il~e field? On each I judge thy foe. Where grows? - where grows it slOt? If vain our toil, If I am right, thy grace impaft We ought to blame the culture, not the Still in the right to stay; soil: If I am wrong, 0, teach my heart Fixed to no spot is happiness sincere, To find that better way!`T is nowhere to be found, or everywhere.

Ask of the learned the way, the leai~‘ied Save me alike from foolish pride, are blind; Or impious discontent, This bids to serve, and that to shun n~anAt aught thy wisdom has denied, kind: Or aught thy goodness lent.

Some place the bliss in action, some in ease; Teach me to feel another’s woe, Those call it pleasure, and contentment To hide the fault I see; these That mercy I to others show, Some, sunk to beasts, find pleasure end That mercy show to me. in pain; Some, swelled to gods, confess e en virMean though I am, not wholly so, tue vain: Si~ce quickened by thy breath; Or indolent, to each extreme they fall, -

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ALLAN RAMSAY. 49 To trust iii everything, or doubt of all. But fortune’s gifts if each alike possessed, Who thus define it, say they more or less And all were equal, must not all conThan this, that happiness is happiness? test? Take nature’s path, and mad opinion’s If then to all men happiness was meant, leave; God in exten~Js could not place conAll states can reach it, and all heads content. ceive; Fortune her gifts may variously disObvious her goods, in no extremes they pose, dwell; And these be happy called, unhappy There needs but thinking nght and those meaning well; But Heavess’s just balance equal will apAnd mourn our various portions as we pear, please, While those are placed in hope, and Equal is common sense and common ease. these in fear; Remember, man, “The Universal Cause Not present good or ill, the joy or curse, Acts not by partial, but by general laws”; But future views of better or of worse. And makes what happiness we justly 0 sons of earth, attempt ye still to call rise, Subsist not in the good of one, but all. By mountains piled on mountains, to the There`a not a blessing individuals find, skies? But some way leans and hearkens to the Heavess still with laughter the vain toil kind; surveys, No bandit fierce, no tyrant mad with And buries madmen in the heaps they prtde, raise. No caveriied hermit rests self-satisfied: Know, all the good that individuals Who most to shun or hate mankind pre-find, tend, Or God and nature meant to mere manSeek an admirer, or would fix a friend: kind, Abstract what others feel, what others Reason’s whole pleasure, all the joys of think, sense, All lessures sicken, and all glories sink: Lie in three words, health, peace, and Each has his share; and who would competence. more obtain Shall find the pleasure pays not half the _______ pain. Order is Heaven’s first law; and, thi con fessed, ALLAN RAMSAY. Some are, and must be, greater than the rest, More rich, more wise: but who infers [i68~ - 1758.] from hence SONG. That such are happier shocks all common sense. FAREWELL to Loehaber, farewell to my Heaven to mankind impartial we confess, Jean, If all are equal in their happiness: Where heartsome with thee I have mony But mutual wants this happiness in-a day been: crease; To Lochaber no more, to Lochaber no All nature’s difference keeps all nature’s more, peace. We`11 maybe return to Lochaber no Condition, circumstance, is not the thing; more. Bliss is the same in subject or in king, These tears that I shed they are a’ for In who obtain defence or who defend, my dear, In him who is or him who finds a friend; And not for the dangers attending on Heaven breathes through every member weir; of the whole One common blessing, as one common Though borne on rough seas to a far souL Maybe bloody shore, to return to Lochaber 110
more 4

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50 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Though hurricanes rise, and rise every So just, tbe life itself was there. wind, No flattery with liis colors laid, No tempest can equal the storm in my To bloom restored the faded maid; mind; lie gave each muscle all its strength, Though loudest of thunders on louder The mouth, the chin, tlie nose’s length. waves roar, His honest pencil toud~ed with truth, That`a naething like leaving my love on And maA~ed the date of age and youth. the shore. He lost his friends, his practice failed; To leave thee behind me my heart is sair Truth should not always be revealed; pained, Iu dusty piles his pictures lay, But by ease that`a inglorious no fame For no one sent the second pay. cau be gained: Two bustos, fl-aught with every grace, And beauty and love`a the reward of the A Venus’ and Ap~llo’s face, brave; He placed in view; resolved to please, And I mann deserve it before I can crave. Whoever sat, be drew from these, From these corrected every feature, Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my And spirited each awkwanl creature. excuse; All flAngs were set; the hour was Since honor commands me, how can I come, refuse? His pallet ready o’er his thumb. Wfthout it I ne’er can have merit for My lord appeared; and seated right thee, In proper attitude and light, And losing thy favor I`d better not be. The painter looked, lie sketched tlie I gae then, my lass, to win honor and piece, fame, Then dipped his pencil, talked of Greece, And if I should chance to come glorious Of Titian’s tints, of Guido’s air; hame, “Those eyes, my lord, the spint fl~ere I`11
bring a heart to thee with love run-Might well a Raphael’s hand require, ning o’er, To give them all their native fire; And then I`11 leave thee and Lochaber The features fraught with sense and no more. wit, You`11
grant are very hard to hit; But yet wi4~ patience you sball view As niudi as paint and art can do. Observe the work.” My lord replied: JOllN GAY.

“Till now I thought my mouth was wide; [i658-1732.1 Besides, my nose is somewhat long; Dear sir, for me,`t is far too young.” THE PAINTER WHO

PLEASED NOBODY “Oh! pardon me,” the artist cried, AND EVERYBODY. “In this the painters must decide. The piece even common eyes must stuke, Li:s’r men suspect your tale untrue, I warn~it it extremely like.” Keep probability in iew. My lord examined it anew; The traveller, leaping o’er those bounds, No looking-glass seemed half so true. The credit of his book confounds. A lady came; with borrowed grace 7ho wfth his tongt~e hath armies routed He from his Venus formed her face. Makes even his real courage doubted: Her lover praised the painter’s art; But flattery never seems absurd; So like the picture in liis heart! The flattered always takes your word: To every age some charm he lent; Impossibilities seem just; Even beaefties were almost content. They take the strongest praise on trust. Through all the town his art il~ey praised; Hyperboles, fl~ough ne’er so great, His custom grew, his price was raised. Will still come sboi’t of self-conceit. Had he the real likeness shown, So very like a painter drew, Would any man the picture own? That every eye the picture knew; But when thus happily he wrought, He hIt complexion, feature, air, Each found the likeness ill his thought.

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OHN BYROM. - JAMES TllOMSON. 51 JOllN BYROM. But fame shall find me no man’s fool, Nor to a set of men a slave: [ii - 1763.3 1 love a friendship free and frank, And hate to hang upon a hank. CARELESS CONTENT. Fond of a true and trusty tie, I AM content, I do not care, I isever loose where’er I link; N\rag as it will tise world for me; Though if a business budges by, Vheu fuss and fret was all my fare,I talk thereon just as I think; It got no ground as I could see: My word, my work, my heart, my hand, So when away in)? caring went, Still on a side together stand. I counted cost, and was content. If names or notions make a noise, With more of thanks and less of thought, Whatever hap the question bath, I strive to make my usatters meet; The poiiit imiartially I poise, To seek what ancient sages sought, And read or write, but without wrath; Physic and food iii sour and sweet: For should I burn, or break my brains, To take what passes in good part, Pray, who will pay me for my pains? And keep the hiccups from the heart. With good and en dc-humored hearts, I love my neighbor as myself, Myself like lii in too, by his leave; I choose to chat where’er I come, Nor to his pleasure, power, or peif Whate’er the subject be that starts; Came I to crouch, as I conceive: But if I get among the glum, Dame Nature doubtless has designed I hold my tongue to tell the truth, A mars the monarch of his mind. And keep my breath to cool my broth. For chance or change of peace or pain, Now taste and try this temper, sirs; For Fortune’s favor or her frown, Mood it and brood it in your breast; For lack or glut, for loss or gain, Or if ye we en, for woAdly stirs, I never dodge nor up isor down; That man does right to mar lsis rest, But swing what way the ship shall s~ Let me be deft, and debonair, Or tack about wilk equal trim. vim, I am content, I do not care. I suit not where I shall not speed, Nor trace the turn of every tide; If simple seiise will not succeed, I make 110 bustling, but abide; JAMES TllOMSON. For shining wealth or scarmg woe, I fi~rce no friend, I fear iso foe. [1700-1748.3 Of ups and downs, of ins and outs,, FROM THE “CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.,, Of they`re i’ the wrong, and we re f the right, IN lowly dale, fast by a river’s side, I shun the rancoms and the routs; With woody hill o’er hill encompassed And wishing well to every wight, round, Whatever turn tise matter takes A most enchanting wizard did abide, I dee in it all hut ducks and drakes. Than whom a friend more fell is no where found. With whom I feast I do not fawn, It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground: Nor if the folks should out me, faint; And there a season atween June and If wonted wdcome be withdrawn, May, I cook no kind of a complaiiit: Half praiiked wiil spring, with sum With none disposed to disagree, suer half imhrowiied, But like fl~ens best who best like ine. A listless cliniate usade, where, sooth to say, Not that I rate myself the rule No liviisg wight could woA~, nor cared How all nsy betters should behave; even fo?

play.

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52 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Was naught arouna but images of rest: And of gay castles in the clouds that Sleep-soothing groves, and Cluiet lawns pass, between; Forever flushing round a summer sky: And flowery beds that slumberous in-There eke the soft dehghts, that witch fluence kest, ingly From poppies breathed; and beds of Instil a wanton sweetness through the pleasant green, breast, Where never yet was creeping crea-And the calm pleasures, always hov ture seen. ered nigh; Ieanfime minumbered glittering But whate’er smacked of noyance or streamlets played, unrest And hurle’d everywhere their waters Was far, far off expelled from this deli sheen; cious nest. That, as they bickered through the sunny glade, Though restless still themselves, a lull ing murmur made. A HYMN. Joined to the prattle of the purling Tnxs, as they change, Almighty Fa rills, the ther, these Were heard ~owing herds along the Are but the varied Cod.

The rolling vale, year And flocks loud bleating from the dis-Is full of thee. Foril~ in the pleasing tant hills, spring And vacant shepherds piping in the Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and dale; love. And now and then sweet Philomel Wide flush the fields; the softening air would wail, is balm stock-doves plain amid the forest Echo il~e mountains round; fl~e forest Or smiles; deep, And every sense, and every heart, is joy. That drowsy nistled to the sighing Then comes thy glory in il~e summer gale And still a coil the grasshopper did months, keep; With light and heat refulgent. Then et all these sounds yblent inclin6d all Shoots thy sun to sleep. full perfection through the swell ing year; And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder Full in the passage of the vale above, speaks, A sable, silent, solemn forest stood, And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling Where naught but shadowy forms was eve, seen to move, By brooks and groves, in hollow-whis As Idlesse fancied in her dreamymood: pering gales. And up the hills, on either side, a Thy bounty shines in autumn uncon wood fined, Of blackening pines, aye waving to And spreads a common feast for all that and fro, lives. Sent forth a sleepy horror through the In winter awful thou! with clouds and blood; storms And where this vMley winded out be-Around thee ilrown, tempest o’er tem low, pest rolled, The murmuring main was heard, and Majestic darkness! On the whirlwind’s scarcely heard, to flow. wing, Riding sublime, thou bid’st the world A pleasing land of drowsy-heail it was, adore, Of dreams that wave before the half-And humblest nature with thy ~ofthern shut eye: blast.

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JAMES TllOMSON. 53 Mysterious round! what skill, what Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings force divine, fail. Deep felt, in these appear! a simple train, Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, Yet so delightful mixed, wfth such kind aiid flowers, art, In mingle~l clouds to him, whose sun Such bemity and beneficence combined; exalts, Shade, unperceived, so softening into Whose breath perfumes you, and whose shade; pencil paiiits.

And all so fon~iug an harmonious whole; Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to That, as they still succeed, thev ravish him; still. Breathe your still song into the reaper’s But waiidering oft, wfth brute uncon-heart, scions gaze, As home he goes beneath the joyous Man marks not thee, marks not the moon. mighty hand, Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth That, ever busy, wheels the silent asleep spheres; Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest Works in fl~e secret deep; shoots, steam. beams, ing, thence Ye constellations, while your angels The fair profusion il~at o’erspreads tise strike, spring; Amid the s~~angled sky, the silver lyre. Fliiigs from the sun direct the flaming Great source of day! best image here day; below Feeds every creature; hurls the tempests Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, forth; From world to world, the vital ocean And, as on earth this grateful change round, revolves, On Nature wnte with every beam liis With transport touches all the springs praise. of life. The fl~under rolls: be hushed the pros Nature, attend! join every living soul, trate world; Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, While clonil to cloud returns the solemn In adoration join; and, ardent, raise hymn. One general song! To him, ye vocal Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye mossy gales, rocks, Breathe soft, whose spirit in your fresh-Retain the sound; the broad responsive ness breathes: low, 0, talk of him in solitary glooms; Ye valleys, raise; for the great ShepWhere, o’er the rock, the scarcely wav-herd reigns, ing pine And his unsuffering kingd~m yet will Fills the brown shade with a religious come. awe! Ye woodlands all, awake: a boundless And ye, \~~ose bolder note is heard afar, song Who shake the astonished world, lift Burst from the groves; and when the high to heaven restless day, The impetuous song, and say from whom Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, you r~ge. Sweetest of birds! sweet Philoniela, Ilis praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trem-charm bling rills; The listening shades, and teach the night And let me catch it as I muse along. his praise. Ye headlong torrents, rapid and pro-Ye chief, for whom the whole creafior. found; smiles, Ye softer floods, fliat lead the humid At once tlie head, the heart, and tongi’e maze of all, Along the vale; and thou, majestic main, Crown the great hymn! in swarmbig A secret woAd of wonders iii thyself, cities vast, Sound his stupendous praise, whose Assembled men to the deep or~gt~ greater voice join

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54 SONGS OF TllRLE GENTUPdE~ The long-resounding voice, oft breaking JOllN

DYER. clear, elling [1700 - 1758.] At solemn pauses, throu~li the 5W bass; And, as each mingling flame increases GRONGAR HILL. each, In one united ardor rise to heaven. Sia~~~ nym~~h, wifl~ curious eye! Or if you rather choose il~e rural shade, Who, tlie purple eve, dost lie And find a fane in every sacred grove, On the mountain’s lonely van, There let tlie shepherd’s flute, the vir-Beyond the noise of busy man, gin’s lay, Painting fair the form of things, The pro~npting seraph, and the poet’s While the yellow linnet sings, lyre, Or the toneftil nightingale Still sill the God of seasons, as fl~ey Charms the forest wit ii tier tale, -
roll. Come, with all thy various hues, For me, when I forget the darling Come and aid thy sister Inse. theme, Now, while Pheebus, riding high, heil~er fl~e blossom blows, the summer Gives lustre to the land and sky, ray Grongar Hill invites my song, - Russets the plain, b~spirh~g autumn Draw the landscape brigist and strong; gleams, Grongar, in whose mossy cells Or winter rises in the blackening east, Sweetly musing Quiet dwells; Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no Grongar, in whose silent shade, more, For the niodest Muses made, And, dead to joy, forget my heart to So oft I have, the evening still, beat! At the fountain of a rill, Should fate command me to the far-Sat upon a flowery bed, thest verge With my hand beneath my bead, Of the green earth, to distant barbarous While strayed my eyes o’er Towy’s climes, flood, Rivers unknown to song, -where first Over mead and over wood, fl~e sun From house to house, fiom hill to hill, Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting Till Co~ltemplation had her fill. beam About his checkered sides I wind, Flames 010 the Atlantic isles, -`t is And leave his brooks and meads be naught to l~e: hind, Since God is ever present, ever felt, And groves and grottos where I lay, In the void waste, as in the city itill; And vistas shooting bean~s of day. And where he vital breathes, there must Wide and wider spreads the vale, be joy. As circles on a smooth canal. When even at last the solemn hour shall The mountains round, unhappy fate come, Sooner or later, of all height, And wing my mystic flight to future Withdraw their sun~mits froin the skies, worlds, AlId lessen as il~e oil~ers rise. I cheerful will obey; there, wiil~ new Still the prospect wider spreads, powers, Adds a thousand woods and meads; Will flaing wonders sing: I cannot go Still it widens, widens still, Where Universal Love n6t smiles around, And sinks the newly risen hill. Sustaining all you orbs, and all their Now I gain the mountain’s brow; suns; What a landscape lies below! Fr~m seeming evil still educing good, No clouds, no vapors intervene; And better thence again, and better But the gay, the open scene still, Does the fiice of Nature show, In infiuit~ progI-ession. But I lose In all tise hues of heaven’s bow! Myself ill`illu, ill light inefiable! And, swelli~~g to eml~race the light, Coiiie t1ie~~, expressive Silence, iii use his Spreads arollud beneath tlie sight. praise. Old castles on the cliffs arise,

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JOHN DYLIt. op5 Proudly towering in the skies; When will the landscape tire the view! nshing fiom the woods, the spires The fountain’s fall, the river’s flow; Seem from hence ascending fires; The woody valleys, warm and low; Half his beams Apollo sheds The windy summit, wild and high, On the yellow mountain-heads, Houghly rushing on the sky; Gilds the fleeces of the flocks, The pleasant seat, the ruined tower, And glitters on the broken rocks. The naked rock, the shady bower; Below me trees unnumbered rise, The town and village, dome and farm, - Beautiful in various dyes: Each gives ead a double charm, The gloo’ny pine, fl~e poplar blue, As pearls upon an Etbiop’s arm. The yellow beech, the sable yew, See on the mountain’s southern side, The slender fir that tal)er grows, Where the prosl)ect opens wide, The sturdy oak wfth broad-spread Where the evening gilds the tide; boughs; How close and small the hedges lie! And beyond the purple grove, What streaks of meadow cross the Han’it of Phyllis, queen of love! eye! Gaudy as the opening dawn, A step methinks may pass tlse stream, Lies a long aiid level lawn, So little distant dangers seem On which a dark hill, steep and high, So we mistake the Future’s face, Holds and charms the wandenug eye. Eyed through Hope’s deluding glass; Deep are his feet in Towy’s flood: As you sum’nits, soft and fair, His sides are clothed with waving Clad in colors of the air, wood, Which to those who journey near, And ancient towers crown his brow, Barren, brown, and rough appear; That cast an awfril look helow; Still we tread the same coarse way, Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps, The present`5 still a c~oudy day.

And with her arms from falling keeps; 0, may I with myself agree, So both a safety from the wind And never covet what I see; In niutual dependence find. Content me with an humble shade, `T is iow the raven’s bleak abode; fy passions tamed, niy wishes laid; `T is now the apartment of the toad; For while our wishes wildly roll, And there the fi)x securely feeds; We banish quiet from the soul: And there the )oisonous a~lder breeds,`T is thus tlie busy beat the air, Concealed in ruins, moss, and weeds; And misers gather wealth and care. While, ever an~l anon, there fiill Now, even now, my joys run high, Huge hea1~s of hoary mouldered wall. As on the mountain-turf I lie; Yet Time has seen, - that lifts the low While the wanton Zephyr sings, And level lays the lofty brow, - And in the vale perfiimes his wings; Has seen this broken pile complete, While the waters murmur deep; Big with the vanity of state. While the shepherd cl~ar’ns his sheep; Buf transient is the smile of Fate! While fl~e birds unhounded ily, A little rule, a little sway, And with music fill tlie sky, A sunbeam in a winter’s day, Now, eveii now, my joys run high. Is all the proud and mighty have Be full, ye courts; be great who Between the cradle and the grave. will And see the rivers how they run, Search for Peace wfth all your skill: Through woods and meads, in shade and Open wide the lofty ~loor, sun, Seek her on the marble floor. Sometimes swift, sometimes slow, - In vain you search; she is not there! Wave succeediiig wave, they go In vain you search the donies of Care! A various journey to the deep, Grass and flowers Quiet treads, Like human life to endless sleep! On the meails and mountain-heads, Thus is Nature’s vesture wrought, Along with Pleasure, close allied, To instruct our wandering thought: Ever by each other’s side; Thus she dresses green and gay, And often, by the murmuAng rill, To disperse our cares away. He;irs the thrush, while all is still Ever charming, ever new, Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

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56 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. WILLIAM flAMILTON.`T is he, the comely swain I slew Upon the duleful Bracs of Yarrow. [1704 - 1754.] Wash, 0, wash his wounds, his wounds in THE BRAES OF YARROW. tears, His wounds in tears with dule and BuaK ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny sorrow, bride, And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, Busk ye, husk ye, my winsome marrow! And lay isim on the Braes of Yarrow. Busk ye, husk ye, my bonny bonny bride, And think nae mair on the Braes of Then build, then build, ye sisters sisters Yarrow. sad, Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow, “Wbere gat ye that bonny bonny bride? And weep around in waeful wise, Where gat ye that winsome marrow?” Hishelpiess fate on the Bracs of Yarrow. I gat her where I darena well be seen, Pu’ing the birks on the Bracs of Yarrow. Curse ye, curse ye his useless useless shield, ~Iy arm that wrought the deed ofsorrow, Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny The fatal spear that pierced his breast, bride, His comely breast, on the Braes of Weep not, weep not, my winsome Yan~w. marrow! Nor let thy heart lament to leave Did I not warn thee not to lo’e, Pu’ingthe birksontheBraesof Yarrow. And warn from fight, but to my sorrow; O’er rashly bauld a stronger arm “Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny Thou met’st, and fell on the Bracs of bride? Y arrow. Why does she weep, thy winsome Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green marrow?

grows the grass, And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen, Yellow on Yarrow hank the o’o~ Pu’ing the birks on the Braes of Yar-Fair hangs the apple frae the van, row?” Sweet rock, the wave of Yarrow flowan. Lang mann she weep, lang maun she, Flows Yauow sweet? as sweet, as sweet mann she weep, flows Tweed, Lang naun she weep with dule and sor-As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, row, As sweet smells on its bracs fise hirk, And lang mann I nae mair well he seen, The apple frae the rock as mellow. Pu’ing the birks on the Bracs of Yanow. Fair was thy love, fair fairindeedthylove, For she has tint her lover lover dear, In flowery bands ilson him didst fetter; Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow, Though he was fair and wail beloved again, And I baa slain il~e comeliest swain Than me he never lo’ad thee better. That e’er pn’ed birks on the Bracs of Yaimw.

Busk ye, tlsen husk, my bonny bonny bride, Why runs thy stream, 0 Yarrow, Yarrow, Bnsk ye, husk ye, my winsome mauow! red? Busk ye, and lo’e me on the banks of Why on thy bracs heard the voice of Tweed, sorrow? And think nac mair on the Bracs of An~l why yon melancholious we~ds Yarrow. Hniig on the bonny hirks of Yarrow? “How can I bail a bonny bonny bride, What`a yonder floats on the rueful rueful How can I husk a winsome marrow, fluda?

How lo’e him on the banks of Tweed, What`a yonder floats? 0 dale and That slew iny love on the Bracs of Yar sorrow. row?

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ISAAC WATTS. 57 “0 Yarrow fields! may never never rain Take aff, take aff these bridal weeds, Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, And crown my careful head with willow. For there was basely slain my love, ],Iy love, as he had not been a lover. “Pale though fison art, yet best, yet best beloved, “The boy put on his robes, his robes of 0, could my warmth to life restore fl~ee! green, Ye`d lie all night between ~~iy breasts, His purple vest,`t was my ain sewing; No youfl~ lay ever there before thee.

Ah! wretched me! I little little kenned He was in il~ese to meet his ruin.

“Pale pale, indeed, 0 lovely lovely youth, Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, ~ The boy took out his milk-whfte milk-And lie all night between my breasts, white steed, No youth shall eves-lie there after.”

Unbeedful of u~y dule a’d sorrow, But e’er tlie to-fall of the night Return, return, 0 mou~ftil mournful He lay a corpse on il~e Bracs of Yarrow. bride, Return and dry tlsy useless sorrow: “Mud~ I rejoiced that waeful vaefiil day; Thy lover heeds naught of thy sighs, I sang, my voice the woods returning, He lies a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow. But lang ere night the spear was flown That slew my love, and left me mourn ing. “What can my barbarous barbarous fa-ISAAC WATTS. ther do, [1674-1748.] But wiil his cruel rage pursue me? My lover’s blood is on thy spear, THE

HEAVENLY LAND. How canst thou, barbarous man, fl~en woo me? THERE is a lmd of pure delight, NV here saints immoftal reign; “My happy sisters may be, maybe proud; Infinite day excindes the night, With cruel and ungentle scoffin, And pleasures banish pain. May bid me seek on Yarrow Braes There everlasting spring abides, My lover nail6d in his coffin. And never-withering flowers; “My brother Douglas may upbrmd, up-De~h like a narrow sea, divides braid, This’ heavenly land fi~m ours. And strive with threatening words to Sweet fields beyond the swdling flood move me, Stand dressed in living green; My lover’s blood is on thy spear, So to the Jews old Canaan stood, How caust thou ever bid me love fl~ee? While Jordan rolled between. “Yes, yes, prepare the bed, thebed of love, But timorous mortals start and shrink With bridal sheets my body cover, To cross this narrou’ sea, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door,And liug~r shivering on the bnnk, Let in the expected husband lover. And fear to lana cii away. “But who the expected husband hus-0, could we make our doubts remove, band is?

These gloomy doubts that rise, His hands, meil~inks, are bathed in And see the Canaan that we love slaughter. With unbeclouded eyes, - Ah me! what ghastly spectre`5 yon, Comes in lils pale shroud, bleedin Could we but climb where Moses stood, after? Anil view the lai~dscape o’er, Not Jordan’s stream, nor deail~‘s cold “Pale asheis, here lay him, lay him down, lIned, 0, lay his cold head on my pillow; Should fright us from the shore.

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58 SONGS OF THREE GENTURIES. I)llILIP DODDRIDGE. Just and holy is tliy name, I am all uii’ighteou~ess; ~I7o2-1751j False and full of si’ I am, Thou art full of truth and grace. YE GOLDEN LAMPS OF HEAVEN, FAREWELL!

Plenteous grace with ilsee is found, Grace to cover all my sin; YE golden lamps of heaven, farewdl, Let tise healing streams abound, With all your feeble light! Make and keep me pure within Farewell, thou ever-changing moon, Thou of life the founts in art; Pale enq~ress of the night! Freely let use take of thee; Spring thou up within my heart, And thou, reflilgent orb of day, Rise to all eternity. In brighter flames arrayed; My soul, that springs beyoud thy sphere, _______ No more demands thy aid. Ye stars are but fise shining dust AUGUSTUS M. TOPLADY. Of my divine abode; The pavement of those heavenly courts [1740-1778.] Where I shall see my God.

LOVE DIVINE, ALL LOVE EXCELLING. There all the millions of isis saints Lovx divine, all love excelling, Shall in one song unite; Joy of heaven to earth come down; And each the bliss of all shall view, Fix in us tisy humlsle dwelling, With infinite delight. All thy faithful mercies crown; Jesus, thou art all comj~assion Pure, unbounded love thou art; Yisit us with thy salvation, CllARLLS WESLLY. Enter cveiy trembling heart. [1705-Breathe, 0, breathe thy loving Spirit i758.J Into every trouhlcd breast; JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL. Let us all in thee inherit, Let us fi~~d the pronsised rest; JEsus, lover of my soul, Take away the love of sinning, Let me to thy bosom fly, Alpha and Omega be; While the nearer waters roll, End of faith, as its beginning, While the tempest still is high: Set our hearts at liberty. Hide me, 0 my Saviour, hide Till the storm of life be pas’t; Come, almighty to deliver, Safe into the haven guide, Let us all thy life receive; 0, receive my soul at last! Suddenly return, and never, Never in ore thy temples leave: Other refuge have I none, Thee we would be always blessing, Hangs my helpless soul on thee; Serve thee as thy hosts above; Leave, ah! leave me not alone, Pray and praise thee without ceasing, Still support and comfort me: Glory in thy precious love. All my trust on thee is stayed, All my help from thee I bring; Fiisish then thy new creation, Cover my defenceless head Pure, unspotted may we be; With the shadow of tliy wing. Let us see thy great salvation Perfectly restore~l by thee: Thou, 0 Christ, art all I want; Cha~iged from glory into glory, More thai} all in thee I find: Till in heaven we take our place! Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, Till we cast our crowns before thee, Heal the sick, and lead the blind: Lost iii wonder, love, and praise.

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SAMUEL JOHNSON. - WILLIAM SIlENSTONE. 59 SAMUEL ~OllNSON. WILLIAM

SllENSTONE. [1709-1784.] [1714-1763.] ON THE DEATH OF DR. LEVETT. THE

SCHOOLMISTRESS. CONDEMNED to hope’s delusive mine,HER cap, far whiter than the driven As on we toil from day to day, snow, By sudden blasts, or slow decline,Emblens nght meet of decency docs Our social comforts drop away.

yield: Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I Well tried through many a varying year, As trowe, is the harebell that adorns tise See Levett to ilie grave descend, field: Officious, innocent, sincere, And in her hand, for sceptre, she does Of every friendless name the friend. wield Tway hirchen sprays; with anxious Yet still he fills affection’s eye, fear entwined, Obscurely wise and coarsely kind; With dark distrust, and sad repentNor, lettered arrogance, deny ance filled; Thy praise to merit unrefined. And steadfast hate, and sharp affliction joined, And fury uncontrolled, and chastisement When fainting nature called for aid, unkind. And hovering death prepared the blow, His vigorous remedy displayed A russet stole was o’er her shoulders The power of art without the show. thrown; A russet kirtle fenced the nipping air: was simple russet, but it was her In misery’s darkest cavern known, own; His useffil care was ever nigh,`T was her own country bred the flock Where hopeless anguish poured isis groan, so fair, And lonely want retired to die.`T was her own labor did the fleece prepare; No summons mocked by chill delay, And, sooth to say, her pupils, ranged No petty gain disdained by pride; around, The modest wants of every day Through pious awe, did term it passing The toil of every day supplied. For rare; they an gaping wonderment abound, His virtues waWed their narrow round, And think, no doubt, she been the great Nor made a pause, nor left a void; est wight on gromid. And sure the I~ternal ~Iaster found The siisgle talent well employed. Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth, The busy day, the peaceful night, Ne pompous title did debauch her ear; Unfelt, unc6unted, glided by; Goody, good-wonian, gossip, II’ aunt His frame was firm, his powers were forsooth, bright, Or dame, the sole additions she did Though now his eightieth yearwas nigh. Yet hear; these she challenged, these she held right dear: Then with no fiery throbbing pain, Ne would esteem him act as mought No cold gradations of decay, behove, Death broke at once tbe vital chain, Who should not honored eld with these And fi-ced his soul the nearest way. revere:

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60 SONGS OF TllREE CENTURIES. For never title yet so mean could TllOMAS

GRAY. prove, But there was eke a mind which did that (1716 - i771.J title love. ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY One ancient hen she took delight to CHURCHYARD. feed, The plodding pattern of the busy dame; Tux curfew tolLs the knell of parting day, Which, ever and anon, impelled by The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea; need, Tlse ploughman homeward plods his Into her school, begirt with chickens, weary way, came! And leaves the woild to darkness and to Such favor did her past deportment me. claim: And, if Neglect had,lavished on the Now f~des the glimmering landscape on ground the sight, Fragment of bread, she would collect And all the air a solemn stillness holds, the same; Save where the beetle wheels his droning For well she knew, and quaintly could flight, expound, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant What sin it were to waste the smallest folds; crumb she found. Herbs too she knew, and well of each Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower could speak The moping owl does to the moon coni That in her - garden sipped the silvery Of plain dew; such as, wanderina near her secret Where no vain flower disclosed a gaudy Molest bower, streak; her ancient solitary reign. But herbs for use, and physic, not a few, Beneath those rugged elms, that yew. Of gray renown, within those borders tree’s shade, The grew: Where heaves the turf in many a moul tufted basil, pun-provoking thyme, derhig heap, Fresh baum, and marygold of cheerful Each in his narrow cell forever laid, hue; The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The lowly gill, that never dares to climb; The breezy call of incense-breathing And more I fain would sing, disdaining morn, here to rhyme. The swallow twittering from the straw built shed Yet euphrasy may not be left nusnug, The cock’s shrill`clarion, or the echoing That gives dim eyes to wander leagues horn, aronnd, No more shall rouse them from their And pungent radish, biting infant’s lowly bed.

tongue, And plantain ribbed, that heals the For them no more the blazing hearth - reaper’s wound, shall burn And marjoram sweet, in shepherd’s Or busy housewife ply her evening care; posy found, No children run to lisp their sire’s return, And lavender, whose spikes of azure Or climb his knees the envied kiss to bloom Shall be, erewbile, in arid bundles share.

bound, To lnrk amidst the labors of her loom, Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, And crown her kerchiefs clean with Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has mickle rare perfume. broke;

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THOMAS GRAY. 61 How jocund did they drive their team Some mute, inglorious Milton here may afield! rest; How bowed the woods beneath their Some Cromwell, guiltless of his coun sturdy stroke! try’s blood. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, The applause of listening senates to com Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; mand, Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful The il~reats of pain and ruin to despise, smile To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land, The short and simple annals of the poor. And read their history in a nation’s eyes, The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er alone Await gave, Their growing virtues, but their crimes alike the inevitable hour; - confined; The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; fault, If memory o’er their tomb no trophies The struggling pangs of conscious truth Where raise, to hide, through the long-drawn aisle and To quench the blushes of ingenuous fretted vault shame, The pealing anthem swells the note of Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride praise. With incense kindled at the Muse’s flame. Can storied urn or animated bust Far from the maddino’ Back to its mansion call the fleeting ~ crowd’s ignoble breath?

strife Can Honor’s voice provoke the silent dust Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear o’f Along the cool, sequestered vale of life Death? They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Yet even these bones from insult to proSome heart once pregnant with celestial tect, flie; Some frail memorial still erected nigh, Hands that the rod of empire might have With uncouth rhymes and shapAcas swayed, sculpture decked, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre: Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample Their name, their years, spelt by the page,, unlettered Muse, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne er The place of fame and elegy supply; unroll; And many a holy text around slie strews, Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, That teach the rustic moralist to die. And froze the genial current of the soul. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, Full many a gem of purest ray serene This pleasing, anxious being e’erresigned, The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean Left the warm precincts of the cheerful bear; day, Full many a flower is born to blush un-Nor cast one longing, lingering look be seen,. bind? And waste its sweetness on the desert air. On some fond breast the parting soul Some village Hampdeii, that with daunt-relies, less breast Some pious drops the closing eye reThe little tyrant of his fields withstood; quires;

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62 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. E’en from the tomb the voice of Nature Fair Science frowned not on his humble cries, birth, E’en in our ashes live their wonted fires. And Melancholy marked him for her own. For thee, who, mindful of the unhon-Large was his bounty, and his soul sin ored dead, cere; Dost in these lines their artless tale re-Heaven did a recompense as largely send: late; He gave to Misery (all lie bad) a tear; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, He gah~ed from Heaven (`t was all he Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy wished) a friend. fate, No further seek his merits to disclose, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say: Or draw his frailties from their dread “Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, abode: Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, (There they alike in trembling hope reTo meet the sun upon the upland lawn; pose,) The bosom of his Father and his God. “There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so high, ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF

His listless length at noontide would he ETON COLLEGE. stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles Yx distant spires, ye antique towers, by. That crown the watery glade, Where grateful Science still adores “Hard by you wood, now smiling as in Her Henry’s holy shade; scorn, And ye, il~at from tho stately brow Muttering his wayward fancies, be would Of Windsor’s heights the expanse below rove; Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey; Now drooping, woful-wan, like one for-Whose turf, whose shade, whose flow lorn, ers among Or crazed with care, or crossed in hope-Wanders the hoary Thames along less love. His silver-winding way! “One morn I missed him on the cus-Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! tomed hill, Ah, fields beloved in vain Along the heath, and near his favorite Where once my careless childhood strayed, tree; A stranger yet to pain: Anot”`er came, -nor yet beside the rill, I feel the gales that from ye blow Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was A momentary bliss bestow, he; As, waving fresh their glad some wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, “Th~ next, with dirges due, in sad array, And, redolent of joy and youth, Slow Qrongh the church-way path we To breathe a second spring. saw him borne; - Approach and read (for thou caust read) Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen the lay Full many a sprightly race, Graved on the stone beneath you aged Disporting on thy margent green, thorn.” The paths of pleasure trace, Who foremost now delight to cleave THE EPITAPH. With pliant arm thy glassy wave? The captive linnet which inflirall? Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, What idle progeny succeed A youth to fortune and to fame un-To chase the rolling circle’s speed, known; Or urge the flying ball?

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WILLIAM COLLINS. 63 While some, on earnest business bent, Lo! in the vale of years beneath Their murmuflug labors ply A grisly troop are seen,`Gainst graverhours, that bring constraint The painful family of Death, To sweeten liberty, More hideous than their queen: Some bold adventurers disdain This racks the joints, this fires the veins, The limits of their little reign, That every laboring sinew strains, And unknown re~ions dare descry: Those in the deeper vitals rage: Still as they ru~, they look behind; Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, They hear a voice in every wind, That numbs the soul with icy hand; And snatch a fearful joy. And slow-consuming Age. Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, To each his sufferings: all are men, Less pleasing when possessed; Condemned alike to groan; The tear forgot as soon as shed, The tender for another’s pain, The sunshine of tise breast. The unfeelbig for his own. Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, Yet, ah! why should they know their Wild wit, invention ever new, fate, And lively cheer of vigor born; Since sorrow never comes too late, The fl~oughtless day, the easy night, And happiness too swiftly flies! The spirits pure, the slumbers light, Thought would destroy their paradise. That fiy the approach of morn. No more; where ignorance is bliss, `T is folly to be wise. Alas! regardless of their doom, The little victims play; No sense have they of ills to come, Nor care beyond to-day; Yet see how all around them wait VILLIAM COLLIN. The ministers of human fate, And black Misfortune’s baleful train. Ah! show them where in ambush - 1756.J stand; To seize their prey, the murtherous DIRGE IN CYMBELINE. band; To fair Fidele’s grassy tomb Ab, tell them they are men! Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, These shall the fury passions tear, And rifle all the’

breathing spring. The vultures of the mind, Disdainfill Auger, pallid Fear, No wailing ghost shall dare appear And Shanje, that skulks behind; To vex wfth shrieks this quiet grove; Or pining Love shall waste their youth, But shepherd lads assemble here, Or Jealousy with rankling tooth, And melting virgins own tbeir love. That inly gnaws the secret heart; A~id Envy wan, and faded Care, No withered wftch shall here be seen, Grim-visaged, comfortless Despair, No goblins lead their nightly crew; And Sorrow’s piercing dart. But female fays shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew. Ambition tbis sball tempt to rise, Then whirl the wretch from high, The redbreast oft at evening hours To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, Shall kindly lend his little aid, And grinning Infamy. With hoary moss and gathered flowers The stings of Falsehood those shall try, To deck the ground where thou art laid. And hard Unkindness’ altered eye, That mocks the tear it forced to flow; When howling winds and beating rabi And keen ~emorse with blood defiled, In tempest shake the sylvan cell, And moody Madness laughing wild Or niidst the chase upon the plain, Amid severest woe. The tender thought on thee shall dwell.

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64 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. ~ach lonely scene shall thee restore, Or, if chill, blustering winds, or driving For thee the tear be duly shed; rain, Beloved till life can charm no more, Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut And mourned till Pity’s self be dead. That from the mountain’s side Views wilds, and swelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered ODE TO EVENING. spires; IF aught of oaten stop or pastoral song And hears their simple bell, and marks May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy o’er all modest ear, Thy dewy fingers draw Like thy own solemn springs, The gradual, dusky veiL Thy springs, and dying gales, - While Spring shall pour his showers, as O nymph reserved, while now the bright-oft he wont, haired Sun And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Sits in you western tent, whose cloudy Eve! skirts, While Summer loves to spoft With braid ethereal wove, Beneath thy lingering light; O’erhang his wavy bed: While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with Now air is hushed, save where the weak-leaves; eyed bat, Or Winter, yelling throngh the troublous With short, shrill shriek flits by on leath-air, ern wing; Affrights thy shrinking train, Or where the beetle winds And rudely rends thy robes, - His small but sullen horn, So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, As oft he rises midst the twilight patb, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum;Peace, Now teach me, maid composed, Thy gentlest influence own, To breathe some softened strain, And love thy favorite name Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit; As, musing slow, I hail JAME~ MERRICK.

Thy genial, loved return! (1720-1769.) For when thy folding-star arising shows His paly circlet, at his warning lamp, THE CHAMELEON. The fragrant Hours, and Elves Who slept in buds the day, OFT has it been my lot to mark A proud, conceited, talking spark, And many a Nymph who wreathes her With eyes that hardly served at most brows with sedge, To guard their inaster`gainst a post; And sheds the freshening dew, and, love-Yet round the world the blade has been, lier still, To see whatever could be seen.

The pensive Pleasures sweet, Returning fl:om his finished tour, Prepare thy shadowy car. Grown ten t~mes perter than before; Whatever word you chance to drop, Then let me rove some wild and heathy The travelled fool your month will stop: Or scene; “Sir, if my judgment you`11 allow find some n~in midst its dreary dells, I’ve seen - and sure I ought to know.”

Whose walls more awful nod So begs you`d pay a due submission, By thy religious gleams. And ac~uiesce in his decision.

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OLIVER GOLDSMITH. 65 Two travellers of such a cast, Both stared; the man looked wondrous As o’er Arabia’s wilds they passed, wiseAnd on their way, in friendly chat, “My children,” the chameleon cries Now talked of this, and then of il~at, (Then first U~e creature found a tongue), Discoursed awhile,`mon gst other mat- “You all are right, and all are wrong: ter, When next you talk of what you view, Of the chameleon’s form and nature.

Think others see as well as you; “A stranger animal,” cries one, Nor wonder if you find that none “Sure never lived beneath the sun: Prefers your eyesight to his own.” A lizard’s body, lean and long, A fish’s head, a serpent’s tongue, Its foot with triple claw disjoined; And what a length of tail behind! How slow its pace! and then its hue-OLIVER GOL1)~MITll.

Who ever saw so fine a blue?” “Hold there,” the other quick replies; [1728-1774.J “`T is green, I saw it with these eyes, As late with open mouth it lay, FROM “THE DESERTED VILLAGE.” And warmed it in the sunny ray; Stretched at its ease the beast I viewed, SWEET was the sound, when oft, at And saw it eat the air for food.” evening’s close “I`ve seen it, sir, as well as you, Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; And must again affirm it blue; There, as I passsed with careless steps and At leisure I the beast surveyed slow, Extended in the cooling shade.” The mingling notes came softened from “`T is green,`t is green, sir, I assure below; ye. The swain responsive as the milkmaid “Green!` cries the other in a fury; sung, “Why, sir, d’ ye think I`v& lost my The sober herd that lowed to meet their eyes?” young; were nogreatloss, “the friend replies; Thenoisygeese that gabbled o’er the pool, “For if they always serve you thus, The playful children just let loose from You`11 find them but of little use.” school; So high at last the contest rose, The watch-dog’s voice that bayed the From words they almost came to blows: whispering wind, When luckily came by a third; And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant To him the question they referred, mind, - And begged he`d tell them, if he knew, These all in sweet confusion sought the Whether the thing was green or blue. shade, “Sirs,” cries the umpire, “cease your And filled each pause the nightingale had pother; made. The creature`a neither one nor t’ other. But now the sounds of population fail, I caught. the animal last night, No cheerfol murmurs fluctuate in the And viewed it o’er by candlelight; gale, I marked it well,`t was black as jet-No busy steps the grass-gro~vu footway You stare - but, sirs, I’ve got it yet, tread And can produce it.” - “Pray, sir, do; But all the bloomy flush of life is fled. I`11 lay my lif~ the thing is hlue.” All but you widowed, solitary thing, “And I`11 be sworn, that when you`ve That feebly bends beside the plashy seen spring; The reptile, you`11 pronouncehimgreen.” She, wretched matron, forced in age, for “Well, then, at once to ease the doubt,” bread, Replies the man, “I`11 turn him out; To strip the brook with mantling cresses And when before your eyes I`ve set him, spread, If you don’t find him black, I`11 eat him.” To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn, He said; and full before their sight To seek her nightly shed, and weep till Produced the beast, and lo! -`t was white. morn; 5

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66 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. She only left of all the harmless train, And, as a bird eacli fond endearment The sad historian of the pensive plain.

tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the Near yonder copse, where once the skies, garden smiled, He tried each art, reproved each dull And still where marty a garden flower delay, grows wild, Allured to brighter worlds, and led the There, where a few torn shrubs the place way.

disclose, The village preacher’s modest mansion Beside the bed where pafting life was rose. laid, A man he was to all the country dear, And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns And passing rich with forty pounds a dism~yed, year; The reverend champion stood. At his Remote front towns he ran Isis godly race, control, Nor e’er lead changed, nor wished to Despair and anguish fled the struggling change, his place; soul; Unpractised he to fawn, or seek for power, Comfort came down the trenibling wretch By doctrines fashioned to the varying to raise, hour; And his last, faltering accents whispered Far other aims his heart had learned to praise. prize, More skilled to raise the wretched than At church, with meek and unaffected to rise. grace, His house was known to all the vagrant His looks adorned the venerable place; train Truth from his lips prevailed with double He chid their wanderings, but relieved sway, their pain; And fools, who came to scofI, remained The long-remembered beggar was lsis to pray. guest, The service past, around tlte pious man, Whose beard descending swept his aged With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran; breast; Even children followed, with endearing The ruined spendthrift, now no longer wile, proud, And plucked his gown, to share the good Claimed kindred there, and had his man’s smile. claims allowed; His ready sin lie a parent’s warmth exThe broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, pressed, Sat by Isis fire, and talked the night Their welfare pleased leim, and their cares away; distressed; Wept o’er his wounds, or tales of sorrow To them his heart, his love, his griefs, done, were given, Shouldered his crutch, and showed how But all his serious thoughts had rest in fields were won.

heaven. Pleased with his guests, the good man As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, learned to glow, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves And quite forgot their vices in their woe; the storm, Careless their nterits or their faults to Though round its breast the rolling clouds scan, are spread, His pity gave ere charity began. Eternal sunshine settles on its head. Thus to relieve the wretched was his Beside yon straggling fence that skirts pride, the way, And even his failings leaned to virtue’s With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, side: There, in his i1oisy mansion, skilled to rule, But in his duty rompt at every call, The village master taught lila little school. He watched an wept, he prayed and A man severe he was, and sterit to view; felt for all; I knew him well, and every truant knew:

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THOMAS PERCY. 67 Well had the boding tremblers learned The hearth, except when winter chilled to trace the day, The day’s disasters in his morning face; With aspen boughs and flowers and fenFull well they laughed, wfth counterfeited nel gay; glee, While broken teacups, wisely kept for At all his jokes, for many a joke had he; show, Full well the busywhisper, circlinground, Ranged o’er the chimney, glistened in a Conveyed the dismal tidings when he row. frowned. Yet he was kind, or if severe in aught, Yain, transitory splendors! could not The love he bore to learning was in fault. all The village all declared how much he Reprieve the tottering mansion from its knew; fall? `T was certain he could write, and cipher Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart too; An hour’s importance to the poor man’s Lands he could measure, times and tides heart; presage, Tkither no more the peasant shall repair And even the story ran that he could gauge; To sweet oblivion of his daily care; In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, No more the farmer’s news, the barber’s For, even thougli vanquished, he could tale, argue still; No more the woodman’s ballad shall pre. While words of learned length and thun-vail; dering sound No more the smith his dusky brow shall Amazed the gazingrustics ranged around; clear, And still they gazed, and still the wonder Relax his ponderous strength, and lean grew to hear. That one small head could carry all he The host himself no longer shall be found knew. Careful to see the mantling bliss go round; Nor the coy maid, half willing to be prest, But past is all kis fame. The very spot Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. Where many a time he triumphed is for got. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, TllOMAS PERCY. Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, Where gray-beard mirth and smiling toil (1728 - i8z I.] retired, THE FRIAR

OF ORDERS GRAY. Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, IT was a friar of orders gray And news much older than their ale went Walked forth to tell his beads, round. And he met with a lady fair, Imagination fondly stoops to trace Clad in a pilgrim’s weeds. The parlor splendors of that festive place: The whitewashed wall; the nicely sanded “Now Christ thee save, thou reverend floor; The varnished clock that clicked behind friar! the door; I pray thee tell to me, The chest, contrived a double debt to pay If ever at yon holy shrine A bed by night, a chest of drawers ~y My true-love thou didst see.” day; The pictures placed for ornament and “And how should I know your true-love use; From many another one?” The twelve good rules; the royal game of “Oh! by his cockle hat, and staff, goose; And by his sandal shoon;

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68 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. “But chiefly by his face and mien, Ah, no! he is dead, and laid in his grave, That were so fair to view, Forever to remain. His flaxen locks that sweetly curled, And eyes of lovely blue.”

“His cheek was redder than the rose, - The comeliest youth was lie; “0
lady, he is dead and gone! But he is dead and laid in his grave, Lady, be’s dead and gone! Alas! and woe is me. &nd at his head a green grass tiirf, And at his heels a stone. “Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever; “Within these holy cloisters long One foot on sea and one on land, He languished, and he died, To one thing constant never.

Lamenting of a lady’s love, Ai\d`plaining of her pride. “Hadst thou been fond, hehadbeenfalse, And left thee sad and heavy; “Here bore him barefaced on his bier For young men ever were fickle found, Six proper youths and tall; Since summer trees were leafy.” And many a tear bedewed his grave Within you kirk yard walL” “Now say not so, thou holy friar, I pray thee say not so; “And art thou dead, thou gentle youth? My love he had the truest heart, - And art thou dead and gone? 0, he was ever true!

And didst thou die for love of me? Break, cruel heart of stone!” “And art thou dead, thou much-loved youth, “0, weep not, lady, weep not so; And didst thou die fot me? Some ghostly comfort seek: Then farewell home; forevermore Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart, A pilgrim I will be. Nor tears bedew thy cheek.” “But first U on my true-love’s grave “0 do not, do not, holy friar, My weary imbs I’ll lay, My sorrow now reprove; And thrice I`11 kiss the green grass turf For I have lost the sweetest youth That wraps his breathless clay.” That e’er won lady’s love. “Yet stay, fair lady, rest awhile “And now, alas! for thy sad loss Beneath this cloister wall; I`11 evermore weep and sigh; The cold wind through the hawthorn For thee I only wished to live, blows, For thee I wish to die.” And drizzly rain doth falL” “Weep no more, lady, weep no more; “0, stay me not, thou holy friar, Thy sorrow is in vain: 0 stay me not, I pray; For violets plucked, the sweetest shower No drizzly rain that falls on me Will ne’er make grow again. Can wash my fault away.” “Our joys as winged dreams do fly; “Yet stay, fair lady, turn again, Why then should sorrow last? And dry those pearly tears; Since grief but aggravates thy loss, For see, beneath this gown of gray Grieve not for what is past.” Thy own true-love appears. “0, say not so, thou holy friar! “Here, forced by ief and hopeless love, I pray thee say not so; These holy wee a I sought; For since my true-love died for me, And here, amid these lonely walls, `T is meet my tears should flow. To end my days I thought. “And will he never come again? “But haply, for my year of grace Will he ne’er come again? Is not yet passed away,

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WILLIAM COWPER. 69 Might I still hope to win t,h,y love, But Kempenfelt is gone, No longer would I stay. His victories are o’er; And he and his eight hundred “Now farewell grief, and welcome joy Shall plough the wave no more. Once more unto my heart; For since I`ve found thee, lovely youth, We nevermore will part.” LINES TO My MOTHER’S PICTURE. O THAT those lips had language! Life has passed With me but roughly since I heard thee WILLIAM

COWPEIL last. Those lips are thine, - thy own sweet (1731-i8oo.J smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. me Yoice only’fails, else how distinct they say, ToLL for the brave! “Grieve not, my child; chase all thy The brave that are no more! fears away!” All sunk beneath the wave The meek intelligence of those dear eyes Fast by their native shore! (Blest be the art that can immortalize, The art that baffles time’s tyrannic claiiu Eight hundred of the brave, To ~uench it!) here shines 011 me still the Whose courage well was tried, same. Had made the vessel heel, Faithful remembrancer of one so (l~ar, And laid her on her side. 0 welcome guest, though unexpected here! Who bid’st me honor with an artless song, A land-breeze shook the shrouds Affectionate, a mother lost so long. And she was overset; I will obey, not willingly alone, Dowu went the R~oyal George, But gladly, as the precept were her own; With all her crew complete. And, while that face renews my filial grief, Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, Toll for the brave! Shall steep me in Elysian revery, Brave Kempenfelt is gone; A momentary dream that thou art she. His last sea-fight is fought, My mother! when L learned that thou His work of glory done. wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I It was not in the battle; shed? No tempest gave the shock; Hovered thy spirit o’er thy son-owing son, She sprang no fatal leak, Wretch even then, life’s journey just She ran 11p011 no rock. begun?

Perhaps thou gav’st me, though unfelt, a His sword was in its sheath, kiss; His fingers held the pen, Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss When Kempenfelt went down Ah, that maternal smile! it answers - With twice four hundred men. Yes. I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, Weigh the vessel up, I saw the hearse that bere thee slow away, Once dreaded by our foes And, turning from my nursery window, And mingle with our cup drew The tear that England owes. A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! But was it such? It was. Where thou Her timbers yet are sound, art gone, And she may float again, Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. Full charged with England’s thunder, May I but meet thee on that peaceful And piough the distant main. shore,

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70 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. The parting words shall pass my lips 110 (And thou wast happier than myself the more! while, Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my concern, head, and smile,)Oft gave me promise of thy quick return; Could those few pleasant days again apWhat ardently I wished I long believed, pear, And, disappointed still, was still deceived; Might one wish bring them, would I wish By expectatiou every day beguiled, them here? Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. I would not trust my heart, -the dear Thus many a sad to-morrow came and delight went, Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.

Till, all my stock of infant sorrows spent, But no, - what here we call our life is I learned at last submission to my lot; such, But, though I less deplored thee, ne’er So little to be loved, and thou so much, forgot.

That I should ill requite thee to con Where once we dwelt our name is heard strain no more, Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. Children not thine have trod my nursery Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion’s floor; coast And where the gardener Robin, day by day, (The storms all weathered and the ocean Drew me to school along the public way, crossed) Delighted with my bawbie coach, and Shoots into port at some well-havened wrapped isle, In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped, Where spices breathe and bi-ighter sea`T is now become a history little known, sons smile; That once we called the pastoral house There sits quiescent on the floods, that our own. show Short-lived possession! buttlie record fair, Her beauteous form reflected clear beThat memory keeps of all thy kindness low, there, While airs impregnated with incense Stffi outlives many a storm that has play effaced Around her, fanning light her streamers A thousand other themes less deeply gay, - traced. So thou, with sails how swift! hast Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, reached the shore, That thou mightst know me safe and Where tempests never beat, nor billows warmly laid, -
roar; All this, and, more endearing still than And thy loved consort, on the dangerous all, tide Thy constant flow of love, that knew no Of life, long since has anchored by thy fall, side. Ne’er roughened by those cataracts and But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, breaks Always from port withheld, always disThat humor interposed too often makes, -
tressed, - All this, still legible in memory’s page, Me howling blasts drive devious, temAnd still to be so to my latest age, pest-tossed, Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and Such honors to thee as my numbers may; compass lost; Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, And day by day some current’s thwarting Not scorned in heaven, though little no-force ticed here. Sets me more distant from a prosperous Could Time, his flight reversed, restore course. the hours Yet 0, the thought that thou art safe, When, playing with thy vesture’s tissued and he! - flowers, That thought is joy, arrive what may to The violet, the pink, and jessamine, me. I pricked them into paper with a pin, My boast is not that I deduce my birth

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WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. 71 From loins enthroned, and rulers of the WILLIAM
iULIU~ MICKLE. earth; But higher far my proud pretensions (z734-i78&J
rise - The son of parents passed into the skies. THE MARINER’S WIFE. And now, farewell! - Time, unrevoked, has run AND are ye sure the news is true? His wonted course, yet what I wished is And are ye sure he`a weel?

done. Is this a time to think 0’ wark? By contemplation’s help, not sought in Mak haste, lay by your wheel; vain, Is this the time to spin a thread, I seem to have lived my childhood o’er When Colin a at the door? To again, - Reach down my cloak, I`11 to the quay, have renewed the joys that once were And see him come ashore. mine For there`a nae luck about the house, Without the sin of violating thine; There`a nae luck at a’; And while the wings of Fancy still are There`a little pleasure in the house free, When our gudenian`a awn’. And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his And gie to me my bigonet, theft, - My bishop’s satin gown; Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me For I maun tell the baillie’s wife left. That Colin`a in tlie town. My Turkey slippers maun gae on, My stockings pearly blue; MYSTERIES OF rROvIDENCE. It`a a’ to ple&sure our gudeman, For he`a baith leal and true. GOD moves in a mysterious way Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, Put on the muckle pot; And rides upon the storm. Gie little Kate her button gown, And`Jock his Sunday coat; - And mak their shoon as black as slacs, Deep in unfathomable mines Their hose as white as snaw; Of never-failing skill, It`a a’ to please my ain gudeman, He treasures up his bright designs, For he`a been lang awe’.

And works his sovereign will. There`a twa fat hens upo’ the coop, Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take! Been fed this niouth and mair; The clouds ye so much dread Mak haste and thra~ their necks about, Are big with mercy, and shall break That Colin weel may fare; In blessings on your head. And mak our table neat and clean, Let everything look braw, Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, For wha can tell how Colin fared But trust liim for his grace; When he was far awn’? Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face. Sne true his heart, sne smooth his speech, His breath like caller air; - His purposes will ripen fast, His very foot has music in`t Unfolding every hour; As he comes up the stair. The bud may have a bitter taste, And will I see his face again? But sweet will be the flower. And will I hear him speak? I`m downright dizzy wi’ the thought, Blind unbelief is sure to err, In troth I`m like to greet! And scan his works in vain; God is his own interpreter, The cauld blasts o’ fl~e winter wind, And he will make it plain. That thirled through my heart,

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72 SONGS OF THREE CE~TURIES. They`re a’ blawn by, I has him safe, 0, soothe him whose pleasures like thine Till death we`11 never part; pass away! But what puts parting in my head? Full quickly they pass, - but they never It may be far awa’! return. The present moment is our ain, The neist we never saw. “Now, gliding remote on the verge of the sky, Since Colin`5
weel, and weel content, The moon, half extinguished, her cres I hae nae mair to crave; cent displays; And gin I live to keep him sae, But lately I marked when majestic on I`m blest aboon the lave. high And will I see his face again? She shone, and the planets were lost in And will I hear him speak? her blaze. I`m downright dizzy wi’ the thought, Roll on, thou fair orb, and with glad In troth I`m like to greet. ness pursue For there`a nae luck about the house, The path that conducts thee to splendor There`a nae luck at a’; again! There`a little pleasure in the house But man’s faded glory what change shall When our gudeman`a awa’. renew? Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain! “`T is night, and the landscape is lovely no more.

JAMES BEATTIE. I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; (173-1803.) For morn is approaching your charms tq restore, THE HERMIT.

Perfumed with fresh fraarance, andglit tering with dew. AT the close of the day, when the ham-Nor etfortheravageofwinterlmourn, - let is still, Kin nature the embryo blossom will And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness save; When prove, but the torrent is heard But when shall spring visit the moulder. ing urn? on the hill, 0, when shall day dawn on the night of And naught but the nightingale’s song the grave? in fhe grove, `T was thus, by the cave of the moun- “`T was thus, by the glare of false science tain afar, betrayed, While his harp rung symphonious, a That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to hermit began; blind, No more with himself or with nature at My thoughts wont to roam from shade war, onward to shade, He thought as a sage, though he felt as Destruction before me, and sorrow be a man: hind.

`0 pity, great Father of light,’ then I “Ah! why, all abandoned to darkness cried, and woe,`Thy creature, who fain would not wanWhy, lone Philomela, that languishing der from thee! fall? Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my For spring shall return, and a lover be-pride; stow, From d~ubt and from darkness thou only And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthrall.

canst free!’ But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,- “And darkness and doubt are now flying Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls away; thee to mourn; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn.

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JOHN LANGHORNE. MRS. THRALE. 73 So breaks on the traveller, faint and When pains grow sharp and sickness astray, rages, The bright and the balmy effulgence of The greatest love of life appears. morn. This great affection to believe, See truth, love, and mercy in triumph Which all confess, but few perceive, descending, if old assertions can’t prevail, And nature all glowing in Eden’s first Be pleased to hear a modern tale.

bloom! On the cold cheek of death smiles and When sports went round, and all were roses are blending, gay, And beanty immortal awakes from the On neighbor Dodson’s wedding-day, tomb.” Death called aside the jocund groom ______ With him into another room, And, looking grave, “You must,” says he, JOllN LAN~llORNE. “Quit your sweet bride, and come with 1735 - I779.

“With you! and quit my Susan’s side? With you!” the hapless husband cried; THE DEAD. “Young as I am,`t is monstrous hard! Besides, in truth, I`m not prepared: Or them who, wrapt in earth so cold, My thoughts on other matters go; No more the smiling day shall view, This is my wedding-day, you know.” Should many a tender tale be told, For many a tender thought is due. What more he urged 1 have not heard, His reasons could not well be stronger; Why else the o’ergrown paths of time So Death the poor delinquent spared, Would thus the lettered sage explore, And left to live a liftle longer. With pain these crumbling ruins climb, Yet calling up a serious look, And on the doub~tful sculpture pore? His hour-glass trembled while he spoke. “Neighbor,” he said, “farewell! no more Why seeks he with unwearied toil, Shall Death disturb your mirthful hour: Through Death’s dim walks to urge his And further, to avoid all blame way, Of cruelty upon my name, Reclaim his long-asserted spoil, To give you time for preparation, And lead oblivion into day? And fit you for your future station, Three several warnings you shall have, `T is nature prompts, by toil or fear, Before you`re summoned to the grave; Unmoved, to range through Death’s Willing for once 1`11 quit my prey, domain; And grant a kind reprieve, The tender parent loves to hear In hopes you`11 have no more to say, Her children’s story told again! But when I call again this way, Well pleased the world will leave.” — To these conditions both consented, And parted perfectly contented. MR~. THRALE. What next the hero of our tale befell, [x740-1522.) How roundly he pursued his course, And smoked his pipe, and stroked his THE THREE WARNINGS. horse, The willing muse shall tell: TllE tree of deepest root is found He chaffered, then he bought and sold, Least willing still to quit the ground; Nor once perceived his growing old, was therefore said by ancient sages, Nor thought of Death as near: - That love of life increased with years His friends not false, his wife no shrew, So much, that in our latter stages, Many his gains, his children few,

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74 SONGS OF TllREE CENTURIES. He passed his hours in peace. I`m grown so deaf, I could not hear.” But while he viewed his wealth increase, “Nay, then,” the spectre stern re While thus along life’s dusty road joined, The beaten track content lie trod, “These are unjustifiable yearnings: Old Time, whose haste no mortal spares, If you are lame, and deaf, and blind, -Uncalled, unheeded, unawares, You`ve had your three sufficient Brought on his eightieth year. warnii)gs; And now, one night, in musing mood, So come along, no more we`11 part.” As all alone he sate, He said, and touched him with his dart The unwelcome messenger of Fate And now Old 1)odson, turning pale, Once more before him stood. Yields to his fate, - so ends my tale.

Half killed with anger and surprise, ______ “So soon returned!” Old Dodson cries. “So soon, d’ ye call it!” Death replies; “Surely, my friend, you`re but in jest!ANNA L. BARBAULD. Since I was here before `T is six-and-thirty years at least, -1825.) And you are now fourscore.” THE SABBATH OF THE

SOUL. “So much the worse,” the clown re joined; SLEEP, sleep to-day, tormenting cares, “To spare the aged would be kind: Of earth and folly born; However, see your search be legal; Ye shall not dim the light that streams And your authority, - is`t regal? From this celestial morn. Else you are come on a fool’s errand With but a secretary’s warrant.` To-morrow will be time enough Beside, you promised me three warn-To feel your harsh control; ings, Ye shall not violate, this day, Which I have looked for nights and The Sabbath of my souL mornings; But for that loss of time and ease Sleep, sleep forever, guilty thoughts; I can recover damages.” Let fires of vengeance die; And, purged from sin, may I behold “I know,” cries Death, “that at the A God of puiity! best I seldom am a welcome guest; But don’t be captious, friend, at least: THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. I little thought you`d still be able To stump about your farm and stable: SWEET is the scene when virtue dies! Your years have run to a great length; When sinks a righteous soul to rest, Iwish you joy, though, of yourstrength!”

How mildly beam the closing eyes, “Hold,” says the farmer, “not so fast!

How gently heaves the expiring breast! I have been lame these four years past.” So fades a summer cloud away, “And no great wonder,” Death replies: So sinks the gale when storrns are o’er, “However, you still keep your eyes; So gently shuts the eye of day, And sure to see one’s loves and friends So dies a wave along the shore. For legs and arms would make amends.” “Perhaps,” says Dodson, “so it might, Triumphant smiles the victor brow, But latterly I`ve lost my sight.” Fanned by some angel’s purple wing “This is a shocking tale,`t is true; Where is, 0 grave! thy victory now? But still there`a comfort left for you: And where, insidious death! thy Each strives your sadness to amuse; sting? 1 warrant you hear all the news.” “There`a none,” cries he; and if there Farewell, conflicting joys and fears, were, Where light and shade alternate dwell

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SUSANNA BLAMIRE. - JOHN LOGAN. 75 How bright the unchanging morn ap. And where Wi’ mony a blushing bud pears - I strove myself to hide. Farewell, inconstant world, farewell! I`11 doat on ilka spot Where I ha’e beeu wi’

thee; Life’s labor done, as shiks the day, And Ca’ to mind some kindly word, Light from its load the spirit flies; By ilka burn and tree. While heaven and earth combine to say, “Sweet is the scene when virtue dies!”

______ LIFE. JOllN LO~AN. LIFE! I know not what thou art, (1748-i751.J

But know that thou and I must part; TO THE CUCKOO. And when, or how, or where we met, I own to me`a a secret yet. HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! Thou messenger of spring! Life! we`ve been long together Now heaveu repairs thy rural seat, Through pleasant and through cloudy And woods thy welcome sing. weather; `Tis hard to part when friends are dear, - What time the daisy decks the green, Perhaps`t will cost a sigh, a tear; Thy certain voice we hear; - Then steal away, give little warning, Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Choose thine own time; Or mark the rolliiig year?

Say not Good Night, - but in some brighter clime Delightful visitant! with thee Bid me Good Morning. I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet _______ From birds among the bowers. The school-boy, wandering through the ~USANNA BLAMIRE. wood To pull the primrose gay, (1747-Starts, the new voice of spring to hear, 1794.J And imftates thy lay. WHAT AILS TmS HEART 0’ MINE? What time the pea puts on the bloom, WEAT ails this heaft 0’ mine? Tb 011 fliest thy vocal vale, What ails this watery ee? An annual guest in other lands, Wliat gars me a’ turn pale as death Another spring to hail. When I take leave o’ thee? Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, When thou art far awa’, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou`lt dearer grow to me; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, But change o’

place and change o’ folk No winter in thy year! May gar thy fancy jee. 0, could I fly, I`d fly with thee! When I gae out at e’en, We`d make, with joyful wing, Or walk at morning air, Our annual visit o’er the globe, Ilk rustling hush will seem to say, Companions of the spring. I used to meet thee there. Then I`11 sit down and cry, And live aneath the tree, YARROW

STREAM. And when a leaf fa’s i’ my lap, I`11 ca’`t a word frae thee. THY
banks were bonnie, Yarrow stream, When first on thee I met my lover; I`11
hie me to the bower Thy banks how dreary, Yauow stream, That thou wi’

roses tied, When now thy waves his body cover I

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76 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Forever now, 0 Yarrow stream, UNKNO~~N. Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; For never on thy banks shall I BONNIE GEORGE

CAMPBEIL~ Behold my love, - the flower of Yarrow! HIE upon Hielands, milk-white horse, And low upon Tay, He promised me a Bonnie George Campbell To bear me to his father’s bowers; Rade out on a day. He promised me a little page, Saddled and bridled To s(Iuire me to his father’s towers. And gallant rade he Hame came his gude horse, He promised me a wedding-ring, But never came he. The wedding-day was fixed to-mouow; Now he is wedded to his grave, Out came his auld mither Alas! a watery grave in Yarrow! Greeting fu’ sair, And out came his bonnie bride Sweet were his words when last we met, Rivin’ her hair. My passion as I freely told him; Saddled and bridled Clasped iii his arms, I little thought And booted rade he; That I should nevermore behold him. Toom hame came the saddle, But never came he. Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost, - It vanished with a shriek of sorrow; “My meadow lies green, Thrice did the Water Wraith ascend, And my corn is unshorn; And give a doleful groan through Yarrow!

My barn is to build, And my babie`a unborn.” Saddled and bridled His mother from the window looked, And booted rade he With all the longing of a mother; Toom hame came the saddle, His little sister, weeping, walked The greenwood path to meet her brother. But never came he They sought him east, they sought him west, They sought him all the forest thorough; UNKNOWN. They only saw the clouds of night, They only heard the roar of Yarrow! WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY 0, WALY, waly up the bank, No longer from thy window look, - And waly, waly down the brae, Thou hast no son, thou tender mother! And waly, waly yon burn side, No longer walk, thou lovely maid, - Where I and my love wont to gae. Alas! thou hast no more a brother! I leaned my back unto an aik, And thought it was a trusty tree, No longer seek him east or west, But first it bowed, and syne it brak’, No longer search the forest thorough, Sae my true Jove did lightly me. For, murdered in the night so dark, He lies a lifeless corpse in Yarrow! 0, waly, waly, but love is bonny, A little time while it is new; The tears shall never leave my cheek; But when`t is auld, it waxeth cauld, No other youth shall be my marrow; And fades away like morning dew. I`11 seek thy body in il~e stream, 0, wherefore should I busk my head? And there with thee I`11 sleep in Yarrow! Or wherefore should I kame my hair? For my true love has me forsook, The tear did never leave her cheek: And says he`11
never love me mair. No other youth became her marrow; She found his body in the stream, Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed, &nd with him now she sleeps in Yarrow. The sheets shall ne’er be filled by me;

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UNKNOWN. 77 Saint Anton’s well shall be my drink, Young Charlie Cocliran was the ~prout Since my true love`5 forsaken me, of an aik, Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, Bonnie and blooming and straight was And shake the green leaves off the its make, tree? The sun took delight to shine for its O gentle death! when wilt thou come? sake For of my life I am weary.

And it wll’l be the brag 0’ the forest yet. T is not the frost that freezes fell, The summer is gone when the leaves they Nor blowing snow’s inclemency; were green, `T is not sic cauld that makes me cry, And the days are awa’ that we hae seen, But my love’s heart grown cauld to me But far better days I trust will come When we came in by Glasgow town, again; We were a coin ely sight to see; For my bonnie laddie`5 young, but My love was clad in the black velvet, he`a growing yet. And I mysel’ in cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kissed, That love had been so ill to win, UNKNOWN. I`d locked my heart in a case of gold, And pinned it with a silver pin. THE BOATlE ROWS. And 0, if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse’s knee, 0, WEEL may the boatie row, And I mysel’ were dead and gane, And better may she speed; Wi’ the green grass growing over me!

And liesome may the boatie row That wins the bairnies’ bread. The boatie rows, the boatie rows, The boatie rows indeed; And weel may the boatie row UNKNOWN. That wins the bairnies’ bread. I coost my line in Largo Bay, LADY

MARY ANN. And fishes I catched nine; 0, LADY MARY ANN looked o’er the cas-`T was three to boil and three to fry, tle wa’, And three to bait the line. She saw three bonnie boys playing at The rows, the boatie rows, indee,d,, the ba’, The bethelotoa The youngest lie was the flower amang And happy them a: Wha wishes her to speed. My bonnie laddie`a young, but he`a 0, weel may the boatie row, growin’ yet. That fills a heavy creel, “0
father, 0 father, an’ ye think it ~~, And deeds us a’ frae tap to tae, And buys our parritch meal. We`1] send him a year to the college yet: The boatie rows, the boatie rows, We`11 sew a green ribbon round about The boatie rows, indeed, his hat, And happy be the lot 0’ a’ And that will let them ken he`a to That wish the boatie speed. marry yet.” When Jamie vowed he wad be mine, Lady Mary Ann was a flower in the dew, And wan frae me my heart, Sweet was its smell, and bonnie was its 0, muckle lighter grew my creel - hue He swore we`d never part. And the la’nger it blossomed the sweeter The boatie rows, the boatie rows, it grew; The boatie rows fu’

weel; For the lily in the bud will be bonnier And muckle lighter is the load yet. When love bears up the creel.

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78 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. My kurtch I put upo’ my head, The next line il~at he read, the tear And dressed mysel’ fli’ braw; blindit his e’e; I trow my heart was dough and wae, But the last line that he read, he gart When Jamie gade awa’. the table flee. But weel may the boatie row, And lucky be her part, “Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle Alld lightsome be the lassie’s care the brown; That yields an honest heart. Gar saddle the swiftest steed e’er rade frae a town”: But lang ere the horse was drawn and brought to the green, 0, bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane.

UNKNOWN. When he came to Glenfeldy’s door, little GLENLOGIE. mirth was there; Bonnie Jean’s mother was tearing her THREEscORE 0’ nobles rade up the king’s hair. ha’, “Ye`re welcome, Glenlogie, ye`re welBut bonnie Glenlogie`a the flower 0 come,” said she, - them a’, “Ye`re wAcome, Glenlogie, your Teanie Wi’ his milk-white steed and his bonnie to see.”

black e’e, Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie me!” gued ben, But red and rosy grew she, whene’er he aud your tongue, daughter, ye`11 sat down; get better than he.” She turned awa’ her head, but the smile ? 0, say nae sae, mfther, for that canna ~~, was in her e’e, be; binna feared, mither, I`11 maybe no Though Doumlie is richer and greater dee.” than he, Yet if I maun tak him, I`11 certainly dee. UNKNOWN. eWhere will I get a bonnie boy, to win JOHN DAVIDSON. hose and shoon, Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again JoaN DAYIDsoN and Tib his wife soon?” Sat toastin’ their taes ae night, “0, here am I a bonnie boy, to win hose When someilihi’ started 011 the fluir and shoon, An’ Ninked by their sight. Will gae t?, Glenlogie and come again “Guidwife!” quo’ John, “did ye see soon. that mouse? Whar sorra was the cat?” - ~n he gaed to Glenlogie,`t was “A mouse? “- “Ay, a mouse.” - “Na, Wash and go dine”; us, Guidman, was “Wash ye,;m,y pretty boy, wash It wasna a mouse,`t was a rat.” and go dine. “0,`t was ne’er my father’s fashion, and “Oh, oh!

Guidwife, to think ye`ve been it ne’er shall be mine Sae lang about the house To gar a lady’s errand wait till I dine. An’ no to~ken a mouse frae a rat! Yon wasna a rat, but a mouse!” “But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee.” “I`ve seen mair mice than you, GuidThe first line that he read, a low laugh man, ~ave he; Au’ what think ye 0’ that?

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RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. - THOMAS CHATTERTON. 79 Sae baud your tongue an’ say naemair, - RICllARD BRINSLEY SHER I tell ye`t was a rat.” IDAN.

“Me baud my tongue for you, Guidwife! (i75i-i8i6.J I`11 be maister 0’ this house, - I saw it as plain as een could see,HAD I A HEART FOR FALSEHOOD

An’ I tell ye`t was a mouse!” FRAMED. “If you`re the maister 0’ the house, HAD I a heart for falsehood framed, It`a I`m the mistress 0’`t; I ne’er could injure you; An’ I ken best what`a 1’ the house, - For though your tongue 110 promise Sae I tell ye`t was~a rat.” claimed, “Weel, weel, Guidwife, gaemakthebrose, Your charms would make me true: An’ ca’ it what ye please.” To you no soul shall bear deceit, Sae up she gat an’ made the brose, No stranger offer wrong; While John sat toastin’ his taes. But friends in all the aged you`11 meet, Aud lovers in the young. They suppit an’ suppit an’ suppit the For when they learn that you have blest brose, An’ aye their lips played smack; Another with your heart, They suppit an’

suppit an’ suppit the They`11 bid aspiring passion rest, brose And act a brother’s part. Till their lugs began to crack. Then, lady, dread not here deceit, Nor fear to suffer wrong; “Sic fules we were to fa’ out, Guidwife, For friends in all the aged you`11 meet, About a mouse. - A what! And brothers in the young. It`a a lee ye tell, an’ I say again I It wasna a mouse,`t was a rat.” “Wad ye ca’ me a leear to my very face? TllOMAS

CllATTERTON. My faith, but ye craw croose! - I tell ye, Tib, I never will bear`t, - (1752-i77o.J `T was,a mouse. -`T was a rat.” - “T was a mouse.”

THE MINSTREL’S SONG IN ELLA. that she struck him ower the pow. 0, SING
unto my roundelay! Wi’ 0, drop the bnny tear with me! “Ye dour auld dolt, tak’ that! Dance no more at holiday, Gae to your bed, ye cankered sumph!

Like a running river be. was a rat.” - “`T was a mouse! “- My love is dead, “`T was a rat!” Gone to his death-bed, She sent the brose.cup at his heels All under the willow-tree. As he hirpled ben the house; Black his hair as the winter night, But he shoved out his head as he steekit White his neck as the summer snow, the door, Ruddy his face as the morning Jight; An’ cried, “`T was a mouse,`t was a Cold he lies in the grave below. mouse!” My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, Yet when the auld carle fell asleep, All under the willow-tree. She paid him back for that, An’ roared into his sleepin’ lug, Sweet his tongue as throstle’s note, “`T
was a rat,`t was a rat,`t was a rat!” Quick in dance as thought was he; Deft his tabor, cudgel stout; Tbe dell be wi’ me, if I think 0, he lies by the willow-tree! It was a beast at all. My love is dead, Next morn in’, when she sweept the floor, Gone to his death-bed, She found wee Johnie’s ball! All under the willow-tree.

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SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Hark! the raven flaps his wingHis truth unquestioned and his soul In the briered dell below; serene: Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing Of no man’s presence Isaac felt afraid; To the nightmares as they go. At no man’s question Isaac looked dis My love is dead, mayed: Gone to his death-bed, Shame knew him not, he dreaded no All under the willow-tree. disgrace; Truth, simple truth, was wntten in his See! the white moon shines on high; face; Whiter is my true-love’s shroud, Yet while the serious thought his soul Whiter than the morning sky, approved, Whiter than the evening cloud. Cheerful he seemed, and gentleness he My love is dead loved; Gone to his deat’h-bed, To bliss domestic he his heart resigned, All under the willow-tree. And with the firmest, had the fondest mind. Here, upon my true-love’s grave, Were others joyful, he looked smiling on, Shall the garish flowers be laid, And gave allowance where he needed none; Nor one holy saint to save Good he refused with future ill to buy, All the sorrows of a maid. Nor knew a joy that caused reflection’s My love is dead, sigh. Gone to his death-bed, A friend to virtue, his unclouded breast All under the willow-tree. No envy stung, no jealousy distressed (Bane of the poor lit wounds their weaker With my hands I`11 bind the briers mind Round his holy corse to gre; To miss one favor which their neighbors Elfln4airy, light your fires, find); Here my body still shall be. Yet far was he from stoic pride removed; My love is dead, He felt humanely, and he warmly loved. Gone to his death-bed, I marked his action when his infant died, All under the willow-tree. And his old neighbor for offence was tried; The still tears, stealing down that fur. Come with acorn cup and thorn, rowed cheek, Drain my heart’s blood all away; Spoke pity plainer than the tongue can Life and all its good I scorn, speak. Dance by night, or feast by day. If pride were his,`t was not their vulgar My love is dead, pride Gone to his death-bed, Who, ill their base contempt, the great All under the willow-tree. deride; Water-witches, crowned with reytes, Nor pride in learning, though my clerk Bear me to your deadly tide. If fate agreed, I die-I come-my true-love waits. should call him, Ashford might Thus the damsel spake, and died. Nor succeed; pride in rustic skill, a) though we knew None his superior, and his equals few: But if that spirit in his soul had place, It was the jealous pride that shuns dis dEORGE CRABBE. grace; A pride in honest fame, by virtue gained, (17s4 - 1832.) In sturdy boys to virtuous labors trained; Pride in the power that guards his coun ISAAC

ASIlFORD. try’s coast, And all that Englishmen enjoy and boast; NEXT to these ladies, but in naught Pride in a life that slander’s tongue deflcd, allied, In fact, a noble passion, misnamed pride. A noble peasant, Isaac Ash ford, died. He had no party’s rage, no sectary’s Noble he was, contemning all things mean, whim;

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SAMUEL ROGERS-81 Christian and countryman was all with But came not there, for sudden was his him, fate, `(`rue to his church he came, no Sunday-He dropt expiring at his cottage-gate. shower I feel his absence in the hours of prayer, ept him at home in that important hour; And view his seat, and sigh forisaacthere; orhisfinu feet could one persuading sect I see no more those white locks thinly I3y the strong glare of their new light spread direct: - Round the bald polish of that honored “On hope, in mine own sober light, I gaze, head; But should be blind and lose it in your No more that awful glance on playful blaze.” wight In times severe, when many a sturdy Compelled to kneel and tremble at the swain sight, Felt it his pride, his comfort, to complain, To fold his fingers all in dread the while, Isaac their wants would soothe, his own Till Mister Ashford softened to a smile; would hide, No more that meek and suppliant Ioo~ And feel in that his comfort and his pride. in prayer, At length he found, when seventy years Nor the pure faith (to give it force) are were run, there: flis strength departed and his labor done; But he is blest, and I lament no more, When, aave his honest fame, he kept no A wise good man contented to be poor. nIore; But lost his wife and saw his children poor.

was then a spark of-say not discon-SAMUEL ROGERS. Struck on his mind, and thus he gave it (1763-i8~~.J vent: “Kind are your laws (`t is not to be A WISH. denied) That in you house for ruined age provide, MINE`be a cot beside the hill; Mid they are just; when young, we give A bee-hive’s hum shall soothe my ear; you all, A willowy brook that turns a mill, And then for comforts in our weakness With many a fall shall linger near. call. Why then this proud reluctance to he The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch fed, Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; To join your poor and eat the parish-Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, bread? And share my meal, a welcome guest. But yet I linger, loath with him to feed Who gains his plenty by the sons of need: Around my ivied porch shall spring He who, by contract, all your paupers Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; took, And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing And gauges stomachs with an anxious In russet gown and apron hlue. look: On some old master I could well depend; ~~e}~11a~e-church among the trees, See him with joy and thank him as a With first ourmarnage-vows were given, friend; merry peals shall swell the breeze, But ill on him who doles the day’s supply, And poiut with taper spire to heaven. And counts our chances who at night - may die: Yet help me,`leaven! and let me not ITALIAN SONG. complain Of what befalls me, but the fate sustain.” Dx~a is my little native vale, Such were his thoughts, and so re-The ring-dove builds and murmurs there; signed he grew; Close by my cot she tells her tale Dailyhe placcdtheworkhouseinhis view! To every passing villager. 6

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82 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, Yestreen when to the trembling string And shells his nuts at liberty. The dance gaed through the lighted ha’, To thee my fancy took its wing, In orange groves and myrtle bowers, I sat, but neither heard nor saw. That breathe a gale of fragrance round, Though this was fair, and that was braw, I charm the fairy-footed hours And yon the toast of a’ the town, With my loved lute’s romantic sound; I sighed, and said ainang them a’, Of cn~wns of living laurel weave “Ye are na Mary Morison.” For those that win the race at eve. 0 Mary, canst thou wreck his peace The shepherd’s horn at break of day, Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee? The ballet danced in twilight glade, Or caust thou break that heart of his, The canzonet and roundelay Whase only faut is loving thee? Sung in the silent greenwood shade: If love for love thou wilt na gie, These simple joys that never fail At least be pity to me shown; Shall bind me to my native vale. A thought ungentle canna be The fhought 0’ Mary Morison. ROB1~B~T BURN~.

~GRLAND MARY. YE banks and braes and streams around (1759-1796.J The castle 0’ Montgomery, Green he your woods, andfaii-your flowers, OF A’

TRE AIRTS THE WIND CAN Your waters never drumlie! 3LAW. There simmer first unfauld her robes And there the langest tarry! OF a’ the airts the wind can blaw, For there I took the last fareweel -I dearly like the west; 0’

my sweet Highland Mary. For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I lo’e best. How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, There wild woods grow, and rivers row, How rich the hawthorn’s blossom, And monie a hill`a between; As underneath their fragrant shade But day and night my fancy’s flight I clasped her to my bosom! Is ever wi’ my Jean. The golden hours on angel wings Flew o’er me and my dearie; I see her in the dewy flowers, For dear to me as light and life I see her sweet and fair; Was my sweet Highland Mary. I hear her in the tunefu’ birds, 1 hear her d~arm the air; Wi’ monie a vow and locked embra~ There`a not a bonnie flower that springs Our parting was fu’ tender; By fountain, shaw, or green, - There`a not a bonnie bird that sings, And pledging aft to meet again, But minds me 0’ my Jean. We tore ourselves asunder; But, 0, fell Death’s untimely frost, That nipt my flower sac early! Now green`a the sod, and cauld`s the clay, MARY

MORISON. That wraps my Highland Mary! O MARY, at thy window he! 0 pale, pale now, those rosy lips It is the wished, the trysted hour! I aft hac kissed sac fondly! Those smiles and glances let Toe see, And closed for aye fl~e sparkling glance That make the miser’s treasure poor: That dwelt on me sac kindly! How blithely wad I bide the stoure, And mouldei-ing now in silent dust A weary slave frac sun to sun, That heart that lo’ed me dearly! Could I the rich reward secure, But still within my bosom’s core The lovely Mary Morison. Shall live my Highland Mary.

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ROBERT BURNS. 83 TO MARY IN HEAVEN. Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, TlloU lingering star, with lessening ray, Whase distant roaring swells and fa’s. That lov’st to greet the early morn, The cauld blue north was streaming forth Again thou usherest in the day Her li~ht My Mary from my soul was torn. ~ 5, wi’ hissing, eerie din; 0 Mary! dear, departed shade!

Athort the lift they start and shift, Where is thy place of blissful rest?

Like fortune’s favors, tint as win. Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear’st thou the groans that rend his By heedless chance I turned mine eyes, breast? And by the moonbeam, shook, to see A stern and stalwart ghaist arise, That sacred hour can I forget, Attired as minstrels wont to be. Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met Had I a statue been 0’ stane, To live one day of parting love? His darin look had daunted me: Eternity will not efface And on his bonnet graved was plain, Those records dear of transports past; The sacred posy Libertie!

Thy image at our last embrace! Ah! little thought we`t was our last! And frae his harp sic strains did flow, Ayr, gnrgling, kissed his pebbled shore, Might roused the slumbering dead to hear; O’erhung with wild woods, thickening But 0, it was a tale of woe, green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, As ever met a Briton’s ear! Twined amorous round the raptured He sang wi’ joy his former day, scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be pressed, He weeping wailed his latter times; The birds sang love on every spray, But what he said it was nae play, Till too, too soon, the glowing west I winna ventur`t in my rhymes. Proclaimed the speed of wing6d day. Still o’er these scenes my nsemory wakes,A BARD’S EPITAPH. And fondly broods with miser care; Time but the impression deeper makes, Is there a whim-inspir6d fool, As streams their channels deeper wear. Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, My Mary! dear, departed shade! Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, Where is thy place of hlissfl~ rest? Let lsim draw near, Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? And owre this grassy heap sing dool, Hear’st thou the groans that rend his And drap a tear. breast? Is there a bard of rustic song, A VISION. Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, That weekly this area throng, As I stood by you roofless tower, 0, pass not by! Where the wa’ -flower scents the dewy But with a frater-feeling strong, Where air, Here heave a sigh. the howlet mouru sin her ivy bower, And tells the midnight moon her care. Is there a man whose judgment clear Can others teach the course to steer, The winds were laid, the air was still, Yet runs himself life’s mad career, The stars they shot alang the sky; Wild as il~e wave; The fox was howling on the hill, Here pause, and, thro’ the starting tear, And the distant-echoing glens reply.

Survey this grave. The stream, adown its hazelly path, This poor inhabitant below Was rushing by the ruined wa’s, Was ~iick to learn and wise to know,

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84 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. And keenly felt the fi~endly glow, Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled teals; And softer flame; Ye fisher herons, watching eels; But thoughtless follies laid him low, Ye duck and drake, Wi’ airy wheels And stained his name! Circling the lake; Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, Reader, attend, -whether thy soul Rair for his sake.

Soars fancy’s flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, Mourn, clam’ring craiks at close 0’ day. In low pursuit;`Mang fields 0’ flow’ring claver gay; Know prudent, cautious self-control And when ye wing your annual way Is wisdom’s root. Frae our cauld shore, Tell thae far warids, wha lies in clay, Wham we deplore. ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW Ye howlets, frae your ivy bow’r, HENDERSON. In some auld tree, or eldritch tow’r, What time the moon, wi’ silent glow’r, HE`5 gane, he`a gane! he`a frae us torn, Sets up her horn, The ae best fellow e’er was born! Wail thro’ the di~ry midnight hour Thee, Matthew, Nature’s sel shall mourn Till wauknfe morn. By wood and wild, Where, haply, Pity strays forlorn, 0
rivers, forests, hills, and plains! Frae man exiled. Oft have ye heard my canty strains; But now, what else for me retnains Ye hills, near neebors 0’ the starns, But tales of woe? That proudly cock your creating cairns!

And frae my een the drapping rains Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns Maun ever flow Where echo slumbers! Come join, ye Nature’s sturdiest bairns, Mourn, Spring, thou darling of the year! My wailing numbers! Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear; Thou, Sun~‘ner, while each corny spear Mourn, ilka grove the cushat kens! Shoots up its head. Ye haz’lly shaws and briery dens! Thy gay, green, flow’ry tresses shear Ye burnies, wimplin down your glens, For him that`a dead! Wi’ toddlin din, Or foaming stran g, wi’ hasty stens, Thou, Autumn, wi’ thy yellow hair, Frae lin to lin. In grief thy sallow mantle tear! Thou, Winter, hurling thro’ the air Mourn, little harebells o’er the lea; The roaring blast, Ye stately foxgloves fair to see; Wide o’er the naked world declare Ye woodhines hanging bonnilie, The worila we`ve lost! In scented bow’rs; Ye roses on your thorny tree, Mourn him, thou Sun,great source of light; The first 0’

flow’rs. Mourn, Empress of the silent night! And you, ye twinkliiag starnies bright, At dawn, when every grassy blade My Matthew mourn! Droops with a diamond at its head, For through your orbs he`a ta’en his flight, At ev’n, when beans their fragrance shed, Ne’er to return. I’ th’ rustling gale, Ye maukins whiddin thro’ the glade, 0 Henderson; the man! the brother! Come join my wail. And art thou gone, and gone forever! And hast thou crost that unknown river, Mourn, ye wee songaters 0’ the wood; Life’s dreary bound! Ye grouse that crap the heather bud; Like thee, where shall I find another, Ye curlew a calling thro’ a clud; The world around? Ye whistling plover; And mourn, ye whirring paitrick brood; Go to your sculptured tombs, ye Great, He`a gane forever! In a’ the tinsel trash 0’

state!

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LA~Y ANNE 3ARNAED. - WILLIAM BLAKE. 85 But by thy honest turf I’ll wait, They gied him my hand, though my Thou man of worth! heart was in the sea; And weep the ae best fellow’s fateAnd auld Robin Gray was gudeman to F’er lay in earth. Inc. I hadna been a wife a week but only fout When, mournfu’

as I sat on the stane at my LADY ANNE BARNARTh door, I saw my Jamie’s wraith, for I couldna (1705-1825.1 think it he, Till he said, “I`m come home, love, to AULD ROBIN GRAY, marry thee,” WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and 0, sair did we greet, and muckle say of a’! the kye come hame, I gie’d him but ae kiss, and bade him And a’ the weary wand to sleep are gane;gang awa’: The waes 0’ my heart fa’ in showers frae I wish I were dead! but I`m no like to While my ee, dee’ my gudeman lies sound by me.

And why d0 i live to cry, Wae`5 me? Young Jamie lo’ed me weel, and socht I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin me for his bride; I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad But saving a croun, he had naething be a sin; else beside; But I`11 do my best a gude wife to be, To mak that croun a pund, my Jamie For auld Robin Gray, he is kind to me. gued to sea; And the croun and the pund they were baith for me. He hadna been gane a twelvemouth and WILLIAM BLAKE. a day, When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa: (1757 - 1827.J My mither she fell sick, -my Jamie was at sea, THE

TIGER. And auld Robin Gray cam’ a-courtin’ me. TIGER! Tiger! burning bright, My father couldna work, and my mother In the forests of the night; couldna spin; What immortal hand or eye I foiled day and nicht, but their bread I Could frame thy fearful symmetry? couldua win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, In what distant deeps or skies wi’ tears in his ee’, Burned the fire of thine eyes? Said, “Jeannie, for their sakes, will ye On what wings dare he aspire? na marry me?” What the hand dare seize the fire? My heart it said nay, for I looked for And what shoulder, and what art, Jamie hack; Could twist the sinews of thine heart? But the wind~it blew high, and the ship And when thy heart began to beat, it was a wrack; What dread hand? and what dread feet? The ship it was a wrack-why didna Jamie dee? What the hammer, what the chain ~ Or why do I live to say, Wae`a me? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread g”asp My father urged me sair: my mither didna Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

speak; But she lookit in my face till my heart When the stars threw down their spears, `was like to break; And watered heaven with their tears,

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86 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Did he smile his work to see? I hear below the water roar, Did He, who ujade the Lamb, make thee? The mill Wi’

clacking dhi, And Lucky scolding frae the door, Tiger! Tiger! burning bright, To ca’ the bairnies in. In the forests of the night, 0, no! sad and slow, What immoftal hand or eye These are nae sounds for me; Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? The shadow of our trysting bush It creeps sae drearily. TO THE MUSES. I coft yestreen, frae chapman Tam, A snood 0’

bonnie Nue, WllETllER on Ida’s shady brow And promised, when our trysting cam’, Or in the chambers of the East, To tie it round her brow. -The chambers of the sun, which now 0, no! sad and slow, Fi-om ancient melodies have ceased; The mark it winna’ pass; - The shadow 0’ that dreary bush Whether in Heaven ye wander fair, Is tethered on the grass. Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air, 0 now I see her on the way! Where the melodious winds have birth, She`a past the witeWs knowe; She`a climbing up the brownies brae; Whether on crystal rocks ye rove, My heart is in a lowe, Beneath the bosom of the sea, 0, no!`t is not so, Wandering in many a coral grove,`T is glamrie I hae seen; Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry, The shadow 0’ that hawthorn bush Will move nae mair till e’en. How have you left the ancient lore That bards of old engaged in you!

My book 0’ grace I`11 try to read, The languid strings do scarcely move, Though conned wi’ little skill; The sound is forced, the notes are few.

When Collie barks I`11 raise my head, And find her on the hill. p 0, no!

sad and slow, The time will ne’er be gane; The shadow 0’ our trysting bush ~OANNA BAILLIE. Is fixed like ony stane. (1762-1831.] p THE GOWAN GLITTERS

ON TllE SWARD. LADY CAROLINE NAIRN. THE gowan glitters on the sward, (1766

- 1845.1 The lav’rock`a in the sky, And Collie on my plaid keeps ward, THE

LAND 0’ THE LEAL. And time is passing by. 0, no! sad and slow, I`M wearin’

awa’, Jean, And lengil~ened on the ground; Like snaw in a thaw, Jean, The shadow of our trysting bush I`m wearin’ awa It wears so slowly round. To the Land 0’ the Leal. There`a nae sorrow there, Jean, My sheep-bells tinkle frae the west, There`a neither cauld nor care, Jean, My lambs are bleating near; The day is ever fair But still the sound that I love best, In the Land 0’ the Leal. Alack! I canna hear. 0, no! sad and slow, You`ve been leal and true, Jean, The shadow lingers still; - Your task is ended noo, Jean, And like a lan ely ghaist I stand, And I`11 welcome you And croon upon the hill. To the Land 0’ the Leal.

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ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. 87 Then dry that tearfu’ ee, Jean; At first he looked distrustful, almost My soul langs to be free, Jean; shy, And angels wait on me And cast on me his coal-black steadfast To the Land 0’ the LeaL eye, And seemed to say, - past friendship to Our bonnie bairn`5 there, Jean, renew, - She was baith gude and fair, Jean “Ah ha! old worn-out soldier, is it you?” And we grudged her sair While thus I mused, still gazing, gazing To the Land 0’ the Leal! still, But sorrow`a self wears past, Jean On beds of moss spread on the window And joy`a a comin’ fast, Jean, sill, The joy that`5 aye to last, I deemed no moss my eyes had ever seen In the Land 0’ the Leal. Had been so lovely, brilliant, fresh, and green, A’ our friends are gane, Jean; And guessed some infant hand had placed We`ve lang been left alane, Jean; And it there, But we`11 a’ meet again prized its hue, so exquisite, so rare. In the Land 0’ the LeaL Feelings on feelings mingling, doubling rose Now fare ye weal, my ain Jean! This world’s care is vain, Jean! My heart fijt everything but calm repose; We`11 meet, and aye be fain I could not reckon minutes, hours, nor In the Land 0’ the Lea?. years, But rose at once, and bursted into tears; Then, like a fool, confused, sat down -4-again, And thought upon the past with shame and pain; ROBERT BLOOMFIELD. I raved at war and all its horrid cost, And glory’s quagmire, where the brave (1766-1823.) are lost. On carnage, fire, and plunder long I THE SOLDIER’S RETURN. mused, And cursed the murdering weapons I had How sweet it was to breathe that cooler used. air, Two shadows then I saw, two voices And take possession of my father’s chair!

heard, Beneath my elbow, on the solid frame, One bespoke age, and one a child’s apAppeared the rough luftials of my name, peared. Cut forty years before! The same old In stepped my father with convulsive clock start, Struck the same bell, and gave my heart And in an instant clasped me to his heart. a shock Close by him stood a little blue-eyed I never can forget. A short breeze maid sprung, And stoopin’g to the child, the old man And while a sigh was trembling on my said, tongue, “Come hither, Nancy, kiss me once Caught the old dangling almanacs be-again; hind This is your uncle Charles, come home And up they flew like banners in the from Spain.” wind; The child approached, and with her Then gently, singly, down, down, down fingers light they went, Stroked my old eyes, almost deprived of And told ~f twenty years that I had spent sight. Far from my native land. That instant But why thus spin my tale, -thus tedious came be? A robin on the threshold; though so Happy old soldier! what`a the world to

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88 SONGS OF TRREE CENTURIES. JANE ELLIOTT. ROBERT TANNAHILL. [1781 -

1849.] (1774-1810.J LAMENT FOR FLODDEN. THE MIDGES DANCE AI3OON THE bURN.

I`vE heard them lilting at our ewe-milk- THE midges dance aboon the burn; ing, The dews begin to fa’; Lasses a’ lilting before dawn 0’ day; The paitricks down the rushy holm But now they are moaning on ilka green Set up their e’ening Ca’. loaning-Now loud and clear the blackbird’s sang The Flowers of the Forest are a wede Rings through the briery shaw away. White flitting gay the sw,allows play At bughts, in the morning, nae blytbe Around the castle wa. lads are scorning, Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae; Beneath the golden gloam in’ sky Nae daffin’, nae gabbin’, but sighing and The mavis mends her lay; sabbing, The redbreast pours his sweetest strains, Ilk ane lifts her Thglin and`lies her To charm the ling’ring day; While weary yaldrins seem to wail away. Their little nestlings torn, In har’st, at the shearing, nae youths The merry wren, frae den to den, now are jeering, and Gaes jinking through the thorn.

Bandsters are lyart,runkled, and The roses fauld their silken leaves, gray;. The foxglove sbuts its bell; At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae The honeysuckle and the birk fleeching - The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede Spread fragrance througli the dell. Let others crowd the giddy court away. Of mirth and revelry, At e’en, in the gloaming, nae younk ers The simple joys that Nature yields are roaming Are dearer far to me. `Bout stacks wi’ the lasses at bogle to play; But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her THE bRAES 0’ 3ALQUm~. dearie - The Flowers of the Forest are weded LET us go, lassie, go, away. To the braes 0’ Balquhither, Where the blae-berries grow Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads`Mang the bonnie Highland heather; to the Border! Where the deer and the roe, The English, for ance, by guile wan Lightly bounding together, the day; Sport the lang summer day The Flowers of the Forest, that fought On the braes 0’

Baiquhither. The aye the foremost, pflme of our land, are cauld in will twine thee a bower the da. By the clear siller fountain, And I`11 cover it o’er We`11 hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-Wi’ the flowers of the mountain; milking; I will range through the wilds, Women and bairns are heartless and And the deep glens me drearie, wae; And return wi’ the spoiL~ sighing and moaning on ilka green loan-To the bower 0’ my dearie.

ing The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede When the rude wintry win’ away.

Idly raves round our dwelling,

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WILLIAM R. SPENCER. JOSEPH BLANCO WHITE. 89 And the roar of the linn The snn is not set, but is risen on high, On the night breeze is swelling, Nor long in corruption his body shall lie; So merrily we`11 sing, Then let not the tide of thy griefs over As the storm rattles o’er us, flow, Till the dear shieling ring Nor the music of heaven be discord below; Wi’ the light lilting choru~ Rather loud be the song, and triumphant the chord, Now the summer`5 in prime Let us joy for the dead who have died in Wi’ the flowers richly blooming, the Lord. And the wild mountain thyme A’ the moorlands perfuming; Go, call for the mourners, and raise the To our dear native scenes lament, Let us journey together, Let the tresses be torn, and the garments Where glad innocence reigns be rent; `Mang the braes o’

Balquliither. But give to the living thy passion of tears, Who walk in this valley of sadness and fears; Who are pressed by the combat, in dark ness are lost, WILLIAM R. SPENCER. By the tempest are beat, on the billows are tossed: [1770-1834.) 0, weep not for those who shall sorrow no more, TO THE LADV ANNE HAMILTON. Whose warfare is ended, whose trial is Too late I stayed, forgive the crime, Let o’er; Unheeded flew the hours; the song be exalted, triumphant the chord, How noiseless falls the foot of Time And rejoice for the dead who have died That only treads on flowers! in the Lord. What eye with clear account remarks The ebbing of his glass, When all its sands are diamond sparks That dazzle as they pass! JOSEPH BLANCO

WHITE. Ah! who to sober measurement (177s -1841.) Time’s happy swiftness brings, When birds of Paradise have lent NIGHT AND DEATH. Their plumage to its wings? MYsTERIoUS night! when our first par. ent knew Theefrom report Divine, and heard thy name, JAMES GLAS SFORD. Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, This glorious canopy of light and blue? [1772-.] Yet,`neath a curtain of translucent dew, Bathed in the rays of the great setting THE

DEAD WHO HAVE DIED IN THE flame, LORD. Hesperus, with the host of heaven,, came, And lo! creation widened in man s view. Go, call for the mourners, and raise the Who could have thought such darkness lament, lay concealed Let the tresses be torn, and the garments Within thy beams, 0 sun! or who be rent; could find, But weep not for him who is gone to Whilst fly, and leaf~ an~ insect stood his rest, revealed, Nor mourn for the ransomed, nor wail That to such countless orba thou for the blest. znad’st us blind?

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90 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Why do we, then, shun death with anx-I crossed the tedious ocean-wave, ious strife? To roam in cihues unkind and new. If light can thus deceive, wherefore not The cold wind of the stranger blew life? Chill on my withered heart: the grave ______ Dark and untimely met my view, - And all for thee, vile yellow slave! JOHN L1~YDLN.

Ha! omest thou 110W 50 late to mock A wanderer’s banished heart forlorn, (1775-I8II.J Now that his frame the lightning shock Of sun-rays tipt with death has borne ODE TO AN INDIAN GOLD COIN. From love, from friendship, country, WaITTEN torn, IN cNEalcAL, MALABAR. To memory’s fond regrets the prey, SLAVE of the dark and dirty mine! Yile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn! What vanity has brought thee here? Go mix thee with thy kindred clay! How can I love to see thee shine So bright, whom I have bought so p dear? The tent-ropes flapping lone I bear, For twilight converse, arm in arm; IR llUMPllI~Y DAVY. The jackal’s shriek bursts on mine ear Whom mirth and music wont to charm. (1778 - 1829.J By Ch6rical’s dark wandering streams, WRITTEN AFTER RECOVERY FROM Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild, A DANGEROUS ILLNESS. Sweet visions haunt my wakin gdreams Of Teviot loved while still a child, Lo! o’er the earth the kindling spirits Of castled rocks stupendous piled pour By Esk or Eden’s classic wave The flames of life that bounteous na Where loves of youth and ~~riendship ture gives; smiled, The limpid dew becomes the rosy flower, Uncursed by thee, vile yellow slave! The insensate dust awakes, and moves, and lives. Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory All speaks of change: the renovated fade!

The perished bliss of youth’sflrstprime, Of forms That once so bright on fancy played, long-forgotten things arise again; Revives no more in after time. The light of suns, the breath of angry Far from my sacred natal clime, storms, I baste to an untimely grave; The everlasting motions of the main, - The daring thoughts that soared sub lime These are but engines of the Eternal Are sunk in ocean’s southern wave. will, The One Intelligence, whose potent Slave of the mine! thy yellow light sway Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear. Has ever acted, and is acting still, A gentle vision comes by night Whilst stars, and worlds, and systems My lonely widowed heart to cheer; all obey; Her eyes are dim with many a tear, That once were guiding stars to mine: Without whose power, the whole of mor Her fond heart throbs with many a tal things fear! Were dull, inert, an unharmonious I cannot bear to see thee shine. band, Silent as are the harp’s untun6d strings For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave, Without the touches of the poet’s I left a heart that loved me true! hand.

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GEORGE CROLY..91 Asacred spark created by His breatb, To govern others by an influence strong The immortal mind of man His image As that high law which moves the bears murmuring main, A spirit iivin’g`midst the forms 6f death, Raising and carrying all its waves along, Oppressed but not subdued by mortal Beneath the fnll-orbed moon’s merid cares; ian reign; A germ, preparing in the winter’s frost To scan how transient is the breath of To rise, and bud, and blossom in the praise, spring; A winter’s zephyr trembling on the An unfledged eagle by the tempest tossed, snow, Unconscious of his future strength of Chilled as it moves; or, as the northern wing; rays, First fading in the centre, whence they The child of trial, to mortality flow. And all its changeful influences given On the green earth decreed to move and To live in forests mingled with the wbole die, Of natural forms, whose generations And yet by such a fate prepared for rise, heaven. In lovely change, in happy order roll, Soon as it breathes, to feel the mother’s On land, in ocean, in the glittering form skies; Of orhed beauty through its organs Their harmony to trace; the Eternal cause thrill, To know in love, in reverence to adore; ~~ press the limbs of life with rapture To bend beneath the inevitable laws, warm, And drink instinctive of a living rill; Sinking in deatb, its human strength no more! 0 view the skies with morning radiance Then, as awakening from a dream of bright Majestic mingling with the ocean blue, pain, 9r bounded by green hills, or mountains Wfth joy its mortal feelings to re white, Yet ~~sign; Or peopled plains of rich and varied The its living essence to retain, hue; undying energy of strength divine! j’he nobler cbarms astonished to behold, To quit the burdens of its earthly days, To ive to nature all her borrowed Of living loveliness, -to see it move, Dast in expression’s rich and varied powers, - mould, Ethereal fire to feed the solar rays, Awakening sympathy, compelling love; Ethereal dew to glad the earth with showers. i’he heavenly balm of mutual hope to taste, Soother of life, affliction’s bliss to GEORGE CROLY. share; weet as the stream amidst the desert [1780 - i56o~l waste, As the first blush of arctic daylight cu~rn GROWN CAREFUL. fair; THERE was once a gentle time “0 mingle with its kindred, to descry When the world was in its prime; The path of power; in public life to And every day was holiday, shine; And every month was lovely May. “0 gain the voice of popularity, Cupid then had but to go The idol of to.day, the man divine; With his purple wing~ and bow;

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92 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. And in blossomed vale and grove Come, press my lips, and lie with Every shepherd knelt to love. me Beneath the lowly alder-tree, Then a rosy, dimpled cheek, And we will sleep a pleasant sleep, And a blue eye, fond and meek; And not a care shall dare intrude, And a ringlet-wreathen brow, To break the marble solitude Like byaciuths on a bed of snow: So peaceful and so deep. And a low voice, silver sweet, From a lip without deceit; And hark! the wind-god, as he flies, Only those the hearts could move Moans hollow in the forest trees, Of the simple swains to love. And sailin~ on the gusty breeze, Mysterious music dies.

But that time is gone and past, Sweet flower! that requiem wild is Can the summer always last? mine, And the swains are wiser grown, It warns me to the lonely shrine, And the beart is turned to stone, The cold turf altar of the dead; And the maiden’s rose may wither; My grave shall be in yon lone spot, Cupid`a fled, no man knows whither. Where as I lie, by all forgot, But another Cupid`a come, A dying fragrance thou wilt o’er my With a brow of care and gloom: ashes shed. Fixed upon the earthly mould, Thinking of the sullen gold; In his hand the bow 1)0 more, At his back the household store, TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE. That the bridal gold must buy: M

Useless now the smile and sigh: ILD offspring of a dark and sullen sire!

But be wears the pinion still, Whose modest form, so delicately fine, Flying at the sight of ill. Was nursed in whirling storms, 0, for the old true-love time, And cradled in the winds. When the world was in its prime!

Thee, when young Spring first questioned p Winter’s sway, And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight, HENRY KIRKE WHITE. Thee on this bank he threw To mark his victory. F17S3 - i806.] TO THE HERB ROSEAARY. In fliis low vale, the promise of the year, S~~v-sc~~v~~ flower! who`rt wont to Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale, bloom Unnoticed and alone, <)n January’s front severe, And o’er the wintry desert drear Thy tender elegance. To waft thy waste perfume! Come, thou shalt form my nosegay now, So virtue blooms, brought forth amid And I will bind thee round my brow; the storms And as I twine the mournful wreath, Of chill adversity; in some lone walk I`11 weave a melancholy song: Of life she rears her head, And sweet the strain shall be and long, Obscure and unobserved; The melody of death. While every bleaching breeze fliat on her Come, funeral flower! who lov’st to dwell Nows With the pale corpse in lonely tomb, Chastens her spotless purity of breast, And throw across the desert gloom And hardens her to bear A sweet decaying smell. Serene the ills of life.

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HERBERT KNOWLES. 93 THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. But the shadows of eve that ~compass the gloom, WHEN marshalled on the nightly plain, The abode of the dead and the place of The glittering host bestud the sky; the tomb. One star alone, of all the train, Can fix the sinner’s wandering eye. Shall we build to Ambition? 0, no! Affrighted, he shrinketh away; Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks For, see! they would pin him be. From every host, from every gem:` low, But one alone the Saviour speaks, In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with It is the Star of Bethlehem. cold clay, To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a Once on the raging seas I rode, prey. The storm was loud, the night was To Beauty? ah, no! - she forgets dark, The charms which she wielded beforeThe ocean yawned, and rudely b]owed Nor knows the foul worm that he The wind that tossed my foundering frets bark.

The skin which but yesterday fools could adore, Deep horror then my vitals froze, For the smoothness it held, or the tint Death-struck, I ceased the tide to which it wore. stem; When suddenly a star arose, - Shall we build to the purple of It was the Star of Bethlehem. Pride - The trappings which dizen the proud? Alas! they are all laid aside; It was my guide, my light, my all, And here`a neither dress nor adornment It bade my dark forebodings cease; allowed, And through the storm and dangers’ But the long winding.sheet and the fringe thrall, of the shroud. It led me to the port of peace. To Riches? alas!`t is in vain; Now safely moored, my perils o’er, Who hid, in their turn have been hid: I`11 sing, first in night’s diadem, The treasures are squandered again; Foi’ever and forevermore And here in the grave are all metals for. The Star!-the Star of Bethlehem! But bid, the tinsel that shines on the dark coffin-lid. To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, - HERBERT KNOWLES. The revel, the laugh, and the jeer?

Ah! here is a pThntifiil board! (1798-1827.] But the guests are all mute as their piti. ful cheer, LINES WRITTEN IN RICHMO~D And none but the worm is a reveller CHURCHYARD, YORKSHIRE. here. “It is good for us to be here; if thou wilt, Shall we build to Affection and let us make here three tabernacles; one for Love? thee, and one for Moses, and one for Elias.” -

MATT. Xvii. 4. Ah, no! they have withered and died, Or fled with the spirit above; M~vixs it is good to be here; Friends, brothers, and sisters are laid side If thou wilt, let us build - but for by side, whom?

Yet none have saluted, and none have Nor Elias nor Moses appear, replied.

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94 SONGS OF TflRE~ C1~~TURIES. Unto Sorrow? The dead cannot Beneath-the cold dead, and around grieve; the dark stone, Not a sob, not a sigh meets mine ear, Are the signs of a sceptre that none may Which compassion itself could re-disown! lieve! Ah! sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love, The first tabernacle to Hope we will nor fear, - build, Peace, peace is the watchword, the only And look for the sleepers around us to rise; one here!

The second to Faith, which insures it fulfilled; Unto Death, to whom monarchs must And the third to the Lamb of the great bow? sacrifice, Ah, no! for his empire is known, Who bequeathed us them both when he And here there are trophies enow I rose to the skies.

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FROM WORDSWORTH TO LONGFELLOW.

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FROM WORDSWORTH TO LONGFELLOW. WILLIAM WORD~WORTll. The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep, - No more shall grief of mine the season (1770-i5~o.J I hear wrong: INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY the echoes through the mountains throng, FR0bf REcOLLECTIONS OF E~mY Cni~noom The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, THERE was a time when meadow, grove, And all the earth is gay; and stream, Land and sea The earth, and every common sight, Give themselves up to jollity, To me did seem And with the heart of May Apparelled in celestial light, Doth every beast keep holiday; - The glory and the freshness of a dream. Thou child of joy, It is not now as it hath been of yore;- Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, Turn wheresoe’er I may, thou happy shepherd boy! By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can Ye blessed creatures, I have heard the see no more. call Ye to each other make; I see The rainbow comes and goes, The heavens laugh with you in your And lovely is the rose; jubilee; The moon doth with delight My heart is at your festival, Look round her when the heavens are The My head bath its coi~iial, bare; fnlness of your bliss, I feel - I feel it all. ~~aters on a starry night 0 evil day! if I were sullen Are beautiful and fair; While Earth herself is adon~ing, Tbe sunshine is a glorious birth: This sweet May morning, But yet I know, where’er I go, And the children are culling, That there hath passed away a glory from On every side, the earth. In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous warm, And song the young lambs bound And the babe leaps up on his mother’s whil’e arm: - As to the tabor’s sound, I hear, I bear, with joy I hear! To me alone there came a thought of - But there`a a tree, of many one, gnef; A single field which I have looked A timely utterance gave that thought upon, relief, Both of them speak of something that is And I again am strong. gone;

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98 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. The pansy at my feet A wedding or a festival, Doth the same tale repeat. A mourning or a funeral, - Whither is fled the visionary gleam? And this hath now his heart, Where is it now, the glory and the And unto this he frames his song: dream? Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife; Our birth is but a sleep and a forget-But it will not be long ting: Ere this he thrown aside, The soul that rises with us, our life’s And with new joy and pride star, The little actor cons another part; Hath had elsewhere its setting, Filling from time to time his humorous And cometh from afar; stage Not in entire forgetfulness, With all the persons, down to palsied age, And not in utter nakedness, That Life brings with her in her e~upage; But trailing clouds of glory, do we come As if his whole vocation From God, who is our home: Were endless imitation. Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Thou, whose exterior semhlance doth belie Upon the growing boy; Thy soul’s immensity; But he beholds the light, and wheiice it Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep flows, - Thy heritage; thou eye among the blind, He sees it in his joy. That, deaf and silent, read’st the eternal The youth who daily farther from the deep, east Haunted forever by the eternal mind, - Must travel, still is Nature’s priest, Mighty prophet! Seer blest! And by the vision splendid On whom those truths do rest Is on his way attended; Which we are toiling all our lives to find, At length the man perceives it die In darkuesslost, thedarkuess of the grave; And away, Thou, over whom thy immortality fade into the light of common Broods like the day, a master o’er a slave, day.

A presence which is not to be put by; Thou liftie d~ild, yet glorious in the might Earthfills her lap with pleasures of her Of heaven-born freedom, on thy being’s own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural Why height, kind, with such earnest pains dost thou provoke And even with something of a mother’s The years to bring the inevitable yoke, mind, Thus blindly with thy blessedness at And no unworthy aim, strife? The homely nurse doth all she can Full soon thy soul shall have her earthly To make her foster-child, her inmate man, freight, Forget the glories he hath known, And custom lie upon thee with a weight And that imperial palace whence he came. Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! Behold the child among his new-born 0 joy! that in our embers blisses, Is something that doth live; A six years’ darling of a pygmy size! That Nature yet remembers See where mid work of his own hand he What was so fugitive! lies, The thought of our past years in me doth Fretted by sallies of his mother’s kisses, breed With light upon him from his father’s Perpetual benediction: not indeed eyes! For that which is most worthy to be See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, blest; Some fragment from his dream of human Delight and liberty, the simple creed life, Of childhood, whether busy or at rest, Shaped by himself with newly learned With new-fledged hope still fluttering in art, - - his breast

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wILMAM WORDSWORTH. 99 Not for these I raise And 0 ye fountains, meadows, hills, and The song of thanks and praise; groves, But for those obstinate questionings Forebode not any severing of our loves! Of sense and outward things, Yet in my heart of hearts I feel yourmight; Fallings from us, vanishings, I only have relinquished one delight, Blank misgivings of a creature To live beneath your more habitual sway. Moving about in worlds not realized, I love the brooks which down their High instincts before which our mortal channels fret, nature Even more than when I tripped lightly Did tremble like a guilty thing surprised: as they; But for those first affections, The innocent brightness ofanew.bornday Those shadowy recollections, Is lovely yet; Which, be they what they may, The clouds that gather round the setting Are yet the fountain light of all our day, sun Are yet a master light of all our seeing; Do take a sober coloring from an eye Uphold us, cherish, and have power That bath kept watch o’er man’s mor to make tality; Our noisy years seem moments in the being Another race hath been, and other palms Of the eternal silence: truths that wake, are won. To perish never; Thanks to the human heart by which we Which neither listlessness, nor mad en-live, deavor, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys and Nor man nor boy, fears, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, To me the meanest flower that blows can Can utterly abolish or destroy! give Hence, iii a season of calm weather, Thoughts that do often lie too deep for Though inland far we be, tears. Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither; Can in a moment travel thither, THE DAFr’ODILs. And see the children sport upon the shore And hear the mighty waters rolling ever’- WANT)ERE lonely as a cloud more. That floats on high o’er avales and hills, I saw crowd, Then, sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous A host of golden daffodils, song! Beside the lake, beneath the trees, And let the young lambs bound Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. As to the tabor’s sound! Continuous as the stars that shine We,in thought, will join your throng, And twinkle on the Milky Way, Ye that pipe and ye that play, They stretched in never-ending line Ye that through your hearts to-day Along the margin of a bay: Feel the gladness of the May! Ten thousand saw I at a glance, What though the radiance which was Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. once so bright Be now forever taken from my sight; The waves beside them danced, but they Thoughnothingcanbringbackthehour Outdid the sparkling waves in glee: Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the A poet could not but be gay flower, In such a jocund company! We will grieve not, rather find I gazed-and gazed-but little thought Strength in what remains behind; What wealth the show to me had brought; In the primal sympathy Which, having been, must ever be; For oft, when on my couch I lie In the soothing thoughts that spring In vacant or in pensive mood, Out of human suffering; They flash upon that inward eye: In the faith that looks through death, Which is the bliss of solitude:: In years that bring the philosophic And then my heart with pleasure fi)’~ mini And dances with the daffodils.

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100 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. TO THE CUCKOO. “She shall be sportive as the fawn, That wild with glee across the lawn O BLITHE new-comer! I have heard, Or up the mountain springs; I hear thee, and rejoice: And hers shall be the breathing balm, O cuckoo! shall I call thee bird, And hers the silence and the calm, Or but a wandering voice? Of mute insensate things. While I am lying on the grass “The floating clouds their state shall Thy twofold shout I bear; lend From hill to hill it seems to pass, To her; for her the willow bend; At once far off and near. Nor shall she fail to see Though babbling only to the vale E’en in the motious of the storm Of sunshine and of flowers, Grace that shall mould the maiden’s forrn Thou bringest unto me a tale By silent sympathy. Of visionary hours.

“The stars of midnight shall be dear Thrice welcome, darling of the spnncr! To her; and she shall lean her ear Even yet thou art to me In many a secret place, No bird, but an invisible thing, Where rivulets dance their wayward A voice, a mystery; round, And beauty boru of murmuring sound The same whom in my school-boy days Shall pass into her face. I listened to; that cry Which made me look a thousand ways, “And vital feelings of delight In bush and tree and sky. Shall rear her form to stately height, Her virgin bosom swell; To seek thee did I often rove Such thoughts to Lucy I will give Through woods and on the green; While she and I together live And thou weft still a hope, a love; Here in this happy delL” Still longed for, never seen! Thus Nature spak e. The work was done - And I can listen to thee yet; How soon my Lucy’s race was run! Can lie upon the plain She died, and left to me And listen, till I do beget This heath, this calm and quiet scene; That golden time again. The memory of what has been, And nevermore will be. 0 blesse’d bird! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial, fairy place That is fit home for thee! SHE WAS A PIlANTOM OF DELIGHT. - SHE was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A MEMORY. A lovely appan.t~on, sent To be a moment’s ornament; THREE years she grew in sun and shower; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Then Nature said, “A lovelier flower Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair; On earth was never sown: But all things else about her drawn This child I to myself will take; From May-time and the cheerful dawn; She shall be mine, and I will make A dancing shape, an image gay, A lady of my owm To haunt, to startle, and waylay. “Myself will to my darling be I saw her upon nearer view, Both law and impulse; and with me A spirit, yet a woman too! The girl, in rock and plain, Her household motions light and free, ;n earth and heaven, in glade and bower, And steps of virgin llb~ft~~~~~ meet ~~hafl feel overseeing power A countenance in which To kindle or restrain. Sweet records, promises as sweet;

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WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 101 A creature not too bright or good “0, green,” said I, “are Yarrow’s For human nature’s daily food, boims, For transient sorrows, simple wil~s, And sweet is Yarrow flowing! Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and Fair bangs the apple frae the rock, smiles. But we will leave it growing. O’er hilly path and open strath And now I see with eye serer’e We`11 wander Scotland thorough; The very pulse of the mach~ne; But, though so near, we will not turn A being breathing thoughtftil breath, Into the dale of Yarrow. A traveller between life and death; The reason firm, the te~perate will, Endurance, foresight, rength, and skill “Let beeves and home-bred kine partake A perfect woman, nobly planned` The sweets of Burn Mill meadow; To warn, to comf6~, and command; The swan on still Saint Mary’s Lake And yet a spir;~ still, and brigbt Float double, swan and shadow! With something of an angel light. We will not see them; will not go To-day, nor yet to-morrow; Enough if in our hearts we know There`a such a place as Yarrow. YARROW UNVISITETh “Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! FRoM Stirling Castle we bad seen The mazy Forth unravelled; It unist, or we shall rue it: Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay, We have a vision of our own; And with the Tweed had travelled; Ah!

why should we undo it? And when we came to Clovenford, The treasured dreams of times long past, We`11 keep them, winsome Marrow! Then said my “winsome Marrow,” For when we`re there, although`t is fafr, “Whate’er betide, we`11 turn aside, And see the Braes of Yarrow.”`T will be another Yarrow! “Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, “If care with freezing years should come, Who have been buying, selling, And wandei~ng seem but folly, - Go back to Yarrow,`t is their own, Should we be loath to stir from home, Each maiden to her dwelling! And yet he melancholy; On Yarrow’s banks let herons feed, Should life he dull, and spirits low, Hares couch, and rabbits burrow!`T will soothe us in our sorrow But we will downward with the Tweed, That earth has something yet to show, Nor turn aside to Yarrow.

The bonny holms of Yarrow’!” “There`a Calls Water, Leader Haughs, Both lying right before us; And Dryburgh, where with chiming ON A PICTURE OF

PEELE CASTLE IN Tweed A STORM. The lintwhites sing in chorus; There`a pleasmit Teviotdale, a land PAINTED av Sia GEonuE l3EAUM0NT. Made blithe with plough and harrow: Why throw away a needful day I WAS thy neighbor once, thou rugged To go in search of Yarrow 1 pile! Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of “What`a Yarrow but a river bare, thee: That glides the dark hills under 1 1 saw thee every day; and all the while There are a thousand such eThewbere Thy form was sleeping on a glassy sea. As worthy of your wonder.” - Strange words they seemed of slight So pure the sky, so quiet was the air! and scorn; So like, so very like, was day to day! My true-love sighed for sorrow, Wbene’er I looked, thy image still was Mid looked me in the face, to think there; I thus could speak of Yarrow! It trembled, but it n’iver passed away.

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102 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. How perfect was the calm! It seemed That hulk which labors in the deadly no sleep, swell, No mood, which season takes away, or This meful sky, this pageantry of fear! brings: I could have fancied that the mighty And this huge castle, standing here sub Deep lime, Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. I love to see the look with which it braves - Ah! then if mine had been the painter’s Cased in the unfeeling armor of oli hand timeTo express what then I saw; and add The lightning, the fierce wind, and tramp the gleam, ling waves. The light that never was on sea or land, The consecration, and the poet’s dream, -

Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, I would have planted thee, thou hoary Housed in a dream, at distance from the pile, Amid a world how different from this! Such happiness, wherever it be known, Beside a sea that could not cease to smile; Is to be pitied; for`t is surely blind. On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, A picture had it been of lasting ease, And frequent sights of what is to be Elysian quiet, without toil or strife; borne! No motion but the moving tide, a breeze; Such sights, or worse, as are before me Or merely silent Nature’s breathing life. here: - Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, Such picture would I at that time have made; And seen the soul of tnith in every part, ODE TO

DUTY. A steadfast peace that might not be betrayed. Sv~n~ daughter of the voice of God! 0 Duty! if fl~at name thou love, So once it would have been, -`t is so no Who art a ]ight to guide, a rod more; To check the erring, and reprove; I have submitted to a new control: Thou who art victory and law A power is gone, which nothing can When empty terrors overawe, restore; From vain temptations dost set free, A deep distress hath humanized my soul. And calm’st the weary strife of frail hu manity! Not for a moment could I now behold A smiling sea, and be what I have been: There are who ask not if thine eye The feeling of my loss will ne’er be Be on them; who, in love and truth, old; Where no misgiving is, rely This, which I know, I speak with mind Upon the genial sense of youth: serene.

Glad hearts! without reproach or blot; Who do thy work, and know it not: Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would May joy be theirs while life shall last!

have been the friend, And thou, if they shoU~ totter, teach If he had lived, of him whom I deplore, them to stand fast! This work of thine I blame not, but com mend; Serene will be our days and bright, This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. And happy will our nature be, When love is an unerring light, 0,`t is a passionate work!-yet wise and And joy its own security. well, And blest are they who in the main Well chosen is the spirit that is here; This faith, even now, do entertain:

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WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. 103 Live in the spirit of this creed; Must hear, first uttered from my orchar~ Yet find that other strength, according to trees, their need. And the first cuckoo’s melancholy cry. I, loving freedom, and untried, Even thus last night, and two nights No sport of every random gust, more I lay, Yet being to myself a guide, And could not win thee, Sleep! by any Too blindly have reposed my trnst stealth: Full oft, when in my heart was heard So do not let me wear tonight away: Thy timely mandate, I deferred Without thee what is all the morning’s The task imposed, from day to day; wealth? But thee I now would serve more strict-Come, blessed harrier between day and ly, if I may. day, Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous Throngh no disturbance of my soul, health! Or strong compunction in me wrought, - I supplicate for thy control; THE

WORLD. But in the quietness of thought: Me this unchartered freedom tires; THE world is too much with us; late and I feel the weight of chance desires: soon, My hopes no more must change their Getting and spending, we lay waste our name, powers: I long for a repose which ever is the same.

Little we see in nature that is ours; Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear We have given our hearts a~ ay, a sordid boon! The Godhead’s most benignant grace; This sea that bares her bosom to the Nor know we anything so fair moon, As is the smile upon fl~y face. The winds that will be howling at all Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, hours And fragrance in thy footing treads; And are up~ath&red now like sleeping Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong, flowers, And the most ancient heavens, through For this, for everything, we are out of thee, are fresh and strong. tune; To humbler functions, awful power! It moves us not.

Great God! I’d rather I call thee: I myself commend he Unto thy guidance from this hour-A pagan suckled in a creed outworn; 0, let my weakness have an end! So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Give unto me, made lowly wise, Have glimpses that would make me less The spirit of self-sacrifice; forlorn, The confidence of reason give; Have sight of Proteus coming from the And, in the light of truth, thy bondman Or sea, let me live! hear old Triton blow his wreath6d horn. TO SLEEP. TO THE

RIVER DUDDON. A FL0CW of sheep that leisurely pass by I THOUGHT of thee, my partner and my One after one; the sound of rain, and bees guide, Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds As being passed away, -vain sympa and seas, thies! Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and For backward, Duddon! as I cast my pure sky; - eyes, I see what was, and is, and will abide: I`ve thought of all by turns, and still I Still glides the stream, and shall forever lie glide; Sleepless; and soon the small birds’ The form remains, the function never melodies dies;

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104 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. While we, the brave, the mighty, and “0, come ye in peace here, or come ye in the wise, war, We men, who in our morn of youth Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord defied Lochinvar?” The elements, must vanish -be it so! Enough, if something from our hands “I long wooed your daughter, my suit have power you denied: To live, and act, and serve the future Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like hour; its tide! And if, as toward the silent tomb we And now aui I come, with this lost love go, of mine, Through love, through hope, and faith’s To lead but one measure, drink one cup transcendent dower, of wine! We feel that we are greater than we know. There be maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, ______ That would gladly be bride to the young p Lochinvar!” SIR WALTER

SCOTT. The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, E‘771 - 1832.]

He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup! YOUNG LOCHINVAR. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 0, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the With a smile on her lips and a tear in west, her eye.

Through all the wide Border his steed He took her soft hand, ere her mother was the best; could bar, - &nd save his good broadsword he weapon “Now tread we a measure!” said young had none, Lochinvar. lie rode all unarmed, and lie rode all alone. So stately his form, and so lovely her So faithful in love, and so dauntless in face, war, That never a hall such a galliard did There never was knight like the young grace!

Lochinvar! While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, He stayed not for brake, and he stopped And the bridegroom stood dangling his not for stone, bonnet and plume, He swam the Eak River where ford there And the bride-maidens whispered, was none; “`T were better by far But, ere be alighted at Netherby gate, To have matched our fair cousin with The bride had consented, the gallant came young Lochinvar!” late: For a laggard in love, and a dastard in One touch to her hand, and one word in war, her ear Was to~wed the fair Ellen of brave Loch. When they reached the ball door, and invar. the charger stood near, So light to the croupe the fair lady he So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, swung, `Mong bridesnien, and kinsmen, and So light to the saddle before her he brothers, and all!

sprung. Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand “She is won! we are gone, over bank, on his sword, - bush, and scaur; For the poor craven bridegroom said They`11 have fleet steeds that follow I” never a word, - quoth young Lochinvar.

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SIR WALTER SCOTT. 105 Therewas mounting`mong Gr~mes of LAY OF THE

IMPRISONED 1IITNT~ the Netherby clan; MAN. Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they MY hawk is tired of perch and hood rode and they ran; There was racing and chasing on Canno - My idle greyhound loathes his fooa, My horse is weary of his stall, bie Lea, And I am sick of captive thralL But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did wish I were as I have been, they see! Hunting the hart in forests green, So daring in love, and so dauntless ~ With bended bow and hloodhound free, war, For that`a the life is meet for me. Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochiiivar?

I hate to learn the ebb of time - From yon dull steeple’s drowsy chime, Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, A SERENADE. I~h after inch, along the wall.

AH! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The lark was wont my matins ring, The sun has left the lea, The sable rook my vespers sing; The orange-flower perfuines the bower, These towers, alil~ough a king’s they be, The breeze is 011 the sea. Have not a hall of joy for me. The lark, his lay who trilled all day, Sits hushed his partner nigh; No more at dawning morn I rise, Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour, And sun myself in Ellen’s eyes, But where is County Guy? Drive the fleet deer the forest through, And homeward wend with evening dew; The village maid steals through the shade A hlfthesome welcome blithely meet, Her shepherd’s suit to hear; And lay my trophies at her feet, To Beauty shy, by lattice high, While fled the eve on wing of glee, - Sings highborn Cavalier. That life is lost to love and me! The star of Love, all stars above, Now reigns o’er earth and sky, And high and low the influence know, - THE TROSACHS. But where is County Guy? THE western waves of ebbing day - Rolled o’er the glen their level way; SONG. Each purple peak, each flinty spire, Was bathed in floods of living fire. “A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, But not a setting beam could glow A weary lot is thine! Within the dark ravines below, To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, Where twined the pdth, in shadow hid, And press the rue for wine! Bound many a rocky pyramid, A lightsome eye, a soldier’s mien, Shooting abruptly from the deli A feather of the blue, Its thnnder-splintered pinnacle; A doublet of the Liucoln-~~een - Round many an insulated mass, No more of me you knew, The native bulwarks of the pass, My love! Huge as the tower which builders vain No more of me you knew. Presumptuous piled on Shinar’s plain. Th~ir rocky summits, split and rent, “This morn is merry June, 1 trow, - Formed turret, dome, or battlement, The rose is budding fain; Or seemed fantastically set But she shall bloom in winter snow With cupola or minaret, Ere we two meet again.”

Wild crests as pagod ever decked, He turned his charger as he spake, Or mosque of Eastern architect. Upon the river shore; Nor were these earth-born castles bare, He gave his bridle-reins a shake, Nor lacked they many a banner fair; Said, “Adieu forevermore, For, from their shivered brows displayed, My love! Far o’er the unfathomable glade, Alld adieu forevermore.” All twinkling with the (lee-drop sheen,

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106 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. The brier-rose fell in streamers green, Loch-Katrine lay beneath him rolled; And creeping sliriibs of thousand dyes, In all her length far winding lay, Waved in the west-wind’s summer sighs. With promontory, creek, and bay, And islands that, empiirpled bright, Boon natnre scattered, free and wild, Floated amid the livelier light; Eachplantorflower, the mountain’s child. And mountains, that like giants stand, Here eglantine embalmed the air, To sentinel enchanted land.

Hawthorn and hazel mingled there; High on tlie south, huge Ben-venue The primrose pale, and violet flower, Down to the lake in masses threw Found in each cliff a narrow bower; Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly Foxglove and nightshade, side by side, hurled, Emblems of pnnishment and pride, The fragments of an earlier world; Grouped their dark hues with every stain, A wildering forest feathered o’er The weather-beaten crags retain. His ruined sides and summit boar, With boughs that quaked at every breath, While on the north, through niiddle air, Gray birch and aspen wept beneath; Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare. Aloft, the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock; From the steep promontory gazed And higher yet, the pine-tree hung The stranger, raptured and amazed, His shattered trunk, and frequent flung, And “What a scene were here,” he cried, Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, “For princely pomp or churchman’s His boughs athwart the narrowed sky. pride! Highest of alhwhere white peaks glanced, On this bold brow, a lordly tower; Where glistening streamers waved and In that soft vale, a lady’s bower; danced, On yonder meadow, far away, The wanderer’s eye could barely view The turrets of a cloister gray; The summer heaven’s delicious blue; How blithely might the bugle-horn So wondrous wild, the whole might seem Chide, on tlie lake, the lingering morn! The scenery of a fairy dream. How sweet, at eve, the lover’s lute, Onward, amid the copse`gan peep Chime, when the groves are still and A narrow inlet, still and deep, mute!

Affording scarce such breadth of brim, And when the midnight moon shonidlave As served the wild-duck’s brood to swim; Her forehead in the silver wave, Lost for a space, through thickets veering, How solemn on the ear would come But broader when again appearing. The holy matins’ distant hum, Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face While the deep peal’s commanding tone Could on the dark-blue mirror trace; Shonld wak~ in yonder islet lone, And farther as the hunter strayed, A sainted hermit from his cell, Still broader sweep its channels made. To drop a bead with every knell, - The shaggy mounds no longer stood, And bugle, lute, and bell, aiid all, Emerging from entangled wood, Should each bewildered stranger call But, wave-encircled, seemed to float, To friendly feast and lighted hall.” Like castle girdled with its moat; Yet broader floods extending still, Divide them from their parent hill, Till each, retiriiig, claims to be CORONACH. An islet in an inland sea. HE is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, And now, to issue from the glen, Like a sunimer-dried fountain, No pathway meets the wanderer’s ken, When our need was the sorest. Unless he climb, with footing nice, The font reappearing A far-projecting precipice. From the rain-drops shall borrow; The broom’s tough roots his ladder made, But to us conies no cheering, The hazel saplings lent their aid; To Duncan no morrow! And thus an airy point he won, Where, gleaniing with the setting sun, The hand of the reaper One burnished sheet of living gold, Takes the ears that are hoary,

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SIR WALTER SCOTT. 107 But the voice of the weepe~ CllRIS~A~TIME. Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds, rushing, HEAP on more wood -the wind is clillI; Waft the leaves that are searest; But let it whistle as it will, But our flower was in flushing, We`11 keep our Christmas merry still. When blighting was nearest. Each age has deemed the new-born year The fittest time for festal cheer: Fleet foot on the correi, Even heathen yet, the savage Dane Sage counsel in cumber, At lol more deep the mead did drain; Red hand in the foray, High on the beach his galleys drew, How sound is thy slumber! And feasted all his pirate crew; Like the dew on the mountain, Then in his low and pine-built hall, Like the foam on the river, Where shields and axes decked the Like the bubble on the fountain, wall, Thou art gone, and forever. They gorged upon the half-dressed steer; Caroused in seas of sable beer; While round, in brutal jest, were thrown The half-gnawed rib and marrow-bone, OF fl llEflREW MAID. Or listened all, in gflm delight, While scalds yelled out the joys of fight. WHEN

Israel, of the Lord beloved, Then forth in frenzy would they hie, Out from the land of bondage came, While wildly loose their red locks fly; Her father’s God before her moved, And, dancing round the blazing pile, An awful guide in smoke and flame. They make such barbarous mirth the By day, along the astonished lands, while, The cloudy pillar glided slow; As best might to the mind recall By night, Arabia’s crimsoned sands The boisterous joys of Odin’s hall. Returned the fiery column’s glow. And well our Christian sires of old There rose the choral hymn of praise, Loved when the year its course had rolled, And trump andtimbrel answered keen; And broughtblitheChristmas back again, And Zion’s daughters poured their lays, With all his hospitable train. With priest’s and warrior’s voice be.

Domestic and religious rite tween. Gave honor to the holy night: No portents now our foes amaze, - On Chnstmas eve the bells were rung; Forsaken Israel wanders lone; On Christmas eve the mass was sung; Our fathers would not know thy ways, That only night, in all the year, And thou hast left them to their own. Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.

The damsel donned her kirtle sheen; But, present still, though now unseen, The hall was dressed with holly green; When brightly shines the prosperous Forth to the wood did merry-men go, day, To gather in the mistletoe. Be thoughts of thee a cloudy screen, Then opened wide the baron’s hall To temper the deceitful ray. To vassal, tenant, serf, and all; And 0, when stoops on Judah’s path Power laid his rod of rule aside, In shade and storm the fre’luent night, And Ceremony doffed his pride. Be thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, The heir, with roses in his shoes, A burning and a shining light! That night might village partner choose; The lord, underogating, share Our hairs we left by Babel’s streams, The vulgar game of “pOSt and pair.” The tyrant’s jest, the Gentile’s scorn; All hailed, with uncontrolled delight No censer round our altar beams, And general voice, the happy night And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. That to the cottage, as the crown, But thou hast said, The blood of goats, Brought tidings of salvation down. The flesh of rams, I will not prize, -

A contrite heart, and humble thoughts, The fire, with well-dried logs supplied1 Are mine accepted sacrifice. Went roaring up the chimney wide;

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108 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. The huge hall-table’s oaken face, And she was there, my hope, my joy, Scrubbed till it shone the day to grace, My own dear Genevieve! Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord. She leaned against the arm6d man, Then was brought in the lusty brawn, The statue of the armed knight; By old blue-coated serving-man; She stood and listened to my lay, Then the grim boar’s head frowned on Amid the lingering light. high, Crested with bays and rosemary.

Few sorrows hath she of her own, Well can the green-garbed ranger tell My hope! my joy! my Genevieve! How, when, and where the monster fell; She loves me best, whene’er I sing What dogs before his death he tore, The songs that make her grieve. And all the baiting of the boar. The wassail round, in good brown bowls, I played a soft and doleful air, Garnished wfth ribbons, blithely trowls. I sang an old and moving story, - There the huge sirloin reeked; hard by An old rude song, that suited well Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie; That ruin wild and hoary. Nor failed old Scotland to produce, At such high-tide, her savory goose. She listened with a flitting blush, Then came the merry maskers in, With downcast eyes and modest grace; And carols roared with blithesome din; For well she knew, I could not choose If unmelodious was the song, But gaze upon her face. It was a hearty note, and strong. Who lists may in their mumming see I told her of the Knight that wore Traces of ancient mystery; Upon his shield a burning brand; White skirts supplied the masquerade, And that for ten long years he wooei And smutted cheeks the visors made: The Lady of the Land. But, 0, what mashers richly dight Can boast of bosoms half so light! I told her how he pined: and ah! England was merry England, when The deep, the low, the pleading tone Old Christmas brought his sports again. With which I sang another’s love was Christmas broached the mightiest Interpreted my own. ale; `T was Christmas told the merriest tale; She listened with a flitting blush, A Christmas gambol oft could cheer With downcast eyes, and modest grace; The poor man’s heart through half the And she forgave me, that I gazed year. Too fondly on her face.

But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, ~AMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. And that be crossed the mountain-woods, (1772-1834.) Nor rested day nor night; That sometimes from the savage den, GENEVIEVE. And sometimes from the darksome shade, ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights, And sometimes starting up at once Whatever stirs this mortal frame, In green and sunny glade, Ml are but ministers of Love, There came and looked him in the face And feed his sacred flame. An angel beautiful and bright; Oft in my waking dreams do I And that he knew it was a Fiend, Live o’er again that happy hour, This miserable Knight! When midway on the mount I lay Beside the ruined tower. And that unknowing what he did, He leaped amid a murderous band, The moonshine stealing o’er the scene And saved from outrage worse than death, Had blended with the lights of eve; The Lady of the Land;

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SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 109 And how she wept, and clasped his knees; On thy bald, awful head, 0 sovran Blanc And how she tended him in vain; The Arve’ and Arveiron at thy base And ever strove to expiate Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful The scorn that crazed his brain; Form!

Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines And that she nursed him in a cave, How silently! Around thee and above And how his madness went away, Deep is the air, and dark, substantial, When on the yellow forest-leaves black, A dying man he lay; An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it but when I reached As with a wedge! But when I look again, - His dying words-It is thine own calm home, thy crystal That tenderest strain of all the ditty, My faltering voice and pausing harp shrine, Disturbed her soul with pity! Thy habitation from eternity! O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon All impulses of soul and sense thee, Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, The music and the doleful tale, Didst vanish from my thought: entranced The rich and balmy eve; in prayer I worshipped the Invisible alone. And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, An undistinguishable throng, So sweet we know not we are listening And gentle wishes long subdued, to it, Subdued and cherished long. Thou, the meanwhile, wert blending with my thought, She wept with pity and delight, Yea, with my life and life’s own secret joy, She blushed with love, and virgin shame; Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused, And like the murmur of a dream, Into the mighty vision passing, there, I heard her breathe my name. As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven! Her bosom heaved, - she stepped aside, Awake, my soul! not only passive praise As conscious of my look she stept, - Thou owest! not alone these swelling Then suddenly, with timorous eye, tears, She fled to me and wept. Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake, She half enclosed me with her arms, Yoice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, She pressed me with a meek embrace; Green awake! And, bending back her head, looked up, vales and icy cliffs, all join my And gazed upon my face.

hymn. Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the `T was partly love, and partly fear, vale! And partly`t was a bashful art 0, struggling with the darkness all the That I might rather feel than see night, The swelling of her heart. And visited all night by troops of st rs, Or when they climb the sky or when they I calmed her fears, and she was calm, sink, - And told her love with virgin pride; Companion of the morning star at dawn, And so I won my Genevieve, Thyself Earth’s rosy star, and of flie dawn Co-herald, -wake, 0, wake, and utter My bright and beauteous Bride.

praise! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? Who filled thy countenance with rosy HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE light? VALE OF CHAMOUNI.

Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? HAsT thou a charm to stay the morning And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely star glad! In his steep course? So long he seems Who called you forth from night and to pause utter death,

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110 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. From dark and icycaverns called you forth, Thou too again, stupendous Mouiitain Down those precipitous, black, jagged thou rocks, That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low Forever shattered and the same forever? In adoration, upward from thy base Who gave you your invulnerable life, Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused Your strength, your speed, your fury, and with tears, your joy, Solemnly seemest like a vapory cloud Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? To rise before me - Rise, 0, ever rise, Mid who conimanded (and the silence Rise like a cloud of incense from the came), Earth! Here let the billows stiffen and have rest?

Thou kingly Spirit throned among the Ye ice-falls! ye that from the moun-hills, tain’s brow Thou dread ambassador from Earth to Adown enormous ravines slope amain, - Heaven, Torrents, methinks, that beard a mighty Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, voice, And tell the stars, and tell you rising sun, And stopped at once amid their maddest Earth, with her thousand voices, praises plunge! God. Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! Who made you glorious as the gates of ~~~STABE~. Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade PART I. the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with`T is the middle of night by the castle living flowers clock, Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your And the owls have awakened the crowing feet?- cock; God! let the torrents, like a shout of Tu-whit!

tu-whoo! nations, And hark, again! the crowing cock, Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! How drowsily it crew. God! sing, ye meadow -
streams, with gladsome voice! Sir Leoline, the Baron rich, Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-Hath a toothless niastiff bitch; like sounds!

From her kennel beneath the rock And they too have a voice, yon piles of She maketh answer to the clock, snow, Four for the (luarters, and twelve for the And in their perilous fall shall thunder, hour; God! Ever and aye, by shine and shower, Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal Sixteen short bowls, not over-loud; frost! Some say, she sees my lady’s shroud. Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle’s nest! Is the night chilly and dark?

Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-The night is chilly, but not dark.

storm! The thin gray cloud is spread on high, Ye lightuings, the dread arrows of the It covers but not hides the sky. clouds! The moon is behind, and at the full; Ye signs and wonders of the elements, And yet she loohs both small and dull. Utter forth God, and fill the hills with The night is chill, the cloud is gray; praise!`T is a month before the month of May, Thou, too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-And the Spring comes slowly up this way. pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, un-The lovely lady, Christabel, heard, Whom her father loves so well, Shoots downward, glittering through the What makes her in the wood so late, pure serene, A furlong from the castle gate? Into the depth of clouds that veil thy She had dreams all yesternight breast, - Of her own betroth6d knight;

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SAMUEL TAYLO~ COLERrnGE. 111 And she in the midnight wood will pray And the lady, whose voice was faint and `For the weal of her lover that`a far away. sweet, She stole along, she nothing spoke, Did thus pursue her answer meet The sighs she heaved were soft and low, “My sire is of a noble line, And naught was green upon the oak, And my name is Geraldine: But moss and rarest mistletoe: Five warriors seized me yestermorn, - She kneels beneath the huge oak-tree, Me, even me, a maid forlorn; And in silence prayeth she. They ch?ked my cries with force and suddenly, fright, The lady sprang up And tied me on a paifrey white. The lovely lady, Christabel! It moaned as near as near can be, The paifrey was as fleet as wind, But what it is she cannot tell. And they rode furiously behind. On the other side it seems to be They spurred amain, their steeds were Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak-tree. And white, once we crossed the shade of night. The night is chill; the forest bare-As sure as Heaven shall rescue me, Is it the wind that moaneth bleak? I have no thought what men they be; There is not wind enough in the air Nor do I know how long it is To move away the ringlet curl (For I have lain entranced, I wis) From the lovely lady’s cheek, - Since one, the tallest of the five, There is not wind enough to twirl Took me from the paifrey’s back, The one red leaf, the last of its clan, A weary woman, scarce alive. That dances as often as dance it can, Some muttered words his comrades spoke: Hanging so light, and hanging so high He placed me underneath this oak; On the topmost twig that looks up at the He swore they would return with haste; sky. Whither they went I cannot tell - I thought I heard, some minutes past, Hush, beating heart of Christabel! Sounds as of a castle-belL Jesu Maria, shield her well! Stretch forth thy hand” (thus ended she), She folded her arms beneath her cloak, “And help a wretched maid to flee.” And stole to the other side of the oak. What sees she there? Then Christabel stretched forth her hand There she sees a damsel bright, And comforted fair Geraldine: Drest in a silken robe of white, “0 well, bright dame! may you command That shadowy in the moonlight shone. The service of Sir Leoline; The neck that made that white robe w an, And ladly our stout chivalry Her stately neck, and arms were bare; Will e send forth, and friends withal, Her blue-veined feet unsandalled were, To guide and guard you safe and free And wildly glittered here and there Home to your noble father’s hall.” The gems entangled in her hair. I guess,`t was frightful there to see - She rose: and forth with steps they A lady so richly clad as she, -
passed Beautiful exceedingly! That strove to be, and were not, fast. Her gracious stars the lady blest, “Mary mother, save me now!” And thus spake on sweet Christabel: Said Christabel; “and who art thou?” “All our household are at rest, The hall as silent as the cell; The lady strange made answer meet, Sir Leoline is weak in health, And her voice was faint and sweet: And may not well awakened be, “Have pity on my sore distress,,, But we will move as if in stealth, I scarce can speak for weariness. And I beseech your courtesy, “Stretch forth thy hand, and have 110 This night, to share your couch with me.” fear!” Said Christabel; “how camest thou They crossed the moat, and Christabel h~re 3” Took the key tkat fitted well;

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112 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. A little door she opened straight, As still as death with stifled breath! All in the middle of the gate; And now bave reached her chamber door; The gate that was ironed within and And now doth Geraldine press down without, The rushes of the chamber floor. Where an army in battle array had marched out. The moon shines dim in the open air, The lady sank, belike through pain, And not a moonbeam enters here. And Christabel with might and main But they without its light can see Lifted her up, a weary weight, The chamber carved so curiously, Over the threshold of the gate: Carved with figures strange and sweet, Then the lady rose again, All made out of the carver’s brain, And moved, as she were not in pain. For a lady’s chamber meet: The lamp with twofold silver chain So free from danger, free from fear, Is fastened to an angel’s feet.

They crossed the court: right glad they The silver lamp burns dead and dim; were. But Christabel the lamp will trim. And Christabel devoutly cried Shetrimmed the lamp, and made it bright, To the lady by her side: And left it swinging to and fro, “Praise we the Yirgin all divine While Geraldine, in wretched plight, Who hath rescued thee fromthy distress!”

Sank down upon the floor below. “Alas, alas!” said Geraldine,,, I cannot speak for weariness. - “0 weary lady, Geraldine, So free from danger, free from fear, I pray you, drink this cordial wine! They crossed the court: right glad they It is a wine of virtuous powers; were. My mother made it of wild flowers.” Outside her kennel the mastiff old “And will your mother pity me, Lay fast asleep, in moonshine cold. Who am a maiden most forlorn?” The mastiff old did not awake, Christabel answered: “Woe is me!

Yet she an angry moan did make! She died the hour that I was born. And what can ail the mastiff bitch? I have heard the gray-haired friar tell, Never till now she uttered yell How on her death-bed she did say, Beneath the eye of ChristabeL That she should hear the castle-bell Perhaps it is the owlet’s scritch; Strike twelve upon my wedding-day. For what can ail the mastiff bitch? 0 mother dear! that thou wert here!” “I would,” said Geraldine, “she were!” They passed the hall, that echoes still, But soon with altered voice, said she: Pass as lightly as you will! “Off, wandering mother! Peak and pine! The brands were flat, the brands were I have power to bid thee flee.” dying, Alas! what ails poor Geraldine? Amid their own white ashes lying; Why stares she with unsettled eye? But when the lady passed, there came Can she the bodiless dead espy? A tongue of light, a fit of flame; And why with hollow voice cries she: And Christabel saw the lady’s eye, “Off, woman, off! this hour is mine, - And nothing else saw she thereby, Though thou her guardian spirit be, Save the boss of the shield of Sir Leoline Off, woman, off!`T is given to me.” tall, Which hung in a murky old niche in the Then Christabel knelt by the lady’s wall.

side, “0, softly tread!” said Christabel, And raised to heaven her eyes so blue; “My father seldom sleepeth well.” “Alas!” said she, “this ghastly ride, Dear lady! it bath wildered you!” Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare, The lady wiped her moist cold brow, And, jealous of the listening air, And faintly said, “`T is over now!” They steal their way from stair to stair, Now in glimmer, and now in gloom, Again the wild-flower wine she drank: And now they pass the Baron’s room, Her fair large eyes`gan glitter bright,

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SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 113 And from the floor whereon she sank But vainly thou warrest, The lofty lady stood upright; Fpr this is alone in She was most beautiful to see, Thy power to declare; Like a lady of a far countree. That in the din-i forest Thou lieard’st a low moaning, And thus the lofty lady spake: And fOund’st a bright lady, surpassingly “All they who live in the upper sky fair: Do love you, holy Christabel! And didst bring her home with thee in And you love them, and for their sake love and in charity, And for the good which me befell, To shield her and shelter her from the Even I in my degree will try, damp air.” Fair maiden, to requite you welL But now unrobe yourself; for I Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie.” TIlE C0NcLUsio~ TO PART I Quoth Christabel, “So let it be!” IT was a lovely sight to see And as the lady bade, did she. The Lady Christabel, when she Her gentle limbs did she undress, Was praying at the old oak-tree. And lay down in her loveliness. Amid the jagged shadows Of mossy leafless boughs, But through her brain, of weal and woe Kneeling in the moonlight, So many thoughts moved to and fro, To make her gentle vows; That vain it were her lids to close; Her slender palnis together prest, So half-way from the bed she rose, Heaving sometimes on her breast; And on her elbow did recline Her face resigned to bliss or bale, To look at the Lady Geraldine. Her face, 0, call it fair, not pale! And both blue eyes more bright than clear, Beneath the lamp the lady bowed, Each about to have a tear. And slowly rolled her eyes around; Then drawing in her breath aloud, With open eyes (ah, woe is me!) Like one that shuddered, she unbound Asleep, and dreaming fearfully, The cincture from beneath her breast: Fearfully dreaming, yet, I wis, Her silken robe and inner vest Dreaming that alone which is - Dropt to her feet, and full in view, 0
sorrow and sbame! Can this be she, Behold! her bosom and half her side, -

The lady, who knelt at the old oak-tree? A sight to dream of, not to tell!

And lo! the worker of these harms, 0, shield her! shield sweet Christabel!

That holds the niaiden in her arms, Seems to slumber still and mild, Yet Geraldine nor speaks nor stirs; As a mother with her child. Ah! what a stricken look was hers! Deep from within she seems half-way A star hath set, a star hath risen, To lift some weight with sick assay, 0 Geraldine!

since arms of thine And eyes the maid and seeks delay; Have been the lovely lady’s prison. Then soddenly as one defied 0 Geraldine! one hour was thine, - Collects herself in scorn and pride, Thou`st had thy will! By tarn and rill, And lay down by the maiden’s side The night-birds all that hour were still. And in her arms the maid she took, But now they are jubilant anew, Ah well-a-day! From cliff and tower, tu-whoo! tu-whoo! And with low voice and doleful look, Tu-whoo! tu.whoo! from wood and fell!

These words did say: And see! the Lady Christabel “In the touch of this bosom there worketh Gathers herself from out her trance; a spell Her limbs relax, her countenance Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel! Grows sad and soft; the smooth thin lids Thou kiiowest tonight, and wilt know Close o’er her eyes; and tears she sheds, - to-morrow Large tears that leave the lashes bright! This mark of my shame, this seal of my And oft the while she seems to smile sorrow; As infants at a sudden li~ht 8 b.

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114 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep, “Sleep you, sweet lady Christabel? Like a youthful hermitess, I trust that you have rested welL” Beauteous in a wilderness, Who, praying always, prays ill sleep. And Christabel awoke and spied And, if she move unquietly, The same who lay down by ber side, - Perchance,`t is but the blood so free, 0, rather say, the same whom she Comes back and tingles in her feet. Raised up beneath the old oak. tree! No doubt she bath a vision sweet. Nay, fairer yet! and yet more fair! What if her guardian spirit`t were? For she belike hath drunken deep What if she knew her mother near?

Of all the blessedness of sleep! But this she knows, in joys and woes, And while she spake, her look, her air, That saints will aid if men will call; Such gentle thankfulness declare, For the blue sky bends over all! That (so it seemed) her girded vests Grew tight beneath her heaving breasts.

“Sure I have sinned!” said Christabel, PART IL “No~w Heaven be raised if all be well!” And in low faltering tones, yet sweet, “Ec~ matin-bell,”

the Baron saith, Did she the lofty lady greet, “Knells us back to a world of death.” With such perplexity of mind These words Sir Leoline first said, As dreams too lively leave behind. When he rose and found his lady dead: These words Sir Leoline will say So quickly she rose, and quickly arrayed Many a morn to his dying day! Her maiden limbs, and having prayed That lie who on the cross did groan And hence the custom and law began, Might wash away her sins unknown, She forthwith led fair Geraldine That still at dawn the sacristan, To meet her sire, Sir Leoline. Who duly pulls the heavy bell, Five-and-forty beads must tell Tb lovely maid and the lady tall Between each stroke, -a warning knell, AreC Which not a soul can choose but hear And pacing both into the hall, From Bratha Head to Wyndermere. pacing on through page and groom, Enter the Baron’s presence-room. Saith Bracy the bard, “So let it knell! The Baron rose, and while he prest And let the drowsy sacristan His gentle daughter to his breast, Still count as slowly as he can! With cheerful wonder in his eyes, There is no lack of such, I ween, The Lady Geraldine espies, As well fill up the space between. And gave such welcome to the same In Langdale Pike and Witch’s Lair, As might beseem so bright a dame! And Dungeon-ghyll so foully rent, With ropes of rock and bells of air But when he heard the lady’s tale, Three sinful sextons’ ghosts are pent, And when she told her father’s name, Who all give back, one after t’ other, Why waxed Sir Leoline so pale, The death-note to their living brother; Murmuring o’er the name again, And oft, too, by the knell offended, Lord Roland de Yaux of Tryermaine? Just as their one! two! three! is ended, The devil mocks the doleful tale Alas! they had been friends in youth; With a merry peal from Borodale.” But whispering tongues can poison truth; And constancy lives in realms above, The air is still! through mist and cloud And life is thorny, and youth is vain, That merry peal comes ringing loud; And to be wroth with one we love And Geraldine shakes off her dread, Doth work like madness in the brain. And rises lightly from the bed; And thus it chanced, as I divine, Puts on her silken vestments white, With Roland and Sir Leoline. And tricks her hair in lovely plight, Each spake words of high disdain And, nothing doubting of her spell, And insult to his heart’s best brother: Awakens the Lady ChristabeL They parted, -ne’er to meet again!

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SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 115 But never either found anoflier And on her lips and o’er her eyes To free the hollow heart from paining; Spread smiles like light! They stood aloni, the sears remaining, With new surprise, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder, “What ails theu my beloved child?” A dreary sea now flows between; The Baron said. His daughter mild But neither heat nor frost nor thunder Made answer, “All will yet be well!” Shall wholly do away, I ween, I ween, she had no power to tell The marks of that which once hath been. Aught else; so mighty was the spelL ISir Leoline a moment’s space Yet he who saw this Gdraldine Stood gazing on the damsel’s face, Had deemed her sure a thing divine. And the youtbful Lord of Tryermaine Such sorrow with such grace she blended, Came back upon his heart again. As if she feared she had offended Sweet Christabel, that gentle maid! 0, then the Baron forgot his age, And with such lowly tones she prayed, His noble heart swelled high with rage; She might be sent without delay He swore by the wounds in Jesu’s side Home to her father’s mansion. He would proclaim it far and wide With trump and solemn heraldry, Nay, by my soul!” said Leoline.’`Nay! That they who thus`lad wronged the “Ho! Bracy, the bard, the charge be dame thine! Were base as spotted infamy! Go thou, with music sweet and loud, “And if they dare deny the same, And take two steeds with trappings proud, - My herald shall appoint a week, And take the youth whom thou lov’st And let the reereant traitors seek best My tourney court, that there and then To bear thy harp, and learn thy song, I may dislodge their reptile souls And clothe you both in solemn vest, From the bodies and forms of men!” And over the mountains haste along, He spake: his eye in lightning rolls! Lest wandering folk, that are abroad, For the lady was ruthlessly seized; and Detain you on the valley road. he kenned And when lie has crossed the Irthing flood, In the beautiful ladythechildofliisfriend~ My merry bard!

he hastes, he hastes Up Knorren Moor, through Halegartli And now the tears were on his face, Wood, And fondly in his arms he took And reaches soon that castle good Fair Geraldine, who met the embrace, Which stands and threatens Scotland’s Prolonging it with joyous look. wastes. Which when she viewed, a vision fell Upon the soul of Christabel, “Bard Bracy! Bard Bracy! your horses The vision of fear, the touch and pain! are fleet, She shrunk and shuddered, and saw Ye must ride up the hall, your music so again-sweet, (Ah, woe is me! Was it for thee, More loud than your horses’

echoing feet! Thou gentle maid! such sights to see l) And loud and loud to Lord Roland call, Again she saw that bosom old, Thy daughter is safe in Langdale hall! Again she felt that bosom cold, Thy beautiful daughter is safe and free, - And drew in her breath with a hissing Sir Leoline greets thee thus through me. sound: - He bids thee come without delay Whereat the Knight turned wildly round, With all thy numerous array, And nothing saw but his own sweet maid, And take thy lovely daughter home; With eyes upraised, as one that prayed. And he will meet thee on the way With all his numerous array The touch, the sight, had passed away, White with their panting palfreys’ foam: And in its stead that vision blest, And by mine honor! I will say, Which comforted her after-rest That I repent me of the day While in the lady’s arms she lay, When I spake words of fierce disdain Had put a rapture in her breast, To Roland de Yaux of Tryermaine!

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116 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. For since that evil hour hath flown, And said in courtly accents fine, Ma~y a summer a sun hath shone; “Sweet maid, Lord Roland’s beauteous Yet ne’er found I a friend again dove, Like Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine.” With arms more strong than harp or song, The lady fell, and clasped his knees, Thy sire and I will crush the snake!” Her face upraised, her eyes o’erflowing; He kissed her forehead as he spake, And Bracy replied, with faltering voice, And Geraldine, in maiden wise, His gracious hail on all bestowing! - Casting down her large bright eyes, “Thy words, thou sire of Christ abel, With blushing cheek and courtesy fine Are sweeter than my harp can tell; She turned her from Sir Leoline; Yet might I gain a boon of thee, Softly gatherhig up her train, This day my journey should not be, That o’er her right arm fell again; So strange a dream hath come to me, And folded her arms across her chest, That I had vowed with music loud And couched her head upon her breast, To clear you wood from thing unbiest, And looked askance at ChristabelWarned by a vision in my rest! Jesu Maria, shield her well! For in my sleep I saw that dove, That gentle bird, whom thou dost love, Asnake’ssmall eye blinks dull and shy, And call’stby thy own daughter’s name-And the lady’s eyes they shrunk in her Sir Leoline! I saw the same head, Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan, Each shrunk up to a serpent’s eye, Among the green herbs in the forest alone. And with somewhat of malice, and more Which when I saw and when I heard, of dread, I wondered what might ail the bird; At Christabel she looked askance! - For nothing near it could I see, One moment-and the sight was fled! Save the grass and green herbs underneath But Christabel, in dizzy trance the old tree. Stumbling on the unsteady ground, Shuddered aloud, with a hissing sound; “And in my dream methought I went And Geraldine again turned round, To search out what might there be found; And like a thing that sought relief, And what the sweet bird’s trouble meant, Full of wonder and full of grief, That thus lay fluttering on the ground. She rolled her large bright eyes divine I went and peered, and could descry Wildly on Sir Leoliiie. No cause for her distressful cry; But yet for her dear lady’s sake The maid, alas! her thoughts are gone; I stooped, methought, the dove to take, She nothing sees, -no sight but one!

When lo! I saw a bright green snake The maid, devoid of guile and sin, Coil6d around its wings m~d neck, I know not how, in fearfiil wise Green as the herbs on which it couched. So deeply had she drunken in Close by the dove’s its head it crouched; That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, And with the dove it heaves and stirs, That all her features were resigned Swelling its neck as she swelled hers! To this sole image in her mind, I woke; it was the midnight hour, And passively did imitate The clock was echoing in the tower; That look of dull and treacherous hate! But though my slumber was gone by, And thus she stood in dizzy trance, This dream it would not pass away, - Still picturing that look askance It seems to live upon my eye! With forced unconscious sympathy And thence I vowed this selfsame day, Full before her father’s view, - With music strong and saintly song As far as such a look could be To wander through the forest bare, In eyes so innocent and blue! Lest aught unholy loiter there.” And when the trance was o’er, the maid Paused awhile, and inly prayed: Thus Bracy said: the Baron the while Then falling at the Baron’s feet, Half4istening heard him with a smile; “By my mother’s soul do I entreat Then turned to Lady Geraldine, That thou this woman send away!” Ilis eyes made up of wonder and love, She said: and more she could not say:

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SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE. 117 For what she knew she could not tell, Perhaps`t is tender too and pretty O’ermastered by the mighty spell. At each wild word to feel within A sweet recoil of love mid pity. Why is thy cheek so wan and wild, And what if in a world of sin Sir Leoline? Thy only child (0 sorrow and shame, should this be true!) Lies at thy feet, tliy joy, thy pride, Such giddiness of heart and brain So fair, so innocent, so mild; Comes seldom save from rage and pain, The same for whom thy lady died! So talks as it`a most used to do. 0, hy the pangs of her dear mother, Thiiik thou no evil of thy child! _______ For her, and thee, and for no other, She prayed the moment ere she died, - Prayed that the bahe for whom she died ROBERT ~OUTllEY. Might prove her dear lord’sjoy and pride! That prayer her deadly pangs beguiled, (1774-IS43.) Sir Leoline!

And wouldat thou wrong thy only child, STANZAS. Her child and thine? Mv days among the dead are passed; Wfthin the Baron’s heart and brain, Around me I behold, Jf thoughts like these had any share, Where’er these casual eyes are cast, They only swelled his rage and pain, The mighty minds of old; And did hut work confusion there. My never-failing friends are tliey, His heart was cleft with pain and rage, With whom I converse day by day.

His cheeks they quivered, his eyes were wild. With them I take delight in weal, Dishonored thus in his old age; And seek relief in woe; Dishonored by his only child, And while I understand and feel And all his hospitality How much to them I owe, To the wronged daughter of his friend, My cheeks have often heen bedewed By more than woman’s jealousy With tears of thoughtful gratitude. Brought thus to a diagraceftil end. - He rolled his eye with stern regard Mytboughts are with the dead; wfththe~ Upon the gentle minstrel bard, I live in long-past years; And said in tones abrupt, austere, Their virtues love, their faults condemn, “Why, Bracy! dost thou loiter here? Partake their hopes and fears, I hade tbee hence!” The bard obeyed; And from their lessons seek and find And turning from his own sweet maid, Instruction with an humble mind. The aged knight, Sir Leoline, Led forth the Lady Geraldine! My hopes are with the dead; anon My place with them will be, And I with them shall travel on TIlE ONLUSION TO FART

II. Through all futurity: A LITTLE child, a limber elf, Yet leaving here a name, I trust, Singing, dancing to itself, That will not perish in the dust. A fairy thing with red round cheeks, That always finds, and never seeks, Makes such a vision to the sight As fills a father’s eyes with light; THE INCHCAPE ROCK. And pleasures flow in so thick and fast Upon his heart, that he at last No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, - Must needs express his love’s excess The ship was as still as she could be With words of unmeant bitterness. Her sails from heaven received no motion, Perhaps`t is pretty to force together Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Thoughts so all unlike each other; To mutter and mock a broken charm, Without eithersignorsonndoftheirsliock To dally with wrong that does no harm. The waves fiowedoverthe Inchcape Rock;

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118 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. So little they rose, so little they fell, On the deck the Rover takes his stand, They did not move the Inclicape Bell.

So dark it is they see no land. Quoth Sir Ralph, “It will be lighter soon, The good old Abbot of Aberbrothok For there is the dawn of the rising moon.” Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; “Can On a buoy in the storm it floated and st hear,” said one, “the breakers swung, For roar?

rnethinks we should be near tile shore; And over the waves its warning rung. Now where we are I caunot tell, When the Rock was hid by the surges’

Butt wish I could hear the Inchcape BelL” swell, The mariuers heard the warning bell They hear no sound, the swell is strong; And the’i they knew the perilous Roc’k, Though the wind hath fallen, they drift And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothok. Till along, the vessel strikes with a shivering The sun in heaven was shining gay, shock: All things were joyful on that day; Cried they, “It is the Incilcape Rock!” The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled aromid, Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair, And there was joyance in their sound. He cursed himself in his despair; The waves rush in ou every side, The buoy of the Incilcape Bell was seen The ship is sinking beneath the tide. A darker speck on the ocean green; Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck, But even in his dying fear And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. One dreadful sound could the Rover hear, A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell He felt the cheering power of spring, The fiends below were ringing his knell. It made him whisfie, it made him sing; His heart was n~fthftil to excess, But the Rover’s miftil was wickedness.

BROUGH BELLS. His eye was on the Inchcape float; Quoth he, “My men, put out the boat, ONE day to Helbeck I had strolled, And row me to the Incheape Rock, Among the Crossfell Hills, And I`11 plague the priest of Aberbro-And, resting in the rocky grove, thok.” Sat listening to the rills, - The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, The while to their sweet undersong And to the Incheape Rock they go; The birds san Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,And the soft a ithe around, west-wind awoke the wood And he cut the bell from the Inchcape To an intermitting sound. float.

Down sank the bell, with a gurgling sound Londe r or fainter, as it rose The bubbles rose and burst around; Or died away, was borne Quoth Sir Ralph, “The next who comes The harmony of meivy bells to the Rock From Brough, that pleasant morn. Won’t bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.” “Why are the merry bells of Brough, Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away, My friend, so few?” said I; He scoured tlie seas for many a day; “They disappoint the expectant ear, And now, gi-own rich with plundered store, Which they should gratify. He steers his course for Scotland’s shore. “One, two, three, four; one, two, three, So thick a haze o’erspreads tile sky four; They cannot see the sun on high;`T is still one, two, three, four: The wind hath blown a gale all day, Mellow and silvery are the tones; At evening it hath died away. But I wish the bells were m~re!”

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ROBERT SOUTllEY. 119 “What! art thou critical?” quoth he; “`Then shall the herd,’ John Brunskill “Eschew that heart’s disease cried, That seeke~h for displeasure where`From yon dumb steeple crane; The iutent hath been to please. And thou and I, on this hillside, Will listen to their tune. “By those four bells there hangs a tale, “`So, while the merry Bells of Brough Which being told, I guess, Will make thee hear their scanty peal For many an age ring on, With proper thankfulness. John Brunskill will remembered be, When he is dead and gone, “Not by the Cliffords were they given, “`As one who, in his latter years, Nor by the Tuftons’ line; Thou hearest in that peal the crune Contented with enou~h Brunskill’s kine. Gave freely what he wefi c’ould spare Of old John To buy the Bells of Brough.’ “On Stanemore’s side, one summer eve, “Thus it bath proved: three hundred John Brunakill sat to see years His herds ii) yonder Borrodale Since then have passed away, Come winding up the lea. And Brunskill’s is a liv’n,,g name Among us to this day. “Behind them, on the lowland’s verge, In the evening light serene, “More pleasure, ” I replied, “shall I Brough’s silent tower, then newly built From this time forth partake, By Blenkinsop, was seen.

When I remember Helbeck woods, For old John Brouskill’s sake. “Slowly they came in long array, With loitering pace at will; “He knew how wholesome it would he, At times a low from them was heard, Among these wild, wide fells Far off, for all was still. And upland vales, to catch, at times, The sound of Christian bells; - “The hills returned that lonely sound Upon the tranquil air: “What feelings and what impulses The only sound it was which then Their cadence might convey Awoke the echoes there. To herdsman or to shepherd-boy, “`Thou hear’st that lordly hull of mine, Whiling in indolent employ Neighbor,’ quoth Brunshill then: The solitary day; - `How loudly to the hills he crunes, “That, when his brethren were convened That crune to him again! To meet for social prayer, He too, admonished by the call, “`Think’stthou if yon whole herd at once In spirit might be there; Their voices should combine, Were they at Brough, that we might not “Or when a glad thanks giving sound, Hear plainly from this upland spot Upon the winds of heaven, That cruning of the kine?’ Was sent to speak a nation’s joy, For some great blessing given, - “`That were a crane, indeed,’

replied His comrade,`which, I ween, “For victory by sea or land, Might at the Spital well be heard, And happy piace at length; And in all dales between. Peace by his country’s valor won, And stablished by her strength “`Up Mallerstang to Eden’s springs, The eastern wind upon its wings “When such exultant peals were borne The mighty voice would bear; Upon the mountain air, And Appleby would hear the sound, The sound should stir his Uoo,,d, and give Methinks: when skies are fair.’ An English Un pulse there.

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120 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIE~ Such thoughts were in the old man’s I loved a love once, fairest among women! mind, Closed are her doors on me now, I must When he that eve looked down not see lier, - From Stanemore’s side on Borrodale, All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. And on the distant town. I have a friend, a kinder friend has no And had I store of wealth, methinks, man: Another herd of kine, Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly; John Brunskill, I would freely give, Left him, to muse on the old familiar That they might crune with thine. faces. ______ Ghostlike I paced round the haunts of my childhood, Earth seemed a desert I was bound to CHARLE~ LAMB. traverse, the old familiar faces. (x77~ - i834.J Friend of my bosom, thou more than a THE HOUSEKEEPER. brother, Why wert not thou born in my father’s THE frugal snail, with forecast of repose, dwelling?

Carries his house with him where’ er he So might we talk ofthe old familiar faces, - goes; Peeps out, and if there comes a shower How some they have died, and some they of rain, have left me, Retr~ats to his small domicile again. And some are taken from me; all are Touch but a tip of him, a horn -`t is departed; well, -` All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. He curls up in his sanctuary shell. He`a his own landlord, his own tenant; stay HESTER. Long as he will, he dreads no Quarter Day. Wn Himself he boards and lodges; both in-EN maidens such as Hester die, vites Their place ye may not well supply, And feasts himself; sleeps with himself Though ye among a thousand try, 0’ nights. With vain endeavor. He spares the upholsterer trouble to pro. A month or more bath she been dead, cure Yet I by force be led Chattels; himself is his own furniture, To think upon the wormy bed And his sole riches. Wheresoe’er he And her together.

roam, - Knock when you will, -he’s sure to be A springy motion in her gait, at home. A rising step, did indicate Of pride and joy no common rate, THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. That flushed her spirit. I HAvE had I have had com-I know not by what name beside playmates, I shall it call -if`t was not pride, panions, It was a joy to that allied, In my days of childhood, in my joyful She did inherit. school-days; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. Her parents held the Quaker nile, Which doth the human feeling cool; I have been laughing, I have been ca-But she was trained in nature’s school, rousing, Nature had blessed her. Drinking late, sitting late, with my bos om cronies A waking eye, a prying mind, All, all are gone, t’he old familiar faces. A heart that stirs, is hard to bind;

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JAMES HOGG. 121 A hawk’s keen sight ye cannot blind, ThE RAPTURE OF

XII~~ENY. Ye could not Hester. BONNY Kilmeny gaed up the g,~Thn; My sprightly neighbor, gone before But it wasna to meet Duneira a men, To that unknown and silent shore, Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see, Shall we not meet, as heretofore, For Kilnieny was pure as pure could be. Some summer morning, It was only to hear the yorlin sing, And Pu’ the cress-flowerround the spring; When from thy cheerful eyes a ray The scarlet hip and the hindberrye, Hath struck a bliss upon the day, And the nut that hangs frac the hazelA bliss that would not go away, tree; A sweet forewarning? For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. But lang may her minny look o’er the wa’, p And lang may she seek i’ the greenwood shaw; Lang the laird of Duneira blame, JAME~ llOGG. And lang, lang greet, or Kilmeny coniR hame! [1772-1835.j When many a day had come and fled, WHEN MAGGY

GANGS AWAY. When griefgrewcalm, andhope was dead, When mass for Kilmeny’s soul had been 0, WHAT will a’ the lads do sung, When Maggy gangs away?

When the bedesman had prayed, and the 0, what will a’ the lads do dead-bell rung, When Maggy gangs away? Late, late in a gloamin’ when all was There`a no a heart in a’ the glen still, That disna dread the day; -

When the fringe was red on the westlin’ 0, what will a’ the lads do hill, When Maggy gangs away? The wood was sere, fl~e moon i’ the wane, The reek o’ the cot hung over the plain, Young Jock has ta’en the hill for`t, Like a little wee cloud in the world its A waefu’ wight is he; lane; Poor Harry`a ta’en the bed for`t, When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, An’

laid him down to dee; Late, late in the gloamin’ Kilmeny came And Sandy`5
gane unto the kirk, hame! And lean~in fast to pray; - 0, what will a’ the lads do “Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you When Maggy gangs away? been?

Lang hae we sought baith bolt and den, The young laird o’ the Lang Shaw By lina, by ford, by greenwood tree, Has drunk her health in wine; Yet you are halesonie and fair to see. The priest has said-in confidence-Where gat you that joup o’the lily sheen? The lassie was divine; That bonny snood o’ the birk sae green? And that is mair in maiden’s praise And these roses, the fairest that ever were Than ony priest should say;- seen? But 0, what will the lads do Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you When Maggy gangs away? been?” The wailing in our green glen Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, That day will quaver high, But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny’s face; T will draw the redbreast frae the wood, As still was her look, and as still was The laverock frae the sky; her e’e, The fairies frae their beds o’ dew As the stillness that lay on the emerant Will rise and join the lay, - lea, An’ hey! what a day`t will be Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless When Maggy gangs away? sea.

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122 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. For Kilmeny bad been she knew not And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair! where, And dear to Heaven the words of truth, And Kilmeny had seen what she could And the praise of virtue frae beauty’s not declare. mouth! Kilmeny had been where the cock never And dear to the viewless forms of air, crew, The minds that kythe as the body fair! Where the rain never fell, and the wind 0 bonny Kilmeny! free frae stain, never blew If ever you seek the world again, But it seemed as tiie harp of the sky had That world of sin, of sorrow, and fear, - rung, 0, tell of the joys that are waiting here, And the airs of heaven played round her And tell of the signs you shall shortly see; tongue, Of the times that are now, and the times When she spake of the lovely forms she that shall be.” bad seen, And a land where sin had never been, - They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away, A land of love and a land of light, And she walked in the light of a sunless Withouten sun or moon or night; day: Where the river swa’d a living stream, The sky was a dome of crystal bright, And the light a pure celestial beun: The fountain of vision, and fountain of The land of vision it would seem, light; A still, an everlasting dream. The emerald fields were of dazzling glow, In yon greenwood there is a waik, And the flowers of evedasting blow. And in that walk there is a wene, Then deep in the stream her body they And in that wene there is a maike, laid, That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane; That her youth and beauty never might And down in you greenwood he walks fade; his lane. And they smiled on heaven, when they saw her lie In that green wene Kilmeny lay, In the stream of life that wandered by. Her bosom happed wi’ the flowerets gay; And she heard a song, she heard it sung, But the air was soft, and the silence deep, She kend not where; but sae sweetly it And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep; rung, She kend nae mair, nor opened her e’e, It fell on her ear like a dream of the Till waked bythe hymns of a far countrye. morn: She awaked on a couch of the silk sae “0, blest be the day Kilmeny was born! slim, Now shall the land of the spirits see, All striped wi’ the bars of the rainbow’s Now shall it ken what a woman may be! rim; The sun that shines on the world sae bright, And lovely beings round were rife, A borrowed gleid of the fountain of light; Who erst had travelled mortal life; An~l the moon that sleeks the skysae dun, And aye they smiled, and`gan to speer, I~ike a gouden bow, or a beamless sun, “What spirit has brought this mortal Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair, here?” And the angels shall miss them travelling They clasped her waist and her hands the air. sae fair, But lang, lang after baith night and day, They kissed her cheek, and they kemed When the sun and the world have elyed her hair, away; And round came many a blooming fere, When the sinner has gane to his waesome Saying, “Bonny Kilmeny, ye`re welcome doom, here! Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom!” “0, would the fairest of mortal kind Then Kilmeny begged again to see Aye keep the holy truths in mind, The friends she had left in her own counThat kindred spirits their motions see, trye, Who watch their ways with anxious e’e, To tell of the place where she had been, And grieve for the guilt of humanitye! And the glories that lay in the land un0, sweet to Heaven the maiden’s prayer, seen;

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THOMAS MOOI~E. 123 To warn the living maidens fair, The hawk and the bern aftourthem hung, The loved of Heaven, the spirits’ care, And the inert and the mavis forhooyed That all whose minds unmeled remain their young; Shall bloom iii beauty when time is gaile. And all in a peaceful ring were hurled It was like an eve in a sinless world! With distant music, soft and deep, They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep; When a month and a day had come and And when she awakened, she lay her lane, gane, All happed with flowers in the greenwood Kilmeny sought the greenwood wene; wene. There laid her down on the leaves sae Wisen seven long years were come and green, fled; And Kilmeny on earth was never mair When gi-ief was calm, and hope was dead; seen. When scarce was remembered Kilmeny’s But 0, the words that fell from her name, mouth Late, late in a gloamin’ Kilmeny came Were words of wonder, and words of ham a! truth! And 0, her beauty was fair to see, But all the land were in fear and dread, But still and steadfast was tier e’e! For they kendna whether she was living Such beauty bard may never declare, or dead. For there was no pride nor ~~assion there; It wasna her hame, and she couldna reAnd the soft desire of maiden’s een main; In that mild face could never be seen. She left this world of sorrow and pain, Her seymar was the lily flower, And returned to the Land of Thought And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower, again. And her voice like the distant melody~ That floats along the twilight sea. But she loved to raike the lanely g]en, And keeped af~ir frae the haunts of TllOMAS MOOI~E. men; Her holy hymns unheard to sing, To suck the flowers, and drink the spring.

(`779-1852.J But wherever her peaceful form appeared, FLY TO TUE DESERT.

The wild beasts of the bill were cheeredThe wolf played blithely round the field,’ FLY to the desert, fly with me, The lordly bison lowed and kneeled; Our Arab tents are rude for thee; The dun deer wooed with manner bland, But, 0, the choice what heart can doubt, And cowered aneath her lily hand. Of tents with love, or thrones without? And when at even the woodlands rung, When hymns of other worlds she sung Our rocks are rough, but smiling there In ecstasy of sweet devotion, The acacia waves her yellow hair, 0, then the glen was all in motion! Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less The wild beasts of the forest came, For flowering in a wilderness. Broke from their bughts and faulds fl~e Our sands are bare, but down their slope tame, And goved around, charmed and amazed; The silvery-footed antelope Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed, As gracefully and gayly springs And murmured, and looked with anxious As o’er the marble courts of kings. pain Then come, -thy Arab maid will be For something the mystery to explain. The loved and lone acacia-tree, The buzzard came with the throstle-cock; The antelope, whose feet shall bless The corby left her houf in the rock; With their light sound thy lovelines~

The blackbird alang wi’ the eagle flew; The hind came tripping o’er the dew; 0, there are looks and tones that dart The wolf and the kid their raike began, An instant sunshine through the heart, And the tod, and the lamb, and the As if the soul that minute caught leveret Ian; Some treasure it through life had sought;

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124 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. As if the very lips and eyes`T was that friends, the beloved of my Predestined to have all our sighs, bosom, were near, And never be forgot ag~in, Who made every dear scene of enchant Sparkled and spoke before us then! ment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of So came thy every glance and tone, nature improve, When first on me they breathed and When we see them reflected from looks shone; that we love. New as if brought from other spheres, Yet welcome as if loved for years. Sweet Vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest - In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best; THE MID HOUR OF NIGH!’. Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, AT the mid hour of night, when stars And our hearts, like thy waters, be min are weeping, I fly To the lone vale we loved, when life gled in~peace. shone warm in thine eye; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air, 0 THOU WHO DRYST THE MOURN To revisit past scenes of delight, thou ER’S

TEAR. wilt come to me there, And tell me our love is remembered even O

THoU who dry’st the mourner’s tear! in the sky! How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here, Then I sing the wild song`t was once We could not fly to thee. such pleasure to hear, The friends who in our sunshine live, When our voices, commingling, breathed When winter comes, are flown; like one on the ear; And he who has but tears to give And, as Echo far off through the vale Must weep those tears alone. my sad orison rolls, But thou wilt heal that broken heart I think, 0 my love!`t is thy voice, Which, like the plants that throw from the Kingdom of Souls, Their fragrance from the wounded part, Faintly answering still the notes that Breathes sweetness out of woe. once were so dear. When joy no longer soofl~es or cheers, And e’en the hope that threw THE VALE OF AVOCA. A moment’s si)arkle o’er our tears Is dimmed and vanished too, THERE is not in this wide world a valley 0 who wou~d bear life’s stormy doom, so sweet`Did not thy wing of love As that vale, in whose bosom the bright Come, brightlywafting through the gloom the waters meet; Our peace-branch from above? 0, last ray of feeling and life must Tb en sorrow, touched by thee, grows depart bright Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade With more than rapture’s ray; from my heart! As darkness shows us worlds of light We never saw by day! Yet it was not that Nature had shed o’er the scene Her purest of crystal and brightest of THOU ART, 0 GOD! green; was not the soft magic of streamlet or THoU art, 0 God! the life and light hill, - Of all this wondrous world we see; 0, no! it was something more ex~uisite Its glow by day, its smile by night, still. Are but reflections caught from thee.

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GEORGE GORDON (LORD BYRON). 125 Where’er we turn, thy glories shine, TIlE

DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. And all things fair and bright are thine. THE

Assyrian came down like the wolf When day, with farewell beam, delays 011
the fold, Among the opening clouds of even, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple And we can almost think we gaze and gold; Through golden vistas into heaven __ And the sheen of their spears was like Those hues that make the sun’s decline When stars on the sea, so radiant, Lord! are thine. the blue wave rolls nightly on So soft, deep Galilee. When night, with wings of starry gloom, Like the leaves of the forest when sum O’ershadows all the earth and skies, mer is green, Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose That host with their banners at sunset plume were seen Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes, - Like the leaves of the forest when ~uThat sacred gloom, those fires divine, tumn hath blown, So grand, so countless, Lord! are thine. That host on the morrow lay withered When youthful springaroundusbreathes, and strown. Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh; And every flower the summer wreathes For the Angel of Death spread his wings Is born beneath that kindling eye. on the blast, Where’er we turn, thy glories shine, And breathed in the face of the foe as be And all things fair and bright are Thine. passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still! LORD BYRON. And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide, But through them there rolled not the 788 - 1824.J breath of his pride And the foam of his gasping lay white SRE WALKS IN BEAUTY. on the turf, SHE walks in beauty, like the night And cold as the spray of the rock-beat. Of cloudless climes and starry skies, ing surf. And all that`5 best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes, And there lay the rider distorted and Thus mellowed to that tender light pale, Which Heaven to gaudy day denies. With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; One shade the more, one ray the less, And the tents were all silent, the ban Had half impaired the nameless grace ners alone, Which waves in every raven tress, The lances unlifted, the trumpet un Or softly lightens o’er her face, blown. Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-And the widows of Ashur are loud in place. their wail, And on that cheek and o’er that brow, And the idols are broke in the temple of So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, Baal; The smiles that win, the tints that glow, And the might of the Gentile, unsmote But tell of days in goodness spent, by the sword, A mind at peace with all below, Hath melted like snow in the glance of A heart whose love is innocent! the Lord!

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12G SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. THE LAXE OF GENEVA. Ona throne of rocks, in a robe of douds With a diadem of snow. CLEAR, placid Leman! thy contrasted Around his waist are forests braced, lake, The avalanche in his haiid; With the wild world I dwelt in, is a But crc it fall, that thnudenng ball thing Must pause for my command. Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake The glacier’s cold and restless mass Earth’s troubled waters for a purer Moves oiiward day by day; spring. But I am he who bids it pass, This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing Or with its ice delay. To waft me from distraction; once I I am the spirit of the place, loved Could make the mountain bow Torn ocean 5 roar, but thy soft mur-And quiver to his caverned base - muring And what with me wouldat Thou? ~onnds sweet as if a sister’s voice reproved, That I with stern delights should e’er have been so moved. THE IMMORTAL MINI). It is the bush of night, and all between WHEN coldness wraps this suffering clay, Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, Ah, whither strays the immortal mind 1 yet clear, It cannot die, it cannot stay, Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly But leaves its darkened dust behin~ seen, Then, unembodied, doth it trace Save darkened Jura, whosecaptheights By steps each planet’s heavenly way? appear Or fill at once the realms of space, Precipitously steep; and drawing near, A thing of eyes, that all survey? There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, Ftl boundless, undecayed, Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; erna, on the ear A thought unseen, but seeing all, Drops the light drip of the suspended All all iu earth or skies displayed, S’hall it survey, shall it recall: oar, Each fainter trace that memory holds Or chirps the grasshopper one good.night So darkly of departed years, carol more: In one broad glance the soul beholds, He is an evening reveller, who makes And all that was at once appears. His life au infancy, and sings his fill; At intervals, some bird from out the Before creation peopled earth, brakes its eyes shall roll through chaos back; Starts into voice a moment, then is And where the farthest heaven had birth, stilL The spirit trace its rising track. There seems a floating whisper on the And where the future mars or makes, hill, Its glance dilate o’er all to be, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews While sun is quenched or system breaks, All silently their tears of love instil, Fixed in its own eternity. Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Above or love, hope, hate, or fear, Deep into Nature’s breast the spirit of It lives all passionless and pure: her hues. - An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years as moments shall endure. MONT BLANC. Away, away, without a wing, O’er all, through all, its thoughts shall MoNT BLANc is the monarch of moun-fly, - tains; A nameless and eternal thing, They crowned him long ago Forgetting what it was to die.

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PERCY BYSSllE SllELLEY. 127 PERCY BYS~llE ~llELLEY. TO A SKYLARK. (1792-1822.] HAIL to thee, blithe spirit! Bird thou never wert, STANZAS WRITTEN

IN DEJECTION That from heaven, or near it, NEAR NAPLES. Pourest thy full heart In profuse sti ains of unpremeditated art Tnx sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing fast and bright, Higher still and higher Blue isles and snowy mountains wear From the earth thou springest The purple noon’s transparent light: Like a cloud of fire The breath of the moist air is light The blue deep thou wingest, Around its unexpanded buds; And singing still dost soar, and soaflng Like many a voice of one delight, - ever singest. The winds’, the birds’, the ocean floods’, - In the golden lightning The City’s voice itself is soft like Soli-Of the sunken sun tude’s. O’er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run, I see the Deep’s untrampled floor Like an unbodied joy whose race is just With green and purple sea-weeds begun. strown; 1 see the waves upon the shore The pale purple even Like light dissolved in star-showers Melts around thy flight; thrown: Like a star of heaven, I sit upon the sands alone; In the broad daylight The lightning of the noontide ocean Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill Is flashing round me, and a tone delight. Arises from its measured motion, - JIow sweet, did any heart now share in Keen as are the arrows my emotion! Of that silver si)here, Whose intense lamp narrows Alas! I have nor hope nor health, In the white dawn clear Nor peace within nor calm around, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. Nor that content surpassing wealth The sage in meditation found, All the earth and air And walked with luward glory With thy voice is loud, crowned, - As, when night is bare, Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor From one lonely cloud leisure; The moon rains out her beams, and heaven Others I see whom these surround, - is overflowed. Smilb~g they live, and call life pleasure; To me that cup has been dealt in another What thou art we know not; What is most like il~ee? From rainbow douds there flow not Yet now (fespab-itself is mild Drops so bright to see Even as the winds and waters are; As from thy presence showers a rain of I could lie down like a tired child, melody. And weep away flie life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear, Like a poet hidden Till death like sleep might steal on me, In the light of thought, And I might feel in the warm air Singing hymns unbidden, My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Till the world is wrought Breathe o’er my dying brain its last mo-To sympathy with hopes and fears it notony. heeded not;

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128 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Like a highborn maiden Waking or asleep, In a palace tower, Thou of death must deem Soothing her love-laden Things more true and deep Soul in secret hour Than we mortals dream, With music sweet as love, which overflows Or how could thy notes flow in such a her bower; crystal stream? Like a glow~worm golden We look before and after, In a dell of dew, And pine for what is not: Scattering unbeholden Our sincerest laughter Its aerial line With some pain is fraught; Among the flowers and grass, which screen Our sweetest songs are those that tell of it from the view; saddest thought. Like a rose embowered Yet if we could scorn In its own green leaves, Hate and pride and fear; By warm winds deflowered, If we were things born Till the scent it gives Not to shed a tear, Makes faint with too much sweet these I know not how thy joy we ever shoul1 b eavy-wing6d thieves. come near. Sound of vernal showers Better than all measures On the twinkling grass, Of delightful sound, Rain-awakened flowers, Better than all treasures All that ever was That iii books are found, Joyous and clear and fresh thy music Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of doth surpass. the ground! Teach us, sprite or bird, Teach me half the gladness What sweet thonglits are thine! That thy hrain must know I have never heard Such harmonious madness Praise of love or wine From my lips would flow, That panted forth a flood of rapture so The world should listen then, as I am divine. listening now! Chorus hymeneal Or triumphal chant Matched with thine, would be all ONE WORD IS

TOO OFTEN PROFANED. But an empty vaunt, - ONE word is too often profaned A thing wherein we feel there is some For me to profane it, hidden want. One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it. What objects are the fountains One hope is too like despair Of thy happy strain? For prudence to smother, What fields, or waves, or mountains? And pity from thee is more dear What shapes of sky or plain? Than that from another. What love of thin own kind? what igno rance of pain? I can give nOt what men call love; But wilt thou accept not With thy clear, keen joyance The worship the heart lifts above, Languor cannot be; And the heavens reject not, -

Shadow of annoyance The desire of the moth for the star, Never came near thee: Of the night for the morrow, Thou lovest, but ne’er knew love’s sad The devotion to something afar satiety. From the sphere of our sorrow?

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JOHN KEAT~. 129 JOllN KEATS. From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft, The silver, snarling trumpets`gun to [1796-182z.3 chide; The level chambers, ready with their ThE EVE OF SAINT AGNES. pride, Were glowing to receive a thousand SAINT AGNEs’ Eve, -ah, bitter chill it guests; was! The carv6d angels, ever eager-eyed, The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; Stared, where upon their heads the The hare limped trembling through cornice rests, the frozen grass, With hair blown back, and wings put And silent was the flock in woolly fold: crosswise on their breasts. Numb were the beadsman’s fingers while he told At length burst in the argent revelry, His rosary, and while his frosted breath, With plume, tiara, and all rich array, Like pious incense from a censer old, Numerous as shadows haunting fairily Seemed taking flight for heaven with-The brain, new stuffed in youth with out a death, triumphs gay Past the sweet virgin’s picture, while his Of old romance. These let us wish prayer he saith.

away, And turn, sole-thoughted, to one lady His prayer he saith, this patient, holy there, man; Whose heart had brooded, all that Then takes his lamp, and riseth from wintry day, his knees, On 1 And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, ove, and winged Saint Agnes’ saint ly care, wan, As she had heard old dames full many Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:times declare. The sculptured dead, on each side, seem to freeze, They told her how, upon Saint Agnes Imprisoned in black, purgatorial rails:Eve, Knights, ladies, praying in dumb ora-Young virgins might have visions of t’ries, delight, He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails And soft adorings from their loves reTo think how they may ache in icy hoods ceive and mails.

Upon the honeyed middle of the night, Northward he turneth through a little If ceremonies due they did aright; door, As, sup~erless to bed they must re And scarce three steps, ere music a tire, golden tongue And couch supine their beauties, lily Flattered to tears this aged man and white; But poor; Nor look behind, nor sideways, but no, -already had his death-bell re~uire The rung; Of Heaven with upward eyes for all fl~at joys of all his life were said and they desire. sung; His was harsh penance on Saint Agnes’ Full of this whim was thoughtful Eve: Madeliiie: Another way he went, and soon among The music, yearning like a god in pain, Rough ashes sat he for his soul’s repfleve,, She scarcely heard; her maiden eyes And all night kept awake, for sinners divine, sake to grieve. Fixed on the floor, saw many a sweep ing train That ancient beadsman heard the prel-Pass by, - she heeded not at all: in vain ude soft; Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier, And so it chanced, for many a door And back retired; not cooled by high was wide, disdain. 9

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130 SONGS OF TIIREE CENTURIES. But she saw not; her heart was other-To wbere he stood, bid from the torch’s where; flame, She sighed for Agnes’

dreams, the sweet-Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond eat of the year.

The sound of mer~ment and chorus bland. She danced along with vague, regard-He startled her; but soon she knew less eyes, his face, Anxious her lips, her breathing quick And grasped his fingers in her palsied and abort: hand, The hallowed hour was near at hand: Saying, “Mercy, Porphyro!

hie thee she sighs from this place; Amid the timbrels, and the thronged They are all here tonight, the whole resort bloodthirsty race! Of whispers, or in anger or in sport; Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and “Get hence! get hence! there`a dwarf scorn, ish Hildebrand; Hoodwinked with fairy fancy;all amort, He had a fever late, and in the (it Save to Saint Agnes, and her lambs He cura6d thee and thine, both house unahorn, and land: And all the bliss to be before to-morrow Then there`a that old Lord Maurice, morn. not a whit So, purposing each moment to retire, More tame for his gray hairs-Alas me! flit! She lingered still. Meantime, across Flit like a ghost away. “- “Ah! gossip the moors, dear, Had come young Porphyro, with heart We`re safe enough; here in this arm on fire chair sit, For Madeline. Beside the portal doors, And tell me how “- “Good saints! Buttressed from moonlight, stands he and implores not here, not here; Follow me, child, or else these stones will All saints to give him sight of Made-be thy bier.” line, But for one moment in the tedious hours, He followed throu That he might gaze and worship all nh a lowly arched unseen; way, Perchance speak, ~neel, touch, kiss, - in Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty sooth, such things have been. And plume, as she muttered “Well-a-well He ventures in: let no buzzed whisper a.day!” tell; He found him in a little moonlit room, All eyes be muffled, orabundredswords Pale, latticed, chill,andsilentasatomb. Will storm his heart, love’s feverous “Now tell me where is Madeline,” citadel. said he, For him, those chambers held barbarian “0, tell me, Angela, by the holy loom hordes, Which none but secret sisterhood may Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords, see, Whose very dogs would execrations When they Saint Agnes’ wool are weaving howi piously.” Against his lineage; not one breast affords “Saint Agnes! Ah! it is Saint Agnes’ Him any mercy, in that mansion foul, Eve, - Save one old beldame, weak in body and Yet men will murder upon holy days; in soul. Thou must hold waterinawitch’ssieve, And be liege-lord of all the elves and Ah, happy chance! the aged creature fays, came, To venture so: it fills me with amaze Shuffling along with ivory - headed To see thee, Porphyro! - Saint Agnes’ wand, Eve!

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JOHN KEATS. 131 God’s help! my lady fair the conjurer Whose passing-bell may ere the mid plays night toll; This very night; good angels her de-Whose prayers for thee, each morn and ceive! evening, But let me laugh awhile, I`ve mickle Were never missed.” Thus plaining, time to grieve.”

doth she bring A gentler speech from burning Por Feebly she laugheth in the languid phyro; moon, So woflil, and of such deep soirowing, While Porphyro upon her flice ddthlo0k, That Angela gives promise she will do Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal Who keepeth closed a wondrous riddle-or woe. book, As spectacled she sits in chimney-nook. Which was to lead him, in close secrecy, But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when Even to Madeline’s chamber, and there she told bide His lady’s purpose; and he scarce could Him in a closet, of such privacy brook TL~ he might see her beauty unespied, Tears, at the thought of those enchant-And win perhaps that night a peerless ments cold, And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old. bride, While legioned fairies paced the cover Sudden a thought canie like a full-let, blown rose And pale enchantment held her sleepy Flushing bis brow, and in his pain6d eyed.

heart Never on such a night have lovers met, Made purple riot; then doth he pro-Since Merlin paid his demon all the A pose monstrous debt.

stratagem, that makes the beldame “It shall be as thou wishest,” said the start: “A cruel man and impious thou art! dame: Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and “All cates and dainties shall be stor6d dream there Alone with her good angels, far apart Quickly on this feast-night: by the From wicked men like thee. Go, go! Her tambour frame - I deem own lute thou wilt see; no fime Thou caust not surely be the same that to spare, thou didst seem.” For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare On such a catering trust my dizzy head. “I will not harm her, by all saints I Wait here, my cliild, with patience; swear!” kneel in prayer Quoth Porphyro; “0, may I ne’er find The while. Ah! thou must needs the grace, lady wed, When my weak voice shall whisper its Or may I never leave my grave among last prayer, the dead.” If one of her soft ringlets I displace, Or look with ruffian passio~i in her face: So saying, she hobbled off with busy Good Angela, believe me by these tears; fear. Or I will, even in a moment’s space, The lover’s endless minutes slowly Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen’s passed: And ears, The dame returned, and whispered in beard them, though they be more his ear fanged than wolves and bears.” To follow herwith sue From fri` d eyes aghast 5ht of dim espial. Safe at last, “Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble Through many a dusky gallery, they soul? gain A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church-The maiden’s chamber, silken, hushed, yard thin~ an4 chaste;

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132 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Where Porphyro took covert, pleased As down she knelt for heaven’s grace amain. and boon: His poor guide hurried back with agues Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together in her brain. prest, And on her silver cross soft amethyst, Her faltering hand upon the balus-And on her hair a glory, like a trade, saint: Old Angela was feeling for the stair, She seemed a splendid angel, newly When Madeline, Saint Agnes’

charni6d drest, maid, Save wings, for heaven: -Porphyro Rose, like a missioned spirit, unaware; grew faint: With silver taper’s light, and pious She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from care, mortal taint. She turned, and down the aged gossip Anon his heart revives: her vespers led To a safe level matting. Now prepare, done, Young Porphyro, for gazing on that Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she bed! frees; She comes, she comes again, like ring-Unclasps her warm6d jewels one by dove frayed and fled. one; Loosens her fragrant bodice; by de Out went the taper as she hurried in, grees Its little smoke in pallid moonshine Her rich attire creeps rustling to her died: knees: She closed the door, she panted, all akin Half hidden, like a mermaid in sea To spirits of the air, and visions wide: weed, No uttered syllable, or, woe betide! Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and But to her heart, her heart was voluble, sees, Paining with eloquence her balmy In fancy, fair Saint Agnes in her bed, side; But dares not look belsind, or all the As though a tongueless nightingale charm is fled. should swell Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly in her dell. nest In sort of wakeful swoon, perplexed A casement high and triple-arched she lay, there was, Until the poppied warmth of sleep All garlanded with carven imageries oppressed Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued knot-grass, away; And diamonded with panes of quaint Flown, like a thought, until tlse mor device, row-day; Innumerable of stains and splendid Blissfully havened both from joy and dyes pain; As are the tiger-moth’s deep-damasked Clasped like a missal where swart wings; Paynims pray; And in the midst,`mong thousand Blinded alike from sunshine and from heraldries, rain, And twilight saints, and dim embla-As though a rose should shut, and be a zonings, bud again. A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of queens and kings. Stolen to this paradise, and so en tran ced, Full on this casement shone the win-Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress, try moon, And listened to her breathing, if it And threw warm guThs on Madeline’s chanced fair breast, To wake into a slumberous tenderness;

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JOHN KEATS. 133 Which when he heard, that minute Open thine eyes, for meek Saint Agnes’ did he bless, sake, And breathed himself: then from the Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul closet crept, doth ache.” Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness, And over the hushed carpet, silent, Thus whispering, his warm, unnerv6d stept, arm And`tween the curtains peeped, where, Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her lo! -how fast she slept. dream By the dusk curtains: -`t was a mid. Then by the bedside, where the faded night charm moon Impossible to melt as iced stream: Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set The lustrous salvers in the moonlight A table, and, half anguished, threw gleam; thereon Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies: A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and It seemed be never, never could redee’n O for~%me drowsy Morphean amulet! From such a steadfast spell his lady’s eyes; The boisterous, inidnight, festive clar-So mused awhiTh, entoiled in woofid fan. ion, tasies. The kettle-drum, and far-heard clar-Awakening up, he took her hollow ionet,. lute, Affray his ears, though but in dying Tumultuous,-and, in chords that ten toiie The hall-door shuts again, and all the derest be, noise is gone. He played an aiicient ditty, long since And still she slept an azure-lidded In Provence called, “La belle dame sleep, sans mercy”; In blanche’d linen, smooth, and laven-Close to her ear touching the melody: dered, Wherewith disturbed, she uttered a While he from forth the closet brought He soft moan; a heap ceased - she panted quick - and Of suddenly candied apple, quince, and plum, Her blue affray6d eyes wide open shone: and gourd; With jellies soother than the creamy Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth. curd, sculptured stone. And lucid syrops, tinct with cinna-Hereyeswere open, but she still beheld, mon; Nowwideawake, the vision of hersleep: Manna and dates, in argosy transferred There was a painful change, that nigh From Fez; and spic6d dainties, every expelled one, The blisses of lier dream so pure and From silken Samarcand to cedared Leb-deep; anon. At which fair Madeline began to weep, And moan forth witless words with These delicates he heaped with glow-maiiy a sigh; On ing hand While still her gaze on Porphyrowoufl golden dishes and in baskets bright keep, Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they Who knelt, with join6d hands and stand piteous eye, In the retired quiet of the night, Fearing to move or speak, she looked so Filling the chilly room with perfume dreamingly. light. my love, my seraph fair, “Ah, Porphyro!” said she, “but even awake! now Thou art my heaven, and I thine Thy voice was at sweet tremble in niine eremite: ear,

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134 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Made tunable with every sweetest vow; “Hark!`t is an elfin-storm from fairy And those sad eyes were spiritual and land, clear; Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed: How changed thou art! how pallid, Arise, -arise! the morning is at hand; chill, and drear!

The bloated wassailers will never heed: Give me that voice again, my Porphyro, Let us away, my love, with happy Those looks immortal, those complain-speed; ings dear! There are 110 ears to hear, or eyes to 0, leave me not in this eternal woe, see, For if thou diest, ~~ love, I know not Drowned all in Rhenish and the sleepy where to go. mead: Awake! arise!

my love, and fearless be, Beyond a mortal man impassioned far For o’er the southern moors I have a At these voluptuous accents, he arose, home for thee.” Ethereal, flushed, and like a throbbing star She hurried at his words, beset with Seen mid the sapphire heaven’s deep fears, Into repose; he melted, as the rose For there were sleeping dragons all around, Blendeth its odor with the violet, - At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready Solution sweet: meantime the frost-spears, - wind blows Down the wide stairs a darkling way Like love’s alarum pattering the sharp they found, -
sleet In all the house was heard no human Against the window-panes; Saint Agnes’ sound. moon bath set. A chain-dropped lamp was flickering by each door; `T is dark: quick pattereth the flaw. The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, blown sleet: and hound, “This is no dream, my bride, my Mad.

Fluttered in the besieging wind’s up eline!” roar, `T is dark: the iced gusts still rave And the long carpets rose along the gusty and beat: floor. “No dream, alas! alas! and woe ismine! Porphyro will leave me here to fade They glide, like phantoms, into the and pine. - wide hall; Cruel!

what traitor could thee hither Like phantoms to the iron porch they bnng?

glide, I curse not, for my heart is lost in tliine, Wl~ere lay the porter, in uneasy sprawl, Though thou forsakestadeceive’dthing; With a huge empty flagon by his A dove forlorn and lost, with sick, un-side: pruned wing.”

The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide, “My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely But his sagacious eye an inmate owns: bride! By one, and one, the bolts full easy Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest? slide; Thy beauty’s shield, heart-shaped and The chains lie silent on the foot-worn vermeil dyed? stones; Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my The key turns, and the door upon its rest hinges groans. After so many hours of toil and quest, Afamished pilgrim,-saved by miracle. And they are gone: ay, ages long ago Though I have found, I will not rob These lovers fled away into the storm. thy nest That night the baron dreamt of many Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think’st a woe, well And all his warrior-guests, with shade To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.”

and form

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JAMES MONTGOMERY. 135 Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-The annals of the human race worm, Their ruins, since the world began, Were long be-nightmared. Angela Of him afford no other trace the old, Than fills, -there lived a man! Died palsy-twitched, with meagre face deform. The beadsman, after thousand aves told, FOR~vER WITH THE LORD. For aye unsought~for slept among his ashes cold. FoREvER with the Lord! Amen! so let it be! Life from the dead is in that word, And immortality. JAMES

MONTGOMERY. Here in the body pent, (1771-1854.) Yet nightly pitch my moving tent THE COMMON LOT. A day’s march nearer home. O~c~, in the flight of ages past, My Father’s house on high, There lived a man; and who was he? Home of my soul! how near, Mortal! howe’er thy lot he cast, At times, to faith’s foreseeing eye That man resembled thee. Thy golden gates appear! Unknown the region of his birth, The land in which he died unknown Ah! then my spirit faints His name has perished from the earth, To reach the land I love, This truth survives alone: The bright inheritance of saints, Jerusalem above! That joy, and grief, and hope, and fear, Alternate triumphed in his breast; Yet clouds will intervene, His hliss and woe, -a smile, a tear! And all my prospect flies Oblivion hides the rest. Like Noah’s dove, I flit between Rough seas and stormy skies. He suffered, - but his pangs are o’er; Enjoyed, -but his delights are fled; Anon the clouds depart, Had friends, -his friends are now no The winds and waters cease more; While sweetly o’er my gladdened heart And foes, -his foes are dead. Expands the bow of peace! He saw whatever thou hast seen; Beneath its glowing arch, Encountered all that troubles thee: Along the hallowed ground, He was-whatever thou hast been; I see cherubic armies march, He is-what thou shalt be. A camp of fire around. The rolling seasons, day and night, Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and I hear at morn and even, main, At noon and midnight hour, Erewbile his portion, life, and light, The choral harmonies of heaven To him exist in vain. Earth’s Babel tongues o’erpower The clouds and sunbeams, o’er his eye Then, then I feel that He, That once their shades and glory threw, Remembered or forgot, Have left in yonder silent sky The Lord, is never far from me, No vestige where they flew. Though I perceive him not.

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136 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. In darkness as in light, RELEN MARIA WILLIAM~. Hidden alike from view, I sleep, I wake, as in his sight Who looks all nature through. ~x762 - 1527.) WHILST THEE I SEElL All that I am, have been, All that I yet may be, WHILST Thee I seek, protecting Power, He sees at once, as he hath seen, Be my vain wishes stilled! And shall forever see. And may this cousecrated hour With better hopes be filled. Forever with the Lord”: Thy love the power of thought bestowed; Father, if`t is thy will, To thee my thoughts would soar: The promise of that faithful word Thy mercy o’er my life has flowed, Unto thy child fulfil! That mercy I adore. In each event of life, how clear So, when my latest breath Thy ruling hand I see! Shall rend the veil in twain, Each blessing to my soul more dear, By death I shall escape from death, Because conferred by thee. And life eternal gain. In every joy that crowns my days, - In every pain I bear, My heart shall find delight in praise, PRAYER. Or seek relief in prayer. PRAYER is the soul’s sincere desire When gladness wings my favored hour, Uttered or unexpressed, Thy love my thoughts shall fill; The motion of a hidden fire Resigned, when storms of sorrow lower, That trembles in the breast. My soul shall meet thy wilL

Prayer is the burden of a sigh, My lifted eye, without a tear, The falling of a tear; The gathering storm shall see; The upward glancing of an eye, My steadfast heart shall know no fear; When none but God is near. That heart shall reet on thee. Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try; Prayer the sublimest strains that reach UNKNOWN. The Majesty on high. ThERE WAS SILENCE IN HEAVEN. Prayer is the Christian’s vital breath, The Christian’s native air; CAN angel spirits need repose His watchword at the gates of death: In the full sunlight of the sky? He enters heaven by prayer. And can the veil of slumber close A cherub’s bright and blazing eye? Prayer is the contrite sinner’s voice Have seraphim a weary brow, Returning from his ways; A fainting heart, an aching breast? While angels in their songs rejoice, No, far too high their pulses flow And say, “Behold he prays!” To languish with inglorious rest.

o Thou, by whom we come to God, 0, not the death-like calm of sleep The Life, the Truth, the Way, Could hush the everlasting song; The path of prayer thyself bast trod: No fairy dream or slumber deep I~rd, teach us how to pray! Entrance the rapt and holy throng.

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JORN QUINC~ ADAMS. - WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. 137 Yet not the lightest tone was heard 0, think! the darlings of thy love, From angel voice or angel hand; Divested of this eartl~ly clod, And not one plumed pinion stirred Amid unnumbered saints, above, Among the pure and blissful band. Bask in the bosom of their God. O’er thee, with looks of love, they bend; For there was silence in the sky, For thee the Lord of life implore; A joy not angel tongues could tell, And oft from sainted bliss descend As from its mystic fount on high Thy wounded quiet to restore. The peace of God in stillness fell. Then dry, henceforth, the bitter tear; 0, what is silence here below? Their part and thine inverted see. The fruit of a concealed despair; Thou wert their guardian angel here, The pause of pain, the dream of woe;- They guardian angels now to thee. It is the rest of rapture there. And to the wayworn pilgrim here, More kindred seems that perfect peace, Than the full chants of joy to hear WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. Roll on, and never, never cease. From earthly agonies set free, (177s - i864.J

Tired with the path too slowly trod, LAMENT. May such a silence welcome me Into the palace of my God. I LOVED him not; and yet, now heisgone, I feel I am alone. — I checked him while he spoke; yet, could he speak, JOHN

QUINCY ADAMS. Alas! I would not check. (u. a. A., 1767-1848.) For reasons not to love him once I sought, And wearied all my thought TO A BEREAVED

MOTHER. To vex myself and him: I now would give My love, could he but live SURE, to the mansions of the blest Who lately lived for me, and, when he When infant innocence ascends, found Some angel, brighter than the rest,`T
was vain, in holy ground The spotless spirit’s flight attends. He hid his face amid the shades of death! On wings of ecstasy they rise, Beyond where woilds material roll, Till some fair sister of the skies I waste for him my breath Receives the unpolluted souL Who wasted his for me! but mine returns, And this lorn bosom burns That inextinguishable beam, With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, With dust united at our birth, And waking me to weep Sheds a more dim, discolored gleam Tears that had melted his soft heart: for The more it lingers upon earth. years But when the Lord of mortal breath Wept he as bitter tears! Decrees his bounty to resume, And points the silent shaft of death “Merciful God!” such was his latest Which speeds an infant to the tomb, prayer, No passion fierce, nor low desire, “These may she never share!” Has quenched the radiance of the flame; Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold Back to its God the living fire Than daisies in the mould, Reverts, unclouded as it came.

Where children spell, athwart the churchFond mourner! be that solace thine! yard gate, Let Hope her healing charm impart, His name and life’s brief date. And soothe, with melodies divine, Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe’er you be,: The anguish of a mother’s heart. And, 0, pray, too, for me!:

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138 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. TllOMA8 CAMPBELL. piteous pageants bring not back, (1777 Of pain anew to writhe; - i844.J Stretched in disease’s shapes abhorred, THE LAST MAN. Or mown in battle by the sword, Like grass beneath the scythe. ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom The sun himself must die, Even I am weary in yon skies Before this mortal shall assume To watch thy f~diug fire; Its immortality! Test of all sum less agonies, I saw a vision in my sleep, Behold not me expire. That gave my spirit st~ugth to sweep My lips that speak tiiy dirge of death, Adown the gulf of time!

Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath I saw the last of hmnan mould To see thou shalt not boast. That shall creation’s death behold, The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall. As Adam saw h~r prime! The majesty of darkness shall Receive my parting ghost! The sun’s eye had a sickly glare, This spirit shall return to Him The earth with age was wan; Who gave its heavenly spark; The skeletons of nations were Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim Around that lonely man! When thou thyself art dark! Some had expired in fight, - the brands No! it shall live again, and shine Still rusted in their bony hands, In bliss unknown to beams of thine, In plague and famine some! By him recalled to breath, Earth’s cities had no sound nor tread; Who captive led captivity, And ships were drifting with the dead Who robbed the grave of victory, To shores where all was dumb! And took the sting from death! Go, Sun, while mercy holds me up Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood, On Nature’s awful waste With dauntless words and high, To drink this last and bitter cup That shook the sere leaves from the wood, Of grief that man shall taste, - As if a storm passed by, Go Saying, We are twins in death, proud Sun!, tell the night that hides thy face, Thou saw’st the last of Adam’s race, Thy face is cold, thy race is run, On earth’s sepulchral clod, `T is Mercy bids thee go; The darkening universe defy For thou ten thousand thousand years To quench his immortality, Hast seen the tide of human tears, Or shake his trust in God! That shall no longer flow. What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill; GLENARA. And arts that made fire, flood, and earth The vassals of his will? 0, HEARD ye yon pibroch sound sad in Yet mourn I not thy parted sway, the gale, Thou dim, discrown6d king of day; Where a band cometh slowly with weep. For all those trophied arts`T is ing and wail? And triuinphs that beneath thee sprang, the chief of Glenara laments for his Healed not a passion or a pang dear; Entailed on human hearts. And her sire, and the people, are called to her bier. Go, let oblivion’s curtain fall Glenara came first with the mourners and Upon the stage of men, shroud; `1Nor with thy rising beams recall Her kinsmen they followed, but mourne~ : Life’s tragedy again: not aloud:

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THOMAS CAMPBELL 139 Their plaids all their bosoms were folded LORD ULLIN’S

DAUGlITER. around; Theymarcheda!l in silence, -they looked A CHiEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, on the ground. Cries, “Boatman, do not tarry! And I`11 give thee a silver,p,ound In silence they marched over mountain To row us o’er the ferry. and moor, To a heath where the oak-tree grew “Now who he ye, would cross Lochgyle, lonely and hoar: This dark and stormy water?” “Now here let us place the gray stone “0, 1`m the chief of Ulva’s isle, of her cairn: And this Lord Ullin’s daughter. Why speak ye no word?”

- said Glenara the stern. “And fast before her father’s men Three days we`ve fled together, “And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of For should he find us in the glen, my spouse, Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye My blood would stain the heather. your brows?” “His horsemen hard behind us ride; So spake the rude chieftain:-no answer Shoii]d th~~ our steps discover is made, Then who will cheer my bonny bride But each mantle unfolding, a dagger dii-When they have slain her lover?” played. “I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of he Out spoke the hardy Highland wight: shroud,” r “I`11 go, my chic?, - I`m ready; Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsoine lady; wrathful and loud “And empty that shroud and that coffin “And by my word!

the bonny bird did seem: Glenara! Glenara! now read me my In danger shall not tarry: So, though the waves are rs~i dream!” I`11 row you o’er the ~~y,n,~ white, 0, pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, By this the storm grew loud apace, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed, and no The water-wraith was shrieking; lady was seen; And in the scowl of heaven each face When a voice from the kinsmen spoke Grew dark as they were speaking.

louder in scorn, was the youth who had loved the fair But still, as wilder New the wind, Ellen of Lorn: And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armid men, - “I dreamt of my lady, 1 dreamt of her Their trampling sounded nearer. grief, I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous “0, haste thee, haste!” the lady cries, chief: “Though tempests round us gather; On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did I’ll meet the raging of the skies, seem-But not an angry father. Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream! The boat has left a stormy land, In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the A stormy sea before her, - ground, When, 0, too strong for human hand, And the desert revealed where his lady The tempest gathered o’er her! was found; From a rock of the ocean that beauty is And still they rowed amidst the roar borne, - Of waters fast prevailing: Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore; Loin! His wrath was changed to wailing.

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140 SONGS OF TllREE CENTURIES. For~ sore dismayed, through storm and But to that fane, most catholic and shade, solemn, His child he did discover; Which God hath planned; One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover. To that cathedral, boundless as our won “Come back! come back!” he cried iii Whose der, quenchiess lamps the sun and grief, moon supply; “Across this stormy water; Its choir the winds and waves, its orgau And I`11 forgive your Highland chief, thunder, My daughter! -0 my daughter!” Its dome the sky. `T was vain;-the loud waves lashed the There, as in solitude and shade I wander shore, Through the green aisles, or stretctied Re~m or aid preventing; upon the sod, The waters wild went o’er his child, Awed by the silence, reverently I ponder And he was left lamenting. The ways of God, p Your voiceless lips, 0 flowers! are living preachers, HORACE BMITll. Each cup a pulpit, and each leaf 8 ~I779 -1849.]

Supplying to my fancy numerous teachers From loneliest nook. HYMN TO THE

FLOWERS. Floral apostles! that in dewy splendor DAY-sTARs! that ope your eyes with “Weep wfthoutwoe, and blush without morn, to twinkle a crime,”

From rainbow galaxies of earth’s crea-0, may I deeply learn, and ne’er surrender tion, Yo’ir lore sublime! And dewdrops on her holy altars sprinkle As a libation. “Thou wert not, Solomon, in all thy worshippers!

who, bending glory, Ye matin Arrayed,” the lilies cry, “in robes like lowly ours; Before the uprisen sun, God’s lidless How vain your grandeur!

ah, how tran eye, sitory Throw from your chalices a sweet and holy Are human flowers!” Incense on high. Ye bright mosaics! that with storied In the sweet-scented pictures, heavenly beauty Artist, The floor of nature’s temple tessellate, With which thou paintest Nature’s What numerous emblems of instructive wide-spread hall, duty What a delightful lesson thou impartest Your forms create! Of love to all! `Neath cloistered boughs, each floral bell Not nseless are ye, flowers! though made - that swingeth, for pleasure; And tolls its perfume on the passing Blooming o’er field and wave by day air, and night, Makes Sabbath in the fields, and ever From every source your sanction bids ringeth me treasure A call to prayer.

Harmless delight. Not to the domes where crumbling arch Ephemeral sages!

what instructors hoary and column For such a world of thought could Attest the feebleness of mortal hand, furnish scope?

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HORACE SMITH. 141 Each fading calyx a mernexto mori,Perhaps thou wert a Mason, and forbid Yet fount of hope. den, By oath, to tell the mysteries of thy Posthumous glories! angel-like collec-trade; tion! Then say, what secret melody was hidQen Upraised from seed or bulb interred in In Memnon’s statue, which at sunrise earth, played? Ye are to me a type of resurrection, Perhaps thou wert a priest; if so, my A second birth.

struggles Are vain, for priestcraft never owns fts Were I, 0 God! in churchless lands re-juggles! m aining, Far from all voice of teachers or di-Perchance that very hand, now pinioned vines, flat, My soul would find, in flowers of thy Hath hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, ordaining, glass to glass; Priests, sermons, shrines! Or dropped a halfpenny in Homer’s hat; Or doffed thine own, to let Queen Dido Or pass; held, by Solomon’s own invitation, ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. A torch, at the great temple’s dedica tion! Axn thou hast walked about - how strange a story! -

I need not ask thee if that hand, when In Thebes’s streets, three thousand armed, years ago! Has any Roman soldier mauled and When the Memnonium was in all its knuckled; glory, For thou wert dead, and buried, and era And time had not begun to over-balmed, throw Ere Romulus and Remus had been Those temples, palaces, and piles stupen-suckled: dous, Antiquity appears to have begun Of which the very ruins are tremendous! Long after thy primeval race was run. Speak! for thou long enough hast acted Thou couldst develop, if that withered dummy; tongue Thou hast a tongue, - come, let us hear Might tell us what those sightless orbs its tune! have seen, Thou`rt standing on thy legs, above How the world looked when it was fresh gi-ound, mummy! and young, Revisiting the glimpses of the moon, - And the great deluge still had left it Not like thin ghosts or disembodied green; creatures, Or was it then so old that history’s But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, pages and features! Containe4 no record of its early ages? Tell us, - f~r doubtless thou caust recol-Still silent! -

Incommunicative elf! lect, - Art sworn to secrecy? Then keep thy To whom should we assign the Sphinx’s vows! fame? But, prithee, tell us somethincr of t Was Cheops or Cepbrenes architect self, - ~ by Of either pyramid that bears his Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house; name? Since in the world of spirits thou hast Is Pompey’s Pillar really a misnomer? slumbered, Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by What hast thou seen, what strange ad Homer? ventures numbered?

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142 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Sincefirst thy form was in this box EBENEZER

ELLIOTT. extended, We have, above ground, seen some Ei 781 - 1549.J
strange mutations; The Roman Empire has begun and ended, A GHOST AT NOON.

New worlds have risen, we have lost old nations, THE day was dark, save when the beam And countless kings have into dust been Of noon through darkness broke; humbled, While not a fragment of thy flesh has In gloom I sat, as in a drea’n, Beneath my orchard oak; crumbled. Lo! splendor, like a spirit, came, A shadow like a tree! Didst thou not hear the pother o’er thy While there I sat, and named her name head, Who once sat there with me. When the great Persian conqueror, Cambyses, I started from the seat in fear; Marched armies o’er thy tomb with I looked around in awe, thundering tread,. But saw no beauteous spirit near, O’erthrew Osiris, Orus, Apis, Isis, - Though all that was I saw, - And shook the pyramids with fear and The seat, the tree, where oft, in tears, wonder, When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder2 She mourned her hopes o’erthrown, Her joys cut off in early years, ~ If the tomb’s secrets may not be con-Like gathered flowers half blown. ~ fessed, The nature of thy private life unfold! Again the bud and breeze were met, A heart hath throbbed beneath that But Mary did not come; leathern breast, And e’en the rose, which she had set, And tears adown that dusty cheek Was fated ne’er to bloom! have rolled; The thrush prodaimed, in accents sweet, Have children climbed those knees, and That winter’s reign was o’er; kissed that face? The bluebells thronged around my feet, What was thy name and station, age and But Mary came no more.

race? Statue of flesh! Immortal of the dead! Imperishable type of evanescence! FOREST WORSHIP. Posthumous man, -who quitt’st thy narrow bed, WITHIN the sunlit forest, And standest undecayed within our Our roof the bright blue sky, presence! Where fountains flow, and wild-flowers Thou wilt hear nothing till the judg-blow, ment morning, We lift our hearts on high: When the great trump shall thrill thee Beneath the frown of wicked men with its warning! Our country’s strength is bowing; But, thanks to God! they can’t prevent Why should this worthless te~~ment The lone wild-flowers from blowing! endure, If its undying guest be lost forever?

High, high above the tree-tops, 0, let us keep the soul embalmed and The lark is soaring free; In pure virtue, - that when both Where streams the light through broken clouds must sever, His speckled breast I see: Although corruption may our frame con-Beneath the might of wicked men The sume, in the skies may The poor man’s worth is dying; immortal spirit But, thanked be God! in spite of them, bloom! The lark stffl warbles flying!

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REGINALD HEBER. 143 The preacher prays, “Lord, bless us!” While he raves over wa~s “Lord, bless us!” echo cries; That need no whirlwind then; “Amen!” the breezes murmur low; Though slow to move, moved all at once, “Amen!” the rill replies: A sea, a sea of men! The ceaseless toil of woe-worn hearts The proud with pangs are paying, ______ But here, 0 God of earth and heaven! The humble heart is praying. REGINALD flEBER. How softly, in the pauses Of song, re-echoed wide, (1783-1826.J The cushat’s coo, the linnet’s lay, O’er rill and river glide! IF THOU WERT BY My SIDZ.

With evil deeds of evil men The affrighted land is fluging; IF thou wert by my side, my love, But still, 0 Lord, the pious heart How fast would evening fail And soul-toned voice are singing! In green Ben gala’s palmy grove, Listening the nightingale! Hush! hush! the preacher preaclieth: “Woe to the oppressor, woe!” If thou, my love, wert by my side, But sudden gloom o’ercasts the sun My babies at my knee, And saddened flowers below; How gayly would our pinnace glide So frowns the Lord! -but, tyrants, ye O’er Gunga’s mimic sea! Deride his indignation, And see not in the gathered brow I miss thee at the dawning gray, Your days of tribulation!

When, on our deck reclined, In careless ease my limbs I lay, Speak low, thou heaven-paid teacher! And woo the cooler wind. The tempest bursts above: I miss thee when by Gunga’s stream God whispers in the thunder; hear My twilight steps I guide, The terrors of his love! But most beneath the lamp’s pale beam On useful hands and honest hearts I miss fl~ee from my side. The base their wrath are wreaking But, thanked be God! they can’t preve’nt I spread my books, my pencil try, The storm of heaven from speaking. The lingering noon to cheer, But miss thy kind, approving eye, Thy meek, attentive ear. But when of morn or eve the star CORN-LAW HYMN.

Beholds me on my knee, LoRD! call thy pallid angel, I feel, though thou art distant f~~r, The tamer of the strong! Thy prayers ascend for me. And bid him whip with want and woe Then on! then on! where duty leads, The champions of the wrong! My course be onward still; 0, say not thou to ruin’s flood, O’er broad Hindostan’s sultry meads, “Up, sluggard! why so slow?” O’er bleak Almorah’s hilL But aJone let them groan, The lowest of the low; That course nor Delhi’s kingly gates And basely beg the bread they curse, Nor wild Malwah detain; Where millions curse them now! For sweet the bliss us both awaits No; wake not thou the giant By yonder western main. Who drinks hot blood for wine, Thy towers, Bombay, gleam bright, they And shouts unto the east and west, say, In thunder-tones like thine, Across the dark-blue sea; Till the slow to move rush all at once, But ne’er were hearts so light and gay An avalanche of men, As then shall meet in thee!

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SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. BERNARD BARTON. Or may be will, we prepare [1784-1849.] air, - A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart NOT OURS

THE VOWS. sings In unison with ours, breeding its futur. NOT ours the vows of such as plight wings. Their troth in sunny weather, Whileleaves are green, and skies are ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL. bright, To walk on flowers together. ABoU BEN An HEM (may his tribe in crease!) But we have loved as those who tread Awoke one night from a deep dream of The thorny path of sorrow, peace, With clouds above, and cause to dread And saw within the moonlight in his Yet deeper gloom to-morrow. room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, That thorny path, those stormy skies, An angel, writing in a book of gold; Have drawn our spirits nearer; Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem And rendered us, by sorrow’s ties, bold, Each to the other dearer. And to the presence in the room he said, “What writest thou?” The vision raised Love, born in hours of joy and mirth its head, With mirth and joy inay perish And with a look made of all sweet accord, That to which darker hours gave b’irth Answered, “The names of those who love Still more and more we cherish. the Lord.” “And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,” It looks beyond the clouds of time, Replied the angeL

Abou spoke more low, And through death’s shadowy portal; But cheerly still; and said, “I pray thee, Made by adversity sublime, then, By faith and hope immortaL Write me as one that loves his fell ow men.” The angel wrote and vanished. The next night LEIGll llUNT. It came again, with a great wakening [1784-1859.] And showed the names whom love of Cod had blessed, AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. And, lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest. How sweet it were, if without feeble _______ fright, Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight, An angel came to us, and we could bear ALLAN

CUNNINGllAM. To see him issue from the silent air At evening in our room, and bend on ours (1785-1842.J His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA. News of dear friends, and children who have never A WET sheet and a flowing sea, Been dead indeed, -as we shall know A wind that iollows fast, forever. And fills the white and rustling sail, Alas! we think not what we daily see And bends the gallant mast, - About our hearths, angels, that are to And bends the gatlant mast, my boy~, be, While, like the eagle free,

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ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. 145 Away the good ship flies, and leaves And thou maun speak 0’ me to thy God, Old England on our lee. And I will speak 0’ thee.

Ofor a soft and gentle wind! I heard a fair one cry; But give to me the swelling breeze, SHE`S GANE TO DWALL IN HEAVEN. And white waves heaving high, - The white waves heaving high, my lads SHE`5 gane to dwall in heaven, my lassie, The good ship tight and free;` She`a gane to dwall in heaven: The world of waters is our home, Ye`re owre pure, quo’ the voice 0’ God, And merry men are we. For dwalling out 0’ heaven! 0,what`11 she do in heaven, my lassie? 0, what`11 she do in heaven? THOU HAST SWORN BY THY

GOD. She`11 mix her ain thoughts wi’ angels’ eangs, Tnou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie, An’ make them mair meet for heaven. By that pretty white hand 0’ thine, And by a’ the lowing stars in heaven, She was beloved by a’, my lassie, That thou wad aye be mine;. She was beloved by a’; And I hae sworn by my God, my Jeanie, But an angel fell in love wi’ her, And by that kind heart 0’ thine, An’ took her frne us a’. By a’ the stars sown thick owre heaven, That thou shalt aye be mine. Low there thou lies, my lassie, Low there thou lies; Then foul fa’ the hands that wad loose A bonnier form ne’er went to the yird, sic bands, Nor frae it will arise!

An’ the heart that wad part sic luve; But there`a use hand can loose my band, But the finger 0’ God abuve. Fu’ soon I`11 follow thee, my lassie, Though the wee, wee cot mann be my bield, Fu’ soon I`11 follow thee; And my claithing e’er so mean, Thou left me naught to covet ahin’, I wad lap me up rich i’ the faulds 0’ luve, But took gudeness sel’ wi’ thee.

Heaven’s armfu’ 0’ my Jean. I looked on thy death-cold face, my lassie, Her white arm wad be a pillow for me I looked on thy death-cold face; Far safter than the down; Thou seemed a lily new cut i’ the bud, Aud Luve wad winnow owre us his kind, Au’ fading in its place. kind wings, An’ sweetly I`d sleep, an’ soun’. I looked on thy death-shut eye, my lassie, Come here to me, thou lass 0’ my luve, I looked 014 thy death-shut eye; Conie here, and kneel wi’ me! An’ a lovelier light iii the brow of heaven The morn is fu’ 0’ the presence 0’ God, Fell time shall ne’er destroy. An’ I canna pray without thee. morn-wind is sweet`mang the beds Thy lips were ruddy and calm, my lassie, The Thy lips were ruddy and calm; 0 new flowers, But gane was the holy breath 0’ heaven, The wee birds sing kindlie an’ hie; Our gudeman leans owre his kale-yard To sing the evening psalm. dyke, And a blytbe auld bodie is he. There’s naught but dust now mine, lassie, The Beuk rusun be taen when the carle There`a naught hut dust now mine; comes hame, My saul`a wi’ thee i’ the cauld grave, Wi’ the holie psalmodie; An’

why should I stay behin 10

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146 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. JOHN WILSON. We see thy ha~d, -it leads us, it sup (1785 - 1854.] We hear thy voice, -it counsels and it courts us; THE EVENING CLOUD. And then we tura away, -and still thy kin A CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun, Forgives our blindness. A gleam of crimson tinged its braided And still thy rain descends, thy SUll IS’ snow: Long had I watched the glory moving on Fru glowiiig, O’er the still radiance of the lake below. its ripen round, flowers are beneath Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated And, ~~ us blowing, slow! if man were some deserving crea. Even in its very motion there was rest; ture, While every breath of eve that chanced Joy covers nature. to blow 0, how long-suffering, Lord!

but thou Wafted the traveller to the beanteonswest. delightest EmNem, methought, ofthe departed soul, To win with love the wandering; thou To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is invitest, given; By smiles of mercy, not by frowns or And by the breath of mercy made to roll terrors, Right onwards to the golden gates of Man from his errors, heaven, Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, Who can resist thy gentle call, appeal And tells to man his glorious destinies. ing To every generous thought and grateful feeling, - That voice paternal, whispering, watch SIR JOHN

BOWBING. ing ever, - never. My bosom 1 [1792-.1 Father and Saviour! plant within this bosom ~OM THE RECESSES. The seeds of holiness; and bid them blossom FRoM the recesses of a lowly spirit In fragrance and in beauty bright and My humble prayer ascends: 0 Father! vernal, hear it. And spring eteraal! Upsoaring on the wings of fear and meek-Then place them in those everlasting ness, Forgive its weakness, gardens, Where angeLa walk, and seraphs are the wardens; I know, I feel, how mean and how un-Where every flower that climbs through worthy death’s dark portal The trembling sacrifice I pour before thee; Becomes immortaL What can I offer in thy presence holy, But sin and folly? For in thy sight, who every bosom view est, FATHER, thy paternal care Cold are our warmest vows, and vain our Has my guardian been, my guide. truest; Every hallowed wish and prayer Thoughts of a huri’ying hour, our lips Has thy hand of love supplied.

repeat them, Thine is every thought of bliss Our hearts forget them. Left by hours and days gone by;

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SAMUEL WOODWORTIT. - ANDREWS NORTON. 147 ~very hope thy offspring is, I found it the source of an exquisite Beaming from futurity. pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature Every sun of splendid ray, can yield.

Every moon that shines serene, How ardent 1 seized it, with hands that Every morn that welcomes day, were glowing, Every evening’s twilight scene, And quick to the whfte-pebbled bottom Every hour that wisdom brings, it fell; Every incense at thy shrine, - Then soon, with the emblem of truth overThese, and all life’s holiest things, flowing, And its fairest, all are thine. And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well, - The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound And for all, my hymns shall rise bucket, Daily to thy gracious throne; The moss-covered bucket, arose from the Thither let my asking eyes well. Turn unwearied, righteous One!

Through life’s strange vicissitude, How sweet from the green, mossy brim There reposing all my care; to receive it, Trusting still, through ill and good, As, poised on the curb, it inclined to Fixed, and cheered, and counselled my lips! there. Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips. And now, far removed from the loved SAMUEL WOODWORTll. habitation, The tears of regret will intrusively (u. 5. A., 1785-1842.J swell, As fancy reverts to my father’s planta THE BUCEET. tion, And sighs for the bucket that hangs How dear to this heart are the scenes of in the well, - my childhood, The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound When fond recollection presents them bucket, to view! The moss-covered bucket, that hangs in The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled the well. wildwood, ______ And every loved spot which my infancy knew!The wide-spreading pond, and the mill ANDREWS NORTON. that stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the (u. 5. A~, 1786 - 1853.]

cataract fell, The cot of my father, the dairy.house AFTER A SUMMER

SHOWER. nigh it, And e’en the rude bucket that hung THE rain is o’er. How dense and bright in the well, - Yon pearly clouds reposing lie! The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound Cloud above cloud, a glorious sight, bucket, Contrasting with the dark blue sky! The moss-covered bucket, which hung in In grateful silence earth receives the well. The gesseral blessing; fresh and fair, Each flower expands its little leaves, That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a As glad the common joy to share. treasure; For often at noon, when returued from The softened sunbeams pour around the field, A fairy light, uncertain, pale;

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148 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. The wind flows cool; the scented ground Be wakeful, be vigilant, - Is breathing odors on the gale. Danger may be At an hour when all seemeth Mid you rich clouds’ voluptuous pile, Securest to thee. Methinks some spirit of the air Might rest, to gaze below awhile, How! gains the leak so fast? Then turn to bathe and revel there. Clean out the hold, - Hoist up thy merchandise, The sun breaks forth; from off the scene Heave out thy gold; Its floating veil of mist is flung; There-let the ingots goAnd all the wilderness of green Now the ship rights; With trembling drops of light is hung. Hurrah! the harbor`5 near Lo! the red lights Now gaze on Nature, -yet the same, - Glowing with life, by breezes fanned, Slacken not sail yet Luxuriant, lovely, as she came, At inlet or island; Fresh in her youth, from God’s own hand. Straight for the beacon steer, Straight for the high land; Hear the rich music of that voice, Crowd all thy canvas on, Which sounds from all below, above; Cut through the foam: She calls her children to rejoice, Christian! cast anchor now, -

And round them throws her arms oflove. Heaven is thy home! Drink in her influence; low-born care, And all the train of mean desire, Refuse to breathe this holy air, And mid this living light expire. LAVINIA STODDARD.

Eu. a. A.~ 1787-1820.1 CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTllEY. TilE SOUL’S DEFIANCE. I SAID to Sorrow’s awful storm Ei 787-1854.] That beat against my breast, Rage on, - thou mayst destroy this form, MARINER’S HYMN. And lay it low at rest; L~u~c~ thy bark, mariner But still the spirit that now brooks Christian, God speed thee~! Thy tempest, raging high, Let loose the rudder-bands - Undaunted on its fury looks, Good angels lead thee!` With steadfast eye. Set thy sails warily, Tem~ests will come; I said to Penury’s meagre train, Steer thy course steadily: Come on, -your threats I brave; Christian, steer home! My last poor life-drop you may drain, And crush me to the grave; Look to the weather-bow, Yet still the spirit that endures Breakers are round thee; Shall mock your force the while, Let fall the plummet now, And meet each cold, cold grasp of yours Shallows may ground thee. With bitter smile. Reef in the foresail, there! Hold the helm fast! I said to cold Neglect and Scorn, So-let the vessel wear-Pass on, -

I heed you not; There swept the blast. Ye may pursue me till my form And being are forgot; “What of the night, watchman? Yet still the spirit, which you see What of the night?” Undaunted by your wiles, “Cloudy-all quiet-Draws from its own nobility No land yet-all`S right.” Its highborn smiles.

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WILLIAM KNOX. 149 I said to Friendship’s menaced blow, And the memory of those who have loved Strike deep, -my heart shall bear; ber and praised, Thou canst but add one bitter woe Are alike from the minds of the living To those already there; erased. Yet still the spirit that sustains This last severe distress The haisd of the king that the sceptro Shall smile upon its keenest pains, hath borne, And scorn redress. The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn, I said to Death’s uplifted dart, The eye of the sage, and the heart of the Aim sure, -0, why delay? brave, Thou wilt not find a fearful heart, Are hidden and lost in the depths of the A weak, reluctant prey; grave. For still fl~e spirit, firm and free, Unruffled by this last dismay, The peasant whose lot was to sow and to Wrapt in its own eternity, reap, Shall pass away. - The herdsman who climbed with his goats to the steep, The beggar who wandered in search of his bread, WILLIAM KNOX. Have faded away like fl~e grass that we (1789-1825.) The smut who enjoyed the communion of heaven, 0, WHY SHOULD

THE SPIRIT OF The sinner who dared to remain unfor MORTAL BE PROUD? given, 0, WHY should the spirit of mortal be The wise and the foolish, the silty and proud? just Like a fast-flitting meteor, a fast-flying Have quiet’ly mingled their bones in the cloud, dust. A flash of the lightning, a break of the He wave, So the multitude goes, like the flower passeth from life to his rest in theand the weed, That wither away to let others succeed; grave. So the multitude comes, even those we The leaves of the oak and the willow hebold, shall fade, To repeat every tale that hath often been Be scattered around andtogetherbe laid; told. And the young and the old, and the low and the high, For we are the same things our fathers Shall moulder to dust and together shall We see have been; lie. the same sights that our fathers have seen, - The child that a mother attended and We drink the same stream, and we fee) loved, the same sun, The mother that infant’s affection who And run the same course that our father proved, have run.

The husband that mother and infant who blessed, - The thoughts we are thinking our f~thers Each, all, are away to their dwellings of From would think; rest. the death we are shrinking from The maid on whose cheek, on whose To the life we are clinging to, they too brow, in whose eye, would cling; Shone beauty and pleasure, - her tri-But it speeds from the earth like a bird umphs are by; on the wing.

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150 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. They loved, but their story we cannot In and out, unfold; Through the motley rout, They scorned, buttheheart of the haughty The little Jackdaw kept hopping about; is cold; Here and there, They grieved, but no wail from their Like a dog in a fair, slumbers will come; Over comfits and cates They joyed, but the voice of their glad-And dishes and plates, ness is dumb. Cowl and cope and rochet and pall, Mitre and crosier, he hopped upon all. Theydied, -ay! they died; andwethings With a saucy air that are now, He perched on the chair Who walk on the turf that lies over their Where, iii state, the great Lord Cardinal brow, sat, Who make in their dwellings a transient In the great Lord Cardinal’s great red abode, hat; Meet the changes they met on their p11-And he peered in the face grimage road. Of his Lordship’s Grace, With a satisfied look, as if to say, Yea, hope and despondence, and pleasure “We two are the greatest folks here to. and pain, day!” Are mingled together in sunshine and And the priests with awe, rain; As such freaks they saw, And the smile and the tear, the song and Said, “The Devil must be in that little the dirge, Jackdaw!” Still follow each other, like surge upon surge. The feast was over, the board was cleared, The fiawus and the custards had all dis`T is the twink of an eye,`t is the draught appeared, of a breath, And six little singing-boys, - dear little From the blossom of health to the pale-souls! - ness of death, In nice clean faces and nice white stoles, From the gilded saloon to the bier and Came, in order due, the shroud, - Two by two, 0, why should the spirit of mortal be Marching that grand refectory through! proud? A nice little boy held a golden ewer, Embossed, and filled with water, as pure As any that flows between Rheims and Nam ur, RICllARD II. BARHAM. Whicb a nice little boy stood ready to catch (1788-i845.J In a fine golden hand-basin made to match. Two nice little boys, rather more grown, THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS.

Poured lavender-water and can-dc-Co logne; THE Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal’s chair; Andanice littleboyhadanice cake of soap Bishop and abbot and prior were there; Wofthy of washing the hands of the Pope I Many a monk and many a friar, One little boy more Many a knight and many a squire, A napkin bore With agreat many more of lesser degree, - Of the best white diaper fringed with pink, In sooth, a goodly company; And a cardinal’s hat marked in perma. And they served the Lord Primate on nent ink. bended knee. Never, I ween, The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight Was a prouder seen, Of these nice little boys dressed all in Read of in books or dreamt of iii dreams, white; Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of From his finger he draws H helms His costly turquoise:

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RICHARD H. BARHAM. 151 And, not thinking at all about little Jack-He cursed him in sitting, in standing, daws, in lying; Deposits it straight He cursed him in walking, in riding, By the side of his plate, in flying; While the nice little boys on his Emi-He cursed him living, he cursed him nence wait; dying! — Till, when nobody`5 dreaming of any Never was heard such a terrible curse! such thing, But what gave rise That little Jackdaw hops off with the To no little surprise, ring! Nobody seemed one penny the worse! There`5 a cry and a shout, The day was gone, And a deuce of a rout, The night came on, And nobody seems to know what they`re The monks and the friars fl~ey searched about, till dawn; But the monks have their pockets all When the sacristan saw, turned inside out; On crumpled claw, The friars are kneeling, Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw! And hunting and feeling No longer gay, The carpet, the floor, and the walls, and As on yesterday; the ceiling. His feathers all seemed to be turned the The Cardinal drew wrong way; - Off each plum-colored shoe, His pinions drooped, -he could hardly And left his red stockings exposed to the stand, - view; His head was as bald as the palm of your He peeps, and he feels hand; In the toes and the heels. His eye so dim, They turn up the dishes, - they turn up So wasted each limb, the plates, - That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, They take up the poker and poke out the “THAT`5

HIM! grates, - That`5 the scamp that has done this They turn up the rngs, scandalous thing, They examine the mugs; That`5 the thief that h,as got my Lord But, no! - no such thing, - Cardinal’s RING!` They can’t find THH

RING! The poor little Jackdaw, And the Abbot declared that “when When the monks he saw, nobody twigged it, Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw; Some rascal or other had popped in and And turned his bald head as much as to prigged it!” say, “Pray be so good as to walk this way!” The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, Slower and slower He called for his candle, his bell, and his He limped on before, book! Till they came to the back of the belfry In holy anger and pious grief door, He solemnly cursed that rascally thief! Where the first thing they saw, He cursed him at board, he cursed him Midst the sticks and the straw, in bed; Was the RING in the nest of that little From the sole of his foot to the crown Jackdaw! of his head; He cursed him in sleeping, that every Then the great Lord Cardinal called for night his book, He should dream of the Devil, and And off that terrible curse he took; wake in a f~ght. The mute expression He cursed him in eating, be cursed Served in lieu of confession, him in drinking, And, being thus coupled with full resti He cursed him in coughing, in sneez-tution, ing, in winking; The Jackdaw got plenary absolution!

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152 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. When those words were heard Yet on the rose’s humble bed That poor little bird The sweetest dews of night are shed, Was so changed in a moment,`t was As if she wept tise waste to see, - really absurd: But none shall weep a tear for me! He grew sleek and fat; In addition to that, My life is like the autumn leaf, A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a That trembles in the moon’s pale ray mat! Its hold is frail, its date is brief; His tail waggled more Restless, aiid soon to pass away! Even than before; Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, But no longer it wagged with an impu-The parent tree will mourn its shade, dent air, The winds bewail the leafless tree, No longer he perched on the Cardinal’s But noise shall breathe a sigh for me! chair. He hopped now about My life is like ilse priiits which feet With a gait devout; H
ave left 011 Tampa’s desert strand; At matins, at vespers, he never was out; Soon as the rising tide shall beat, And, so far from any more pilfering deeds, All trace will vanish from the sand; He always seemed telling the Confessor’s Yet, as if grieving to efface beads. All vestige of the human race, If any one lied, or if any one swore, On that lone shore loud moans the sea, - Or slumbered in prayer-time and hap. But none, alas! shall mourn for me! pened to snore, That good Jackdaw Would give a great “Caw!” As much as to say, “Don’t do so any more!” CllARLES WOLFE.

While many remarked, as his manners they saw, (1791 - 1823.) That they “never had known such a pious Jackdaw!” THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. He long lived the pride Of that country side, NoT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, And at last in the odor of sanctity died; As his corse to fise rampart we hurried; When, as words were too faint Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot His merits to paint, O’erthe grave where our hero we buried. The Conclave determined to make him a Saint. We buried him darkly at dead of night, And on newly made Saints and Popes, The sods with our bayonets turning; as you know, By the struggling moonbeams’ misty light, It`a the custom at Rome new names to And the lantern dimly burning.

bestow, So they canonized him by the name of No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Jem Crow! Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.

RIClIARD llENRY WILDE. Few and short were the prayers we said, (u. 5. A., 1789-1847.) And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE. was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. My life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky, We thought, as we hollowed his narrow But ere the shades of evening close bed, Is scattered on the ground-to die. And smoothed down his lonely pillow,

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JOHN HOWARD PAYNE. - FELICIA HEMANS. 153 That the foe and the stranger would tread FELICIA llEMANS. o’er his head, And we far away on the billow!

Ez794-1835.] Lightly they`11 talk of the spirit that`S THE CHILDE’S

DESTINY. gone, No mistress of the bidden skill, And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him, - No wizard gaunt and gflm, But little he`11 reck, if they let him sleep Went up by night to heath or hill InthegravewhereaBriton has laid him. To read the stars for him; The merriest girl in all the land Of vine-encircled France But half our heavy task was done, Bestowed upon his brow and hand When the clock struck tlse hour for Her philosophic glance.

retiring; “I bind thee with a spell,” said she, And we heard the distant and random gun “I sign thee with a sign; That the foe was sullenly firbig.

No woman’s love shall light on thee, No woman’s heart be tlsine! Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and “And trust me,`t is not that thy cheek gory; Is colorless and cold, We carved not a line, we raised not a Nor that thine eye is slow to speak stone, -

What only eyes have told; But we left him alone with his glory. For many a cheek of paler whfte Hath blushed wfth passion’s kiss, And many an eye of lesser light p Hath caught its fire from bliss: Yet while the rivers seek the sea, And while the young stars shine, JOfiN llOWARD PAYNE. No woman’s love shall light on thee, No woman’s heart be thine! (u.a. A., 1792-1852.J

“And`t is not that thy spirit, awed SWEET HOME. By beauty’s numbing spell, Shrinks from the force or from fise fraud MID pleasures and palaces though we Which beauty loves so well; may roam, For thou hast learned to watch and Be it ever so humble, there`a no place wake, like home! And swear by earth and sky, A charm from the skies seems to hallow And thou art very bold to take llS here,, What we must still deny: Which, seek through the world, is ne er ~ cannot tell; the charm was wrought met with elsewhere.

By other threads than mine; Home, home, sweet home! The lips are lightly begged or bought, There`a no place like home! The heart may not be thine!

An exile from home, splendor dazzles in “Yet thine the brightest smile shall be vain! That ever bemity wore, 0, give me my lowly thatched cottage And confidence from two or three, again! And compliments from more; The birds singing gayly that came at my And one shall give, perchance bath given, call; - What only is not love, - 0, give me sweet peace of mind, dearer Fnendship, 0, such as saints in heaven than all! Rain on us from above. Home, home, sweet home! If she shall meet thee in the bower, There`a no place like home! Or name thee in the shrine,

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154 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. 0, wear the ring, and guard the flow-These may have language all tfrine own, er, - To him a mystery still. Her heart may not be thine! Yet scorn thou not for this the true “Go, set thy boat before the blast, And steadfast love of years; Thy breast before the gun, - The kindly, that from childhood grew, The haven shall be reached at last, The faithful to thy tears! The battle shall be won; If there be one that o’er the dead Or muse upon thy country’s laws, Hath in thy grief borne part, Or strike thy country’s lute, And watched through sickness by thy And patriot hands shall sound applause, bed, And lovely lips be mute: Call his a kindred heart! Go, dig the diamond from the wave, The treasure from the mine, But for those bonds all perfect made, Enjoy the wreail~, the gold, the grave, - Wherein bright spirits blend, No woman’s heart is fl~ine! Like sister flowers of one sweet shade With the saiiie breeze that bend, “I charm thee from the agony For that full bliss of thought allied, Which others feel or feign, Never to mortals given, From anger and from jealousy, 0, lay thy lovely dreams aside, From doubt and from disdain; Or lift them unto heaven! I bid thee wear the scorn of years Upon the cheek of youth, And curl the lip at passion’s tears, And shake the head at truth: MARIA BROOKS. While there is bliss in revelry, Forgetfulness in wine, Be thou from woman’s love as free Lu. 5. A., 1795-i845.J As woman is from thine!” MARRIAGE. THE bard has sung, God never formed a KINDRED

HEARTS. soul Without its own peculiar mate, to meet 0, ASK not, hope thou not, too much Its wandering half, when ripe to crown Of sympathy below; the whole Few are the hearts whence one same touch Bright plan of bliss, most heavenly, Bids the sweet fountains flow: most complete! Few-and by still conflicting powers But thousand evil things there are that Forbidden here to meet-hate Such ties would make this life of ours To look on happiness; these hurt, im Too fair for aught so fleet. pede, And, leagued with time, space, circumIt may be that thy brother’s eye stance, and fate, Sees not as thine, which turns Keep kindred heart from heart, to pine In such deep reverence to the sky and pant and bleed. Where the rich sunset burns; It may be-that the breath of spring, And as il~e dove to far Palmyra flying, Born amidst violets lone, From where her native founts of AnA rapture o’er thy soul can bring, - tioch beam, A dream, to his unknown. Weary, exhausted, longing, panting, sighing, The tune that speaks of other times, - Lights sadly at the desert’s bitter A sorrowful delight!

stream - The melody of distant chimes, So many a soul, o’er life’s drear desert The sound of waves by night; f,aring, The wind that, with so many a tone, Love a pure, congenial spring unfound, Some chord within can thrill, - unquaffed,

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JAMES G. PERCIVAL JOHN G. C. BRAINARTh 155 Suffers, recoils, - then, thirsty and de-And flashes in the moonlight gleam, spairing And bright reflects the polar star. Of what it would, descends and sips the nearest druught. The waves along thy pebbly shore, As blows the north-wind, heave their foam, And curl around the dashing oar, JAMES G. PERCIVAL. As late tbe boatman hies him home. How sweet, at set of sun to view (u.5. A., 1795
zS~6.J Thy golden mirror spreading wide, And see the mist of mantling blue MAY. Float round the distant mountain’s side. I FEEL a newer life in every gale; The winds, that fan the flowers, At midnight hour, as shines the moon, And with their welcome breathings`ill A sheet ot silver spreads below, the sail, And swift she cuts, at highest noon, Tell of serener hours Light clouds, like wreaths of purest Of hours that glide unf’eFt away snow. Beneath the sky of May. On thy fair bosom, silver lake, The spirit of the gentle soutli-wind calls 0, 1 could ever sweep the oar, From his blue throne of air, When early birds at moriiing wake And where his whispering voice in music And evening tells us toil is o’er! falls Beauty is budding there; The bright ones of the valley break Their slumbers, and awake. JOfiN G. C. BRAINARD. The waving verdure rolls along the plain, (u.

5. A., 1796-152&J And the wide forest weaves, To welcome back its playful niates again,THE FALL OF NIAGAR~ A canopy of leaves from its darkening shadow floats A gush of trembling notes. THE thoughts are strange that crow~ into my brain, Fairer and brighter spreads the reign of While I look upward to thee. It would May; seem The tresses of the woods As if God poured thee from his hollow With the light dallying of the west-wind hand, play; And hung his bow upon thine awful front; And the full-brimming floods, And spoke in that loud voice, which As gladly to their goal they run, seem~d to him Hail the returning sun. Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour’s sake, The sound of many waters; and had bade TO

SENECA LAKE. Thy flood to chronicle the ages back, And notch His centuries in the eteinal ON thy fair bosom, silver lake, rocks. Tlie wild swan spreads his snowy sail, And round his breast the ripples break Deep calleth unto deep. And what As down he bears before the gale. are we, That hear the question of that voice subOn thy fair bosom, waveless stream, lime? The dipping paddle echoes far, 0, what are all the notes that ever rung

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156 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. From war 5 vain trumpet, by thy thun-But we`ve a page, more glowing and more derhig side? bright, Yea, what is all the riot man can make On which our friendship and our love to In his short life, to thy unceasing roar? write; And yet, bold babbler, what art thou to That these may never from the soul depart, Him Wetruattliem to tlie memory of the heart. Who drowned a world, and heaped the There is no dimming, no effacement there; waters far Each new pulsation keeps the record ci ear; Above its loftiest mountains? - a light Warm, golden letters all il~e tablet fill, wave, Nor lose their lustre till the heart stands That breaks, and whispers of its Maker’s still. might.

EPITHALAMIUM. JO SEP11 RODMAN DRAKE. I SAW two clouds at morning Eu. a.

A., 1795-1820.) Tinged by the rising sun, And in the dawn they floated on THE AMERICAN FLAG. And mingled into one; I thought that morning cloud was blessed, WHEN Freedom from hermountainheight It moved so sweetly to the west. Unfurled her standard to tlie air, She tore the azure robe of night, I saw two summer currents And set the stars of glory there; Flow smoothly to their meetino’ She mingled with its gorgeous dyes And join their course, with silent~~force, The milky baidric of the skies, In peace each other greeting And striped its pure, celestial white Calm was their course through`banks of With streakings of the morning light; While green, Then from his mansion in the sun dimpling eddies played between. She called her eagle-bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand Such be your gentle motion, The symbol of her chosen land. Till life’s last pulse shall beat; Flag of tlie brave, thy folds shall fly, Like summer’sbeam, and summer’s stream, The sign of hope and triumph hi~h1 Float on, in joy, to meet a A calmer sea, where storms shall cease, - When speaks the signal-trumpet tone, A purer sky, where all is peace. And the long line comes gleaming on, Ere yet the life-blood, warm and wet, Has dimmed the glistening bayonet, Each soldier’s eye shall brightly turn To where tliy sky-born glories burn, DANIEL WEBSTER. And as his springing steps advance, Catch war and vengeance from the glance. Eu. a. A., 1782-1852.] And when the cannon-moutbh~gs loud Heave in wild wreaths the baftle-shroud, THE MEMORY

OF THE HEART. And gory sabres rise and fill Like shoots of flame on midnight’s pall, IF stores of dry and learned lore we gain, Then shall tby meteor glances glow, We keep them in the memory of the And cowering foes shall sink beneath brain; Each gallant arm that strikes below Names, things, and facts, - whate’er we That lovely messenger of death. knowledge call,There is the common ledger for them all; Flag of the seas, on ocean wave And images on this cold surface traced Thy stars shall glitter o’er the brave; Make slight impression, and are soon When death, careering on the gale, effaced. Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,

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JOHN PIERPONT. 157 And frighted waves rush wildly back That hangs in his cage, a canary-bird Before the broadside’s reeling rack, swing); Each dying wanderer of the sea And she held to her bosom a budding Shall look at once to heaven and thee, bouquet, And smile to see thy splendors fly And, as she enjoyed it, she seemed to say, In triumph o’er liis closing eye. “Passing away! passing away!” Flag of the free heart’s hope and home, 0, how bright were the wheeL~, that told By angel hands to valor given, Of the la e of time, as they moved Thy stars have lit the wdkin dome, round ow; And all thy hues were born in heaven. And the hands, as they swept o’er the Forever float that standard sheet! dial of old Where breathes the foe but falls before Seemed to pb~~~~~ to the girl below. us, And lo! she had changed: in a few short With Freedom’s soil beneath our feet, hours And Freedom’s banner streaming o’er Her bouquet had become a garland of us? flowers, That she held in her outstretched hands, and flung ~OllN

PIERPONT. This way and that, as she, dancing, swung [u. 5. A., 1785-i866.j pride, That told me she soon was to be a bride; PASSING AWAY. Yet then, when expecting her happiest day, WAs it the chime of a tiny bell In the same sweet voice I heard her say, That came so sweet to`fly dreaming “Passing away! passing away 1” ear, Like the silvery tones of a fairy’s shell While I gazed at that fair one’s cheek, a That he winds, on the beech, so mellow shade and clear, Of thought or care stole softly over, When the winds and the waves lie to-Like that by a cloud in a summer’s day gether asleep, made, And the Moon and the Fairy are watch-Looking down on a field of Hossoming ing the deep, clover. She dispensing her silvery light, The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its And he his notes as silvery quite, flush While tise boatman listens and ships his Had something lost of its brilliant blush; oar, And the light in her eye, and the light To catch the music that comes from the on the wheds, shore? That marched so calmly round above Hark! the notes on my ear that play her, Are set to words; as they float, they say, Was a little dimmed, - as when Evening “Passing away! passing away!” steals Upon Noon’s hot face. Yet one could But no; it was not a fairy’s shell, n’t but love her, Blown on the beach, so mellow and For she looked like a mother whose first clear; babe lay Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell, Rocked on her breast, as she swung all day; Striking the hour, that filled my ear, And she seemed, in the same silver tone, As I lay in my dream; yet was it a chime to say, That told of the flow of the stream of time. “Passing away! passing away!”

For a beautiful clock from the ceiling hung, While yet I looked, what a change ther~ And a plump little girl, for a pendulum, came! swung Her eye was quenched, and her che~k (As you`ve sometimes seen, in a little ring was wan;

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158 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Stooping and staffed was her withered Even now, the bow-string, at his beck, frame, Goes round his mightiest subjects’ neck; Yet just as busily s~vi~ng she on; Thegarlandbeneathherhadfallentodust; Yet will he, in his saddle, stoopThe wheels above her were eaten with rust; I`ve seen him, in his palace-yardThe hands, that over the dial swept, To take petitions from a troop Grew crooked and tarnished, but on they Of women, who, behind his guard, kept, Come up, their several suits to press, And still there came that silver tone To state their wrongs, and ask redress. From the shrivelled lips of the toothless crone And these, into his house of prayer, (Let me never forget till my dying day I`ve seen him take; and, as lie spreads The tone or the burden of her lay),,, His own before his Maker there, “Passing away! passing away! These women’s prayers he hears or reads; For, while he wears the diadem, TO CONGRESS. He is instead of God to them. A woan FROM A PETITIoNEa, 183~ And this he must do. He may grant, WHAT! ourpetitionsspurned! The prayer Or may deny; but hear he must. Of fl~ousands - tens of thousands - Were his Seven Towers all adamant, cast, They`d soon be levelled with the dust, Unheard, beneath your Speaker’s chair! And “public feeling” make short woA~ But ye will hear us, first or last. Should he not hear them-with the Turk. The thousands that last year ye scorned Are millions noW. Be warned! Be Nay, start not from your chairs, in dread warned! Of cannon-shot or bursting shell! “The ox that treadeth out the corn These shall not fall upon your head, muzzle.” - Thus saith As once upon your house they fell. Thou shalt not We have a weapon, firmer set God. And will ye muzzle the free-born __ And better than the bayonet, - The man, - the owner of the sod, - Who “gives the grazing ox his meat,” A weapon that comes down as still And you-his servants here-your seat? As snowflakes fall upon the sod, But executes a freeman’s will There`a a cloud, blackening up the sky! As lightning does the will of God; East, west, and north its curtain And from its force nor doors nor locks spreads; Can shield you;-`t is the ballot-box. Lift to its muttering folds your eye! Beware! for bursting on your heads, Black as your deed shall be the balls It hath a force to bear you down; - That from that box shall pour like hail! `T is an insulted people’s frown. And when the storm upon you falls, Ye may have heard of the Soulta’ How will your craven cheeks turn pale! And how his Janissaries fell! n, For, at its coming though ye laugh Their barracks, near the Atmeida’n,`T will sweep you from your hail like He barred, and fired; and their death-chaff. yell Went to the stars, and their blood ran Not women, now, - the people pray. In brooks across the Atmeidan. Hear us, - or from us ye will hear! Beware! -
a desperate game ye play! The despot spake; and, in one night, The men that thicken in your rear The deed was done. He wields, alone, Kings though ye be-maynot be scorned. The sceptre of the Ottomite, Look to your move! your stake! Y~`iu~ And brooks no brother near his throne. WARNED.

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WILLIAM MOTIlERWELL 159 WILLIAM MOTllERWELL. 0 mornin’ life! 0 mornin’

luve! 0 lichtsome days and lang, When hinnied hopes around our hearts E‘798 -`83s.] Like simmer blossoms sprang! JEANIE MORRISON. 0, mind ye, luve, how aft we left I`YE wandered east, I`ve wandered west, The deavin’

din some toun, Through mony a weary way; To wander by the green burnside, But never, never can forget And hear its waters croon? The luve 0’ life’s young day! The simmer leaves hung ower our heads, The fire that`5 blawn on Beltane e’en The flowers burst round our feet, May weel be black gin Yule; And in the gloamin’ 0’ the wood, But blacker fa’ awaits the heart The throssil whusslit sweet; Where first fond luve grows cool. The throssil wbusslit in the wood, o dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, The burn sang to the trees, The thochts 0’ bygane years And we, with Nature’s heart in time, Still fling their shadows ower my path, Concerted harmonies; And blind my een wi’ tears: And on the knowe abune the burn hey blind my een wi’ saut, saut tears, For hours thegither sat And sair and sick I pine, In the sileutness 0’ joy, till baith As memory idly summons up Wi’ very gladness grat. The blijhe blinks 0’ langayne. Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison, was then we luvit ilk ither weel, Tears trickled doun your cheek, was then we twa did part; Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane Sweet time-sad time! twa bairns at Had ony power to speak! scule, That was a time, a blessed time, Twa bairns, and but ae heart! When hearts were fresh and young, was then we sat on ae laigh bink, When freely gushed all feelings forth, To leir ilk ither lear; Unsyllabled, unsung! And tones and looks and smiles were
marvel, Jeanie Morrison, shed, Remembered evermair. Gin I bae been to thee As closely twined wi’ earliest thochts 1 wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, As ye hae been to me? 0, tell me gin their music fills When sitting on that bink, Thine ear as it does mine! Cheek touchin’ cheek, loof locked in loof What our wee heads coiild think? 0, say gin e’er your heart grows grit Wi’

dreamings 0’ langsyne? When baith bent doun ower ae braid page, Wi’ ae buik on our knee, I`ve wandered east, I’ve wandered west, Thy lips were on thy lesson, but I`ve borne a weary lot; My lesson was in thee. But in my wanderings, far or eai, Ye never were forgot. 0, mind ye bow we hung our heads, The fount that first burst frae this liit How cheeks brent red wi’

shame, Still travels on its way; Whene’er the scule-weans laughin’ said, And channels deeper, as it rins, We cleeked thegither hame? The luve 0’

life’s young day. And mind ye 0’ the Saturdays (The scule then skail’t at noon) 0 dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, When we ran aff to speel the braes, -

Since we were sindered yming, The broomy braes 0’ June? 1`ve never seen your face, nor heard The music 0’ yo”r tongue; My head rins round mid round about, But I could hug all wretchedness, My heart flows like a sea, And happy could I die, As ane by ane the thochts rush back Did I but ken your heart still dreamed 0’ scule-time and 0’ thee. 0’ by~ane days and me!

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160 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. TllOMAS llOOD. a wall so blank my shadow I thank (1795-154s.J “Work-work-work! THE SONG OF THE SfflRT. From weary chime to chime; Work-work-work, WITH fingers weary and worn, As prisoisers work, for crime With eyelids heavy and red, Band, and gusset, and seam; A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Seam, and gusse t,andband; thread, Till the heart is sick, and the brain be Plying her needle and numbed, Stitch!

stitch! stitch! As well as the weary hand! In poverty, hunger, and dirt; And still, with a voice of dolorous pitch, “Work - work - work! She sang the “Song of the Shirt!” In the dull December light, “Work! work! work!

And work-work-work While the cock is crowing aloof’ When the weather is warm and bright: And work - work - work, While underneath the eaves Till the stars shine through the roof! The brooding swallows cling, It 5, oh!

to be a slave As sf to show me their sunny backs, Along with the barbarous Turk, And twit me with the spring. Where woman has never a soul to save, “0 but to breathe the breath If THIS is Christian work! Of the cowslip and primrose sweet, “Work-work-work! With the sky above nsy head, Till the brain begins to swim; And the grass beneath my feet; Work - work - work, For only one short hour Till the eyes are heavy and dim! To feel as I used to feel, and hand; Before I knew the woes of want, Seam, and gusset, And the walk that costs a meal! Band, and gusset, and seam; Till over the buttons I fall asleep, “0, but for one short hour, - And sew them on in my dream! A respite, however brief! “0 men with sisters dear! No blessed leisure for love or hope, O men with mothers and wives! But only time for grief! It is not linen you`re wearing out, A little weeping would ease my heart; - But human creatures’ lives! But in their briny bed Stitch -
stitch - stitch, My tears must stop, for every drop In poverty, hunger, and dirt; Hinders needle and thread! Sewing at once, with a double thread, With fingers weary and worn, A SHROUD as well as a shirt! With eyelids heavy and red, “But why do I talk of death, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, That phantom of grisly bone2 Plying her needle and thread, - I hardly fear his terrible shape, Stitch! stitch! stitch! It seems so like my own! In poverty, hunger, and dirt; It seems so like my own And still with a voice of dolor~ns pitch Because of the fast I keep; Wouldthatitstonecouldreachtherich 0 God! that bread should be so dear, She sang this “Song of the Shirt!” And flesh and blood so cheap! “Work - work - work! MORNING MEDITATIONS. My labor never flags; And what are its wages?

A bed of straw, LET Taylor preach, upon a morning A crust of bread - and rags: breezy, A shattered roof-and this naked floor-How well to rise while nights and larks A table-a broken chair-are flying, -

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THOMAS HOOD. 16i For my part, getting up seems not so easy SONG. By half as lying. 0 LADY, ]eave thy silken thread What if the lark does carol in the sky, And flowery tapestrySoaring beyond the sight to find him There`a living roses on the bush, out,- And blossoms on the tree. Wherefore am I to rise at such a fly? Stoop where thou wilt, thy careless hand I’m not a trout. Some random bud will meet;wiit find Talk not to me of bees and such-like hums, The daisy at thy feet. The smell of sweet herbs at the morning`T is like the birthday of the world, prime, - When earth was born in bloom; Only lie long enough, and bed becomes The light is made of many dyes, A bed of time. The air is all perfume; There`a crimson buds, and white and To me Dan Phoebus and his car are blue naught, The very rainbow showers His steeds that paw impatiently about, - Have turned to blossoms where they fell, Let them enjoy, say I, as horses ought, And sown the earth with flowers. The first turn-out! There`a fairy tulips in the east, - Right beautiful the dewy meads appear The garden of the sun; Besprinkled by the rosy-fingered girl; The very streams reflect the hues, What then, -if I prefer my pillow-beer And blossom as they run; To early pearl? While morn opes like a crimson rose, Still wet with pearly showers: My stomach is not ruled by other men’s, Then lady, leave the silken thread And, grumbling for a reason, qnainily Th’ou twinest into flowers. begs Wherefore should master rise before the hens RUTH. Have laid their eggs?

SHE stood breast high amid the corn, Why from a comfortable pillow start Clasped by the golden light of morn, To see faint flushes in the east awaken? Like the sweetheart of the sun, A fig, say I, for any streaky part, Who many a glowing kiss had won. Excepting bacon. On her cheek an autumn flush An early riser Mr. Gray has drawn, Deeply ripened; - such a blush In the midst of brown was born, Who used to haste the dewy grass among, Like red poppies grown with corn. To meet the sun upon the upland lawn,” - Round her eyes her tresses fell, - Well, - he died young. Which were blackest none could tell; But long lashes veiled a light With charwomen such early hours agree, That had else been all too bright. And sweeps that earn betimes their bit and sup; And her hat, with shady brim, But I`m no climbing boy, and need not be Made her tressy forehead dim; -

All up, -all up! Thus she stood amid the stooks, Praising God with sweetest looks. So here I lie, my morning calls deferring, Till something nearer to the stroke of Sure, I said, Heaven did not mean noon;- Where I reap thou shouldst but glean; Aman that’s fond precociously of sttrring Lay thy sheaf adown and come, Must be a spoon. Share my harvest and my home.

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162 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. W. B. 0. PEABODY. For every fire that fronts the sun, And every spark that walks alone 5. A., 1799-Around the utmost verge of heaven, (u. 1848.] Were kindled at thy burning throne. HYMN OF

NATURE. God of the world! the hour must come, Gon of the earth’s extended plains And nature’s self to dust return! The dark green fields contented lie Her crumbling altars must decay, The mountains rise like holy to` Her incense fires shall cease to burn! Where man might commune with~tl~fe5s~k But still her grand and lovely scenes The tall cliff challenges the storm y; H ave made man’s warmest praises flow; That lowers upon the vale below For hearts grow holier as they trace Where shaded fountains sen(i their The beauty of the world below. streams, With joyous music in their flow.

God of the dark and heavy deep! W. A. MUllLENBERG. The waves lie sleeping on the sands, (u. a. A.) Till the fierce trumpet of the storm Hath summoned up their thundering I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. bands; Then the white sails are dashed like foam, WOULD not live aiway: I ask not to Or hurry, trembling, o’er the seas, stay Till, calmed by thee, the sinking gale ~ere storm after storm rises dark o’er Serenely breathes, Depart in peace. the way; God of the forest’s solemn shade! Where, seeking for rest, I but hover The grandeur of the lonely tree, around That wrestles singly with the gale, Like the patriarch’s bird, and no resting to thee; Where is found; Lifts up admiring eyes hope, when she paints her gay But more majestic far they stand, bow in the air, When, side by side, their ranks they form, Leaves her brilliance to fade in the night To wave on high their plumes of green, of despair, And fight their battles with the storm.

And joy’s fleeting angel ne’er sheds a glad God of the light and viewless air! Save ray, Where summer breezes sweetly flow, the gleam of the plumage that bears Or, gathering in their angry might, him away. The fierce and wintry tempests blow; I would not live aiway, thus fettered by All-from the evening’s plaintive sigh, sin, That hardly lifts the drooping flower, Temptation without, and corruption To the wild whirlwind’s midnight cry -
within; Breathe forth the language of thy power. In a moment of strength, if I sever the chain, God of the fair and open sky! Scarce the victory is mine ere I`m cap. How gloriously above us springs tive again. The tented dome, of heavenly blue, E’en the rapture of pardon is mingled Suspended on the rainbow’s rings. with fears, Each brilliant star, that sparkles through; And the cup of thanksgiving with peni. Each gi]ded cloud, that wanders free te~t tears. In evening’s purple radiance, gives The festival trump calls for jubilant songs, The beauty of its praise to thee. But my spirit her own miserere prolongs. God of the roiling orbs above! I would not live aiway: no, welcome Thy name is written clearly bright the tomb; In the warm day’s unvarying blaze, Immortality’s lamp burns there bright Or evening’s golden shower of light. mid the gloom.

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LADY DUFFERIN. - WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED. 163 There, too, is the pillow where Christ Tlie place is little changed, Mary; bowed liis head; The day`s as bright as then; 0, soft be my slumbers on that holy bed! The lark’s loud song is in my ear, And then the glad morn soon to follow And the corn is green again. tbat night, But I miss tlie soft clasp of your hand, When the sunrise of glory shall burst And your warni breath on my cheek, on my sight, Aiid I still keep listening for the words And tbe full matin-song, as the sleepers You nevermore may speak. arise To shout in the morning, shall peal`T is but a step down yonder lane, through the skies.

The village church stands near, The church where we were wed, Mary; Who, who would live alway, away from I see the spire from here. his God, But tlie graveyard lies between, Mary, Away from yon heaven, that blissful And my step might break your rest, abode, Where I`ve laid you, darling, down to Where the rivers of pleasure flow o’er sleep the bright plains, With your i;aby on your breast. And the noontide of glory eternally reigns.

Where the saints of all ages in harmony’ I`m very lonely now, Mary, Their meet, For the poor make no new friends; Saviour and brethren transported But, 0, they love the better still to greet, The few our Father sends!

While tlie anthems of rapture unceas-And you were all I had, Mary, ingly roll, My blessing and my pride; And the sniile of the Lord is tlie feast of There`s nothing left to care for now, the soul 1 Since my poor Mary died. That heavenly music! what is it I hear? I`m bidding you a long farewell, The notes of the harpers ring sweet on My Mary kind and true, my ear! But I`11 not forget you, darling, Aiid see soft unfolding those portals of In the land I`m going to. gold, They say there`s bread and work for all, The King all arrayed in his beantybehold! And the sun shines always there; 0, give me, 0, give me the wings of a dove! But I`11 not forget old Ireland, Let me hasten my flight to those man-Were it fifty times less fair. sions above: Ay!`t is now that my soul on swift ______
pinions would soar, And in ecstasy bid earth adieu evermore. WINTllROP

MACKWORTll PRAED. LADY DUFFERIN. (iSoi -1839.) i8o-iS67.J THE BELLE OF

THE BALL YEARS, years ago, ere yet my dreams THE II~~ISH EMIGRANT. llad been of being wise and witty; Ere I had done with writing themes, I`M
sitting on the stile, Mary, Or yawned o’er this infernal Chitty, - Where we sat side by side Years, years ago, while all my joys On a bright May morning long ago, Were in my fowling-piece and filly; When first you were my bride. In short, while I was yet a boy, The corn was springing fresh and green, I fell in love wfth Laura Lilly. And the lark sang loud and high, And the red was on your lip, Mary, I saw her at a county ball; And the lovelight in your eye. There, when the sound of flute and fiddle

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164 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Gave signal sweet in that old hallShe sketched; the vale, the wood, the Of hands across and down the middle, beach, Hers was the subtlest spell by far Grewlovelierfrom her pencil’s shading: Ofalltbatsets young hearts romancing: She botanized; I envied each She was our queen, our rose, our star; Young blossom in her boudoir fading: And when she danced-0 Heaven, her She warbled Handel; it was grand, - dancing! She made the Catalani jealous: She touched the organ; I could stand Dark was her hair; her hand was white; For hours and hours and blow the Her voice was exquisitely tender; bellows. Her eyes were full of liquid light; I never saw a waist so slender; She kept an album, too, at home, Her every look, her every smile, Well filled with all an album’s glo Shot right and left a score of arrows: ries, - I thought`t was Yenus from her isle, Paintings of butterflies and Rome, I wondered where she`d left her spar-Patterns for trimming, Persian stories, rows. Soft songs to Julia’s cockatoo, Fierce odes to famine and to slaughter, She talked of politics or prayers And autographs of Prince Leboo, Of Southey’s prose or Word’swofth’s And recipes for elder water. sonnets, Of daggers or of dancing bears, And she was flattered, worshipped, bored; Of battles or the last new bonnets; Her steps were watched, her dress was By candlelight, at twelve o’clock noted; To me it mattered not a tittle,` Her poodle dog-was quite adored; If those brighf lips had quoted Locke, Her sayings were extremely quoted. 1 might have thought they murmured She laughed, -and every heart was glad, Little. As if the taxes were abolished; She frowned, -and every look was sad, Through sumay May, throughsultryJune, As if the opera were demolished. I loved her with a love eternal;She smiled on many just for fun, I spoke her praises to the moon, I wrote them for the Sunday Journal. 1w knew that there was nothing in it; My mother laughed; I soon found out as the first, the only one That ancient ladies have no fedin Her heart had thought of for a minute: My father frowned; but how should knew it, for she tolJ me so, gout In phrase which was divinelymoulded; Find any happiness in kneeling? She wrote a charning hand, and 0, She was the daughter of a dean, How sweetly all her notes were folded! Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic; Our love was like most other loves, - She had one brother, just thirteen, A little glow, a little shiver; Whose color was extremely hectic; A rosebud and a pair of gloves, Her grandmother, for many a year, And “Fly Not Yet,” upon the river; Had fed the parish with her bounty; Some jealousy of some one’s heir, Her second-cousin was a peer, Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, And lord4ieutenant of the county. A miniature, a lock of hair, The usual vows, -and then we parted. But titles and the three per cents, And mortgages, and great relations, We parted, -months and years rolled by; And India bonds, and tithes and rent~, We met again four summers after. 0, what are they to love’s sensations? Our parting was all sob and sigh, Black eyes, fair forehead, clustering locks, Our meeting was all mirth and laughter~

Such wealth, such honors, Cupid For in my heart’s most secret cell chooses; There had been many other lodgers, He cares as little for the stocks And she was not the ball-room belle, As Baron Rothschild for the muses. But oniyMrs.-Something-Roger~

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WILLIAM LEGGETT. - FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. 165 WILLIAM LEGGETT. Affections are as thoughts to her, the 5. , 1502-1539.) Her feelings have the fragrancy, the (u. freshness of young flowers; LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. And lovely passions, changing oft, so fill her, she appears THE birds, when winter shades the sky, The ima of themselves by turns, - the Fly o’er the seas away, id%l of past years. Where laughiug isles in sunshine lie, And summer breezes play; Of her bright face one glance will trace a picture on the brain, the friends that flutter near And of her voice in echoing hearts a And thus sound must long remain; While fortune’s sun is warm But memory such as mine of her so very Are startled if a cloud appear, much endears, And fly before the storm. When death is nigh my latest sigh will not be life’s, but hers. But when from winter’s howling plains Each other warbler`5 past, I fill this cup to one made up of loveli. The little snow-bfrd still remains, ness alone, And chirrups midst the blast. A woman, of her gentle sex the seeming paragon. friendship’s Her health! and would on earth there Love, like that bird, when stood some more of such a frame, throng That life might be all poetry, and wears With fortune’s sun depart, ness a name. Still lingers with its cheerful song, And nestles on the heart. FITZ-GREENE llALLECK. EDWARD COATE PINKNEY. Eu. 5. A., 1795-1567.) Eu. 5. A., 1802-1828.] BURNS. A HEALTH. HE kept his honesty and truth, His independent tongue and pen, I FILL this cup to one made up of loveli. And moved in manhood as in youth, ness alone, Pride of his fellow-men. A woman, of her gentle sex the seeming paragon; Strongsense, deep feeling, passions strong, To whom the better elements and kindly A hate of tyrant and of knave, stars have given A love of right, a scorn of wrong, A form so fair, that, like the air,`t is less Of coward and of slave, - of earyk than heaven. A kind, true heart, a spirit high, Her every tone is music’s own, like those That could not fear and would not bow, of morning birds, Were written in his manly eye And something more than melody dwells And on his manly brow. ever in her wordsThe coinage of her heart are they, and Praise to the bard! his words are driven, from her lips each flows Like flower-seeds by the farwinds sown, As one may see the burdened bee forth Where’er beneath the sky of heaven issue from the rose.

The birds of fame have flown.

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16(3 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Praise to the man! a nation stood And furthermore - in fifty years, or Beside his coffin with wet eyes, sooner, Her brave, her beautiful, her good, We shall export our poetry and wine; As when a loved one dies. And our brave fleet, eight frigates and a schooner, And still, as on his funeral day, Will sweep the seas froaa Zembla to Men stand his cold earth-couch around, the Line. With the mute homage that we pay To consecrated ground. If he were with me, King of Tuscarora! The last, the hallowed is, 1nGazin~~ as I, upon thy portrait now, And consecrated ground it all medalled fringed, and beaded home of one glory, Who lives upon all memories, Its eye’s dark beauty, and its thought. Though with the buried gone. ful brow, - Such graves as his are pilgrim shrines, Shrines to no code or creed confined, - Its brow, half martial and half diploThe Delphian vales, the Palestines, matic; The Meccas of the mind. Its eye, upsoaring like an eagle’s wings, - - Well might he boast that we, the Demo. cratic, ON A PORTRAIT OF RED JACKET, Outrival Europe, even in our kings! For thou wast monarch born.

Tradition’s COOPER, whose name is with his country’s pages of thy parent tree, woven, Tell not planting First in her files, her PIoNEER of But that the forest tribes have bent for mind,- ages A wanderer now in other climes, has To thee, and to thy sires, the subject proven knee. His love for the young land he left behind; Thy name is princely, - if no poet’s magic And throned her in the senate-hall of Could make RED JACKET grace an nations, English rhyme, Robed like the deluge rainbow, heaven-Though soirie one with a genius for the wrought, tragic Magnificent as his own mind’s creations, Hath introduced it in a pantomime, And beautiful as its green world of thought; Yet it is music in the language spoken Of thine own land; and on her herald And faithful to the Act of Congress, roll, quoted As bravely fought for, and as proud a As law authority, it passed nem. con.:token He writes that we are, as ourselves have As Cceur de Lion’s of a warrior’s souL voted, The most enlightened people ever known; Thy garb, - though Austria’s bosom-star would frighten That all our week is happy as a Sunday That medal pale, as diamonds the dark In Paris, full of song and dance and mine, laugh; And George fl~e Fourth wore, at his court And that, from Orleans to the Bay of at Brighton, Fundy, A more becoming evening dress than There`s not a bailiff or an epitaph; thine;

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FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. 167 ~et`t is a brave one, scorning wind and I cannot spare tbe luxury of believing weather, That all things beautiful are what they And fitted for thy couch, on field and seem, - flood As Rob Roy’s tartan for the Highland Who will believe that, with a smile whose heather,. blessing Or forest green for England’s Robin Would, like the Patriarch’s, soothe a Hood. dying hour; With voice as low, as gentle, and caressIs strength a monarch’s merit, like a ing, whaler’s? As e’er won maiden’s lip in moonlit Thou art as tall, as sinewy, and as bower; strong As earth’s first kings, - theArgo’sgallant With look, like patient Job’s, eschewing sailors, evil; Heroes in history, and gods in song. With motions graceful as a bird’s in air, - Is beauty?-Thine has with thy youth Thou art, in sober truth, the veriest devil departed; That e’er clenched fingers in a captive’s But the love-legends of thymanhood’s hair! years, And she who perished, young andbroken-That in thy breast there springs a poison hearted, fountain, Are-But I rhyme for smiles and Deadlier than that where bathes the ll0t for tears. Upas-tree; And in thy wrath, a nursing cat-o’ - Is eloquence?-Her spell is thine tbat mountain reaches Is calm as her babe’s sleep compared The heart, and makes the wisest head with thee! its sport; And there 5 one rare, strange virtuein And underneath that face, like summer thy speeches, ocean’s, The secret of their mastery, -they are Its lip as moveless, and its cheek as short.

clear, Slumbers a whirlwind of the heart’s emoThe monarch mind, the mystery of com-tions, - manding, Love, hatred, pride, hope, sorrow, -all The birth-hour gift, the art Napoleon, save fear. Of winning, fettering, moulding, wield ing, banding Love-for thy land, as if she were thy The hearts of millions till theymove daughter, as one, - Her pipe in peace, her tomahawk in wars; Thou hast it. At thy bidding men have Hatred - of missionaries and cold water; crowded Pride - in thy rifle-trophies and thy The road to death as to a festival; scars; And minstrels, at their sepulchres, have shrouded Ho~e%~h~at may be by the With banner-folds of glory the dark thy wrongs palL at Spirit Remembered and revenged when thou art gone; Who will believe, - not I; for in de. Sorrow-that none are left thee to in ceiving herit Lies the dear charm of life’s delightful Thy name, thy fame, thy passions, and dream: thy throne!

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168 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON. I sailed with storm upon the deep, I shouted to the eagle soaring; Lu. 5. A.J I hung me from the rocky steep When all but spirits were asleep, SONNET. To feel the winds about me sweep, And hear the gallant waters roaring: WRITTENWHILE IN

PRISON FOa DENOUNCINO For every sound and shape of stnf~ THE DOMESTIC

SLAVE-TMAD~ To me was as the breath of life. HIGH walls and huge the body may con-But I am strangely altered now: fine,.,I love no more the bugle’s voice, And iron gates obstruct the prisoner The rushing wave, the plunging prow, gaze, The mountain with its clouded brow, And massive bolts may baffle his design, The thunder when the blue skies bow And vigilant keepers watch his devious And all the sons of God rejoice. ways; I love to dresm of tears and sighs, But scorns the immortal mind such base And shadowy hair, and half. shut eyes control: No chains can bind it and no cell en close. Swifter than light it flies from pole to pole, And in a flash from earth to heaven it GEORGE LUNT. goes. It leaps from mount to mount; from vale Lu. a A.J to vale It wanders, plucking honeyed fruits PILGRIM SONG. and flowers; It visits home to hear the fireside tale OVEn the mountain wave, see where they And in sweet converse pass the joyous come; hours; Storm-cloud and wintry wind welcome `T is up before the sun, roaming afar, them home; And in its watches wearies every star. Yet, where the sounding gale howls to the sea, p There their song peals along, deep-toned and free: JOllN NEAL. “Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we come; Lu. a A.J Where the free dare to be, -this is our home.” AMBITION. England hath sunny dales, dearly they I LOVED to hear the war-horn cry, bloom; And panted at the drum’s deep roll, Scotia hath heather-hills, sweet their And held my breath, when, floating liigh,perfume: I saw our starry banners fly, Yet through the wilderness cheerfiil we As, challenging the haughty sky, stray, They went like battle o’er my souL Native land, native land, home fsr away! For I was so ambitious then, “Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we I longed to be the slave of men! come Where the free dare to be, - this is our I stood and saw the morning light, home!” A standard swaying far and free, And loved it like the conquering flight Dim grew the forest-path: onward they Of angels, floating wide and bright trod; hove the storm, above the fight Firm beat their noble hearts, trusting in Where nations strove for liberty; God! And heard afar the signal-cry Gray men and blooming maids, liigh rose Of trumpets in the hollow sky. their song;

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CHARLES SPRAGUE. - llENRY SCOTT RrnDELL. 169 Hear it sweep, clear and deep, ever along: How life-like, through the mist of years, “Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we Each well-remembered face appears! come; We see them, as in times long past; Where the free dare to be,- this is onr From each to each kind looks are cast; home!” We hear their words, their smiles behold; They`re round us, as they were of old. Not theirs the glory-wreath, torn by the We are all here. blast; Heavenward their holy steps, heavenward We are all here, they past. Father, mother, Green be their mossy graves! ours be Sister, brother, their fame, You that I love with love so dear. While their song peals along ever the This may not long of us be said; same: Soon must we join gathered dead, “Pilgrims and wanderers, hither we And by the hearth we now sit round come; Some other circle will be found. Where the free dare to be,- this is our , then, that wisdom may we know, home!” Which yields a life of peace below; So, in the woild to follow this, May each repeat in wor’ls of bliss, CHARLES

SPRAGUE. We’re all-all here! (u. S. A. 1791-i874.J TIlE FAMILY MEETING.

HENRY SCOTT RIDDELL. WE are all here, Father, mother, OUR MARY. Sister, brother, All who hold each other dear. Oun Mary liket weel to stray Each chair is filled; we`re all at home! Where clear the burn was rowin’; Tonight let no cold stranger come. And troth she was, though I say sae, It is not often thus around As fair as aught ere made 0’ clay, Our old familiar hearth we`re found. And pure as ony gowan. Bless, then,the meetingaudthespot; For once be every care fbrgot; And happy, too, as ony lark Let gentle peace assert her power, The claud might ever carry; And kind affection rule the hour. Sbe shuuned the ill and sooghtflieood, We`re all - all here. E’eu mair thm~ weel wasunderstoo; We`re not all here! And a’ fouk liket Mary. Some are away, - the dead ones dear, Wbo thronged with us this ancient hearth, But she fell sick wi’ some deeay, And gave the hour to guileless mirth. When she was but eleven; Fate, with a rten~, relentless hand, And as she pined frae day to day, Looked in, and thinned our little band; We grudged to see her gaun away, Some lil~c a night-flash passed away, Though she was gaun to Heaven. And some saiik lingering day by day; The quiet graveyard, - some lie there,- There`5 fears for them that`5 far awa’ And cruel ocean has his share. And fykes for them are flitting; We`re not all here. But fi~ars and cares, baith grit and sma’, We by and by o’er-pit them a’; We are all here! But death there`5 nae o’er-pitting. Even they, -the dead,-though dead, so Fond dear, - to her duty true, And nature’s ties are hard to break, Brings back their faded forms to view. When thus they maun be broken;

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170 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES And e’en tile form we loved to see, It rises, roars, rends all outright, -0 We canna lang, dear though it be, Yulcan, what a glow! Preserve it as a token.`T is blinding white,`t is blasting bright; fl~e high sun shines not so! But Mary had a gentle heart, The high sun sees not, on the earth, such Heaven did as gently free her; fiery, fearful show, - Yet lang afore she reached that part, The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, Dear sir, it wad ha’e made ye start the ruddy, lurid row Had ye been there to see her. Of smiths, that stand, an ardent baud, Sae changed, and yet sae sweet like men before the foe; And growing meek and mee~er,~~d fair, As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster slow Wi’ her lang locks o’ yellow hair, Sinks on the anvil, - all about the faces She wore a little angel’s air, Ere angels cam’ to seek her. fiery grow, - Hurrah!” they shout, “leap out, leap And when she couldna stray out by, out”; bang, bang, the sledges go: The wee wild flowers to gather, Hurrah! the jetted lightuings are hissing She oft her household plays wad try, A high and low; To hide her illness frae our eye, hailing fount of fire is struck at every Lest she should grieve us farther. squashing blow; The leathern mail rebounds the hail; the But ilka thing we said or did rattling cinders strew Aye pleased the sweet wee creature; The ground around; at every bound the Indeed, ye wad ha’e thought she had sweltering fountains flow; A something in her made her glad And thick and loud the swinking crowd, Ayont the course o’ nature. at every stroke, pant “Ho!” But death’s cauld hour cam’ on at last As it to a’ is comin’;` Leap out, leap out, my masters; leap out And may it be, whene’er it fa’s, and lay on load! Nae waur to others than it was Let`a forge a goodly anchor; a bower, To Mary, sweet wee woman! thick and broad: For aheart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode, And Isee tije good ship riding all in a perilous road; SAMUEL FERGUSON. The low reef roaring on her lea; the roll From stem to stern, sea after sea; the THE FORGING OF

THE ANCHOR. mainmast by the board; The bulwarks down; the rudder gone; COME, see the Dolphin’s anchor forged; the boats stove at the chains; `t is at a white heat now: But courage still, brave mariners, the The bellows ceased, the flames decreased, bower yet remains, though on the forge’s brow And not an inch to flinch he deigns save The little flames still fitfully play through when ye pitch sky-high, the sable mound; Then moves his head, as though he said, And fitfully you still may see the grim “Fear nothing, - here am I!” smiths raiiking round, All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare; Swing in your strokes in order; let foot Some rest upon their sledges here, some and hand keep time, work the windlass there. Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple’s chime: The ~~ndlass strains the tackle-chains, But while ye swing your sledges, sing; the black mound heaves below; and let the burden he, And, red and deep, a hundred veins burst The Anchor is the Anvil King, and royal out at every throe: craftsmen we!

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~ANCIS MAHONY (FATHER PROUT). 171 Strike in, strike in, - the sparks begin to 0 broad-armed fisher of the deep, whose dull their rustling red; sports can equal thine? Our hammers ring with sharper din, our The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons that work will soon be sped: tugs thy cable lineOur anchor soon must change his bed of And night by night`t is th’y delight, thy fiery rich array glory day by day, For a hanimock at the roaring bows, or Through sable sea and breaker whfte, the an oozy couch of clay; giant game to play; Our anchor soon must change the lay of But, shamer of our little sports! forgive merry craftsmen here, the name I gave, -

Fortheyeo-heave-ho, and the heave-away, A fisher’s joy is to destroy, thine office is and the sighiiig seamen’s cheer, to save. When, weighing slow, at eve they go far, 0 lodger in the sea-king’s halls, couldst far from love and home, thou but understand And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail Whose be the white bones by thy side, o er tlie ocean foam. or who that dripping band, Slow swaying in the heaving waves that In livid and ob~lurate gioum he darkens round about thee bend, down at last; With sounds like breakers in a dream A shapely one he is, and sfrong as e’er blessing their ancient friend: from cat was cast. 0, couldat thou know what heroes glide O trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou with larger steps round thee, hadst life like me, Thine iron side would swell with pride; What pleasures would thy toils reward thou`dst leap within the sea!

beneath the deep green sea! Give honor to their memones who left the O
deep sea-diver, who might then behold pleasant strand such sights as thou?

To shed their blood so freely for the love The hoary monsters’ palaces!

methinks of fatherland, what joy`t were now Who left their chance of quiet age and To go plumb plunging down amid the grassy churchyard grave assembly of the whales, So freely for a restless bed amid the tossAnd feel the churned sea round me boil ing wave; beneath their scourging tails! 0, though our anchor may not be all I Then deep in tangle~woods to fight the have fondly sung, fierce sea unicorn Honor him for their memory, whose bones And send him foiled and bellowing back, he goes among! for all his ivory horn; To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade forlorn; And for the ghastly-grinning shark to laugh his jaws to scorn; FRANCIS MAllONY

(FATHER To leap down on the kraken’s back, where PROUT). mid Norwegian isles He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden (i8o~ -`56s.] shallowed miles, Till snorting, like an under-sea volcano, THE BELLS OF SlIANDON.

off lie rolls; Meanwhile to swing, a-buffeting the far-WITH deep affection astonished shoals And recollection, Of his back-browsing ocean calves; or, I often think of haply in a cove, The Shandon bells, Shell-strewn, and consecrate of old to some Whose sounds so wild would Undine’s love, In days of childhood To find the long-haired mermaidens; or, Fling round my cradle hard by icy lands, Their magic spells. To wrestle with the sea-serpent upon ceru-On this I ponder, lean sands.

Where’er I wander,

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172 SONGS OF TllREE CENTURIES. And thus grow fonder, NATHANIEL PARKER

WILLI~ Sweet Cork, of thee; With thy bells of Shandon, (u. S. A., 1507-i867.J That sound so grand on The pleasant waters UNSEEN SPIR~S. Of the nver Lee. THE shadows lay along Broadway, - I`ve heard bells chiming`T was near the twilight tide, - Full many a clime in, And slowly there a lady fair Toiling sublime in Was walking in her pride. Cathedral shrine, Alone walked she; but, viewlessly, While at a glib rate Walked spirits at her side. Brass tongues would vibrate; But all their music Peace charmed the street beneath her et, Spoke naught like thine; And Honor charmed the air, For memory, dwelling And all astir looked kind on her, On each proud swelling And called her good as fair; Of thy belfry, knelling For all God ever gave to her Its bold notes free, She kept with chary care. Made the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on The pleasant waters She kept with care her beauties rare Of the river Lee. From lovers warm and true; For her heart was cold to all but gold, I`ve heard bells tolling And the rich came not to woo: Old Adrian’s Mole in, But honored well are charms to sell, Their thunder rolling If priests the selling do. From the Yatican; And cymbals glorious Now walking there was one more fair, Swinging uproarious A slight girl, lily-pale; In the gorgeous turrets And she bad unseen company Of Notre Dame: To make the spirit quail: But thy sounds were sweeter`Twixt Want and Scorn she walked fr Than the dome of Peter lorn, Flings o’er the Tiber, And nothing could avail. Pealing solemnly. 0, the bells of Shandon Sound far more grand on No mercy now can clear her brow The pleasant waters For this world’s peace to pray; Of the river Lee!

For, as love’s wild prayer dissolved in afr, Her woman’s heart gave way!

There’s a bell in Moscow; But the sin forgiven by Christ in heaven, While on tower and kiosk 0 By man is cursed alway. In St. Sophia The Turk man gets, And loud in air FROM MELANIE. Calls men to prayer, From the tapering summits A CALM and lovely paradise Of tall minarets. Is Italy, for minds at ease; Such empty pbantom The sadness of its sunny skies I freely grant them; Weighs not npon the lives of these. But there`5 an anthem The ruined aisle, the crumbling fane, More dear to me, - The broken columns vast and prone, `T is the bells of Shandon, It may be joy, it may be pain, That sound so grand on Amid such wrecks to walk alone. The pleasant waters The saddest man will sadder be, Of the river Lee. The gentlest lover gentler there,

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CAROLINE ELIZABET~ NORTON. 173 As if, whate’er the spirit’s key, The dying soldier faltered, and he took It strengthened in that solemn air. that comrade’s hand, And he said, “I nevermore shall see my The heart soon grows to mournful things; Take own, my native land; And Italy has not a breeze a message, asid a token, to some But comes on melancholy wings; distant friends of mine, And even her majestic trees For I was born at Bingen, - fair Bingen Stand ghostlike in tlse Caisars’ home, on the Rhine.

As if their conscious roots were set In the old graves of giant Rome, “Tell my brothers and companions, when And drew their sap all kingly yet!

they meet and crowd around, And every stone your feet beneath To hear my mournful story, in the pleas Is broken from some mighty thought; ant vineyard ground, And sculptures in the dust still breathe That we fought the battle bravely, and The fire with which their lines were when the day was done, wrought; Full manyacorse lay ghastly pale beneath And sundered arch, and plundered tomb, the setting sun; Still thunder back the echo, “Rome. And, mid the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars, Yet gayly o’er Egeria’s fount The death-wound on their gallant breasts, The ivy flings its emerald veil, tise last of many scars; And flowers grow fair on Numa’s mount And some were young, and suddenly be And light-sprung arches span the dal held life’s morn decline, - And soft, from Caracalla’s baths, e, And one had come from Bin gen, - fair The herdsman’s song comes down the Bingen on the Rhine. breeze, While climb his goats the giddy paths “Tell my mother that her other son shall To grass -grown architraves and frieze comfort her old age; And gracefisily Albano’s hill For I was still a truant bird, that thought Curves into the horizon’s line, his home a cage. And sweetly sings iliat classic rill, For ~~y father was a soldier, and even as Andfairly stands that nameless shnne; a child And here, 0, many a sultry noon My heart leaped forth to hear him tell of And starry eve, that happy June, struggles fierce and wild; Came Angelo and Melanie!

And when he died, m~d left us to divide And earth for us was all in tune, - his scanty hoard, For while Love talked with them, I let them take whate’er they would, but Hope walked apart with me. kept my father’s sword; And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to shisie, On the cottage wall at Bingen, - calm Bingen on the Rhine.

CAROLINE ELIZABETll ~~Th TON. “Tell my sister not to weep for me, mid sob with drooping head, BINGEN ON THE RmNE. When troops come niarching home again with glad and gallant tread, A soLniEn of the Legion lay dying in But to look upon them proudly, with a Algiers, calm and steadfast eye, Therewas lack of woman’s nursing, there For her brother was a soldier too, and was dearth of woman’s tears; not afraid to die; But acomrade stood beside him, while And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her his life-blood ebbed away, in my name And bent, with pitying glances, to hear To listen to him kindly, without regret what he might say. or shame,

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174 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. And to hang the old sword in its place LDWARD LORD LYTTON. (my father’s sword and niine), For the honor ofold Bingen, - dear Bin en on the Rhine. n THE SABBATH. FREall glides the brook and blows the gal~ “There`5 another, - not a sister; in the Yet yonder halts the quiet mill; happy days gone by The whirring wheel, the rushing sail, You`d have known her by the merriment How motionless and still! that sparkled in her eye; Six days’ stern labor shuts the poor Too innocent for coquetry, - too fond From Nature’s careless banquet-hall; for idle scorning, - The seventh an angel opes the door, o friend! I fear the lightest heart makes And amilin welconica all! sometimes heaviest mourning! 0’ Tell her the last night of my life (for, ere A Father’s tender mercy gave the moon be risen, This holy respite to the breast, My body will be out of pain, my soul be To breathe the gale, to watch tlie wave, out of prison) And know-the wheel inay rest! 1 dreamed I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine Six days of toil, poor child of Cain, On the vine-clad hills of Bingen, - fair Tliy strength thy master’s slave must Bingen on the Rhine. be; The seventh the limbs escape the chain, - “I saw the blue Rhine sweep along; ~ A God bath made thee free!

heard, or seemed to hear, - The fields that yester-inorning knew The German songs we used to sing, in Thy footsteps as their serf, survey; chorus sweet and clear; Oii thee, as il~em, descends the dew, And dowii the pleasant river, and up the The baptism of the day. slanting hill, The echoing chorus sounded, through the Fresh glides the brook and blows the gale, evening calm and still; But yonder halts tbe quiet mill; And her glad blue eyes were on me, as Tbe wiihwing wheel, the rushing sail, we passed, with frieiidly talk, How motionless and still! Down many a path beloved of yore, and wdl-remembered walk! So rest, 0 weary heart! - but, lo, And her little hand lay lightly, confid-The church-spire, glistening up to ingly in mine, - heaven, But we`11 meet no more at Bingen, - Towan~
tlieewbere thythoughtsshouldgo loved Bingen on the Rhine.” Tlie day thy God bath given! Ilis tremblingvoice grew faint and hoarse, Lone through the landscape’s solemn rest, his grasp was childish weak - The spire its moral points on high. H is eyes put on a dying look, - he si’ghed 0 soul, at peace wfthin the breast, and ceased to speak;` Rise, mingling with the sky! His comrade bent to lift him, spark of life had fled, - but the They tell thee, in their dreaming school, The soldier of the Legion in a foreign Of power froni old dominion hurled, land is dead! When rich and poor, with juster rule, And the soft moon rose up slowly, and Shall share the altered world. calmly she looked down Alas! since time itself began, On the red sand of the battle-field, with That fable bath but fooled the hour; bloody corses strewn; Each age that ripens power in man Yes, calmly on that dreadful scene her But subjects man to power. pale light seemed to shine, ,&s it shone ~n distant Bingen, - fair Yet every day in seven, at least, Bingen on the Rhine. One bright republic shall be known;

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FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. - FRANCES S. OSfOOD. 175 Man’s world awhile hath surely ceased, Amid the leaves’ green Tn ass a sunny play When God proclaims his own! Of flash and shado~ stirs like isiward life Six days may rank divide the poor, The ship’s’ white sail glides onward far O

Dives, from thy banquet-hall; away, The seventh the Father opes the door, Unhaunted by a dream of storm or strife. And holds his feast for all! 0

Thou, the primal fount of life and peace, ______ Who shedd’st thy breathing quiet all around, In me command that pain and conflict FRANCES

ANNE KEMBLE. cease, And turn to music every jarring sound! FAITH. How longs each pulse within the weary soul BETTER trust all and be deceived, To taste the life of this benignant hour, And weep that trust and that deceiving, To be at one with thy untroubled whole, Than doubt one heart that if believed And in itself to know thy hushing Had blessed one’s life with true believing. power. 0, in this mocking world too fast In One, who walked on earth aman of woe, The doubting fiend o’ertakes our youth; Was holier peace than even this hour Better be cheated to the last inspires; Than lose the blessed hope of truth. From him to me let inward quiet flow, And give the might niy failing will _______ requires. So this great All around, so he, and thou, JOllN STERLING. The central source and awful bound of things, (iSo6 - 1844.) May fill my heart with rest as deep as now To land and sea and air thy presence HYMN. brings. o UNSEEN Spirit! now a calm divine Comes forth from thee, rejoicing earth and air! FRANCES S.

OSGOOD. Trees, hills, and houses, all distinctly shine, [“. 5. A., 1812-1550.1 And thy great ocean slumbers every where. LABOR.

Themountain-ridge against the purple sky PAUsE not to dream of the future before Stands clear and strong, with darkened us rocks a~d delis, Pause not’ to weep the wild cares that And cloudless brightness opens wide on come o’er us; high Hark how Creation’s deep, musieM chorus, A home aerial, where thy presence Unintermitting, goes up into heaven! dwells. Never the ocean-wave falters in flowing; Never the little seed stops in its growing; The chime of bells remote, the murmuring More asid more richly the rose heart keeps sea, glowing, The song of birds in whispering copse Till from its nourishing stem it is riven. and wood, The distant voice of children’s thoughtless “Labor is worship!” the robin is sing glee, ing; And maiden’s song, are all one voice “Labor is worship!” the wild bee is of good.

ringing:

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176 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Listen! that eloquent whisper, upspring-From the ne acorn the strong forest ing bloweth; Speaks to thy soul from out nature’s Temple arid statue the marble block great heart. hides. From the dark cloud flows the life-giving shower; Droopnot, though shame, sin, and anguish From the rough sod blows the soft-breath- are round thee; ing flower; Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath From the small insect, the rich coral hound thee! bower; Look to yon pure heaven smiling beyond Only man, in the plan, shrinks from thee: his part. Rest not content in thy darkness, - a clod! Labor is life! -`T is the still water fail-Work for some good, be it ever so eth; slowly; Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth; Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly: keep the watch wound, for the dark rust Labor! - all labor is noble arid holy; assaileth; Let thy great deeds be thy prayer to Flowers droop and die in the stillness thy God. of noon. Labor is glory! -the flying cloud light ens; Only the waving wing changes and brightens; JONE VERY. Idle hearts only the dark future fright ens: (u. 5. A.) Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune! THE PRESENT HEAVEN. Labor is rest from the sorrows that greet FATHER! thy wonders do not singly stand, us, Nor far removed where feet have selRest from all petty vexations that meet us, dom strayed; Rest from sin-promptings that ever en-Around us ever lies the enchanted land, treat us, In marvels rich to thine own sons dis Rest from world-sirens that lure us to played. ill. Work, -and pure slumbers shall wait on In finding thee are all things round us thy pillow; found; Work, - thou shalt ride over Care’s com-In losing thee are all things lost beside; ing billow; Ears have we, but in vain sweet voices Lie not down wearied`neath Woe’s weep-sound, ing willow! And to our eyes the vision is denied. Work with a stout heart and resolute will! Open our eyes, that we that world may see! Labor is health! - Lo! the husbandman Open our ears, that we thy voice may reaping, hear, How thr~ugh his veins goes the life-cur- And in the spirit-land may ever be, rent leaping! And feel thy presence with us, always How his strong arm in its stalwart pride near. sweeping, True as a sunbeam the swift sickle guides. Labor is wealth, - in the sea the pearl TO THE PAINTED COLUMBINE. groweth; BRIGHT image of the early years ~ich the queen’s robe from the frail co-When glowed my cheek as red as coon floweth; thou,

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THOMAS MILLER. - JOHN KEBLE. 17’( And life’s dark throng of cares and fears TllOMAS MILLER. Were swift-winged shadows o’er my sunny brow!

EVENING SONG. Thou blushest from the painter’s page, How many days with mute adieu Robed in the mimic tints of art; Have gone down yon untrodden sky, But Nature’s hand in youth’s green age And still it looks as clear and blue With fairer hues first traced thee on my As when it first was hung on high. heart. The rolling sun, the frowning cloud That drew the lightning in its rear, The morning’s blush, she made it thine; The thunder tramping deep arid loud, The morn’s sweet breath, she gave Have left no foot-mark there. it thee; And in thy look, my Columbine! Each fond-remembered spot she bade me The village-bells, with silver chime, see. Come softened by the distant shore; Though I have heard them many a time, I see the hill’s far-gazing head, They never ning so sweet before.

Where gay thou noddest in the gale; AA silence rests UI)Oll the hill, I hear light-bounding footsteps tread listening awe pervades the air; the vale. Tlie very flowers are shut and still, The grassy path that winds along And bowed as if in prayer. Ihearthevoiceofwoodlandsong Break from each bush and well. And in this hushed and breathless close, known tree, O’er earth and air and sky and sea, And, on light pinions borne along A still low voice in silence goes, Comes back the laugh from childhood’s Which speaks alone, great God, of thee. heart of glee. The whispering leaves, the far-off brook, The linnet’s warble fainter grown, O’er the dark rock the dashing brook The hive-bound bee, the building rook, - With look of anger, leaps again,` All these their Maker own. And, hastening to each flowery nook, ~ts distant voice is heard far down the Now Nature sinks in soft repose, glen. A living semblance of the gTave; The dew steals noiseless on the rose, Fair child of art! thy charms decay, The boughs have almost ceased to wave; Touched by the withered hand of The silent sky, the sleeping earth, Time; Tree, mountain, stream, the humble sod, And hushed the music of that day, All tell from whom they liad their birth, When my voice mingled with the stream-And cry, “Behold a God!”

let’s chime: But on my heart thy cheek of bloom Shall live when Nature’s smile has fled; JOllN KEBLE. And, rich with memory’s sweet per fume, Shall o’er -her grave thy tribute incense (1796-1821.1 shed. MORNING. There shalt thou live and wake the 0, TIMELY happy, timely wise, glee Hearts that with rising morn arise! That echoed on thy native hill; Eyes that the beam celestial view, And when, loved flower! I think of Which evermore makes all things new! thee, My infant feet will seem to seek thee New every morning is the love stilL Our wakening and uprising prove, 12

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~78 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Through sleep and darkness safely INWARD

MUSIC. brought, thought. THERE are in this loud stunning tide Restored to life and power and Of human care and crime, New mercies, each returning day, With whom the melodies abide Hover around us while we pray; Of the everlasting chime; New perils past, new sins forgiven, Who carry music in their heart New thoughts of God, new hopes of Through dusky lane and wrangling heaven. niart, Plying their daily toil with busier feet, If, on our daily course, our mind Because their secret souls a holy strain Be set to hallow all we find, repeat. New treasures still, of countless price, God will provide for sacrifice. Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be, SIR ROBERT GRANT. As more of Heaven in each we see; Some softening gleam of love and prayer E18T4-i838.J Shall dawn on every cross and care. 0

SAVIOUR! WHOSE MERC~ As for some dear familiar strain Untired we ask, and ask again, 0 SAYToUR! whose mercy, severe in its Ever in its melodious store kindness, Finding a spell unheard before, - Hath chastened my wanderings and guided my way, Such is the bliss of souls serene, Adored be the power that illumined my When they have sworn, and steadfast And blindness, mean, weaned me from phantoms that Counting the cost, in all to espy smiled to betray. Their God, in all themselves deny. Enchanted with all that was dazzling could we learn that sacrifice, and fair, 0, followed the rainbow, I caught at What lights would all around us rise! How would our hearts wfth wisdom talk And he toy; Along life’s dullest, dreariest walk! still in displeasure thy goodness was there, Disappointing the hope and defeating We need not bid, for cloistered cell, the joy. Our neighbor and our work farewell, Nor strive to wind ourselves too high The blossom blushed bright, but a worm For sinful man beneath the sky. was below; The moonlight shone fair, there was The trivial round, the common task, blight in the beam; Will furnish all we ought to ask; Sweet whispered the breeze, but it whisRoom to deny ourselves; a road pered of woe; To bring us, daily, nearer God. And bitterness flowed in the soft-flow ing stream. Seek we no more: content with these, Let present rapture, comfort, ease, So cured of my folly, yet cured but in As Heaven shall bid them, come and go; part, The secret this of rest below. I turned to the refuge thy pity dis played; Only, 0 Lord, in thy dear love And still did this eager and credulous Fit us for perfect rest above; heart And help us, this and every day, Weave visions of promise that bloomed To live more nearly as we pray!

but to fade.

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DEAN OF CANTERBURY. - BRYAN WALLER PROCTER. 179 I thougbt that the course of the pilgrim My bark is wafted to the strand to heaven By breath divine; Would be bright as the summer and Aud on the helm there rests a hand glad as the morn: Thou showedat me the path; it was dark Other than mine. and ~neven, One who has known in storms to sail All rugged with rock and all tangled I have on board; with thorn. Above the raving of the gale I hear my Lord. I dreamed of celestial rewards and re nown, He holds me when the billows smite, - I grasped at the triumph that blesses I shall not fall.

the brave; If sharp,`t is short; if long,`t is I asked for the palm-branch, the robe, light, and the crown, He tempers all. I asked, and thou showedst me a cross and a grave! Safe to the land, safe to the land, - The end is this; Subdued and instructed, at length to thy And tben with Him go hand in hand will Far into bliss. My hopes and my wishes I freely re sign; 0, give me a heart that can wait and be still, Nor know of a wish or a pleasure but BRYAN WALLER PROCTER thine. (BARRY CORNWALL). There are mansions exempted from sin and from woe, (1757-i874.j But they stand in a region by mortals untrod; A PETITION TO flME. There are rivers of joy, but tbey roll not Toucn us gently, Time! below; Let us glide ad own thy stream There is rest, but`t is found in the Gently, - as we sometimes glide bosom of God. Tb rough a quiet dream! Humble voyagers are we, Husband, wife, and children three, - (One is lost, - an angel, fled DEAN OF CANTERBURY. To the azure overhead!) Touch us gently, Time! TRUST. We`ve not proud iior soaring wings; Our ambition, our content, I KNOW not if or dark or bright Lies in simple things. Shall be my lot; Humble voyagers are we, If that wherein my hopes delight O’er life’s d~im, unsounded sea, Be best, or not.

Seeking only some calm clime; - Touch us gently, gentle Time! It may be mine to drag for years Toil’s heavy chain; Or day and night my meat be tears On bed of pain. A PRAYER IN SICKNESS. Dear faces may surround my hearth SEND down thy winged angel, God! With smiles and glee; Amid this night so wild; Or I may dwell alone, and mirth And bid him come where now we watch, Be strange to me. And breathe upon our child!

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180 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. She lies upon her pillow, pale, Fast silent tears were flowing, And moans within her sleep, When something stood behind; Or wakeneth with a patient smile, A hand was on my shoulder, - And striveth not to weep. I knew its touch was kind: It drew me nearer, -nearer, - How gentle and how good a child We did not speak one word, She is, we know to6 well, For the beating of our own hearts And dearer to her parents’ hearts Was all the sound we heard. Than our weak words can telL

We love,-we watch throughout the night TllE MEN OF OLD. To aid, when need may be; We hope, - and have despaired, at times, I KNOW not tbat the men of old But now we turn to thee! Were better than men now, Of heart more kind, of hand more bold, Send down thy sweet-souled angel, God! Of more ingenuous brow; Amid the darkness wild, I heed not those who pine for force And bid him soothe our souls to.night, A ghost of time to raise, And heal our gentle child! As if they thus could check the course Of these appointed days. Still is it trne and over-true, That I delight to close RICHARD MONCKTON MILNE~ This book of life self~wLse and new, (LORD

HOUGHTON). And let my thoughts repose The world has since foregone, - THE

BROOKSIDE. The daylight of contentedness That on those faces shone! I WANI)EREI) by the brook side, I wandered by the mill; With rights, though not too closely I could not hear the brook flow, - scanned, The noisy wheel was still; Enjoyed as far as known, - There was no burr of grasshopper, With will, by no reverse unmanned, - No chirp of any bird, With pulse of even tone, - But the beating of my own heart They froin to-day and from tonight Was all the sound I heard. Expected nothing more Than yesterday and yesternight I sat beneath the elm-tree; Had proffered them before. I watched the long, long shade, To them was life a simple art And, as it grew still longer, Of duties to be done, I did not feel afraid; For I listened for a footfall, A game where each man took his part, I listened for a word, - A race where all must run; But the beating of my own heart A battle whose great sebeme and scope Was all the sound I heard.

They little cared to know, Content, as men-at-arms, to cope Each with his fronting foe. He came not, -no, he came not, - The night came on alone, -

Man now his virtue’s diadem The little stars sat one by one, Puts on, and proudly wears, - Each on his golden throne; Great thoughts, great feelings, came to The evening wind passed by my cheek, them, The leaves above were stirred, - Like instincts unawares; But the beating of my own heart Blending their souls’ sublimest needs Was all the sound I heard.

With tasks of every day,

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MARY HOWITT. 181 They went about their gravest deeds, Sixteen summers had she seen, - As noble boys at play. A rosebud just unsealing; Without sorrow, without fear, A man’s best things are nearest him, in her mountain shealing. Lie close about his feet; It is the distant and the dim She was made for happy thoughts, That we are sick to greet: For playful wit and laughter; For flowers that grow our hands be-Singing on the hills alone, neath With echo singing after. We struggle and aspire, - Our hearts must die, except they breathe She had hair as deeply black The air of fresh desire. As the cloud of thunder; She had brows so beautiful, But, brothers, who up reason’s hill And dark eyes flashing under. Advance with hopeful cheer, - 0, loiter not, those heights are chill, Bright and witty shepherd-girl, As chill as they are clear; Beside a mountain water, And still restrain your haughty gaze I found her, whom a king himself The loftier that ye go, Would proudly call his daughter. Remembering distance leaves a haze On all that lies below. She was sitting`mong the crags, Wild and mossed and hoary; eading in an ancient book TIlE PAI~ AND THE PINE.

Some old martyr story. BENEATH an Indian palm a girl Tears were starting to her eyes, Of other blood reposes; Solemn thought was o’er her; Her cheek is clear and pale as pearl When she saw in that lone place Amid that wild of roses. A stranger stand before her. Crimson was her sunny cheek, Beside a nortbern pine a boy And her lips seemed moving Is leaning fancy-bound, With the beatings of her heart; Nor listens where with noisy joy How could I help loving? Awaits the impatient hound. On a crag I sat me down, Cool grows the sick and feverish calm, Upon the mountain hoary, Relaxed the frosty twine, - And made her read again to me The pine-tree dreameth of the palm, That old pathetic story. The palm-tree of the pine.

Then she sang me mountain songs, As soon shall nature interlace Till the air was ringing Those dimly visioned boughs, With her clear and warbling voice, these young lovers face to face Like a skylark singing. their early vows! And when eve came on at length, _______ Among the blooming heather, - We herded on the mountain-side Her father’s flock together. MARY HOWITT.

And near unto ber father’s house TIBBIE INGLIS. I said “~ood night!” with sorrow, And luly wished that I might say, BoNNY Tibbie Inglis! “We`11 meet again to-morrow.” Through sun and storrny weather, She kept upon the broomy hills I watched her tripping to her home; Her father’s flock together. I saw her meet her mother.

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182 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. “Among a thousand maids,” I cried, And then she sang me songs again, “There is not such another!” Old songs of love and sorrow; For our sufficient happiness I wandered to my scholar’s home, Great charm from woe could borrow. It lonesome looked and dreary; I took my books, but could not read, And many hours we talked in joy, ~Ieil~ought that I was weary. Yet too much blessed for laughter: I was a happy man that day, I laid me down upon my bed, And happy ever after! ~Iy heart with sadness laden; I dreamed but of the mountain wold, And of the mountain maiden. I saw her of the ancient book WILLIAM llOWITT. The pages turning slowly; I saw her lovely crimson cheek, And dark eye drooping lowly. THE

DEPARTURE OF THE SWALLOW. AND is the swallow gone? The dream was like the day’s delight, Who beheld it? A life of pain’s o’erpayment: Which way sailed it? I rose, and with unwonted care, Farewell bade it none? Put on my S~bbath raiment. To none I told my secret thoughts, No mortal saw it go; - But who doth hear Not even to my mother, Its summer cheer Nor to the friend who, from my youth, As it flitteth to and fro? Was dear as is a brother. I got me to the hills again; So the freed spirit flies! The little flock was feeding: From its surrounding clay And there young Tibbie Inglis sat, It steals away But not the old book reading. Like the swallow from the skies. She sat as if absorbing thought Whither? wherefore doth it go? With heavy spells had bound her,`T is all unknown; As silent as the mossy crags We feel alone Upon the mountains round her. That a void is left below. I thought not of my Sabbath dress; _______ I thought not of my learning: I thought but of the gentle maid Who, I believed, was mourning.

WILLIAM LAIbLAW Bonny Tibbie Inglis! L1750-154S.J How her beauty brightened, Looking at me, half abashed, LUCY’S FLITTIN’. With eyes that flamed and lightened! `T WAS when the wan leaf frae the ~irk There was no sorrow, then I saw, tree was fa’in, There was no thought of sadness: And Martinmas dowie had wound up O life! what after-joy hast thou the year, Like love’s first certain gladness? That Lucy rowed up her wee kist wi’

her a’ in`t, I sat me down among the crags, And left her auld maister and neibours Upon the mountain hoary; sac dear: But read not then the ancient book, - For Lucy had served i’ the glen a’ the Love was our pleasant story. simmer;

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UNKNOWN. 183 She cam there afore the bloom cam on The hare likes the brake and the braird the pea; on the lea; All orphan was she, and they had been But Lucy likes Jamie - she turned and gude till her, she lookit, Sure that was the thing brocht the She thocht the dear place she wad tear to her ee.

never mair see. Ah, weel may young Jamie gang dowie She gaed by the stable where Jamic was and cheerless! stannin’; And weel may he greet on the bank 0’ Richt sair was his kind heart her the burn! flittin’ to see. For bonnie sweet Lucy, sac gentle and “Fare ye weel, Lucy!” quo’ Jamie, and peerless, ran in; Lies cauld in her grave, and will ii ever The gatherin’ tears trickled fast frac return! her cc. As down the burnsidc she gaed slow wi’

her flittin’, “Fare ye weel, Lucy!” was ilka bird’s UNKNOWN. sang; She heard the craw say in`t, high on the SUMMER DAYS. trees sittin’, And the robin was chirpin`t the brown IN summer, when the days were long, leaves amang. We walked together in the wood; Our heart was light, ourstep was strong, “0, what is`t that pits my puir heart in Sweet flutterings were in our blood, a flutter? In summer, when the days were long. And what gars the tears come sac fast to my cc? We strayed from morn till evening If I wasna ettled to be ony better, came; Then what gars mc wish ony better to We gathered flowers, and wove us be? crowns; I`m just like a lammie that loses its We walked mid poppies red as flame, mither; Or sat upon the yellow downs; Nac mither or friend the puir lammie And always wished our life the same. can see; I fear I hac tint my puir heart a’thcgither, In summer, when the days were long, Nac wonder the tear fa’s sac fast frac We leaped the hedge-row, crossed the my cc. brook; And still her voice flowed forth in song, “Wi’ the rest 0’ my clacs I hac rowed ~ Or else she read some graceful book, the ribbon, In summer, when the days were long. The bonnie blue ribbon that Jamie gac And then we sat beneath the trees, me Yestreen, w’hcn he gac me`t, and saw I With shadows lessening in the noon; And in the sunlight and the breeze was sabbin’, We feasted, many a gorgeous June, I`11 never forget the wac blink 0’ his cc. While larks were singing o’er the Though now he said naethh~g but`Fare leas. ye weel, Lucy!` It made mc I neither could speak, In summer, when the days were long, hear, nor see: On dainty chicken, snow-white bread, He couldna say mair but just,`Fare ye We feasted, with no grace but song; weel, Lucy!` We plucked wild strawberries, ripe and Yet that I will mind till the day that red, I dcc.” In summer, when the days were long. The lamb likes the gowan wi’ dew when We loved, and yet we knew it not, - it`S droukit; For loving seemed like breathin~ then;

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184 SONGS OF THREE CENTUHES. We found a heaven in every spot; Some talked of vanished gold, Saw angels, too, ill all good men; Some of proud honors told, And dreamed of God in grove and grot. Some spake of friends that were their trust no more; In summer, when the days are long, And one of a green grave, Alone I wander, muse alone. Beside a foreign wave, I see her not; but that old song That made him sit so lonely on the Under fl~e fragrant wind is blown, shore. In summer, when the days are long. But when their tales were done, Alone I wander in the wood: There spake among them one, Bnt one fair spirit hears my sighs; A stranger, seeming from all sorrow free: And half I see, so glad and good, “Sad losses have ye met, The honest daylight of her eyes, But mine-is heavier yet; That charmed me nuder earlier skies. For a belie\i,ng heart hath gone from me. In summer, when the days are long, “Alas!” these pilgrims said, I love her as we loved of old. My heart is light, my step is strong; “For the living and the dead, - For love brings back those hours of For fortune’s cruelty, for love’s sure cross, gold, For the wrecks of land and sea! In summer, when the days are long. But, however it came to thee, Thine, stranger, is life’s last and heaviest loss.” FRANCE\ BROWNE. ROBERT NICOLL. LOSSES.

(1814-1837.) UPON the white sea-sand WE ARE 3RETli3tEN A’. There sat a pilgrim band, Telling the losses that their lives had A flAPPY bit hame this auld world would known; be, Whik evening waned away If men, when they`re here, could make From breezy cliff and bay, shift to agree, And the strong tides went out with weary An’ ilk said to his neighbor, in cottage moan. an’ ha’, One spake, with quivering lip, “Come, gi’e me Xour hand, - we are Of a fair freighted ship, With all his household to the deep gone I ken na why ane wi’ anither should fight, down; When to`gree would make ae body cosie But one had wilder woe, - an’ right, For a fair face, long ago When man meets wi’ man,`t is the best Lost in the darker depths of a great way ava, - town. To sav, “Gi’e me,your hand, - we are brethren a’.’ There were who mourned their youth My coat is a coarse ane, an’ yours may With a most loving ruth, be fine, For its brave hopes and memories ever And I mann drink water, while you may green; drink wine And one upon the west But we baith ha’e a’ leal heaft, unspotted Turned an eye that would not rest, to shaw: For far-off hills whereon its joys had Sae gi’e me your hand, - we are breth. heen. ren a’.

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RICHARD H. DANA. 185 The knave ye would scorn, the unfaithfu’ Save, where the bold, wild sea-bird makes deride; her home, Ye would stand like a rock, wi’ the truth Her shrill cry coming through the on your side; sparkling foam. Sae would I, an’ naught else would 1 Then ealnTh a straw: - we are breth-But when the light winds lie at rest, And on the glassy, heaving sea ren a. The black duck, with her glossy breast, Sits swinging silently; Ye would scorn to do fausely by woman How beautiful! no ripples break the reach, I baud or man; And silvery waves go noiseless up the by the right aye, as weel as I can; beach. We are a,ne, in our joys, our affections, And inland rests the green, warm dell; an a Come, gie fl}e your hand, -we are breth-The brook comes tinkling down its a. side; From out the trees the Sabbath bell Your mother has lo’ed you as mithers can. Rings cheerful, far and wide, lo’e; Mingling its sound with bleatings of the An’ mine has done for me what mithers flocks, can do; That feed about the vale among the rocks. We are ane high an’ laigh, an’ we Nor holy bell nor pastoral bleat shouldna be twa: In former days within the vale; Sae gi’e me,your hand, - we are breth. Flapped in the bay the pirate’s sheet; ren a. Curses were on the gale; Rich goods lay on the sand, and murdered We love the same simmer day, sunny men and fair; Pirate and wrecker kept their revels then. Hame! 0, how we love it, an’ a’ that are there! But calm, low voices, words of grace, Frae the pure air of heaven the same life Now slowly fall upon the ear; we draw: A quiet look is in each face, Come, gi$~e n,e your hand, - we are breth. Subdued and holy fear: a. Each motion gentle; allis kindly done Come, listen, how from crime this isle Frail shah in’ auld age will soon come was won. o’er us baith, An’ creeping alang at his back will be death; THE HRATE. Syne into the same mither-yird we wffl Tw~~v~ years are gone since Matthew fa’: Come, gi’e m,e your hand, -we are breth -Lee ren a. A Held in this isle unquestioned sway; dark, low, brawny man was he; His law, - “It is my way.” Beneath his thick-set brows a sharp light RICll4RD II. DANA. From broke small gray eyes; his laugh a triumph (u. a. A.J spoke. (From “TirE

3ccc~~~a,” publisbed in 1827.) Cruel of heart and strong of arm, Loud in his sport and keen for spoil, THE ISLA~. He little reeked of good or harm, Fierce both in mirth and toil; THE island lies nine leagues away. Yet like a dog could fawn, if need there Along its solitary shore, were; Of craggy rock and sandy bay, Speak mildly, when he would, or look in No sound but ocean’s roar, fear.

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186 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Amid the uproar of the storm, Thou mild, sad mother,-waningmoon, And by the lightning’s sharp, red Thy last, low, melancholy ray glare, Shines toward him. Quit him not so Were seen Lee’s face and sturdy form; soon! His axe glanced quick in air: Mother, in mercy, stay! Whose corpse at morn is floating in the Despair and death are wfth him; and sedge? canst thou, There`5 blood and hair, Mat, on thy axe’s With that kind, earthward look, go leave edge. him now? THE SFECTRE RORSE.

0, thou wast born for things of love; Hn`5 now upon the spectre’s back, Making more lovely in thy shine With rein of silk and curb of gold.

Whate’er thou look’st on. Stars above, `T is fearful speed! -the rein is slack In that soft light of thine, Within his senseless hold; Burn softer; earth, in silvery veil, seems Uphorne by an unseen power, he onward heaven. rides, Thou`rt going down! - hast left him Yet touches not the shadow-beast he unforgiven! strides. He goes with speed; he goes with dread! The far, low west is bright no more. And now they`re on the hanging How still it is! No sound is heard steep! At sea, or all along the shore, And, now! the living and the dead But cry of passing bird. They`11 make the horrid leap! Thoulivingthing, -anddar’st thou come The horse stops short; - his feet are on These so near the verge. wild and ghastly shapes of death He stands, like marble, high above the and fear? surge. the tall ship yet burns on, Now long that thick, red light has shone And, nigh, On stern, dark rocks, and deep, still With red, hot spars, and crackling bay, flame. On man and horse, that seem of stone, From hull to gallant, nothing a gone. So motionless are they. She burns, and yet`a the same! But now its lurid fire less fiercely burns: Her hot, red flame is beating all the night,` The night is goilig, - faint, gray dawn On man and horse, in their cold, phos-returns. phor light. That spectre.steed now slowly pales, Through that cold light the fearful man Now changes like the moonlit cloud; Sits looking on the burning ship. That cold, thin light now slowly fails, He ne’er again will curse and ban. Which wrapped fl~em like a shroud. How fast he moves the lip! Both ship and horse are fading into air. And yet he does not speak, or make a Lost, mazed, alone, - see, Lee is stand sound! What see you, Lee? the bodies of the ing there! drowned?

The morning air blows fresh on him; “I look where mortal man may not, -

The waves dance gladly in his sight; Into the chambers of the deep. The sea-birds call, and wheel, and I see the dead, long, long forgot; skim, -

I see them in their sleep. 0 blessed morning light! A dreadful power is mine, which none He doth not hear their joyous call; he can know sees Save he who leagues his soul with death No beauty in the wave, nor feels the and woe.” breeze.

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WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 187 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. TRANATOpSIS. To him who in the love of Nature holds Eu. 5. A.J Communion with her visible forms, she TO A WATERFOWL. speaks A various language: for his gayer hours WRITHER, midst falling dew, She has a voice of gladness, and a smile While glow the heavens with the last And eloquence of beauty; and she glides steps of day, Into his darker musings with a mild Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou And gentle sympathy that steals away pursue Their sharpness ere he is aware. When Thy solitary way? thougbts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Vainly the fowler’s eye Over thy spirit, and sad images Might mark thy distant flight to do thee Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, wrong, And breathless darkness, and the narrow As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Make thee to shudder and grow sick at Thy figure floats along. heart, Go forth under the open sky, and list Seek’st thou the plashy brink To Nature’s teachings, while from all Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, aroundOr where the rocking billows rise and sink Earth, and her waters, and the depths of On the chafed ocean side? air Comes a still voice, Yet a few days, and There is a Power, whose care thee Teaches thy way along that pathless The all-beholding sun shall see no more The coast, - In all his course; nor yet in the cold desert and illimitable air, - ground, Lone wandering, but not lost. Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, All day thy wings have fanned, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist At that far height, the cold, thin atmos-Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, phere; shall claim Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Thy growth, to he resolved to earth again, Though the dark night is near. And, lost each human trace, surrendenug up And soon that toil shall end; Thine individual being, shalt thou go A’oon shalt thou find a summer home, and To mix forever with the elements; And rest, To be a brother to the insensible rock, scream aniong thy fellows; reeds And to the sluggish clod which the rude shall bend swain Soon o’er thy sheltered nest. Turns with his share and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce Thou`rt gone, il~e abyss of heaven thy mould. `~ath swallowed up thy form; yet oIL
my Yet not to thine eternal resting-place heart Shalt thou retire alone, -
nor couldst )eeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast thou wish given Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie And shall not soon depart: down With patriarchs of the infant world, - He who, from zone to zone, with kings, `nides through the boundless sky thy The powerfiil of the earth, - the wise, certain flight, the good, a-the long way that I must tread alone, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, Will lead my steps aright. All in one mighty sepulchre. -The hills,

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188 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun; the Shall one by one be gathered to thy vales side Stretching in pensive quietness be-By those who in their turn shall follow tween; them. The venerable woods; rivers that move So live, that when thy summons comes In majesty, and the complaining brooks to join That make the meadows green; and, The innumerable caravan that moves poured round all, To the pale realms of shade, where each Old ocean’s gray and melancholy waste, - shall take Are but the solemn decorations all His chamber in the silent halls of Of the great tomb of man. The golden death, sun, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at The planets, all the infinite host of night, heaven, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained Are shining on the sad abodes of death and soothed Through the still lapse of ages. All that By an unfaltering trust, approach thy tread grave The globe are but a handful to the tribes Like one who wraps the drapery of his That slumber in its bosom. Take the couch wings About him, and lies down to pleasant Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, dreams. Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound TIlE DEATIl OF

TIlE FLOWERS. Save hiso~vn dashings, -yet the dead are there! THE
melancholy days are come, the sadAnd millions in those solitudes, since dest of the year, first Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and The flight of years began, have laid them meadows brown and sere. down Heaped in the hollows of the grove. the In their last sleep, -the dead reign there withered leaves lie dead; alone! They rustle to the eddying gust, and to So shalt thou rest, -and what if thou the rabbit’s tread. shalt fall The robin and fl~e wren are flown, and -Unnoticed by the living, and no friend from the shrubs the jay; Take note of thy departure? All that And from the wood-top calls the crow breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will through all the gloomy day. laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood Where are the flowers, the fair young of care flowers, that lately sprang and Plod on, and each one, as before will stood, chase In brighter light and softer airs, a beauHis favorite phantom; yet all these shall Alas!

teous sisterhood? leave they all are in their graves; the Their mirth and their employments, and Are entle race of flowers shall come y~~g in their lowly beds, with the And make their bed with thee As the fair and good of ours. long train The rain is falling where they lie; but Of ages glide away, the sons of men-the cold November rain The youth in life’s green spring, and he Calls not from out the gloomy earth the who goes lovely ones again. In the full strength of years, matron and maid, The wind-flower and the violet, they per The bowed with age, the infant in the ished long ago; smiles And the brier-rose and the orchis died And beauty of its innocent age cut off-amid the summer glow;

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WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 189 But onthe bill the golden-rod, and the Blue, blue, as if that sky let fall aster in the wood, A flower from its cerulean walL And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, I would that thus, when I sball see Till fell the frost from the clear, cold The hour of death draw near to me, heaven, as falls the plague on Hope, Nossoming within my heart, Aud men, May look to heaven as I depart. the brightness of their smile was gone from upland, glade, and glen. - And now, when comes the calm, mild day, THE BATTL~flELD. as still such days will come, ONCE th To call the squirrel and the bee from out is soft turf, this rivulet’s sands, their winter home; Were trampled by a hurrying crowd, When the sound of dropping nutsis heard And fiery hearts and arm6d bands though all the trees are still, Encountered in the battle-cloud. Andtwinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, - Ah!

never shall the land forget The south-wind searches for the flowers How gushed the life-blood of her whose fragrance late he bore, brave, - And sighs to find them in the wood and Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet.

by the stream no more. Upon the soil they fought to save. And then I think of one who in her youth-Now all is calm and fresh and still; ful beauty died, Alone the chirp of flitting bird, The fair, meek blossom that grew up and And talk of children on the hill, faded by my side: And bell of wandering kine, are heard. In the cold, moist earth we laid her when the forest cast the leaf, No solemn host goes trailing by And we wept that one so lovely should The black-mouthed gun and stagger have a life so brief; ing wain; Yet not unmeet it was that one, like that Men start not at the battle-cry, - So young friend of ours, 0, be it never heard again! gentle and so beautiful, should perish Soon rested those who fought; but thou with the flowers. Who minglest in the harder strife For truths which men receive not now, Thy waffare only ends with life. TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN.

A friendless warfare! lingering long THOU blossom bright with autumn dew, Through weary day and weary year; And colored with the heaven’s own blue, A wild and niany-weaponed throng That open eat when the quiet light Hang on thy front and flank and rear. Succeeds the keen and frosty night, - Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, Thou comest not when violets lean And blench not at thy chosen lot; O’er wanderingbrooks and springs unseen, The timid good may stand aloof, Or columbines, in purple drest, The sage may frown, -yet faint thou Nod o’er the ground-bird’s bidden nest. not. Thou waitest late, and com’st alone, Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, When woods are bare, and birds are flown, The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; And frosts and shortening days portend For with thy side shall dwell, at last, The aged year is near its end. The victory of endurance born. Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Truth, crushed to earth, shallriseagain, -

Look through its fringes to the sky, The eternal years of God are hers;

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190 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. But Error, wounded, writhes in pain, The patter of his little feet, And dies among his worshippers. Sweet frowns and stammered pbrases sweet Yea, though thou lie upon the dust, When they who helped thee flee in fear, And graver looks, serene and high, Die full of hopc and manly trust, A light of heaven in that young eye: Like those who fell in battle here! All these shall haunt us till the h~aft Shall ache and ache, - and tears will start. Another hand the sword shall wield, Another hand the standard wave, The bow, the band, shall fall to dust; Till from the trumpet’s mouth is pealed The shining arrows waste with rust; The blast of triumph o’er thy grave. And all of Love that earth can claim Be but a memory and a name. FROM “THE RIVULET.” Not thus his nobler part shall dwell, A prisoner in this narrow cell; AND I sball sleep; and on thy side, But he, whom now we hide from men As ages after ages glide, In the dark ground, shall live again, - Children their early sports shall try, And pass to hoary age, and die. Shall break these clods, a form of light, But thou, unchanged from year to year, With nobler mien and purer sight, Gayly shalt p}ay and glitter here: And-in the eternal glory stand Amid young flowers and tender grass Highest and nearest God’s right hand.

Thy endless infancy shalt pass; And, singing down thy narrow glen, Shalt mock the fading race of men. - ELIZABETll BARRETT THE BURIAL OF LOVE.

BROWNING. Two dark-eyed maids, at shut of day, (i809-i56i.J Sat where a river rolled away, With calm, sad brows, and raven hair; THE SLEEP. And one was pale, and both~were fair. OF all the thoughts of God that are Bring flowers, they sang, bring flowers Borne inward unto souls afar, unblown; Along the Psalmist’s music deep, unknown; Now tell me if that any is Brin budding sprays from dd wild for gift or grace surpassing this, -

To st~ew the bier of Love, OOj~1~ He givetli His beloved sleep”? the Close softly, fondly, while ye weep, What would we give to our beloved?

His eyes, that death may seem like The hero’s heart, to be unmoved; And fold his hands in sign of rest, sleep; The poet’s star-tuned harp, to sweep; His waxen hands, across his breast. The patriot’s voice, to teach and rouse; The monarch’s crown, to light the And make his grave where yiolets hide, brows? Where star-flowers strew the rivulet’s side, “He giveth His beloved sleep.” And bluebirds, in the misty spring, What do we give to our beloved? Of cloudless skies and summer sing. A little faith, all undisproved; Place near him, as ye lay him low, A little dust, to overweep; His idle shafts, his loosened bow, And bitter memories, to make The silken fillet that around The whole earth blasted for our sake. His waggish eyes in sport he wound. “He giveth His beloved sleep.” But we shall mourn him long, and miss “Sleep soft, beloved!” we sometimes say His ready smile, his ready kiss, But have no tune to charm away

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ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 191 Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep.

By C od’s love I go to meet, But never doleful dream again Love I thee with love complete. Shall break the happy slumber when “He giveth His beloved sleep.” Lean thy face down! drop it in These two hands, that I may hold O earth, so full of dreary noises!`Twixt their palms thy cheek and chin, o men, with wailing in your voices! Stroking baek the curls of gold.

O delved gold, the wailers heal)!`T is a fair, fair face, in sooth, O
strife, 0 curse, that o’er it fall! Larger eyes and redder mouth God strikes a silence through you all, Than mine were in my first youth I And “giveth His beloved sleep.” Thou art younger by seven years - His dews drop mutely on the hill, Ah! so bashful at my gaze His cloud above it saileth still, That the lashes, hung with tears, Though on its slope men sow and reap. Grow too heavy to upraise! More softly than the dew is shed, I would wound thee by no touch Or cloud is floated overhead, Which thy shyness feels as such”He giveth His beloved sleep.” Dost thou mind me, dear, so much? Ay, men may wonder while they scan Have I not been nigh a mother A living, thinking, feeling man, To thy sweetness, -tell me, dear, Confirmed in such a rest to keep; Have we not loved one another But angels say, and through the word Tenderly, from year to year? I think their happy smile is,leard, - Since our dying mother mild “He giveth His beloved sleep.” Said, with accents undefiled, “Child, be mother to this child!”

For me, my heart, that erst did go Most like a tired child at a show, Mother, mother, up in heaven, That see through tears the mummersleap, Stand up on the jasper sea, Would now its wearied vision close, And be witness I have given Would childlike on His love repose All the gifts required of me; - Who “giveth His beloved sleep!” Hope that blessed me, bliss that crowned, And, friends, dear friends, when it shall Love that left me with a wound, be Life itself, that turned around! That this low breath is gone from me, And round my bier ye come to weep, Mother, mother, thou art kind, Let one, most loving of you all, Thou art standing in the room, Say, “Not a tear must o’er her fall, - In a molten glory shrined, He giveth His beloved sleep.” That rays off into the gloom! But thy smile is bright and bleak, Like cold waves, - I cannot speak; BERTHA IN THE LANE. I sob in it, and grow weak. PUT the broidery-frame away, Ghostly mother, keep aloof For my seyving is all done! One hour longer from my soul, The last thread is used to-day, For I still am thinking of And I need not join it on. Earth’s warm-beating joy and dole! Though the clock stands at the noon, On niy finger is a ring I am weary! I have sewn, Which I still see glittering, Sweet, lbr thee, a wedding-gown. When the night hides everythin& Sister, help me to the bed, Little sister, thou aft pale!

And stand near me, dearest-sweet! Ah, I have a wand~n.ng brain, - Do not shrink nor be afraid, But I lose that fever-bale, Blushing with a sudden heat! And my thoughts grow calm again. No one standeth in the street! -

Lean down closer, closer still!

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192 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. I have words thine ear to fill, Had he seen thee, when he swore And would kiss thee at my will. He would love but me alone? Thou wert absent, -sent before Dear, I heard thee in the spring, To our kin in Sidmouth town. Thee and Robert, through the trees, When he saw thee, who art best When we all went gathering Past compare, and loveliest, Boughs of May-bloom for the bees. He but judged thee as the rest. Do not start so! think in stead How the sunshine overhead Could we blame him with grave words, Seemed to trickle through the shade. Thou and I, dear, if we might? Thy brown eyes have looks like birds What a day it was, that day!

Flying straightway to the light; Hills and vales did openly Mine are older. - Hush -look out Seem to heave and throb away, Up the street! Is none without? At the sight of the great sky; How the poplar swings about!

And the silence, as it stood In the glory’s golden flood, And that hour -
beneath the beech - Audibly did bud - and bud! When I listened in a dream, And he said, in his deep speech, Through the winding hedge-rows green, That he owed me all esteem, - How we wandered, I and you, - Each word swam in on my brain With the bowery tops shut in, With a dim, dilating pain, And the gates that showed the view; Till it burst with that last strain.

How we talked there! thrushes soft Sang our pauses out, or oft I fell flooded with a dark, Bleatings took them from the croft. In the silence of a swoon: When I rose, still, cold, and stark, Till the pleasure, grown too strong, There was night, - I saw the moon; Left me muter evermore; And the stars, each in its place, And, the winding road being long, And the May-blooms on the grass, I walked out of sight, before; Seemed to wonder what I was. And so, wrapt in musings fond, Issued (past the wayside pond) And I walked as if apart On the meadow-lands beyond. From myself when I could stand, And I pitied my own heart, I sat down beneath the beech As if I held it in my hand Which leans over to the lane, Somewhat coldly, with a sense And the far sound of your speech Of fulfilled benevolence, Did not promise any pain; And a “Poor thing” negligence. And I blessed you full and free, With a smile stooped tenderly And I answered coldly too, O’er the Mayflowers on my knee. When you met me at the door; And I only heard the dew But the sound grew into word Dripping from me to the floor; As the speakers drew more near-And the flowers I bade you see ~weet, forgive me that I heard Were too withered for the bee, - What you wished rue not to hear. As my life, henceforth, for me. Do not weep so, do not shake - 0, 1
heard thee, Bertha, make Do not weep so - dear - heart-warm! Good, true answers for my sake. It was best as it befell! Iflsayhedidmeharm, Yes, and he too! let him stand I speak wild, - I am not weW In thy thoughts, untouched by blame. All his words were kind and good, - Could he help it, if my hand He esteemed me! Only bl od He had claimed with hasty claim!

Runs so faint in womanhood. That was wrong perhaps, but then - Such things be, - and will, again! Then I always was too grave, Women cannot judge for men. Liked the saddest ballads sung,

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ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 193 With that look, besides, we have Rather smile there, Messed one, In our faces who die young. Thinking of me iii the sun, - I had died, dear, all the same, - Or forget me, smiling 011!

Life’s long, joyous, jostling game Is foo loud for my meek shame. Art thou near me? nearer? so! Kiss me close upon the eyes, We are so unlike each other, That the earthly light may go Thou asid I, that none could guess Sweetly as it used to rise, We were children of one mother, When I watched the morning gray But for mutual tenderness. Strike, betwixt the hills, the way Thou art rose-lined from the cold, He was sure to come that day. And meant, verily, to hold Life’s pure pleasures manifold. So - no more vain words be said! The hosannas nearer roll - I am pale as crocus grows Mother, smile now on thy dead, - Close beside a rose-tree’s root! I am death-st ron in in Wliosoe’er would reach the rose Mystic Dove alit~ y soul! on cross, Treads the crocus underfoot; Guide the poor bird of the snows I, like May-bloom on thorn-tree, Thou, like merry summer-bee!

Through the snow-wind above loss! Fit, that I be plucked for thee. Jesus, Victim, comprehending Yet who plucks me? - no one mourns; Love’s divine self-abnegation, I have lived my season out, Cleanse my love in its self~spending, And now die of my own thorns, And absorb the poor libation!

Which I could not live without. Wind my thread of life up higher, Sweet, be merry! How the light Up through angels’ hands of fire! Comes and goes!

If it be night, I aspire while I expire! Keep the candles in my sight. Are there footsteps at the door? Look out quickly. Yea or nay? A MUSICAL

INSThUMENT. Some one might be waiting for Some last word that I might say.

WHAT was he doing, the great god Pan, Nay? So best! -So angels would Down in the reeds by the river? Stand off clear from deatlily road, Spreading ruin and scattering l~an, Not to cross tile sight of God. Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, Colder grow my bands and feet: And breaking the golden lilies afloat When I wear the shroud I made, With the dragon-fly on the river? Let tile folds lie straight and neat, And the rosemary be spread, He tore out a reed, tile great god Pan, That if any friend should come, From the deep, cool bed of tlie river, (To see thee, sweet!) all the room The limpid water turbidly ran, May be lifted out of gloom. And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away, And, dear Beftha, let me keep Ere he brought it out of the river. On my hand this little ring, Which at nigi~ts, when others sleep, High on the shore sat the great god Pan, I can still see glittering. While turbidly flowed the river, Let me wear it out of sight, And hacked and hewed as a great god caI’ In the grave,- where it will light With his hard, bleak steel at the patient All the dark up, day and night. reed, `Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed On that grave drop not a tear! To prove it fresh from the river. Else, though fathom-deep fise place, Through the woollen shroud I wear He cut it short, did the great god Pan, I shall feel it on my face. (How tall it stood in the river!) 13

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194 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Then drew the pith like the heart of a And how, when one by one sweet sounds man, and wandering lights departed, Steadily from the outside ring, He wore no ]ess a loving face because so Then notched the poor dry empty thing broken-hearted; In holes, as lie sate by the river. He shall be strong to sanctify the poet’s “This is the way,” laughed the great godhigh vocation, Pan, And bow the meekest Christian down in (Laughed while he sate by the river!) meeker adoration; The only way since gods began Nor ever shall he be, in praise, by wise To make sweet music, they could suc-or good forsaken; ceed.” Named softly as the household name of Then dropping his mouth to a hole in one whom God hath taken. the reed, He blew in power by the river. With quiet sadness and no gloom I learn to think upon him, Sweet, sweet, sweet, 0 Pan, With meekness that is gratefulness to Piercing sweet by the river! God whose heaven hath won him,Blinding sweet, 0 great god Pan! Who suffered once the madness-cloud to His own love to blind him; The sun on the hill forgot to die, But And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly gently led the blind along where Came back to dream on the river. breath and bird could find him; And wrought within his shattered brain Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, such quick poetic sen~es To laugh, as he sits by the river, As hills have language for, and stars Making a poet out of a man. harmonious influences! The true gods sigh for the cost and the The pulse of dew upon the grass kept pain, - his within its number; For the reed that grows nevermore again And silent shadows from the trees re As a reed with the reeds of the river. freshed him like a slumber. Wild timid hares were drawn from woods COWFER’S GRAVE. to share his home-caresses, Uplooking to his human eyes with sylvan IT is a place where poets crowned may tendernesses: feel the heart’s decaying. The very worid, by God’s constraint, It is a place where happy saints may from falsehood’s ways removing, weep amid their praying: its women and its men became, beside Yet let the grief and humbleness, as low him, true and loving. as silence languish! Earth surely now may give her calm to But though in blindness he remained whom she gave her anguish. unconscious of that guiding, And things provided came without the o poets! from a maniac’s tongue was sweet sense of providing, poured the deathless singing! He testified this solemn truth, while hope frenzy desolated, - o Christians! at your cross of a Nor man nor nature satisfy whom only hopeless hand was O men this man in brotherhood your God created! weary paths beguiling, Like a sick child that knoweth not his Groaned inly while he taught you peace, mother while she blesses, and died while ye were smiling! And drops upon his burning brow the - coolness of her kisses; And now, what time ye all may read That turns his fevered eyes around, “My through dimming tears his story, mother! where’s my mother?” How discord on the music fell, and dark-As if such tender words and deeds could ness on the glory, come from any othe~!

-

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WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAy. -ALFRED TENNYSON. 195 The fever gone, with leaps of heart lie And near the sacred gate, sees her bending o’er him; With longing eyes I wait, Her face all pale from \vatchftil love, the Expectaiit of her. unweary love she bore him! Thus woke the poet from the dream his The minster bell tolls out life’s long fever gave him, Above the city’s rout, Beneath those deep pathetic Eyes, which And noise and humming; closed in death to save him! They`ve hushed the minster bell: Thus? 0, not thus! no type of earth can The organ`gins to swell; image that awaking, She`a coming, she`a coming! Wherein he scarcely heard the chant of seraphs, round him breaking, My lady comes at last, Or felt the new iniinortal throb of soul Timid and stepping fast, from body parted; And hastening hither, But felt those eyes alone, and knew “AJy With modest eyes downcast, Saviour! not deserted!” She comes, - she`a here, she`5
past, May Heaven go with her! Deserted! who bath dreamt that when the cross in darkness rested Kneel undisturbed, fair saint Upon the Victim’s hidden face, no love Pour out your praise or plaint. was manifested?

Meekly and duly; What frantic hands outstretched have I will not enter there, e’er the atoning drops averted, What tears have washed them from the To sully your pure prayer soul, that oae should be deserted? With thoughts unruly. Deserted! God could separate from his But suffer me to pace own essence rather: Round the forbidden place, And Adam’s sins have swept between the Lingering a minute righteous Son and Father; Like outcast spirits who wait Yea, once, Immmrnel’s orphaned cry his And see through heaven’s gate universe bath shaken, - Angels within it. It went up single, echoless, “My God, I am forsaken!” It went up irom~the Holy’s lips amid liis ALFRED TENNYSON. lost creation, That, of the lost, no son should use those words of desolation; MARIANA. That earth’s worst frenzies, marring hope, should mar not hope’s friiition, WITH blackest moss the flower-plots And I, on Cowper’s grave, should see his Were thickly crusted, one and all, rapture in a vision! The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the peach to the garden-wall. _______ The broken sheds looked sad and strange, Unlifted was the cliiikh~g latch, Weeded and worn the ancient thatch WILLIAM MAKE PEACE Upon the lonely moated grange.

TIlACKERAY. She only said, My life is dreary, She said, “I am aweary, aweary; (1811-1863.) 1 would that I were dead!” AT THE ClIURCIl GATE. Her tears fell with the dews at even; ALvHoU~H I enter not, Her tears fell ere the dews were dried; Yet round about the spot She could not look on the sweet heaven, Ofttimes I hover; Either at morn or eventide.

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196 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. After the flitting of the bats, She only said, “My life j~ dreary, When thickest dark did trance the sky, He cometh not,” she said; She drew her casemeiit-curtain by, She said, “I am aweary, aweary, And glanced athwart the glooming flats. I would that I were dead!”

She only said, “The night is dreary, The sparrow’s chirrup on the roof, He comefl~ not,” she said; The slow clock ticking, and the sound She said, “I am aweary, awe,a,ry Which to the wooing wind aloof I would that I were dead! The poplar made, did all confound Upon the middle of the night, Her sense; but most she loathed the hour Waking she heard the night-fowl crow; When the thick-moted sunbeam lay The cock sung out an hour ere light: Athwart the chambers, and the day From the dark fen the oxeij’s low as sloping toward his western bower. Came to her: without hope of change, Then, said she, “I am very dreary, Iii sleep she seemed to wMk forlorn, He will not come,” she said; Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn She wept, “I am aweary, aweary, About the lonely moated grange. 0 God, that I were dead!” She only said, “The day is dreary, He cometh not,” she said; She said, “I am aweary, aweary, “BREAK, BREAK, BREAK I” And I would that I were dead!” BREAK, break, break, About a stone-cast from the wall On thy cold gray stones, 0 Sea! A slnice with blackened waters slept, And I would that my tongue could utter And o’er it many, round and small, The thoughts that arise in me. The clustered marish-mosses crept. 0 well for the fisherman’s boy, Hard by a poplar shook alway, All silver-green with gnarled hark That he shouts with his sister at play! For leagues no other tree did dark’ 0 well for the sailor lad, The level waste, the rounding gray. That he sings in his boat on the bay! She only said, “My life is drea~ And the stately ships go on He cometh not,” she said; To fl~eir haven under the hill; She said, “I am aweary, aweary, But 0 for the touch of a vanished hand, I would that I were deal!” And the sound of a voice that is still! And ever when the moon was low, Break, break, break, And the shrill winds were up and away, At the foot of thy crags, 0 Sea! In the white curtain, to and and fro, But the tender grace of a day that is dead She saw the gusty shadow sway. Will never come back to me. But when the moon was very low, And wild winds bound within their cell, The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed, across her brow. MEMORY. She only said, “The night is dreary, I CtTMB the hill: from end to end He cometh not,” she said; Of all the landscape underneath, She said, “I am aweary, aweary, I find no place that does not breathe - I would that I were dead!” Some gracious memory of my friend; All day within the dreamy house, No gray old grange, or lonely fold, The doors upon their hinges creaked, Or low morass and whispering reed, The blue fly sung i’ the pane; the mouse Or simple stile from mead to mead, Behind the mouldering wainscot Or sheepwalk up the windy wold; shrieked, Or from the crevice peered about. Nor hoary knoll of ash and haw Old faces glimmered through the doors, That hears the latest linnet trill, Old footsteps trod the upper floors, Nor quarry trenched along the hill, Old voices called her from without.And haunted by the wrangling daw.

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ALFRED TENNYSON. 197 Un watched, the garden bough shall sway, Which makes the darkness and the The tender blossom flutter down; light, Unloved, that beech will gather brown, And dwells not in the light alone, This maple burn itself away; But in the darkness and the cloud, Unloved, the sunflower, shining fair, As over Sinai’s peaks of old, Ray round with flames her disk of seed, While Israel made their gods of gold, And many a rose-carnation feed Although the trumpet blew so loud. With summer spice the humming air; Unloved, by many a sandy bar, The brook shall babble down the plain, THE LARGER HOPE. At noon or when the lesser Wain Is twisting round tise polar star; 0 ET we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, Uncared for, gird the windy grove, To pangs of nature, sins of will, And flood the haunts of bern and crake; Defects of doubt, and taints of blood; Or into silver arrows break The sailing moon in creek and cove; That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroyed, Till from the garden and the wild Or ca at as rubbish to the void, A fresh association blow, When God bath made the pile complete; And year by year the landscape grow Familiar to the stranger’s child; That not a worm is cloven in vain; That not a moth wfth vain desire As year by year fle laborer tills Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire, His wonted glebe, or lops the glades; Or but subserves another’s gain. And year by year our memory fades From all the circle of the hills. Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last -far off-at last, to all, DOUBT. And every winter change to spring. You say, but with no touch of scorn, So runs my dream: but what am I? Sweethearted, you, whose light-blue An infant crying iii the night: Are eyes An infant crying for the light: tender over drowning flies, And with no language but a cry. You telt me, doubt is Devil-born. know not: one indeed I knew In many a subtle qnestion versed, THE wish, that of the living whole Who touched a jarring lyre at first, No life may fail beyond the grave, ut ever strove to make it true: Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul? Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, At last he beat his music out. Are God and Nature, then, at strife, There lives more faith in honest doubt, That Nature lends sud~ evil dreams? Believe me, than in half the creeds. So careful bf the type she seems, So careless of the single life; He fought his doubts and gathered strength, That I, considering everywhere He would not make hisjudgmentblind, Her secret meaning in her deeds, He faced the spectres of the mind And finding that of fifty seeds And laid them: thus he came at length She often brings but one to bear, To find a stronger faith his own; I falter where I firmly trod, Mid Power was with him in the night, And falling with my weight of cares

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198 SONGS OF THREE GE~TURIES. Upon the great world’s altar-stairs For a breeze of morning moves, That slope through darkness up to God, And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, loves And gather dust and chaff, and call On a bed of daffodil sky, To what I feel is Lord of all, To faint in the light of the sun she loves, And faintly trust the larger hope. To faint in his light, and to die. - All night have the roses heard The flute, violin, bassoon; “So careful of the type?” but no. All night has the casement jessamine From scarp6d cliff and quarried stone stirred She cries, “A thousand types are gone: To the dancers dancing in tune; I care for nothing, all shall go. Till a sileiice fell with the waking bird, And a hush with the setting moon. “Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life, I bring to death: I said to the lily, “There is but one The spirit does but mean the breath: With whom she has heaft to he gay. I know no more. And he, shall he, When will the dancers leave her alone? She is weary of dance arid play.” Man, her last work, who seemed so fair, Now half to the setting moon are gone, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, And half to the rising day; Who rolled the psalm to wintry skies, Low on the sand and loud on the stone Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer, The last wheel echoes away. Who trusted God was love indeed - I said to the rose, “The brief night goes And love Creation’s final law, - In habble and revel and wine. Though Nature, red in tooth and claw 0 young lord-lover, what sighs are those, With ravin, shrieked against his creed, - For one that will never be thiiie? But mine, but mine,” so I sware to the rose, Who loved, who suffered countless ills, “For ever and ever, mine.” Who battled for the True, the Just, Be blown about the desert dust, And the soul of the rose went into my Or sealed within the iron bills? blood, As the music clashed in the hall; No more? A monster then, a dream, And long by the garden lake I stood, A discord. Dragons of the prime, For I heard your rivulet fall That tare each ofl~er in their slime, From the lake to the meadow and on to Were mellow music matched with him. the wood, Our wood, that is dearer than all; O life as futile, then, as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless! From the meadow your walks have left What hope of answer, or redress? so sweet Behind the veil, behind the veil. That whenever a March-wind sighs He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes, GARDEN SONG. To the woody bollows in which we meet And the valleys of Paradise. COME into the garden, Maud, For the black bat, night, has flown, The slender acacia would not shake ome into the garden, Maud, One long milk-bloom on the tree; I am here at the gate alone; The white lake-blossom fell into the lake And the woodbine spices are wafted As the pimpernel dozed on the lea; abroad, But the rose was awake all night for your And the musk of the roses blown. sake,

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RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 199 Knowing your promise to me; Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes The lilies and roses were all awake, flying, They sighed for the dawn and thee. And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dy Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, - ing, dying. Come hither, the dances are done, In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, Queen lily and rose in one; Shine out, little head, sunnh~g over with RALPll WALDO EMERSON.

curls, To the flowers, and be their sun. (u. a. A.J There has fallen a splendid tear THE APOLOGY. From the passion-flower at the gate. She is coming, my dove, my dear; THINK me not unkind and rude, She is coming, my life, my fate; That I walk alone in grove and glen; The red rose cries, “She is near, she is I go to the god of the wood near”; To fetch his word to men. And the white rose weeps, “She is late”; The larkspur listens, “I hear, I hear”; Tax not my sloth that I And the lily whispers, “I wait.”

Fold my arms beside the brook; Each cloud that floated the sky She is coming, my own, my sweet; Writes a letter in my book. Were it-ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat, Chide me not, laborious band, Were it earth in an earthy bed; For the idle flowers I brought; My dust would hear her and beat, Every aster in any hand Had I lain for a century dead; Goes home loaded with a thought. Would start and tremble under her feet, And blossom in purple and red. There was never mystery But`t is figured in the flowers; Was never secret history But hirds tell it in the bowers. 3UGLE SONG. THE splendor falls on castle walls One harvest from thy field Andsnowysummitsoldinstory: The long li~ht shakes a cross the lakes, second crop thy acres yield, And the n Which I gather in a song. wild cataract leaps in glory. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dy-TO EVA. ing, dying.

O hark, 0 hear! how thin and clear, 0 fair and stately maid, whose eyes And thinner, clearer, farther going! Were kindled in the upper skies O
sweet and far from cliff and scar At the same torch that lighted mine; The horns of Elfland faintly hlowing! For so I must interpret still Blow, let us hear the purple glens reply-Thy sweet dominion o’er my will, ing: A sympathy divine. Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dy ing, dying. Ah, let me blameless gaze upon Features that seem at heart my own; O love, they die in yon rich sky, Nor fear those watchful sentinels, They faint on bill or field or river: Who charm the more their glance forbids, Our echoes roll from soul to soul, Chaste-glowing, underneath their lids, And grow forever and forever. With fire that draws while it repels.

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200 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. THINE EYES STILL SHONE. Was woven still by the snow-white choir. At last she ca’ne to his hermitage, THINE eyes still shone for me, though far Like the bird from the woodlands to the I lonely roved the land or sea: cage As I behold yon evening star, The gay enchantment was undone, Which yet beholds not me. A gentle wi&-, but fairy none. Then I said, “I covet truth; This morn I dimbed the misty hill, Beauty is unripe childhood’s cheat; And roamed the pastures through; I leave it behind with the games of How danced thy form before my path, youth.” Amidst the deep.eyed dew! As I spoke, beneath my feet The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, When the red-bird spread his sable wing, Running over the dub-n~oss burrs; And showed his side of flame, - I inhaled the violet’s breath; When the rosebud npened to the rose, - Around me stood the oaks and firs; In both I read thy name. Pine-cones and aconis lay on the ground; Over me soared the eternal sky, - Full of light and of deity; Again I saw, again I heard, EACH AND ALL. The roiling river, the morning hird; Beauty through my senses stole; LITTLE thinks, in the field, yon red-I yielded myself to the perfect whole. cloaked clown Of thee from the hill-top looking down; The heifer that lows in the upland farm, Far-heard, lows not thine ear to chann; THE PRO3~EM. The sexton, tolling his hell at noon, Deems not that great Napoleon I LIKE a church, I like a cowl, Stops his horse, and lists with delight, I love a prophet of the soul, Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine And on my heart monastic aisles height; Fall like sweet strains or pensive smiles, Nor knowest thou what argument Yet not for all his faith can see Thy life to thy neighbor’s creed has lent. Would I that cowl6d churchman be. All are needed by each one; Why should the vest on him allure, Nothing is fair or good alone.

Which I could not on me endure? I thought the sparrow’s note from heaven, Not from a vain or hallow thought Singing at dawn on the alder bough; His awful Jove young Phidias brought; I brought him home, in his nest, at even; Never from lips of cunning fell He sings the song, but it pleases not now, The thrilling Deiphic oracle; For I did not bring home the river and Out from the heart of nature rolled sky;- The burdens of the Bible old; He sang to my ear, -they sang to my The litanies of nations came, eye. Like the volcano’s tongue of flame, The delicate shells lay on the shore; Up from the b’rning core below, - The bubbles of the latest wave The canticles of love and woe. Fresh pearls to their enamel gave; The hand that rounded Peter’s dome, And the bellowing of the savage sea And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, Greeted their safe escape to me. Wrought in a sad sincerity. I wiped away the weeds and foam, Himself from God he could not free; I fetched my sea-born treasures home; He builded better than he knew; But the poor, unsightly, noisome things The conscious stone to beauty grew. Had left their beauty on the shore, Know’st thou what wove yon wood. With the sun and the sand and the wild bird’s nest uproar. Of leaves, and feathers from her breast; The lover watched his graceful maid, Or how the fish outbuilt her shell, As mid the virgin train she strayed, Painting with morn each an~ual oell; Nor knew her beauty’s best attire Or how the sacred pine-tree adds

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RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 201 To her old leaves new myriads? Up to my ear the morning brings Such and so grew these holy piles, The outrage of the poor.

Whilst love and terror laid the tiles. Earth proudly wears the Parthenon Think ye I made this ball As the best gem upon her zone; A field of havoc and war, And morning opes with haste her lids Where tyrants great and tyrants small To gaze upon the Pyramids; Mi O’er England’s Abbeys bends the sky 0ht harry the weak and poor? As on its friends with kindred eye; My angel, - his name is Freedom, For, out of Thought’s interior sphere Choose him to be your king; These wonders rose to upper air, He shall cut pathways east and west, And Nature gladly gave them place, And fend you with his wing. Adopted them into her race, And granted them an equal date Lo! I uncover the land, With Andes and with Ararat. Which I hid of old time in the W~t, These temples grew as grows the grass; As the sculptor uncovers the statue Art might obey, but not surpass. When he has wrought his best The passive Master lent his hand To the vast Soul that o’er him planned, I show Columbia, of the rocks And the same power that reared the Which dip their foot in the seas, shrine, And soar to the air-borne flocks Bestrode the tribes that knelt within. Of clouds, and the boreal fleece.

Ever the fiery Pentecost Girds with one flame the countless host, I will divide:iiy goods; Trances the heart through chanting Call in the wretch and the slave: choirs, None shall rule but the humble, And through the priest the mind in-And none but Toil shall have. spires. The word unto the prophet spoken I will have never a noble, Was wnt on tables yet unbroken; No lineage counted great; The word by seers or sibyls told, Fishers and choppers and ploughmen In groves of oak or fanes of gold, Shall constitute a state. Still floats upon the morning wind, Still whispers to the willing mind. Go, cut down trees in the forest, One accent of the Holy Ghost And trim the straightest boughs; The heedless world bath never lost. Cut down trees in the forest, I know what say the Fathers wise, - And build me a wooden house. The book itself before me lies, - Old Chrysostom, best Augustine, Call the people together, And he who blent both in his line, The young men and the sires, The younger o1dem Lzps or mines, The digger in ile harvest-field, Taylor, the Shakespeare of divines; Hireling, and him that hires; His words are music in my ear, I see his cowled portrait dear, And here in a pine state-house And yet, for all his faith could see, They shall choose men to rule I would n?t the good bishop be. In every needful faculty, In church and state and school.

BOSTON HYMN. Lo, now! if these poor men Can govern the land and sea, THE
word of the Lord by night And make just laws below the sun, To the watching Pilgrims came, As planets faithful be. As they sat by the seaside, And filled their hearts ~~th flame. And ye shall succor men; `T
is nobleness to serve; God said, I am tired of kings, Help them who cannot help again: I suffer them no more; Beware from right to swerve.

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202 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. I break your bonds and masterships, In the spirit’s perfect air, And I un~hain the slave: In the passions tame and kind, Free be his heart and band henceforth Innocence from selfish care, As wind and wandering wave. The real Eden we shall find. I cause from every creature When the soul to sin hath died, His proper good to flow; True and beautiful and sound, As much as he is and doeth, Then all earth is sanctified, So much he shall bestow. Upsprings paradise around. But, laying hands on another, From the spirit-land afar To coin his labor and sweat, All disturbing force shall flee; He goes in pawn to his victim Stir, nor toil, nor hope shall mar For eternal years in debt. Its immortal unity. To-day unbind the captive, So only are ye uubound; Lift up a people from the dust, Trump of their rescue, sound! EDGAR A. POE. Pay ransom to the owner, (u. 5. A. i8ii -1849.] And fill the bag to the brim. Who is the owner? The slave is owner, THE BELLS. And ever was. Pay him. HEAR the sledges with the bells, - o North! give him beauty for rags, Silver bells, And honor, 0 South! for his shame; What a world of merriment their melody foretells! Nevada! coin thy golden crags How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, With Freedom’s image and name. In the icy air of night! Up! and the dusky race While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens seem to twinkle That sat in darkness long, - With a crystalline delight; Be swift their feet as antelopes, Keeping time, time, time, And as behemoth strong. In a sort of Runic rhyme, Come, East and West and North, To the tintinnabulation that so musically as snowflakes, the wells By races, From bells, bells, bells, bells, And carry my purpose forth, Bells, bells, beiTh, - Which neither halts nor shakes. From the jingling and the tinkling of My will fulfilled shall be, the bells. For, in daylight or in dark, My thunderbolt has eyes to see Hear the mellow wedding bells, His way home to the mark. Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! THE SOUL’S PROPHECY. Through the bJmy air of night How they ring out their delight! ALL before us lies the way; From the molten-golden notes, Give the past unto the wind; And all in tune, All before us is the day, - What a liquid ditty floats Night and darkness are behind. To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats Eden with its angels bold, On the moon! Love and flowers and coolest sea, 0, from out the sounding cells, Is less an ancient story told What a gush of euphony voluminously Thau a glowing prophecy. wells!

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ROBERT BROWNING. 203 How it swells! At the melancholy menace of their How it dwells tone! On the Future! how it tells For every sound that floats Of the rapture that impels From the rust within their throats To the swinging and the ringing Is a groan. Of the hells, hells, bells, And flie people, ah, the people, - Of the bells, hells, hells, bells, They that dwell up in the steeple, Bells, bells, bells, - All alone, To the rhyming and the chiming of the And who, tolling, tolling, tolling, bells! In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling Hear the loud alarum bells, - On the human heart a stone, - Brazen hells! They are neither man nor woman, -

What a tale of terror, now, their turbu-They are neither brute nor human, lency tells! They are Ghouls: In the startled ear of night And their king it is who tolls; How they scream out their affright! And he rolls, rolls, rolls, Too much horrified to speak, Rolls They can only shriek, shriek, A piean from the bells! Out of tune, And his nierry bosom swells In a clamorous appealing to the mercy With the puan of the bells! of the fire, And he da?ces and he yells; In a mad expostulation with the deaf Keeping time, time, time, and frantic fire. In a sort df Runic rhyme, Leaping higher, higher, higher, To the piean of the bells, - With a desperate desire, Of the bells: And a resolute endeavor Keeping time, time, time, Now-now to sit or never, In a sort of Runic rhyme, By the side of the pale-faced moon. To the throbbing of the bells, - 0, the bells, hells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, - What a tale their teuor tells To the sobbing of the bells; Of Despair! Keeping time, time, time, How they clang, and clash, and roar! As he knells, knells, knells, What a horror they outpour In a happy Runic -hym On the bosom of the palpitating air!

To the rolling of the bells, - Yet the ear it fully knows, Of the bells, bells, bells, - By the twanging, To the tolling of the bells, And the clanging, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, - How the danger ebbs and flows; Bells, bells, bells, - Yet the ear distinctly tells, To the moaning and the groaning of the In the jangling, bells. A nd the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the aliger of the bells Of the bells Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, ROBERT

BROwNINQ Bells; bells, bells - In the clamor and the c’langor of the EVELYN HOPE. bells! BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead! Hear the tolling of the bells, - Sit and watch by her side an hour. Iron bells! That is her book-shelf, this her bed; What a world of solemn thought their She plucked fl~at piece of gemnium monody compels! flower, In the silence of the night, Beginning to die, too, in the glaa~ How we shiver with affright Little has yet been changed, I think,

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204 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. The sbutters are shut, 110 light may pass I loved you, Evelyn, all the while; Save two long rays through the hinge’s Myheart seemed full as it could hold, - chink. There was place and to spare for the frank young smile Sixteen years old when she died! And the red young mouth and the Perhaps she had scarcely heard my So, hair’s young go id. name, - hush, - I will give you this leaf to It was not her time to love: beside, keep, - Her life had many a hope and aim, See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand. Duties enough and little cares, There, that is our secret! go to sleep; And now was quiet, now astir, You will wake, and remember, and Till God’s hand beckoned unawares, understand. And the sweet white brow is all of her. Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope? RABBI BEN EZR~

What, your soul was pure and true, The good stars met in your horoscope, Gnow old along with me! Made you of spirit, fire, and dew, - The best is yet to be, And just because I was thrice as old, The last of life, for which the first was And our paths in the world diverged made: so wide, Our times are in His hand Each was naught to each, must I be told? Who saith, “A whole I planned, We were fellow mortals, naught beside? Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!” No, indeed! for God above Is great to grant as mighty to make, Not that, amassing flowers, And creates the love to reward the love, - Youth sighed, “Which rose make ours, I claim you still, for my own love’s sake! Which lily leave and then as best recall?” Delayed it may be for more lives yet, Not that, admiring stars, Through worlds I shall traverse, not a It yearned, “Nor Jove, nor Mars; few, - Mine be some fignred flame which blends, Much is to learn and much to forget transcends them all!” Ere the time be come for taking you. Not for such hopes and fears, But the time will come, - at last it will, Annulling youth’s brief years, When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I Do I remonstrate, - folly wide the mark! shall say, Rather I prize the doubt In the lower earth, in the years long still, Low kinds exist without, That body and soul so pure sud gay? Finished and finite clods, untroubled by Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, a spark. And your mouth of your own gera nium’s red, - Poor vaunt of life indeed, And what you would do with me, in fine, Were man but formed to feed In the new life come in the old one’s On joy, to solely seek and find and feast: stead. Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men; 1 have lived, I shall say, so much since Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt then, the maw-crammed beast? Given up myself so many times, Gained me the gains of various men, Rejoice we are allied Ransacked the ages, spoiled the To That which doth provide climes; And not partake, effect and not receive! Yet one thing, one, in my soul’s full scope, A spark disturbs our clod; Either I missed or itself missed me - Nearer we hold of God And I want and find you, Evelyn Hope! Who gives, than of his ~~bes that take, What is the issue?

let us see! I must believe.

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ROBERT BROWNING. 205 Then, welcome each rebuff Let us cry, “All good things That turns earth’s smoothness rough, Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, 110W, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand, than flesh helps soul!” but go! Be our joys three parts pain! Therefore I summon age Strive, and hold cheap the strain; To grant youth’s heritage, Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never Life’s struggle having so far reached its grudge the throe! term: Thence shall I pass, approved For thence-a paradox A man, for aye removed Which comforts while it mocks From the developed brute; a God though Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: in the germ. What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me: A ud I shall thereupon A brute I might have been, but wonld Take rest, ere I be gone not sink i’ the scale. Once more on my adventure brave and new: What is he but a brute Fearless and unperplexed, Whose flesh hath soul to suit, When I wage battle next, Whose spirit works lest arms and legs What weapons to select, what armor to want play? indue. To man, propose this test, - Thy body at its best, Youth ended, I shall try Bow far can that project thy soul on its My gain or loss thereby; lone way? Be the fire ashes, what survives is gold: And I shall weigh the same, Yet gifts should prove their use: Give life its praise or blame: I own the Past profuse Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, Of power each side, perfection every turn: being old. Eyes, ears took in their dole, Brain treasured up the whole; For note, when evening shuts, Should not the heart beat once, “How A certain moment cuts good to live and learn?” The deed off, calls the glory from the gray A whisper from the west Not once beat, “Praise be Thine! Shoots, “Add this to the rest, I see the whole design, Take it nnd t,~y its worth: here dies another I, who saw Power, shall see Love perfect day. too: Perfect I call Thy plan: So, still within this life, Thanks that I was a man! Though lifted o’er its strife, Maker, remake, complete, - I trust what Let me discern, compare, pronounce at thou shalt do!” last, “This rage was right i’ the main, For pleasant is this flesh; That acquiescence vain: Our soul, in its rose-mesh The Future I may face now I have proved Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for the Past.” rest: - Would we some prize might hold For more is not reserv~d To match those manifold To man, with soul just nerved Possessions of the brute, - gain most, as To act to-morrow what he learns to.day we did best! Here, work enough to watch The Master work, and catch Let us not always say, Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the “Spite of il~is flesh to-day tool’s true play.

I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole!” As it was better, youth As the bird wings and sings, Should strive, through acts uncouth,

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206 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Toward making, than repose on aught Mi men ignored in me, found made; This I was worth to God, whose wheel So, better, age, exempt the pitcher shaped. From strife, should know, than tempt Further. Thou waitedat age; wait death Ay, note that Potter’s wheel, nor be afraid! That metaphor! and feel Why time spins fast, why passive lies our Enough now, if the Right clay, - And Good and Infinite Thou, to whom fools propound, Be named here, as thou callest thy hand When the wine makes its round, thine own, “Since life fleets, all is change; the Past With knowledge absolute, gone, seize to-day!” Subject to no dispute From fools that crowded youth nor let Fool! All that is, at all, thee feel alone. Lasts ever, past recall; Earth changes, but thy soul and God Be there, for once and all, stand sure: Severed great minds from small, What entered into thee, Announced to each his station in the That was, is, and shall be: Past! Time’s wheel runs hack or stops: Potter Was I, the world arraigned, and clay endure. Were they, my soul disdained, Right? Let age speak the tr He fixed thee mid this dance give us peace at last! uth and Of plastic circumstance, This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest: Now, who shall arbitrate? Machinery just meant Ten men love what I hate, To give thy soul its bent, Shun what I follow, slight what I re-Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently ceive; Ten, who in ears and eyes impressed. - Match me: we all surmise, What though the earlier grooves They, this thing, and I, that: whom shall Which ran the laughing loves my soul believe? Around thy base, no longer pause and press? Not on the vulgar mass What though, about thy rim, Called “work,” must sentence pass, Skull-things in order grim Things done, that took the eye and had Grow out, in graver mood, obey the the price; sterner stress? O’er which, from level stand, The low world laid its hand, Look not thou down, but up!

Found straightway to its mind, could To uses of a cup, value in a trice: The festal board, lamp’s flash, and trum pet’s peal, But all, the world’s coarse thumb The new wine’s foamin flow, And finger failed to plumb, The Master’s lips g0w~~~ So passed iu making up the main account; Thou, heaven’s consummate cup, what All instincts immature needst thou with earth’s wheel? All purposes unsure, That weighed not as his work, yet swelled But I need, now as then, the man’s amount: Thee, God, who mouldest men; And since, not even while the whirl was Thoughts hardly to be packed worst, Into a narrow act, Did I -~ to the wheel of life Fancies that broke through language and With shapes and colors rife, escaped; Bound dizzily -
mistake ~y end, to All I could never be, slake Thy thirst:

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lIENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 20’T So, take and use Thy work! There would be doubt, hesitation, and Amend what flaws may lurk, pain, What strain 0’ the stuff, what warpings Forced praise on our part, the glimmer past the aim!

of twilight, My times be in Thy hand! Never glad, confident morning again!

Perfect the cup as planned! Best fight on well, for we taught him, - Let age approve of youth, and death strike gallantly, complete the same! Mm at our heart ere we pierce through his own; Then let him receive the new knowledge and wait us, THE LOST LEADER. Pardoned in Heaven, the first by the throne! JUsT for a handful of silver he left us; Just for a ribbon to stick in his coat, - Found the one gift of which fortune be-HENRY W.

LONGFELLOW. reft us, Lost all the others she lets us devote. They, with the gold to give, doled him Eu. a. A.j out silver, So much was theirs who so little allowed. ~AUL REVERE’S RrnE. How all our copper had gone for his ser-LIsTEN, my children, and you shall hear vice! Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, Rags - were they purple, his heart On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy had been proud! five; We that had loved him so, followed him, Hardly a man is now alive honored him, Who remembers that famous day and year. Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, Learned his great language, caught his He said to his friend, “If the British clear accents, march Made him our pattern to live and to By land or sea from the town tonight, die! Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Shakespeare was of us, Milton was for us, Of the North Church tower as a signal Burns, Shelley, were with us, - they light, - watch from their graves! One, if by land, and two, if by sea; He alone breaks from the van and the And I on the opposite shore will be, freemen; Ready to ride and spread the alarm He alone sinks to the rear and the Through every Middlesex village and slaves! farm, We shall march prospering, - not through For the con his presence; arm.,,ntry folk to be up and to Songs may inspirit us, - not from his lyre; Then he said, “Good m-ght!” and with Deeds will be done, -
while he boasts his muffled oar quiescence, Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, Still bidding crouch whom the rest Just as the moon rose over the bay, bade aspire. Where swinging wide at her moorings lay Blot out his name, then, - record one The Somerset, British man-of-war; lost soul more, A phantom ship, with each mast and spar One task more declined, one more foot-Across the moon like a prison bar, path untrod, And a huge black hulk, that was magniOne more triumph for devils, and sor-fled row for angels, By its own reflection in the tide. One wrong more to man, one more in sult to God! Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and Life’s night begins; let him never come street, back to us! Wanders and watches with eager ears,

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208 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Till in the silence around bim he hears A hurry of hoofs in a village street, The muster of men at the barrack door, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, dark, And the measured tread of the grenadiers, And beneath, from the pebbles, in passMarchingdowntotheirboats ontheshore. ing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and Then he climbed the tower of the Old fleet: North Church, That was all! And yet, through the By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, gloom and the light, To the belfry-chamber overhead The fate of a nation was riding that night; And startled the pigeons from th’eir percli And the spark stn~ck out by that steed, On the sombre rafters, that round him in his flight, made Kindled the land into flame with its heat. Masses and moving shapes of shade, - By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, He has left the village and mounted the To the highest window in the wall steep, Where he paused to listen and look’down And beneath him, tran~uil and broad and A moment on the roofs of the town, deep, And the moonlight flowing over alL Is the Mystic, meeting the oceantides; And under the alders, that skirt its edge, Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, Now soft on the sand, now loud on the In their ~ight-encampment on the hill, ledge, Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. Wrapped in silence so deep and still That he could hear, like a sentinel’s tread, It was twelve by the village clock The watchful night-wind, as it went When he crossed the bridge into Medford Creeping along from tent to tent, town. And seeming to whisper, “Allis well!” He heard the crowing of the cock, A moment only he feels the spell And the barking of the farmer’s dog, Of the place and the hour, and the secret And felt the damp of the river fog, dread That rises after the sun goes down.

Of the lonely belfry and the dead; For suddenly all his thonghts are bent It was one by the village clock, On a shadowy something far away, When he galloped into Lexington. Where the river widens to meet thebay, - He A line of black that bends and floats saw the gilded weathercock On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. S~4m in the moonlight as he passed, And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride As if they already stood aghast On the opposite shore walked Paul Re-At the bloodywork they would look upon. vere. Now he patted his horse’s side, It was two by the village clock Now gazed at the landscape far and near, When he came to the bridge in Concord Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, town. And turned and tightened his saddle-He heard the bleating of the flock, girth; And the twitter of birds among the trees, But mostly he watched with eager search And felt the breath of the morning breeze The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, Blowing over the meadows brown. As it rose above the graves on the hill, And one was safe and asleep in his bed Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. Who at the bridge would be first to fall, And lo! as he looks, on thebelfry’sheight Who that day would be lying dead, A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! - Pierced by a British musket-ball, He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, You know the rest. In the books you But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight have read A second lamp in the belfry burns! How the British R’egularsflredandfled,

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HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 209 liow the farmers gave them ball for ball, 0, thou child of many prayers! From behind each fence and farm-yard Life hath quicksands, -Life hath snares! wall, Care and age come unawares! Chasing the redcoats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again Like the swell of some sweet tune, Under the trees at the turn of the road, Morning rises into noon, And only pausing to fire and load. May glides onward into June. So through the night rode Paul Revere; Childhood is the bough, where slumbered And so through the night went his cry Birds and blossoms many-numbered To of alarm every Middlesex village and farm, -

Age, that bough with snows encumbered. A cry of defiance and not of fear, Gather, then, each flower that grows, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the When the young heart overflows, door, To embalm that tent of snows.

And a word that shall echo forevermore! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Bear a lily in thy hand; Through all our history, to the last, Gates of brass cannot withstand In the hour of darkness and peril and One touch of that magic wand. need, The people will waken and listen to hear Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth, The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed In thy heart the dew of youth, And the midnight message of Paul Re-On thy lips the smile of truth. vere. 0, that dew, like balm, shall steal MAIDENHOOD. Into wounds that cannot heal, Even as sleep our eyes doth seal; MAmEN! with the meek, brown e In whose orbs a shadow lies yes, And that smile, like sunshine, dart Like the dusk in evening skies! Into many a sunless heart, For a smile of God thou art. Thou whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one, As the braided streamlets run! A PSALM OF LIFE. Standing, with reluctant feet, wHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG

HAN SAID T~ Where the brook and river meet, THE PSALMIST. Womanhood and childhood fleet! TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Gazing, with a timid lance, Life is but an empty dream! On the brooklet’s swi advance, For the soul is dead that slumbers, On the river’s broad expanse! And things are not what they seem. Deep and still, that gliding stream Life is real! Life is earnest! Beautiful to thee mitst seem, And the grave is not its goal; As the river of a dream. Dust thou art, to dust return eat, Then why pause with indecision, Was not spoken of the soul. When bright angels in thy vision Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Beckon thee to fields Elysian? Is our destined end or way; Seest thou shadows sailing by, But to act, that each to-morrow As the dove, with startled eye, Find us farther than to-day. Sees the falcon’s shadow fly? Art is long, and Time is fleeting, Hearest thou voices on the shore, And our hearts, though stout and brave, That our ears perceive no more, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Deafened by the cataract’s roar? Funeral marches to the grave. 14

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210 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. In the world’s broad field of battle, Is but a suburb of the life elysian, In the bivouac of Life, Whose portal we call Death. Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a hero in the strife! She is not dead, - the child of our affec tion, Trnst no Future, howe’er pleasant! But gone unto that school Let the dead Past bury its dead! Where she no longer needs our poor pro Act, - act in the living Present!

tection, Heart within, and God o’erhead! And Christ himself doth rule.

Lives of great men all remind us In that great cloister’s stillness and seclu We can make our lives sublime, sion, And, departing, leave behind us By guardian angels led, Footprints on the sands of time;- Safe from temptation, safe from sin’s pol Footprints, that perhaps another, She lution, Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, lives, whom we call dead. A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again. Day after day we think what she is doing In those bright realms f air; Let us, then, be up and doing, Year after year, her tender steps pursu With a heart for any fate, ing, Still achieving, still pursuing, Behold her row Learn to labor and to wait. n more fair. Thus do we walk with her, and keep unbroken The bond which nature gives, RESIGNATION. Thinking that our remembrance, though THERE is no flock, however watched and unspoken, tended, May reach her where she lives. But one dead lamb is ther! There is no fireside, howsoe’er defended Not as a child shall we again behold her: But has one vacant chair!` For when with raptures wild In our embraces we again enfold her, The air is full of farewells to the dying, She will not be a child; And mournings for the dead; The heart of Rachel, for her children But a fair maiden, in her Father’s man crying, sion, Will not be comforted! Clothed with celestial grace; And beautiful with all the soul’s expanLet us be patient! These severe afflic-sion tions Shall we behold her face. Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions And though at times impetuous with Assume this dark disguise.

emotion And anguish long suppressed, We see but dimly through the mists and The swelling heart heaves moaning like vapors; the ocean, Amid these earthly damps That cannot be at rest, - What seem to us but sad, h~nereal tapers May be heaven’s distant lamps. We will be patient, and assuage the feel ing There is no Death! What seems so is We may not wholly stay; transition; By silence sanctifying, not concealing, This life of mortal breath The grief that must have way.

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HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. 211 SANTA FILOMEN~ HAWThORNE. WHENE’ER a noble deed is wrought, MAY 23, 1564. ~Yhene’er is spoken a noble thought, How beautiful it was, that one bright day Our hearts, in glad surprise, In the long week of rain! To higher levels rise. Though all its splendor could not chase The tidal wave of deeper souls away Into our inmost being rolls, The omnipresent pain. And lifts us unawares Out of all meaner cares. The lovely town was white with apple. blooms, Honor to those whose words or deeds And the great elms o’erhead Thus help us in our daily needs, Dark shadows wove on their aerial looms And by their overflow Shot through with goldeis thread. Raise us from what is low! Across the meadows, by the gray old Thus thought I, as by night I read manse, Of the great army of the dead, The historic river flowed: The trenches cold and damp, I was as one who wanders in a trance, The starved and frozen camp, Unconscious of his road. The wounded from the battle-plain,The faces of familiar friends seemed In dreary hospitals of pain, strange; The cheerless corridors, Their voices I could hear, The cold and stony floors. And yet the words they uttered seemed to change Lo! in that house of misery Their meaning to my ear. A lady with a lamp I see Pass through the glimmering gloom, For the one face I looked for was not there, And flit from room to room. The one low voice was mute; Only an unseen presence filled the afr, And slow, as in a dream of bliss, And baffled my pursuit. The speechless sufferer turns to kiss Her shadow, as it falls Now I look back, and meadow, manse, Upon the darkening walls. and stream Dimly my thought defines; As if a door in heaven should be I only see-a dream within a dreamOpened and then closed suddenly, The hill-top hearsed with pines. The vision came and went, The light shone and was spent. I only hear above his place of rest Their tender undertone, On England’s annals, through the long The infinite longings of a troubled breast, Hereafter of her speech and song, The voice so like his own. That light its rays shall cast From portals of the past.

There in seclusion and remote from men The wizard hand lies cold, A Lady with a Lamp shall stand Which at its topmost speed let fall the pen, In the great history of the land, And left the tale half told. A noble type of good, Heroic womanhood. Ah! who shall lift that wand of magie power, Nor even shall be wanting here And the lost clew regain? The palm, the lily, and the spear, The unfinished window in Aladdin’s The s~~bols that of yore tower Saint Filomena bore. Unfinished must remain!

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212 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. GERALD MA\SEY. Triumph and toil are twins; and aye, Joy suns the cloud of sorrow; And`t is the martyrdom to-day TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. Brings victory to-morrow. Hiniihopesthatburnedlike stars sublime Go down the heavens of Freedom, And true hearts perish in the time We bitterliest need them! But never sit we down, and say JOHN G.

WHITTIER. There`5 nothing left but sorrow; (u. 5. A.J We walk the wilderness to-day, The promised land to-morrow. THE GRAVE BY THE LAU~~ Our birds of song are silent now, WHERE the Great Lake’s sunny smiles There are no flowers blooming; Dimple round its hundred isles, Yet life beats in the frozen bou~b, And the mountain’s granite ledge And Freedom’s spring is! Cleaves the water like a wedge, And Freedom’s tide comes coming Ringed about with smooth, gray stones, Though we may stand in up alway, Rest the giant’s mighty bones. sorrow; And onr good bark aground to-day Close beside, in shade and gleam, Shall float again to-morrow. Laughs and ripples Melvin stream; Melvin water, mountain-born, Through allthelong, dark nights of years All fair flowers its banks adorn; people’s cry ascendeth, All the woodland’s voices meet, The M And earth is wet with blood and tears; ingling with its murmurs sweet. But our meek sufferance endeth! Over lowlands forest-grown, The few shall not forever sway, Over waters island-strown, The many toil in sorrow; Over silver-sanded beach, The powers of earth are strong to-day, Leaf-locked bay and misty reach, But Heaven shall rule to-morrow. Melvin stream and burial-heap, Watch and ward the mountains keep. Thoughheartsbroodo’erthepast, our eyes Who that Titan cromlech filLs? With smiling features glisten! Forest-kaiser, lord 0’ the hills? For lo! our day bursts up the skies: Knight who 011 the birchen tree Lean out your souls and listen! Carved his savage heraldry?

The world rolls Freedom’s radiant way Priest 0’ the pine-wood temples dim, And ripeus with her sorrow; Prophet, sage, or w~zard grim? Keep heart! who bear the cross to-day Shall wear the crown to-morrow. Rugged type of primal man, Grim utilitarian, O Youth! flame earnest, still aspire Loving woods for hunt and prowl, With energies immortal! Lake and hill for fish and fowl, To many a heaven of desire As the brown bear blind and dull Our-yearning opes a portal: To the grand and beautiful: And though age weanes by the way, Not for him the lesson drawn And hearts break in the furrow, From the mountains smft with dawn. We`11 sow the golden grain to-day, S
tar-rise, moon-rise, flowers of May, AIld harvest comes to-morrow.

Sunset’s purple bloom of day, - Took his life no hue from thence, Build np heroic lives, and all Poor amid such affluence? Be like a sheathen sabre, Ready to flash out at God’s call, Haply unto hill and tree O chivalry of labor! All too near akin was he:

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JOWN G. WHITTIER. 213 Unto him who stands afar Made the woods and inland sea Nature’s marvels greatest are; And the mountains mystery; Who the mountain purple seeks And the hush of earth and air Must not climb the higlier peaks. Seemed the pause before a prayer, - Yet who knows ill winter tramp, Prayer for him, for all who rest, Or the midnight of the camp, Mother Earth, upon thy breast, - What revealings faint and far, Lapped on Christian turf, or hid Stealing down from moon and star, In rock-cave or pyramid: Kindled in that human clod All who sleep, as all who live, Thought of destiny and God? Well may need the prayer~ “Forgive!”

Stateliest forest patriarch, Desert-smothered caravan, Grand in robes of skin and bark, Knee-deep dust that once was man, What sepulchral mysteries, Battle -trenches ghastly piled, What weird funeral-rites, were his? Ocean-floors with white bones tiled, What sharp wail, what drear lament, Crowded tomb and mounded sod, Back scared wolf and eagle sent?

DumNy crave that prayer to God. Now, whate’er he may have been, 0 the generations old Low he lies as other men; Over whom no church-bells tolled, On his mound the partridge drums, Christless, lifting up blind eyes There the noisy blue-jay comes; To the silence of the skies! Rank nor name nor pomp has he For the innumerable dead In the grave’s democracy. Is my soul disquieted. Part thy blue lips, North era lake! Where be now these silent hosts? Moss~rown rocks, your silence break! Where the camping-ground of ghosts? Tell the tale, thou ancient tree! Where the spectral conscripts led Thou, too, slide-worn Ossipee! To the white tents of the dead? Speak, and tell us how and when What strange shore or chartless sea Lived and died this king of men! Holds the awful mystery?

Wordless moans the ancient pine; Then the warm sky stooped to make Lake and mountain give no sign; Double sunset in the lake; Vain to trace this ring of stones; While above I saw with it, Vain the search of cr}imNing hones: Range on range, the mountains lit; Deepest of all mysteries, And the calm and splendor stole And the saddest, silence is. Like an answer to my souL Nameless, noteless, clay with clay Hear’st thou, 0 of little faith, Mingles slowly day by day; What to thee the mountain saith, But somewhere, for good or ill, What is whispered by the trees? - That dark soul is living still; “Cast on God thy care for these; Somewhere yet that atom’s force Trust him, if thy sight be dim: Moves the light-poised universe. Doubt for them is doubt of him. Strange that on his burial-sod “Blind must be their close-shut eyes Harebells bloom, and golden-rod, Where like night the sunshine lies, While the soul’s dark horoscope Fiery-linked the self-forged chain Holds no starry sign of hope! Binding ever sin to pain, Is the Unseen with sight at odds? Strong their prison-house of will, Nature’s pity more than God’s? But without He waiteth stilL Thiis I mused by Melvin’s side, “Not with hatred’s undertow While the summer eventide Doth the Love Eternal flow;

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214 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Every chain that spirits wear The years no charm from Nature take; Crumbles in the breath of prayer; As sweet her voices call, And the penitent’s desire As beautiful her mornings break, Opens every gate of fire. As fair her evenings fall. “Still thy love, 0

Christ arisen! Love watches o’er my quiet ways, Yearns to reach these souls in prison? Kind voices speak my name, Through all depths of sin and loss And lips that find it hard to praise Drops the plummet of thy cross!

Are slow, at least, to blame. Never yet abyss was found Deeper than that cross could sound!” How softly ebb the tides of will! How fields, once lost or won, Therefore well may Nature keep Now lie behind me green and still Equal faith with all who sleep, Beneath a level sun! Set her watch of hills around Christian grave and heathen mound, How hushed the hiss of party hate, And to cairn and kirkyard send The clamor of the throng!

Summer’s flowery dividend. How old, harsh voices of debate Flow into rhythmic song! Keep, 0 pleasant Melvin stream Thy sweet laugh in shade and g1eam! Methinks the spirit’s temper grows On the Indian’s grassy tomb Too soft in this still air, Swing, 0 flowers, your bells of bloom! Somewhat the restful heart foregoes Deep below, as high above, Of needed watch and prayer. Sweeps the circle of God’s love. The bark by tempest vainly tossed - May founder in the calm, And he who braved the polar frost MY BIRTHDAY.

Faint by the isles of balm. BENEATH the moonlight and the snow Better than self-indulgent years Lies dead my latest year; The outfiung heart of youth, The winter winds are wailing low Than pleasant songs in idle ears Its dirges in my ear. The tumult of the truth. I grieve not with the moaning wind Rest for the weary hands is good, As if a loss befell; And love for hearts that pine, Before me, even as behind, But let the manly habitude God is, and all is well! Of upright souls be mine. His light shines on me from above, Let winds that blow from heaven refresh, His low voice speaks within, - Dear Lord, the languid air; The patienqe of immortal love And let the weakness of the flesh Outwearying mortal sin.

Thy strength of spirit share. Not minAless of the growing years And, if the eye must fail of light, Of care and loss and pain, The ear forget to hear, My eyes are wet with thankful tears Make clearer still the spirit’s sight, For blessings which remain. More fine the inward ear! If dim the gold of life has grown, Be near me in mine hours of need I will not count it dross, To soothe, to cheer, or warn, Nor turn from treasures still my own And down these slopes of sunset lead To sigh for lack and loss. As up the hills of morn!

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JOHN G. WHITTIER. 215 TIlE VANISIlERS. Guided thus, 0 friend of mine! Let us walk our little way, SWEETEST of all ch~ldlike dreams Knowing by each beckoning sign In the simple Indian lore That we are not quite astray.

Still to me the legend seems Of the shapes who flit before. Chase we still, with baffled feet, Smiling eye and waving band, Flitting, passing, seen and gone, Sought and seeker 50011 shall meet, Never reached nor found at rest, Lost and found, in Sunset Land! Baffling search, but beckoning on To the Sunset of the Blest. From the clefts of mountain rocks, IN

SCHOOI~DAYS. Through the dark of lowland firs, Flash the eyes and flow the locks STILL sits the school-house by the road, Of the mystic Yanishers! A ragged beggar sunning; Around it still the sumachs And the fisher in his skiff, And blackberry-vines are runlling. And the hunter on the moss, Hear their call from cape and cliff, Witbin, tbe master’s desk is seen, See their bands the birch-leaves toss. Deep scarred by raps official; The warping floor, the battered seats, Wistful, longing, through the green The jack-knife’s carved initial; Twilight of the clustered pines, The charcoal frescos on its wall; In their faces rarely seen Beauty more than mortal shines. Its door’s worn sill, betraying The feet that, creeping slow to school, Fringed witb gold their mantles flow Went storming out to playing!

On the slopes of westering knolls; In the wind they whisper low Long years ago a winter sun Of the Sunset Land of Souls. Shone over it at setting; Lit up its western window-panes, Doubt who may, 0 friend of mine! And low eaves’ icy fretting. Thou and I have seen them too; On before with beck and sign It toucbed tbe tangled golden curls, Still they glide, and we pursue. And brown eyes full of grieving, Of one wbo still her steps delayed More than clouds of purple trail When all the school were leaving.

In the gold of setting day; More than gleams of wing or sail For near her stood the little boy Beckon from the sea-mist gray. Her childish favor singled; His cap pulled low upon a face Glimpses of immortal youth, Where pride and shame were mingled. Gleams and glories seen and flown, Far-heard voices sweet with truth, Pushing with restless feet the snow Airs from viewless Eden blown, - To right and left, he lingered As restlessly her tiny hands Beauty that eludes our grasp, The blue-checked apron fingered.

Sweetness that transcends our taste, Loving hands we may not clasp, He saw her lift her eyes; he felt Shining feet that mock our~haste, - The soft hand’s light caressing, And beard the tremble of her voice, Gentle eyes we closed below, As if a fault confessing. Tender voices heard once more, Smile and call us, as they go “I`m sorry that I spelt the word: On and onward, still before. I hate to go above you,

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216 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Because,” - the brown eyes lower fell,- When was ever his right hand “Because, you see, I love you!” Over any time or land Stretched as now beneath the sun? Still memory to a gray-haired man That sweet child-face is showing. How they pale, Dear girl! the grasses on her grave Ancient myth and song and tale, Have forty years been growing!

In this wonder of our days, When the cruel rod of war He lives to learn, in life’s hard school, Blossoms white with righteous law, How few who pass above him And the wrath of man is praise! Lament their triumph and his loss, Like her, - because they love him. Blotted out! All within and all about - Shall a fresher life begin; Freer breathe the universe LAUS DEO!

As it rolls its heavy curse ON NEARINO THE SELLS HINO ON THE PASSAOE On the dead and buried sin! OF THE CONSTITUTIONAL AMENDMENT ASOL ISHINO

SLAVERY. It is done! In the circuit of the sun Iv is done! Shall the sound thereof go forth. Clang of bell and roar of gun It shall bid the sad rejoice, Send the tidings lip and down. How the belfries rock and reel! It shall give the dumb a voice, How the great guns, peal on peal, It shall belt with joy the earth! Fling the joy from town to town! Ring and swing, Ring, 0 bells! Bells of joy! On morning’s wing Every stroke exulting tells Send the song of praise abroad! Of the burial hour of crime. With a sound of broken chains Loud and long, that all may hear, Tell the nations that He reigns, Ring for every listening ear Who alone is Lord and God! Of Eternity and Time! Let us kneel: God’s own voice is in that peal, TIlE EVE

OF ELECTION. And this spot is holy ground. Lord, forgive us! What are we, FROM gold to gray That our eyes this glory see, Our mild sweet day That our ears have heard the sound! Of Indian summer fades too soon; But tenderly For the Lord Above the sea On the whirlwind is abroad; Hangs, white and calm, the hunter’s In the earthquake he has spoken; moon. He has smitten with his thunder In its pale fire, Tbe iron walls asunder, pire And the gates of brass are broken!Shows The village s like the zodiac’s spectral lance: - Loud aDd long The painted walls Lift the old exulting song; Whereon it falls Sing with Miriam by the sea Transfigured stand in marble trance! He has cast the mighty down; O’er fallen leaves Horse and rider sink and drown; The west-wind grieves, He bath triumphed gloriously!” Yet comes a seed-time round again; Did we dare, And morn shall see In our agony of prayer, The State sown free Ask for more than He has done? With baleful t~ or healthful grain.

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WILLIAM ALbINGITAM. 217 Along the street The shadow rend, The shadows meet And o’er us bend, Of Destiny, whose hands conceal Omartyrs, with your crowusand palms, The moolds of fate Breathe through these throngs That shape the state, Your battle sobgs, And make or mar the common weal. Your scaffold prayers, and dungeon psalms! Around I see Look from the sky, The powers that be; Like God’s great eye, I stand by Empire’s primal springs; Thou solemn moon, with searching beam; And princes meet Till in the sight In every street, And hear fl~e tread of uncrowned kings! Our Of thy pure light mean seif-seekings meaner seem. Hark! through the crowd Shame from our hearts The laugh runs loud, Unworthy arts, Beneath the sad, rebuking moon. The fraud designed, the purpose dark; God save the land And smite away A careless band The hands we lay May shake or swerve ere morrow’s noon! Profanely on the sacred ar~ No jest is this; To party claims One cast amiss And private aims, May blast the hope of Freedom’s year. Reveal that august face of Truth, 0, take me where Whereto are given Are hearts of prayer, The age of heaven, And foreheads bowed in reverent fear! The beauty of immortal youth. Not lightly fall So shall our voice Beyond recall Of sovereign choice The written scrolls a breath can float; Swell the deep bass of duty done, The crowning fact And strike the key The kingliest act Of time to be, Of Freedom is the freeman’s vote! When God and man shall speak as one! For pearls that gem A diadem The diver in the deep sea dies; WILLIAM ALLIN(1llAM. The regal right We boast tonight THE

TOUCHSTONE. Is ours through costli6r sacrifice; AMAN there came, whence none couldtell, The blood of Vane, Bearing a touchstone in his hand; His prison pain And tested all fl~ings in the land Who traced the path the Pilgrim trod, By its unerring spelL And hers whose faith Drew strength from death, Quick birth of transmutation smote And prayed her Russell up to God! The fair to foul, the foul to fair; Purple nor emine did he spare, Our hearts grow cold, Nor scorn the dusty coat. We lightly hold A vight which brave men died to gain; Of heirloom jewels, prized so much, The stake, the cord, Were many changed to chips and dods, The axe, t~ sword, And even statues of the gods Grim nurses at its birth of pain. Crumbled beneath its touch.

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218 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Then angrily the people cried, It shone upon a genial mind, and, lo I “The loss outweighs the profit far; its light became Our goods suffice us as they are;A lamp of life, a beacon ray, a monfrory We will not have them tried.” flame: The thought was small; its issue great; And since they could not so avail a watch-fire on the hill; To check this unrelenting guest, It sheds its radiance far adown, and They seized him, saying, “Let him test cheers the valley stilL How real is our jail!” But, though they slew him with the sword A~ameless man, amid a crowd that And in a fire his touchstone burned, thronged the daily mart, Its doings could not be o’erturned, Let fall a word of Hope and Love, unIts undoings restored. studied, from the heart; A whisper on the tumult thrown, -a And when, to stop all future harm, transitory breath, - It raised a brother from the dust; it They strewed its ashes on the breeze; saved a soul from death. They little guessed each grain Conveyed the perfect charm. of these 0 germ! 0 fount! 0 word of love! 0 thought at random cast! _______ Ye were but little at the first, but mighty at the last. CllARLE~ MACKAY. SMAlL flEGINNING~ TUI3AL CAIN. A TRAyELLER through a dusty road OLD Tubal Cain was a man of might strewed acorns on the lea; In the days when Earth was young; And one took root and sprouted up and By the fierce red light of his furnace bright grew into a tree.` The strokes of his hammer rilug; Love sought its shade, at evenin time And he lifted high his brawuy hand to breathe his early vows 0 On the iron glowing clear, And age was pleased, in heats of noon, Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet to hask beneath its hongl~ a showers, The dormonse loved its dangling`twis As he fashioned the sword and spear. the birds sweet music bore; g, And he sang, “Hurrah for my handiIt stood a glory in its place, a blessingwork! evermore. Hurrah for the spear and sword Hurrah for the hand that shall widd them A little spring had lost its way amid thewell, grass and fern, For he shall be king and lord!” A passing stranger scooped a well, where weary men might tun~ To Tubal Cain came many a one, He walled it in, and hung with care a As he wrought by his roaring fire, ladle at the brink; And each one prayed for a strong steel He thought not of the deed he did, but blade judged that toil might drink. As the crown of his desire: He passed again, and lo! the well, by And he made them weapons sharp and summers never dried, strong, Hadcooled ten thousand parched tongues, Till they shouted loud for glee, and saved a life beside. And gave him gifts of pearl and gold, And spoils of the forest free. A dreamer dropped a random thought; And they sang, “Hurrah for Tubal Cain, was old, and yet`t was new; Who bath given us strength anew! A simple fancy of the brain, but strong Hurrah for the smith, huuah for th,,e fir~ in being true. And hurrah for the metal true!

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OLIVER WENDELL llOLMES. 219 But a sudden change came o’er his heart No rest that throbbing slave may ask, Ere the setting of the sun, Forever quivering o’er his task, And Tubal Cain was filled wfth pain While far and wide a crimson jet For the evil he had done; Leaps forth to fill the woven net He saw that men, with rage and hate, Which iu unnumbered crossing tides Made war upon their kind, The flood of burning life divides, That the land was red with the blood Then, kindling each decaying part, they shed Creeps back to find the throbbing heart. In their lust for carnage blind. And he said, “Alas! that ever I made, But warmed with that unchanging flamo Or that skill of mine should plan, Behold the outward moving frame, The spear and the sword for men whose Its living marbles jointed strong joy With glistening band and silvery thong Is to slay their fellow-man.” And linked to reason’s guiding reins By nynad rings in trembling chains, Aiid for many a day old Tubal Cain Each graven with the threaded zone Sat brooding o’er his woe; Which daims it as the master’s own. And his hand forbore to smfte the ore, And his furnace smouldered low. See how you beam of seeming white But he rose at last with a cheerful face, Is braided out of sevenhued light, And a bright, courageous eye, Yet in those hicid globes no ray And bared his strong right arm for work, By any chance shall break astray. While the quick flames mounted high.

Hark how the rolling surge of sound, And he sang, “Hurrah for my handi-Arches and spirals circling round, craft!” Wakes the hushed spirit through thine e~~ And the red sparks lit the air; With music it is heaven to hear.

“Not alone for the blade was the n.ght steel made”; Then mark the cloven sphere that holds And he fashioned the first ploughshare. All thought in its mysterious f()lds, That feels sensation’s faintest thrill, _______ And flashes forth the sovereign will; Think on the stormy world that dwells Locked in its dim and clustering cells! OLIVER TENDELL llOLME$. The lightning gleams of power it sheds Along its hollow glassy threads! Eu. a.

A.J 0 Father! grant thy love divine THE LIVING TEMPLE~ To make these mystic temples thine! When wasting age and wearying strife NoT in the world of light alone, Have sapped the leaning walls of life, Where God has built his blazing throne, When darkness gathers over all, Nor yet alone in earth bdow, And the last toftering pillars fall, With belted seas that come and , Take the poor dust thy mercy warms, And endless isles of sunlit green, And mould it into heavenly forms! Is all thy Maker’s glory seen Look in upon thy woidrous frame, Eternal wisdom still the same!

DOROTHY Q. The smooth, soft air with pulse-like waves A FAMILY PoaTRAIT.

Flows murmuring through its hidden caves, GnA~ron~a’s mother; her age, Iguess, Whose streams ofbrighteningpuiple rush, Thirteen summers, or something less; Fired with a new and livelier blush, Girlish bust, but womanly air, ~Vhile all their burden of decay Smooth, square forehead, with uprolled The ebbing current steals away, hair, And red with Nature’s flame they start Lips that lover has never kissed, From the warm fountains of the heart. Taper fingers and slender wrist,

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220 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade, - 0 lady and lover, how faint and far So they painted the little maid. Your images hover, and here we are, Solid and stirring in flesh and bone, On her hand a parrot green Edward’s and Dorothy’s-all theirown - Sits unmoving and broods serene; A goodly record for time to show Hold up the canvas full in view, - Of a syllable spoken so long ago! - Look! there`a a rent the light shines Shall I bless you, Dorothy, or forgive, through, For the tender whisper that bade me liv~? Dark witli a century’s fringe of dust, - That was a Redcoat’s rapier-thrust! It shall be a blessing, my little maid!

Such is the tale the lady old, I will heal the stab of the Redcoat’ 5

Dorothy’s daughter’s daughter, told. blade, Who the painter was none may tell, - And freshen the gold of the tarnishe,l frame, One whose best was not over well; And gild with a rhyme your househoht Hard and dry, it must be confessed, name, Flat as a rose that has long been pressed; So you shall smile on us brave and bright Yet in her cheek the hues are bright, As first you greeted the morning’s ligh~ Dainty colors of red and white; And live untroubled by woes and fears And in her slender shape are seen Through a second youth of a hundred Hint and promise of stately mien.

years. Look not on her wfth eyes of scorn, - Dorothy Q. was a lady born!

THE VOICELESS. Ay! since the galloping Normans came, England’s annals have known her name; WE count the broken lyres that rest And still to the three-hilled rebel town Where the sweet wailing singers slumDear is that ancient name’s renown, ber, For many a civic wreath they won, But o’er their silent sister’s breast The youthful sire and the gray-haired son.

The wild-flowers who will stoop to number? O damsel Dorothy! Dorothy Q.! A few can touch the magic string, Strange is the gift that I owe to you; And noisy Fame is proud to win Such a gift as never a king them: - Save to daughter or son might bring, - Alas for those that never sing, All my tenure of heart and hand, But die with all their music in them! All my title to house and land; Mother and sister, and child and wife, Nay, grieve not for the dead alone And joy and sorrow, and death and life!

Whose song has told their hearts’ sad story, - What if a hundred years ago Weep for the voiceless, who have known Those close-shut lips had answered, No, The cross without the crown of glory! When forth the tremulous question came Not where Leucadian’s breezes sweep That cost the maiden her Norman name; O’er Sappho’s memory-haunted billow, And under the folds that look so still`But where the glistening night-dews The bodice swelled with the bosom’s thrill? weep Should I he I, or would it be On nameless sorrow’s churchyard One tenth another to nine tenths me? pillow. Soft is the breath of a maiden’s Yes: 0 hearts that break and give no sign Not the light gossamer stirs with less; Save whitening lip and fading tresses, But never a cable that holds so fast Till Death pours out his cordial wine Through all the battles of wave and blast, Slow-dropped from Misery’s crushin~ And never an echo of speech or song presses, - That lives in the babbling air so long! If singing breath or echoing chord Therewere tones in the voice that whis-To every hidden pang were given, pered then What endless melodies were poured, You may hear to-day in a handred men! As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven

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OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 221 ROBINSON OF LEYDEN. Still cry them, and the world shall hear, Ye dwellers by the storm-swept sea! HE sleeps not here; in hope and prayer Ye have not built by Haerlem Meer, His wandering flock bad gone before, Nor on the land-locked Zuyder-Zee! But be, the shepherd, might not share Their sorrows on the wintry shore. Before the Speedwell’s anchor swung,`IRE DEACON’S MASTERPIECE; Ere yet the Mayflower’s sail was spread, While round his feet the Pilgriins clung, OR, THE WONDERFUL

“ONE-ROSS SHAY.” The pastor spake, and thus lie said: A LOCICAL STORY.

“Men, brethren, sisters, children dear! God calls you hence from over sea; HAVE you heard of the wonderful oneYe may not build by Haerlem Meer, boss shay, Nor yet along the Z uyder-Zee. That was built in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day, “Ye go to bear the saving word And then, of a sudden, it - ah, but stay, To tribes unnamed and shores untrod: I`litell you what happened without delay, ~eed well the lessons ye have heard Scaring the parson into fits, From those old teachers taught of God.

Fnghtening people out of their wits, - Have you ever heard of that, I say?

“Yet think not unto them was lent All light for all the coming days, Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. ~nd Heaven’s eternal wisdom spent Georgius Secundus was then alive, - In making straight the ancient ways: Snuffy old drone from the German hive. That was the year when Lisbon-town “The living fountain overflows Saw the earth open and gulp her down, For every flock, for every lamb, And Braddock`5 army was done so brown, Nor heeds, though angry creeds oppose, Left without a scalp to its crown. With Luther’s dike or Calvin’s dam.” It was on the terrible Earthquake-day That the Deacon finished the one-boss He spake: with lingering, long embrace, shay. With tears of love and partings fond, They floated down the creeping Maas, Now in building of chaises, I tell you Along the isle of Ysselmond.

what, There is always somewhere a weakest They passed the frowning towers of Briel, spot, - The “Hook of Holland’s” shelf of In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, sand, In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill, And grated soon with lifting keel In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace, -lurking The sullen shores of Fatherland. still, Find it somewhere you must and will, -

No home for these! - too well they knew Above or below, or within or without, - The mitred kh~ behind the throne;- And that`a the reason, beyond a doubt, The sails were set, the pennons flew, A chaise breaks dowu, but does n’t wear And westward ho! for worlds unknown. out. And these were they who gave us birth, But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do, The Pilgrims of the sunset wave, With an “I dew vum,” or an “I tell Who won for us this virgin earth, yeou”) And freedom with the soil they gave.

He would build one shayto beat the taown `n’ the keounty`n’ all the kentry raoun’; The pastor slumbers by the Rhine, - It should be so built that it could m’ break In alien earth the exiles lie, - daown: Their nameless graves our holiest shrine, - “Fur,” said the Deacon, “`t`s mighty His words our noblest battle-cry! plain

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SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Thut the weakes’ place mus’ staii’ the Little of all we value here strain; Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year `11’ the way t’ fix it, uz I maintain, Without both feeling and looking queer. Is only jest In fact, there`a nothing that keeps its T’ make that place uz strong uz the rest.” youth, So far as I know, but a tree and truth. So the Deacon inquired of flie village folk (This is a moral that runs at large; Where be could find the strongest oak, Take it. -You’re welcome. -No extra That could n’t be split nor bent nor charge.) broke, - That was for spokes and floor and sills; FIRsT OF Novx~~un, - the Earthquake. He sent for lance wood to make the thills; There day. - are traces of age in the 01) c-boss The crossbars were asb, from the straight-shay, est trees, A eneral flavor of mild decay, The panels of white-wood, that cuts like Bu~
nothing local as one may say. cheese, But lasts like iron for things like these,; That could n’t be, -for the Deacon’s art “Settler Had made it so like in every part The hubs of logs from the That there was n’t a chance for one to ellum,” - start. Last of its timber, - they could n’t sell For the wheels were just as strong as the em, thills, Never an axe had seen their chips,Andt And the wedges flew from between their And be floorwasjust as strong as the sills, the panels just as strong as the floor, lips, And the whippletree neither foss nor more, Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips; Anl the back - crossbar as strong as the fore, Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw, And spring and axle and hub encore.

Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin toQ And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt Steel of the finest, bright and blue, In another hour it will be worm out! Thorougbbrace bison-skin, thick and wide; Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide First of November,`Fifty-five! Found in the pit when the tanner died. This morning the parson takes a drive. Thatwas the way he “put her through.”- Now, small boys, get out of fl~e way! “There!” said the Deacon, “naow she’ll Here comes the wonderful one-boss shay. dew!”

Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. “Huddup!” said the parson. - Off went Do! I tell you, I rather guess they. She was a wonder, mid nothing less! Colts grew horses, beards turned gray, The parson was working his Sunday’s Deacon and deaconess dropped away, text, - Children and grandchildren, - where were Had got to flflhly, and stopped perplexed they? At what the-Moses-was coming next. But there stood the stout old one-boss All at once the horse stood still, shay Close by the meet’ ii’

-house on the bilL As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day! - First a shiver, and then a thrill, Then something decidedly like a spill, - EIGHTEEN

HUNDRED;-it came and And the parson was sitting upon a rock, found At half past nine by the meet’n’ -house The Deacon’s masterpiece strong and clock, - sound. Just the hour of the Earthquake shock! Eighteen hundred increased by ten; - - What do you think the patson found, “Hahusum kerridge” they called it then. When he got up and stared around? Eighteen hundred and twenty came - The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, Running as usual; much the same. As if it had been to the mill and ground! Thirty and forty at last arrive, You see, of course, if yoii`re not a dunce, And then come fifty, and FIFTY-FIYH. How it went to pieces all at once, -

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OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. 223 All at once, and nothing first, Leave thy low-vaulted past Just as bubbles do when they burst. Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more End of the wonderful one4~oss shay. vast, Logic is logic. That’s all I say. Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea!

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. TRIs is the ship of pearl, which, poets UNDER THE

VIOLETS. feign, Sails the unshadowed main, - HER bands are cold; her face is white; The venturous bark tbat flings No more her pulses come and go; On the sweet sunimer wind its purpled Her eyes are shut to life and light wings Fold the white vesture, snow on snow, In, gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, And lay her where the violets blow. And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun But not beneath a graven stone, their streaming hair. To plead for tears with alien eyes; A slender cross of wood alone Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Shall say, that here a maiden lies Wrecked is the ship of pearl! In peace beneath the peaceful skies. And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont And gray old trees of hugest limb to dwell, Shall wheel their circling shadows As the frail tenant shaped his growing round shell, To make the scorching sunlight dim Before thee lies revealed, - That drinks the greenness from the Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt ground, unsealed! And drop their dead leaves on her mound. Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; When o’er their boughs fl~e s~uirrels nin, Still, as the spiral grew, And through their leaves the robins He left the past year’s dwelling for the call new, And, ripea’ing in the autumn sun, Stole with soft step its shi’iing archway The acorns and the chestnuts fall, through, Doubt not that she will heed them all. Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and For her the morning choir shall sing knew the old no more. Its matins from the branches high, And every minstrel-voice of Spring, Thanks for the heavenly message brought That trills beneath the April s~y, by thee, Shall greet her with its earliest cry. Child of the wandenug sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! When, turning round their dial-track, From thy dead lips a clearer note is bon0

Eastward the lengthening shadows pass, Than ever Triton blew from wreath6d Her little mourners, clad in black, horn! The crickets, sliding through the grass, While on mine ear it rings, Shall pipe for her an evening mass.

Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings - At last the rootlets of the trees Shall find the prison where she lies, Build thee more stately mansions, 0 my And bear the buried dust they seize soul, In leaves and blossoms to the skies. As the swift seasons roll So may the soul that warmed it rise

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224 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. If any, born of kindlier blood, A fillow-feeling that is Should ask, What maiden lies below? To make the outcast bless his door; Say only tliis: A tender bud, A heritage, it seems to me, That tried to blossom in the snow, A king might wish to hold iii fee. Lies withered where the violets blow. 0 rich man’s son! there is a toil, ________ That with all others level stands; Large charity doth never soil, But only whiten, soft, white hands, - JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. This is the best crop from thy lands; A heritage, it seems to me, Eu. 5. A.J Worth being rich to hold in fee. THE HERITAGE. 0 poor man’s son! scorn not thy state; There is worse weariness than thine, TnE rich man’s son inherits lands, In merdy being rich and great; And piles of brick, and stone, and gold, Toil only gives the soul to shine, And he inherits soft, white hands, And makes rest fragrant and benign; And tender flesh that fears the cold, A heritage, it seems to me, Nor dares to wear a garment old; Worth being poor to hold in fee. A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, The rich man’s son inherits cares; Are equal in the earth at last; The bank may break, the factory burn, Both, children of the same dear God, A breath may burst his bubble shares ~rove title to your heirship vast And soft, white hands could hardly ea’rn By record of a well-filled past; A living that would serve his turn’ A heritage, it seems to me, A heritage, it seems to me,`

Well worth a life to hold in fee. One scarce would wish to hold in fee.

The rich man’s son inherits wants, His stomach craves for dainty fare; NEW

ENGLAND SPRING. With sated heart, he hears the pants (From “Tna Bie~ow PArEas.”) Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare, And wearies in his easy chair; I, coUNTuv-nonN an’ bred, know where A heritage, it seems to me, to find One scarce would wish to hold in fee. Some blooms thet make the season suit the mind, What doth the poor man’s son inherit? An’ seem to metch the doubtin’ bl’ie Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, bird’s notes, -

A hardy frame, a hardier spirit; Half-vent’rin’ liverworts in furry coats, King of two hands, he does kis part Blood-roots, whose rolled-up leaves ef In every useful toil and art; flir on curl, A heritage, it seems to me, Each on em`a cradle to a baby-pearl, - A king might wish to hold in fee.

But these are jes’ Spring’s pickets; sure ez sin, What doth the poor man a son inherit? The rebble frosts`11 try to drive`em in; Wishes o’erjoyed with humble things, For half our May`a so awfully like May n’t A rank adjudged by toil-won merit,`T would rile a Shaker or an evrige saint; Content that from employment springs, Thoiigh I own up I like our back’ard A heart that in his labor sings; springs A heritage, it seems to me, Thet kind o’ haggle with their greens an A king might wish to hold in fee.

things, An’ when you`most give up,`ithout more What doth the poor man’s son inherit? words, A patience learned by being poor, Toss the fields full 0’ blossoms, leaves, an’ Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it, birds:

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JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 225 - Thet`s Northun natur’, slow an’ apt to In ellum shrouds the flashin’ hang-bird doubt, clings, But when it does git stirred, there`5 no An’ for the summer vy’ge his hammock gin-out! slings; All down the loose-walled lanes in archin’ Fust come the blackbirds clatt’rin’ in bowers tall trees, The barb’ry droops its strings 0’ golden An’ settlin’ things in windy Congresses, - flowers, Queer politicians, though, for I’ll be Whose shrinkin’ hearts the school-gals skinned love to try Ef all on`eni don’t head against the wind. With pins they`11 worry yourn so, `Fore long the trees begin to show belief, boys, bimeby! The maple crimsons to a coral-reef, But I don’t love your cat’logue style, -

Then saffron swarms swing off from all do you? the willers, Ez ef to sell off Natur’ by vendoo; So plump theylooklikeyailercaterpiilars, One word with blood in`t`5 twice ez Then gray hosschesnuts leetle hands un-good ez two: fold Nuff sed, June`5 bridesman, poet of the Softer`n a baby’s be a’

three days old: year, Thet`5 robin-redbreast’s almanick; he Gladness on wings, the bobolink, is here; knows Half hid in tip-top apple-blooms he Thet arter this ther’`5 only blossom-swings, shows; Or dimbs aginst the breeze with quiv So, choosin’ out a handy crotch an’ spouse, erin’ wings, e goes to plast’rin’ his adobe house. Or, givin’ way to`t in a mock despair, Runs down, a brook o’ laughter, thru 1hen seems to come a hitch, -things lag the air. behind, ill some fine mornin’ Spring makes up her miiid, THE COURTIN’. An’ ez, when snow-swdled rivers cresh their dams Gon makes sech nights, all white an’ still Heaped up with ice thet dovetails in an’ Fur`z you can look or listen, janis, Moonshine an’ snow on field an’ hill, A leak comes spirtin’ thru some pin-hole All silence an’ all glisten. cleft, Grows stronger, fercer, tears out right an’ Zekle crep’ up quite unbeknown left, An’ peeked in thru tlje winder, Then all the waters bow themselves an’ An’ there sot Huldy all alone, come,`Ith no one nigh to hender. Suddin, in one gret slope o’ shedderin A fireplace filled the room’s one side foam, Jes’ so our Spring gits everythin’ in tune With half a cord o’ wood in - An’ gives one leap from April into June; There w~rnt no stoves (tell comfort died) Then all conies crowdin’ in; afore you To bake ye to a puddin’. think, The wa’r Young oak-leaves mist the side-hill woods int logs shot sparkles out Towards the pootiest, bless her, with pink; An’ leetle flames danced all about The eat-bird in the laviock-bush is loud; The cl The orchards turn to heaps 0’ rosy cloud; lilly on the dresser. Red-cedars blossoni tu, though few folks Agin the chimbley crook-necks hung, know it, An’ in amongst`em rusted An’ look all dipt in sunshine like a poet The ole queen’s-arm thet gran’ther Young Tlie lime-trees pile their solid stacks 0 Fetched back from Concord busted.

shade An’ drows’ly simmer with the bees’ sweet The very room, coz she was in, trade; Seemed warm fiom floor to ceilin’,

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226 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. An’ she looked full ez rosy agin To say why gals act so or so, Es the apples she was peelin’. Or don’t,`ould be presumin’; Mebby to mean yes an’ say no `T was kin’ 0’ kingdom-come to look Comes nateral to women. On sech a blessed cretur, A dogrose blusliin’

to a brook He stood a spell on one foot fust, Ain’t modester nor sweeter.

Then stood a spell on t’ other, An’ on which one he felt the wust He was six foot 0’ man, A 1, He could n’t ha’ told ye nutlier. Clean grit an’

human natur’; None could n’t quicker pitch a ton Says he, “I’d better call agin”; Nor dror a furrer straighter. Says she, “Think likely, Mister”; Thet last word pricked hiin like a pin, He`d sparked it with full twenty gals, An’…. Wal, he up an’ kist her. Hed squired`em, danced`em, druv`em, Fust this one, an’ then thet, by spells - When Ma bimeby upon`em slips, All is, he could n’t love`em. Huldy sot pale es ashes, All kin’ 0’ smily roun’ the lips But long 0’ her his veins`ould run An’ teary romi’ the lashes. All crinkly like curled maple, The side she breshed felt full 0’

sun For she was jes’ the quiet kind Ez a south slope in Ap’il. Whose naturs never vary, Like streams that keep a summer mind She thought no v’ice lied sech a swing Snowbid in Jenooary. Ez hisn in the clsoir; My!

when he made Ole Hunderd nur’ The blood clost roun’ her heart felt glued She knowed the Lord was nigher.` Too tight for all expressin’, Tell mother see how metters stood, An’ she`d blush scarlit, right in prayer, An’

gin`em both her blessin’. When her new meetin’ -bunnet Then her red come back like the tide Felt somehow thru its crown a pair Down to the Bay 0’

Fundy, 0’ blue eyes sot upon it. An’ all I know is they was cried Thet night, I tell ye, she looked some I In meetin’ come nex’ Sunday. She seemed to`ve gut a new soul, For she felt sartin-sure he`d come, AMBROSE.

Down to her very shoe-sole. She heered a foot, an’ knowed it tu, NEVER, surely, was holier man on the scraper, - Than Ambrose, since the world began; A-raspin’ With diet spare and raiment thin All ways to once her feelins flew He shielded himself from the father of sin; Like sparks in burnt-up paper. With bed of iron and scourgings oft, He kin’ 0’ l’itered on the mat, His heart to God’s band as wax made soft. Some doubtfle 0’ the sekle, Throngli earnest prayer and watchings His heart kep’ goin’

pity-pat, long But hern went pity Zekle. He sought to know`twixt right and wrong, An’ yit afre gin her cheer a jerk Much wrestling with the blessed Word Es though she wished him furder, To make it yield the sense of the Lord, An’ on her apples kep’ to work, That he might build a storm -proof creed Parin’ away like murder. To fold the flock in at flsefr need. “You want to see my Pa, I s’pose?” At last he builded a perfect faith, ~Walgf~~~~~ no…. I come da-Fenced round about with The Lord thus sailh; “To see my Ma? She`a sprinklin’ clo’es To himself he fitted the doorway’s sise, Agin to.morrer’s i’nin’.” Meted the light to the need of his`~~~

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JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. 227 And kne~ by a sure and inward sign, Six vases of crystal then he took, That the work of his fingers was divine. And set them along the edge of the Then Asubrose said, “All those shall die brook.

The eten~al death who believe not as I”; “As into these vessels the water I pour, And some were boiled, some burned in fire, There shall one hold less, another more, Some sawn in twain, that his heart’s de-And the water unchanged, in every case, sire, Shall put on the figure of the vase; For the good of men’s souls, might be 0 thou, who wouldst unity make through satisfied, strife, By the drawing of all to the righteous Canat thou fit this si~n to the Water of side. Life?” ~ One day, as Ambrose was seekingthe truth When Ambrose looked up, he stood alone, In his lonely walk, be saw a youth The youth and the stream and the vases Resting himself in the shade of a tree; were gone; It had never been given biin to seeBut he knew, by a sense of bunibled grace, So shining a face, and the good man He had talked with an angel face to face, thought And felt his heart change inwardly, `T were pity he should not believe as As he fell on his knees beneath the tree. he ought. So he set himself by the young mall’s side, And the state of his soul with questions AETER THE BURIAL.

tried; But the heart of the stranger was hardYES, faith is a goodly anchor; ened indeed, When skies are sweet as a psalm, Nor received t~e stamp of the one true At the bows it lolls so stalwart, creed, In bluff, broad-shouldered calm. And the spirit of Ambrose waxed sore to And when over breakers to leeward find Such face the porch of so nanow a mind. The tattered surges are hurled, It may keep our head to the tempest, “As each beholds in cloud and fire With its grip on the base of the world. The shape that answers his own desire, So each,” said the youth, “in the Law But, after the shipwreck, tell me shall find What help in its iron thews, The figure and features of his mind; Still true to tlie broken hawser, And to each in his mercy bath God al-Deep down among sea-weed aiid ooze?

lowed In the brea~ing gulfs of sorrow, His several pillar of fire and cloud.” When the heliiless feet stretch out And find in the deeps of darkness The soul of Ambrose burned with zeal No footing so solid as doubt, And holy wrath for the youngman’sweal: “Believest thou then, most wretched Then better one spar of ~Iemory, youth,” One broken plank of the Past, Cried he, “a dividual essence in Truth? That our human heart may cling to, I fear me thy heart is too cramped with Though hopeless of shore at last! To take the Lord iii his glory in.” To the spirit its splendid conjeetures, To the flesh its sweet despair, Now there bubbled beside tbem where Its tears o’er the thin-worn locket they stood With its anguish of deathless hair! A fountain of waters sweet and good; The youth to the streamlet’s brink drew Immortal? I fee? it and know it, near Who doubts it of such as she? Saying, “Ambrose, thou maker of creeds, But that is the pang’s very secret, look here!” Immortal away from me.

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228 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. There a a narrow ridge in the graveyard Forgive me, if from present things I Would scarce stay a child iii his race, turn But to me and my thought it is wider To speak what in my heart will beat and Than the star-sown vague of Space. burn, And hang my wreath on his world-honYour logic, niy friend, is perfect, ored urn. Your morals most drearily true; Nature, they say, doth dote, But, since the earth clashed on her coffin, And cannot make a man I keep hearing that, and not you. Save on some worn-out plan, Repeating us by rote: Console if you will, I can bear it; For him her Old-World mo’ilds aside `T is a well-meant alms of breath; she threw, But not all the preaching since Adam And, choosing sweet clay from the Has made Death other than Death. breast Of the unexhausted West, It is pagan; but wait till you feel it, - With stuff nutainted shaped a hero new, That jar of our earth, that (lull shock Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, When the ploughahare of deeper passion and true. Tears down to our primitive rock. How beautiful to see Once more a shepherd of mankind indeed, Communion in spirit! Forgive me, Who loved his charge, hut never loved But I, who am earthy and weak, to lead; Would give all my incomes from dream-One whose meek flock the people joyed land to be, For a touch of her hand on my cheek. Not lured by any cheat of birth, But by his clear-grained human That little shoe in the corner, wortb, So worn and wrinkled and brown, And brave old wisdom of sincerity! With its emptiness confutes you, They knew that outward grace is And argues your wisdom down. dust; They could not choose but trust - In that sure-footed mind’s unfaltering COMMEMORATION ODE. skill, And supple-tempered will HAavAan UNIvERSITY, JULY 21, 1865. That bent like perfect steel to spring again and thrust. His was no lonely mountain-peak LIFE may be given in many ways, of mind, And loyalty to Truth be sealed Thrusting to thin air o’er our cloudy As bravely in the closet as the field, bars, So generous is Fate; A seamark now, now lost in vapors But then to stand beside her, blind; When craven churls deride ber, Broad prairie rather, genial, level. To front a lie in arms, and not to yield, -
lined, This shows, methinks, God’s plan 1’ruitful and friendly for all human And measure of a stalwart man, kind, Limbed like the old heroic breeds, Yet also nigh to Heaven and loved of Who stand self-poised on manhood’s loftiest stars. solid earth, Nothing of Europe here, Not forced to frame excuses for his Or, then, of Europe fronting mornward birth, still, Fed from within with all the strength he Ere any names of Serf and Peer needs. Could Nature’s equal scheme deface; Such was he, our Martyr-Chief, Here was a type of the true elder Whom late the Nation he had led, race, With ashes on her head, And one of Plutarch’s men talked with Wept with the passion of an angry grief: us face to face.

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MARIA WHITE LOWELL. 229 I praise him not; it were too late;`T is not the grapes of Canaan that repay, Mid some innative weakness there must But the high faith that failed not by the be way; In him who condescends to victory Yirtue treads paths that end not in the 8uck as the Present gives, and cannot grave; wait, No bar of endless night exiles the brave; Safe in himself as in a fate. And to the saner mind So always firmly he: We rather seem the dead that stayed be He knew to bide his time, hind. And can his fame abide, Blow, trumpets, all your exultations blow! Still patient in his simple faith sublime, For never shall their aureoled presence Till the wise years decid6. lack: Greatcaptains, with their guns and I see them muster in a gleaming row, drums, With ever-youthfhl brows that nobler Disturb our judgment for the hour, show; But at last silence comes: We find in our dull road their shining These all are gone, and, standing like a track; tower, In every nobler mood Our children shall behold his fame, We feel the orient of their spirit glow, The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing Part of our life’s unalterable good, man, Of all our saintlier aspiration; ~agacious, patient, dreading praise, not They come transfigured back, blame, Secure from change in their high-hearted New birth of our new soil, the first ways, American. Beautiful evermore, and with the rays Of morn on their white Shields of Ex pectation! We sit here in the Promised Land That flows with Freedom’s honey and milk: But`t was they won it, sword in hand, Making thenettle danger soft for us as MARIA WllITE LOWELL. silk. We welcome back our bravest and our (u. 5. A.~ 1821-15S3.J best; Ah, me! not all! some come not with THE AlYINE SHEEP. the rest, Who went forth brave and bright as any WREN on my ear your loss was knelled, here! And tender sympathy upbnrst, I strive to mix some gladness with my A little spring from memory welled, strain, Which once had ~uenched my bitter But the sad strings complain, thirst. And will not please tbe ear; I sweep them for a pnan, but they wane And I was fain to bear to you Again and yet again A portion of its mild relief, Into a dirge, and die away in pain. That it might be as healing dew, In these brave ranks I only see the gaps, To steal some fever from your grief.

Thinking of dear ones whom the dumb turf wraps, After our child’s untroubled breath Dark to the triumph which they died to Up to the Father took its way, gain: And on our home the shade of Death Fitlier may others greet the living, Like a long twilight haunting lay, For me the past is unforgiving; I with uncovered head And friends came round, with us to weep Salute the sacred dead, Her little spirit’s swift remove, Who went, and who return not. - The story of the Alpine sheep Say not so! Was told to us by one we love.

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230 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. They, in the valley’s sheltering care, And the dial’s lazy shadow hovered nigb Soon crop the meadow’s tender prime, the brink of noon. And when the sod grows browii and bare, On the benches in the market, rows The shepherd strives to make them languid idlers ]ay, clinib When to Pisa’s nodding belfry, with a friend, I took my way. To airy shelves of pasture green, That hang along tlie mountain’s side, From the top we looked around us, and Where grass and flowers together lean, as far as eye might strain, And down through mist the sunbeams Saw no sign of life or motion in the town, slide. or on the plain, Hardly seemed the river nioving, through But naught can tempt the timid things the willows to the main; The steep and rugged paths to try, Nor was any noise disturhing Pisa from Though sweet the shepherd calls and her drowsy hour, sings, Save the doves that fluttered`neath us, And seared below the pastures lie, in and out and round the tower. Till in his arms their lambs he takes, Not a shout from gladsome children, or Along the dizzy verge to go; the clatter of a wheel, Then, heedless of the rifts and breaks, Nor the spinner of the suburb, winding They follow on, o’er rock and snow. Nor his discordant reel, the stroke upon the pavement of a hoof or of a heeL

And in those pastures, lifted fair, Even the slumberers, in the churchyard More dewy-soft than lowland mead, of the Campo Santo seemed The shepherd drops his tender care, Scarce more quiet than the living world And sheep and lambs together feed. that underneath us dreamed. This parable, by Nature breathed, Dozing at the city’s portal, heedless guard Blew on me as the south-wind free the sentry kept, O’er frozen brooks, that flow unsheathed More than oriental dulness o’er the sunny From icy thraldom to the sea. farms had crept, Near the walls the ducal herdsman by the A blissful vision, through the night, dusty roadside slept; Would all my happy senses sway, While his camels, resting round him, Of the good Shepherd on the height, half alarmed the sullen ox, Or climbing up the starry way, Seeing those Arabian monsters pasturing with Etruria’s flocks.

Holding our little lamb asleep, - Then it was, like one who wandered, late While, like the murmur of the sea, ly, singing by the Rhine, Somided that voice along the deep, Strains perchance to maiden’s hearing Saying, “Arise and follow me!” sweeter than this verse of mine, ______ That we bade Imagination lift us on her wing divine. And the days of Pisa’s greatness rose from TllOMAS W. PARSONS. the sepulchral past, When a thousand conquering galleys bore Eu. 5. A.] her standard at the mast. CAMPANILE DE

FISA. Memory for a moment crowned her sov ereign mistress of the seas, SNOW was glistening on the mountains, When she braved, upon the billows, Yen but the air was that of June, ice and the Genoese, Leaves were falling, biit the runnels play-Daring to deride the Pontiff, though h.

ing still their summer tune, shook his angry keys.

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THOMAS W. PARSONS. 231 When her admirals triumphant, riding Pisa’s patron saint hath hallowed to him o’er the Soldan’s waves, self the joyful day, Brought from Calvary’s holy mountain Never on tlie thronged Rialto showed the fiftiug soil for knightly graves. Carnival more gay. When the Saracen surrendered, one by Suddenly the bell ben~th us broke the one, his pirate isles, vision with its chime; And lonia’s marbled trophies decked “Signors,” quoth our gray attendant, Lungarno’s Gothic piles, “it is almost vesper tinie”; Where the festal music floated in the light Yulgar life resumed its empire, - down we of ladies’ smiles; dropt from the sublime. Soldiers in the busy court-yard, nobles Here and there a friar passed us, as we in the ball above, paced the silent streets, 0, those days of arms are over,-arms and And a cardinal’s rumbling carriage roused courtesy and love! the sleepers from the seats. Down in yoiider square at sunrise, lo! the Tuscan troops arrayed, Every man in Milan armor, forged in ON A BUST OF DANTE. Brescia every blade: SEE from this counterfeit of him Sigismondi is their captain - Florence! W’hom Arno shall remember long, art thou not dismayed? How stern of lineament, how grim There`5

Lanfranchi! there the bravest of The father was of Tuscan song.

Gherardesca stem, Hugolino-with the bishop; but enough, There but the burning sense of wrong, Perpetual care and scorn abide; enough of them.

Small friendship for the lordly throng; Distrust of all tlie woild beside.

Now, as on Achilles’ buckler, next a peaceful scene succeeds; Faithful if this wan image be, Pious crowds in the cathedral duly tell No dreaiii his life was, - but a fight; their blessed beads; Could any B~~~~ic~ see Students walk the learned cloister; A lover in that anchorite? Ariosto wakes the reeds; To that cold Ghibeline’s gloomy sight Science dawns; and Galileo opens to the Who could have guessed the visions Italian youth, came As he were a new Columbus, new dis-Of beauty, veiled with heavenly light, covered realms of truth. In circles of eternal flame? The lips, as Cumn’s cavern close, Hark; what murmurs from the million The cheeks, with fast and sorrow thin, in the bustling market rise! The rigid front, almost morose, All the lanes are loud with voices, all But for t he patient hope within, the windows dark with eyes; Declare a life whose course bath been Black with men the marble bridges, heaped Unsullied still, though still severe, the shores with merchandise; Which, through the wavering days of sin, Turks and Greeks and Libyan merchsnts Keep itself icy-chaste and clear. in the square their councils hold And the Christian altars glitter gorgeous Not wholly such his haggard look with Byzantine gold. When wandering once, forlorn he strayed, Look! anon the masqueraders don their With no companion save his book, holiday attire; To Corvo’s hushed monastic shade: Every palace is illumined, -all the town Where, as the Benedictine laid seems built of fire, - His palm upon the pilgrim-guest, Rainbow-colored lanterns dangle from The single boon for which he prayed the top of every spire. The convent’s charity was rest.

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232 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Peace dwells not here, -this rugged face That has its origin above, Betrays no spirit of repose; Would come and keep in fashion; The sullen warrior sole we trace, That Scorn and Jealousy and Hate, The marble man of many woes. And every base emotion, Such was his mien when first arose Were buried fifty fathom deep The thought of that strange tale divine, Beneath the waves of Ocean! When bell he peopled with his foes, The scourge of many a guilty line. I wish - that friends were always true, And motives always pure; War to the last he waged with all I wish the good were not so few, The tyrant canker-worms of earth; I wish the bad were fewer; Baron and duke, in hold and hall, I wish that parsons ne’er forgot Cursed the dark hour that gave him To heed their pious teacbing; birth; I wish that practising was not He used Rome’s harlot for his mirth; So different from preaching! Plucked bare hypocrisy and crime; But valiant souls of knightly wprth I wish - that modest worth might be Transmitted to the rolls of Time. Appraised with truth and candor; O Time! whose verdicts mock our own, I wish that innocence were free The only righteous judge art thou; From treachery and slander; That poor old exile, sa~ and lone, wish that men their vows would mind; Is Latium’s other Yirgil now: That women ne’er were rovers; Before his name the nations bow: wish that wives were always kind, His words are parcel of mankind, And husbands always lovers! Deep in whose hearts, as on his brow, The marks have sunk of DANTE’S mind. I wish - in fine - that Joy and Mirth, And every good Ideal, May come erewhile throughout the earth ~ To be the glorious Real; Till God shall every creature bless JOHN G. SAXE.

With his blessing, (u. 5. A.J And Wishing in Possessing! WISHING. OF all amusements for the mind, SI~F AND DEATIL From logic down to fishing, There is n’t one that you can find Two wandering angels, Sleep and Death, So very cheap as “wishing.” Once met in sunny weather: A very choice diversion too, And while the twain were taking breath, If we but righily use it, They held discourse together. And not, as we are apt to do, Pervert it, and abuse it. Quoth Sleep (whose face, though twice as fair, I wish - a common wish, indeed - Was strangely like the other’s, - My purse were somewhat fatter, So like, in sooth, that anywhere That I might cheer the child of need, They might have passed for brothers): And not my pride to flatter; That I might make Oppression reel, “A busy life is mine, I trow; As only gold can make it, Would I were omnipresent! And break the Tyrant’s rod of steel, So fast and far have I to go; As only gold can break it. And yet my work is pleasant. I wish - that Sympathy and Love, “I cast my potent poppies forth, And every human passion And lo! - the cares that camber

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SAflAll HELEN WHITMAN. 233 The toiling, suffering sons of earth Tinting the wild grape with her dewy Are drowned in sweetest slumber. fingers Till the cool emerald turns to ame”The student rests his weary brain, thyst: And waits the fresher morrow; I ease the patient of his pain, Kindling the faint stars of the hazel, The mourner of his sorrow. shining “I bar the gates where cares abide, To light the gloom of Autumn’s moul dering balls And open Pleasure’s portals With hoary plumes the clematis entwiiiTo visioned joys; thus, far and wide, ing I earn the praise of mortals.”

Where o’er the rock her withered gar land falls. “Alas! ” replied the other,“mine Is not a task so grateful; Warni lights are on the sleepy uplands Howe’er to mercy I incline, waning To mortals I am hateful.

Beneath soft clouds along the horizon “They call me`Kill-joy,’ every one, Till rolled, the slant sunbeams through their And speak in sharp detraction fringes raining Of all I do; yet have I done Bathe all the hills in melancholy gold. Full many a kindly action.” “True!” answered Sleep, “but all the The moist winds breathe of crisp6d while leaves and flowers Thine office is berated, In the damp hollows of the woodland `T is only by the vile and weak sown, That thou art feared and hated. Mingling the freshness of autumnal showers “And though thy work on earth has With spicy airs from cedarn alleys To given blown. all a shade of sadness; Consider - every saint in heaven Beside the brook and on the umbered Remembers thee with gladness!” meadow, Where yellow fern-tufts fleck the faded _______ ground, With folded lids beneath their palmy shadow \ARAH

HELEN WHITMAN. The 0i$~S~ nods, in dewy slumbers (U. 5. A.J Upon those soft, fringed lids the bee sits A 8TIM~ DAY IN AUTUMN. brooding, Like a fond lover loath to say farewell, LOVE to wander through the wood-Or with shut wings, through silken lands hoary folds intruding, In the soft-light of an autumnal day, Creeps near her heart his drowsy tale When Summer gathers up her robes of to telL glory, And like a dream of beauty glides The little birds upon the hillside lonely away. Flit noiselessly along from spray to spray, How through each loved, familiar path Silent as a sweet wandering thought she lingers, that only Serenely sniiling through the golden Shows its bright wings and softly mist, glides away.

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234 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. ALFRBD B. TR1LT. His shout and whistle broke the air, As cheerily he plied 5. A.J His garden-spade, or drove his share (u. Along the hillock’s side. THE SETThER. He marked the fire-storm’s blazing flood His echoing axe the settler swung Roaring and crackling on its path, Amid the sea-like solitude, And scorching earth, and melting wood, And, rushing, thundering, down were Beneath its greedy wrath; flung He marked the rapid whirlwind shoot, The Titans of the wood Trampling the pine-tree with its foot, Loud shrieked the eagle, as he dashed And darkening thick the day From ont his mossy nest, which crashed With streaming ho ugh and severed root, With its supporting bough, Hurled whizzing on its way. And the first sunlight, leaping, flashed On the wolf’s haunt below. His gaunt hound yelled, his rifle flashed, The grim bear hushed his savage growl; Rude was the garb, and strong the frame In blood and and foam the panther Of him who plied his ceaseless toil: gnashed To form that garb the wildwood game His fangs, with dying howl; Contributed their spoil; The fleet deer ceased its flying bound, The soul that warmed that frame dis-Its snarling wolf-foe bit the ground, dained And, with its moaning cry, The tinsel, gaud, and glare, that reigned The beaver sank beneath the wound Where men their crowds collect; Its pond-built Yenice by. The simple fur, untnmmed, unstained, This forest-tamer decked. Humble the lot, yet his the race, When Liberty sent forth her cry, The paths which wound mid gorgeous Who thronged in conflict’s deadliest trees, place, The stream whose bright lips kissed To fight, -to bleed, -to die! their flowers, Who cumbered Bunker’s height of red, The winds that swelled their harmonies By hope through weary years were led, Through those sun-hiding bowers, And witnessed Yorktown’s sun The temple vast, the green arcade, Blaze on a nation’s banner spread, The nestling vale, the grassy glade, A nation’s freedom won. Dark cave, and swampy lair: These scenes and sounds majestic made His world, his pleasures, there. His roof adorned a pleasant spot, CllRISTOPllER P.

CRANCH. Mid the black logs green glowed the (u. a. A.J grain, And herbs and plants the woods knew STANZAS. not Throve in the sun and rain. THoUGHT
is deeper than all speech, The smoke-wreath curling o’er the dell, Feeling deeper than all thought; The low, the bleat, the tinkling bell, Souls to souls can never teach All made a landscape strange, What unto themselves was taught. Which was the living chronicle Of deeds that wrought the change. We are spirits clad in veils; Man by man was never seen; The violet sprung at spring’s first tinge, All our deep communing fails The rose of summer spread its glow, To remove the shadowy screen. The maize hung out its autumn fringe, Rude winter brought his snow; Heart to heart was never known, Mid still the lone one labored there, Mind with mind did ~ever meet;

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WILLIAM E. CHANNING. - JULIA WARD HOWE. 235 We are columns left alone It says, Go, pilgrim, on thy march, be Of a temple once complete. more Friend to the friendless than thou wast Like the stars that gem the sky, before; Far apart, though seeming near, In our light we scattered lie; Learn from the loved one’s rest serenity; All is thus but starlight here. To-morrow that soft hell for thee shall sound, What is social company And thou repose beneath the whisper But a babbling summer stream? ing tree, What our wise philosophy One tribute more to this submissive But the glancing of a dream? ground Prison thysoul from malice, bar out pride, Only when the sun of love Nor these pale flowers nor this still Melts the scattered stars of thought; field deride: Only when we live above What the dim-eyed world bath taught; Rather to those ascents of being turn, - Where a ne’er-setting sun illumes the Only when our souls are fed year Eternal, and the incessant watch-fires By the Fount which gave them birth, burn And by inspiration led, Which they never drew from earth. Of unspent holiness and goodness clear, - Forget man’s littleness, deserve the best, We like parted drops of rain God’s mercy in thy thought and life Swelling till they meet and run, confest. Shall be all absorbed again, ______ Melting, flowing into one. JULIA WARD ROWE. WILLIAM E. CllANNIN~ (u. 5. A.) FROM “A TRIBUTE TO A SERVANT. Eu. & A.) NOT often to the parting soul SLEEPY

HOLLOW. Does Life in dreary grimness show; Earth’s captive, leaving prison-walls, No abbey’s gloom, nor dark cathedral Beholds them touched with sunset glow. stoops, No winding torches paint the midnight And she forgot her sleepless nights, air; Her weary tasks of foot and band, Here the green pines delight, the aspen And, soothed with thoughts of pleasant droops ness, Along the modest pathways, and those Lay floating towards the silent land. fair Pale asters of the season spread their plumes - The talk of comfortable hours, Around this field, fit garden for our The merry dancing tunes I played, tombs. Gay banquets with the cbildren shared, And summer days in greenwood shade, And shalt thou pause to hear some fu neral bell They lay far scattered in the past, Slow stealing o’er thy heart in this Through the dim vista of disease; calm place, But when I spake, and held her hand, ~ot with a throb of pain, a feverish knell, The parting cloud showed things like But in its kind and supplicating grace, these.

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236 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. I questioned not her peace with God, I can read his righteous sentence by the Nor pried into her guiltless mind, dim and flaring lamps. Like those unskilful surgeon-priests His day is marching on. Who rack the soul with probiiigs blind. I have read a fiery gospel, writ in burFor I`ve seen men who meant not ill nished rows of steel: Compelling doctrine out of Death, “As ye deal with my contemners, so With Hell and Heaven acutely poised with you my grace shall deal; Upon the turning of a breath; Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, While agonizing judgments hung Since God is marching on.

Ev’n on the Saviour’s helpful name; As mild Madonna’s form, of old, He has sounded forth the trumpet that A hideous torture-tool became. shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before I could but say, with faltering voice his judgment-seat: And eyes that glanced aside to weep, 0, be swift, my soul, to answer him! be “Be strong in faith and hope, my child; jubilant, my feet! He giveth his beloved sleep. Our God is marching on. “And though thou walk the shadowy vale In the beauty of the lilies Christ was Whose end we know not, He will aid; - born across the sea, His rod and staff shall stay thy steps.” With a glory in his bosom that trans”I know it well,” she smiled and said. figures you and me: As lie died to make men holy, let us die She knew it well, and knew yet more to make men free, My deepest hope, though unexprest, While God is marching on. The hope that God’s appointed sleep But heightens ravishment with rest. -4 My children, living flowers, shall come II. D. TllOItEAU. And strew with seed this grave of thine, Ai~d bid the blushing growths of Spring (u. a. A.) Thy dreary painted cross entwine. INSPIRATION. Thus Faith, cast out of barren creeds, Shall rest in emblems of her own; IF
with light head erect I sing, Beauty still springing from Decay, Though all the Muses lend their force, The cross-wood budding to the crown. From my poor love of anything, The verse is weak and shallow as its source.

BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC. But if with bended neck I grope, Listening behind me for my wit, MINE eyes have seen the glory of the With faith superior to hope, coming of the Lord: More anxious to keep back than for He is - trampling out the vintage where ward it; the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of Making my soul accomplice there his terrible swift sword; Unto the flame my heart bath lit, His truth is marching on. Then will the verse forever wear, - Time cannot bend the line which God I have seen him ill the watch-fires of a has writ.

hundred circling camps; They have builded him an altar in the I hearing get, who had but ears, evening dews and damps; And sight, who had but eyes before;

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ELIZABETH LLOYD HOWELL. - C. F. ALEXANDER. 237 I moments live, who lived but years, On my bended knee And truth discern, who knew but learn-I recognize thy purpose clearly shown: ing’s lore. My vision thou hast dimmed, that I may see Now chiefly is my natal hour, Thyself, - thyself alone. And only now my prime of life, Of manhood’s strength it is the flower, I have naught to fear; `T is peace’s end, and war’s beginning This darkness is the shadow of thy wing; strife. Beneath it I am almost sacred; here Can come no evil thing. It comes in summer’s broadest noon, By a gray wall, or some chance place, 0, 1 seem to stand Un seasoning time, insulting June, Trembling, where foot of mortal ne’er And vexing day with its presuming face. hath been, Wrapped in the radiance of thy sinless I will not doubt the love untold land, Which not my worth nor want hath Which eye hath never seen! bought, Which wooed me young, and wooed me Yisions come and go: old Shapes of resplendent beauty round me And to th’is evening hath me brought. From throng; angel lips I seem to hear the flow Of soft and holy song. It is nothing now, ELIZABETll LLOYD llOWELL.

When heaven is 0~~~~l~~ on my sight (u. a. A.) When airs from paradise refresh my brow, MILTON’S PRAYER IN BLINDNESS. The earth in darkness lieL

I AM old and blind! In a purer clime Men point at me as smitten by God’s My being fills with rapture, - waves of frown; thought Afflicted and deserted of my kind;Roll in upon my spirit, - strains sublime Yet I am not cast down. Break over me unsought. I am weak, yet strong; I feel Give me my lyre! I murmur not that 1 110 longer see; the stirrings of a gift divine: Poor, old, and helpless, I the more Within my bosom glows unearthly fire, belong, Lit by no skill of mine. Father supreme! to thee.

O merciful One When men are farthest, then thou art C. F. ALEXANDER. moSt near; When friends -pass by me, and my weak-ThE B.(TRIAL OF MOSES. ness shun, Thy chariot I hear. B~ Nebo’s lonely mountain On this side Jordan’s wave, Thy glorious face In a vale in the land of Moab Is leaning toward me; end its holy There lies a lonely grave. light And no man knows that sepulchre, Shines in upon my lonely dwelling. And no man saw it e’er, place, - For the angels of God upturned the sod, And there is no ~ore night. And laid the dead man there.

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238 SONGS. OF THREE CENTURIES. That was the grandest funeral And had he not high honor, - That ever passed on earth The hillside for a pail But no man heard the trampling, To lie in state while angels wait Or saw the train go forth: With stars for tapers tall, Noiselessly as the daylight And the dark rock-pines like tossing Comes back when night is done, plumes And the crimson streak on ocean’s cheek Over his bier to wave, Grows into the great sun. And God’s own hand, in that lonely land, Noiselessly as the spring-time To lay him in the grave? Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills In that strange grave without a name Open their thousand leaves; Whence his uncoffined clay So without sound of music Shall break again, 0 wondrous thought I Or voice of them that wept,, Before the judgment-day, Silently down from the mountain a crown And stand with glory wrapt around The great procession swept. On the hills he never trod, And speak of the strife that won our life Perchance the bald old eagle With the Incarnate Son of God. On gray Beth-Peor’s height, 0 lonely grave in Moab’s land I Out of his lonely eyrie 0 dark Beth-Peor’s hill Looked on the wondrous sight; Speak to these curious hearts of ours, Perchance the lion, stalking, And teach them to be still. Still shuns that hallowed spot, God bath his mysteries of grace, For beast and bird have seen and heard Ways that we cannot tell; That which man knoweth not. He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep But when the warrior dieth, Of him he loved so well. His comrades in the war, With arms reversed and muffled drum, Follow his funeral car; They show the banners taken, E. II. SEARS.

They tell his battles won, And after him lead his masterless steed, While peals the minute-gun. (u. a. A.J Amid fl~e noblest of the land, CHRISTMAS

HYMN. We lay the sage to rest, CALM on the listening ear of night And give the bard an honored place Come Heaven’s melodious strains, With costly marble drest, Where wild Judna stretches far In the great minster transept Her silver-mantled plains Where lights like glories fall, And the organ rings and the sweet choir Celestial choirs, from courts above, sings Shed sacred glories there Along the emblazoned walL And angels, with their sparkling lyres, Make music on the air. This was the truest warrior The answering hills of Palestine That ever buckled sword, Send back the glad reply; This the most gifted poet And greet, from all their holy heights, That ever breathed a word; The dayspring from on high. And never earth’s philosopher Traced with his golden pen, On the blue depths of Galilee On the deathless page, truths half so There comes a holier calm, sage And Sharon waves, in solemn praise, As he wrote down for men. Her silent groves of palm.

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THEODORE PARKER. - FREDERIG WILLIAM FABER. 239 “Glory to God!” tile sounding skies I do the little I can do, Loud with their anthems ring; And leave the rest to thee. Peace to the earth, good-will to men, From heaven’s Eternal King! I have no cares, 0 blessed Will! For all my cares are thine; Light on thy bills, Jerusalem! I live in tnumph, Lord! for thou The Saviour now is born! Hast made thy triumphs mine. And bright on Bethlehem’s joyous plains Breaks the first Chnstmas morn. And when it seems no chance or change From grief can set me free, Hope finds its strength in helplessness, And gayly waits on thee. TllEODORE PARKER. Man’s weakness waiting upon God Its end can never miss, [u. 5. A., 1812-i86o.J

For men on earth no work can do ThE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE. More angel-like than this. O THOU great Friend to all the sons of He always wins who sides with God, men, To him no chance is lost; Who once appeared iii humblest guise God’s will is sweetest to him when below, It triumphs at his cost. Sin to rebuke, to break the captive’s chain, And call thy brethren forth from want Ill that he blesses is our good, and woe, - And unblest good is ill; And all is right that seems most wrong, We look to thee! thy truth is still the If it be his sweet Will! Light Which guides the nations, groping on their way, StumNing and fallingindisastrousnight, THE RIGHT MUST WIN. Yet hoping ever for the perfect day. 0, iT is hard to work for God, Yes; thou art still the Life, thou art the To rise and take his part Way Upon this battle-field of earth, The holiest know; Light, Life, the And not sometimes lose heart! Way of heaven! And they who dearest hope and deepest He hides himself so wondrously, pray As though there were no God; Toil by the Light, Life, Way, which He is least seen when all the powers thou hast given. Of ill are most abroad. Or he deserts us at the hour The fight is all but lost; FREDERIC WILLIAM FABER. And seems to leave us to ourselves Just when we need him most. -(1818-1863.1

THE WILL OF GOD. Ill masters good, good seems to change To ill with greatest ease; I WORSHIP thee, sweet Will of God! And, worst of all, the good~wfth good And all thy ways adore, Is at cross-purposes. And every day I live I seem To love thee more and more. Ah! God is other than we think; His ways are far above, When obstacles and trials seem Far beyond reason’s height, and. reached Like ~rison-walls to be, Only by childlike love.

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240 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Workman of God! 0, lose not heart,`T is here I only seem to be, But learn what God is like; But really sail another sea, - And in the darkest battle-field Thou shalt know where to strike.

Another sea, pure sky its waves, Whose beauty hides no heaving graves, Thrice blest is he to whom is given A sea all haven, whereupon The instinct that can tell No hapless bark to wreck hath gone. That God is on the field when he Is most invisible. The winds that o’er my ocean run, Reach through all heavens beyond the Blest, too, is he who can divine sun; Where real right doth lie, Through life and death, through fate, And dares to take the side that seems through time, Wrong to man’s blindfold eye.

Grand breaths of God they sweep sub. lime. For right is right, since God is God; And right the day must win; Eternal trades, they cannot veer, To doubt would be disloyalty, And blowing, teach us how to steer To falter would be sin! And well for him whose joy, wliose care, Is but to keep before them fair. 0, thou God’s mariner, heart of mine, DAVID A. WAS SON.

Spread canvas to the airs divine! Spread sail! and let thy Fortune be (u.

a. A.J Forgotten in thy Destiny! SEEN AND UNSEEN. For Destiny pursues us well, Tiri: wind ahead, the billows high, By sea, by land, through heaven or hell; Itsuffers Death alone to die, A whited wave, but sable sky, Bids life all change and chance defy. And many a league of tossing sea, Between the hearts I love and me. Would earth’s dark ocean suck thee down? Earth’s ocean thou, 0 Life, shalt drown, The wind ahead: day after day Shalt flood it with thy finer wave, These weary words the sailors say; And, sepulchred, entomb thy grave! To weeks the days are lengthened now, -

Still mounts the surge to meet our prow. Life loveth life and good: then trust What most the spirit would, it must; Through longing day and lingering night Deep wishes, in the heart that be, I still accuse Time’s lagging flight, Are blossoms of necessity. Or gaze out o’er the envious sea, That keeps the hearts I love from me. A thread of Law runs through thy prayer, Stronger than iron cables are; Yrt, ah, how shallow is all grief! And Love and Longing toward her goal, How instant is the deep relief! Are pilots sweet to guide the soul. And what a hypocrite am I, To feign forlorn, to`plain and sigh! So Life must live, and Soul must sail, And Unseen over Seen prevail, The wind ahead? The wind is free And all God’s argosies come t() shore, Forevermore it favoreth me, Let ocean smile, or rage and roar. To shores of God still blowing fair, O’er seas of God my bark dotli bear. And so, mid storm or calm, my bark With snowy wake still nears her mark; The Surging brine I do not sail, Cheerly the trades of being blow, This blast adverse is not my gale; And sweeping down the wind I go.

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RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH. 241 ALL`S WELL. Life’s youngest tides joy-brimming flow For him who lives above all years, Swr~v-vorcfln Hope, thy fine discourse Who all-immortal makes the Now, Foretold not half life’s good to me: And is not ta’en in Time’s arrears: Thy painter, Fancy, bath not force His life`a a hymn To show how sweet it is to Be! The seraphim Thy witchiiig dream Might hark to hear or help to sing, And pictured scheme And to his soul To match the fact still want the power; The boundless whole Thy proniise brave Its bounty all doth daily bring.

From birth to grave Life’s boon may beggar in an hour. “All mine is thine,” tlie sky-soul saith: “The wealth I am, must thou become: Ask and receive, -`t is sweetly said; Richer and richer, breath by breath, - Yet what to plead for know I not; Immortal gain, immortal room!” And since all his For Wish is worsted, Hope o’ersped, Mine also is, And aye to thanks returus my thought. Life’s gift outruns my fancies far, Ij I would pray, And drowns the dream I`ve naught to say In larger stream, But tbis, that God may be God still; As morning drinks the morning star. For Him to live Is still to give, And sweeter than my wish His wffl. ROYALTY. o wealth of life, beyond all bound! Eternity each moment given! THAT regal soul I reverence, in whose What plummet may the Present sound? eyes Who promises a future heaven? Suffices not all worth the city knows Or glad, or grieved, To pay that debt which his own heart Oppressed, relieved, lie owes; In blackest night, or brightest day, For less than level to his bosom rise Still pours the flood The low crowd’s beaven and stars: above Of golden good, their skies And more than heart-full fills me aye. Runneth the road his daily feet have pressed; A loftier heaven he beareth in his breast, My wealth is common I possess And o’er the summits of achieving hies No petty province, but the whole; With never a thought of merit or of meed; What`a mine alone is mine far less Choosing divinest labors through a pride Than treasure shared by every soul. Of soul, that holdeth appetfte to feed Talk not of store, Ever on angel-herbage, iiaught beside; Millions or more, - Nor praises more himself for hero-deed Of values which the purse may hold, - Than stones for weight, or open seas for But this divine! tide. I own the mine _______ Whose grains outweigh a planet’s gold. RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH. I have a stake in every star, In every beam that fills the day; THE KINGDOM OF GOD. All hearts of men my coffers are, My ores arterial tides convey; I SAY to thee, do thou repeat The fields, the skies, To the first man thou mayest meet, And sweet replies In lane, highway, or open street, - Of thought to thought are my gold dust, - The oaks, the brooks, That he, and we, and all men move And speaking looks Under a canopy of Love, Of lovers’ faith and friendship’s trust. As broad as the blue sky above: 16

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242 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. That doubt and trouble, fear and pain, And still repeat, to all the street, And anguish, all are sorrows vain; “`T is he, -the king is here”; That death itself shall not remain: The long procession moveth on, Each nobler form they see, That weary deserts we may tread, \ With chaugeftil suit they still salute, A dreary labyrinth may thread, And cry, “`T is he!`t is he!” Through dark ways underground be led; Yet, if we will our Guide obey, So, even so, when men were young, And earth and heaven was new, The dreariest path, the darkest way, And His immediate presence he Shall issue out in heavenly day. From human hearts withdrew, The soul perplexed and daily vexed And we, on divers shores now cast, With sensuous False and True, Shall meet, our perilous voyage past, Amn:ed, bereaved, no less believed, All in our Father’s home at last. And fain would see Him too. “He is!” the prophet.tongues pr’> And ere thou leave them, say thou this, claimed; Yet one word more: They only miss In joy and hasty fear, The winning of that final bliss “He is!” aloud replied the crowd, Is, here, and here, and here.” Who will not count it true that Love, Blessing, not cursing, rules above, “~~e is! They are!” in distance seen And that in it we live and move. )n yon Olympus high, Ii) those Avernian woods abide, And one thing further make him know, And walk this azure sky: That to believe these things are so, “I’hey are! They are!” to every show This firm faith never to forego, - Its eyes the baby turned, Despite of all which seems at strife Ard blazes sacrificial, tall, On thousand altars burned With blessing, and wfth curses rife, - “~hey are!

They are! “- On Sinai’s That this is blessing, this is life. top Far seen the lightning’s shone, -4-The thunder broke, a trumpet spoke, A~d God said, “I am One.” ARTllUR llUGll CLOUGll. God spake it out, “I, God, am One”; (18~9-z86i.) The unheeding ages ran, And baby thoughts again, again, THE NEW SINAI. Have dogged the growing man: And as of old from Sinai’s top Lo, here is God, and there is God! God said that God is One, Believe it not, 0 man! By Science strict so speaks he now In such vain sort to this and that To tell us, There is None! The ancient heathen ran; Earth goes by chemic forces; Heaven a Though old Religion shake her head, A Me’canique Celeste! And say, in bitter grief, And heart and mind of human kind The day behold, at first foretold, A watch-work as the rest! Of atheist unbelief: Take better part, with manly heart, Is this a Yoi~e, as was the Yoice Thine adult spirit can; Whose speaking told abroad, Receive it not, believe it not, When thunder pealed, and mountain Believe it not, 0 Man! reeled, Tlie ancient tr~th of God? As men at dead of night awaked Ah, not the oice; is but the cloud, With cries, “The king is here,” The outer darkness deuse, Rush forth and gleet whome’er they meet, Where image none, nor e’er was seen Whoe’er shall first appear; Similitude of sense.

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ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. 243 `T is but the cloudy darkness dense, He yet shall bring some worthy thing That wrapt the Mount around; For waiting souls to see; While in amaze the people stays, Some sacred word that he bath beard To hear the Coming Sound. Their light and life shall be; Some lofty part, than which the heart Some chosen prophet-soul the while Adopt no nobler can, Shall dare, sublimely meek, Thou shalt receive, thou shalt believe, Within the shroud of blackest cloud And thou shalt do, 0 Man! The Deity to seek: Mid atheistic systems dark, And darker hearts’ despair, That soul has heard perchance his word, FROM TIlE “ISOTRIE OF TO3ER-NA And on the dusky air, VUOLICH.” His skirts, as passed He by, to see Hath strained on their behalf, WHERt does Circumstance end, and ProyWho on the plain, with dance amain, idence, where begins it? Adore the Golden Calf. What are we to resist, and what are we to be friends with? `T is but the cloudy darkness dense; If there is battle`t is battle by night; I Though blank the tale it tells, stand in the darkness, No God, no Truth! yet He, in sooth, Here in the midst of men, lonian and Is there, within it dwells; Dorian on both sides, Within the sceptic darkiiess deep Signal and password known; which is He dwells that none may see, friend, which is foeman? Till idol forms and idol thoughts Is it a friend? I doubt, though lie speak Have passed and ceased to be: with the voice of a brother. No God, no Truth! ah though, in sooth, 0 that the armies indeed were arrayed!

So stand the doctrine’s half; 0 joy of the onset! On Egypt’s track return not back, Sound, thou trumpet of God, come forth Nor own the Golden Calf.

Great Cause, and array us! King and leader appear, thy soldiers anTake better part, with manlier heart, swering seek thee. Thine adult spirit can: Would that the armies indeed were No God, no Truth, receive it ne’er-arrayed. 0 where is the battle! Believe it ne’er-0 Man! Neither battle I see, nor arraying, nor But turn not then to seek again King in Israel, What first the ill began; Only infinite jumble and mess and dis. No God, it saith; ah, wait in faith location, God’s sdf~completing plan; Backed by a solemn appeal, “For God’s Receive it not, hut leave it not, sake do not stir there!” And wait it out, 0 man! The Man that went the cloud within Is gone and vanished quite; TI~ STREAM OF LIFE. “He cometh not,” the people cries, 0 STREAM descending to the sea, “Nor bringeth God to sight”: “I~o these thy gods, that safety give, Thy mossy banks between Adore and keep the feast!” The fiow’rets blow, the grasses grow, Deluding and deluded cries The leafy trees are green. The Prophet’s brother-Priest: And Israel all bows down to fall In garden plots the d~iIdren play, Before the gilded beast. The fields the laborers till, The houses stand on either hand~

Devout, indeed! that priestly creed, And thou descendest stilL 0 Man, reject as sin! The clouded hill attend thou still, 0 life descending into deat~ And him that went within. Our waking eyes behold,

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244 SONGS O~ THREE CENTURIES. Parent and friend thy lapse tend, AMUEL

LONGFELLOW. Companions young and old. Strong purposes our minds possess, Lu. a. A.J Our hearts affections fill, We toil and earn, we seek and learn, THE GOLDEN SUNSET. And thou descendest still. TllE golden sea its mirror spreads Beneath the golden skies, O end to which our currents tend, And but a narrow strip between Inevitable sea, Of land and shadow lies. To which we flow, what do we know, What shall we guess of thee? The cloud-like rocks, tile rock-like clouds, Dissolved in glory float, A roar we hear upon thy shore, And, midway of the radiant flood, As we our course fulfil; Hangs silently the boat. Scarce we divine a sun will shine And be above us still. The sea is but another sky, The sky a sea as well, - And which is earth, and which the heav ens, QUA OURSUM VENTUS. The eye can scarcely tell. As ships becalmed at eve, that laySo when for us life’s evening hour With canvas drooping, side by side, Soft passilig shall descend, Two towers of sail at dawn of day May glory born of earth and heaven, Are scarce, long leagues apart, de-The earth and heavens blend; Flooded with peace the spirit float, When fell the night, upsprung the breeze, With silent rapture glow, And all the darkling hours they plied, Till where earth ends and heaven begins Nor dreamt but each the selfsame seas The soul shall scarcely know. By each was cleaving, side by side: E’en so, -but why the tale reveal Ofthose whom, year by year unchanged, UNKNOWN. Brief absence joined anew to feel, Astounded, soul from soul estranged? QUIET FROM GOD. At dead of night their sails were filled, Qui~v from God! It cometh not to still And onward each rejoicing steered: The vast and high aspirings of the soul, Ah, neither blame, for neither willed, The deep emotions which the spirit fill, Or wist, what first with dawn appeared! And speed its purpose onward to the goal; To veer, how vain! On, onward strain, It dims not youth’s bright eye, Brave barks!

Inlight, in darkness too, Bends not joy’s lofty brow, Through winds and tides one compass No guiltless ecstasy guides, - Need in its presence bow.

To that, and your own selves, be true. It comes not in a sullen form, to place But 0 blithe breeze, and 0 great seas, Life’s greatest good in an inglorious Though ne’er, that earliest parting past, rest; On your wide plain they join again, Through a dull, beaten track its way to Together lead them home at last! trace, And to lethargic slumberlull the breast; One port, methought, alike they sought, Action may be its sphere, One purpose hold where’er they fare, - Mountain paths, boundless fields, 0
bounding breeze, 0 rushing seas, O’er billows its career: At last, at last, unite them there T~is is the power it yield~

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ELIZA SCUDDER. — SARAH F. ADAMS. 245 To sojourn in the world, and yet apart; When over dizzy heights we go, To dwell with God, yet still with man One soft baud blinds our eyes, to feel; The other leads us, safe and slow, To bear about forever in the heart 0 Love of God most wise! The gladness wliich His spirit doth reveal; And though we turn us from thy face, Not to deem evil gone And wander wide and long, From every earthly scene; Thou hold’st us still in thine embrace, To see the storm come on, 0

Love of God most strong! But feel His shield between It giveth not a strength to human kind The saddened heart, the restless soul, To leave all sufferhig powerless at its’ The toil-worn frame and minQ feet, Alike confess thy sweet control, But keeps within the tempTh of the mind 0 Love of God most kind! A golden altar, and a mercy-seat; A spiritual ark, But not alone thy care we laim, Bearing the peace of God Our wayward steps to win; Above the waters dark, We know thee by a dearer name, And o’er the desert’s sod. 0 Love of God within! How beautiful witbin our souls to keep And filled and quickened by thy breath, This treasure, the All.Merciful bath Our souls are strong and free given; To rise o’er sin and fear and death, To feel, when we awake, and when we 0 Love of God, to thee! sleep, Its incense round us, like a hreeze from heaven! Quiet at hearth and home, Where the heart’s joys begin; BARAll F. ADAM Quiet where’er we roani, Quiet around, within. NEARER, My GOD, TO THEE. ~Tho shall make trouble?-not the evil NEARER, my God, to thee, minds Nearer to thee! Which like a shadow o’er creation lower,E’en though it be a cross The spirit peace bath so attun6d, finds That raiseth me; There feelings that may own the Still all my song shall be, Calmer’s power; Nearer, my God, to thee, What may she not confer, Nearer to thee! E’en where she must condemn? They take not peace from her, Though like the wanderer, She may speak peace to them! The sun gone down, Darkness be over me, My rest a stone; Yet in my dreams I’d be ELIZA BC UDDER. Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee! (u.

a. A.1 There let the way appear THE LOVE OF GOD. Steps unto Heaven; All that thou send’st to me THou Grace Divine, encircling all, In mercy given; A soundless, shoreless sea! Angels to beckon me Wherein at last our souls must fall, Nearer, my God, to thee, 0 Love of God most free! Nearer to thee!

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246 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Then with my waking thoughts And if some things I do not ask Bright with thy praise, In my cup of blessing be, Out of my stony griefs I would have my spirit filled the more Bethel I`11
raise; With grateful love to thee; So by my woes to be And careful, less to serve thee much, Nearer, my God, to thee, Than to please thee perfectly. Nearer to thee! Or if on joyful wing There are briers besetting every path, Cleaving the sky, Which call for patient care; and stars forgot, There is a cross in every lot, Sun, moon, And an earnest need for prayer; Upwards I fly, But a lowly heart that leans on thee Still all my song shall be, Is happy anywhere. Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee!

In a service which thy love appoints, There are no bonds for me; For my secret heart is taught “the truth” That makes thy children “free” AN&A L. WARINQ And a life of self-renouncing love Is a life of liberty. My TIMES ARE IN TRY RAND. FATHER, I know that all my life Is portioned out for me, And the changes that will surely come, JAMEB FREEMAN CLARKE. I do not fear to see But I ask thee for a present mind (u. 5. A.) Intent on pleasing thee. CANA. I ask thee for a thoughtful love, Through constant watching wise, DEAR Friend! whose presence in the To meet the glad wfth jo~ful smiles, house, And to wipe the weeping eyes; Whose gracious word benign, And a heart at leisure from itself, Could once, at Cana’s wedding feast, To soothe and sympathize. Change water into wine; I would not have the restless will Come, visit us! and when dull work That hurries to and fro, Grows weary, line on line, Seeking for some great thing to do, Revive our souls, and let us see Or secret thing to know; Life’s water turned to wine. I would be treated as a child, And guided where I go. Gay mirth shall deepen into joy, ~Wherever in the world I am, Earth’s hopes grow half divine, In whatsoe’er estate, When Jesus visits ns, to make I have a fellowship with hearts Life’s water glow as wine. To keep and cultivate; And a work of lowly love to do, The social talk, the evening fire, For the Lord on whom I wait. The homely household shrine, Grow bright with angel visits, when So I ask thee for the daily strength, The Lord pours out the wine. To none that ask denied. And a mind to blend with outward life, For when self-seeking turns to love, While keeping at thy side, Not knowing mine nor thine, Content to fill a little space, The miracle again is wrought, If thou be glorified. And water turned to wine.

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HORATIUS BONAR. - W. ALEXANDER. 247 llORATII}~ BONAR. Great M~aSnSt~~~
touch us with thy skilful Let not the music that is in us die THE INNER

CALM. Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor CALM me, my God, and keep me calm, let, ~Vhile these hot breezes blow; Hidden and lost, thy form within us Be like the night-dew’s cooling balm lie Upon earth’s fevered brow.

Spare not the stroke! do with us as Calm me, my God, and keep me calm, thou wilt! Soft resting on thy breast; Let there be naught unfinished, broken, Soothe me with holy hymn and psalm, marred; And bid my spirit rest. Complete thy purpose, that we may be come Calm me, my God, and keep me calm; Thy perfect image, thou our God and Let thine outstretched wing Lord Be like the shade of Elim’s palm Beside her desert spring. ________

Yes, keep me calm, though loud and rude W. ALEXANDER. The sounds my ear that greet, Calm in the closet’s solitude, U? ABOVE. Calm in the bustling street; DOWN below, the wild November whistCalm in the hour of buoyant health, ling Calm in my hour of pain, Through the beech’s dome of burning red, Calm in my poverty or wealth, And il~e Autumn spriiskling penitential Calm in my loss or gain; Dust and ashes on the chestnut’s head. Calm in the sufferance of wrong, Like Him who bore my shame, Down below, a pall of airy purple Calm mid the threatening, taunting Darkly hanging from the mountain-side; throng, And the sunset from his eyebrow staring Who hate hy holy name; O’er the long roll of the leaden tide. Calm when the great world’s news with Up above, the tree with leaf unfading, power By the everlasting river’s brink; My listening spirit stir; And the sea of glass, beyond whose margin Let not the tidings of the hour Never yet the sun was known to sink. E’er find too fond an ear; Calm as the ray of sun or star Down below, the white wings of the sea Which stons assail in vain, bird Moving unruffled through earth’s war, Dashed across the furrows, dark with The eternal calm to gain. mould, Flitting, like the memories of our child hood, Throucr THE MASTER’S TOUCH. ah the trees, now waxen pale and old. In the still air the music lies unheard; In the rough marble beauty hides Down below, imaginations quivering unseen: Through our human spirits like the wind; To make the music and the beauty, Thoughts that toss, like leaves about the needs woodland; The master’s touch, the sculptor’s Hope, like sea-birds, flashed across the chisel kee~. mind.

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248 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Up above, the host no man can number, And in the hush of rest they bring In white robes, a palm ill every hand,`T is easy 110W to see Each some work sublime forever working, How lovely and how sweet a pass In the spacious tracts of that great land. The hour of death usay be. Up above, the thoughts that know not To close the eye, and close the ear, anguisb; Wrapped ill a trance of bliss, Tender care, swact love for us below; And gently dream in loving arms Noble pity, free from anxious terror; To swoon to that-from this. Larger love, without a touch of woe. Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, Down below, a sad, mysterious music Scarce asking where we are, Wailing tlsrough the woods and on the To feel all evil sink away, shore, All sorrow and all care. Burdened with a grand majestic secret, Sweet souls around us! watch us still, That keeps sweeping from us evermore. Press nearer to our side, Into our thoughts, into our prayers, Up above, a music that entwineth With gentle helpings glide. With eternal threads of golden sound, The gi~at poem of this strange existence, Let death between us be as naught, All whose wondrous meaning hath been A dried and vanished stream; found. Your joy be the reality, _______ Our suffering life the dream. llARRIET BEECllER STOWE. I 5. A.j MRS. LEWES (GEORGE ELIOT). THE OTHER WORLD. 0 MAY I JOIN THE CHOIR

INVISIBLE IT lies around us like a cloud, - 0 MAY I join the choir invisible A world we do not see; Of those immortal dead who live again Yet the sweet closing of an eye In minds made better by their presence; May bring us there to be. live In pulses stirred to generosity, Its gentle breezes fan our cheek; In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn Amid our worldly cares Of miserable aims that end with self, Its genfle voices whisper love, In thoughts sublime that pierce the And mingle wfth our prayers. night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge Sweet hearts around us throb and beat men’s minds Sweet helping hands are stirred, To vaster issues. And palpitates the veil between So to live is heaven: With breathings almost heard. To make undying music in the world, Breathing a beauteous order, that con trols The silence-awful, sweet, and calm - With growing sway the growing life of They have no power to break; man. For mortal words are not for them So we inherit that sweet purity To utter or partake. For which we struggled, failed, and agonized So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide, With widening retrospect that bred de So near to press they seem, - spair. They seem to lull us to our rest, Rebellious flesh that would not be sub And melt into our dream. dued,

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CliARLES KINGSLEY. 249 A vicious parent shaming still its child, Three wives sat up in the lighthouse Poor anxious peuftence, is quick dis-tower, solved; And they trimmed the lamps as the Its discords quenched by meeting liar-sun went down, monies, They looked at the squall, and they Die in the large and charitable air. looked at the shower, And all our rarer, better, truer self, And the night rack came rolling up That sobbed religiously in yearning song, ragged and brown! That watched to ease the burden of the But men must work, and women must world, weep, Laboriously tracing what must be, Though storms be sudden, and waters And what may yet be better, -saw within deep, A worthier image for tlie sanctuary, And the harbor bar be moaning. And shaped it forth before the multitude, Divinely human, raising worship so Three corpses layout on the shining sands To higher reverence more mixed with In the morning gleam as the tide went love, - down, That better self shall live till human And the women are weeping and wring Time ing il~eir hands Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky For those who will never come back Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb, to the town; Unread forever. For men must work, and women must This is life to come, weep, ~~hich martyred men have made more And the sooner it`a over, the sooner to glorious For us, who strive to follow.

sleep, - And good by to the bar and its May I reach moaning. That purest heaven, -be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, -

Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, THE SANDS OF DEE. Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, “0

MARY, go and call tbe cattle home, And Jn diffusion ever more intense! And call the cattle home, So shall I join the choir invisible, And call the cattle home, Whose music is the gladness of the world. Across the sands of Dee”; The western wind was wild and dank wi’ foam, And all alone went she.

CllARLES KINGSLEY. The western tide crept up along the sand, And o’er and o’er the sand, [1519 - 1874.] And round and round the sand, THE THREE

FISHERS. As far as Qyc could see. The rolling mist came down and hid the THREE fishers went sallin out into the And land, - Out west a never home came she. into the west as the sun went down; Each thought on the woman who loved “0, is it weed, or fish, or floating hafr, bins the best, A tress 0’ golden hair, And the children stood watching them A drown6d maiden’s hair out of the town; Above the nets at sea? For men must work, and women must Was never salmon yet that shone so fair weep, Among the stakes on Dee.” And there`a little to earn, and many to keep, They rowed her in across the rolling foam, Though theliarborbarbemoaning. The cruel crawling foam,

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250 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. The cruel hungry foam, Of the shearers that I see, To her grave beside the sea: Ne’er a body kens me, But still the boatmen hear her call the Though I kent them a’ at Strathairly; cattle home And this fisher-wife I pass, Across the sands of Dee! Can she be the braw lass That I kissed at the back of Strathaidyt. 0, the land`5 fine, fine! A MYTH. I could buy it a’ for mine, A FL0ATINQ a floating My gowd`a yellow as the stooks o Across the sleeping sea, Strathairly; All night I heard a singing bird But I fain you lad wad be, That sailed ower the salt sea, Upon the topmast tree. As the dawn rose gray on Strathairly. “0, came yon from the isles of Greece, - Or from the banks of Seine, Or off some tree in forests free, TOO LATE. Which fringe the Western main?” COULD ye come back to me, Douglas, “I came not off the old world, - In Douglas, Nor yet from off the new, - the old likeness that I knew, But I am one of the birds of God would be sofaithfnl, so loving, Douglas, Which sing the whole night through.” Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. “0 sing and wake the dawning, Never a scornful word should grieve ye, I`d smile on ye sweet as the angds O whistle for the wind; do The night is long, the current strong, Sweet as your smile on me shone ever, My boat it lags behind.”

Douglas, Douglas, tender and true. “The current sweeps the old world, 0 to call back the days that are not! The current sweeps the new; My eyes were blinded, your words were The wind will blow, the dawn will glow few: Ere thon hast sailed them through.” Do you know the truth now up in heaven, Douglas, Douglas, tender and true? I never was worthy of you, Douglas; Not half worthy the like of you: DINAll MULOCK CRAIK. Now all men beside seem to me like COMING HOME. I love you, Douglas, tender and true. Stretch out your hand to me, Douglas, THE lift is hi and blue, And the new moon glints through Douglas, The bonnie corn-stooks o’ St-th~l Drop forgiveness from heaven like dew; My~sbip`a in Largo iaair y; As I lay my heart on your dead heart, And I ken it wee?, Bay, Douglas, -the way Doug Up the steep, steep brae of Strathairly. las, Douglas, tender and true. When I sailed ower the sea, - A laddie bold and free, - OUTWARD BOUND. The corii sprang green on Strathairly; When I con~e back again, OUT upon the unknown deep, `T is an auld man walks his lane, Where the unheard oceans sound, Slow and sad through the fields 0’ Where the unseen islands sleep, - Strathairly.

Otitward bound.

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HARRIET WINSLOW SEWALL. 251 Following towards tise silent west Carve not upon a stone when I am dead O’er the horizon’s curved rim, The praises which remorseful mourners On, to islauds of the blest; give He with me and I with him, To women’s graves, - a tardy recom Outward bound. pense, - But speak them while I live. Nothing but a speck we seem In the waste of waters round; Heap not the heavy marble on my head Floating, floating like a dream, To shut away the sunshine and the dew; Outward bound. Let small blooms grow there, and let But within that tiny speck grasses wave, Two brave hearts with one accord, And rain-drops filter through. Past all tumult, pain, and wreck, Look up calm, and praise the Lord, Thou wilt meet many fairer and more gay Outward bound. Than I; but, trust me, thou caust never find One who will love and serve thee night and day ELIZABETll A.

ALLEN. With a more single mind. (u. a. A.) Forget me when I die! The violets Above my rest will blossom just as blue, UNTIL DEATIL Nor miss thy tears; e’en Nature’s self MAKE me no vows of constancy, dear forgets; -
friend, But while I live, be true! To love me, though I die, thy whole life long, And love no other till thy days shall end, Nay,- it were rash and wrong. HARRIET WINSLOW SEWALL. If thou canst love another, be it so; ~U. 5. A.) I would not reach out of my quiet grave To bind thy heart, if it should choose to WHY THUS LONGING? go; Love should not be a slave. WHY
thus longing, thus forever sighing For the far off, unattained, and dim, My placid ghost, I trust, will walk serene While the beautiful, all round thee lying, In clearer llght than a those earthly Offers up its low perpetual hymn! morn 5, Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching Above the jealousies and envies keen Which sow this life with thorns. All thy restless yearnings it would still, Thou wouldst not feel my shadowy caress, Leaf and flower and laden bee are preach It, after death, my soul should 1 ing here; luger Thine own sphere, though humble, Men’s hearts -
crave tangible, close ten-first to fill. derness, Poor indeed thou must be, if around thee Love’s presence, warm and near. Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw, It would not make me sleep more peace-If no silken chord of love bath bound fully thee That thou wert wasting all thy life in To some little world through weal woe For my poor sake; what love thou hast and woe; for me, If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten, Bestow it ere I go! No fond voices answer to tlline own,

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252 SONGS OF THREE CENTUIlIES. If no brother’s sorrow thou canst lighten That hymn for which the whole world By daily sympathy and gentle tone.

longs, - A worthy hymn in woman’s praise; Not by deeds that gain the world’s ap-The best half of creation’s best, plauses, Its heart to feel, its eye to see, Not by works that win thee world The crown and complex of tlie rest, Not renown, Its aim and its epitome. by martyrdom or vaunted crosses, Canst thou win and wear the immor-Yet now it is my chosen task tal crown. To sing her worth as maid and wife; And were such post to seek, I`d ask Daily strnggling, though unloved and To live her laureate all my life. lonely, On wings of love uplifted free, Every day a rich reward wfil - And by her gentleness made great, Thou wilt find by hearty give`(I teach how noble man should be, And truly loving, striving only, To match with such a lovely mate; live. thou canst truly Until (for who may hope too inuch From her who wields the powers of love), Dost thou revel in the rosy morning Our lifted lives at last should tounc~hve: That lofty goal to which they When all nature hails the Lord of light, Until we find, as darkness rolls And his smile, nor low nor lofty scorn-Far off, and fleshly mists dissolve, ing, That nuptial contrasts are the poles Gladdens hall and hovel, vale and On which the heavenly spheres revolve. heigh~?

Other hands may grasp the field and forest, THE CHASE. Proud proprietors in pomp may shine, But with fervent love if thou adorest, SHE wearies with an ill unknown; Thou art wealthier, - all the world is In sleep she sobs and seems to float, thine. A water-lily, all alone Within a lonely castle-moat; Yet if through earth’s wide domains And as the full moon, spectral, lies thou rovest, Within the crescent’s gleaming arms, Sighing that they are iiot thine alone, The present shows her heedless eyes Not those fair fields, but thyself thou A future dini with vague alarms: lovest, She sees, and yet she scarcely sees; And their beauty and thy wealth are For, life-in-life not yet begun, gone. Too many are life’s mysteries -4-For thought to fix t’ward any one. She`5 told that maidens are by youths COVENTRY PATMORE. Extremely honored and desired; And sighs, “If those sweet tales be truths, WOMAN. What bliss to be so much admired!”

The suitors come; she sees them grieve; AL~~powers of the sea and air, Her coldness fills them with despair: All interests of hill and plain, She`d pity if she could believe; I so can sing, in seasons fair, She`a sorry that she cannot care. That who hath felt may feel again: Nay, more; the gracious muses bless Who`a this that meets her on her way? At times my tongue, until I can Comes lie as enemy, or friend; With moving emphasis express Or both? Her bosom seems to say The likeness of the perfect man: He cannot pass, and there an eii(i. Elated oft with such free songs, Whom does he love? Does he confer I think with utterance free to raise His heart on worth that answers his I

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LETITTA E. LANDON. 253, Perhaps he`5 come to worship her: At all his words and sighs perceived She fears, she hopes, she tliiiiks he is. Against its blithe upheaval pressed. But still she flies: should she be won, Advancing stepless, quick, and still, it must not he believed or thought As in the grass a serpent glides, She yields: she’s chased to death, undone, He fascinates her fluttering will, Surprised, and violently caught. Then terrifies with dreadful strides: At first, there`5 nothing to resist: He fights with all the forms of peace; THE LOVER. He comes about her like a mist, Wfth subtle, swift, unseen increase~ HE meets, by heavenly chance express, And then, unlooked for, strikes amain His d Some stroke thatfriglitens hertodeath estined wife; some hidden han~ And grows all harmlessness again, Unveils to him that loveliness Ere she can cry, or get her breath Which others cannot understand. At times she stops, and stands at bay; No songs of love, no sunimer dreams But he, in all more strong than she, Did e’er liis longing fancy fire Subdues her with his pale dismay, With vision like to this; she seems Or more admired audacity. in all things better than desire. His merits in her presence grow, All people speak of him with praise:To match the promise in her eyes, How wise his talk; how sweet his tone; And round her happy footsteps blow What manly worship in his gaze! The authentic airs of Paradise. it nearly makes her heart his own. The less With what an air he speaks her name t is well, yet nothing’ 5 light His manner always recollects in all the lover does; for he Her sex: and still the woman’s claim Who~pftches hope at such a height is taught its scope by his respects Will do all things with dignity. Her charms, perceived to prosper first She is so perfect, true, and pure, in his beloved advertencies, Her virtue all virtue so endears, When in her glass they are rehearsed That often, when he thinks of her, Prove his most powerful allies. Life’s meanness fills his eyes with teara~ Ah, whither shall a maiden flee, ______ When a bold youth so swift pursues, And siege of tenderest courtesy, With hope perseverant, still renews! LETITIA E.

LAND ON. Why fly so fast? Her flattered breast Thankshimwhoflnds herfair andgood; THE SHEPHERD-BOY. She loves her fears; veiled joys arrest The foolish terrors of her blood; LIKE some vision olden By secret, sweet degrees, her heart, Of far other time, Yanquished, takes warmth from his When the age was golden, desire: in the young world’s prime She makes it more, with bashful art, is thy soft pipe ringing, And fuels love’s late dreaded fire. 0 lonely shepherd-boy, What song art thou singing, The gallant`credit he accords in thy youth and joy? To all the signs of good in her, I~edeems itself; his praiseful words Or art thou complaining What they attribute still confer. Of thy lowly lot Her heart is thrice as rich in bliss, And thine own dis’daining, She`5 three times gentler than before: Dost ask what thou hast not? He gains a right to call her his, Of the future dreaining, Now she through him is so much more! Weary of the past, Ah, might he, when by doubts aggrieved, For the present scheming, Behold his tokens next her breast, All but what thou`last.

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254 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. No, thou art delighting He was too weak a thing to bear In thy summer home, That noble energy. Where the flowers inviting Tempt the bee to roam; “Lift, lift yQur forehead from my lap, Where the cowslip bending And lay it on my breast: With its golden bells, I too have wept; but you I deemed Of each glad hour’s ending Still safe within your nest.” With a sweet chime tells. Her words were vain, but not her tears; All wild creatures love him The mourner raised her eyes, When he is alone, Subdued by the atoning power Every bird above him Of pitying sympathies: Sings its softest tone, Thankful to high Heaven, Subdued at first, erelong consoled, Humble in thy joy, At last she ceased to moan; Much to thee is given, For those who feel another’s pain Lowly shepherd-boy. Will soon forget their own. O ye whom broken vows bereave, DEATH AND THE YOUTH. Your vows to heaven restore; “NoT yet, the flowers are in my path, 0 ye for blighted love who grieve, The sun is in the sky; Love deeper and love more! Not yet, my heart is full of hope, I cannot bear to die. The arrow cannot wound the air, Nor thunder rend the sea, “Not yet, I never knew till now Nor injury long afflict the heart Howpreciouslifecouldbe; Thatrests,OLove,inthee! My heart is full of love, 0 Death! I cannot come with thee!” The winds may blow, the waves may swell; But soon those tumults cease, But Love and Hope, enchanted twain, And the pure element subsides Passed in their falsehood by; Into its native peace. Death came again, and then he said, “I’mreadynow to die!”

_____ ALICE CAREY. AUBREY DE VERE. (u. a. A.J KRUMLEY. THE SISTERS. O

BLUSUiNG flowers of Krumley! “I KNOW not how to comfort thee;`T is she who makes you sweet. Yet dare not say, Weep on! I envy every silver wave I know how little life is worth That laughs about her feet. When love itself is gone. How dare the waves, how dare the flowers, Rise up and kiss her feet? “The miglity with the weak contend; The many with the few: Ye wanton woods of Krumley! The hard and heavy hearts oppress Ye clasp her with your boughs, The tender and the true. And stoop to kiss her all the way Beside her homeward cows. “Had he been capable of love, I hate ye, woods of Krumley, His love had clung to thee; I`m jealous of your boughs

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ALICE CAREY. 255 I tell ye, banks of Krumley, No speech made answer, and no sign ap. `T is not your sunny days peared, That set your meadows up and down But in the silence I was soothed and With blossoms all ablaze.

cheered. The flowers that love her crowd to bloom Along her trodden ways.

Waking one time, strange awe O dim and dewy Krumley, Thrilling my soul, I saw `T is not your birds at all A kingly splendor round about the night; That make the air one warble Such cunning work the hand From rainy spring to fall. Of spinner never planned, - The finest wool may not be washed so They only mock the sweeter songs white. That from her sweet lips fall.

“Hast thou come out of Heaven?” O bold, bold winds of Krumley, I asked; and lo! Do ye mean my heart to break, The snow was all the answer of the snow. So light ye lift her yellow hair, So lightly kiss her cheek? Then my heart said, Give o’er; O flower and bird, 0 wave and wind, Question no more, no more! Ye mean my heart to break! The wind, the snow-storm, the wild her mit flower, The illuminated air, TIlE SURE WITNESS. The pleasure after prayer, Proclaim the unonginated Power! THE solemn wood had spread The mystery that hides him here and Shadows around my head, - there.

“Curtains they are,” I said, Bears the sure witness he is everywhere.

“Hung dim and still about the house of prayer”; Softly among the limbs, Turning fl~e leaves of hymns, IlER LAST POEM. I hear the winds, and ask if God were EARTH with its dark and dreadful ills, there.. Recedes and fades away; No voice replied, but while I listening Lift up your heads, ye heavenly hills; stood, Ye gates of death, give way! Sweet peace made holy hushes through the wood. My soul is full of whL~pered song, - With ruddy, open hand, My blindness is my sight; I saw the wild rose stand The shadows that I feared so long Beside the green gate of the summer hills, Arc full of life and light. And pulling at her dress, I cried, “Sweet hermitess, Hast thou beheld Him who the dew dis-My pulses faint and fainter beat, tils?” My faith takes wider bounds; listening I feel grow firm beneath my feet No voice replied, but while I The green, immortal grounds. bent, Her gracious beauty made my heart con tent. The faith to me a courage gives.

Low as the grave to go, - The moon in splendor shone, - I know that my Redeemer lives, - “She walketh Heaven alone, That I shall live I know. And seeth all things,” to myself I mused; “Hast thou beheld Him, then, The palace walls I almost see Who hides himself from men Where dwells my Lord and Kin~ Ill that great power through nature in-0 grave, where is thy victory? terfused?” 0 death, where is thy sting?

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256 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. PllEBE CAREY. Sang in the swieel$dWia~nnith%
of glee; lays, (u. a. A.J Calling his mate and uttering songs of pra~se.

IFIELD PREACHING. The golden grasshopper did chirp and sing; I HAVE been out to-day in field and wood, The plain bee, busy with her housekeep.

Listening to praises sweet and con nselgood ing, Such as a little child had understood, Kept humming cheerfully upon the wing, That, in its tender youth, As if she nuderstood Discerns the simple eloquence of truth. That, with contentment, labor was a good. I saw each creature, in his own best place, The modest blossoms, crowding round To the Creator lift a smiling face, my way, Praising continually his wondrous grace; Though they had nothing great or grand As if the best of all to say, Life’scountlessblessings was to live at all! Gave out their fragrance to the wind all day; Because His loving breath, So with a book of sermons, plain and true, With soft persistence, won them back Hid in my heart, where I might turn from death. them through, I went home softly, through the falling dew, And the right royal lily, putting on Still listening, rapt and calm, Her robes, more rich than those of Solo-To Nature giving out her evening psalm. mon, Opened her gorgeous missal in the sun, While, far along the west, mine eyes dis. And thanked Him, soft and low, cerned, Whose gracious, liberal hand had clothed Where, lit by God, the fires of sunset her so. burned, The tree.tops, unconsumed, to flame were When wearied, on the meadow-grass I turned; sank; And I, in that great hush, So narrow was the rill from which I drank, Talked with His angels in each burning All infant might have stepped from bank bush! to bank; And the tall rushes near Lapping together, hid its waters clear. NEARER HOME. ONE
sweetly welcome thought, Yet to the ocean joyously it went; Comes to me o’er and o’er; And rippling in the fulness of content, I`m nearer home to-day Watered the pretty flowers that o’er it Than I`ve ever been before; leant; For all the banks were spread Nearer my Father’s house With delicate flowers that on its bounty Where the many mansions be; fed.

Nearer the Great White Throne, Nearer the Jasper Sea; The stately maize, a fair and goodly sight, With serried spear-points bristling sharp Nearer that bound of life, and bright, Where we lay our burdens down, Shook out his yellow tresses, for delight, Nearer leaving the cross, To all their tawny length, Nearer gaining the crown. Like Samson, glorying in his lnaty strength. But lying diinly between, Winding down through the night, I And every little bird npon the tree, Lies the dark and uncertain stream Ruffling his plumage bright, for ecstasy, That leads us at length to the light.

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SYDNEY DOBELL. 257 Closer and closer my steps Not there, but risen, redeemed, they go Come to the dark abysm, Where all the paths are sweet with Closer Deata to my lips flowers; Presses the awful chrism; They fought to give us peace, and lo! They gained a better peace than ours, Father, perfect my trust! Strengthen my feeble faith! Let me feel as I shall, when I stand On the shores of the river of death:- SYDNEY DOBELL.

Feel as I would, were my feet KEITR OF RAVELSTO1~ Even now slipping over the brink, - For it may be I am nearer home, 0 iiAppv, happy maid, Nearer now, than I think! in the year of war and death She wears no sorrow! By her face so young and fafr, By the happy wreath PEACE. That rules her happy hair, She might be a bride to-morrow! O LAND, of every land the best, - She sits and sings within her moonlit O Land, whose glory shall increase; bower, Now in your whitest rainient drest Her moonlit bower in rosy June, For the great festival of peace: Yet ah, her bridal breath, Like fragrance from some sweet night blowing flower, Take from your flag its fold of gloom, Moves from her moving lips in many a And let it float undimmed above, mournful tune! Till over all our vales shall bloom She sings no song of love’s despair, The sacred colors that we love. She sings no lover lowly laid, No fond peculiar grief On mountain bigh, in valley low, Has ever touched or bud or leaf Set Freedom’s living fires to burn; Of her unblighted spring. Until the midnight sky shall show She sings because she needs must sing; A redder glory than the morn. She sings the sorrow of the air Whereof her voice is made. Welcome, with shouts of joy and pride,, That night in Britain howsoe er Your veterans from the war-path ~ On any chords the fingers strayed track; They gave the notes of care. You gave your boys, untrained, untried A dim sad legend old You bring them men and heroes back Long since in some pale shade Of some far twilight told, She knows not when or where, And shed no tear, though think you must She sings, with trembling hand on trem With sorrow of the maftyred hand; bling lute-strings laid: - Not even for him whose hallowed dust Has made our prairies holy land. The murmur of the mourning ghost That keeps the shadowy kine, Though by the places where they fell, “0

Keith of Ravelaton, The p] aces that are sacred ground, The sorrows of thy line!” Death, like a sullen sentinel, Raveiston, Raveiston, Paces his everlasting round. The merry path that leads Down the golden morning hill, Yet when they set their country free,And through the silver meads; And gave her traitors fitting doom, They left their last great enemy, Ravelston, Raveiston, Baffled, beside an empty tomb. The stile beneath the trec, 17

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258 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. The maid that kept her mother’s kine, Broke up iii many a shallow place; The song that sang she! The rest was soft and bright. She sang her song, she kept her kine, By chance my eye fell on the stream; She sat beneath the thorn How many a marvellous power When Andrew Keith of Ravelston Sleeps in us, - sleeps, and doth not Rode through the Monday morn; dream! This knew I in that hour. His henchmen sing, his hawk-bells ring, His belted jeweL~ shine! For then my heart, so full of strife, O Keith of Ravelston, No more was in me stirred; The sorrows of thy line 1 My life was in the river’s life, And I nor saw nor heard. Year after year, where Andrew came, Comes evening down the glade, I and the river, we were one: And still there sits a moonshine ghost The shade beneath the bank, Where sat the sunshine maid. I felt it cool; the setting sun Her misty hair is faint and fair, Into my spirit sank. She keeps the shadowy kine; A rushing thing in power serene O Keith of Ravelston, I was; the mystery The sorrows of thy line! I felt of having ever been I lay my hand upon the stile, And being still to be. The stile is lone and cold, The burnie that goes babbling by Was it a moment or an hour? Says naught that can be told. I knew not; but I mourned When, from that realm of awful power Yet, stranger! here, from year to year, I to these fields returned.

She keeps her shadowy kine; O Keith of Raveiston, The sorrows of thy line!

Step out three steps, where Andrew stood: ROSE TERRY COOKE. Why blanch thy cheeks for fear? The ancient stile is not alone, (u. a. A.) `T is not the burn I hear! THE ICONOCLAST. She makes her immemorial moan, A THOUSAND
years shall come and go, She keeps her shadowy kine; A thousand years of night and day, O Keith of Ravelston, And man, through all their changing The sorrows of thy line! show, His tragic drama still shall play. ~ Ruled by some fond ideal’s power, Cheated by passion or despair, TllOMAS

BURBIDGE. St~1lnl shall he waste life’s trembling hour, EVENTIDE. Ah!

where are they who rose in might, Who fired the temple and the shrine, COMES something down with eventide, And hurled, through earth’schaotic night, Beside the sunset’s golden bars, The helpless gods it deemed divine? Beside the floating scents, beside The twinkling shadows of the stars. Cease, longing soul, thy vain desire! What idol, in its stainless prime, Upon the river’s rippling face, But falls, untouched of axe or fire, Flash after flash the White Before the steady eyes of Time?

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ANNE C. (LYNCH) BOTTA. 259 He looks, and lo! our altars fall, So the wild wind strews its perfumed The shrine reveals its gilded clay, caresses, With decent hands we spread the pall, Evil and thankless the desert it blesses, And, cold with wisdom, glide away. Bitter the wave that its soft pillion presses, Never it ceaseth to whisper and sing. 0, where were courage, faith, and truth, What if the hard heart give thorns for If man went wandering all his day thy roses? In golden clouds of love and youth, What if on rocks thy tired bosom reposes? Nor knew that both his steps betray? Sweetest is music with minor-keyed closes, Fairest the vines that oil ruin will cling. Come, Time, while here we sit and wait, Be faithful, spoiler, to thy trust! Almost the day of thy giving is over; No death can further desolate Ere from the grass dies the bee-haunted The soul that knows its god was dust. clover, Thou wilt have vanished from friend and from lover. “IT IS MORE BLESSETh” What shall thy longing avail in the grave? Givx! as the morning that flows out of Give as the heart gives whose fetters are heaven; breaking, Give! as the waves when their channel Life, love, and hope, all thy dreams and is riven; thy waking. Give! as the free air and sunshine are Soon, heaven’s river thy soul-fever slak given; ing, Lavishly, utterly, carelessly give. Thou shalt know God and the gift that Not the waste drops of thy cup overflow. he gave. ing, _____

Not the faint sparks of thy hearth ever glowing, Not a pale bud from the June rose’s ANNE C. (LYNCH) BOTTA. blowing; Give as He gave thee, who gave thee (“.5. A.J to live. LOVE. Pour out thy love like the rush of a river Wasting its waters, for ever and ever, Go forth in life, 0 friend! not seeking Through the burnt sands that reward love, not the giver; A mendicant that with imploring eye Silent or songful, thou nearest the sea.

And outstretched hand asks of the Scattei-thy life as the Summer shower’s passers-by pouring! The alms his strong necessities may move: What if no bird through the pearl-rain For such poor love, to pity near allied, is soaring? Thy generous spirit may not stoop and What if no blossom looks upward adoring? wait, Look to the life that was lavished for A suppliant whose prayer may be denied thee! Likeaspurned beggar’satapalace-gate: But thy heart’s affluence lavish uncon Give, thougfr thy heart may be wasted trolled, - and weary, The largess of thy love give full and Laid on an altar all ashen and dreary; free, Though from its pulses a faint miserere As monarchs in their progress scatter Beatstothy soul the sad presage of fate, gold; Bind it with cords of unshrinking devo-And be thy heart like the exhaustless tion; sea, Smile at the song of its restless emotion; That must its wealth of cloud and dew `T is the stern hymn of eternity’s ocean; bestow, Hear and in silence thy future await. Though tributary streams or ebb or flow.

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260 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. LYDIA II. SIGOURNEY. But can ye from the court of Heaven Exclude their last appeal? (U. A., 1791-s86.J Ye see their unresisting tribes, INDIAN NAMES. With toilsome step and slow, On through the trackless desert pass, YE say they all have passed away, A caravan of woe; That noble race and brave; Think ye the Eternal Ear is deaf? That their light canoes have vanished His sleepless vision dim? From off the crested wave; Think ye the 80U1‘8 blood may not cry That mid the forests where they roamed From that far land to lihul There rings no hunter’s shout; But their name is on your waters, _______ Ye may not wash it out. `T is where Ontario’s billow Like ocean’s surge is curled, WILLIAM

II. FURNESS. Where strong Niagara’s thunders wake (u. a. A.J The echo of the world. Where red Missoun bringeth ETERNAL LIGHT. Rich tribute from the West, And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps, SLOWLY, by God’s hand unfurled, On green Virginia’s breast. Down around the weary world, Falls the darkness; 0, how still Ye say their cone-like cabins, Is the working of his will!

That clustered o’er the vale, Have fled away like wfthered leaves Mighty Spirit, ever nigh, Before the autumn gale; Work in me as silently; But their memory liveth on your hills Veil the day’s distracting sights, Their baptism on your shore,` Show me heaven’s eternal lights. Your everlasting rivers speak Living stars to view be brought Their dialect of yore. In the boundless realms of thought; High and infinite desires,’ Old Massachusetts wears it Flaming like those upper fires. Upon her lordly crown, And broad Ohio bears it Holy Trufli, Eternal Right, Amid his young renown; Let them break upon my sight; Connecticut hath wreathed it Where her quiet foliage waves; Let them shine serene and still, And bold Kentucky breathed it hoarse And with light my being fill. Through all her ancient caves.

Wachusett hides its lingering voice Within his rocky heart, And Alleghany graves its tone JAMES T. FIELDS. Throughout his lofty chart; Monadnock on his forehead hoar (u. a. A.l Dofl~ seal the sacred trust; Your mountains build their monument, WORDSWORTH. Though ye destroy their dust. THE grass hung wet on Rydal banks, The golden day with pearls adorning, Ye call these red-browed brethren When side by side with him we walked The insects of an hour, To meet ml(lway the suinmer morning. Crushed like the noteless worm amid The regions of their power; The west-wind took a softer breath, Ye drive them from their fathers’ lands, The sun himself seemed brighter shin Ye break of faith the seal, ing,

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HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL. 261 As through the porch the minstrel Still, as be lay there dying, stepped,- Reason drifting awreck, His eye sweet Nature’s look enshrining. “`T is my watch,” he would mutter~ “I must go upon deck!”

He passed along the dewy sward, The bluebird sang aloft “good mor-Ay, on deck, - by the foremast! row!” But watch and lookout are done; He plucked a bud, the flower awoke, The Union-Jack laid o’er hiin, And smiled without one pang of sor-How quiet he lies in the sun! row. Slow the ponderous engine, He spoke of all that graced the scene, Stay the hurrying shaft!

Jil tones that fell like music round us; Let the roll of the ocean We felt the charm descend, nor strove Cradle our giant craft, - To break the rapturous spell that bound Gafl~er around the gratii0g, us. Carry your mesamate aft! We listened with mysterious awe, Stand in order, and listen Strange feelings mingling with our To the holiest page of prayer!

pleasure; Let every foot be quiet, We heard that day prophetic words, Every head be bare High thoughts the heart must always The soft trade-wind is’~lifting treasure. A hundred locks of hair. Great Nature’s Priest! thy calm career Our captain reads the service With that sweet morn on earth has (A little spray on his cheeks), ended: The grand old words of burial, But who shall say thy mission died And the trust a true heart seeka, -

When, winged for Heaven, thy soul “We therefore commit his body ascended!

To the deep, ” - and, as he speaks, Launched from the weather-railing, Swift as the eye can mark, The ghastly, shotted hammoek llENRY llOWARD

BROWNELL. Plunges, away from the shark, ~U. 5. A., 1820-5872.] Down into the dark! THE BURIAL OF THE DANE. A thousand summers and winters BLUE gulf all around us, The stormy Gulf shall roll Blue sky overhead, - High o’er his canvas coffin, - Muster all on the quarter, But, silence to doubt and dole! We must bury the dead! There`a a quiet harbor somewhere For the poor a-weary soul. It is but a Danish sailor, Free the fettered engine, Rugged of front and form; Speed the tireless shaft! A com in on son of the forecastle, Loose to’gallant and topsail, Grizzled with sun and storm. The breeze is fair ahaft! His name and the strand he hailed from Blue sea all around us, We know,-andthere`5 nothing more! Blue sky bright o’erhead, -

But perhaps his mother is waiting Every man to his duty! In the lonely island of Foh?. We have buried our dea~

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262 SONGS OF TllREE CENTURIES. BAYARD TAYLOR. fear, dream krkWect blue; [u. a. A.] My blood is tempered to the morn, - My very heart is steeped in dew. THE MOUNTAINS. What Evil is I cannot tell; (From “THE MAsQUE OF THE

Gons.”)But half I guess what Joy may be; And, as a pearl within its shell, How~’~n the wheels of Time go round, The happy spirit sleeps in me. We cannot wholly be discrowned We bind, in form, and hue, and height, I feel no more the pulse’s strife, - The Finite to the Infinite, The tides of Passion’s ruddy sea, - And, lifted on our shoulders bare, But live the sweet, unconscious life The races breathe an ampler air. That breathes from yonderjasmine-tree. The arms that clasped, the lips thatkissed, Have vanished from the morning mist; Upon the glittering pageantries The dainty shapes that flashed and passed Of gay Damascus streets I look In spray the plunging torrent cast, As idly as a babe that sees Or danced through woven gleam and The painted pictures of a book. shade, The vapors and the sunbeams braid, Forgotten now are name and race; Grow thin and pale: each holy haunt The Past is blotted from my brain; Of gods or spirits ministrant For Memory sleeps, and will not trace Hath something lost of ancient awe; The weary pages o’er again. Yet from the stooping heavens we draw A beauty, mystery, and might, I only know the morning shines, Time cannot change nor worship slight. And sweet the dewy morning air, The gold of dawn and sunset sheds But does it play with tendrilled vines? Unearthly glory on our heads; Or does it lightly lift my hair? The secret of the skies we keep; And whispers, round each lonely steep, Deep-sunken in the charmed repose, Allure and promise, yet withhold, This ignorance is bliss extreme; What bard and prophet never told. And whether I be Man, or Rose, While Man’s slow ages come and go, 0, pluck me not from out my dream! Our dateless chronicles of snow Their changeless old inscription sliow, And men therein forever see The unread speech of Deity. THE VOYAGERS. No longer spread the sail! No longer strain the oar! For never yet has blown the gale AN ORIENTAL IDYL. Will bring us nearer shore. A SILVER javelin which the hills The swaying keel slides on, Have hurled upon the plain below, The helm obeys the hand; The fleetest of the Pharpar’s rills, Fast we have sailed from dawn to dawn, Beneath me shoots in flashing flow. Yet never reach the land. I hear the never-ending laugh Each morn we see its peaks, Of jostling waves that come and go, Made beautiful wfth snow; And suck the bubbling pipe, and quaff Each eve its vales and winding creeks, The sherbet cooled in mountain snow. That sleep in mist below. The flecks of sunshine gleam like stars At noon we mark the gleam Beneath the canopy of shade; Of temples tall and fair; And in the distant, dim bazaars, At midnight watch its bonfires stream I scarcely hear the hum of trade. In the auroral air.

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SARA J. LIPPINCOTT (GRACE GREENWOOD). 263 And still the keel is swift, And once again a fire of hell And still the wind is free, Rained on the Russian quarters, And still as far its mountains lift With scream of shot, and burst of shell, Beyond the enchanted sea. And bellowing of the mortars! Yet vain is all return, And Irish Nora’s eyes are dim Though false the goal before; For a singer, dumb and gory; The gale is ever dead astern, And English Mary mourns for hini The current sets to shore. Who sang of “Annie Laurie.” O shipmates, leave the ropes; Sleep, soldiers!

still in honored rest And what though no one steers, Your truth and valor weaflug; We sail no faster for our hopes, The bravest are the teuderest, -

No slower for our fears. The loving are the daring. THE SONG OF THE CAMr.

“GivE us a song!” the soldiers cried, ~ARA J. LIPPINCOTT (GRACE The outer trenches guarding, When the heated ms of the camps allied GR1EN~TooD).

Grew weary of bombarding. (u. a. A.) The dark Redan, in silent scoff, THE

POET OF TO-DAY. Lay, grim and threatening, under; And the tawny mound of the Malakoff MoRE than the soul of ancient song is No longer belched its thunder. given To thee, 0 poet of to-day! - thy There was a pause. A guardsman said: dower “We storm the forts to-morrow; Comes, from a higher than Olympian Sing while we may, another day heaven, Will bring enough of sorrow.” In holier beauty and in larger power. They lay along the battery’s side, To thee Humanity, her woes revealing, Below the smoking cannon: Would all her griefs and ancient Brave hearts, from Severn and from Clyde, wrongs rehearse; And from the banks of Shannon. Would make thy song the voice of her appealing, They sang of love, and not of fame; And sob her mighty sorrows through Forgot was Bntain’s glory: thy verse. Each heart recalled a different name, But all sang “Annie Laurie.” While in her season of great darkness sharing, Yoice after voice caught up the song, Hail thou the coming of each promise. Until its tender passion star Rose like an anthem, rich and strong, - Which climbs the midnight of her long Their battle -eve confession. despairing, And watch for morning o’er the hills Dear girl, her name be dared not speak, afar. But, as the song grew louder, Something upon the soldier’s cheek Wherever Truth her holy warfare wages, waa~e~ oW t~e a~a~~a o~ o~%T. r ~~o ~~~ea, ~~~ be beard; Beyond the darkening ocean burned Sound like a prophet-warning down the Tlie bloody sunset’s enibers, ages While the Crimean valleys learned The human utterance of God’s living How English love remembers. word.

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264 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. But briiig not thou the battle’s stormy He who, exulting on the trumpet’s breath, chorus, Came charging like a star across the The tramp of armies, and the roar of lists of death, fight, Not war’s hot smoke to taint the sweet Trembled, and passed before her high morn 0 er us, rebuke: Nor blaze of pillage, reddening up the And then she sat, her hands clasped night. round her knee: Like one far-thoughted was the lady’s 0, let thy lays prolong that angelsing- look, ing, For in a morning cold as misery Girdling with music the Redeemer’s She saw a lone ship sailing on the sea; star, Before the north`t was driven like a And breathe God’s peace, to earth`glad cloud, tidings’ bringing High on the poop a man sat mournfully: From the near heavens, of old so dim The wind was whistling through mast and far! and shroud. And to the whistling wind thus did he sing aloud: - ALEXANDER SMITll. ” look last night upon my native ~153o - i867.J Thou Sun! tbat from the drenching sea hast clomb?

LADY BARBARA. Ye demon winds! that glut my gaping sails, EARL GAwAIN wooed the Lady Barbara, Upon the salt sea must I ever roam, High-thoughtel Barbara, so white and Wander forever on the barren foam? cold! 0, happy are ye, resting mariners! `Mong broad-branched beeches in the 0 Death, that thou wouldst come and summer shaw, and take me home! In soft green light his passion he has A hand unseen this vessel onward steers told. And onward I must float through slow, When rain-beat winds did shriek across moon-measured years. the wold, The Earl to take her fair reluctant ear “Ye winds! when like a curse ye drove Framed paasion-tremNel ditties maui-us on, fold; Frothing the waters, and along our way, Silent she sat his amorous breath to Nor cape nor headland through red hear, mornings shone, With calm and steady eyes; her heart One wept aloud, one shuddered down to was otherwhere. pray, One howled`Upon the deep we are He sighed for her through all the sum-astray.’ mer weeks; On our wild hearts his words fell like a Sitting beneath a tree whose fruitful blight: b~ughs In one short hour my hair was stricken Bore g]orious apples with smooth, shin-gray, ing cheeks, For all the crew sank ghastly in my Earl Gawain came and whispered, “Lady, sight rouse! As we went driving on through the Thou art no vestal held in holy vows; cold starry night. Out with our falcons to the pleasant heath.” “Madness fell on me in my londine.~, Her father’s blood leapt up unto her The sea foamed curses, and the reeling brows, -

sky

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MATTHEW ARNOLD. 265 Became a dreadful face which did oppress The clouds are on the Oberland, Me with the weight of its unwinking The Juugfrau snows look faint and far; eye. But bright are those green fields at band, It fled, when I burst forth into a cry, - And through those fields comes down A shoal of fiends came on me from the the Aar, deep; I hid, but in all corners they did pry, And from the blue twiii lakes it comes, And dragged me forth, and round did Flows by the town, the churchyard dance and leap; fair, They mouthed on inc in dream, and tore And`neath the garden-walk it hums, me from sweet sleep. The house, -and is my Marguerite there? “Strange constellations burned above my bead, Ah, shall I see thee, while a flush Strange birds around the vessel shrieked Of startled pleasure floods thy brow, and flew, Quick through the oleanders brush, Strange shapes, like shadows, through And clap thy hands, and cry,`T is the clear sea fled, thou? As our lone ship, wide-winged, came rippling through, Or hast thou long since wandered back, Angering to foam the smooth and sleep-Daughter of France! to France, thy ing blue.” home; lady sighed, “Far, far upon the sea, And flitted down the flowery track My own Sir Arthur, could I die with you! Where feet like thine too lightly come?

The wind blows shrill between my love and me.” Doth riotous laughter now replace Fond heart! the space between was but Thy smile, and rouge, with sto~iy glare, the apple-tree. Thy cheek’s soft hue and fluttering lace The kerchief that enwound thy hair? There was a cry of joy, with seeking hands Or is it over?-art thou dead?She fled to him, like worn bird to her Dead -and no warning shiver ran nest; Across my heart, to say thy thread Like washing water on the figured sands, Of life was cut, and closed thy span!

His heing came and went in sweet un rest, Could from earth’s ways that figure slight As from the mighty shelter of his breast Be lost, and I not feel`t was so? Tlie Lady Barbara her head up rears Of that fresh voice the gay delight With a wan smile, “Methinks I’m but Fail from earth’s air, and I not know? half blest: Now when I`ve found thee, after weary Or shall I find thee still, but changed, years, But not the Marguerite of thy prime?

I cmi not see thee, love! so blind I am With all thy l~eing rearranged, with tears.” Passed through the crucible of time; ______ With spirit vanished, beauty waned, And hardly yet a glance, a tone, A gesture, -
anything, - retained MATTllLW ARNOLD. Of all that was my Marguerite’s own?

I will not know! -for wherefore try THE TERRACE AT BERNE. To things by mortal course that live A shadowy durability TEN years! -and to my wakh~g eye For which they were n~ meant to give? Once more the roofs of Berne appear; The rocky banks, the terrace high, Like driftwood spars which meet and pass The streinn, - and do I linger here? U p on the boundless ocean-plain,

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266 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. So on the sea of life, alas! Let the long contention cease! Man nears man, meets, and leaves again. Geese are swans, and swans are geese. Let them have it how they will! I knew it when my life was young, Thou aft tired; best be still! I feel it still, now youth is o’er! The mists are on the mountain hung, They out-talked thee, hissed thee, tore And Marguerite I shall see no more. thee. Better men fared thus before thee; - Fired their ringing shot and passed, URANIA. Hotly charged, -and broke at last. Charge once more, then, and be dumb! SHE smiles and smiles, and will not sigh, Let the victors, when they come, While we for hopeless passion die; When the forts of folly fall, Yet she could love, those eyes declare, Find Were but men nobler than they are. thy body by the wall. `Eagerly once her gracious ken Was turned upon the sons of men; But light the serious visage grew, - She looked, and smiled, and saw them ROBERT LORD LYTTON. through. mE ARTIST. Our petty souls, our sfrutting wits, Our labored puny passion-fits, - 0 ARTiST, range not over-wide: Ah, may she scorn them still, till we Lest what thou seek be haply hid Scorn them as bitterly as she! In bramNe-Nossoms at thy side, Or shut within the daisy-lid. Yet 0, that Fate would let her see One of some worthier race than we, - God’s glory lies not out of reach. One for whose sa~e she once might prove The moss we crush beneath our feet, How deeply she who scorns can love. The pebbles on the wet sea-beach, Have solemn meanings strange and His eyes be like the starry lights, - sweet. His voice like sounds of summer nights, - The peasant at his cottage door In all his lovely mien let pierce May teach thee more than Plato knew; The magic of the universe!

See that thou scorn him not: adore And she to hi~n will reach her hand, God in him, and thy nature too. And gazing in his eyes will stand, Know well tliy friends. The woodbine’s And know her friend, and weep for glee!

breath, And cry, Long, long I’ve looked for thee! The woolly tendril on the vine, Are more to thee than Cato’s death, Then will she weep, -with smiles, till Or Cicero’s words to Catiline. then, Coldly she mocks the sons of inen. The wild rose is thy next in blood: Till then her lovely eyes maintain Share Nature with her, and thy heart Their gay, unwavering, deep disdain. The kingcups are thy sisterhood: Consult them duly mi thine art. The Genius on thy daily ways THE LAST WORD. Shall meet, and take thee by the hand: But serve him not as who obeys: CREEP into thy narrow bed, He is thy slave if thou command: Creep, and let no more he said! Vain thy onset! all stands fast; And blossoms on the blackberry-stalks Thou thyself must break at last. He shall enchant as thou dost pasa,

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ROBERT LORD LYTTON. 267 Till they drop gold upon thy walks, I am as rich as others are, And diamonds in the dewy grass. And help the whole as well as you. Be quiet. Take things as they come: This wild white rosebud in my hand Each hour will draw out some surprise. Rath meanings ineant for me alone, Wfth blessing let the days go home: Which no one else cass understand: Thou shalt have thanks from evening To you it breathes with altered tone: skies. We go to Nature, not as lords, Lean not on one mind constantly: But servants; and she treats us thus: Lest, where one stood before, two fall. Speaks to us with indifferent words, Something God hath to say to thee And from a distance looks at us. Worth hearing from the lips of alL Let us go boldly, as we ought, All things are thine estate: yet must And say to her, “We are a part Thon first display the title-deeds, Of that supreme original Thought And sue the world. Be strong: and trust Whiclidid conceive thee what thou a~ High instincts more than all the creeds. “We will not have this lofty look: The world of Thought is packed so tight, Thou shalt fall down, and recognize if thou stand up another tumbles: Thy kings: we will write in thy book; Heed it not, though thou have to fight Command thee with our eyes.” With giants; whoso follows stumbles. She hath usurpt us. She should be Assert thyself: and by and by Our model; but we have become The world will come and lean on thee. Her miniature-painters. So when we But seek nOt praise of men: thereby Entreat her softly, she is dnmb. Shall false shows cheat thee.

Boldly Nor serve the subject overmuch: be. Nor rhythm asid rhyme, nor color and Each man was worthy at the first: form. God spake to us ere we were born: Know Truth bath all great graces, such But we forget. The land is curst: As shall with these thy work iufoi~m. We plant the brier, reap the thorn. We ransack History’s tattered page: Remember, every man He made We prate of epoch and costume: Is different: has some deed to do, Call this, and that, the Classic Age: Some work to work. Be undismayed, Choose tunic now, now helm and plume: Though thine be humble: do it too. But while we halt in weak debate Not all the wisdom of the schools`Twixt that and this appropriate theme, Is wise for thee. Hast thou to speak? The offended wild-flowers stare and wait, No man bath spoken for thee. Rules The bird hoots at us from the stream. Are well: but never fear to break Next, as to laws. What`a beautiful The scaffolding of other souls: We recognize in form and face: It was not meant for thee to mount; And judge it thus, and thus, by rule, Though it may serve thee. Separate As perfect law brings perfect grace: wholes Make up the sum of God’s account. If through the effect we drag the cans’,, Dissect, divide, anatomize, Earth’s number-scale is near us set; Results are lost in loathsome laws, The total God alone can see; And all the ancient beauty dies: But each some fraction: shall I fret If you see Four where I saw Three? Till we, instead of bloom and ligh~ See only sinews, nerves, and veins -~ A unit’s loss the smn would mar; Nor will the effect and cause unite, Therefore if I have One or Two, For one is lost if one remains:

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268 SONGS OF TllRE~E CENTURIES. But from some higher point behold The osiered, oozy wat~t ruffle~ This dense, perplexing complication; By fluttering swifts that dip and wink And laws involved in laws unfold, Deep cattle iii the cowslips muffled, And orb into thy contemplation. Or lazy-eyed upon the brink: God, when lie made the seed, conceived Or, when - a scroll of stars - the night The flower; and all the work of sun (By God withdrawn) is rolled away, And rain, before the stem was leaved The silent sun, on some cold height, In that prenatal thought was done’; Breaking the great seal of the day: hair Are these not words more rich than ours? The girl who twines in her soft 0 seize their iniport if you can! Tfre orange-flower, with love’s devotion, Our’ souls are parched like withering By the mere act of being fair flowers, Sets countless laws of life in motion; Our knowledge ends where it began. So thou, by one thought thoroughly great, While yet about us fall God’s dews, Shalt, without heed thereto, flilfil And whisper secrets o’er the earth All laws of art.

Create! create! Worth all the weary years we lose Dissection leaves the dead dead stilL In learning legends of our birth, Burn catalogues. Write thine own books. Arise, 0 Artist! and restore What need to pore o’erGreece and Rome? Their music to the moaning winds, When whoso through his own life looks Love’s broken pearls to life’s bare shore, Shall find that he is ftilly come, And freshness to our fainting minds. Through Greece and Rome, and Middle Age: Hath been by turns, ere yet full-grown, Soldier, and Senator, and Sage, And worn the tunic and the gown. ANNE WllITNEY. (u. a A.J Cut the world thoroughly to the heart. The sweet and bitter kernel crack. flERTHA. Have no half-dealings with thine art. All heaven is waiting: turn not back. THE leaves have fallen from the trees; For under them grew the buds of May, If all the world for thee and me - And such iS

Nature’s constant way; One solitary shape possessed, Let us accept the work of her hand. What shall I say? a single tree, Still, if the winds sweep bare the height, Whereby to type and hint the rest, Something is left for hearts’ delight, Let us but know and understand. And I could imitate the bark And foliage, both in fbrm and hue, Berthalooked down from the rocky cliff, Or silvery-gray, or brown and dark, Whose feet the tender f~oam-wreaths kist, Or rough with moss, or wet with dew, Toward the outer circle of mist That hedged the old and wonderful sea. But thou, with one form in thine eye, Below her, as if with endless hope, Couldst penetrate all forms: possess Up the beach’s marbled slope, The soul of form: and multiply The waters clomb eternally. A million like it, more or less, -

Many a long-bleached sail in sight Which were the Artist of us twain?

llovered awhile, then flitted away, The moral`a clear to understand.

Beyond the opening of the bay; Where’er we walk, by hill or plain, Fair Bertha entered her cottage late; Is there no mystery on the land? “He does not come,” she said, and smiled,

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J. H. PM~K1NS. 269 “But the shore isdark, andthe seaiswild, J. II.

P1~RKINS. And, dearest father, we still must wait.” She hastened to her inner room, (u. 5. A.J And silently mused there alone; “Three springs have come, three winters THE UPRIGHT SOUL. gone, LATE to our town there came a maid, And still we wait from hour to hour; A noble woman, true and pure, But earth waits long for her harvest-hme, Who, in the little while she stayed, And the aloe, iii the northern clinie, Wrought works that shall endure. Waits an hundred years for its flower. “Under the apple-boughs as I sit It was not anything she said, - In May-time, when the robin’s song ~~ It was not anything she did: was the movement of her head, Thrills the odorous winds along, The lifting of her lid. The innermost heaven seems to ope; I think, though the old joys pass from sight, Her little motions when she spoke, Still something is left for hearts’ ddi~ht The presence of an upnght soul, For life is endless, and so is hope.0` The living light that from her broke, It was the perfect whole “If the aloe waits an hundred years, And God’s times are so long indeed We saw it in her floating hair, For simple things, as flower and weed, We saw it in her laughing eye; That gather only the light and gloom, For every look and feature there For what great treasures of joy and dole, Wrought works that cannot die. Of life and death, perchance, must the soul, For she to many spirits gave Ere it flower in heavenly peace, find A reverence for the true, the pure, room?

The perfect, that has power to save, “I see that all things wait in trust, And make the doubting sure. As feeling afar God’s distant ends, And unto every creature he sends She passed, she went to other lands, That measure of good that fills its scope She knew not of the work she did; The marmot enters the stiffening mould’ The wondrous product of her hands And the worm its dark sepulchral fold,’ From her is ever hid. To hide there with its beautiful hope.” Forever, did I say? O, no! Still Bertha waited on the cliff, The thue must come when she will look To catch the gleam of a coming sail, Upon her pilgrimage below, And the distant whisper of the gale, And find it in God’s book, Winging the unforgotten home; And hope at her yearning heart would That, as she trod her path aright, knock, Power from her very garments stole; When a sunbeam on a far-off rock For such is the mystenous might Married a wreath of wandering foam. God grants the upright soul. Was it well? you ask - (nay, was it A deed, a word, our careless rest, ill?) - A simple thought, a common feeling, Who sat last yearbythe old man’s hearth; If He be present in the breast, The sun had passed below the earth, Has from him powers of healing. And the first star locked its western gate, Go, maiden, with thy golden tresses, When Bertha entered hisdarkeninghome, Thine aziire eye and changing cheek, And smiling said, “He doei not come, Go, and forget the one who blesses But, dearest father, we still can wait!” Thy presence through the w’~ek.

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270 SONGS OF TIlBEE CENTURIES. Forget him: he will not forget, But gin ye lo’ed me as I lo’e you, But strive to live an~ testify I wad ring my sin deid knell; Thy goodness, when earth’s sun has set, Mysel’ wad vanish, shot through and And Time itself rolled by. through Wi’ the shine 0’ yer sunny sel’, By the licht aneath yer broo, I wad dee to mysel’, and ring my bell, And only live in you. GEORGE MACDONALD. 0 lassie ayont the hill!

Come ower the tap 0’ the hill, O LASSIE AYONT THE fflIL I Or roun’ the neuk 0’ the hill, For I want ye sair the nicht, O LASSIE the hill! I`m needin’ ye sair the nicht, ayont For I`m tired and sick 0’ mysel’, Come ower the tap 0’ the hill, A body’s sel’`a the sairest weicht, - Or roun’

the neuk 0’ the hill, 0 lassie, come ower the hill! For I want ye sair the nicht, I`m needin’ ye sair il~e nicht, For I`m tired and sick 0’ mysel’, A body’s sel’`a the sairest weicht, llYMN FOR THE MOTHER. Olassie, come ower the hill! Mv child is lying on my knees; Gin a body could be a thocht 0’

grace, The signs of heaven she reads; And no a sel’ ava! My face is all the heaven she sees, I`m sick 0’ my held, and my han’s and Is all the heaven she needs. my face, An’ my thochts and mysel’ and a’; And she is well, yea, bathed in bliss, I`m sick 0’ the warl’ and a’; If heaven is in my face, - The licht gangs by wi’ a hiss;, Behind it is all tenderness For thro’ my een the sunbeams fa, And trnthfulness and grace. But my weary heart they miss. O lassie ayont the hill! I mean her well so earnestly, Come ower the tap 0’ the hill, Unchanged in changing mood; Or roun’ the neuk 0’ the hill; My life would go without a sigh Bidena ayont the hill!

To bring her something good. For gin ance I saw yer bonnie heid, I also am a child, and I And the sunlicht 0’ yer hair, Am ignorant and weak; The ghaist 0’ mysel’ wad fa’ doun deid; I gaze upon the starry sky, I wad he mysel’ nae mair. I wad he mysel’ nae mair. And then I must not speak; Filled 0’ the sole remeid; Slain by the arrows 0’ licht frae yer hair. For all behind the starry sky, Killed by yer body and heid. Behind the world so broad, O lassie syont the hill, etc. Behind men’s hearts and souls doth lie The Infinite of God. But gin ye lo’ed me ever sae sma, For the sake 0’

my bonnie dame, Ay, true to her, though troubled sore, Whan I cam’ to life, as she gaed awa’, I cannot choose but he: I could hide my body and name, Thou who art peace forevermore I micht bide by snysel’ the weary same; Art very true to me Aye setting up its heid Till I tuni frae the claes that cover my If I am low and sinful, bring frame, More love where need is rife As gin they war roun’ the deid. ~hou knowest what an awful tiling O lassie ayont the hill, etc. It is to be a life.

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ELIZA SPROAT TURNER. 271 Hast thou not wisdom to enwrap Will he, dear angel, count as sin My waywardness about, My life in sound and savor? In doubting safety on the lap Of Love that knows no doubt? “See, at our feet the glow-worm shines, Lo! in the east a star arises; Lo! Lord, I sit in thy wide space, And thought may climb from worm to My child upon my knee; world She looketh up into my face, Forever through fresh surprises: And I look up to thee. “And thought is joy…. And, bark! - in the vale Music, and merry steps pursuing; They leap in the dance, - a soul in my ELIZA SPROAT TURNER. blood Cries out, Awake, be doing! (U. 5. A.J “Action is joy; or power at play, AN ANGEL’S VISIT. Or power at work in world or emprises: Action is life; part from the deed, SHE stood in the harvest-field at noon, More from the doing rises. And sang aloud for the joy of living. She said: “`T is the sun that I drink like “And are these all?” She flushed in the wine,, dark. To my heart this gladness giving.’

“These are not all. I have a lover; At sound ofhis voice, at touch of his hand, Rank upon rank the wheat fell slain; The cup of my life nins over.

The reapers ceased. “`T is sure the splendor “Once, unknowing, we looked and Of sloping sunset light that thrills neared, My breast with a bliss so tender.” And doubted, and neared, and rested never, Up and up the blazing hills Till life seized life, as flame meets flame, Climbed the night from the misty To escape no more forever. meadows. 4’Can they be stars, or living eyes “Lover and husband; then was love That bend on me from the shadows?” The wine of my life, all life enhancing: “Greetin!” “And may you speak, in-Now`t is my bread, too needftsl and sweet debed?~~ To be kept for feast-day chancing. All in the dark her sense grew clearer; “I have a child.” She seemed to change; She knaw that she had, for company, The deep content of some brooding All day an angel near her. creature “May you tell us of the life divine, Looked from her eyes. “0, sweet and To us unknown, to angels given?” strange! “Count me your earthly joys, and I Angel, be thou my teacher: May teach you those of heaven.” “When He made us one in a babe, ~`They say the pleasures of earth are vain Was it for joy, or sorest proving? Delusions all, to lure from duty;` For now I fear no heaven could win But while God hangs his bow in the rain, Our hearts from earthly loving. Can I help my joy in beauty? “I bave a friend. Howso I err, “And while he quickens the air with song, I see her uplifting love bend o’er me; My breaths with scent, my fruits with Howso I climb to my best, I know flavor, Her foot will be there before me.

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272 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIL’~ “Howso parted, we must be nigh, Now I would stay; God bids me go: Held by old years of every weather; Now I would rest; God l)ids me work. The best new love would be less than ours He breaks my heart tossed to and fro; Who have lived our lives together. My soul is wrung with doubts that lurk And vex it so! “Now, lest forever I fail to see Right skies, through clouds so bright I go, Lord, where thou sendest me; and tender, Day after day I plod and moil; Show me true joy.”

The angel’s smile But, Christ my Lord, when will it be Lit all the night with splendor. That I may let alone my toil And rest wifli thee? “Save that to Love and Learn and Do In wondrous measure to us is given; Save that we see the face of God, You have named the joys of heaven.” DORA GREENWELL. THE SUNFLOWER. CllRISTINA ROSSETTI. TILL the slow daylight pale, A willing slave, fast bound to one above, AFTER DEATH. I wait; he seems to speed, and change, and fail; T~a curtains were half drawn, the floor I know he will not move. was swept And strewn with rushes; rosemary and I lifr my golden orb Lay may To his, unsmitten when the roses die, thick upon the bed on which I lay, And in iny broad and burning disk ab.

Where through the lattice ivy-shadows sorb crept. The splendors of his eye. He leaned above me, thinking that I slept, And could not hear him; but I heard His eye is like a clear him say, “Poor child! poor child!” and as he Keen flame that searches through me; I must droop turned away, Upon my stalk, I cannot reach his sphere; Came a deep silence, and I knew he wept. To mine he cannot stoop. He did not touch the shroud, or raise the fold That hid my face, or take my hand in his And1 win not my desire, Orruffle the smooth pillows formyhead yet I fail not of my guerdon; lo! He did not love me living: but once A thousand flickenug darts and tongues dead of fire He pitied me; and very sweet it is Around me spread and glow; To know he still is warm, though I am c~ld. All rayed and crowned, I miss - No queenly state until the summer wane, The hours flit by; none knoweth of my WEARY. bliss, A I WOULD have gone; God bade me stay: nd none has guessed my pain; I would have worked; God bade me rest. I follow one above, He broke my will from day to day; I track the shadow of his steps, I grow He read my yearnings unexpressed, Most like to him I love And said me nay. Of all that shines below.

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ELIZABETH H. WHITTIER. 273 VESPERS. For gifts, in his name, of food and rest The tents of Islam of God are blest. WHEN I have said my quiet say, Thou, who bast faith iii the Christ above, When I have sung my little song, Shall the Koran teach thee the Law of How sweetly, sweefly dies the day Love? The valley and the hill along;,, 0 Christian -open thy heartaud door, How sweet the summons, “Come away, Crv east arid west, to the wandering That calls me from the busy throng! -, poor, “Whoever thou art, whose need is great, I thought beside the water’s flow In the name of Christ, the CompasAwhile to lie beneath the leaves, sionate I thought in Autumn’s harvest glow And Merciful One, for thee I wait!” To rest my head upon the sheaves; But, lo! methinks the day was brief And cloudy; flower, nor fruit, nor leaf I bring, and yet accepted, free, THE MEETING WATERS

And blest, my Lord, 1 come to thee. CLOsE beside the meeting waters, What matter now for promise lost, Long I stood as in a dream, Through blast of spring or summer rains! Watching how the little river What matter now for purpose crost, Fell into the broader stream. For broken hopes and wasted pains; What if the olive little yields, Calm and still the mingThd current What if the grape be blighted? Thine Glided to the waiting sea; The corn upon a thousarid fields, On its breast serenely pictured Upon a thousand hills the vine. Floating cloud and skirting tree. Thou lovest still the poor; 0, blest And I thought, “0 human spirit! In poverty beloved to be!

Strong and deep and pure and blest, Less lowly is my cboice confessed, Let the stream of my existence I love the rich in loving Thee! BThnd with thine, and find its rest!” My spirit bare before thee stands, I bring no gift, I ask no sign, I could die as dies the river, I come to thee with empty hands, In that current deep and wide; The surer to be filled from thine! I would live as live its waters, Flashing from a stronger tide!

ELIZABETll II. WllITTIER. Lu. 5. A., i5i6-i545.J ELIZABETll AKERS ALLEN.

WHEN THE GRASS SHALL COVER MK CHARITY. WHEN il~e grass shall cover me, THF
pilgrim and stranger, who, through Head to foot where I am lying; the day, When not any wind that blows, Holds over the desert his trackless way, Summer bloom or winter snows, Where the terrible sands no shade have Shall awake me to your sighing: known, Close above me as you pass, No sound of life save his camel’s moan, You will say, “How kind she was,,:’ Hears, at last, through the mercy of You will say, “How true she was, Allah to all, When the grass grows over me. From his tent-door, at evening, the Bed ouin’s call: When tbe grass shall cover me, “Whoever thou art, whose need is great, Holden close to earth’s warm bosom; In the name of God, the Compassionate While I laugh, or weep,or sing, And Merciful One, for thee I wait!” Nevermore for anything

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274 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. You will find in blade and blossom, LUCY

LARCOM. Sweet small voices, odorous, Tender pleaders of my cause, (u. 5.

A.] That shall speak me as I was, - When the grass grows over me. A STRIP

OF BLUE. When the grass shall cover me! 1 1)0 not own an inch of land, Ah, beloved in my sorrow, But all I see is mine, - Yery patient can I wait; The orchard and the mowing-fieMs, Knowing that or soon or late, The lawns and gardens fine. There will dawn a clearer morrow: The winds my tax-collectors are, When your heart will nioan, “Alas, They bring me tithes divine, Now I know how true she was; Wild scents and subtle essences, Now I know how dear she was,” - A tribute rare and free: When the grass grows over me. And more magnificent than all, My window keeps for me A glimpse of blue immensity, - A little strip of sea. UNKNOWN.

Richer am I than he who owns Great fleets and argosies; AGAIN. I have a share in every ship 0, SWEFT and fair! 0, rich and rare! Won by the inland breeze That day so long ago. To loiter on you airy road The autmun sunshine everywhere, Above the apple-trees. The heather all a~ow I freight them with my untold dreams, The ferns were clad in0clot’h of gold, Each bears my owii picked crew; The waves sang on the shore. And nobler cargoes wait for them Such suns will shine, such waves will sing Than ever India knew, - Forever evermore. My ships that sail into the East Across that outlet blue. 0, fit and few! 0, tried and trne! The frieiids who met that day. Sometimes they seem like living shapes, -~ Each one the other’s spirit knew, The people of the sky, - And so in earnest play Guests in white raimeut coming down The hours flew past, until at last From Heaven, which is close by: The twilight kissed the shore. I call them by familiar names, We said, “Such days shall come again As one by one draws nigh, Forever evermore.” So white, so light, so spirit-like, From violet mists they bloom! One day again, no cloud of pain The aching wastes of the unknown A shadow o’er us cast; Are half reclain~d from gloom, And yet we strove in vain, in vain, Since on life’s hospitable sea To conjure up the past; All souls find sailing-room. Like, biit unlike, -the sun that shone, The waves that beat the shore, The ocean grows a weariness - The words we said, the songs we sung, With nothing else in sight; Like, - unlike, -evermore. Its east and west, its north and south, Spread out from morn tonight: For ghosts unseen crept in between, We miss the warm, caressing shore, Aiid, when our songs flowed free, Its brooding shade and light.

Sang discords in an undertone, A part is greater than the whole; And marred our harmony. By hints are mysteries told; “The past is ours, not yours,” they said: The fringes of eternity, - “The waves that beat the shore, God’s sweeping garment-fold, Though like the same, are not the same, In that bright shred of glimmering sea, 0, never, never more!” I reach out for, and hold.

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LUCY LARCOM. 275 The sails, like flakes of roseate pearl, And hum of rivulets; smell of ripening Float in upon the mist; fruits; Tlie waves are broken precious stones, - And green leaves that to gold and Sapphire and amethyst, en mann turn. Washed from celestial basement walls By suns unsetting kissed. What clear Septembers fade out in a Out through the utmost gates of space, spark! Past where the gay stars drift, What rare Octobers drop with every To the widening Infinite, my soul coal! Glides on, a vessel swift; Within these costly ashes, dumb and Yet loses not her michorage dark, In yonder azure rift. Are hid spring’s budding hope, and summer’s souL llere sit I, as a little child: The threshold of God’s door Pictures far lovelier smoulder in the fire, Is that clear band of chrysoprase; Visions of friends who walked among Now the vast temple floor, The blinding glory of the dome these trees, I bow my head before: Whose presence, like the free air, could The universe, 0 God, is home, inspire In height or depth, to me; A winged life and boundless sym Yet here upon thy footstool green pathies. Content am I to be; Glad, when is opened to my need Eyes with a glow like that in the brown Some sea-like glimpse of thee. beech, When sunset through its autumn beauty shines; Or the blue gentian’s look of silent speech, BY THE FIRESmE. To heaven appealing as earth’s light declines; WHAT is it fades and flickers in the fire, Mutters and sighs, and yields reluctant Voices and steps forever fled away breath, From the familiar glens, the haunted -As if in the red embers some desire, hills, - Some word prophetic burned, defying Most pitiful and strange it is to stay death? Without you in a world your lost love fills. Lords of the forests, stalwart oak and pine, Lie down for us in flames of martyrDo you forget us, - under Eden trees, dom: Or in full sunshine on the hills of Ahuman, household warmth, their death-God, fires shine; Who miss you from the shadow and the Yet fragrant with high memories they breeze, come; And tints and perfumes of the wood land sod?

Bringing the mountain-winds that in their boughs Dear for your sake the fireside where we Sang of the torrent, and the plashy sit edge Watching these sad, bright pictures Of storm-swept lakes; and echoes that come and go arouse That waning years are with your memory The eagles from a splintered eyrie-lit, ledge; Is the one lonely comfort that we know. And breath of violets sweet about their Is it all memory? Lo, these forest-boughs roots; Burst on the hearth into fresh leaf And earthy odors of the moss and fern;and bloom;

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276 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Waft a vague, far-off sweetness through UNKNOWN. the house, And give close walls the hillside’s breathing-room.

THE TWO WORLDS. Asecondlife, more spiritual than the first, Two worlds there are. To one our eyes find, a life won only out of Whose we strain, They magic joys we shall not see again: death. - o sainted souls, within you still is nursed Bright haze of morning veils its glim For us a flame not fed by mortal breath! meflug shore. Ah, truly breathed we there Unseen, ye bring to us, who love and Intoxicating air, - Glad were our hearts in that sweet wait, realm of Wafts from the heavenly hills, imnior-Nevermore. tal air; No flood can quench your hearts’ warmth, or abate; The lover there drank her delicious breath Ye are our gladness, here and every-Whose love has yielded since to change where. or death; _______ The mother kissed her child whose days are o’er. Alas! too 50011 have fled CHARLOTTE P. llAWE~. The irreclaimable dead: We see them-visions strange-amid Eu. a. A.J the Nevermore. DOWN THE SLOPE. WHo knoweth life but questions death The merry song some maiden used to sing, With guessings of that dimmer day The brown, brown hair that once was When one is slowly lift from clay wont to cling On wing6d breath? To temples long clay-cold: to the yery core But man advances: far and high They strike our weary hearts His forces fly with lightning stroke: As some vexed memory starts Till, worn with years, his vigor broke, From that long faded land, - the He turns to die: reah~ of Nevermore. When lo! he finds it still a life; New ministration and new trust; Along a happy way that`a just It is perpetual summer there. But here Aside from strife. Sadly we may remember rivers clear, And harebells quivering on the meadAnd all day following friendly feet ow-floor. That lead on bravely to the light, For brighter bells and bluer, As one walks downward, strong and For tenderer hearts and truer, bright, People that happy land - the realm of The slanted street, -

Nevermore. And feels earth’s benedictions wide, Upon the frontier of this shadowy land Alike on forest, lake, or town; We, pilgrims of eternal sorrow, stand Nor marks the slope, -he going down What realm lies forward, with its hap Tise sunniest side. pier store Of forests green and deep, 0, bounteous natures everywhere! Of valleys hushed in sleep, Perchance at least one need not fear And lakes most peaceful?`T is the A change to cross from your love here land of To God’s love there. Evermore.

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ADELINE D. T. WHITNEY. - NANCY A. W. PRIEST. 277 Very far off its marble cities seem, - “I WILL ABIDE IN THINE HOUSE.” Very far off-beyond our sensual dream Its woods, miruffled by the wild winds’ AMONG so many, can He care? roar: Can special love be everywhere? Yet does the turbulent surge A myriad homes, - a mynad ways, - Howl on its very verge. And God’s eye over every place. One moment, -and we breathe within the Over; but i~?

The world is full; Evermore. A grand omnipotence must rule; But is there life that doth abide They whom we loved and lost so long With mine own livh~g, side by side? ago, So Dwell in those cities, far from mortal Can ny, and so wide abroad: any heart have all of God? woe, From Haunt those fresb woodlands, whence the great spaces, vague and dim, sweet carollings soar. May one small household gather Him? Eternal peace have they: God wipes their tears away: I asked: my soul bethought of this: They drink that river of life which In just that very place of his flows for Where He bath put and keepeth you, Evermore. God bath no other thing to do! Thither we hasten through these regions dim, But lo! the wide wings of the seraphim Shinein the sunset! On that joyous NANCY A. W. PRIEST~ shore Our lightened hearts shall know (u. a. A.J The life of long ago: The sorrow-burdened past shall fade for OVER THE RIVER. Evermore. Ov~n the river they beckon to me, - Loved ones who`ve crossed to the far ther side; The gleam of their snowy robes I see, But their voices are drowned in the ADELINE D. T. WllITNEY. There rushing tide. `a one with ringlets of sunny gold, (u. a. A.J And eyes, the reflection of heaven’s own blue; He crossed in the twilight, gray and cold, SUNLIGHT AND STARLIGHT. And the pale mist hid him from mortal view Gon sets some souls in shade, alone; Te sawnot the angdswho met him there; They have no daylight of their own: Only in lives of happier ones The gates of the city we could not see; They see the shine of distant suns. Over the river, over the river, My brother stands waiting to welcome Cod knows. Content thee withthynight, me! Thy greater heaven bath grander light. Over the river, the boatman pale To-day is close; the hours are small; Carried another, -the household pet: Thou it’st afar, and hast them all. Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale -

Darling Minnie! I see her yet. Lose the less joy fl~at doth but blind; She crossed on her bosom her dimpled Reach forth a larger bliss to find.

hands, To-day is brief: the inclusive spheres And fearlessly entered the phantom Rain raptures of a thousand years. bark;

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278 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. We watcbed it glide from the silver sands, A scar, brought from some well-won field, And all our sunshine grew strangely Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. dark. We know she is safe on the farther side, The look, the air, that frets thy sight Where all the ransomed and angds be; May be a token that below Over the river, the mystic river, The soul has closed in deadly fight My childhood’s idol is waiting for me. With some infernal fiery foe, Whose glance would scorch thy smiling For none return from those quiet shores, grace, Who cross with the boatman cold and And cast thee shuddering on thy face! pale; We hear the dip of the golden oars, And catch a gleam of the snowy sail,-

Thefall,thou darest to despise, - And lo! they have passed from our yearn-May be the angel’s slackened hand ing heart; llas suffered it, that he may rise They cross the stream, and are gone for And take a firmer, surer stand; aye; Or, trusting less to earthly things, We may not sunder the veil apart, May henceforth learn to use his wings. That hides from our vision the gates of day. And judge none lost; but wait and see, We only know that their barks no more With hopeful pity, not disdain; May sail with us o’er life’s stormy sea; The depth of the abyss may be Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen The measure of the height of pain shore, And love and glory that may raise Theywatch,andbeckon,andwaftforme. This soul to God in after days! And Isit and think, when the sunset’s gold, Is flushing river, and hill, and shore, I shall one day stand by the water cold, FRIEND SORROW. And list for the sound of the boatman’s Do not cheat thy heart, and tell her, oar; “Grief will pass away; I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping llope for fairer times in future, sail; Ishallheartheboatasitgainsthe TA~df~~~~tt~~d~~~” strand; eli her, if you will, that Sorrow I shall pass from sight, with the boat-Need not come in vain; man pale, Tell her that the lesson taught her To the better shore of the spirit land; Far outweighs the pain. I shall know the loved who have gone before, - Cheat her not with tbe old comfort And joyfiiily sweet will the meeting be, (Soon she will forget); - When over the river, the peaceful river, Bitter truth, - alas! but matter The Angel of Death shall carry me. Bather for regret. Bid her not seek other pleasures, Turn to other things; Rather, nurse her cag6d Sorrow Till the captive sings.

ADELAIDE A. PROCTER. Bid her rather go forth bravely, And the stranger greet, J~tYDGE NOT. Not as foe, with shield and buckler, But as dear friends meet. JUt GE not; the workings of his brain Bid her with a strong grasp hold her And of his heart thou canst not see; By the dusky wings, What looks to thy dim eyes a stain, And she`11 whisper, low and gently, In God’s pure light may only be Blessings that she brings.

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THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. 279 THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. And where the oriole hung her swaying [u. a A.) By every light wind like a censer swung: THE CLOSING

SCENE. Where sang the noisy masons of the eaves, WITHIN his sober realm of leafless trees The busy swallows circling ever near, The russet year inhaled the dreamy air; Foreboding, as the rustic mind believes, Like some tanned reaperin his hour ofease, An early harvest and a plenteous When all the fields are lying brown year; and bare. Where every bird which charmed the The gray barns looking from their hazy Shoovkernal feast, hills the sweet slumber from its wings O’er the dim waters widening in the To at morn, vales, warn the reaper of the rosy east, - All n Sent down the air a greeting to the mills, 1ow was songless, empty, and for On the dull thunder of alternate flails.orn. Alone from out the stubble piped the quail, All sights were mellowed and all sounds And croaked the crow through all the subdued, dreamy gloom; The hills seemed farther and the streams Alone the pheasant, drumming in the vale, sang low; Made echo to the distant cottage loom. As in a dream the distautwoodman hewed Ilis winter log with many a muffled There was no bud, no bloom, upon the blow.

bowers; The spiders wove their thin shrouds The embattled forests, erewhile armed in night by night; gold, The thistle-down, the only ghost of flow Their banners bnghtwith every martial ers, hue, Sailed slowly by, passed noiseless out Now stood, like some sad beaten host of of sight.

old, Withdrawn afar in Time’s remotest Amid all this, in this most cheerless air, blue. And where the woodbine shed upon the porch On slumb’rous wings the vulture held Its crims on leaves, as if the Year stood his flight; there The dove scarce heard its sighing mate’s Firing the floor~vith his inverted torch; complaint; And like a star slow drowning in the light, Amid all this, the centre of the scene, The white-haired matron with monoto The village church-vane seemed to pale nous tread, and faint. Plied the swift wheel, and with her joy less mien, The sentinel-cock upon the hillside crew, Sat, like a Fate, and watched the flying Crew thrice, and all was stiller than thread. before, - Silent till some replying warder blew She had known Sorrow, -he had walked His alien horn, and then was heard no with her, more. Oft supped and broke the bitter ashen crust; - Where erst the jay, within the elm’s tall And in the dead leaves still he heard tho crest, stir Made garrulous trouble round her un-Of his black mantle trailing in the fledged young, dust.

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?80 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. While yet her cheek was bright with I sat and spun within the doore, summer bloom, My thread brake off; I raised myne Her country summoned and she gave eyes; her all; The level sun, like ruddy ore, And twice War bowed to her his sable Lay sinking in the barren skies; plume, - And dark against day’s golden death Regave the swords to rust uponher wall. She moved where Lindis wandereth, My sonne’s faire wife, Elizabeth. Regave the swords, -but not the hand that drew “Cusha!

Cusha! Cusha!” calling, And struck for Liberty its dying blow, Ere the early dews were falling, Nor him who, to his sire and country true, Farre away I heard her song. Fell mid the ranks of the invading foe. “Cusha!

Cusha!” all along; Where the reedy Lindis floweth, Long, but not loud, the droning wheel Floweth, floweth, went on, From the meads where melick groweth Like the low mm~mur of a hive at noon; Faintly came her milking song. Long, but not loud, the memory of the gone Breathed through her lips a sad and “Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!” calling, tremulous tune. “For the dews will soon be falling; Leave your meadow grasses mellow, At last the thread was snapped: her head Mellow, mellow; was bowed; Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Life dropt the distaff through his hands Comme uppe Whitefoot, come uppe serene; Lightfoot, And loving neighbors smoothed her care-Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, ful shroud, Hollow, hollow; While death and winter closed the Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, autumn scene. From the clovers lift your bead; Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot, p Come uppe Jetty, rise and follow, Jetty, to the milking-shed.” JEAN INGELOW. If it be long, aye, long ago, When I beginne to think howe long, TIlE HIGH TIDE ON TllE COAST OF Againe I hear the Lindis flow, LINCOLNSHIRE. Swift as an arrowe, sharp and strong; And all the aire it seemeth me (1571.) Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), That ring the tune of Enderby. THE old mayor climbed the belfry tower, The ringers ran by two, by three; Alle fresh the level pasture lay, “Pull, if ye never pulled before; And not a shadowe mote be seene, Good ringers, pull your best,” quoth he. Save where full fyve good miles away “Play uppe, play uppe, 0 Boston bells! The steeple towered from out the greene.

Ply all your changes, all your swells, And lo! the great bell farre and wide Play uppe`The Brides of Enderby.”’ Was heard in all the country side That Saturday at eventide. Men say it was a stolen tyde - The Lord that sent it, he knows all; The swannerds where their sedges are But in myne ears doth still abide Moved on in sunset’s golden breath, The message that the bells let fall: The shepherde lads I heard afarre, And there was naught of strange, beside And my sonne’s wife, Elizabeth; The flights of mews and peewits pied Till floating o’er the grassy sea By millions crouched on the old sea-Came downe that kyndly message free, walL The “Brides of Mavis Enderby.’

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JEAN INGELOW. 28~ Then some looked uppe into the sky, Then bankes came downe with miii aiid And all along where Lindis flows rout, To where the goodly vessels lie, Then beaten foam flew round about, And where the lordly steeple shows. Then all the mighty floods were out. They sayde, “And why should this thing be, So farre, so fast the eygre drave, What danger lowers by land or sea? The heart had hardly time to beat, They ring the tune of Enderby! Before a shallow seething wave “For evil news from Mablethorpe, Sobbed in the grasses at our feet: The feet had hardly time to flee ()f pyrate galleys warping down;Before it brake against the knee, For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, And all the world was in the sea’

They have not spared to wake the towne; But while tlie west bin red to see, Upon the roofe we sate that night, And storms be none, and pyrates flee, ~ The noise of bells went sweeping by: Why ring`The Brides of Enderby’?” marked the lofty beacon-light Stream from the church-tower, red and I looked without, aiid lo! my sonne high, - Came riding downe with might and A lurid mark and dread to see; He main, Aiid awesome bells they were to W,ee, raised a shout as he drew on, That in the dark rang Enderby.

Till all the welkin ran,g, again, They rang the sailor-lads to guide “Elizabeth! Elizabeth! (A sweeter woman ne er drew breath From roofe to roofe who fearless i~owed; Than my sonne’s wife, Elizabeth.) Asid I - my sonne was at my side, And yet the ruddy beacon glowed: “The olde sea-wall (he cried) is downe, And yet i\e moaned beneath his breath, The rising tide comes on apace, “0 come iii life, or come in death I And boats adrift in yonder towne 0 lost! my love, Elizabeth.” Go sailing uppe the market-place.” He shook as one that looks on death: And didst thou visit him 110 more? “God save you, mother!” straight lie Thou didst, thou didat, my daughte~ saith; deare; “Where is my wife, Elizabeth?” The waters laid thee at his dcore, Ere yet the early dawn was clear. “Good sonne, where Lindis winds away The pretty bairns in fast embrace, With her two bairns I marked her The lifted sun shone on thy face, long; Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. And ere yon bells beganne to play Afar I heard her milking song.” That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, He looked across the grassy sea, That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea; To right, to left, “Ho En derby!” fatal ebbe and flow, alas! They rang, “The Brides of Enderby!” To manye more than myne and me: But each will mourn his own (she saith). With that he cried and beat his breast; And sweeter woman ne’er drew breath For lo! along the river’s bed Than my sonne’s wife, Elizabeth. A mighty eygre reared his crest, And uppe the Lindis raging sped. I shall never hear her more It swept with thunderous noise, loud; By the reedy Lindis shore, Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud, “Cusha, Cnsha, Cusha!” calling, Or like a demon in a shroud. - Ere the early dews be falling; I shall never hear her song, And rearing Lindis backward pressed, “Cuslia, Cusha!” all along, Shook all her trembling bankes amaine; Where the sunny Lindis floweth, Then madly at the eygre’s breast Goeth, floweth; Flung uppe her weltering walls again. From the meads where melick groweth,

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282 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. When the water winding down Heigh-ho!

daisies and buttercups! Onward fioweth to the town. Fair yellow daffodils stately and tall! A sunshiny world full of laughter and I shall never see her more leisure, Where the reeds and rushes quiver, And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow Shiver, quiver; and thrall Stand beside the sobbing river, Send down on their pleasure smiles passSobbing, throbbing, in its falling, ing its measure, To the sandy lonesome shore: God that is over us all! I shall never hear her calling, “Leave your meadow grasses mellow; Mellow, mellow; Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; SEVEN TIMES SEVEN.

Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Light-LONeINO FOa HOME. foot; Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, A SONG of a boat: - Hollow, hollow; There was once a boat on a billow: Come uppe Lightfoot, rise and follow; Lightly she rocked to her port remote, Lightfoot, W hitefoot; And the foam was white in her wake like From your clovers lift the head; snow, Come uppe Jetty, follow, follow, And her frail mast bowed when the breeze Jetty, to the milking-shed.” would blow, And bent like a wand of willow. I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat SEVEN TIMES FOUR. Went curtsying over the billow, MATEaNITY. I marked her course till, a dancing mote, She faded out on the moonlit foam, HEIGH-Ho! daisies and buttercups! And I stayed behind in the dear-loved Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall! home; When the wind wakes how they rock in And my thoughts all day were about the the grasses, boat, And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender And my dreams upon the pillow. and small! Here`a two bonny boys, and here`a I pray you hear my song of a boat, mother’s own lasses, For it is but short Eager to gather them alL My boat you shall find none fairer afloat, In river or port.

Heigh-bo! daisies and buttercups! Long I looked out for the lad she bore, Mother shall thread them a daisy chain; On the open desolate sea, Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-And I think he sailed to the heavenly sparrow, shore, That loved her brown little ones, lovqd For he came not back to me - them full fain; Ah me! Sing, “Heart, thou art wide though the house be but narrow,” Asongofanest: Sing once, and sing it again. There was once a nest in a hollow; Down in the mosses and knot-grass Heigh-ho!

daisies and buttercups! pressed, Sweet wagging cowslips, they bend and Soft and warm and full to the brim. they bow; Vetches leaned over it purple and dim, A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters, With buttercup-buds to follow. And baply one musing doth stand at her prow. I pray you hear my song of a nest, 0 bonny brown sons, and 0 sweet little For it is not long: daughters, You shall never light in a summer quest Maybe he thinks on you now. The bushes among, -

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THOMAS BMLEY ALDRICH. 283 Shall never light on a prouder sitter, AFTER THE

RAIN. A fairer nestful, nor ever know A softer sound than their tender twitter, THE rain has ceased, and in my room That wind-like did come and go. The sunshine pours an airy flood; And on the church’s dizzy vane I had a nestful once of my own, The ancient Cross is bathed in blood. Ah, happy, happy I! Right dearly I loved them; but when they were grown From out tlse dripping ivy-leaves, They spread out their wings to fly. Antiquely carven, gray and high, 0, one after one they flew away, A dormer, facing westward, looks Far up to the heavenly blue, Upon the village like an eye: To the better country, the upper day, And - I wish I was going too. And now it glimmers in the sun, I pray you, what is the nest to me, A square of gold, a disk, a speck: My empty nest? And in the belfry sits a Dove And what is the shore where I stood to With purple ripples on her neck. see My boat sail down to the west? Can I call that home where I anchor yet Though my good man has sailed? HSCATAQUA RIVER. Can I call that home where my nest was THou singest by the gleaming isles, set Now all’ its hope hath failed?

By woods, and fields of corn, Thou singest, and the heaven smiles Nay, but the port where my sailor went, Upon my birthday morn. And the land where my nestlings be: There is the home where my thoughts But I within a city, I, are sent, So full of vague unrest, The only home for me - Would almost give my life to lie Ah me! An hour upon thy breast! THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH.

let the wherry listless go, (u. a. A.J Dip, and surge idly to and fro, Like the red harbor-buoy; BEFORE THE RAIN. To sit in happy indolence, WE
knew it would rain, for all the morn, To rest upon fl~e oars, A spirit on slender ropes of mist And catch the heavy earthy scents Was lowering its golden buckets down That blow from summer shores; Into the vapory amethyst Ofmarshes and swamps anddismalfens,- To see the rounded sun go down, Scooping the dew that layin the flowers, And with its parting fires Dipping the jewels out of the sea, Light up the windows of the town To spnnkla them over the land in And burn the tapering spires; showers. We knew it would rain, for the poplars And then to hear the muffled tolls showed From steeples slim and white, The white of their leaves, the amber And watch, among the Isles of Shoals, Shrunk~Sn1~the wind, - and the lightning The Beacon’s orange light. now 0 River! flowing to the main Is tangThd ill tremulous skeins of rain! Through woods, and fi~lds pf corn,

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284 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIE~ Hear thou my longing and my pain He kissed me once, he kissed me twiee, This sunny birthday morn; I could not stir or speak; He kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice; take this song which sorrow shapes ~ but when he kissed again, And called aloud upon the name of Him To music like thine own, who died for men. And sing it to the cliffs and capes And crags where I am known! Sing, sing! ring, ring!

pleasant Sabbath hells! _______ Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through dales and dells! Rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sab ROBERT BUCllANAN. bath bells! Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields THE GREEN GNOME. and fells! A MELODY. 0 faintly, faintly, faintly, calling men and maids to pray, RINQ
sing! ring, sing! pleasant Sabbath So faintly, faintly, faintly rang the bells bells! far away; Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through And as I named the Blessed Name, as in dales and dells! our need we can, Rhyme, ring!

chime, sing! pleasant Sab-The ugly green gnome became a tail and bath bells! comely man: Chime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields His hands were white, his beard was gold, and fells! his eyes were black as sloes, His tunic was of scarlet woof, and silken were his hose; And I galloped and I galloped on my A pensive light from faeYyland still lin paifrey whfte as milk, gered on his cheek, My robe was of the sea-green woof, my His voice was like the rnnning brook serk was of the silk; when he began to speak: My hair was golden-yellow, and it floated “0, you have cast away the charm my to my shoe; step-dame put on me, My eyes were like two harebells bathed Seven years have I dwelt in FaeYyland, h~ little drops of dew; and you have set me free. My palfrey, never stopping, made a music 0, I will mount thy pal frey white, and sweetly blent ride to kirk with thee, With the leaves of autumn dropping all And, by those dewy little eyes, we twain around me as I went; will wedded be!” And I heard the bells, grown fainter, far behind me peal and play, Back we galloped, never stopping, he Fainter, fainter, fainter, till they seemed before and I behind, to die away; And the autumn leaves were dropping, And beside a silver runnel, on a little red and yellow in the wind; heap of sand, And the sun was shining clearer, and my I saw the green gumne sitting, with his heart was high and proud, cheek upon his hand. As nearer, nearer, nearer rang the kirk. Then he started up to see me, and he ran bells sweet and loud, with a cry and bound, And we saw the kirk, before us, as we And drew me from my paifrey white and trotted down the fells, set me on fl~e ground. And nearer, clearer, o’er us, rang the 0 crimson, crimson were his locks, his welcome of the bells. face was green to see, But he cried,” 0 light-haired lassie, you Ring, sing! ring, sing! pleasant Sabbath are bound to marry” hells! He clasped me round the middle small, Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through he kissed me on the cheek, dales and dells!

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E. C. STEDMAN. 285 Rhyme, ring! chime, sing! pleasant Sab-She shook her ringlets from her hood, bath bells! And with a “Thank you, Ned,” disChime, sing! rhyme, ring! over fields sembled; and fells! But yet I knew she understood With what a daring wish I trembled. A cloud passed kindly overhead, E. C. STEDMAN. The moon was slyly peeping through it, Yet hid its face, as if it said, Eu. 5. A.J “Com~ now or never! do it! do it!” THE

DOORSTEP. My lips till then had only known The kiss of mother and of sister, Tns: conference-meeting through at last, But somehow, full upon her own We boys around the vestry waited Sweet, rosy, darling mouth, - I kissed To see the girls come tripping past, her! Like snowbirds willing to be mated. Perhaps`t was boyish love, yet still, Not braver he that leaps the wall 0 listless woman, weary lover! By level musket-flashes litten, To feel once more that fresh, wild thrill Than 1, who stepped before them all, I`d give-But who can live youth Who longed to see me get the mitten.

over? But no; she blushed, and took my arm! PAN IN WALL STREET. We let the old folks have the high way, And started toward the Maple Farm A. D. 1867.

Along a kind of lover’s by-way. JUST where the Treasury’s marble front Looks over Wall Street’s mingled n~ 1 can’t remember what we said, tions, - `T was nothing worth a song or story, Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont Yet that rude path by which we sped To throng for trade and last quota. Seemed all transfonned, and in a glory. tions, - Where, hour by hour, the rates of gold The snow was crisp beneath our feet, Outrival, in the ears of people, The moon was full, the fields were The quarter-chimes, serenely tolled gleaming; From Trinity’s undaunted steeple By hood and tippet sheltered sweet, Her face with youth and health was Even there I heard a strange, wild strain beaming. Sound high above the modern clamor, Above the cries of greed and gain, The little hand outside her muff-The curbstone war, the auction’s ham O sculptor, if you could but mould it!-
mer, - So lighil y touched my jacket-cuff, And swift, on Music’s misty ways, To keep it warm I had to hold it. It led, from all this strife for millions, To ancient, sweet-do-nothing days To have her with me there alone, - Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians. was love and fear and triumph And as it stilled the mnltftude, Nended. And yet more joyous rose, and shriller, At last we reached the foot-worn stone I saw the minstrel where he stood Where that delicious journey ended. At ease against a Doric pillar: One hand a droning organ played, The old folks, too, were almost home; The other held a Pan’s-pipe (fashioned Her dimpled hand the latches fingered, Like those of old) to lips that made We heard the voices nearer come, The reeds give out that strain impas Yet on the doorstep still we lingered. sioned.

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286 SONGS O~ TflREE CENTUi~IES. was Pan himself had wandered here His hair was all in tangled curl, A-strolling through this sordid city, Her tawny legs were bare and taper; And piping to the civic ear And still the gathering larger grew, The prelude of sonic pastoral ditty! And gave its pence and crowded nigher, The demigod had crossed the seas, - While aye the shepherd-minstrel blew From haunts of shepherd, nymph, an~ His pipe, and struck the gamut highen satyr, And Syracusan times, -to these 0 heart of Nature, beating still Far shores and twenty centuries later. With throbs her vernal passion taught hei’, - A ragged cap was on his head: Even here, as on fl~e vine-clad hill, But-hidden thus-there was 110 Or by the Arethusan water! doubting New forms may fold the speech, new lands That, all with crispy locks o’erspread, Arise within these ocean-portals, His gusiled horns were somewhere But Music waves eternal wands, -
sproutii)g; Enchantress of the souls of mortals! His club-feet, cased in rusty shoes, Were crossed, as on some frieze you So fliought 1,-but among us trod see them, A man in blue, with legal baton, And trousers, patched of divers lines, And scoffed the vagrant demigod, Concealed his crooked shanks beneath And pushed lijin from the step I sat on. them. Doubting I mused upon the cry, “Great Pan is dead! “-and all the He filled thd quivering reeds with sound, people And o’er his mouth their changes Went on their ways:-and clear and high shifted, The quarter sounded from the steeple. And with his goat’s-eyes looked around Where’er the passing current drifted; And soon, as on Trinacrian hills The nymphs and herdsmen ran to hear ALGERNON CllARLE~ him, Even now the tradesmen from their tills, SWINBURNE. With clerks and porters, crowded near him. A MATCH. The bulls and bears together drew IF love were what the rose is, From Jauncey Court and New Street And I were like the leaf, Alley, Our lives woAd grow together As erst, if pastorals be true, In sad or singing weather, Came beasts from every wooded valley; Blown fields or fiowerfiil closes, The random passers stayed to list, - Green pleasure or gray grief; A boxer ~gon, rough and merry, - If love were what the rose is, A Broadway Daphnis, on his tryst And I were like the leaf. With Nais at the Brooklyn Ferry. If I were what the words are, A one-eyed Cyclops halted long And love were like the tune, In tattered cloak of army pattern, With double sound and single And Galatea joined the throng, - Delight our lips would mingle, A blowsy, apple-vending slattern; With kisses glad as birds are While old Silenus staggered out That get sweet rain at noon; From some new-fangled lunch-house If I were what the words are handy, And love were like the tune. And bade the piper, with a shout, To strike up Yankee Doodle Dandy! If you were life, my darling, And I your love were death, A newsboy and a peanut-girl We`d shine and snow together Like little Fauns began to caper: Ere March made sweet the weathes

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R. II. STODDARD. - J. T. ThOWBRrnGE. 287 With daffodil and starling LANDWARD. And hours of fruitful breath; If you were life, my darling, THE
sky is thick upon the sea, And I your love were death. The sea is sown with rain, And in the passing gusts we bear If you were thrall to sorrow, The clangiug of the crane. And I were page to joy, We`d play for lives and seasons, The cranes are flying to the south; With loving looks and treasons, We cut the northern foam: And tears of night and morrow, The dreary land they leave behind And laughs of maid and boy; Must be our future home. If you were thrall to sorrow, And I were page to joy. Its barren shores are long and dark, And gray its autumn sky; If you were Apn~Fs lady, But better these than this gray sea, And I were lord in May, If but to land - and die! We`d throw with leaves for hours, And draw for days with flowers, Till day like night were shady, And night were bright like day; NOVEMBER. If you were April’s lady, And I were lord in May. THE
wild November comes at last Beneath a veil of rain; If you were queen of pleasure, The night-wind blows its folds asid~ And I were king of pain, Her face is full of pain. We`d hunt down love together, Pluck out his flying-feather, The latest of her race, she takes And teach his feet a measure, The Autumn’s vacant throne: And find his mouth a rein; She has but one short moon to live, If you were queen of pleasure, And she must live alone. And I were king of pain. A barren realm of withered fields: Bleak woods of fallen leaves: The palest moms that ever dawned: R. II.

8TODDARD. The dreariest of eves: (U. 5. A.) It is no wonder that she comes, Poor month! with tears of pain: NEVER AGAIN. For what can one so hopeless do But weep, and weep again! TE FEE are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pain: But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again. J. T.

TROWBRIDGE. We are stronger, and are better, Eu. a. A.) Under-manhood’s sterner reign: Still we feel that something sweet AT SE~ Followed youth, with flying feet, And will never come again. THE night was made for cooling shade, For silence, and for sleep; Something beautiful is vanished, And when I was a child, I laid And we sigh for it in vain: My hands upon my breast, and prayed~ We seek it everywhere, And sank to slumbers deep. On the earth and in the air, Childlike, as then, I lie tonight, But it never comes again! And watch my lonely cabin-light.

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288 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Each movement of the swaying lamp The city sinks to quietude and peace, Shows how the vessel reels, Sleeping, like Saturn, in a ring of fire; And o’er her deck the billows tramp, And all her timbers strain and cramp Circled with forts, whose grim and threat With every shock she feels; eniilg walls It starts and shudders, while it burns, Frown black with cannon, whose abated And in its hinged socket turns. breath Waits the command to send the fatal balls Now swinging slow, and slanting low, Upon their errands of dismay and death. It almost level lies: And yet I know, while to and fro And see, directing, guiding, silently I watch the seeming pendule go Flash from afar the mystic signal-lights, With restless fall and rise, As gleamed the fiery pillar in the sky The steady shaft is still upright, Leading by night the wandering Israel Poising its little globe of light. ites. O hand of God! 0 lamp of peace! The earthworks, draped with summer 0 promise of my soul! weeds and vines, Though weak and tossed, and ill at ease The rifle-pits, half hid with tangled Amid the roar of smiting seas, - briers, The ship’s convulsive roll, - But wait their time; for see, along the I own, with love and tender awe, lines You perfect type of faith and law. Rise the faint smokes of lonesome A heavenly trust my spirit calms, - picket-fires, My soul is filled with light; The ocean sings his solemn psalms; Where sturdy sentinels on silent beat The wild winds chant; I cross my palms; Cheat the long hours of wakeful lone Happy, as if tonight, liness Under the cottage roof again, With thoughts of home, and faces dear I heard the soothing summer rain. and sweet, And, on the edge of danger, dream of ______ bliss. Yetataword, howwildand fierce a change ELIZABETH AKER~ ALLEN

Would rend and startle all the earth (FLORENCE PERCY). With and skies blinding glare, and noises dread and strange, (u. 5. A.) And shrieks, and shouts, and deathly IN THE DEFENCES. agonies. AT wAsHINGTON. The wide-mouthed guns would war, and hissing shells ALONG the ramparts which surround the Would pierce the shuddering sky with town fiery thrills, I walk with evening, marking all the The battle rage and roll in thunderous while swells, How night and autumn, closing softly And war’s fierce anguish shake the down, solid hills. Leave on the land a blessing and a smile. But now how tranquilly the golden gloom Creeps up the gorgeous forest-slopes, In the broad streets the sounds of tumult and flows The cease, Down valleys blue with fringy aster gorgeous sunset reddens roof and bloom, - spire, An atmosphere of safety and repose.

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EDNA DEAN PROCTOR-289 Against the snnset lie the darkening hills, And up the listening hills the echoes float Mushroomed with tents, the sudden Faint and more faint and sweetly growth of war; multiplied. The frosty autumn air, that blights and chills, Peace reigns; not now a soft-eyed nymph Yet brings its own full recompense that sleeps therefor; Unvexed by dreams of strife or con queror, Rich colors light the leafy solitudes, But Power, that, open-eyed and watchful, And far and near the gazer’seyesbehold keeps The oak’s deep scarlet, warming all the Unwearied vigil on the brink of war. woods, And spendthrift maples scattering Night falls; in silence sleep the patriot their gold. bands; The tireless cricket yet repeats its tune, The pale beech shivers with prophetic And the still figure of the sentry stands woe, In black relief against the low full The towering chestnut ranks stand blanched and thinned, moon. Yet still the fearless sumach dares the foe, And waves its bloody guidons in the wind. EDNA DEAN PROCTOR. Where mellow haze the hill’s sharp out line dims, (u. 5. A.) Bare elms, like sentinels, watch silently, The delicate tracery of their slender limbs OUR HEROES. Pencilled in purple on the saffron sky. TllE winds that once the Argo bore Content and quietude and plenty seem Have died by Neptune’s ruined shrines, Blessing the place, and sanctifying all; And her hull is the drift of the deep sea And hark! how pleasantly a hidden stream floor, Sweetens the silence wfth its silver fall! Though shaped of Pelion’s tallest pines. You may seek her crew in every isle, The failing grasshopper chirps fsint and Fair in tlie foam of iEgean seas, shrill, But out of their sleep no charm can wile The cricket calls, in massy covert hid, Jason and Orpheus and Hercules. Cheery and loud, as stoutly answering still And Priam’s voice is heard no more The soft persistence of the katydid. By windy Ilium’s sea-built walls; From the washing wave and the lonely With dead moths tangled in its blighted shore Noom, No wail goes up as Hector falls. The golden-rod swings lonesome on its On Ida’s mount is the shining snow, throne, But Jove has gone from its brow away, Forgot of bees; and in the thicket’s gloom, And red on the plain the poppies grow The last belated peewee cries alone.

Where Greek and Trojan fought that day. The hum of voices, and the careless laugh Mother Earth! Are thy heroes dead? Of cheerful talkers, fall upon the ear; Do they thrill the soul of the years no The flag flaps listlessly adown its staff more? And still the katydid pipes loud an’d Are the gleaming snows and the poppies near. red All that is left of the brave of yore? And now from far the bugle’s mellow Are there none to fight as Theseus fought, throat Far in the young world’s misty dawn? Pours out, in rippling flow, its silver Or teach as the gray.haired Nestor taught, tide; Mother Eafth! Are thy heroes gone? 19

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290 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Gone?-in a nobler form they rise; Leave him to God’s watching eye, Dead?-wemayclasptheirhands in ours, Trust him to the hand that made him. And catch the light of their glorious eyes, Mortal love weeps idly by: And wreathe their brows with immortal God alone has power to aid him. fiower& Lay him low, lay him low, Wherever a noble deed is done, In the clover or the snow! There are the souls of our heroes stirred; What cares he? he cannot know: Wherever a field for truth is won, Lay him low 1 There are our heroes’ voices heard. Their armor rings on a fairer field Than Greek or Trojan ever trod For Freedom’s sword is the bla’de they LOUISE CllANDLER MOULTON. wield, And the light above them the smile of (u. a. A.) God! So, in his isle of calm delight, THE HOUSE IN THE

MEADOW. Jason may dream the years away, ~ut the heroes live, and the skies are IT stands in a sunny meadow, bright, The house so mossy and brown, And the world is a braver world to-day. With its cumbrous old stone chimneys, And the gray roof sloping down. Thetreesfold theirgreen arms round it, The trees a century old; GEORGE II. BOKER. And the winds go chanting througlt them, (u. a. A.J And the sunbeams drop their gold. DIRGE FOR A SOM)IER.

The cowslips spring in the marshes, The roses bloom on the hill, CLOsE his eyes; his work is done! And beside the brook in the pasture What to him is friend or foeman, The herds go feeding at will. Rise of moon, or set of sun, Hand of man, or kiss of woman? Within, in the wide old kitchin, Lay him low, lay him low, The old folks sit in fl~e sun, In the clover or the snow! That creeps through the sheltering wood What cares he? he cannot know: bine, Lay him low! Till the day is almost done. As man`nay, he fought his fight, Their children have gone and left them; Proved his truth by his en(feavor; They sit in the sun alone! Let him sleep in solemn night, And the old wife’s ears are failing Sleep forever and forever. As she harks to the well-known tone Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow! That won her heart in her girlhood, What cares he? he cannot know: That has soothed her in many a care, Lay him low! And praises her now for the brightness Her old face used to wear. Fold hirn in his country’s stars, Roll the drum and fire the volley! She thinks again of her bridal, - What to him are alL~our wars, How, dressed in her robe of white, What but death-bemocking folly? She stood by her gay young lover Lay him low, lay him low, In the morning’s rosy light. In the clover or the snow! What cares he? he cannot know: 0, the mornin is r Lay him low!

But the osy as ever, rose from her cheek is fled;

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NORA P~RRY. 291 And the sunshine still is golden, TIlE LATE SPRING. But it falls on a silvered head. SUE stood alone amidst the April fields, - And the girlhood dreams, once vanished, Brown, sodden fields, all desolate and Come back in her winter-time, bare. Till her feeble pulses tremble “The spring is late,” she said, “the With the thrill of spring-time’s prime.

faithless spring, That should have come to make the And looking forth from the window, meadows fair. She thinks how the trees have grown Since, clad in her bridal whiteness, “Their sweet South left too soon, among She crossed the old door-stone. the trees Though dimmed her eyes’ bright azure, The birds, bewildered, flutter to and And dimmed her hair’s young gold fro; The love in her girlhood plighted` For them no green boughs wait, their Has never grown dim or old. memories Of last y,,ear’s April had deceived them They sat in peace in the sunshine so. Till the day was ahuost done, And then, at its close, an angel She watched the homeless hirds, the Stole over the threshold stone. slow, sad spring, The barren fields, and shivering, naked He folded their hands together, - trees. He touched their eyelids with balm, “Thus God has dealt with me, his child,”

And their last breath floated outward, she said; Like the close of a solemn psalm! “I wait my spring-time, and am cold like these. Like a bridal pair they traversed The unseen, mystical road “To them will conie the fulness of their That leads to the Beautiful City, time; Whose builder and maker is God. Their spring, though late, will make the meadows fair; Perhaps in that miracle country Shall 1, who wait like them, like them They will give her lost youth back, be blessed? And the flowers of the vanished springI am His own, - doth not my Father time care?” Will bloom in the spirit’s track. - One draught from the living waters Shall call back his manhood’s prime; NORA PERRY. And eten~al years shall measure The love that outlasted time. (U. 5. A~) But the shapes that they left behind them, IN JUNE. The wnnkles and silver hair, - Made holy to us by the kisses So sweet, so sweet the roses in their The angel had printed there, - hlowing, So sweet the daffodils, so fair to see; We will hide away`neath the willows, So blithe and gay the humming-bird When the day is low in the west, agoing Where the sunbeams cannot find them, From flower to flower, a hunting with Nor the winds disturb their rest. the bee. And we`11 suffer no telltale tombstone, So sweet, so sweet the calling of the With its age and date, to rise thrushes, O’er the two who are old no longer, The calling, cooing, wooing, every. In the Father’s house in the skies. where;

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292 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. So sweet the water’s song through reeds AFTER TRE BALL. and rushes, The plover’s piping note, now here, THEY sat and combed their beautiful hair, now there. Their long, bright tresses, one by olie, As they laughed and talked in the chamSo sweet, so sweet from off the fields of ber there, clover, After the revel was done. The west-wind blowing, blowing ~~ Idly they talked of waltz and quadrille, the hill; So sweet, so sweet with news of some Idly they laughed, like other girls, one’s lover, Who over the fire, when all is still, Fleet footsteps, ringing nearer, nearer Comb out their braids and curls. stilL Robe of satin and Brussels lace, So near, so near, now listen, listen, Knots of flowers and ribbons, too, thrushes; Scattered about in every place, Now plover, blackbird, cease, and let For the revel is through. me hear; And, water, hush your song through reeds And Maud and Madge in robes of white, and rushes, The prettiest nightgo wus under the sun, That I may know whose lover cometh Stockingless, slipperless, sit in the night, near. For the revel is done, - So loud, so loud the thrushes kept their Sit and comb their beautiful hair, calling, Those wonderful waves of brown an~ Plover or blackbird never heeding me; gold, So loud the mill-stream too kept fretting, Till the fire is out in the chamber there, falling, And the little bare feet are cold. O’er bar and bmh, in brawling, bois terous glee. Then out of the gathering winter chill, All out of the bitter St.

Agnes weather, So loud, so loud; yet blackbird, thrush, While tl~e fire is out and the house is still, nor plover, Maud and Madge together, - Nor noisy mill-stream, in its fret and Maud and Madge in robes of white, fall, Tb Could drown the voice, the low voice of ~
preftiestnightgowusunderthesun, my lover, Curtained away from the chilly night, My lover calling through the thrushes’ After the revel is done, -
call. Float along in a splendid dream, ~` Come come ” To a golden gittern’s tinkling tune, down, down! he called, While a thousand lustres shimmering and straight the thrushes stream From mate to mate sang all at once, In a palace’s grand saloon. “Come down!” And while the water laughed through Flashing of jewels and fiutter of laces, reeds and rushes, Tropical odors sweeter than musk, The blackbird chirped, the plover Men and women with beautiful faces, piped, “Come down!” And eyes of tropical dusk, - Then down and off, and through the And one face shining out like a star, fields of clover, One face haunting the dreams of each, I followed, followed, at my lover’s call; And one voice, sweeter than others are, Listening no more to blackbird, thrush, Breaking into silvery speech, - or plover, The water’s laugh, the mill-stream’s Telling, through lips of bearded bloom, fret and fall. An old, old story over again,

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G. W. THORNBURY. 293 As down the royal bannered room, The page played with the heron’s plume, To the golden gittern’s strain, the steward with his chain, The butler drummed npon the board, and Two and two, they dreamily walk, laughed with might and main; While an unseen spirit walks beside, The grooms beat on il~eir metal cans, and And all unheard in the lovei~’

talk, roared till they were red, He claimeth one for a bride. But still the Jester shut hiS eyes and rolled his witty head; 0, Maud and Madge, dream on together, And when they grew a little still, read With never a pang of jealous fear! half a yard of text, For, ere the bitter St. Agnes weather And, waving hand, struck on the desk, Shall whiten another year, then frowned like one perplexed. Robed for the bridal, and robed for the “Dear sinners all,” the fool began, tomb, “man’s life is but a jest, Braided brown hair and golden tress, There`11 be only one of you left for the A dream, a shadow, bubble, air, a vapor bloom at the best, Of the bearded lips to press, - In a thousand pounds of law I find not a single ounce of love; Only one for the bridal pearls, A blind man killed the parson’s cow in The robe of satin and Brussels lace, - shooting at the dove; Only one to blush through her curls The fool that eats till he is sick must At the sight of a lover’s face. fast till he is well; The wooer who can flatter most will bear O heautiful Madge, in your bridal white, away the belle. For you the revel has just begun; But for her who sleeps in your arms to- “Let no man halloo he is safe till be is night The revel of Life is done! through the wood; He who will not when he may, must tarry when he should But robed and crowned with your saintly He who laughs at crooked men should bliss, need walk very straight; Queen of heaven and bride of the sun, 0, he who once has won a name may lie O beautifid Maud, you`11 never miss abed till eight! The kisses another bath won! Make haste to purchase house and land, be very slow to wed; _______ True coral needs no painter’s brush, nor need be daubed with red. G. W. TllORNBURY. “The friar, preaching, cursed the thief (the pudding in his sleeve), THE

JESTER’S SERMON. To fish for sprats with golden hooks is foolish, by your leave, - THE Jester shook his bead and bells, and To travel well, -an ass’s ears, ape’s face, leaped upon a chair, hog’s month, and ostrich legs. The pages laughed, the women screamed, He does not care a pin for thieves who and tossed their scented hair; limps about and begs. The falcon whistled, staghounds bayed, Be always first man at a feast and last the lapdog barked without, man at a fray; The scullion dropped ilie pitcher brown, The short way round, in spite of all, is the cook railed at the lout! still the longest way. The steward, counting out his gold, let When the hungry curate licks the knife, pouch and money fall, there`a not much for the derk; And why? because the Jester rose to say When the pilot, turning pale and sick, g1’ace in the hall! looks up, - the storm grows dark.”

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294 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Then loud they laughed, the fat cook’s HELEN

HUNT. tears ran down into the pan: The steward shook, that he was forced Lu. S. A.0 to drop the bnmming can; And then again the women screamed, CORONATION. and every staghound bayed, And why? because the motley fool so AT the king’s gate the subtle noon wise a sermon made. Wove filmy yellow nets of sun; Into the drowsy snare too soon ______ The guards fell one by one. Through the kiiig’s gate, un~uestioned ANNIE FIELD~ A then, went, and laughed, “Th~ Lu. a. A.1 brings Me chance, at last, to see if men CLIMBING. Fare better, being kings.” HE said, “0 brother, where`5 the use of The king sat bowed beneath his crown, climbing? Propping his face with listless hand; Come rather to the shade beside me Watching the hour.glass sifting down here, Too slow its shining sand. And break the bread, and pour the plen. “Poor man, what wouldst thou have of teous wine! me?” “Why thus forever climbing one sad Tlie beggar turned, and, pitying, Replied, like one in a dream, “Of thee, way? Nothing. I want the king.” Rather burn cedar on the marble hearth, And sleep, and wake, and hear the singers Uprose the king, and from his head pass. Shook off the crown and threw it by. “Oman, thou must have known,” he said, “Come! Stay thy feet, and pant and “A greater king than I!” dimb no more! Thro Stay Jollity, stay Wit, and Grace and ugh all the gates, unquestioned then, Ease,` Went king and beggar hand in hand. Nor spend your strength of days in scal-Whispered the king, “Shall I know when ing heights!” Before his throne I stand?” The beggar laughed. Free winds in haste But Wit bad clomb full well, and passed Were wiping from the king’s hot brow beyond, The enmion lines the crown had traced. While he who stayed, cried, “Brother, “This is his presence now.” where`a the use?” And Jollity went mingling with the At the king’s gate, the crafty noon sad, Un wove its yellow nets of sun; Out of their sleep in terror soon Still passing onward, up the difficult The guards waked one by one. road, “Ho here! Ho there! Has no man seen While Grace accompanied, - and all, but The king?” The cry ran to and fro; Ease;. Beggar and king, they laughed, I ween, And Ease and he two dull companions The laugh that free men know. made. On the king’s gate the moss grew gray: Forever after said he not, “What use!” The king came not. They called him, Grew weary of sweet cedar and soft couch; dead; And wistful gazed to watch those climb. And made his eldest son one day ing feet.

Slave in his father’s stead.

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DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI. - CELIA THAXTER. 295 THE WAY TO SING. Is the era’s end. Our sight may pass No furlong farther. Since time was, TllE birds must know. Who wisely sings This sound bath told the lapse of time. Will sing as they; The common air has generous wings, No quiet which is death’s, - it bath Songs make their way. The mournfulness of ancient life, No messenger to run before, Enduring always at dull strife. Devising plan; As the world’s heart of rest and wrath, No mention of the place or bour Its painful pulse is on the sands. To any man; Lost utterly, the whole sky stands No waiting till some sound betrays Gray and not known along its path. A listening ear No different voice, no new delays, Listen alone beside the sea, If steps draw near. “What bird is that? Its song is good.”

Listen alone among the woods; Those voices of twin solitudes And eager eyes Shall have osie sound alike to thee. Go peering through the dusky wood, llark where the murmurs of thronged In glad surprise; men Then late at night, when by his fire Surge and sink back and surge again, - The traveller sits, Still the one voice of wave and tree. Watching the flame gi~o w brighter, higher, The sweet song flits Gather a shell from the strewn beach, By snatches through his weary brain And listen at its lips; they sigh To help him rest When next he goes th’at road again, The same desire and mystery, An empty nest The echo of the whole sea’s speech. On leafless bough will make him sigh, And all mankind is thus at heart “Ah me! last spring Not anything but what thou art; Just here I heard, in passing by, And earth, sea, man, are all in each. That rare bird sing!”

But while he sighs, remembering How sweet the song, The little hird, on tireless wing, CELIA TllAXTER. Is borne along In other air, and other men Eu. a. A.] With weary feet, On other roads, the simple strain A SUMMER

DAY. Are finding sweet. The birds must know. Who wisely sings AT daybreak in the fresh light, joyfully Will sing as they; The fishermen drew in their laden net; The coin mon air has generous wings, The shore shone rosy purple, and the sea Songs make their way. Was streaked with violet. -4-And pink with sunrise, many a shadowy sail Lay southward, lighting up the sleep DANTE GABRIEL ROSBETTI. And ~~~~~~~~ bay; the white moon, still and pale, THE SEA-LIMITS. Faded before the day. CONsIDER the sea’s listless chime; Silence was everywhere. The rising tide Time’s self it is made audible, - Slowly filled every cove and inlet small; The murmur of the earth’s own shell, A musical low whisper, multi lied, Secret continuance sublime You heard, and that was a?.

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296 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. No clouds at dawn, but as the sun climbed From the low sun the rain-fringe swept higher, aside, White columns, thunderous, splendid, Bright in his rosy glow, up the sky Floated and stood, heaped in his steady And wide a splendor streamed through fire, all the sky; A stately company. O’er sea and land one soft, delicious blush, Stealing along the coast from cape to cape That touched the gray rocks lightly, The weird mirage crept tremulously on, tenderly; In many a magic change and wondrous A transitory flush. sbape, Throbbing beneath the sun.

Warm, odorous gusts blew off the distant land, At noon the wind rose, swept the glassy With spice of pine-woods, breath of hay sea new-mown, To sudden ripple, thrust against the O’er miles of waves and sea-scents cool clouds and bland, A afrenuous shoulder, gathering steadily Full in our faces blown. Drove them before in crowds; Till all the west was dark, and inky black Slow faded the sweet light, and peacefully The level-ruffled water underneath The quiet stars came out, one after one: And up the wind-cloud tossed,-aghos’ fly The holy twilight fell upon the sea, rack, -

The summer day was done. In many a ragged wreath. Such unalloyed delight its hours had Then sudden roared the thunder, a great given, peal Musing, this thought rose in my grate Magnificent, that broke and rolled flil mind, away; That God, who watches all things, up in And down the wind plunged, like a furi-heaven, ous keel, With patient eyes and kind, Cleaving the sea to spray; Saw and was pleased, perhaps, one child And brought the rain sweeping o’er land of his and sea. Dared to be happy like the little birds, And then was tumult! Lightning Because He gave his children days like sharp and keen, this, Thunder, wind, rain, -a mighty jubilee Rejoicing beyond words; The heaven and earth between! Dared, lifting up to Him untroubled eyes Loud the roused ocean sang, a chorus Ingratitude that worship is, and prayer, grand; Sing and be glad with ever new surprise, A solemn music rolled in undertone He made his world so fair! Of waves that broke about on either hand The little island lone; Where, joyflil in his tempest as his calm, SUBMISSION. Held in the hollow of that hand of his, I joined with heart and soul in God’s THE sparrow sits and sings, and sings; great psalm, Softly the sunset’s lingering light Thrilled with a nameless bliss. Lies rosy over rock and turf, And reddens where the restless surf 8oon lulled the wind, the summer storm Tosses on high its plumes of white. soon died; The shattered clouds went eastward, Gently and clear the sparrow sings, drifting slow; While twilight steals across the sea,

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WILLIAM MORRIS. - HARRIET McEWEN KIMBALL. 297 And still and bright the evening star The bitter wind makes not thy victory Twinkles above the golden bar vain, That in the west lies quietly. Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky. ~, steadfastly the sparrow sings, Welcome, 0 March!

whose kindly days And sweet the sound; and sweet the and dry touch Make April ready for the throstle’s song, Of wooing winds; and sweet the sight Thou first redresser of the winter’s wrong! Of happy Nature’s deep delight In her fair spring, desired so much! Yea, welcome, March! and though I die ere June, But while so clear the sparrow sings Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise, A cry of death is in my ear; The crashing of the riven wreck, Striving to swell the burden of the tune That even now I hear thy brown birds Breakers that sweep the shuddenug raise, deck, Unmindfiil of the past or coming days; And sounds of agony and fear. Who sing, “0 joy! a new year is begun! How is it that the birds can sing? What happiness to look upon the sun!” Life is so full of bitter pain Hearts are so wrung with hopeless 0, what begetteth all this storm of bliss, grief; But Deathhimself, who, crying solemnly, Woe is so long and joy so brief; Even from the heart of sweet Forgefful Nor shall the lost return again. Bids ness, us, “Rejoice! lest pleasureless ye die. Though rapturously the sparrow sings, Within a little time must ye go by. No bliss of Nature can restore Stretch forth your open hands, and, while The frieiids whose hands I clasped ye live, so warm, Take all the gifts that Death and Life Sweet souls that through the night may give”? and storm Fled from the earth forevermore. Yet still the sparrow sits and sino’s Till longing, mourning, sorrowi~?g’love, HARRIET McEWEN KIMBALL. Groping to find what hope may be Within death’s awful mystery, Eu. a. A.] Reaches its empty arms above; THE

CRICKETS. And listening, while the sparrow sings, PIPE, little m~strels of the wailing year, And soft the evening shadows fall, In gentle concert pipe! Sees, through the crowding tears Pipe the warm noons; the mellow har that blind, vest near; A little light, and seems to find The apples dropping ripe; And clasp God’s hand, who wrought it alL The tempered sunshine, and the softened - shade; The trill of lonely bird The sweet, sad hush on Nature’s glad WILLIAM MORRI~. ness laid; through silence heard! MARCH. Pipe tenderly the passing of the year; The summer’s brief reprieve; SLAYER of winter, art thou here again? The dry husk nistling round the yellow 0 welcome, thou that bring’st the sum-ear; mer nigh! The chill of morn and eve!

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298 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Pipethe untroubled trouble of the year; Yet we are saved, and we may rest; Pipe low the painless pain; And, heanug each the other’s voice, Pipeyour unceasing melancholy cheer; We cannot hold ourselves unbiest, The year is in the wane. Although we may not (luite rejoice. We`11 warm our hearts, and softly sing Thanks for the shore whereon we`re ALL`S WELL. driven; Storm-tossed no more, we`11 fold the THE day is ended. Ere I sink to sleep, n wing, My weary spirit seeks repose in thine;d dream forgotten dreams of heaven. Father! forgive my trespasses, and keep This little life of mine. ________ With loving4indness curtain thou my HIRAM RIell. bed, And cool in rest my burning pilgrim (u. a. A.) feet; Thy pardon be the pillow for my head,- IN

THE SEA. So shall my sleep be sweet. THE salt wind blows upon my cheek, As it Hew a year ago, At peace with all the world, dear Lord, When twenty boats were crushed among and thee, The rocks of Norman’s Woe. No fears my soul’s unwavering faith`T was dark then;`t is light now, can shake; And the sails are leaning low. All`s well, whichever side the grave for me In dreams, I pull the sea-weed o’er, The morning light may break! And find a face not his, And hope another tide will be _______ More pitying than this: The wind turns, the tide turns, - They take what hope there is.

HARRIET W. PRESTON. My life goes on as life must go, (u. a. A.) With all its sweetness spilled: My God, why should one heart of two THE SURVIVORS.

Beat on, when one is stilled? Through heaft-wreck, or home-wreck, IN this sad hour, so still, so late, Thy happy sparrows build. When flowers are dead, and birds are flown, Thou Close-sheltered from the blasts of Fate, gh boats go down, men build again Our little love burns brightly on, If Whatever wind may blow; blight be in the wheat one year, They trust again, and sow. Amid the wrecks of dear desire The grief comes, the chan~e comes That ri de the waves of life no more; The tides run high or lobw. ~s stranded voyagers light their fire Upon a lonely island shore. Some have their dead, where, sweet and calm, The summers bloom and go; And thoiigh we deem that soft and fair, The sea withholds my dead, - I walk Beyond the tempest arid the sea, The bar when tides are low, Our heart’s true homes are smiling, where And wonder how the grave-grass In life we never more shall be, - Can have the heart to grow!

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FRANCIS BRET HARTE. 299 Flow on, 0 un consenting sea, He with grave provincial magnates long And keep my dead below; bad held serene debate The night-watch set for me is long, On the Treaty of Alliance and the high But, through it all, I know, affairs of state; Or life comes or death comes, God leads the eternal flow. He, from grave provincial magnates, oft bad turned to talk apart With the Comandante’s daughter, on the questions of the heart, FRANCIS BRET RARTE. Until points of gravest import yielded slowly, one by one, (u. a. A.J And by Love was consummated what CONCHA.

Diplomacy begun; PRESIDIO DE SAN FR&NcIsco. Till beside the deep embrasures, where 1800. the brazen cannon are, He received the twofold contract for I. approval of the Czar; LooKING seaward, o’er the sand-bills stands the fortress, old and quaint Till beside the brazen cannon the beBy the San Francisco friars lifted to theis’ trothed bade adieu, patron saint, And, from sally-port and gateway, north Sponsor to that wondrous city, 110W apos tate to il~e creed, III. On whose youthful walls the Padre saw Long beside the deep embrasures, where the angel’s golden reed; the brazen cannon are, Did they wait the promised bridegroom All its trophies long since scattered, all and the answer of the Czar; its blazon brushed away, And the flag that flies above it but a Day by day on wall and bastion beat the triumph of to-day. hollow empty breeze, - Day by day the sunlight glittered on the Never scar of siege or battle challenges vacant, smiling seas; the wandering eye, - Never breach of warlike onset holds the Week by week the near bills whitened curious passer-by; in their dusty leather cloaks, - Week by week the far hills darkened Only one sweet human fancy interweaves from the fringing plain of oaks; its threads of gold With the plain and homespun present, Till the rains came, and far-breaking, on and a love that ne’er grows old; the fierce southwester tost, Dashed the whole long coast with color, Only one thing holds its crumbling walls and then vanished and were lost. above the meaner dust, -

Listen to the simple story of a woman’s So each year the seasons shifted; wet and love and frurt. warm and drear and dry; Half a year of clouds and flowers, -half Ir. a year of dust and sky. Count von Resanoff, the Russian, envoy Still it brought no ship nor message, - of the mighty Czar, brought no tidings ill nor meet Stood beside the deep embrasures where For the statesmanlike Commander, for the brazen cannon are. the daughter fair and sweet.

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300 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Yet she beard the varying message, So with proverbs and caresses, half in voiceless to all ears beside: faith and half in doubt, “He will come,” the flowers whispered; Everv day some hope was kindled, flick “Come no more,” the dry bills ered, faded, and went out. sighed. Still she found him with the waters lifted iv. by the morning breeze, - Yearly, down the hillside sweeping, came Still she lost him with the folding of thethe stately cavalcade, great white-tented seas; Bringing revel to vaquero, joy and com fort to each maid; Until hollows d~ased the dimples from her cheeks of olive brown, Bringing days of formal visit, social feast And at times a swift, shy moisture dragged and rustic sport; the long sweet lashes down; Of bull-baiting on the plaza, of love making in the court. Or the small mouth curved and quivered as for some denied caress, Va And the fair young brow was knitted in inly then at Concha’s lattice, -vainly an infantine distress. as the idle wind Rose the thin high Spanish tenor that Then the grim Commander, pacing where bespoke the youth too kind; the brazen cannon are, Comforted the maid with proverbs, -

Yainly, leaning from their saddles, ca wisdom gathered from afar; balleros, bold and fleet, Plucked for her the buried chicken from Bits of ancient observation by his fathers beneath their mustang’s feet; garnered, each As a pebble worn and polished in the So in vain the barren hillsides with their cnn-eat of his speech: gay serapes blazed, Blazed and vanished in the dust-cloud “`Those who wait the coming rider travel that their flying hoofs had raised. twice as far as he’; `Tired wench and comin,g butter never Then the drum called from the rampart, did in time agree. and once more with patient mien “`He that etteth himself honey, fl~ough The Commander and his daughter each a rio%vn, be shall have flies’; took up the dull routine, - `In the end God grinds the miller’;`In the dark the mole has eyes.’ Each took up the petty duties of a life apart and lone, “`He whose father is Alcalde, of his trial Till the slow years wrought a music in bath no fear, - its dreary monotone. And be sure the Count has reasons that will make his conduct clear.” V. Then the voice sententious faltered, and Forty years on wall and bastion swept the wisdom it would teach the hollow idle breeze, Lost itself in fondest trifles of his soft Since the Russian eagle fluttered from Castilian speech; the California seas. And on “Concha,” “Conchitita,” and Forty years on wall and bastion wrought “Con chits,” be would dwell its slow but sure decay; With the fond reiteration which the And St. George’s cross was lifted in the Spaniard knows so welL port of Monterey.

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FRANCIS BRET HARTE. 301 And the citadel was lighted, and the hall Till one arose, and from his pack’s scant was gayly drest, treasure All to honor Sir George Simpson, famous A hoarded volume drew, traveller and guest. And cards were dropped from hands of listless leisure Far and near the people gathered to the To hear the talc anew; costly banquet set, And exchanged congratulation with the And then, while romid them shadows English baronet; gathered faster, And as the firelight fell, Till the formal speeches ended, and He read aloud the book wherein the amidst the laugh and wine Master Some one spoke of Concha’s lover, - Had writ of “Little Nell.” heedless of the warning sign. Quickly then cried Sir George Simpson: Perhaps`t was boyish fancy, -for the “Speak no ill of him, I pray. reader Was youngest of them all, - He is dead. He died, poor fellow, forty But, as he read, from clustering pine an~ years ago this day. cedar A silence seemed to fall; “Died while speeding home to Russia, falling from a fractious horse. The fir Left a sweetheart too, they tell me.

-trees, gathering closer in the Married, I suppose, of course! shadows, Listened in eveiy spray, Lives abe yet l” A death-like silence While the whole camp, with “Nell” on English meadows, fell on banquet, guests, and hall, Wandered and lost their way. And atrembling figure rising fixed the awe-struck gaze of all. And so in mountain solitudes-o’ertaken Two blackeyesindarkenedorbitsg}eamed As by some spell divine beneath tbe nun’s white hood; Their cares dropped fi-om them like the Black serge hid the wasted flgiire, bowed needles shaken and stricken where it stood. From out the gusty pine. “Lives she yet?” Sir George repeated. Lost is that camp, and wasted all its fire: All were bushed as Concha dr~w And he who wrought that spell? Closer yet her nun’s attire. “Senor, Ah, towering pine, and stately Kentish pardon, she died too!” spire, Ye have one tale to tell!

DICKENS IN CAMP. Lost is that camp! but let its fragrant Anovx the pines the moon was slowly story Blend with the breath that thrills drifting, With hop-vines’ incense all the pensive The n~ver sang below; glory The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting That fills the Kentish hills. Their minarets of snow. The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, And on that grave where English oak pahited and holly The ruddy tints of health And laurel wreaths entwine, On haggard face, and form that drooped Deem it not all a too presumptuous and fainted folly, In the fierce race for wealth; This spray of Western pine!

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302 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. ANNIE D. GREEN (MARIAN A silvery bloom, with fadeless leaves; DOUGLAS). A mute confession was his g~ance, Eu. a. A.) Her blush a mute replying. THE PURITAN LOVERS. “Mehetabel! “(at last he spoke), “My fairest one and dearest! DRAWN out, like lingering bees, to share One thought is ever to my heart The last, sweet summer weather, The sweetest and the nearest. Beneath the reddening maples walked Two Puritans together, - “You read my soul; you know my wish; 0, grant me its fulfilling!” A youth and maiden, heeding not She answered low, “If Heaven smiles, The woods which round them bright-And if my father`a willing!”

ened, Just conscious of each other’s thoughts, No idle passion swayed her heart, Half happy and half frightened. This quaint New England beauty!

Faith was the guardian of her lifer Grave were their brows, and few their Obedience was a duty. words, And coarse their garb and simple-Too truthful for reserve, she stood, The maiden’s very cheek seemed 5y To own its worldly dimple. Her brown eyes earthward casting, And held with trembling band the while Her white life-everlasting. For stern the time; they dwelt with Care; Her sober answer pleased the youth, - And Fear was oft a comer; Frank, clear, and gravely cheerful; -A sober April ushered in He left her at her father’s door, The Pilgrim’s toilful summer. Too happy to be fearful. And stern their creed; they tarried here She looked on high, with earnest plea, Mere desert-land sojourners: And Heaven seemed bright above her They must not dream of mirth or rest, And when she shyly spoke his name, God’s hu’nble lesson-learners. Her father praised her lover. The temple’s sacred perfume round And when, that night, she sought her Their week-day robes was clinging; couch, Their mirth was but the golden bells With head-board high and olden, On priestly garments ringing.

Her prayer was praise, her pillow down, And all her dreams were golden.

But as to-day they softly talked, That serious youth and maiden, And still upon her throbbing heart, Their plainest words strange beauty wore, In bloom and breath undying, Like weeds with dewdrops laden. A few life-everlasting flowers, Her lover’s gift’ were lying. The saddest theme had something sweet, The gravest, something tender, 0 Yenns’ myrtles, fresh and green! While with slow steps they wandered on, - ~ Cupid’s blushing roses! Mid summer’s fading splendor. Not on your classic flowers alone The sacred light reposes; He said, “Next week the church will hold Though gentler care may shield your buds A day of prayer and fasting”; From north -winds rude and blasting, And then he stopped, and bent to pick As dear to Love, those few, pale flowers A white life-everlasting, - Of white life-everlasting.

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WILLIAM D. ~OWELLS. - S. M. 3. PIATT. 303 WfLLIAM D. HOWELL S. S. M. B.

PIATT. Eu. a. A.] (u. 5. A.J J3EFORE THE GATE. My OLD KENTUCKY NURS ~EY
gave the whole long day to idle I KNEW a Princess: she was old, laughter, Crisp-haired, flat-featured, with a look To fitful song and jest, Such as no dainty pen of gold To moods of soberness as idle, after, Would write of in a Fairy Book. And silences, as idle too as the rest. So bent she almost crouched, her face But wh~n at last upon their way return-Was like the Sphinx’s face, to me, ing, Touched with vast patience, desert grace, Taciturn, late, and loath, And lonesome, brooding mystery. Through the broad meadow in the sun set burning, What wonder that a faith so strong They reached the gate, one fine spell As hers, so sorrowful, so still, hindered them both. Should watch in hitter sands so long, Her beart was troubled with a subtile Obedient to a burdening will anguish Such as birt women know This Princess was a Slave, -like one I read of in a painted tale; That wait, and lest love speak or speak Yet free enough to see the sun, not languish, And a And what they would, would rather 11 the flowers, without a vail. they would not so; Not of the Lamp, not of the Ring, nothing compre-The helpless, powerful Slave was she, Till he said, -
manlike But of a subtler, fiercer Thing: hending Of all the wondrous guile She was the Slave of Slavery. That women won win themselves with, Court4ace nor jewels had she seen: and bending Eyes of relentless asking on her the She wore a precious smile, so rare while, - That at her side the whitest queen Were dark, -her darkness was so fair. “Ah, if beyond this gate the path united Our steps as far as death, Nothing of loveliest loveliness And I might open it! -” His voice This strange, sad Princess seemed to affrighted lack; At its own daring, faltered under his Majestic with her calm distress breath. She was, and beautiful though black: Then she-whom both his faith and fear Black, but enchanted black, and shut enchanted In some vague Giant’s to’er of air, Far beyond words to tell, Built higher than her hope was. But Feeling her woman’s finest wit had The Tru9 Knight came and found her wanted there. The art he had that knew to blunder so well-The Knight of the Pale Horse, be laid His shadowy lance against the spell Shyly drew near, a little step, and mock-That hid her Self: as if afraid, ing, The cruel blackness shrank and fell. Shall we not be too late For tea?” she said. “I’m quite worn Then, lifting slow her pleasant sleep, mit with walking: He took her with him through the night, Yes, thanks, your arm. And will you And swam a River cold and deep, - open the gate?” Au vanished up an awful Height.

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304 SONGS OF TIIREE CENTURIES. And, in her Father’s House beyonJ, When the world was in rhythm and life They gave her beauty, robe, and crown, was its rhyme; On me, I think, far, faint, and fond,`Where the stream of the years flowed so Her eyes to-day look, yearning, down. noiseless and narrow, That across it there floated the song of the sparrow; p For a sprig of green caraway carries me there, B. F. TAYLOR. To the old village church and the old When clear of the floor my feet slowly (U. 5. A.) swung And timed the sweet pulse of the praise THE OLD-FASHIONED CHOIR. as they sung I HAYE fancied sometimes, the old Bethel-Till the glory aslant from the afternoon bent beam, sun That trembled to earth in the Patriarch’s Seemed the rafters of gold in God’s temple dream, begun! Was a ladder of song in that wilderness You may smile at the nasals of old Dea rest con Brown, From the pillow of stone to the Blue of Who followed by scent till he ran the the Blest, tune down, - And the angels descending to dwell with And dear sister Green, with more good ns here, ness than grace, “Old Hundred” and “Corinth” and Rose and fell on the tunes as she stood “China”

and “Mear.” in her place, And where “Coronation” exultantly All the hearts are not dead, nor under flows, the sod, Tried to reach the high notes on the tips That those breaths can blow of her toes! Heaven and God! open to To the land of the leal they have gone Ah, “Silver Street “leads by a bright Where with their song, golden road, the choir and the chorus together 0, not to the hymns that in harmony belong. flowed, - 0, be lifted, ye Gates! Let me hear them But those sweet human psalms in the again, - old-fashioned choir, Blessed song, blessed Sabbath, forever To the girl that sang alto, -the girl that Amen! sang air! p “Let us sing in His praise,” the good minister said, All the psalm-books at once fluttered open LAURA C. RI~DDLN. at “York,” Sunned their long dotted wings in the (u. 5. A.) words that he read, While the leader leaped into the tune just MAZZINI. ahead, And politely picked up the key-note with A ~tGHT is out in Italy, a fork, A golden tongue of purest flame. And the vicious old viol went rowling We watched it burning, long and lone, along, And every watcher knew its name, At the heels of the girls, in the rear of And knew from whence its fervor came: the song. That one rare light of Italy, Which put self-seeking souls to shame! I need not a wing, -bid no genii come, With awonderful web from Arabian loom, This light which burnt for Italy To bear iue again up the river of Time, Through all the blackness of her night,

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JOHN HAY. 305 She doubted, once upon a time, Though merelY in a childish wise Because it took away her sight, I used to search for it betimes. She looked and said, “There is no llght!” It was thine eyes, poor Italy! It showed il~e face of God in man That knew not dark apart from bright.

Abandoned to his watch of pain, And given of his own good-will This flame which burnt for Italy, To every weaker thing’s disdain; It would not let her haters sleep. But from the darkness overhead They blew at it with angry breath, Two pitying angel eyes looked down. And only fed its upward leap, And only made it hot and deep. How often in the bitter night Its burning showed us Italy, Have I not fallen on my face, And all the hopes she had to keep. Too sick and tired of heart to ask God’s pity in my grievous case; This light is out in Ita]y, Till the dank deadness of the dark, Her eyes shall seek for it in vain! Receding, left me, pitiless. For her sweet sake it spent itself, Too early flickering to its wane, - Then have I said: “Ah! Christ the Lord! Too long blown over by her pain. God sent his angel unto thee; Bow down and weep, 0 Italy, But both ye leave me to myself, - Thou canst not kindle it again! Perclance ye do not even see!” Then was it as a`nighty stone Above my sunken heart were rolled.

UNAWARES. Now, in the moon’s transfiguring light, I seemed to see you in a dream; THE wind was whispering to the vines Your hatening face was silvered o’er The secret of the summer night; By one divinely radiant beam; The tinted oriel window gleamed I leant towards you, and my talk But faintly in the misty light; Was dimly of the haunting past. Beneath it we together sat In the sweet stillness of content. I took you through deep soundings where My freighted ships went down at noon, - Till from a slow-consenting cloud Gave glimpses of deflowered plains, Came forth Diana, bright and bold, Blown over by the hot Simoon; And drowned us, ere we were aware, Then I was silent for a space: In a great shower of liquid gold; “God sends no angel unto me!” And, shyly lifting up my eyes, I made acquaintance with your face. My heart withdrew into itself, When lo! a knocking at the door: And sudden something in me stirred, “Am I so soon a stranger here, And moved me to impulsive speech, Who was an honored guest before?” With little fiuttenugs between, Then looking in your eyes, I knew And little pauses to beseech, You were God’s angel sent to me! From your sweet graciousness of miud, Indulgence and a kindly ear. Ah! glad was I as any bird JOllN llAY. That softly pipes a timid note, To hear it taken up and trilled ` Out cheerily by a stronger throat, (u. 5. A.J When, free from discord and constraint, A WOMAN’S LOVE. Your thought responded to my thought. A SENTINEL angel sitting high in glory I had a carven missal once, Heard this shrill wail ring out from Fur. With graven scenes of “Christ, his Woe.” gatory: One picture in that quaint old book “Have mercy, mighty angel, hear my Will never from my memory go, story 20

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306 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. I loved, - and, blind with passionate ELIZABETH ~TUART PllELPS. love, I fell. Love brought me down to death, and Eu. a. A.) death to Hell. For God is just, and death for sin is welL ON

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. “I do not rage against bis high decree, IT chanceth once to every soul, Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be; Within a narrow hour of doubt and dok, But for my love on earth who mourns for me.

Upon Life’s Bridge of Sighs to stand, A palace and a prison on each hand.

“Great Spirit! Let me see my love ~ palace of the rose-heart’s hue! again And comfoft him one hour, and I were How like a flower the warm light falls fain from you! To pay a thousand years of fire and pain.” 0 prison with the hollow eyes! Then said the pitying angel, “Nay, Beneath your stony stare no flowers arise. repent 0 palace of the rose-sweet sin! That wild vow! Look, the dial-finger`5 How safe the heart that does not enter in! bent Down to the last hour of thy punish-0 blessed prison-walls! how true ment!” The freedom of the soul that chooseth you! But still she wailed, “I pray fl~ee, let me go! I cannot rise to peace and leave him so.

AM~ THE RIVERS. 0, let me soothe him in his bitter woe!” “ALL the rivers run into the sea.” Like the pulsiug of a river, The brazen gates ground sullenly ajar, The motion of a song, And upward, joyous, like a risiug star, Wind the olden words along She rose and vanished in the ether far.

The tortuous windiugs of my thought, when ever But soon adown the dying sunset sailing, I sit beside the sea. And like a wounded bird her pinions trailing, All the rivers run into the sea. She fluttered back, with broken-hearted 0 you little leaping river, walling. Laugh on beneath your breath! With a heart as deep as death, She sobbed, “I found him by the sum-Strong stream, go patient, brave and mer sea hasting never, Reclined, his head upon a maiden’s I sit beside the sea. knee, - She curled his hair nni kissed him. Woe All the rivers rim into the sea. is me!” Why the striving of a river, The passion of a soul? She wept, “Now let my punishment Calm the eternal waters roll -begin! Upon the eternal shore.

Somewhere, I bave been fond and foolish. Let me in whatever To expiate my sorrow and my sin.” Seeks it finds the sea. The angel answered, “Nay, sad soul, All the rivers run into the sea. go higher! 0 thou bounding, burning river, To be deceived in your frue heart’s Hurrying heart! I seem desire To know (so one knows in a dream) Was bitterer than a thousand years of That in the waiting heart of God forever fire!” Thou too shalt find the sea.

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REBECCA S. PALFREY. - WILLIAM C. GANNETt 307 REBECCA S. PALFREY. WILLIAM

C. GAN~ETT. (U. 5. A.J (u. s. A.J WHITE UNDERNEATH. LISTENING FOR GOD.

INTO a city street, I HEAR it often in the dark, Narrow and noisome, chance had led my I hear it in the light, - feet; Where is the voice that calls to me Poisonous to every sense; and the sun’s With such a quiet might? Loved rays It seems but echo to my thought, not the unclean place.

And yet beyond the stars; It seems a heart-heat in a hush, It seemed that no pure thing And yet the planet jars. Its whiteness here would ever dare to bring; 0, may it be that far within Yet even into this dark place and low, My inmost soul there lies God had sent down his snow. A spirit-sky, that opens with Those voices of surprise? And can it he, by night and day, Here, too, a little child That firmament serene Stood by the drift, now blackened and Is just the heaven where God himsd~ defiled; And with his rosy hands, in earnest play, The Father, dwells unseen? Scraped the dark crust away. 0 God within, so close to me That every thought is plain, Checking my hurried pace, Be judge, be friend, be Father still, To watch the busy hands and earnest face, And in thy heaven reign! I heard him laugh aloud in pure delight, Thy heaven is mine, -my very soul That underneath,`t was white. Thy words are sweet and strong; They fill my inward silences With music and with song. Then, through a broken pane, A woman’s voice summoned him in a gain, They send me challenges to right, With softened ni other-tones, that half And loud rebuke my ill; excused They ring my bells of victory, The unclean words she used. They breathe my “Peace, be still!” They ever seem to say, “My child, And as I lingered near, Why seek me so all day? His baby accents fell upon my ear: Now journey inward to tI,\yself, “See, I can make the snow again for you, And listen by the way. All clean and white and new!” Ah! surely God knows best. Our sight is short; faith trusts to him MARY G. BRAINERD. the rest.

we know, he gives to human Eu. 5. A.J To work out his commands. GOD

KNOWETH. I KNOW not what shall befall me, Perhaps he holds apart, God hangs a mist o’er my eyes, By baby fingers, in that mother’s heart, And so, each step of my onward path, One fair, cleau spot that yet may spread He makes new scenes to rise, and grow, And every joy he sends me comes Tifl all be white as snow. As a sweet and glad surpris~

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308 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. I see not a step before me, As tired of sin as any child As I tread on another year; Was ever tired of play, But the past is still in God’s keeping, When evening’s hush has folded ill The future his mercy shall clear, The noises of the day; And what looks dark in the distance May brighten as I draw near. When just for very weariness The little one will creep For perhaps the dreaded future Into the arms that have no joy Has less bitter than I think; Like holding him in sleep; The Lord may sweeten the waters Before I stoop to drink, And looking upward to thy face, Or, if Marah must be Marah, So gentle, sweet, and strong, He will stand beside its brink. In all its looks for those who love, So pitiful of wrong, It may be he keeps waiting Till the coming of my feet I pray thee turn me not away, Some gift of snch rare blessedness, For, sinful though I be, Some joy so strangely sweet, Thou knowest everything I need, That my lips shall only tremble And all my need of thee. With the thanks they cannot speak. And yet the spirit in my heart O
restful, blissful ignorance! Says, Wherefore should I pray `T is blessed not to know, That thou shouldst seek me wfth thylove, It holds me in those mighty arms Since thou dost seek alway; Which will not let me go, And hushes my soul to rest And dost not even wait until On the bosom which loves me so! I urge my steps to thee; But in the darkness of my life So I go on not knowing; Art coining still to me? I would not if I might; I would rather walk in the dark with I pray not, then, because I would; God, I pray because I must; Than go alone in the light; There is no meaning in my prayer I would rather walk with Him by faith, But thankfulness and trust. Than walk alone by sight. I would not have thee otherwise My heart shrinks back from t’~ials Than what thou ever art: Which the fliture may disclose, Be still thyself, and then I know Yet I never had a sorrow We cannot live apart. But what the dear Lord chose; So I send the coming tears back, But still thy love will beckon me, With the whispered word, “HE And still thy strength will come, knows.” In many ways to bear me up And bring me to my home. And thou wilt hear the thought I mean, And not the words I say; JOHN W. CHADWICK. Wilt hear the thanks among the words That only seem to pray; (u.5. A.J As if thou wert not always good, A SONG

OF TRUST. As if thy loving care Could ever miss me in the midst O Lo~

1)ivi~~, of all that is Of this thy temple fair. The sweetest still and best, Fain would I come and rest to.nigbt For, if I ever doubted thee, Upon thy tender breast; How could I any more!

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PAUL H. HAYNE. 309 This very night my tossing bark Pierce through the dark, oblivious brain, Has reached the happy shore; To make old thoughts and memories plain, - And still, for all my sighs, my heart Has sung itself to rest, Thoughts which perchance must travel 0 Love Divine, most far and near, back Upon thy tender breast. Across the wild, bewildering track Of countless nons; memories far, High-reaching as yon pallid star, PAUL II. llAY~E. Unknown, scarce seen whose flickering grace (u. & A.) Faints on the outmost rings of space! PR~EX1STENCE. WHILE sauntering through the crowded street, Some half-remembered face I meet, FROM THE

WOODS. Albeit upon no mortal shore WHY should I, with a mournful, morbid That face, methinks, has smiled before. Lament spleen, that here, in this half-desert Lost in a gay and festal throng, scene, I tremble at some tender song,- At My lot is placed? leastthe poet-winds are bold ani loud,Set to an air whose golden bars At least the sunset glorifies the cloud, I must have heard in other stars. And forests old and proud Rustle their verdurous banners o’er the In sacred aisles I pause to share waste.

The blessings of a priestly prayer, - When the whole scene which greets mine Perchance`t is best that I, whose Fate’s In eyes mode I recounize Seems eclipse 0 final, I, whose sluggish life wave slips As one whose every mystic part Languid away, - I feel prefigured in my heart. Should here, within these lowly walks, apart At sunset, as I calmly stand, From the fierce throbbings of the popA stranger on an alien sftand, ulous mart, Commune with mine own heart, Familiar as my childhood’s home While Wisdom hlooms fi’om buried Seems the long stretch of wave and foam. Hope’s decay.

One sails toward me o’er the bay, Nature, though wild her forms, susAnd what he comes to do and say tains me still; The founts are musical, - the barren I can foretelL A prescient lore hill Springs from some life outlived of yore. Glows with strange lights; Through solemn pine-groves the small -0 swfft, instinctive, startling gleams rivulets fleet Of deep soul-knowledge! not as dreams Sparkling, as if a Naiad’s silvery feet, In quick and coy retreat, For aye ye vaguely dawn aud die, Glanced through the star-gleams on calm But oft with lightning certainty summer nights;

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310 SONGS OF TRR~E CENTURIES. And the great sky, the royal heaven There came no murmur from the streams, above, Though nigh flowed Leither, Tweed, Darkens with storms or melts in hues and Quair. of love; While far remote, The days hold on their wonted )ace, Just where the sunlight smites the And men to eonrt and camp repair, woods with fire, Their part to fill, of good or ill, Wakens the multitudinous sylvan While women keep the House of Quair. choir; And one is clad in widow’s weeds, Their innocent love’s desire Poured in a rill of song from each har-And one is maiden-like and fair, monious throat. And day by day they seek the paths About the lonely fields of Quair. My walls are crumbling, but immortal To see the trout leap in the streams, looks Th Smile on me here from faces of rare e summer clouds reflected there, books: The maiden loves in pensive dreams Shakespeare consoles To hang o’er silver Tweed and Quair. My heart with true philosophies; a balm Within, in pall-black velvet clad, Of spiritual dews from humbler song Sits stately in her oaken chair or psalm A stately dame of ancient name Fills me with tender calm, The mother of the House of Quair. Or through hushed heavens of soul Mil ton’s deep thunder rolls! Her daughter broiders by her side, shattered With heavy drooping golden hair, And more than all, o’er And listens to her frequent plaint, - wrecks of Fate, The relics of a happier time and state, “Ill fare the brides that come to Quali. My nobler life “For more than one hath lived in pine, Shines on unquenched! 0 deathless And more than one bath died of car love that lies And more than one hath sorely sinned, In the clear midnight of those passion. Left lonely in the House of Quafr. ate eyes! Joy waneth!

Fortune flies! “Alas! and ore thy father died What then? Thou still art here, soul of I had not in his heart a share, my soul, my Wife! And now-may God forfend her ill Thy brother brings his bride to Qusir. She came; they kissed her in the hall, They kissed her on the winding stair, They led her to the chamber high, ISA CRAIG KNOX. The fairest in the House of Quair. They bade her from the window look, 3AM~AD OF THE BRIDES OF

QUAIR. And mark the scene how passing fafr, Among whose ways the quiet days A STILLNESS crept about the house, Would linger o’er the wife of Quair. At evenfall, in noontide glare; Upon the silent hills looked forth “`T is fair,” she said on looking forth, The many-windowed House of Quair.

“But what although`t were bleak and bare-” The peacock on the terrace screamed; She looked the love she did not speak, Browsed on the lawn the timid hare; And broke the ancient curse of Quair. The great trees grew i’

the avenue Calm by the sheltered House of`Quafr. “Where’er he dwells, where’ or he g~,es, His dangers and his toils I share. The pool was still; around its brim What need be said, -she was not one The alders sickened all the air; Of the ill-fated brides of Quair.

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HENRY TIMROD. -WALTER F. MITCHELL. 311 HENRY TIMROD. Still there`5 a sense of blossoms yet Un born 5. A.J In the sweet airs of morn; (ti. One almost looks to see the very street SPRING IN CAROLINA. Grow purple at his feet.

SPRiNG, with that nameless pathos in the At times a fragrant breeze comes floating Which air by, dwells wfth all things fair, And brings, you know not why, Spring, with her golden suns and silver A feeling as when eager crowds await rain, Before a palace gate Is with us once again. Some wondrous pageant; and you scarce Out in the lonely woods the jasmiaie burns would start, Its fragrant lamps, and turns If from a beech’s heart, Into a royal court with green festoons Ablue-eyed Dryad, stepping forth, should The banks of dark lagoons. say, Behold me! I am May!” In the deep heart of every forest tree The blood is all aglee, And fl~ere`5 a look about the leafless bowcrs WALTER F. MITCHELL. As if they dreamed of flowers. (u. a A.J Yet still on every side we trace the hand Of Winter in the land, TACKING SHIP OFF SHORE. Save where the maple reddens on the lawn, THE weafl~er-leech of the topsail shivers, Flushed by the season’s dawn; Tlie bowlines strain, and the lee-shrouds slacken, Or where, like those strange semblances The braces are taut, the lithe boom quivers, we find And the waves with the coming squallTIsat age to childhood bind, cloud blacken. The elm puts on, as if in Nature’s scorn, The brown of autumn corn. Open one point on the weather-bow, Is the lighthouse tall on Fire Island Head? As yet the turf is dark, although you There`5 a shade of doubt on the captain’s know That, not a span below, And brow, the pilot watches the heaving lead. A thonsand germs are groping through the gloom, I stand at the wheel, and with eager eyeAnd soon will burst their tomb. To sea and to sky and to shore I gaze, Till the muttered order of “Full and by’ In gardens you may note amid the dearth, Is suddenly changed for “Fullforstays! The crocus breaking earth; And near the snowdrop’s tender white The ship bends lower before the breeze, and green, As her broadside fair to the blast shelays The violet in its screen. And she swifter springs to the rising seas, As the pilot calls, “Stamd by for stays!” But many gleams and shadows need must pass It is silence all, as each in his place, Along the budding grass, With the gathered coil in his hardened And weeks go by, before the enamored bands, South By tack and bowline, by sheet and hrac, Shall kiss the rose’s mouth. Waiting the watchword bnpatient stands.

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312 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. And the light on Fire Island Head draws What matters the reef, or the rain, or the near, squall? As, trumpet-winged, the pilot’s shout I steady the helm for the open sea; From his post on the bowsprit’s heel I The first mate clamors, “Belay there, hear, all!” With the welcome call of, “Leady! And the captain’s breath once more comes About!” free. No time to spare! It is touch and go; And so off shore let the good ship fly; And the captain gr,,owls, “Down, helm! Little care I how the gusts may hlow, hard down! In my fo’castle bunk, in a jacket dry, As my weight on the whirling spokes I Eight bells have struck, and my watch is throw, below. While heaven grows black with the storm cloud’s frown. High o’er the knight-heads flies the spray, llARRIE T PRESCOTT

SPOFFORD. As we meet the shock of the plunging (U. 5. A.] sea; And my shoulder stiff to the wheel I lay, HEREAFTER. As I answer, “Ay, ay, sir!

H~-a-rd lee!” LovE, when all these years are silent, vanished quite and laid to rest, With the swerving leap of a startled steed When you and I are sleeping, folded The ship flies fast in the eye of the wind, breathless breast to breast, The dangerous shoals on the lee recede, When no morrow is before us, and the And the headland white we have left long grass tosses o’er us, behind. And our grave remains forgotten, orby alien footsteps pressed, - The topsails flutter, the jibs collapse, And belly and tug at the groaning cleats; Still that love of ours will linger, that The spanker slats, and the mainsail flaps; great love enrich the earth, And thunders the order, “Tacks ad Sunshine in the %eavenly azure, breezes sheets!” blowing joyous mirth; Fragrance fanning off from flowers, Mid the rattle of blocks and the tramp melody of summer showers, of the crew, Sparkle of the spicy wood-fires round the Hisses the rain of the rushing squall: happy autumn hearth. The sails are aback from clew to clew, That And now is the moment for, “Mainsail,`a our love. But you and I, dear, haul!” - shall we linger with it yet, Mingled in one dewdrop, tangled in one sunbeam’s golden net, - And the heavy yards, like a baby’s toy, On the violet’s purple bosom, I the By fifty strong arms are swiftly swung: sheen, but you the Hossom, She holds her way, and I look with joy Stream on sunset winds and be the haze For the first white spray o’er the bulwarks with which some hill is wet? flung. Or, beloved, -if ascending, -when we “Let go, an~d haul!”`T is the last com-have endowed the world mand, With the best blooin of our being, whfther And the head-sails fill to the blast once will our way be whirled, more-Through what vast and starry spaces, Astern and to leeward lies the land, toward what awfi’l holy places, With its breakers white on the shingly With a white light on our faces, spirit shore. over spirit furled?

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WILLIAM WINTER. - JOAQUIN MILLER. 313 Only this our yearning answers, -where-Come with a smile, auspicious friend, so’er that way defile, To usher in the eternal day! Not a film shall part us through the ~ons Of these weak terrors make an end, of that mighty while, And dsarm the paltry chains away In the fair eternal weather, even as That bind me to this timorous clay! phantoms still together, Floating, floating, one forever, in the And let me know my soul akin light of God’s great smile! To sunrise and the winds of morn, And every grandeur that has been Since this all-glorious world was born, Nor longer droop in my own scorn. SONG. Come, when the way grows dark and chill, IN the summer twilight, Come, when the baffled misid is weak, While yet the dew was hoar, And in the heart that voice is still I went plucking purple pansies Which used in happier days to speak, Till my love should come to shore. Or only whispers sadly meek.

The fishing-lights their dances Were keeph~g out at sea, Come with a smile that dims the sun! And, “Come,” I sang, “my true love, With pitying heart and gentle hand! Come hasten home to me!” And waft me, from a work that`5
done, But the sea it fell a-moaning, To peace that waits on thy command, In God’s mysterious better land! And the white gulls rocked thereon, And the young moon dropped from heaven, And the lights hid, one by one. All silently their glances Slipped down the cruel sea, And, “Wait,” cried the night and wind JOAQITIN MILLER. and storm, - (u. a. A.) “Wait till I come to thee.” FROM “WA~ER IN NICARAGUA.” SuccEss had made him more than king; YILLIAM TINTER. Defeat made him the vilest thing In name, contempt or hate can bring: a. A.] So much the loaded dice of war [u. Do make or mar of characten AZRAEL. Speak ill who will of him, he died Iss all disgrace; say of the dead Co~~wfth a smile, when come thou must, His heart was black, his hands were Ev.tngel of the woAd to be, red, - And touch and glorify this dust, - Say this much, and be satisfied. This sh~idden.ng dust that now is me, - And from this prison set me free! I lay this crude wreath on his dust, Inwove with sad, sweet memories Long in those awful eves I quail, Recalled here by these colder seas. That gaze across the grim profound: I leave the wild bird with his trust, Upon that sea there is no sail, To sing and say him nothing wrong; Nor any liglst, nor any sound, I wake no rivalry of song. From the far shore that girds it round.

He lies low in the levelled sand, Only-two still and steady rays, Unsheltered from the tropic sun, That those twin orbs of doom o’ertop; And now of all he knew, not one On]y-a quiet, patient gaze Will speak him fair, in that far land. That drinks my being, drop by drop Perhaps`t was this that made me seek, And bids the pulse of nature stop.` Disguised, his grave one winter.tide;

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314 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. A weakness for the weaker side, Brave old water.dogs, wed to the sea, A siding with the helpless weak. First to their labors and last to their rests, A palm not far held out a hand; Ships are moving! I hear a horn; IJard by a long green bamboo swung, A silver trumpet it sounds to me, And bent like some great bow unstrung, Deep-voiced and musical, far a-sea. And quivere{l like a willow wand; Answers back, and again it calls. Beneath a broad banana’s leaf,`T is the sentinel boats that watch the to~vn Perched on its fruits that crooked hung, All night, as mounting her watery walls, A bird in rainbow splendor sung And watching for pirate or smuggler. A low, sad song of tempered grief. Down Over the sea, and reaching away, No sod, no sign, no cross nor stone, And against the east, a soft light falls, - But at his side a cactus green Silvery soft as the mist of morn, Upheld its lances long and keen; And I catch a breath like the breath of It stood in hot red sands alone, Flat-palmed and fierce with lifted spears; day. One bloom of crimson crowned its head, The east is blossoming! Yea, a rose, A drop of blood, so bright, so red, Yast as the heavens, soft as a kiss, Yet redolent as roses’ tears. Sweet as the presence of woman is, in my left hand I held a shell, Rises and reaches and widens and grows All rosy lipped and pearly red; Right out of the sea, as a blossoming tree; I laid it by his lowly bed, Richer and richer, so higher and higher, For he did love so passing well Deeper and deeper it takes its line; The grand songs of the solemn sea. Brighter and brighter it ~`eaches through O shell! sing well, wild, with a will, The space of heaven and the place of stars, When storms blow hard and birds be still, Till all is as rich as a rose can be, The wildest sea-song known to thee! And my rose-leaves fall into billows of fire. Then beams reach upward as arms from I said some things, with folded hands, a sea; Soft whispered in the dim sea-sound, Then lances and arrows are aimed at me. And eyes held humbly to the ground, Then lances and spangles and spars and And frail knees sunken in the sands. bars He had done more than this for me, Are broken and shivered and strown on And yet I could not well do more: the sea; I turned me down the olive shore, And around and about me tower and spire And set a sad face to the sea.

Start from the billows like tongues of fire. SUNRISE IN VENICE. Ni~~v seems troubled and scarce asleep; UNKNOWN. Her brows are gathered in broken restSullen old lion of dark St Mark, DIFFERENT POINTS OF VIEW. And a star in the east starts up from the deep; S~iv~ the white owl to the martin folk, White as my lilies that grow in the west. In the belfry tower so grim and gray: Hist! men are passing hurriedly. “Why do they deafen us with these bells? I see the yellow wide wings of a bark Is any one dead or born to-day?” Sail silently over my morning.star. I see men move in the moving dark, A maftin peeped over the rim of its nest, Tall and silent as columns are, - And answered crossly: “Why, ain’t Great sinewy men that are good to see, you heard With hair pushed back and with open That an heir is coming to the great breasts; estate?” Barefooted fishermen seeking their boats, “I`ave n`t,” the owl said, “`pon my Brown as walnuts and hairy as goats, - word.”

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ANNA 3OYNTON AVERILL. 315 CcAremen born so, with that white cock-ANNA BOYNTON AVERILL ade?” Said the little field-mouse to the old brown rat.

(u. a A.-) “Why, you silly child,” the sage replied, “This is the bridegroom, -they know 3IRCH STREAM. him by that.” AT noon, within the dusty town, Saith the snail so sn ng in his dappled sh eli, Where the wild river rushes down, Slowly stretching one cautious horn, And thunders hoarsely all day long, hurrying by so brisk, think of thee, my hermit stream, As the beetle was Low sin” Much to his snailahip’s inward scorn: ing in thy summer dream, Thine idle, sweet, old, tranuil song. “Why does that creature ride by so fast? Has a fire broke out to the east or Noril~ward, Katahdin’s chasmed pile west?” Looms through thy low, long, leaf~ aisle, “Your Grace, he rides to the wedding. Eastward, Olamon’s summit shines; feast,” - And I upon thy grassy shore, “Let the,m,adman go.

What I want`a The dreaniflil, happy child of yore, rest. Worship before mine olden shrines. The swallows around the woodman skimmed, Again the sultry noontide hush Poising and turning on flashing wing-Is sweetly broken by the thrnsh, One said: “Howliveththislnmp of earth 2’ Whose clear hell rings and dies away in the air, he canneithersoarnorsrin~ Beside thy banks, in coverts deep, pg. Where nodding buds of on~his sleep “Over the meadows we sweep and dart, In dusk, and dream not it is day. Down with the flowers, or up in the skies; Again the wild cow-lily floats While these poor lumberers toil and slave, Her golden-freighted, tented boats, Half starved, for how cam they catch In thy cool coves of softened gloom, their flies?” O’ershadowed by the whispering reed, Quoth the dry-rot worm to his aftLsa And purple plumes of pickerel-weed, In the carpenter’s shop, as they boid And meadow-sweet in tangled bloom. to the sound of the saw and file! The startled minnows dart in flocks What are these creatures at work at, - Beneath thy glimmering amber i ocks, say?” If but a zephyr stirs the brake; The silent swallow swoops, a flash From his covered passage a worm looked Of light, and leaves, with dainty plash, out, A ring of ripples in her wake. And eyed the beings so busy o’erhead: “I scarcely know, my lord; but I think They`re making a box to bury their -Without, the land is hot and dim; dead!” The level fields in languor swim, Their stubble-grasses brown as dust; Says a butterfly with his wings of blue And all along the upland lanes, All in a flutter of careless joy, Where shadeless noon oppressive reigns, Dead roses wear their crowns of rust. As he talks to a dragon-fly over a flower: “Ours is a life, sir, with no alloy. Within, is neither blight nor death, “What arc those black things, row and The fierce sun woos with ardent breath, row, But cannot win thy sylvan heart.

~~Winding alongbythe new-mown hay?” Only the child who loves thee long, That is a funeral,” says the fly: With faithful worship pure and strong, “The carpenter buries his son to-day.” Can know how dear and sweet thou art.

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318 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. So loved I thee in days gone by, The summer day grew cool and late: So love I yet, though leagues may lie He went for the cows when the work Between us, and the years divide - was done; A breath of coolness, dawn, and dew, - But down the lane, as he opened the gate, A joy forever fresh and true, He saw them coming, one by one: Thy memory doth with me abide. Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess, Shaking their horns in the evening wiiid; KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD. Cropping the buttercups out of the grass, - (u. a. A.J But who was it followin close behind? DRIVING HOME THE COWS. Loosely swung in the idle air The empty sleeve of army blue; OUT of the clover and blue-eyed grass And worn and pale, from the crisping He tnn~e~l them into the river lane; hair, One after another he let them pass, Looked out a face that the father knew.

Then fastened the meadow bars again. Under the willows, and over the hill, For Sonthern prisons will sometimes He patiently followed their sober pace; yawn, The merry whisile for once was still, And yield their dead unto life again: And something shadowed the sunny And the day that comes with a cloudy face. dawn In golden glory at last may wane. Only a boy! and his father bad said He never could let his youngest go: The great tears sprang to their meeting Two already were lying dead, eyes; Under tlie feet of the trampling foe. For the heart must speak when the But after the evening work was done, And lips are dumb: And the frogs were loud in the niead-under the silent evening skies Over hiOs’s~hSo’\1~1n1)i~ he slung liis ~~n, Together they followed the cattle ho~e. And stealtliily followed the footpath damp. Across the clover, and through the wheat, LIZZIE G.

PARKER. With resolute heart aiid purpose grim, Though cold was the dew on his hurry- [u. a. A.] ing feet, And the blind hat’s flitting startled WAITING. him. Fon a foot that will not come, Thrice since then had the lanesbeen white, For a song that will not sound, And the orchards sweet with apple-I hearken, wait and moan aiway, bloom; And weary months go round. And now, when the cows came back at night, Never again in the world The feeble father drove them home. Shall that lost footstep be; Nor sea, nor bird, nor reedy wind For news had come to the lonely farm Can match that song to me. That three were lying where two had lain; But in the chants of heaven, And the old man’s tremulous, palsied And down the golden street, arm My heart shall single out that song Could never lean on a son’s again. And know that touch of feet.

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EDWIN ARNOLD. 317 He and she; still she did not move EDWIN ARNOLD. To any one passionate whisper of love. “lIE AND SH~.” Then he said: “Cold lips and breasts without breath, SilE is dead!” they said to him. Is there no voice, iio language of death? “Conie away; Kiss her and leave her, il~y love is clay!” “Dumb to il~e ear and still to the sense, They smoothed her tresses of dark brown But to heart and to soul distinct, intense? hair; “See now; I will listen wftb soul, not ear; On her forehead of stone il~ey laid it fair; What was the secret of dying, dear? Over her eyes that gazed too much They drew the lids with a gentle touch; “Was it the infinfte wonder of all That you ever could let life’s flower fall? Wiil~ a tender touch they closed up well The sweet thin lips that had secrets to “Or was it a greater marvel to feel tell; The perfect calni o’er tlie agony steal?

About her brows and beautifnl face “Was tliemiracle greater tofind how deep They tied her veil and he r marriage lace, Beyond all dreams sank downward that sleep? And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes “Did life roll back its records, dear, Whidi were the whitest no eye could Aiid show, as they say it does, past choose things clear? And over her bosom tliey crossed her “And was it the innerniost heart of the hands. bliss “Come away!” they said; “God underTo find out so, what a wisdom love is?

stands.” And there was silence, and nothing there “ perfect dead! 0 dead niost dear, But silence, and scents of egiantere, I hold the breatli of my 50 til to hear! And jasmine, and roses, and rosemary; “I listen as deep as to horrible hell, And they said, “As a lady should lie, As high as to heaven, and you do not tell. lies she.” “There must he pleasure iii dying, sweet, And they held their breath till they left To make you so placid from head to feet! the room, With a shudder, to glance at its still- “I would tell you, darling, if I were dead, ness and glooni. And`t were your hot tears upon my brow But he who loved her too well to dread shed; The sweet, the stately, the heautiful “I would say, though the Angel of Death dead, had laid He lit his lamp and took the key His sword on my lips to keep it unsaid. And turned it, aloneagain~he and she. “You should not ask vainly, with stream He and she; but she would not speak ing eyes, Though he kissed, in the old place, th’e Which of~all deaths was the chiefest sur quiet cheek. prise, He and she; yet she would not smile, “The very strange,st and suddenest thi’ig Though he called her the name she loved Of all the surprises that dying must erewhile. bring.”

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318 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Ah, foolish world! 0 most kind dead! That treasure of his treasury, Though he told me, who will believe it A mind iliat loved him; let it lie! was said? Let the shar~l be earth’s once more, Since the gold shines in his store! 7ho vill believe that he beard her say With the sweet, soft voice, in the dea~ Allah glorious! Allah good! old way: Now thy world is understood; Now the long, long wonder ends; “The utmost wonder is this, - I hear Yet ye weep, Iny erring fliends, And see you, and love you, mid kiss Tliile the`nan whom ye call dead, ln iinsi)oken bliss, insteal, you, dear; Lives and loves you; lost,`t is true, And am your angel, who was your l~v such light as sli ines for you; bride, I3\it in tlie liglit ye cannot see And know that, t,hough dead, I have ~~~ niifi’lfilled felicity, - never died.’ In enlarging pai’a~lise, Lives a life that never dies. arewell, friends! Yet not farewell; AFTER DEATH IN ARABI Where I am, ye, too, shall dwell. 1 am gone before your face, HE who died at Azan sends A moment’s time, a little space. This to comfort all bes friends: When ye come where I have stepped, Ye will wonder why ye wel)t; Faithful friends! It lies, I know, Ye will know, by wise love taught, Pale and white and cold as snow; That here is all, and thej’e is naught. An(l ye say, “Abdallab`5 dead! Weep awhile, if ye are fila, - Veeping at the feet anl head, Sunshiiie still`iiust follow rain; 1 can see your fallh~g tears, Only not at death, -for death, I can hear your sighs and )rayers; Now 1 know, is that first lnath Yet I smile and whisper this, - Which our souls draw when we enter “I am not the thing you kiss; Life, which is of all life centre. Cease your tears, and let it lie; It`was mine, it is not I.” Be ye certain all seems love, `iewed froni Allah’s throne above Sweet friends! What the women lave Be ye stout of heart, and come For its last bed of the grave, Bravely onward to your home! Is but a liut which 1 am 1uitting La Allalt illa A11a1!

yea! Is a gafl~ent no more fittin Thou love divine! Thou love alway! Is a cage from whi~h, at last, Like a hawk my soul hath passed. lie that died at Azan gave Love the inmate, not the room, - This to those who made his grave. The wearer, not the garb, - the plume Of the falcon, not the bars Which kept hhn from those splendid stars. Loving friends! Be wise and dry IJNKNO~TN. Straightway every weeping eye, - What ye lift upon the bier UNSEEN. Is not worth a wistflil tear. `T is an empty sea-shell, - one A’r the spflng of an arch in the great Out of which the pearl is gone; north tower, The shell is broken, it lies there; High`q~ on the wall. is an angel’s head; The pearl, the all, the soul, is here. And beneath it is carved a lily flower, `T is an earthen jar, whose lid With lelicate wings at the side out Allah sealed, the while it hid spread.

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HARRTET 0. NELSON. 319 They say that the sculptor wrought from`Some craving for an unknown good, the face That in the spirit fluttered, Of his youth’s lost love, of his prom ised bride, Our footsteps sought the humble bousc And when he had added the last sad Unmarked by cross or towenug steeple, grace Where for their First-day gathering came To the features, he dropped his chisel God’s plain and simple people? and died. The air was soft, the sky was large, And the worshippers throng to the shrine The grass as gay with golden flowers below, As if the last night’s sky had fallen And the sight-seers come with their On earth in starry showers.

curious eyes, But deep in the shadow, where none And, as we walked, the apple-trees may know Shed their late bloom for every comer~ Its beauty, the gem of his carving lies. Our souls drank deep of joy and peace, For it was youil~ and summer. Yet at early morn on a mldsummer’ a day, Yet through the doorway, mde and low, When the sun is far to the north, for The plain-robed folk we followed after, the space Our steps, like theirs, demure and slow, Of a few short minutes, there falls a ray Our lips as free from laughter. Through an amber pane on the angel’s face. We sat apart, but still were near As souls may draw unto each other It was wrought for the eye of God, and Who seek through stronger love to God it seems A nobler love fo brother. That he blesses the work of the dead man’s hand How deep the common silence was; With a ray of the golden light that How pure and sweet those woman faces, streams Which patience, gentleness, and peace 011 the lost that are found in the Had stamped with heavenly graces. deathless land. No noise of prayer came through the hush, No praise sang through the portals lowly, llARRIET 0. NELSON. Save merry bird-songs from without, (u. a A.] Then daily toil was glorified, THE

QUIET MEETING. And love was something rarer, finer; The whole earth, sanctified througk DEAR friend of old, whom memory links Christ, With sunny hour and summer weather, And human life, diviner. Do you wfth me remember yet That Sabbath morn together, And when at length, by lips of age, The silent hour was fitly broken, When sfta~ying from our wonted ways, Our hearts found echo in the words From prayer and song and priestly From wise experience spoken. teacher, Those kind, sweet helps by which the Then at the elder’s clasp of hand Lord We rose and met beneath the portal; Stoops to his yearning creature, Some earthly dust our lives had lost, And something gained immortal. And led by some faint sense of need Which each in each perceived unut-Since then, when sermon, psalm, and rite, tered, And solemn organ’s tuneful pealing,

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320 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. All fail to raise my sluggish sense D0U13T

To higher thought aud feeling, The mountain’s image trembling in the lake: My mind goes back the winding track Look up. Perhaps the mountain does Ofyears whose flight hath left me lonely, not quake. Once more my soul is upward drawn, And hears the spirit only. DEFEAT. _______ One of the stairs to heaven. Halt not to count What you have trampled on. Look up, W. J.

LINTON. and mount. FAILURE. Who knows?-Each year, as does the MIDWINTER.

wheat-seed, dies; MIDWINTER comes to-morrow And so God harvests his eternities. My welcome guest to be; White-haired, wide-winge’d sorrow, F0RGIyENES5. With Christmas gifts for me Thy angel, God! - I thank thee still, The condonation of a wrong. What Thy will be done, thy better will!

Even then? the wrong-doers are our brother I thank thee, Lord! -the whiteness men! Of winter on my heart Shall keep some glint of brightness, oBSTINAcT. Though sun and stars depart. A mule wfth blinkers. Ay, he goes quite Th~u smilest on the snow; thy will straight, Is dread and drear, but lovely still. Runs at the gate-post, and will miss the gate. PRUDENcE.

DEFINITIONS. The saddle-girth of valor. Thou art wise WIsDOM. To gird it well, but not around thy eyes. THE perfect sight of duty; thought which PATRIOTISM. moulds A rounded life, and its true aims beholds. Not the mere holding a great flag un furled, REVERENcE. But making it the goodliest in the Obeisance unto greatness understood; world. The first step of a human.

life toward good. NARROWNEss. SERVIcE. Be narrow! -as the bud, the flame, the Think wiiat God doth for man; so mayst dart thou know But narrow’ in thy aim, ROt at thy heart. How godlike Service is, and serve also. WEALTH.

DESPAIR. Cornelia’s jewels; blind old Milton’s The shadow of a slave who turns his back thought; On the light, and cries, “The universe Job’s patience; and the lesson Lazan~~ is black!” taught.

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MARGARET J. PRESTON. - ERASTUS W. ELLSWORTH. 321 MARGARET J. PRE~TON Have gloomed their worship this thou sand years. (u. a. A.1 “`For Christ and bis truth I stand alone READY. In the midst of millions: a sand-grain blown I WOULD be ready, Lord, Against you temple of ancient stone My house ill order set, None of the work thou gavest me “`As soon may level it!’

Faith fors,~ To do, unfinished yet. My soul, as I turned on the pile to Then rising, my saddened way I to~k I would be watching, Lord, With lamp well trimmed and clear, “To its lofty roof, for the coolei air: Quick to throw open wide the door, I gazed, and marvelled - ho~ crumbled What time thou drawest near. were The walls I had deemed so firm and fair! I would be waiting, Lord, Because I cannot know “For, wedgedinarift of the massive stone, If in the night or morning watch Most plainly rent by L~ts roots alone, I may be called to go.` A beautiful peepul-tree had grown: I would be working, Lord, “Whose gradual stress would still expand Each day, each hour, for thee The crevice, and topple upon the sand Assured that thus I wait thee well, The temple, while o’er its wreck should Whene’er thy coming be. stand I would be living, Lord, “The tree in its living verdure -Who As ever in thine eye; Could compass the thought I-The bird For whoso lives the nearest thee that flew The fittest is to die. Hitherward, dropping a seed that grew, “Did more to shiver this ancient wall Than earthquake, - war, - simoon, - or A BIRD’S MINISTRY. all FuoM’ his home in an Eastern bungalow, The centuries, in their lapse and fall! In sight of the everlasting snow “Then I knelt by the riven granite there, Of the grand Himalayas, row on row, And my soul shook off its weight of (`are, As my voice rose clear on the tropic air: - Thus wrote my friend: - “I had travelled far “`The living seeds I have dropped remain From the Afghan towers of Candahar, In the cleft: Lord, quicken with dew and Through the sand-whfte plains of Sinde-rain, Sagar; Them temple and mosque shall be rent “And once, when the daily march was o’er,in twain!”’ As tired I sat in my tented door, Hope failed me, as never it failed before. “In swarming city, at wayside fane, ERAS TUB W. ELLSWORTH. By the Indus’ bank, on the scorching plain, (U. 5. A.J I had taught, - and my teaching all seemed vain. WHAT IS THE USE? “`No glimmer of light (I sighed) appears; I SAW a man, by some accounted wise, The Moslem’s Fate and the Buddhist’s For some things said and done before f~ai’s I their eyes, 2-1

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322 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Quite overcast, and in a restless muse, “Some pray for wealth, and seem to pray Pacing a path about, aright; And often giving out: - They heap until themselves are out of “What is the use?” sight; Yet stand, iii charities, not over shoes, Then I, with true respect: What meanest And ask of their old age thou As an old ledger page, By those strange words, and that unset-What is the use?.. - tled brow?

Health, wealth, the fair esteem of ample “The strife for fame and the high praise views, of power, To these things thou art born Is as a man, who, panting up a tower, But lie, as one forlorn: Bears a great stone, then, straining all his “What is the use?” thews, Heaves it, and sees it make “I have surveyed the sages and their A splashing iii a lake. books, What is the use 2 Man, and the natural world of woods and brooks, “Should some new star, in the fair evenSeeking that perfect good that I would ing sky, choose; Kindle a blaze, startling so keen an eye But find no perfect good, Of fian~ings eminent, athwart the dews, Settled and understood. Our thoughts would say, No doubt What is the use? That star will soon burn ont. What is the use? “Life, in a poise, bangs tremNing on the beam, “Who`11 care for me, when I am dead Even in a breath bonndingto each extreme and gone? Of joy and sorrow; therefore I refuse Not many now, and surely, soon, not one; All beaten ways of bliss, And should I sing like an immoftal Muse, And only answer this: Men, if they read the line, What is the use? Read for their good, not mine; What is the use2 “The hoodwinked world is seeking hap pi1~ess. “Spirit of Beauty! Breath of golden `Which way!` they cry,`here?“no!` lyres! `there?’`who can guess?’ Perpetual tremble of immortal wires! And so they grope, and grope, and grope, Divinely torturing rapture of the Muse! and cruise Conspicuous wretchedness! On, on, till life is lost, Thou starry, sole success! - At bliudnian’s with a ghost. What is the use? What is the use? “Doth not all struggle tell, upon its brow, “Love first, with most, then wealth, disThat he who makes it is not easy now, tinction, fanie, Bnt hopes to be?

Yain hope that dost Quicken the blood and spirit on the game. abuse! Some try them all, and all alike accuse: Coquetting with thine eyes, `I have been all,’ said one, And fooling him who sighs. `And find that all is none.’ What is the use? What is the use? “Go pry the lintels of the pyramids; “In woman’s love we sweefly are undone, lAft the old kings’

mystenous coffin-lidsWilling to attract, but harder to be won, This dust was theirs whose names these Harder to keep is she whose love we choose.

stones con fuse, Loves are like flowers that grow These mighty monuments In soils on fire below. Of mighty discontents. What is the use? What is the use?

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ERASTUS W. ELLSWORTR. 323 “Didnotbesumitall, whoseGateofPearls Souls on a globe that spins our lives Blazed royal Ophir, Tyre, and Syrian away, - -

A multitudinous woild, where Heaven `1~e gr~5~b, ~~~~ famous monarch of the and Hell, Jews? Strangely iii battle met, Though rolled in grandeur vast, Their gonfalons have set. He said of all, at last: What is the use?

Dust il-inugh we are, an dsha~lreturnto dust, “0, but to take, of life, the natural good, Yet being born to battles, ght we must; Even as a her’ijft caverned in a wood, Under which ensign is our only choice. More sweetly fills my sober-suited view We know to wage our best, Than sweating to attain God only knows the rest. Any luxurious pain. Then since we see about us sin and dole, What is the use? And some tliings good, wliy not, with hand and soul, “Give me a hermit’s life, wfthout his Wrestle and succer out of wrong and beads, - sorrow, - His lantern-jawed, and moral.mouthing Grasping the swor&s of strife, creeds; Making the niost of life? Systems and creeds the natural heart abuse. Yea, all thatwe canwield ~worththe end, What need of any book, If sought as God’s and man’s most loyal Or spiritual crook? friend. Wliat is the use? Naked we come into the world, and take Weapons of various skill, - “I love, and God is love; and I behold Let us not use them ill. Man, Nature, God, one triple chain of gold, - As for the creeds, Nature is dark at Nature in all sole oracle and muse. best; What should I seek, at all, And darker still is the deep bum an breast. More than is natural? Therefore consider well of creeds and What is the use?” books, Lest thou mayst somewhat fail Seeing this man so heathenly inclined, -Of things beyond the vail. So wilted in the mood of a good mind, I felt a kind of heat of earnest thought; Nature was dark to the dim starry age And studying in reply, Of wiatfal Job: and that Athenian sage,, Answered him, eye to eye: Pensive in piteous thought of Faith 5 distress; Thou dost amaze me that thou dost mis-For still she cried, with tears: take “More light, ye crystal spheres!” The wanderin grivers for the fountain lake. What is the end of living?-happiness? But rouse thee, man! Shake off ilils An end il~at none attain, hideous death! Argues a purpose Be man! Stand up! Draw in a mighty vain. breath! Plainly, this world is not a scope for bliss This world has quite enough emasculate But duty. Yet we see not all that is,` - hands, Or may be, some day, if we love the Dallying with doubt and sin. light.

Come-here is work-begin! What man is, in desires, Whispers where man aspires. Come, here is work - and a rank field - begin. But what and where are we? what now Put thou thijie edge to the great weeds -to-day? of sin;

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324 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. So shalt thou find the use of life, and see To make me own this hind of princes Thy Lord, at set of sun, peer, Approach and say, “Well done!” This rail-splitter ~ true-born king of men.

This at the last: They clutch the sapless fruit, My shallow judgment I had learned to rue, Ashes and dust of the Dead Sea, who Noting how to occasion’s height he rose, suit How his quaint wit m~de home-truth Their course of life to compass happiness; seem more true, But be it understood How, iron-like, his temper grew by That, to be greatly good, blows. All is the use. How humble, yet howhopeful he could be How in good fortune and in ill the same: TOM TAYLOR. Nor bitter in success, nor boastful he, Thirsty for gold, nor feverish for fame. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. (From “THE LONDON

PcNca.”) He went about his work, -such work as few You lay a wreath on murdered Lincoln’s Ever had laid on head and heart and bier, hand, - You, who with mocking pencil wont As one who knows, where there`a a task to trace, to do, Broad for the self-complacent British Man’s honest will must Heaven’s good sneer, grace command; His length of shambling limb, his fur rowed face. Who trusts the strength will with the His gaunt, gnarled hands, his unkempt, burden grow, bristling hair, That God makes instruments to work Hisgarbuncouth, hisbearingill at ease, If his will, His lack of all we prize as debonair,but that will we can arrive to know, Of power or will to shine, of art to Nor tamper with the weights of good please. and ilL You, whose smart pen backed up the So he went forth to battle on the side pencil’s laugh, That he felt clear was Liberty’s and Judging each step, as though the way Right’s, were plain-As in his peasant boyhood he bad plied Reckless, so it cou’ld point its paragraph, His warfare with rude Nature’s thwart Of chie~s perplexity or people’s pain. ing mights, - Beside this corpse, that bears for wind-The uncleared forest, the unbroken soil, ing-sheet The stars and stripes he lived to rear The iron bark that turns the lumberers anew, axe, Between the mourners at his head and The rapid that o’erbears the boatman’s feet, toil, Say, scurril-jester, is there room for TJie prairie, hiding the mazed wander you? er’s tracks. Yes, lie had lived to shame me from my The ambushed Indian, and the prowling sneer, bear, - To lame my pencil, and confute my Such were the needs that helped his pen, - youth to train:

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MRS. MILES. 325 Rough culture, but such trees large And with the martyr’s crown crownest a fruit may bear, life If but their stocks be of right girth and With much to praise, little to be for grain. given. So he grew up, a destined work to do, And lived to do it; four long-suffering years’

Ill - fate, ill-feeling, ill - report, lived MRS. MILES. through, And then he heard the hisses change to cheers. IIYMN TO CHRIST. The taunts to tribute, the abuse to praise, THOU, who didst stoop below And took both with the same unwaver-To drain the cup of woe, ing mood: Wearing the form of frail mortality, Till, as he came on light, from darkling Thy blessed labors done, days, Thy crown of victory won, And seemed to touch the goal from Hast passed from earth, -passed to where he stood, tliy throne on high. A felon had, between the goal and him,Our eyes behold thee not, Reached from behind his back, a trigger Yet hast thou not forgot prest, -

Those who have placed their hope, their And those perplexed and patient eyes trust, in thee: were dim, Bef Those gaunt, long-laboring limbs were ore thy Father’s face laid to rest! Thou hast prepared a place, That where thou art, there may they also be. The words of mercy were upon his tips, Forgiveness in his heart and on his pen, When this vile murderer brought swift It was no path of flowers, eclipse Through this dark world of ours, To thoughts of peace on earth, good-Beloved of the Father, thou didst tread; will to men. And shall we in dismay Shrink from the narrow way, The Old World and the New, from sea When clouds and darkness are around it to sea, spread? Utter one voice of sympathy and shame! 0 Thou who art our life, Sore heart, so stopped when it at last Be with us through the strife; beat high; Was not thy head by earth’s fierce tem Sad life, cut short just as its triumph pests bowed? came. Raise thou our eyes above To see a Father’s love A deed accurst! Strokes have been struck Beam, like a bow of promise, through the before cloud. By the assassin’s hand, whereof men doubt If more of horror or disgrace they bore; E’en through the awful gloom, But thy foul crime, like Cain’s, stands Which hovers o’er the tomb, darkly out. That light of love our guiding star shall be; ~ile hand, that brandest murder on a Our spirits shall not dread strife, The shadowy way to tread, Whate’er its grounds, stoutlyandnobly Friend! Guardian! Saviour!

which doth striven; lead to thee!

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32~ SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. F. M. FINCll. Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day (u. 5. A.J Love mid tears for the Blue, Tears and love for the Gray. THE 13LUE AND THE GRAY. Bv the flow of tlie inland river, Whence the fleets of iron have fled, Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, llENRY ABBLY. Asleep are fl~e ranks of the dead;Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day;- THE STATUE. Under the one, the Blue; Under the other, the Gray. IN Athens, when all learning centred there, From the silence of sorrowful hours Men reared a column of surpassing height The desolate mourners go, In honor of Minerva, wise and fair, Lovingly laden with flowers And on the top, that dwindled to the Alike for the friend and the foe; sight, Under the sod and the dew, A statue of the goddess was to stand, Waiting the judgment day;- That wisdom might obtain in all the Under the roses, the Blue; land. Under the lilies, the Gray. So with an equal splendor And he who, with the beauty in his heart, The morning sun-rays fall, Seeking in faultless work immortal With a touch, impartially tender Would youth, On the blossoms blooming for all’

mould this statue with the finest Under the sod and the dew,` art, Waiting the judgment day;- Making the win try marble glow with `Broidered with gold, the Blue; truth, Mellowed with gold, the Gray. Should gain the prize. Two sculptors sought the fame; The prize they craved was an enduring So, when the summer calleth, name. On forest and field of grain With an equal murmur falleth Alcamenes soon carved his little best; The cooling drip of the rain; - But Phidias, beneath a dazzling Under the sod mid the dew, thought Waiting the judgment day That like a bright sun in a cloudless west Wet with the rain, the Blue; Lit up his wide, great soul, with pure Wet with the rain, the Gray. love wrought A statue, and its face of changeless stone Sadly, but not with upbraiding, With calm, far-sighted wisdom toweret The generous deed was done; and shone. In the storm of the years that are fading, No braver battle was won;- Then to be judged the labors were unUnder the sod and the dew, veiled; Waiting the judgment day; But at the marble thought, that by Under tiie blossoms, the Blue; degrees Under the garlands, the Gray. Of hardship Phidias cut, the people railed.

“The lines are coarse; the form too No more shall the war-cry sever, large,” said these; Or the winding rivers be red; “And he who sends this rough result of They banish our anger forever haste When they laurel the graves of our dead! Sends scorn, and offers insult to our taste.

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JOHN 3URROUGHS. - SARAH WOOLSEY. 27 Meamenes’ praised work was lifted high What matter if I stand alone? Upon the capital where it might stand; I wait with joy the coming years; But there it seemed too small, and`gainst My heart shall reap where it has sown, the sky And garner up its fruit of tears. Had no proportion from the uplookin land; The waters know their own and draw So it was lowered, and quickly put aside, The brook that springs in yonder height. And the scorned thought was mounted So flows the good wfth equal law t9 he tried. Unto the soul of pure delift. Surprise swept o’er the faces of the crowd, The stars come nighily to the sky; And changed them as a sudden breeze The tidal wave unto the sea; may change Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, A field of fickle grass, and long and loud Can keep my own away from me. Their mingled shouts to see a sight so strange. The statue stood completed in its place, ach coarse line melted to a line of grace. SARAH WOOLSEY. So bold, great actions, that are seen too (u. S. A.) near, Look rash and foolish to unthinking IN ThE MISt eyes; SITTIN all day in a silver mist, They need the past for distance to ap-In silver silence all the day, pear Save for the low, soft hiss of spray In their true grandeur. Let us yet be And the lisp of sands by waters kissed, wise And not too soon our neighbor’s deed As the tide draws up the bay. malign, Little I bear and nothing I see, For what seems coarse is often good and Wrapped in that veil by fairies spun; flue. The solid earth is vanished for me -4-And the shining hours speed noiselessly, A woof of shadow and sun. JOHN BURROUGHS.

Suddenly out of the shifting veil lit, (u. 5. A.) Flits like a dream-or seems to flit With a golden prow and a gossanier sail, WAITING. And the waves make room for it. SERENE, I fold my hands and wait, A fair, swift bark fromsomeradiantrealm, Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea; Its diamond cordage cuts the sky I rave no more`gainst time or fate, In glittering lines, all silently For lo! my own shall come to me. A seeming spirit holds the helm And steers. Will he pass me by? I stay my baste, I make delays, Ah! not for me is the vessel here, For what avails this eager pace? Noiseless and swift as a sea-bird’s flight I stand amid the eternal ways, She swerves and vanishes from the And what is mine shall know my face. sight; No flap of sail, no parting cheer, - Asleep, awake, by night or day, She has passed into th6 light. The friends I seek are seeking me; No wind can drive my bark astray, Sitting some day in a deeper mist, Nor change the tide of destiny. Silent, alone, some other day,

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328 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. All unknown bark, from an unknown Those faces brighten from the years bay, In rising suns long set in tears; By unknown waters lapped and kissed, Those hearts, -far in the Past they bea~

Shall near me through the spray. Unheard within the morning street. No flap of sail, no scra~ng of keel A city of the world’s gray prime, Shadowy, dh~, with a banner ar Lost in some desert far from Time, It will hover, will pause, and I shall`feel Where noiseless ages, gliding through, A hand which grasps me, and shivenn Have only sifted sand and dew, steal n Yet a mysterious band of man To the cold strand, and embark.

Lying on all the haunted plan, The passions of the human heart Quickening the marble breast of Art, - Embark for that far, mysterious realm Were not more strange to one who first Where the fathomless, trackless waters Upon its ghostly silence burst flow. Than this vast quiet where the tide Shall I feel a Presence dim, and know Of life, upheaved on either side, Thy dear hand, Lord, upon the helm, Hangs trembling, ready soon to beat Nor be afraid to go? With human waves the morning street. And through black waves and stormy Ay, soon the glowing morning flood blast Breaks through the charm6d solitude: And out of the fog-wreaths, dense and This silent stone, to music won, dun, Shall murmur to the rising sun; Guided by thee, shall the vessel run, The busy place, in dust and heat, Gain the fair haven, night being past, Shall rush with wheels and swarm with And anchor in the sun? feet; The Arachne.threads of Purpose stream Unseen within the morning gleam; The life shall move, the death be plain; The bridal throng, the funeral train, JOHN JAMEB PIATT. Together, face to f~ce, shall meet And pass within the morning street. Eu. a. A.J THE MORNING STREET. ALoNE I walk the morning street, RICHARD W. GILDER. Filled with the silence vague and sweet: All seems as strange, as still, as dead, (u. a. A.l As if unnumbered years had fled, DAWN. Letting the noisy Babel lie Breathless and dumb against the sky; TEE night was dark, though sometimes The light wind walks with me alone a faint star Where the hot day flame-like was blown, A little while a little space made bright. Where the wheels roared, the dust was The night was long and like an iron beat; bar The dew is in the morning street. Lay heavy on the land: till o’er the sea Slowly, within the East, there grew a Where are the restless throngs that pour light Along this mighty corridor Which ha) f was starlight, and half seemed While the noon shines?- the hurrying to be crowd The herald of a greater. The pale Whose footsteps make the city loud, - white The myriad faces, -hearts that beat Turned slowly to pale rose, and up the No more in the deserted street? height Those footsteps in their dreaming maze Of heaven slowly climbed. The gray Cross thresholds of forgotten days; sea grew

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WILMAM BELL SCOTT. 329 Rose-colored like the sky. A white gull IL flew It was Sn autumn day Straight toward the utmost boundary of When next I went that way. the East,. And what, think you, did I see? Where slowly the rose gathered and in-What was it that I beard? creased. The song of a sweet-voiced bird? It was as on the opening of a door By one that in his hand a lamp doth Nay, - but the songs of many, Thrilled through with praising prayer. hold, Of all those voices not any Whose flame is hidden by the garment’s Were sad of memory: fold, - And a sea of snnli~ht fi owed, The still air moves, the wide room is less And a golden harv0est glowed! dim. On my face I fell down there; I hid my weeping eyes, More bright the East became, the ocean I said: 0 God, thou art wise turned And I thank thee, again and again, Dark and more dark against the bright-For the Sower whose name i ain. ening sky, - Sharper against the sky the long sea line. The hollows of the breakers on the shore Were green like leaves whereon no sun doth shin., Though white the outer branches of the WILLIAM BELL SCOTT. tree. From rose to red the level heaven burned; THE

DANCE. Then sudden, as if a sword fell from on high,, (From “THE Wirca’s B~~LAi).”} A blade of gold flashed on the horizon a rim. 0, I RAE come from far away, From a warm land far away, A southern land syont the sea, ____ With sailor lads about the mast SOWER. Merry and canny and kind to me. I. And I hae been to yon town, A SOWER went forth to sow, To try my luck in yon town: His eyes were wild with woe; Nort, and Mysie, Elapie too, He crushed the flowers beneath his feet, Right braw we were to pass ilie gate Nor smelt the perfume, warm and sweet, Wi’ gowden clasps on girdles blue. That prayed for pity everywhere. He came to a field that was harried Mysie smiled wi’ miming mouth, By iron, and to heaven laid bare: Innocent mouth, miming mouth; He shook the seed that he carried Elspie wore her scarlet gown, O’er that brown and bladeless place. Nort’s gray eyes were unco’ leg, He shook it, as God shakes hail My Castile comb was like a crown. Over a doomed land, When lightnings interlace We walked abreast all up the street, The sky and the earth, and his wand Into the market up the street: Of love is a thunder-flail. Our hair wi’ marygolds was wound, Thus did that Sower sow; Our bodices wi’ love-knots laced, His seed was human blood, Our merchandise wi’ tansy bound. And tears of women and men. And I, who near him stood, Nort had chickens, I had cocks, Said: When the crop comes, then Gamesome cocks, loud-crowing cocks; There will be sobbing and sighing, Mysie ducks, and Elapie drakes. Weeping and wailing and crying, For a wee groat or a pound, And a woe that is worse than woe. We lost nae time wi’ gives and takes.

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330 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Lost nae time, for weel we knew, And drew them by the left hand In, - In our sleeves fu’ weel we knew, Mysie the priest, and Elspie won When the gloaming came that night, The Lombard, Nort the lawyer curle, Duck nor duike, nor hen nor cock, And I my mysel’

the provost’s son. Would be found by candlelight. Then Wi’ cantrip kisses seven, When our chafibring a’ was done, Three times round wi’ kisses seven, All was paid for, sold 511(1 done, Warped and woven there spun we, We drew a glove ou ilka hand, Arms and legs and flaming hair, We swerily curtsied each to each, Like a whirlwind on the sea. And deftly danced a sarabaud. Like the wind that sucks the sea, The market lasses looked and laughed, Over and in and on the sea, Left their gear and looked and laughed; Good sooth, it was a mad delight: And ilka man 0’ all the four They made as they would join the game, Sli But soon their mithers, wild and wud,ut his eyes and laughed outright, - Wi’ whack and screech they stopped the Laughed as long as they had breath, same. Laughed while they had sense or breath; And close about us coiled a mist Sae loud the tongues 0’ raudies grew, Of gnats and midges, wasps and flies; The flitin’ and the skirliii’ grew, Like the whirlwind shaft it rist. At a’ the windows i’ the place, Wi’ spooiis and knives, wi’ needle or awl, Drawn up was I right off my feet, Was thrust out ilka hand and face. Into the mist and off my feet; And, dancing 01) each chimney-top, And down ea~h stair theytlironged anon; I saw a thousand darling imps Gentle, simple, thronged anon; Keeping time wi’ skip and hop. Snuter and tailor, frowzy Nan, The ancient widow young again We`11 gang ance mair to yon town, Simpering behind her fan. Wi’

better luck to yon town: We`11 walk in silk and cramoisie, Without choice, against their will, And I shall wed the prevost’s son; Doited, dazed against their will, My lady 0’ the town I’ll be! The market lassie and her mither, For I was born a crowned king’s child, -The farmer and his husbandman, Hand in hand danced a’ thegether. ~Born and nursed a king’s child, King 0’ a land ayont the sea, Slow at first, but faster soon, Where the Blackamoor kissed me first Still increasin’ wild and fast, And taught me art and glamourie. Hoods and mantles, hats and hose, The Lombard shall be Els1de’s man, Blindly doffed, and frae them cast, Fispie’s gowden husbandman; Left them naked, heads and toes. Nort shall take the lawyer’s hand; Th They would hae torn us limb frae limb, e priest shall swear another vow. Dainty limb frae dainty limb; We`11 dance again the saraband!

But never ane 0’ them could win Across the line that I had drawn _______

Wi’ bleeding thumb a-witherskin. There was Jeff the provost’s son, JO

SEP11 BRENNAN. Jeff the provost’s only son There was Father Auld himsel’, COME TO ME, DEAREST. The Lombard frae the hosteirie, And the lawyer Peter FelL COME to me, dearest, I`m lonely with out thee, All goodly men we singled out, Day-time and night-time, I`m thinking Waled them well and singled out, about thee;

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CHARLES G LELAND. 331 Night-time and day-time, in dreams I I would not die without you at my side, behold thee; love, Unwelcome the waking which ceases to You will not linger when I shall have fold thee. died, love.

Come to me, darling, my sorrows to lighten, Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow, Come in thy beauty to bless and to Rise on my gloom like the sun of to brighten; morrow; Come in thy womanhood, meekly and Strong, swift, and fond as the words lowly, which I speak, love, Come in thy lovingness, queenlyand holy. With a song on your lip and a smile on your cheek, love. Swallows will flit round the desolate Come, for my heart in your absence is ruin, weary, - Telling of spring and its joyous renew-Haste, for my spirit is sickened and ing Come dreary, - And thoughts of thy love, and its maui-to the arms which alone should fold treasure, caress thee, Are circling my heart with a promise of Come to the heart that is throbbing to pleasure. press thee! O Spring of my spirit, 0 May of my bosom, Shine out on my soul, till it bourgeon and blossom; The waste of my life has a rose-root CHARLES G. LELAND. within it. And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can win it. fu. 5. ~~ THE MUSIC-LESSON OF CONFUCIUS.

Figure that moves like a song through T - the even, RE music-lesson of Koung-tseu the wise, Features lit up by a reflex of heaven; Known as Confucius in the western Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our world.

mother, Of all the sages of tlie Flowery Land Where shadow and sunshine are chas-None knew so well as great Confucius ing each other; Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and The ancient rites; and when his mother simple, died, Planting in each rosy cheek a sweet Three years he mourned alone`beside her tomb dimple;- AstheOld Custom bade, nor did he miss 0, thanks to the Saviour, that even thy A single detail of the dark old forms seeming Is left to the exile to brighten -his Required of the bereaved, for he had dreaming. made Himself a model for all living men: A mirror and a pattern of the Past. You have been glad when you knew I was gladdened; Now when the years of mourning with Dear, are you sad now to hear I am their rites saddened? Were at an end, Confucius came forth Our hearts ever answer in tune and in And wandered as of old with other men, time, love, Giving his counsel unto many kings; As octave to octave, and rhyme unto But still the hand of grief was on his rhyme, love: heart, -I cannot weep but your tears will be And his dark hue set forth his darkened flowing, hours. You cannot smile but my cheek will be To drive away these sorrows from his glowing; soul,

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332 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Remembering that music had been made And of the melody whose key is God. A moral motive in the golden books Now I will travel to the land of Kin, Of wisdom by the sacred ancestors, And know this sage of music, great He played upon the Kin - the curious Siang, lute And learn the secret lore which hides Invented by Fou-Hi in days of old; within Fou-Hi of the bull’s head and dragon’s All sweet well-ordered sounds.” He form, went his way, The Lord of Learning who upraised Nor rested till he stood before the man. mankind From being silent brutes to singing men. Thus spoke Siang unto Confucius: “Of all the arts, great Music is the art In vain Confucius played upon the lute; To raise the soul above all earthly storms; He found that music would not be to For in it lies that purest harmony him Which lifts us over self and up to What it had been of old, - a pastime God. For gay: Thou who hast studieddeeplytheKoua he had borne through three long The eight great symbols of created years of grief things - Stupendous knowledge, and his mighty Knowest the sacred power of the line soul, Which when unbroken flies to all the Grasping the lines which huh all earthly worlds lore, As light unending, -but in broken forms Had been by suffering raised to greater Falls short as sky and earth, clouds, power: winds, and fire, For he who knows and suffers, if he will The deep blue ocean and the mountain May raise himself unnumbered scales high, o’er man. And the red lightning hissing in the wave. The mighty law which formed what thou The music spoke no more its wonted canst see, sounds, As clearly lives in all that thou canst But whispered mysteries in a broken hear, tongue And more than this, in all that thou Which urged him sorely. Then Con. canst feeL fucius said: Here, take thy lute in hand. I teach “0 secret Music! sacred tongue of God! the air I hear thee calling to me, and I come! Made by the sage Wen Wang of ancient Of old I did but know thy outer form, day&” And dreamed not of the spirit hid within; Confucius took the lute and played the The Goddess in the Lotus. Yes, I come, air And will not rest, - nor will I calm my Till all his soul seemed passing into doubt song; Till I have seen thee plainly with mine Then he fell deep into the solemn chords eyes, As though his body and the lute were And palpably have touched thee with one, my hand, And every chord a wave which bore him Tkem shall I know thee, - raised to llfe on for me Through the great sea of ecstasy. His For what thou truly art. hands Lo! I have heard Then ceased to play, -but in his raptured That in the land of Kin a master lives, look So deeply skilled in music, that mankind They saw him following out the harmony.

Begin again to give a glowing faith Unto the golden stories which are told Five days went by, and still Confucius Of the strange harmonies which built Played all day long the ancient simple the world, air;

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CHARLES G. LELAND. 33~ And when Siang would teach him more, That which I never yet myself beheld, he said: Though I have played the sacred song “Not yet, my master, I would seize the for years, thougk4 Striving with all my soul to penetrate The subtle thought which hides within Its mystery unto the master’s form, the tune.” Whilst thou hast reached it at a single To which the master answered: “It is bound: - well. Henceforth the gods alone can teach thee Take five days more!” And when the tune.” time was passed Unto Siang thus spoke Confucius: “I do begin to see, - yet what I see MINE OWN. Is very dim. I am as one who looks AND 0, the longing, burning eyes! And nothing sees except a luminous And 0, the gleaming hair cloud: Which waves around me, night and day, Give me but five more days, and at the O’er chamber, hall, and stair! end If I have not attained the great idea And 0, the step, half dreamt, half heard llidden of old within the melody,,, And 0, the laughter low! I will leave music as beyond my power. And memories of merriment “Do as thou wilt, 0 pupil!” cried Siang Which faded long ago! In deepest admiration; “never yet Had I a scholar who was like to thee.” 0, art thou Sylph, -or truly Self, - Or either at thy choice? And on the fifteenth day Confucius rose ~, speak in breeze or beating heart, And stood before Siang, and cried aloud: But let me hear thy voice! “The mist which shadowed me is blown away, “0, some do call me Laughter, love; I am as one who stands upon a cliff And some do call me Sin”: - And gazes far and wide upon the world, “And they may call thee what they will, For I have mastered every secret thought, So I thy love may win. Yea, every shadow of a feeling dim Which flitted through the spirit of Wen “And some do call me Wantonness, Wang And some do call me Play”:When he composed that air. I speak to “0, they might call thee what they would him, If thou wert mine alway!” I hear him clearly answer me again; And more than that, I see his very form: “And some do call me Sonow, love, A man of middle stature, with a hue And some do call me Tears, Half blended with the dark and with the And some there be who name me Hope, fair; And some that name me Fears. His features long, and large sweet eyes which beam “And some do call me Gentle Heart, With great benevolence, -a noble face! And some Forgetfulness”: - His voice is deep and full, and all his air “And if thou com’st as one or all, Inspires a sense of virtue and of love. Thou comest but to bless!” I know that I behold the very man The sage of ancient days, Wen Wan’g the “And some do call me Life, sweetheart, just.” And some do call me Death; And he to whom the two are one Then good Siang lay down upon the dust, Has won my heart and faith.” And said: “Thou art my master. Even thus She twined her white arms round his The ancient legend, known to none but neck: - me, The tears fell down like rain. Describes our first great sire. And thou “And if I live or if I die, hast seen We`11 never part again.

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334 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. RELEN BARRON BO~TWICK. Ever dwells the lesser in the greater; In God’s love the human: we by these (u. 5. A.J

Know he holds Love’s simplest stam URVASL mering sweeter Than cold praise of wordy Pharisees. `T is a story told by Kalidasa, - Hindoo poet, -in melodious rhyme, ______ How with train of maidens, young Urvasi Came to keep great Indra’s festal time. UNKNOWN. - was her part in worshipful confession Of the god-name on that sacred day, THE FISHERMAN’S FUNERAL

Walking flower-crowned in the long pro cession, on the breezy headland the fisher “I love Puru-shotta-ma” to say. man’s grave they made, Where, over the daisies and clover bells, Pure as snow on Himalayan ranges, the birchen branches swayed; Heaven - descended, soon to heaven Above us the lark was singing in the withdrawn, cloudless skies of June, Fairer than the moon-flower of the And under the cliffs the billows were Ganges, chanting their ceaseless tune: Was Urvasi, Daughter of the Dawn. For the creamy line was curving along the hollow shore, But it happened that the gentle maiden Where the dear old tides were flowing Loved one Puru-avas, -fateful name!- that he would ride no more. And her heart, with its sweet secret laden, The dirge of the wave, the note of the bird, Faltered when her time of utterance and the priest’s low tone were blent came. In the breeze that blew from the moor land, all laden with country scent; “I love” -then she stopped, and people But never a thought of the new-mown wondered; hay tossing on sunny plains, “I love “-she must guard her secret Or of lilies deep in the wildwood, or well; roses gemming the lanes, Then from sweetest lips that ever blun-Woke in the hearts of the stern bronzed dered, men who gathered around the “I love Pura-avas,” trembling fell.

Where grave, lay the mate who had fought with Ah, what terror seized on poor Urvasi! them the battle of wind and wave. Misty grew the violets of her eyes, And her form bent like a broken daisy, How boldly he steered the coble across While around her rose the mocking the foaming bar, cries.

When the sky was black to the eastward and the breakers white on the Scar!

But great Indra said, “The maid shall How his keen eye caught the squall ahead, mafl7 how his strong hand furled the sail, Him whose image in her faithful heart As we drove o’er the angry waters before She so near to that of God doth carry, the raging gale! Scarce - her lips can keep their names How cheery he kept all the long dark apart.” night; and never a parson spoke Good words, like those he said to us, Call it then not weakness or dissem-when at last the morning broke! bling, If, in striving the high name to reach, So thought the dead man’s comrades, as Through our voices runs the tender silent and sad they stood, tremblin While the prayer was prayed, the blessing Of an earth y name too dear for said, and the dull earth struck the speech! wood;

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UNKNOWN. 335 And the widow’s sob and the orphan’s Now changed the scene and changed the wail jarred through the joyous air; eyes, How could the light wind o’er the sea, That here once looked on glowing skies, blow on so fresh and fair? Vhere summer smiled; How could the gay waves laugh and leap, These riven trees, this wind-swept plain laudward o’er sand and stone, Now show the winter’s dread domain, While he, who knew and loved them Its fury wild. all lay lapped in clay alone? The rocks rise black from storm-packed But for long, when to the beetling heights snow, the snow-tipped billows roll, All checked the river’s pleasant flow, When the cod, and skate, and dogfish dart Vanished the bloom; around the herring shoal; These dreary wastes of frozen plain When gear is sorted, and sails are set, Reflect my bosom’s life again, and the merry breezes blow, Now lonesome gloom. And away to the deep sea-harvest the stalwart reapers go, The buoyant hopes and busy life A kindly sigh, and a hearty word, they Have ended all in hateful strife, will give to him who lies And thwarted aim. Where the clover springs, and the heather The world’s rude contact killed the rose, blooms, beneath the northern skies. No more its radiant color shows False roads to fame. Backward, amidst the twilight glow OllN

C. FREMONT. Some lingering spots yet brightly show `here still some grand peaks mark the way ON RECROSSING TIE ROCKY MOUN-Touched by the light of parting day TAINS IN WINTER, AFT MANY And memory’s sun. YEARS. But here thick clouds the mountains hide, Lo~~e~ears ago I wandered here, The dim horizon bleak and wide In midsummer of the year, - No pathway shows, Life’s summer too; And rising gusts, and darkening sky, A score of horsemen here we rode, Tell of “the night that cometh,” nigh, The mountain world its glories showed, The brief day’s close. All fair to view. These scenes in glowing colors drest, p Mirrored the life within my breast, Its world of hopes; Thewhisperingwoods and fragrant breeze UNKNOWN. That stirred the grass in verdant seas On billowy slopes, JVI~Y DAWNING. And glistening crag in sunlit sky, Mid snowy clouds piled mountains high, W~
left the city, street and square, Were joys to me; With lamplights glimmering through My path was o’er the prairie wide, and through, Or here on grander mountain-side, And turned us toward the suburb, To choose, all free. where Full from the eastthe fresh wind The rose that waved in morning air, blew. And spread its dewy fragrance there In careless bloom, One cloud stood overhead the sun, - Gave to my heart its ruddiest hue, A glorious trail of dome and spire, - O’er my glad life its color threw The last star flickered, and was gone; And sweet perfume. The first lark led the matin choir.

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336 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Wet was’ the grass beneath our tread, And the worn old cliff where the sea ThickAewed the bramble by the way; pinks cling, The lichen had a lovelier red, And the winding caves where the echoes The elder-flower a fairer gray. ring. I shall wake them nevermore.

And there was silence on the land, How it keeps calling, calling, Save when, from out the city’s fold, It is never a night to sail. Stricken by Time’s remorseless wand, I saw the “sea-dog” over the height, A bell across the morning tolled. As I strained through the haze my fail ing sight, The beeches sighed through all their And the cottage creaks and rocks, well boughs; nigh, The gusty pennons of the pine As the old “Fox”

did in the days gone by, Swayed in a melancholy drowse, In the moan of the rising gale. But with a motion sternly fine. Yet it is calling, calling.

One gable, full against the sun, It is hard on a soul, I say, Flooded the garden-space beneath To go fluttering out in the cold and t~e With spices, sweet as cinnamon, dark, From all its lIoneysuckled breath. Like the bird they tell us of, from the Then crew the cocks from echoing farms, While ark; the foam flies thick on the bitter The chimney-tops were plumed with blast, smoke, And the angry waves roll fierce and fast, The windmill shook its slanted arms, Where the black buoy marks the bay. The sun was up, the country woke! And voices sounded mid the trees Do you hear it calling, calling? Of orchards red with burning leaves, And yet, I am none so old.

By thick hives, sentinelled by bees, - At the herring fishery, but last year, From fields which promised tented No boat beat mine for tackle and gear, sheaves; And I steered the coble past the reef, When the broad sail shook like a withTill the day waxed into excess, ered leaf, And on the misty, rounding gray, - And the rudder chafed my hold. One vast, fantastic wilderness, The glowing roofs of London lay. Will it never stop calling, calling? Can’t you sing a song by the hearth? A heartsome stave of a merry glass, Or a gallant fight, or a bonnie lass? UNKNOWN. Don’t you care for your grand-dad just Come near then, give me a hand to touch, THE

FISHER~~‘S SUMMONS. Still warm with the warmth of earth. TnE sea is calling, calling. You hear it calling, calling? Wife, is there a log to spare? Ask her why she sits and cries. Fling it down on the hearth and call She always did when the sea was up, them in, She would fret, and never take bit or ~u p The boys and girls with their merry din, When I and the lads were out at night, I am loth to leave you all just yet, And she saw the breakers cresting white In the light and the noise I might forget, Beneath the low black skies. The voice in the evening air. But, then, it is calling, calling, The sea is calling, calling, No summons to soul was sent. Along the hollow shore. Now-Well, fetch the parson, find the I know each nook in the rocky strand, book, And the crimson weeds onthegolden sand, It is up on the shelf there if you look;

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MARY N. PRESCOTT. - ARTflUR O’SIIAUGHNESSY. 337 The sea has be~ friend, and fire, and TWO MOODS. bread;. I PLUCKED the harebells as I went Put me, where it will tell of me, lying Singing along the river-side; dead, How It called, and I rose and went. The skies above were opulent Of sunshine.

“Ah! whate’er betide, _______ The world is sweet, is sweet, “I cried, That morning by the river-side. MARY N. PRE~COTT. The curlews called along the shore; The boats put out from sandy beach; Eu. 5. A.) Afar I heard the breakers’ roar, Mellowed to silver-sounding speech; wO~ And still I sang it o’er and o’er, “The world is sweet forevermore!” Sw~~~ wind, fair wind, where have you “I`ve been been? Perhaps, to-day, some other one, sweeping the cobwebs out of Loitering along the river-side, I`ve been the sky; a grist in the mill Content beneath the gracious sun, I`ve been hard by; The world is sweet.” I shall not chide, laughing at work while others Mthough my song is done. sigh; Let those laugh who win!” Sweet rain, soft rain, what are you doing? “I`m urging the corn to fill out its cells; I`m helping the lily to fashion its bells; ARTHUR O’SHAUGHNE~~. I`m swelling the torrent and brimming the wells; Is that worth pursuing?” SONG OF A FELLOW-WORKER. Redbreast, redbreast, whathave you done? I FOUND a fellow-worker when I deemed “I`ve been watching the nest where my I toiled alone: fledgelings lie; My toil was fashioning thought and I`ve sung them to sleep with a lullaby; sound, and his was hewing stone; By and by I shall teach them to fly, I worked in the palace of my brain, he Up and away, every one!” in the common street, Honey-bee, honey-bee, where are you go-And it seemed his toil was great and hard, ing? while mine was great and sweet. “To fill my basket with precious pelf; I said “0
fellow-worker, yea, for I am a To toil for my neighbor as well as myself; To find out the sweetest flower that grows, The worker too, Be it a thistle or be it a rose, - heart nigh fails me many a day, but A secret worth the knowing!” For how is it wifli you? while I toil great tears of joy will Each content with the work to be done sometimes fill my eyes, Ever the same from sun to sun:` And when I form my perfect work it lives Shall you a~nd I be taught to work and never dies. By the bee and the bird, that scorn to shirk? “I carve the marble of pure thought until the thought takes form, Wind and rain fulfilling His word! Unfil it gleams before my soul and makes Tell me, was ever a legend heard the world grow warm; Where the wind, commanded to blow, Until there comes the glorious voice and deferred; words that seem divine, Or the rain, that was bidden to fall, de-And the music reaches all men’s hearts murred? and draws them into mine. 22

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338 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. “And yet for days it seems my heart shall That while they nobly held it as each blossom never more, man can do and bear, And the burden of my lonelineas lies on It did not wholly fall my side as though me very sore: no man were there. Therefore, 0 hewer of the stones that pave base human ways, “And so we toil together many a day Row canst thou bear the years till death, from morn till night, made of such thankless days?” I m the lower depths of life, they on the lovely height; Then he replied: “Ere sunrise, when the For though the common stones are mine, Sent pale lips of the day and they have lofty cares, forth an earnest thrill of breath at Their work begins where this leaves off, warmth of the first ray, and mine is part of theirs. A great thought rose within me, how, while men asleep had lain, “And`t is not wholly mine or theirs I The thousand labors of the world had think of through the day, grown up once again. But the great eternal thing we make to. gether, I and they; “The sun grew on the world, and on my Far in the sunset I behold a city that soul the thought grew too, - man owns, A great appalling sun, to light my soul Made fair with all their nobler toil, built the long day through. of my common stones. I felt the world’s whole burden for a moment, then began “Then noonward, as the task grows light With man’s gigantic strength to do the with all the labor done, labor of one man. The single thought of all the day be “I went comes a joyous one: forth hastily, and lo! I met a For, rising in my heart at last where it hundred men, has lain so long, The worker with the chisel and the ~~ thrills up seeking for a voice, and worker with the pen, - The restless toilers after good, who sowgrows almost a song. and never reap, “But when the evening comes, indeed, And one who maketh music for their the words have taken wing, souls that may not sleep. The thought sings in me still, but I am “Each passed me with a dauntless look all too tired to sing; and my undaunted eyes` Therefore, 0 you my friend, who serve Were almost softened as they passed the world with minstrelsy, with tears that strove to rise Among our fellow-workers’ songs make -At sight of all those labors, and because that one song for me.” that every one, Ay, the greatest, would be greater if my little were undone. “They passed me, having faith in me, ARCHDEACON HARE. and in our several ways, Together we began to-day as on the other ITALY. A PROPHECY. felt d~ays: 1818. I their mighty hands at work, and, Svi~ the loved harp; let the prelude be, as the day wore through, Italy! Italy! ~erhaps they felt that even I was help.

Thatchordagain, againthatnoteofcqe~ ing somewhat too: Italy! Italy! Italy!

0 Italy! the very sound it charmeth-. “Perhaps they felt, as with those hands Italy! 0 Italy! the name my bosom warm they lifted mightily eth. The burden once more laid upon the High thought of self-devotions, world so heavily, Compassionate emotions,

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T. K. HERVEY. 339 Soul-stirring recollections, Truth hath decreed her joyous resurrec- - With hopes, their bright reflections. tion: Rush to my troubled heart at thought of She shall arise, she must. thee, For can it be that wickedness hath power My own illustrious, injured Italy. To undermine or topple down the tower Of virtue’s edifice? Dear queen of snowy mountains, And yet that vice And consecrated fountains, Should be allowed on sacred ground to Within whose rocky, heaven~aspiringpale plant Beauty has fixed a dwelling A rock of adamant? All others so excelling It is of ice, To pr~dse it right, thine own sweet tones That rock soon destined to dissolve away would fail; Before the righteous sun’s returning ray. Hail to thee! hail! How rich art thou in lakes to poet But who shall bear the dazzling radiancy, dear, When first the royal Maid awaking And those broad pines amid the sunniest Darteth around her wild indignant eye, glade When first her bright spear shaking, So reigning through the year, Fixing her feet on earth, her looks on sky, Within the magic circle of their shade She standeth like the Archangel prompt No sunbeam may appear!

to vanquish, How fair thy double sea! Yet still imploring succor from on high? In blue celestially 0 days of weary hope and passionate Glittering and circling! but I may not anguish, dwell When will ye end! On gifts, which, decking thee too Until that end be come, until I hear well, The Alps their mighty voices blend, Allured the spoiler. Let me fix my ken To swell and echo back the sound most Rather upon thy godlike men, dear The good, the wise, the valiant, and the To patriot hearts, the cry of Liberty, free, I must live on. But when the glorious On history’s pillars towering gloriously, Queen A trophy reared on high upon thy strand, As erst is canopied with Freedom’s sheen, That every people, every clime When I have prest, with salutation meet, May mark and understand, With reverent love to kiss her honored What memorable courses may be run, feet, What golden never-failing treasures won, I then may die, From time, Die how well satisfied! In spite of chance, Conscious that I have watched the second And worser igi~orance, birth If men be ruled by Duty’s firm decree, Of her I`ve loved the most upon the AlId wisdom hold her paramount mas.

earth, tery. Conscious beside That no more beauteous sight can here What art thou now? Alas! Alas! be given: Woe, woe! Sublimer visions are reserved for heaven. That strength and virtue thusshouldpass From men below! That so divine, so beautiful a Maid ~hould in the withering dust be laid, T. K. HERVEY. As one that-Hush! who dares with impious breath To speak of death? EPITAPH. The fool alone and unbeliever weepeth. FAuEwEtt!

since never more for thee We know she only sleepeth; The sun comes up our eastern skies, And from the dust, Less bright henceforth shall sunshine be At the end of her correction, To some fond hearts and saddened eyes.

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340 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. There are who for thy last, l6ng sleep - And through gray clouds give laws unto Shall sleep as sweetly nevermore, - the realm, Shall weep because thou canst not weep, Curse good and great, but worship their And grieve that all thy griefs are o’er. own wit, And roar of fights, and fairs, and junketSad thrift of love! the loving breast ings, On which the aching head was thrown, Corn, colts, and curs - the while the Gave up the weary head to rest, BlackbiiA sings. But kept the aching for its own. Before her home, in her accustomed seat, The tidy grandani spins beneath the shade 1?REDERICK T1~NNYBON. Of the old honeysuckle, at her feet The dreaming pug, a~d purring tabby laid; THE

BLACKBIRD. To her low chair a little maiden clings, afternoon! And spells in silence-whIe the BlackHow sweet the harmonies of bird sings. The Blackbird sings along the sunny breeze His ancient song of leaves, and summer Sometimes the shadow of a lazy cloud boon; Breathes o’er the hamlet with its gar Rich breath of hayfields streams dens green through whispering trees; While the far field’s with sunlight overAnd birds of morning trim their bustling iefiO~~d And wings, golden shores of Fairyland are listen fondly-while the Blackbird seen; sings. Again the sunshine on the shadow And fires the thicket -where th~ BlackHow soft the lovelight of the west re-bird sings. poses On this green valley’s cheery solitude. On the trim cottage with its screen of The woods, the lawn, the peak6d manor roses, house, On the gray belfry with kts ivy hood, With its peach-covered walls, and And murmuring mill-race, and the wheel rookery loud, that flings The trim, quaint garden.alleys, screened Its bubbling freshness-while the Black-with boughs, bird sings. The lion-beaded gates, so grim and proud, The verydial on the village church The mossy fountain with its murmur as`t were dreaming ings, rest; in a dozy Lie in warm sunshine-while the BlackThe scribbled benches underneath the bird sings. porch Bask in the kindly welcome of the The ring of silver voices, and the sheen west: Of festal garments, - and my lady But the broad casements of the old Three streams Kings With her gay couft across the garden Blaze like a furnace-while the Black-green; bird sings. Some laugh, and dance, some whisper their love-dreams; And there bencath the immemorial elm And one calls for a little page; he strings Three rosy revellers round a table Her lute beside her-while the Black sit, sings.

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JOHN A. DORGAN. - MARY BOLLES BRANCH. 341 A little while-and lo! the charm is Down by the brook he bends his steps, heard; and through A youth, whose life has been all sum-A lowly wicket; and at last he stan~ mer, steals Awful beside the bed of one who grew Forth from the noisy guests around the From boyhood with him, - who with board, lifted hands Creeps by her softly; at her footstool And eyes seems listening to far welcom kneels; ings And, when she pauses, murmurs tender And sweeter music - than the Black things bird sings. Into her fond ear-while the Blackbird sings. Two golden stars, like tokens from the blest, The smoke-wreaths from the chimneys Strike on his dim orbs from the set cuil up higher, ting sun; And dizzy things of eve begin to float His sinking hands seem pointing to the Upon the light; the breeze begins to west; tire. He smiles as though he said, “Thy Half-way to sunset with a drowsy note will be done!” The ancient clock from out the valley His eyes, they see not those illuminings; swings; His ears, they hear not - what the The grandam nods-and still the Black-Blackbird sings. bird sings. Far shouts and laughter from the farm stead peal, Where the great stack is piling in the JOHN A. DORGAN. sun; Through narrow gates o’erladen wagons (u. 5. A. j reel, FATE. And barking curs into the tumult run; While the inconstant wind bears ofi, and THE SE withered hands are weak, brings But they shall do my bidding, though The merry tempest-and the Blackbird so frail; sings.

These lips are thin~and white, but shall not fail On the high wold the last look of the sun The appointed words to speak. Burns, like a beacon, over dale and stream; Thy sneer I can forgive, The shouts have ceaseff, the laughter and Because I know the strength of destiny; the fun; Until my task is done, I cannot die; The grandam sleeps, and peaceful be And then, I would not live. her dream; Only a hammer on an anvil rings; ______ The day is dying-still the Blackbird p sings. MARY BOLLES BRANCH. i~ow the good vicar passes from his gate, Serene, with long white hair; and in (u.

5. A. J his eye THE PETRIFIED FERN. 13urns the clear spirit that hath conquered Fate, IN a valley, centuries ago, And felt the wings of immortality; Grew a little firn-leaf, green and His heart is thronged with great imagin-slender, ings, Veining delicate and fibres tender; And tender mercies-while the Black-Waving when the wind crept down so bird sings. low;

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342 SONGS OF THREE CENTURIES. Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew Earth, one time, put on a frolic mood, round it, Heaved the rocks and changed the Playful sunbeams darted in and found mighty motion it, Of the deep, strong currents of the Drops of dew stole in by night, and ocean; crowned it, Moved the plain and shook the haughty But no foot of man e’er trod that wood, way; Crushed the little fern in soft moist clay, Earth was young and keeping holi-Covered it, and hid it safe away. day. 0, the long, long centuries since that day! Monster fishes swam the silent main, 0, the agony, 0, life’s bitter cost, Stately forests waved their giant Since that useless little fern was lost! branches, Mountains hurled their silowy ava-Useless! Lost! There came a thought lanches, ful man Mammoth creatures stalked across the Searching Nature’s secrets, far and plain; deep; Nature revelled in grand mysteries; From a fissure in a rocky steep But the little fern was not of these, He withdrew a stone, o’er which there ran Did not number with the hills and Fairy pencillings, a quaint design, trees, Veinings, leafage, fibres clear and fiiie, Only grew and waved its wild sweet And the fern’s life lay in every line! way,- So, I think, God hides some souls away, No one came to note it day by day. Sweetly to surprise us the last day.

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INDEX OF FIRST LINES. Page Pago Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) 144 A weary lot is thine, fair maid.. 10~ Above the pines the moon was slowly drift~ A wet sheet and a flowing sea 144 ing 301 A calm and lovely paradise 172 Beat on, proud billows; Boreas, blow 39 A chieftain, to the Highlands bound 139 Beautiful Evelyn Hope is dead’ 203 A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun 146 Begone dull care 20 A face that should content me wondrous Beneath an Indian palm a girl 181 well 4 Beneath the moonlight and the snow 214 A floating, a floating 250 Better trust all and be deceived 175 A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 103 Blow, blow, thou winter wind 16 Again, how can she hut immortal be 11 Blue gulf all around us 261 A happy bit hame this auld world would be 184 Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen 121 Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh 105 Bonny Tibhie Inglis! 181

Alas,`t is true, I have gone here and there 13 Break, break, break…. 196

A light is out in Italy 304 Bright image of the early years 176 All before us lies the way 202 Busk ye, husk ye, my bonny bonny bride. 56 All powers of the sea and air 252 By Nebo’s lonely mountain 237 All the rivers run into the sea 306 By the flow of the inland river 326 All thoughts, all passions, all delights 108 All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom 138 Calm me, my God, and keep me calm 247 Alone I walk the morning street 328 Calm on the listening ear of night 238 Along the ramparts which surround the Can angel spirits need repose 136 town 288 Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake. 126 Although I enter not 105 Close beside the meeting waters 273 A man there came, whence none could tell 217 Close his eyes; his work is done I…. 290 Among so many, can He care9 277 Come into the garden, Maud 198 And are ye sure the news is true9 71 Come live with me, and be my love ~. 4 And I shall sleep; ana on thy side 190 Come, see the Dolphin’s anchor forged;`t is And is the swallow gone? 182 at a white heat now 170 And is there care in heaven? And is there Come, Sleep, 0 Sleep, the certain knot of love 7 peace 6 And 0, the longing, burning eyes I 353

Comes something down wifli eventide 258 And thou hast walked about-how strange Come to me, dearest, I`m lonely without a story! 141 thee. 330 A parish priest was of the pilgrim train 46 Come with a smile, when come thou must. 313 A sentinel angel sitting high in glory 305 Condemned to hope’s delusive mine 39 A silver javelin which the hills 262 Consider the sea’s listless chime 29S As I stood by you roofless tower 83 Cooper, whose name is with his country’s A soldier of the Legion lay dying in Algiers 173 wovcn. 166 A song of a boat 282 Could ye come hack to me, Douglas, DougA Sower went forth to sow ~~ las 250 As ships becalmed at eve, that lay 244 Creep into thy narrow bed 266 A stillness crept about the house 310 Day-stars! that ope your eyes with morn, At daybreak in the fresh light, joyfully…. 205 to twinkle 140 A thousand years shall come and go 253 Dear friend of old, whom memory links…. 319 At noon, within the dusty town 315 Dear Friend! whose presence in the house 246 A traveller through a dusty road strewed Dear is my little native vale 81 acorns on the lea 213 Dim as the borrowed beams of moon and At the close of the day, when the hamlet stars’ 46 is stlll 72 Do not cheat thy heart, and tall her 278 At the king’s gate the subtle noon 294 Down below, the wild November whistAt the mid hour of night, when stars are 124 ling 247 weeping, I fly Drawn out, like lingering bees, to share… 302 At the spring of an arch in the great north tower 318 Earl Gawain wooed the Lady Barbara 264 Awake, my soul, and with the snn 46 Earth with its dark and dreadful ills 255

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INDEX OF FIRST LINES. Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 80 How many days with mute adieu 177 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree 31 How near to good is wisat is fair 19 Farewell rewards and fairies 20 How soon bath Time, the subtle thief of Farewell! since ne~‘er more for thee 339 youth 38 Farewell to Lochaber, farewell to my Jean 49 How sweet it was to breathe that cooler Father, I know that all my life 246 air.. 87 Father of all! in every age 48 How sweet it were, if witj;ou’t’ f’e’eb’je fright 144 Father, thy patensal care 146 How sweet the harmonies of ~fternoon!.. 340 Father!

thy wonders do not singly stand. 176 How vainly men themselves amaze 34

Fear no more the heat o’ the sun 16 Fly to the desert, fly with me 123 For a foot that will not come 316 I am content, I do not care 51 Forever with the Lord 135 I am old and blind! 237 Fresh glides the brook and blows the gale. 174 I climb the hill: from end to end 196 From gold to gray 216 I, country-born an’ hred, know where to From hsrmony, from heavenly harmony..

45 find 224 From his home in an Eastern bungalow…. 321 1 do confess thou`rt smooth and fair 26 From Oheron, in fairy-land 21 I do not own an inch of land 274 From Stirling Castle we had seen 101 I dwell in grace’s courts 10 From the recesses of a lowly spirit 146 If all the world and love were young 5 Full fathom five thy father lies 16 If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song…. 64 I feel a newer life in every gale 155 Give!

as the morning that fiows out of I fill this cup to one made up of loveliness heaven 259 alone 165 Give me my scallop.shell of quiet 5 If love were what the rose is 286 “Give us a song!” the soldiers cried 263 I found a fellow-worker when I deemed I Go, call for the mourners’, and raise the toiled alone 337 lament 89 If stores of dry and learned lore we gain.. 156 God makes sech nights, all white an’ still. 225 if thou wert by my side, isly love 143 God moves in a mysterious way 71 If with light head erect I sing 236 God of the earth’s extended plains 162 I have been out to-day in field and wood.. 256 God sets some souls in shade, alone 277 I have fancied sometimes, the old BethelGo forth in life, 0 friend! not seeking love 259 bent beam 304 Go, soul, the body’s guest 5 I have had playmates, I have had companGrandmother’s mother; her age, I guess.. 219
ions 120 Grow old along with me I 204 I hear it often in the dark 307 I knew a Princess: she was old 303 Had I a heart for falsehood framed 79 I know not how to comfort thee 254 Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!…. 75 I know not if or dark or bright 179 Hail to thee, blithe spirit 127 I know not that the men of old 180 Hark! hark! the lark at heaven’s gate sings 16 I know not what shall befall me 307 Hast thou a chann to stay the morning I like a church, I like a cowl 200 star 109 I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone. 137 Have you heard of the wonderful one-boss I loved to hear the war-horn cry 168 shay 221 I love to wander through the woodlands Heap on more wood! - the wind is chill.. 107
hoary 233 Hear the sledges with the bells 202 I`m sitting on the stile, Mary 163 Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups! 282 I`m wearin’ awa’, Jean 86

He is gone on the mountain 106 In Athens, when all learning centred there 326 He kept his honesty and truth 165 In a valley, centuries ago 341 He meets, by heavenly chance express…. 253 I never loved ambitiously to climb 12 Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow. 59 In lowly dale, fast by a river’s side 51 Her hands are cold; her face is white 223 In summer, when the days were long 183 He said, “0 brother, where`s the use of In the still air the music lies unheard 247 climbing?” 294 In the summer twilight. 313 He`s gane, he`s gane! he`a frae us torn.. 84 In this sad hour, so still, so late 298 He sleeps not here; in hope aud prayer… 221

Into a city street 307 He`a uow upon the spectre’s back 186 In winter, when the rain rained csuld 24 He that loves a rosy cheek 25 I plucked the harebells as I went 337 He that of sueh a height hath built his mind 14 I said to Sorrow’s awful storm….. 148 He who died at Azan sends 318 I saw a man, by some accounted wise 321 Hie upon Hielands 76 I saw two clouds at morning 156 High hopes that burned like stars sublime 212 I say to thee, do thou repeat 241 High walls and huge the body may confine 168 I sought thee round about, 0 thou iny God 26 His echoing axe the settler swung 234

Is there a whimAnspired fool 83 Hither thou com’st The busy wind all Is this a fast, to keep. 31 night 32 It chanceth once 8]to every soul 306 How are thy servants blest, 0 Lord 47 It fell about the Martininas 22 How beautiful it was, that one bright day. 211 It fell about the Martinmas time 24 How dear to this heart are the scenes of I thought of thee, my partner and my guide 103 my childhood 147 It is a place where poets crowned may feel Howe’er the wheels of Tinie go round 262 the heart’s decaying 194 How fresh, 0 Lord, how sweet and clean.. 31 It is done! 216

How happy is he born and taught 13 It is not growing like a tree. 18

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INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 345 It lies around us like a cloud. 248 No stir in the air, no stir In the sea.. 11~ It stands in a sunny meadow. 290 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note. 152 It was a fitar of orders gray 67

No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do It was the winter wild 35 change 18 I`ve heard them lilting at our ewe-milking 88 Not in the world of light alone 219 I`ve wandered east, I`ve wandered west -. 159 Not often to the parting soul 235 I wandered by the brookside 180 Not ours the vows of such as plight 144 I wandered lonely as a cloud 99 Not yet, the flowers are in my path 254 I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged pile! 101 I worship thee, sweet Will of God! 239 0 Artist, range not over-wide. 266 I would be ready, Lord 321 0, ask not, hope thou not, too much 154 I would have gone; God bade me stay…. 272 0 blithe new-comer! I have heard 100 I would not live aiway: I ask not to stay. 162 0 blushing flowers of Krumley! 254 O
fair and stately maid, whose eyes 199 Jesus, lover of my soul 58 Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw 2 John Davidson snd Tib his wife 78 Of all amusements for the mini 232 Judge not; the workings of his brain…. 278

Of all the thoi~hts of God that are 190 Just for a handful of silver he left us 207 Oft hss it been my lot to mark 64 Just where the Treasury’s marble front… 285 Of them who, rapt in earth so cold 73 Of this fair volume which we World do Laid in my quiet bed 3 name 12 Late to our town there came a maid 269 0 happiness! our being’s end and aim!…. 48 Launch thy bark, mariner 148 0 happy, happy maid 257 Lest men suspect your tale untrue 50 0, heard ye you pibroch sound sad in the Let me not to the marriage of true minds.. 18 gale 138 Let Taylor preach, upon a morning breezy 160 0, 1 hae come from far away 529 Let us go. lassie, go 88 0, it is hard to work for God 239 Life! I know not what thou ai~ 75 0 Lady, leave thy silken thread 161 Life may be given in many ways 228 0, Lady Mary Ann looked o’er the castle Like some vision olden 253 wa’ 77 Like to the falling of a star 27 0 Land, of every land the best 257 Listen, my children, and you shall hear… 207 0 lassie ayont the hill!. 270 Little thinks, in the field, you red-cloaked Old Tubal Cain was a man of migbt 218 clown 200 0 Love Divine, of all that is 308 Lo, here is God, and there is God!242 0 lull nie, lull me, charming air 26 Long years ago I wandered here 331 0 Mary, at thy window be! 82 Lo! o’er the earth the kindling spirits pour 90 0 Mary, go and call the cattle home 249 Looking seaward, o’er the sand-hills stands 0 may I join the choir invisible 248 the fortress, old and quaint 299 Once, in the flight of ages past 155 Lord!

call thy pallid angel 143 Once this soft turf, this rivulet’s sands….

189 Lord, it belongs not to my care 39 One day, nigh weary of the irksome way.. 8 Love divine, all other love excelling 58 One day to Helbeck I had strolled 118 Love, when all these years are silent, van-One sweetly welcome thought 256 ished quits and laid to rest 312 One word is too often profaned 128 On thy fair bosom, silver lake 155 Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes 209 Open the templ&gates unto my love……. 8 Make me no vows of constancy, dear friend 251 0 Saviour! whose mercy, severe in its kind Methinks it is good to be here 93 ness 178 Mid pleasures and palaces though we may 0, sing unto my roundelay! 79 roam 153 0 stream descending to the sea 245 Midwinter comes to-morrow 320 0, sweet and fair! 0, rich and rare 274 Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire!… 92 0 that those lips had language! Life has Mine be a cot beside the hill 81 passed 69

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coining 0 thou, great Friend to all the sons of inen 239 of the Lord 236 0 thou who dry’st the mourner’s tear!…. 124 Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains.. 126 0, tiniely happy, timely wiae 177 More than the soul of ancient song is given 263 0
unseen Spirit! now a calm divine 175 My child is lying on my knees 270 Our Mary liket weal to stray 169 My days among the dead are passed 117 Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass 316 My dear and only love, I pray 28 Out upon the unknown deep 250 My hawk is tired of perch and hood 105 Over hill, over dale 16 My life is like the summer rose 152 Over the mountains 19 My mind to me a kingdom is 15 Over the mountain wave, see where they My sins and follies, Lord! by thee 33 come 168 Mysterious night! when our first parent Over the river they beckon to me. 277 knew 89 0, waly, waly up the bank 76 0, weel may the boatie row 77 Nearer, my God, to thee 245

0, what will a’ the lads do 121 Never, surely, was holier man 226 O,why should the spirit of mortal be proud? 149 Next to these ladies, but in naught allied. 80 0 yet we trust that somehow good 197 Night seems troubled and scarce asleep… 314 0, young Lochinvar is come out of the No abbey’s gloom. nor dark cathedral stoops 235 west 104 No longer spread the sail I 262 No mistress of the hidden skill 113 ~~k clouds away, and welcome day. -… - 26

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346 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. Pause not to deeam of the future before us 175

The birds must know. Who wisely ings. 295 Pipe, little minstrels of the waning year… 297 The confereuce.meeting through at last… 285 Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire 1g6 The curfw tolls the knell of parting day..

60 put the hroidery-frame away 191 The curtsins were half drawn, the floor was swept 272 Queen, and huntress, chaste and fair 18 The day is ende~ Ere I sink to sl.p…. 298 Quiet from God! It cometh not to stffl.. 244 The day was dark, save when the be…. 142 The fairest action of our human life 18 The frogal snail, with forecast of repose… 120 Remember us poor Mayers all! 20 The glories of our blood and state 28 Ring, sing! ring, sing! pleasant Sabbath The golden sea its mirror spreads 244 bells!. 284

The gowan glitters on the sward 86 The grass hung wet on Rydal banks 260

Saith the white owl to the martin folk…. 814 The island lies nine leagues away 185 See, from this counterfeit of him 281 The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal’s chair… 150 Send down thy wing~d angel, God! 179 The Jester shook his head and bells, and Serene, I fold iny hands and wait 827
leaped upon a chair 293 Shall I tell you whom I love ~ 25 The leaves have fallen from the trees 268 She doth tell me where to borrow 84 The lift is high and blue 250 “She is,,dead!” they said to him “Come The Lord descended from above 8 away 817 Tlie Lord my pasture shall prepare 47

She`s gane to dwall in heaven, my lassie.. 145 The melancholy days are come, the saddest She smiles and smiles, and will not sigh… 266 of the year 188 She stood alone amidst the April fields…. 291 The midges dance ahoon the burn 88 She stood breast high amid the corn 161 The music4esson of Koung-teen the wise… 831 She stood in the harvest-field at noon 271

The night is come; like to the day 29 She walks in beauty, like the night 125 The night was dark, though sometimes a She was a phantom of delight 100 faint star 828 She wearies with an ill unknown 252 The night was made for cooling shade….. 287 Silent nymph, with curious eye I 54 The old mayor climbed the belfry tower… 280 Sitting all day in a silver mist 827

The perfect sight of duty; thought which Slave of the dark and dirty mine I 90 moulds 820 Slayer of winter, art thou here again? 297 The pilgrim and stranger, who, through the Sleep on, my love, in thy cold bed 28 day 278

Sleep, sleep te-day, tormenting cares 74 The rain has ceased, and in my room 238 Slowly, by God’s hand unfurled 260 The rain is o’er. Row dense and bright.. 147 Snow was glistening on the mountains, but There are gains for all our losses 287 the air was that of June 280 There are in this loud stunning tide 178 So, sweet, so sweet the roses in their blow-There is a land of pure delight 57 ing 291 There is no flock, however watched and Spring, with that nameless pathos in the tended 210 air 811 There is not in this wide world a valley so St Agnes’ Eve, ah, bitter chill it was I..

129 sweet 124 Steer hither, steer your wing~d pines 25 There the most dainty paradise on ground. 9 Stern daughter of the voice of God I 102

There was a time wlien meadow, grove, and Still sits the school-house by the road… 215 stream 97 Still to be neat, still to be drest 19 There was once a gentle time 91 Strike the loved harp; let the prelude be.. 888 The rich man’s son inherits lands 224 Success had made him more thanking….

818 The salt wind blows upon my cheek 298 Sure, to the mansions of the blest 137 The sea is calling, calling 886 Sweet Day, so cool, so calm, so bright…. 81 The seas are quiet when the winds give o’er 40 Sweetest of all childlike dreams 215 These, as they change, Almighty Father, Sweet is the scene when virtue dies I 74 these 52 Swee~sceuted flower I who`rt wont to These withered hands are weak 841 bloom 92 The shadows lay along 3roadway 172 5weet~voj~’~~“ij~p~ thy flue discourse…. 241 The sky is thick upon the se& 287 Sweet was the sound, when oft, at even-The solemn wood had spread 255 ing’s close 65 The sparrow sits and sings, and sings 295 Sweet wind, fair wind, where have you The splendor falls on castle walls 199 been? 887 The sun is warm, the sky is clear 127 The thoughts are strange that crowd into Tell me not, in mo’rrnfui numbers 209
my brain 155 Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind 80 The time so tranquil is and clear 10 Ten years I - and to my waking eye 265 The tree of deepest root is found 78 That house’s form within was rude and The weather-leech of the topsail shivers… 811 strong 9 The western waves of ebbing day 105

That regal soui I reverence, in whose eyes. 241 The wild Novemher comes at last 287 That time of year thou mayst in me be-The wind ahead, the billows high 240 hold 17 The winds that once the Argo bore 289 The Assyrian b230;1647;281;1659]came down like the wolf on The wind was whispering to the vines 805 the fold 125 The word of the Lord by night 201

The bard has sung, God never formed a The world is too much with us; late and soui 154 soon.. 103 The birds, when wintsr shades the sky.165 They are’sll“‘g’(~n’e”in”i~~ the”’ worl~ of light.. as

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INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 347 They gave the whole long day to idle What! our petitions spurned! The prayer 158 laughter 303 What was he doing, the great god Pan…. 193 They sat and comhed their heautiful hair.. 292 When all is done and said 3 They that have power to hurt and will do When coldness wraps this suffering clay.. 126 none 17 Whene’er a noble deed is wrought 211 Thine eyes still shone for me, though far.. 200 When Freedom from her mountain height. 156 Think me not unkind aud rude 199 When God at first made mau 12 This is the ship of pearl, which, poets fain 223 When I consider how my light is spent… 38 This morning, timely rapt with holy fire… 19 Whcn I have said my quiet say,. 273 This only grant me, that my means may lie 40 When in disgrace with fortune and men 5 Thou art, 0 God!

the life and light 124 eyes 17 Thou blossom bright with autumn dew… 189

When Israel, of the Lord beloved 107 Thou Grace Divine, encircling all 245

When love with unconfined wings. 30 Thought is deeper than all speech 234

When maidens such as Hester die 120 Thou hast sworn hy thy God, my Jeanie.. 145 When marshalled on the nightly plain 93 Thou lingering star, with lessening ray…. 83 When on my ear your loss was knelled…. 229

Thou singest by the gleaming isles 233 When the grass shall cover me 273

Thou, who didst stoop helow 325 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the Three fishers went sailing out into the west 249 kye come hame 85 Three Poets, in three distant ages horn… 46 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 17 Threescore 0’ nobles rade up the king’s ha’ 73 Where does Circumstance end, and ProviThree years she grew in sun and shower..

100 deuce, where hegins it? 243 Thrice happy she that is so well assured… 7 Where honor or where conscience does not Thy banks were bonnie, Yarrow stream… 75 hind 41 Tiger! Tiger! burning bright 85 Where the bee sucks, there lurk I 16 Till the slow daylight pale 272 Where the Great Lake’s sunny smiles 212 `Tis a story told by Kalidasa 334 Where the remote Bermudas ride 35 `Tis the middle of night by the castle clock 110

Whether on Ida’s shady brow 86 To fair I’idele’s grassy tomb 63 While sauntering through the crowded To him who in the love of Nature holds…

187 street 309 Toll for the brave!. 69 Whilst Thee I seek, protecting Power 136 Too late I stayed, forgive the crime 89 Whither, midst falling dew 187 Touch us gently, Time 179 Whoe’er she be 29 `T was when the wan leaf frae the birk-Who kuoweth life but questions death…. 276 tree was fa’in 182 Why should I, with a mournful, morbid Twelve years are gone since Matthew Lee. 185 spleen 309 Two dark-eyed maids, at shut of day 190

Why thus longing, thus forever sighing…. 251 Two wandering angels, Sleep and……. 232 With blackest moss the flower-plots 195 Two worids there are. To one our eyes we With deep affection 171 strain. 276 With fingers weary and worn 160 With how sad steps, 0 Moon! thou climb’st Under the greenwood-tree 16 the skies 6 Unto the glory of thy Holy Name 39 Within his sober realm of leafless trees…. 279 Up on the breezy he&lland the fisherman’s Within the sunlit forest 142 grave they made 334 Wouldst thou hear what man can say. 19 Upon the white sea-sand 134 Years, years ago, era yet my dreams 163 Venemous thorns that are so sharp and keen 4 Ye banks and brass and streams around… 82 Ye distant spires, ye sutique towers 62 Walking thus towards a pleasant grove…. 29 Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell 58 Was it the chime of a tiny bell 157 Ye say they all have passed away 260 We are all here 169 Yes, faith is a goodly anchor 227

We count the broken lyres that rest 220 You knew, -who knew not Astrophel9

7 We left the city, street and square 335 You lay a wreath on murdered Lincoin’s We knew it would rain, for all the morn 283 bier 324 What ails this heart 0’ mine9 75 You meaner beauties of the night 13 What is it fades and flickers in the fire 275 You say, but with no touch of scorn 197

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INDEX OF SUBJECTS. Page Page After fleath 272 Bucket, The 147 After Deatli in Arabia 318 Bugle Song 199 Again 274 Burial, Mter the 227 Alpine Sheep, The 229 Burns 165 Althea, To 30 Bust of Dante, On a 231 All`5 well 241, 298 Ambition 168 Camp, The Song cf the 263 Ainiens’s Song 16 Campanile de Pisa 230 Ambrose 226 Cana 246 Anchor, The Forgils of the 170 Careless Content 51 An Epistle to the Comitess of Cumber- “Castle of Indolence,”

From the 51 land, From 14 Celinda 29 Angelic Minist~’ 7 Chameleon, The 64

Angel in the House, An 144 Charity 273 Angel’s Visit, An 271 Chase, The 252 Apology, The 199 Childe’s Destiny, The 153 Ariel’s Song 16 Choir, The Old-fashioned 304 Artist, The 266 ChristabeL 110 A Tribute to a Servant,”

From 235 Chnstmas Hymn 233 At Sea 287 Christmas-Time 107 Auld Robin Gray 35 Church Gate, At the 195 Autumn, A still Day in 233 Climbing 294 Avoca, The Vale of 124 Culumhine, To the Painted 176 A wet Sheet and a flowing Sea 144 Come to me, Dearest 330 AzraeL 313 Coming Home 230 Commemoration Ode 223 Ball, After the.. 292 Compamonship of the Muse 34 Ball, The Belle of the 163 Concha 299 Bslquhither, The Braes 0 33 Confucius, The Music-Lesson of 331 Bsttle-Field, The 139 Congress, To 133 Bsttle H~nrn of the Republic 236 Content and Rich 10 Bedford, On Lucy, Countess of 19

Contentment 12 Begone Dull Care 20 Corn-Law Hymn 143 Bells, The 202

Coronach 106 Bennudas, The 35 Coronation 294 Bm~ne, The Terrace at 265

Courtin’, The 225 Bertha 268 Cowper’s Grave 194 Bertha in the Lane 191

Crickets, The 297 Bethlehem, The Star of 93 Cuckoo, To the 75, 100 Bingen on the Rhine 173 Cupid grown careful 91 Birds Stream 315 Bird, The 32

Daffodils, The 99 Blackbird, The 340 Daffodils, To 30 Blindness, On his 33

Dance, The 329 Blossoms, To 31 Dane, The Burial of the 261 Blue and the Gray, The 326 Dawn 323 Bonnie George Campbell 76 Deacon’s Masterpiece, The 221 Boston Hymn 201 Dead, The 73 Bothie of Toher-Navuolich,” From the 243

Dead who ha”e died in the Lord, The 89 Bower of Bliss, The 9 Death and the Youth 254 “Break, break, break! ” 196 Death of Dr. Levett, On the 39

Brides of Quair, The Ballad of the 310 Death the Leveller 23 Bridge of Sighs, On the 306 Death, The Secret of 317 Brookside, The 130 Death, Until - 251 Brough Bells 113 Dee, The Sands of

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INDEX OF SUBJECTS 349 Defiance, The Soul’s. 148 Gowan glitters on the Sward, The 86 DDeest\W’itpOtii~n of such a one as he would 320 Grongar Hill 54 love, A 4 Had I a Heart for Falsehood framed 79 Dickens in Camp.

301 Happiness 48 Different Points of View 314 Hark! hark! the Lark 16

Dirge for Fidele 16 Hawthorne 211 Dirge for a Soldier 290 Health, A 165

Dirge in Cvmbeline., 63 Heart, The Meinory of the 136 Doorstep, The 285

Heavenly Land, The 57 Dorothy Q 219 Heaven, The Present 176 Doubt 197

Heaven, There was Silence in 156 Down the Slope 276 Herb Rosemary, To the.

92 Driving Honie the Cows 316 Hereafter.. 312 Duddon, To the River 103

Heritage, The 224 Duty, Ode to. 102 Her last Poem 233 Hermit, The 72 Each and All 200 Hester…. 120 Edom 0’ Gordon 22 He that loves a rosy Cheek 23

Election, The Eve of 216 Highland Mary 82 Elegy 28 House in the Meadow, The 290 Elegy on Captain Matthew Henderson…. 84 Housekeeper, The 120

Elegy written in a Country Chui’chyard…. 60 How near to Good is what is Fair 19 Epitaph, A Bard’s 83 Hymn 47, 146, 173 Epitaph on Elizabeth L H 19

Hymn, A 32 Epithslaniiun~. 156 Hymn before Suiirise, in the Vale of ChaEpithalainium, From the 5 mouni 109 Errand, The Soul’s 3 Hymn for the Mother 270 Eternal Light 260 Hymn of Nature 162 Eton College, Ode on a distant Prospect of 62 Hymn of the Hebrew Maid 107 Eva. To 199 Hyiiin oil the Nativity 33 Evelyn Hope 203 Hymn to Christ 323 Eveiiing Hymn 29 Hymn to the Flowers 140 Evening, Ode to 64 Even lug Song 177 Iconoclast, The 233 Eventide 238 If thou wert by my Side 143 Illness, Written after Recovery from a Dan Faces, The old familiar 120 ~1erous 90 never love thee more 23 Fair and Unworthy 26 Inchcape Rock, The 117 Faith. 173 Indian Names 260 Family Meeting, The 169 In Ju~e 291 Farewell to the Fairies 20

In Meino’n’am 340 Fate 341 Inner Calin, The 247 Fern, The Petrified 341 In Prison 39 Field Prsaching 236 In School.Days 213 Fireside, By the 273

Inspiration 236 Fishers, The Three 249 In the Defences 233 Flag, The American 136 In the Mist 327 Flowers, The Death of the 188 In the Sea 298

Flower, The 31 Intimatious 9f Immortality 97 Fiy to the Desert 123 Inward Music 178 For one that hears himself much praised.. 33 Irish Emigrant, The 163 Forest Worship 142 Isaac Ashford 80 Forever with the Lord 133 Island Tlie 185 Friend Sorrow 278 Italian’ Song 81 Fringed Gentian, To the. 189

Italy. A Prophecy 338 Finieral, The Fisherman’s 334 “It is mors blessed “

239 “I will abide in thine House 277 Garden Song 193 I would not live alway 162 Garden, Thoughts in a 34 Gate, Bef6rs the 303 Jeanie Morrison 139 Geneva, The Lake of 126 Jester’s Sermon, The 293 Genevieve 108 Jesus, Lover of iny Soul 38 Ghost at Noon, A 142 John Davidson 78 Glenara 138

Judge not., 278 Glenlogie 73 July Dawning 333 Gnome, The Green 284 God kiioweth 307 God, The Kingdom of` 241 Keith of Raveiston 237 God, The Love of 243 Kinilrsd Hearts 134 God, The Will of 239 Krumley 234 Gold Coin, Ode to an Indian 90 Good-Morrow 2~ Labor 175

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350 INDEX OF SUBJECT~ Lady Anne Hamilton, To the 89 My Mind to me a Kingdom is 15 Lady Barbara 264 My old Kentucky Nurse 303 Lady Mary Ann 77

Mysteries of Providence 71 Lament….. 137 Myth, A 250 Lament for Astrophel (Sir Philip Sidney).. 7 My Times are in thy Hand 246 Lament for Flodden 88 Land 0’ the Leal, The 86 Nature, The Lessons of 12 Landward 287

Nature, The noble 18 Laus Deo!. 216 Nearer Home 256 Lay of the Imprisoned Huntsman 105 Nearer, my God, to thee 245 Leader, The Lost 207 Never again 287 Lent. To keep a true.. 31 New England Spring 224 Liberty 41 New Shiai, The 242 Life 75 Niagara, The Fail of 155 Lincoln, Abraham… 324 Night and Death 89 Lincoinshire, The High’`~Yds’o’u”th’e’ b’o’ast of 280 Night, The mid Hour of 124 Lines to my Mother’s Picture…. 69 No Age content with his own Estate 3 Lines written in Richmond Churchyard, Not ours the Vows 144 Yorkshire 93 November 2S~ Listening for God 307 Nymph’s Reply, The 5

Lochinvar, Young 104 Lord Uilin’s Daughter 139 Of a’ the Airts the Wind can blaw. 82 Losses 184 Of Myself 40 Loss of the Royal George 69 0 Lassie ayont the Hill 270 Love 259 Old Age and Death 40 Love and Friendship 165 0
may I join the Choir Invisible I 248 Love Divine, all Love exceiling 58

One Word is too often profaned. 128 Lovers, The Puritan 302 Oriental Idyl, An 262 Lover, The 253 0 Saviour I whose Mercy.. 178 Love, The Burial of 190 0 Thou who dry’st the Mourner’s tear 124 Love will find out the Way 19

Our Heroes 289 Lucasta, To 30 Our Mary 169 Lucy`5 1‘1lttm 182 Outward Bound 250 OvertheRiver. 27y Maidenhood 209 0, why should the Spirit of Mortal be proud 149 Majesty of God 3 Man, The Last 138 Painter who pleased Nobody and Everybody, March.. 297 The 50 Mariana 195 Palm and the Pine, The 181 Mariner’s Hymn 148 Pan in Wail Street 285 Mariner’s Wife, The 71

Paraphrase of Psalm XXIII Marriage 154 Psrspn, Character of a Good.. 46

Mary in Heaven, To 83 Passing away 157 Mary Morison 82 Paul Revere’s Ride 207 Master’s Touch, The 247 Peace 257 Match, A 286 Petition to Tlme, A 179

May 155 Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm, On &.. 101 May-pay Song 20

Pilgrim Song 168 Mazzini 304 Pilgrim, The 5 Meeting, The Quiet 319 Pirate, The 185 Melanie, From 172 Piscataqua River 288 Memory 196 Pleasure mixed with Pain 4 Memory, A 100 Poet of To-Day, The 265 Men of Old, The 180

Portrait of Red Jacket, On a 166 Midwinter 320 Prayer 39, 136 Milton’s Prayer in Blindness 237 Prayer in Sickness, A 179 Mind, The ImmortaL. 126

Prayer, The Universal 48 Mine Own 333 Pre-existence 309 Ministry, A Bird’s 321 Primrose, To an Early 92 Minstre~s Song in Eila, The 79 Problem The 200 Mont,Blanc 126 Prophecy, The Soul’s 202 Morning 177 Psalm of Life, A.

209 Morning Hymn 46 Puck, The Fairy to 16 Morning Meditations 160 Morning Street, The 328 Qua Cursuin Ventus 244 Moses, The Burial of 237 Queen of Bohemia, To his Mistress, the…. 18 Mother, o a Bereaved 137 Quiet from God Mountains The 262 Mummy, Address to an Egyptian 141 Rabbi Ben Ezra 204

Muses, To the. 86 Rain, After the 288 Music 26 Rain, Before the 288

Musical Instrument, A 193 Ready… My Birthday 214 Reason 46 My Life is like the Summer Rose 152 Recesses, From the

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INDEX OF SUBJECTS. 351 Resignation 89, 210 Sunlight and Starlight…. 277

Rest 32 Sunset, The Golden 244 Revenge of Injuries 13 Survivors, The 298

Rbeims, The Jackdaw of 150 Swallow, The Departure of the 182 Riches, The House of 9 Sweet Home 158 Right must win, The 239 Rivers, All the 306

Tacking Ship off Shore 811 Robin Goodfellow 21 Take thy auld Cloak about thee 24 Robinson of Leyden 221 Temple, The LivIng 219 Rocky Mountains in Winter, after many Thanatopsis 187 Years, On recrossingthe 335 The Barring 0’ the Door 24 Royalty 241 The Boatie rows 77 Ruth 161 The Chambered Nautilus 223 The closing Scene 279 The common Lot 135 Sabbath, The 174

“The Deserted Vfflage,” From 65 Saint Agnes, The Eve of 129 The Evening Cloud 146 Santa Filomena 211 The Friar of Orders Gray 67 Scboolmistress, The 59 The Good Man 13 Sea Dirge, A 16 The Grave by the Lake.. 212

Sea-Limits, The 295 The larger Hope 197 Search after Go~ 26 The Midges dance aboon the Burn 88 Seen and Unseen 240 The Rapture of Kilmeny 121

Seneca Lake, To 155 “The Rivulet,” From 190 Sennacherib, The Destruction of 125 The sweet Neglect 19 Serenade, A 105 They are all gone 33 Settler, The 234 Thou art, 0 God 124 Seven times Four 282 Thought 3 Seven times Seven 282 Thou hast sworn by thy God 145 Shandon, The Bells of 171 Thine Eyes still shone 200 Shay, The One-Hoss 221 Tibbie Inglis 181

Shepherd-Boy, The 253 Tiger, The 85 Shepherd to his Love, The passionate 4

To-Day and To-Morrow 212 She`s gane to dwall in Heaven 145 Too Late 250

She walks in Beauty 125 Touchstone, The 217 She was a Phantom of Delight 100 Trosachs, The 105 Shirt, The Song of the 160 Trust 179 Sic Vita 27

Tubal Cain 218 Siren’s Song, The 25 Twenty-three, On arriving at the Age of 38 Sir John Moore, The Burial of 152 Two Moods 337 Sisters, The 254

Skylark, To a 127 Una and the Lion 8 Sleep and Death 932 Unawares 305

Sleep, The 190 Under Milton’s Picture 46 Sleep, To 103 Under the Greenwood-Tree 16 Sleepy Hollow 235 Unseen 318 Small Begmnings 218 Up Above 247 Soldier’s Return, The 87 Urania 266 Song 25, 49, 105, 161, 313

Urvasi 334 Song for Saint Cecilia’s Day, 1687 45 Song of a Fellow-Worker 337 Vanishers, The..215 Song of Hesperus 18 Venice, Sunrise m 314 Song of Trust, A 308 Vespers 273 Sonnet 168 Violets, Under the 228 Sonnets 6, 17

Virtue 31 Soul, The 11 Virtuous, The Death of the 74 Soul, The Sabbath of the 74 Vision, A 83 Soul, The Upright 269 Voiceless, The 220 Sower, The 329 Voyagers, The 262 Spectre Horse, The 186 Spirits, Unseen 172 Waiting 316, 327 Spring in Carolina 311 “Walker in Nicaragua,” From 313 Spring, The Late 201 Waly, waly, but love be bonny 76 Stanzas 117, 234 Warnings, The three 73 Stanzas written in Dejection near Naples 127 Waterfowl, To a 187 Statue, The 326 Waters, The Meeting 273 Stream of Life, The 243 Way to sing, The 295 Strip of Blue, A 274 Way, the Truth, and the Life, The 239

Submission 296 We are Brethren a’ 184 Summer Day, A 10, 295 Weary 272

Summer Days 183 What ails this Heart o’ mine9 75 Summer Shower, After a 147 What is the Use? 321 Summoni’, The Fisherman’s 336 When Maggie gangs away 121 Sunflower. Th~ 272 When the Grass shall cover me 278

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352 INDEX OF SUBJECTS. Whilst thee I seek 136 Wordsworth 260 White Underneath 307 Word, The Last 266 Why thus longing` 251 Work 337 Wish, A 31 World, The 103 Wishes 29 World, The Other 248 Wishing 232 Worlds, The Two 276 Witiiess, The Sure 255 Woman 232 Yarrow Stream 75 Woinan’s Love, A 305 Yarrow, The Braes of 56 Woman, The true 7 Yarrow unvisited 101 Woods, From the 309 Ye golden Lamps of Ileaven, farewell!…. TllE END. 7 Ig1~

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