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O L DEN TREA SUR Y

C o m pile d by

J . C . S M I T H

O X F O R D

A t the C L A R END O N PRES S

2 I

Oxfor d Univer sity Press

Ed i’

izb-

u rgb G la fgow New Yor k

Al eleoitm e C ape Town Bom bay

Hu m phrey Milford Publ z'

fber to the Un iver si ty

P R E F A C E

YEARS ago , befor e the'

wa r,the Delegates of the

Clarendon Press invited me t o add t o my Book of Ve r se

for Boys a nd Gi r ls a fourth part designed fo r old er pupils .At the tim e I demu rred

,fearing comparison with the

Golden Tr ea su ry . But now that the invitation has been

r enewed I have come to think that there may be roomfor a book whi ch seeks not to rival but to supplementthe Golden Tr ea su ry . The Golden Tr easu ry is a collectiono f lyrics ; and there are many non - lyrical poems inEnglish that pupils would read as eagerly as the lyricso f the Golden Tr ea su ry i f they were available in as handya form . Therefore I have made thi s collection

,and by

thi s practical a im I would wish i t to be judged . I haveassumed that my readers possess the Golden Tr ea su ry , andpossess it in the Oxford edition with ad d itional poemsI have kept o ff that grou nd altogether ; and generallyin the periods covered by the original Golden Tr ea su ryI have eschewed all lyrics

,except two gems that Palgrave

at firs t overlooked . In the later periods I have been lessscrupulous

,but always with a preference for n o n - lyrical

poems if equally representative . I have also assumedthat my readers will possess certain poems in separateeditions

,e . g . Chau cer’s Pr ologue, sundry plays o f Shake

Speare,Milton’s C am us and a book o r two o f Pa r a d ise

Lost,with o n e o f Scott’s longer poems , an d perhaps The

Rape of tbe Lac/e . Let them add t o these the poems in

4 P r ef a ce

this collection,with the English Assoc ia tion ’s Songs of

To - day for contemporary lyric , and they will leaveschool not ill grou nd ed in English poetry . And bynothing is England so great as by her poetry

The Angles,Saxons

,an d Ju tes h ad some poetry of

their own even before they quitted their homes in LowGermany . They h ad the Epic and the Lay, specimensof which survive in Beowu lf an d the Figbt a t Finnsbu rgb.

Left in heathendom they might have evolved a poetryof native myth an d legend

,like the Norse . Bu t Christian

missionaries from Rome soon brou ght them under thesway of an older civilization and a loftier religion ; andthenceforth the Anglo - Saxon poets

,thou gh they cou ld

still sing at times of battle an d adventure,d evoted them

selves in the main to humble paraphrase of the Biblestory. All this

,however

,w a s in a tongu e an d id iom as

strange to u s as German,so that poetry written before

the Conqu est I S called Anglo - Saxon rather than English .

Out of the welter that followed the Conqu est a n ewnation emerged

,with new habits of thou ght an d speech

,

blended of Anglo - Saxon an d Norman - French—in a word,

the English nation and the English language . The firs tgreat poet of this n ew nation w as Geoff rey Chau cer .Though Chau cer is in this sense the father of English

poetry,in the history of Eu ropean poetry he comes near

the en d of an epoch . In the latter half of the fou rteenthcentu ry the Midd le Age— the age of Faith

,Romance

,

and Chivalry—w as d rawing towards its close . In itscourse it h ad accumulated a wealth of storial matterdrawn from the Bible an d the classics

,from the lives of

Pr ef a ce y

the saints,and the heroic legend s and folk- lore o f many

lands ; and many poets had worked over this matterFrench

,Provencal , I talian . Before Chau cer applied him

self t o give part o f this common store an English dres sa n d setting in the C a n ter bu ry Ta les

,he h ad served an

industrious apprenticeshi p t o French romance, had sa t

at the feet o f Boccaccio and Petrarch,and had learned

from hi s continental masters the art o f smooth syllabicverse rhymed in couplets o r stanzas . Chaucer’s worldwas still a small ring o f West European states

,pressed

upon by I slam from the east and sou th , bu t united inthemselves by a common creed and culture to a degree notsince realized— the Catholic world o f Western Christendo m

,whose heights and depths Dante had explored .

Chaucer was a courtier,content in the m ain t o dwell

o n the bright surface of chivalry and rhyme its heroismsand humours to a courtly audience . But under thesurface there was much misery among the commonsoppression in the S tate

,corruption in the Church

,even

plagu e and famine at times . This aspect o f Englishlif e found a voice in William Langland

,the fi rst o f o u r

prophets as Chaucer o f o u r poets . Langland representsthe Anglo - Saxon strain . Though his language is asFr en chified as Chaucer’s

,he had little o f Chaucer’s

French culture,and hi s Visi on of Pier sPlowm a n is couched

in the rough accentual alliterative metre o f Anglo - Saxon

poetry .

With Chaucer’s death a blight fell o n English poetry,

due partly t o civil strife,partly to the exhau stion o f

medi aeval themes,and partly t o phonetic dec ay in the

langu age,where the loss o f end ings an d shifting o f accents ,

6 P r‘

efa e

by d ivorcing the written from the spoken language, fo ra time imperilled the sense of metre . Popular poetryescaped this blight by clinging fast to the spoken languageindeed

,the fifteenth century is the heyd ay of the ballad .

And li terary poetry might also have escaped h ad anothergreat genius been born ju st then . Bu t none of Chaucer’sEnglish successors w as fi t to carry on the tale he lefthalf told . Let us turn , then , for a moment to Scotland .

Here poetry,it would seem

,h ad begun to bloom in

the glint of sunshine that followed Alexander III’s repuls eof the Northmen at least the half- legendary figure ofThomas the Rhymer

,the supposed au thor of the romance

of Si r Tr istr ern,appe ars t o belong to that age . But this

promise fad ed away in the deadly struggle for nationalindependence

,an d i t

'

w as fitting that the first importantScots poem should be John Barbour’s r ecord of thatstruggle . Barbour w as a contemporary of Chaucer’s

,an d

,

though not a dis ciple,h ad been brought u p in the same

French school his Br u ce is in the short rhymed cou pletsof the Rom a un t of the Rose . The Br u ce is a noble pieceof work

,but it is a rhymed chronicle rather than a poe

This native strain w as continued by And rew Wyn t o u nand Blind Harry

,the former being more of a chronicler,

the latter more of a poet and not unversed in Chaucer .I t was und er the direct influence of Chaucer

,in fact

,

that S cots poetry in the fifteenth centu ry bu rst intopurples that outredd ened the contemporary English roses ;From his English captivity James I brou ght home a lovefor Chaucer

,an d with his King

’s Qu a i r founded the

school of Scottish Chaucerians,of which the other chief

ornaments were Henryson, Dunbar, and Gavin Dou glas .

P refa r e 7

I t was an accomplished school while it lasted,wielding

a great v ariety o f elaborate metres,an d an ornate

sometimes t o o ornate— diction . I t reached i t s zenith atthe court o f James IV

,and its catastrophe o n the field

of Flodden . Amid the religious controversies o f thesixteenth century it still put for th late blooms ; bu t itbelonged essentially t o the Middle Age it failed t o takenew life from the new learn i ng

,and with the removal

of the court t o London in 1603 Scots poetry lost it sgentle audience and sank to the level o f folk - song .

Long before thi s the Renaissance had reached England,

and had been speedily followed by the Reformation . Bythe date o f Elizabeth’s accession the nation had grownfairly stable in matters o f polity, opinion , and language ,a n d the times were on ce more propitious for poetry .

Meanwhile VVya t t’s translations from Petrarch an d

Su rr ey’s from Virgil had add ed two new instruments t o

the English orchestra,viz . the sonnet and blank verse .

I t took a gener ation t o prove them , during whi ch Sackville

,Sidney

,Spenser

,Marlowe

,an d Shakespeare grew

up and then came such a burst o f song as England h adnever heard befor e . The genius o f the time pou red itselfmost freely into the popu lar drama but o n that I cannotdwell here . No r

,after Mr . Palgrave

,need I dwell on

the lyric,except t o remind my readers that this was also

o n e o f the great ages o f English music, when every otherman could touch a lute a n d song - maki ng was a commonaccomplishment . O u tside drama an d lyric

,the central

figur e in pure poetry is Edmund Spenser . Spenser wasthe second father o f English poetry . He t e - created i t sdic tion , he revived i t s music, and enl arged i t s compass ,

8 Pr ef a ce

founding the English ode by his ad aptations of the I talianea n z one , and inventing for his Fa er ie Qu een e the r sple n d id

s tanza that bears his name . In that masterpiece heessayed a loftier task than any English poet had ye t

attempted—a poem,namely

,which shou ld embrace the

whole of human conduct an d life,as it was lived in those

great times . Into the mediaeval form of a qu est oradventu re he poured the spirit of his own age . Thehorizons had widened since Chaucer ’s day. The navigators had discovered a new world the scholars of theRenaissance had revealed a forgotten civilization Spainhad driven the Moors from her soil a n d the Tu rks fromher waters ; but the Reformation had split WesternChristendom . To Spenser

,I slam was a remote an d

fad ing_menace : the eternal w a r of good a n d evil w a s

embodied fo r h im in the struggle of Protestant Englandwith Catholic Spain . But he laid the scenes of his warfareby the shores of o ld romance

,a n d gilded them with

beauties unknown toChaucer,beauties d rawn from the

n ew Greek learning an d the n ew I talian poetry of Ariostoa n d Tasso . All later English poets a re Spenser’s debtors .Even before Elizabeth’s d eath

,the unity of national

feeling which had acclaimed the Fa er ie Qu een e beganto show rifts both in relig ion and in politics . In poetry,too , the introspective yet passionate genius of John Donneturned away from romantic conventions to explore thesecrets of the inner life

,an d drew after it a large following

of the witty an d pious in his own generation an d thenext . Bu t Donne

,after all

,wa s a deep backwater :

Spenser was in the main stream .

Milton acknowledged to Dryd en that Spenser was

P r ef a ce 9

his original . The debt is obvious in the metr es andd iction o f his earlier poems and , thou gh the blank verseo f Pa r a d ise Lost owes nothi n g to Spenser, i t s scheme o fsalvation had been ou tlined in Spenser’s Hym n of Hea ven ly

Love . With a sterner temper than Spenser’s , and an artfar more austere

,M ilton essayed a still loftier task

a task commensurate with all time and all existencenothi ng less than the j u s tification o f God ’s ways

,as

Puritanism comprehended them . Fo r schism had invaded

the Protestant faith itself when M ilton,in the strength

o f his own genius an d learning, se t forth t o do fo r hissect what Dante

,with the metaphysical aid o f all the

schoolmen,had done for mediaeval Catholicism . In the

end he produced,not indeed a system o f theology

,bu t

a sublime fable which imposed itself o n the Protestantmind fo r two centu ries with an authority almost Scriptural . And he made the only long non - dr amatic blankverse poem in o u r language which, taken as a whole, canjustly be called great . Only the planetary momentumo f that mighty o r b o f song could su s tain so vast a flightwithout the wings o f rhyme .Except in Milton

,the ideal im pulse which had u pheld

English poetry fo r a century died down at the Restoration .

The wars o f r eligion wer e over men turned t o businesso r pleasure ; and the poets , n o longer presuming t o

scan a G o d who,as they thought

,was withdrawn into

His heaven,sought their subj ects and their aud ience in

polite society. They aimed at a style t o match,neither

learned n o r popula r—even the drama was no longer‘popular ’ in the Elizabethan sense—but soc iall y cu l

t iva t e d . Extravagance and enthusiasm went out of

I o P ref a ce

fashion,correctness and common sense came in . The

heroic couplet,long used for narrative

,proved even more

useful for eulogy,satire

,an d argument political o r social .

Dryden gave it an edge an d Pope a point and for two

generations it fairly ousted all other measures except intragedy

,where blank verse

,after a short conflict , held

its own . This Augustan age, as it was called, perfectedEnglish prose

,and imported into the more pedestrian

forms of verse the pecu liar excellences of prose only i tgrew stilted when it tried to soarThe next two generations saw the ideal impulse

beginning to stir again,s triving to break through the

Augustan convention to a more natural,moving

,and

imaginative treatment of simpler or deeper things .Thomson’s love for country life

,Cowper’s love fo r

animals,Blake’s love for children

,the interest shown by

Gray an d Colli ns in non - classical myths and legends,

whether Norse or Welsh or Gaelic— all these are stirringsof a Spirit not yet quite consc ious an d articulate . Wehonour these poets as mu ch for what they sou ght as fo rwhat they achieved . The times were still unpropitiousfor high poetry ; and it is scarcely a mere coincidencethat , of the four English poets whom I have named, threewere more or less insane and the fourth was tou ched withmelancholy

,as if in that rationali stic age it was only

through the cracks and chinks of reason that the Englishmind could escape into pure poetry . Bu r n s

’s ample and

genial achievement w as d u e largely t o his luck in beingborn a Scottish peasant ; cradled, therefore, in thepopular trad ition of song which still lived in Scotland;a n d able at the same time to go behind the Augustan

[166 I I

convention of Engl ish poetry t o an ind ependent literarytradition and serve himself heir t o the o ld Scottishmakars Out o f these two Scottish traditions—thepopular and the literary—he framed a style admirablefo r al l the homelier purposes o f poetry i t s loftier formshe did n o t attempt . In England

,the oral trad it ion o f

popular verse was dead o r dying ; but the publicationof Percy’s Rel igu es in 1765 revealed some o f the wealtho f older English poetry

,especially o f popular poetry

,an d

helped t o free the tongues o f a new generation o f poetsthen abou t t o be born . All thi ngs n ow pointed towardssome grea t change .

The herald o f the new era was Jean - Jacques Rousseau .

In opposition t o the doctr ines o f Divine Right andOriginal Sin he taught that society was essentially a c o mpact fo r the promotion o f the general happiness

,and that

man,though corrupted by convention and custom

,was

originally good,perfectible

,and in harmony with bene

fic en t natu re . Such teaching was a challenge t o Europe

t o br eak up the o ld ord er an d remould it near er t o thehear t’s desire . In the same spirit the Declaration o f

American Ind ependence asserted fo r all men the rightto life

,liberty

,an d the pursuit o f happiness . On minds

indoctrinated with these ideas the French Revolutionbroke like the d awn o f a golden age

,when Nature and

Reason,deth ronin g custom

,should speedily lead al l man

kind t o happiness .The corresponding movement in poetry has manyaspects ; but they all import a breaking with the o ld

order,and a reaching o u t into unknown modes o f being

for new sou rces o f inspiration '

, new forms o f t ru th o r

I 2 P ref a ce

beau ty, n ew freedom,n ew happiness . The Return to

Natu re ’, the Renaissance of Wond er’

,the Romantic

Revival -these names d escribe the aspects of the movement which appealed most to Wordsworth

,Coleridge

,

an d Scott respectively . To Wordsworth,its foremost

apostle,it meant above all a new conception of God

,as

of One not withd rawn from the world He had made bu tdwelling creatively in nature and in the mind of man .

Cast down from the hope that he had bu ilt On theRevolu tion

,Wordsworth retired to the mountains among

which the fou ndations of his mind h ad been laid , notd espairing of man’s infinite d estiny, but cherishing thevision which he once beheld

,and seeking to root his faith

deeper in the primal sympathies and sanctities of natu rean d kind red

,a n d to fin d his happiness ther e . And so he

brought poetry back to tru th,find ing his subj ects in the

common primary affections and duties,reforging the o u t

worn d iction of poetry in the fi re of his own heart,a n d

t empering it anew in the stream of common speech .

Cou ld he have done a s much for English rhythms,o u r

debt to him wou ld have been s till greater . Even as i t13,he may well be called the third fou nder of English

poetry,which still keeps the bent that he gave it . The

finer but more fu gitive genius of Coleridge,similarly

d isappointed,made itself anodyn es of mystery a n d meta

physics,an d still d reamed on . Scott w as neither a r evo lu

t io n a ry nor a visionary ; but his keen sense of natu ralbeauty

,an d his profound feeling for the past

,revealed

to his del ighted cou ntrymen the romantic glories of theirnative land a n d their own hi story .

The second triad of Romantic poets stood in a d ifferent

Pr ef a ce I 3

relation to the French Revolu tion . They had n o t knownthe hope o f its d awn nor the d espair o f i t s eclipse . Bythe time they grew t o manhood the Qu adru ple Alliancehad resettled Europe in the interests o f monarchy . Butthe reverberations o f the Revolu tion still filled the air .I t s love of freedom

,i t s hatred of oppression and can t

still burned in Byron’s heart Shell ey’s being was a passion of creative aspiration towards a world in which theai r we breathe is love Kea fs lived and died in the eagerpursuit o f the p r inciple o f beauty in all things . To thesepoets Gr eece now stood for something o f what France

,

in the d ays of youth and hope, had meant t o Wordsworth and Coleridge . She drew their eyes as the landwhere the human spirit had once achieved i t s nobles texpression

,an d might

,if free

,do so again . In Elizabethan

days Sidney and Spenser had dalli ed with Hellenism,and

so had some o f our seventeenth - century poets Milton,

Gray,an d Coleridge knew Greek l iteratu re

,as they knew

most literatures bu t as a vivifying infl u ence in Englishpoetry Hellenism d ates from the generation when Keatsinterpreted the art of Greece

,and Shelley sang of her

,

and Byron died for her . Abou t the same time anotherbygone civilization began to exert fresh charms o n o u r

poets . Scott recaptured the adventu rou s and chivalricSpirit o f the Middle Age Coleridge caught some o f i t sglamour i t s deeper life w as brou ght home t o Englishreaders by Carey’s Miltonic tr anslation o f Dante’s Divin eC om edy ; finally Keats

,the worshipper o f beauty

,was

fascinated by its pic torial qu alities as mu ch as by the fai rforms o f Attic art

,an d tau ght Tennyson an d other

Victorians t o see them through his eyes .

I4 Pr efa ce

To give expression to this n ew m ass of thought an d

feeling the Romantic poets recovered and au gmented

our ancient English dower of poetic d iction an d metres ,an d ransacked the world for su bj ects familiar or strange .

But their thoughts and feelings were still too n ew,

abstract,and inchoate

,too littl e absorbed into the

common national stock of thou ght and feeling, to taker eadily the great

,o ld

,classic forms of poetry

,simple ,

sensuous,passionate .’ Their owri minds were still their

favourite haunt an d the main region of their song . Inconsequence

,their productions

,except in lyric, remained

fragmentary,like a Gothic cathed ral without the nave .

How well Shelley knew this is shown by his acclamationo f Byron’s Don 7u a n as the one g reat long poem of theage . Don yu a n i s certainly a criticism of life , simple andsensu ou s if not passionate ; but a poem so d estitute ofprinciple an d d esign

,of elevation in thou ght an d feeling,

cannot be taken to represent fit ly an age which , if i tprod u ced no great long poem

,w as perhaps richer th an

any in the stuff of poetry . Word sworth’s Pr elude hasa better claim ,

bu t i t w as not published till 1 8 50 .

Before Victoria’s accession a ll these Romantic poetswere dead except Wordsworth

,and Wordsworth h ad

fallen silent . The n ew generation of Victorians continu edthe Romantic trad ition with more art if with less in sp1r a

tion . Yet , thou gh their su bj ects and methods are muchthe same

,their spirit i s someh ow different . With the

transference of power to the midd le classes,the millennial

hopes o f the Romantics had su bsid ed into a vagu e beliefin progress and the spread of civilization . P olitics ceasedfor a time to inspire

,a n d poetry became less general

,

P r ef a ce r y

busying itself more with individual lives and fates . Hencethe great Victor ian invention o f the Dramatic Monologu eo r Dramatic Lyric . In personal lyric the Vic torians

,

though varied and accompli shed,are' less spontaneous

than the Romantic s ; an d in the long poem they aren o more successful : Tbe R ing a nd the Boole is a serieso f Dramatic Monologues with a common centre ; I nMem or i a m is a series o f elegies o n o n e theme the I dyllsof tbe King are a palace tenanted by ghosts . The thoughtso f the Victorians o n individual life and fate were allclouded with doubt

,c as t by the growing conflict between

science and faith . Browning and Tennyson,so unlike

in externals,are o n e in creed both cling—the one co n

fid en t ly, the other desperately—t o the hope o f personalimmortali ty Browning turning the souls o f his creationsthis way and that t o catch the facet that reflects theSun o f Righteousness ; Tennyson confronting the grimvision o f a dead and meaningless world in the strengtho f hi s own deathl ess love fo r h is friend . The eclipse o f

faith,whi ch Arnold faced with stoical resignation

,Swim

burn e welcomed with pagan glee . Rossetti and Morristurned aside from a distrau ght and sordid age t o seekbeauty fo r i t s own sake in the distant and the past .Meredith and Hardy accepted

,though t o very different

issues,the su pposed conclusions of a natu ralistic science .

The voice of faith was heard in the poems o f ChristinaRossetti

,and again

,towards the end o f the century, in

those o f Francis Thompson . By that time also thetroubles which so oppressed the earlier Victorians begant o weigh o n men less heavily

,and poetry once more

turned outward,t o the burdens and glories o f Empire .

r 6 Pr ef a ce

Mr . Kipling,who led the enterprise , may be called o u r

only Edwardian . Of the later G eorgians it is too soonto speak : they are still too near us . Only this m ay

‘besaid

,that no age has been richer in poets of at least the

second rank,or has better maintained o u r poetic trad ition

of high -mind edness,decency

,and romance

,or our national

character as lovers of tru th a n d liberty .

I have to thank Mr . Robert Bridges for permission toinclu d e There is a hill beside the silver ThamesMr . Thomas Hardy for Friend s Beyond Mr . Ru dyardKipling an d Messrs . Methu en 8c Co . for Ford 0

’ Kabu lRiver Messrs . Bu rns Oates for Francis Thompson’sThe Hou nd of Heaven Messrs . Chatto 8cWindus an dlVIessr s. Charles Scribner’s Sons fo r Stevenson’s Christmas

'

a r Sea Messrs . Constable 85 Co . fo r Meredith’sB allad of Past Meridian Messrs . Ellis for Rossetti’sLast Three from Trafalgar Mr . William Heinemannfor Swinbu rne’s ‘When the Hou nd s of Spring (fromHta la n ta in C a lydon) and Su n ,

that hast lightened ’

(from Er ecbtbeus) , Mr . John Lane for Sir William Watson’s ‘Father of the Forest ’

,Mr . John Mu rray for

Browning’s Ech e t lo s an d the Scottish Text Societyfor the text of Dunbar .

https://www.forgottenbooks.com/join

I 8 Con t en ts

PAGEALEXANDER POPE

A n Epist le to D r . Arbu thn o t

OL IVER GOLDSM ITHThe Dese rt ed Vi llage

WILL IAM C OWPERO n m y Mo the r ’s Pi c tu r e

WILLIAM BLAKEThe Bo ok o f The lVision o f Beu lah

ROBERT BURNSThe C o t t e r

’

s Sa tu rd ay NightTa m o

’

Sha n t e r

WILLIAM WORD SWORTHThe Ru in e d C o t tageTin t e rn AbbeyReso lu ti on a n d In d epen den ce

S IR WALTER SC OTTNe lson , Pi t t , a n d Fox

SAMUEL TAYLOR C OLERIDGEC hr ist abe l

,Pa r t I

LORD BYRONFr om The Vision o f Ju dgem en t

PER C Y BYSSHE SHELLEY

The Sen si tive Pla n tFr om the Le t t e r t o Ma ria Gisbo rn eSu m m e r an d Wi n t e r

JOHN KEATSO d e on a Gr e cia n UrnThe Eve o f S t . Agn es

THOMAS HOODThe Br idge of Sighs

Con ten ts 1 9

PAG ERALPH WALDO EMERSON

Ur ie l

ELI ! ABETH BARRETT BROWN INGThe C ry o f the C hi ld r en

ALFRED TENNYSONTh e Lo tos-Ea te rsUlyssesIn th e Va ll ey o f C a u te r e t z

Fr om In Mem o r iam

WILL IAMMAKEPEACE THA C KERAYThe Ba lla d o f Bou i lla bai sse

ROBERT BROWN INGThe Flowe r ’s Na m e

The Last Rid e Toge the rRu de l t o the La dy o f Tr ipo liA To cca ta o f Ga lu ppi’sMay a n d Dea thThe Pa t r io tMy La st Du chessAb t Vogle rEche tlo s

EMILY BRONTEThe Pr ison e r

Last Lin es

WALT WH ITMANPion e e rsAr t i ll e rym an

’

s VisionC om e u p fr om the fie lds fa the r

MATTHEW ARNOLDThyrsis

GEORGE MEREDITHA Ba lla d o f Pa st Me rid ia n

20 Con ten ts

PAG EDANTE GABRIEL ROSSET TI

The La st Thr e e fr om Tr a fa lga r

ALGERNON C HARLES SWINBURNECho r u s fr om At a lan t aC ho ru s fr om Er e chthe u s

THOMAS HARDYFr ien ds Beyon d

ROBERT BRIDGESThe r e is a hill besid e the si lve r Tham es

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSONC hr istm a s a t Sea

S IR WILL IAM WATSONThe Fa the r of the Fo r est

FRANCIS THOMPSONTh e Hou n d o f Heaven

RUDYARD KIPL INGFo r d 0

’ Ka bu l Rive r

J O H N B A R B O U R d . r 39 5

Bru ce a nd L ay/ri d er

[Bru ce ha d inva d ed Ir e lan d t o su ppo rt hi s br o the r Edwa rd ’

s

cl ai m t o th e Ir ish cr own , a n d wa s r e t r eati n g be fo r e su pe rio r en em yfo r ce s, when thi s in cid en t o ccu r r ed .]

HE king h as herd ane woman c ryAnd aski t qubat that wes in by.

I t is ane landar,schi r

,

’ said ane,

That hi r childyn e richt n ow has tane,And m o n lewe n ow behyn d u s her

,

Th a r fo r scho m akisy o n evill cher . ’

The king said,Certis

,it war pite

That scho in that poynt left suld be,

Fo r cer tis,I trow

,tha t is n o man

That he n e will rew u p- o u woman .

’

His host all than a r e st it he,And gert ane tent soyn e st en t it be

,

And gert her gang in hast elyAn d

‘

o thi r women till he hir by,Qu hill scho d e lyv e r wes he bad ;An d syn e fu rth o n his wayis raidAnd how scho fu rth su ld c a ryi t be ,Or evi r he fu re

,than o r d an it he .

°

Thi s wes a fu ll gret cu r t asy,That sic a king an d sw a m ych tyGer t his men duell o n thi s maner

,

Bot fo r a full po u i r layn d e r .

ha st e . la n d a r ] la un d r ess . childyn e] la bo u r .

lewe] stay . ge r t] ca u sed . st en ti t] pi t ched .

d u e ll] sta y .

W I L L I A M L A N G L A N D 13324 400 0)

Bell - tae- C a t

[The ca t is the a ged Kin g Edwa rd I I I ; the ki t ten is hi s hei ra ppa r en t

, a ft e rwa rds Richa rd I I the r a ts a n d m i ce a r e the com m on s,

gr ea t a n d sm a ll ]

Ippa t ran he r e a route of ratones at ones ,And smale mys m yd hem mo pe n a po u sand e ,

And comen t o a conseille fo r here comune profitFo r a cat of a cou rte cam whan hym lyke d ,And o u e r lepe hem ly3t1ich and lau 3te hem a t his wille,And pleyd e w iphem pe r ilo u slych and possed hem aboute .For dou te of dyu e r se d r ed e s w e dar nongte wel lokeAn d gif we grucche of hi s gamen he wil gren e vs alle

,

C r acch e vs, o r c low e vs and in his cloches holde,

That vs lotheth he lyf o r he lete vs passe .

My3t e we w ip any witte his wille w i thst o n d e ,We m ygt e be lordes aloft and lyn en at owre ese .

’

A raton o f renon most renable of tonge,

Seide for a so u e r eygn e help t o bym - se lu e

I haue yse in segges,’ quod he in pe cite of london

Beren bi3es ful br igt e abo u t en here n ekke s,

And some co le r s of crafty werk vn co u ple'

d pe i wendenBope in w a r e in e St in waste where hem l e u e lyke thAn d otherwhile pe i aren elles -where as I here telle .

Were he r e a belle on here bei; bi Iesu , as me thynke th ,Men m ygt e wite where pe i went and awei renneAnd ri3t so ,

’ quod at r a t o u n r eso n me sheweth,

To bu gge a belle o brasse or of b r igt e sylu e r ,And kn i t t en o n a colere for owre comu ne profit

,

And hangen it vp - o u pe c a t t e s hals panne here we mowenWhere he r it t o r rest or r en n e th t o playe .

r a ton es] r a ts. la u3te] ca u ght . possed] pu shedo r] e r e . r en a ble] loqu a ciou s. segges] m en . bi3es] co lla r sle u e] d ea r ly . bu gge] buy . ha ls] n e ck . r i t t] r ide th, m ove th .

Wi lli a m Lang la nd 2 3

And 3if him li s t fo r t o laike henne loke we mowen ,And peren in his presence he r - whil e bym plaie liketh ,And gif him w r a t the th

,be yw a r and his weye sho nye .

’

Alle his route o f ratones t o his r eso n he i assented.Ac ho he belle was ybo u 3t and o n he beige hanged ,pere n e was r a t o u n in alle he route fo r alle he r ewm e o f

Pr aunce,

pa t dorst haue ybounden he belle aboute he cattis nekke,Ne‘ hangen it aboute he ca t t e s hals al Enge lo n d e t o

wynneAnd helden hem vn ha rdy and here consei lle feble,And leten here labour e lost 8c alle here longe st u dye .

A moushla t moche good couthe

,as me tho u gt e ,

Stroke fort sternl y and stode biform hem alle,

And t o he route o f r atones r ehe r ced hese wordesThou; we cul led e c atte gu t sho ld e he r come another,T o c r acchy vs an al owre kynde ho n ; we c rope vn d e r

benches .Fo r - hi I conseill e all e he comune t o lat he c atte wo r the ,And be we neuer so bolde he belle bym t o shewe ;Fo r I herde my sire seyu is senene gere ypassed ,pere he catte is a kitoun he courte is ful e lyn gpa t w i t n isse th ho liw r i t e who - so wil it red e

,

Ve ter r e o bi puer r ex est , Ur .

Fo r may n o renke here rest haue fo r ratones bi nygt e

pe while he c accheh co nyn ge s he co u e i t e th n o u gt owrec a r oyn e ,

But fet bym a l with ven eso u n defame we bym neuere .Fo r better is a litel losse han a longe so rwe,De mase am o n ge vs alle ho u ; we m ysse a sch r ewe .

Fo r many mannus malt we m ys wolde destru ye,And also 3c route o f ratones rende menu es clothes ,

la ike] spo r t . A c] Bu t . cou the] kn ew . S t r oke] Bru shed .

cu ll ed] ki ll ed . c r ope] cr ep t . Fo r -hi] The r e fo r e . wo r th e] be .

e lyn g] wr e tch ed . Ve ter r e Wo e t o th e la n d when the kin g isa chi ld . r en ke] m an . co nyn ges] co n ies . m a se ] con fu sio n .

sch r ewe] sin n e r .

24. Willi a m La ng lan d

Ne r e ha t c a t o f ha t courte ha t can 3OW o u e r lepe

Fo r had 3e r a t t es gow r e wille 3c couthe nou3t r eu le

gowr e se lu e .

I sey fo r me,

’ qu od he mous I se so mykel after,Shal neuer he c a t n e he kitoun bi my conseill e be g r eu ed ,Ne carpyng o f his coler ha t costed me neure .And ho u ; it had coste me catel bikn owen it I nolde,But su fi r e as hym - self wolde t o do as bym liketh,Coupled 8c vn co upled t o cacche what thei mowe .Fo r - hi vche a wise wi3te I warne wite wel his own e .

’

What his m e rc les bem en e th 3c men ha t be m e rye ,Deu in e 3e , for I n e dar bi dere god in heu en e

G E O F F R E Y C H A U C E R 1340 - 1400

Tbe P a rdon er’

s Ta le

N Flau n d r es whylom was a co m panyeOf yonge folk

,that h au n t ed en fo lye ,

As ryot,hasard

,st ewes

,and tavernes

,

Whe r - as,with harpes

,lutes

,and g i t e r n es,

They d au n c e an d pleye at dees bothe day an d night,

And ete also and d r in ken over hir might,

Thu rgh which they doon the devel sac r ifyseWith- in that d eve les temple, in cu rsed wyseBy supe rflu it e e abhominableHir othes been so grete and so d am pn able ,That it is grisly for to here hem swe r e

O u r blissed lordes body they to - tereHem tho u gh t e Jewes rente hi m n ogh t y

—nou ghAn d e ch o f hem at o th e r es sinne lou gh .

And r ight anon than comen t o m be st e r e s

Ne r e] We r e the r e n o t . ca rpyn g] t a lkin g. b ikn owen ]a ckn owledge . n o ld e] wou ld n o t . v che] e a ch. w i t e] kn ow .

m e te les] d r eam . gi t e rn es] gu i ta r s . t om beste r es] tum bler s.

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26 Geofirey C/ra n cer

Henne over a m yle , with- in a gr eet village,

Both man and wo m m an,child and hyne

,and page .

I trowe his habi t ac io u n be ther eT o been avysed greet wisdom it were ,Er that he dide a man a dishonour . ’

Ye, go dd e s armes ,

’ quod this ryo t o u r ,Is it swich peril with hi m for to mete ?I shal him seke by w ey and eek by strete,I make avow to go dd e s digne bonesHe rkn e th

,fe law es, w e three been al ones

Lat ech of us holde up hi s hond til other,

And ech of us bico m en o the r e s brother,

And w e wo l sleen this false t r ayt o u r DeethHe shal be slayn , which that so many sleeth,By go d d es d ign i t e e , er it be night .

’

T ogid r es han thise three her t r o u thes plight ,To live and dyen ech of hem for other

,

As though he were his owen e y- boren brother .And up they sterte a l d r o nken

,in this rage

,

And forth they goon t owa r d e s that village,

Of whi ch the taverner had spoke biform,

And many a grisly o o th than han they sworn,

And C r ist e s blessed body they to - renteDeeth shal be deed

,if that they may him he n t e .

’

Whan they han goon nat fully half a m yle ,Right as they wolde han t r o d en over a style

,

An old man and a povr e with hem mette .Thi s olde man fu l m eke ly hem grette,And seyde thus

,now

,lordes

,god yow se e

The proudest of thise ryo t o u r es threeAn sw e r d e agaym , what ? carl , . with sory grace,Why ar t ow a l fo rw r apped save thy face ?Why live st ow so longe in so greet age ?Thi s olde man gan loke in his visage,

And seyde thus,fo r I n e c an nat fin d e

Hen n e] Hen ce . hyn e] hin d , se rva n t . d ign e] wo r thy.

hen t e] t ake .

Geofirey C /J a u cer 7

A man,though that I walked in - t o Inde

,

Neither in citee n o r in no village ,That wolde chaunge h is yonthe fo r m yn ageAnd the r fo r e moot I han myn age stille

,

As longe time as it is go dd e s will e .

Ne deeth,allas n e wo l na t han my lyf

Thus walke I,lyk a r est e le e s ca ityf,

An d o n the ground, which is my m o d r e s gate,

I knokke with my st af,bothe erly and late

,

And seye,leve moder

,leet me in

Lo,how I vanish, flesh

,and blood

,and skin

Al las whan shul my bones been at res te ?Moder

,with yow wolde I chaunge my cheste,

Tha t in my chambre longe tym e hath be,

Ye fo r an heyre clout t o wr appe meBut yet t o me she wo l nat d o that grace

,

Fo r which fu l pale and welked is my face .

But,sirs

,to yow it is n o cu r t e isye

T o Speken t o an o ld man vil e inye ,But he trespasse in worde

,o r elles in dede .

In holy writ ye may your - self wel rede,

Agayn s an o l d man , hoor upon his heed,Ye sho ld e a ryse whe r fo r I yeve yow reed,Ne doo th u n - to an o ld man noon harm n ow ,

Na - more than ye wolde men dide t o yowIn age

,if that ye so longe abyd e ;

And go d be with yow ,whet ye go o r ryde .

I moot go th id e r as I have t o go .

’

Nay,olde che r l

,by go d , thou shalt nat so ,

’

Seyde this other hasa r do u r anonThou pa r t e st nat so lightly, by se in t JohnThou spak r ight n ow o f t hilke t r a i t o u r Deeth

,

That in thi s contree a lle o u r fr e n d e s sleeth .

Have heer my t r o u th e,as thou art h is aspye ,

Tel whe r he is, o r thou shal t

'

i t abye,

leve] d e a r . we lke d] withe r ed . Bu t] Excep t .

r eed ] co u n se l . a spye] spy . a bye] a n swe r .

2 8 Geoflrey C ba u ce r

By god,and by thy holy sacrament

Fo r soothl y thou art o o n o f hi s assent,

T o sleen us yonge folk, thou false the e fNow

,sirs

,

’ quod he,if that yow be so leef

To fin d e Deeth,turne up this c r oked wey

,

Fo r in tha t grove I laft e him,by my fey,

Under a tr ee, and ther he wo l abyd eNa t fo r your boost he wo l him n o - thing hyd e .See ye that o ok ? right ther ye shul hi m fin d e .

Go d s ave yow,that bogh t e agayn m ankin d e

,

And yow amende —thu s seyd e thi s olde m an .

And ever ich of thi se ryo t o u r e s ran ,Til he c am t o that tree

,and ther they fo u n d e

Of flo r in s fyn e o f golde y- coyn e d roundeWel ny an e igh t e bu ssh e ls, as hem tho u gh t e .

No lenger than n e a fter Deeth they so u gh t e ,But e ch of hem so glad was of that sigh t e ,For that the florins been so faire and b r igh t e ,That doun they sette hem by this precious hord .

The wo r st e of hem he spake the fir st e word .

Brethren,

’ quod he,tak kepe ‘what I seye

My wit is greet,though that I bou rde and pleye .

This tresor hath fortune n u ’

- to us yiven ,In m ir th e and jo l it e e o u r lyf to liven ,And lightly as it comth

,so wo l we spende .

Ey l go dd es preciou s dign it e e who wend eT o - day

,that we sho l d e han so fair a grace ?

But m igh t e this gold be caried fr o this placeHoom t o myn hon s

,o r elles u n - to yo u r es

Fo r We l ye woot that a l this gold is ouresThan were we in heigh fe l ici t ee .

But t r ewe ly, by daye it may nat beMen wolde seyn that we were theves stronge,And fo r our owen e tresor doon u s ho n ge .

fey] fa i th . bogh t e a gaym ] r ed e em ed . kepe] heed.

bou r d e] jest . we n d e] ween e d . d o on u s hon ge] ca u se u s to be

ha n ged .

Geofir e! C/J a zt ce r 2 9

Th is tresor moste y- caried be by n igh t e

As wysly and as slyly as it m igh t e .

Whe r fo r e I r ede that cu t among u s alleBe drawe

,and lat se e whe r the c u t wo l falle

And he that hath the cu t with her te blytheSha l renne t o the toune

,and that ful swythe ,

And bringe u s breed and wyn fu l pr ive ly.

And two o f u s shul kepen subtill yThis tresor wel and

,if he wol nat tarie ,

Whan it is ni ght,we wo l thi s tresor carie

By o o n assent , whe r - as -

u s thi nk eth best . ’

That o o n o f hem the cu t b r o u gh t e in hi s fest ,And bad hem drawe

,and loke whe r it wol falle

And it fil o n the yo n gest e o f hem alleAnd for th toward the toun he wente anon .

And a l - so so me as that he was go n ,That o o n o f hem spak thus u n - t o that other,Thou knowest wel thou ar t my swo r n e brother,Thy p rofit wo l I telle thee anon .

Thou wo o st wel that o u r fe law e is agonAnd heer is gold

,and that ful greet plen t e e ,

That shal departed been among u s three .

But n a th e le s,if I c an shape it so

That it departed were among u s two ,Hadd e I nat doo n a fr e en d es torn t o thee ?Th at other an swe r d e

,I n o o t how - that may be

He'

wo o t how that the go ld is with u s tweye ,What shal we doon

,what shal we t o him seye ?

Shal it be conseil ? seyde the fir st e shr ewe ,And I shal tell en thee

,in wordes fewe ,

What we shal doon,and bringe it wel aboute .

’

I g r au n t e ,’ quo d that other, o u t o f doute ,

That, by my t r ou the , I wo l thee n at biwr eye .

’

Now,

’ qu od the first e,thou wo o st wel we be tweye ,

And two o f u s shul strenger be than o on .

Loo k whan that he is se t,and right an o o n

swythe] spee dily. n o o t] wo t n o t .

30 Geof r ey C/J a u ce r

Arys,as though thou wo ld est with him pleye

And I shal t yve him thu rgh the sydes tw eye

Whyl that thou st r oge lest with him as in game,

And with thy dagger look thou do the sameAnd than shal a l this gold depar ted be

,

My der e freend,bitw ix

‘

e n me and theeThan may w e bothe o u r lustes al fu lfille ,And pleye at dees r lgh t at o u r ow en e will e . ’

And thus accorded been thi se sh r ewe s tweyeT o slee 'n the thr id ’d e

,as ye han herd me seye .

This yo nge st , whi ch that wente n u - to the toun,Fu l ofte in herte he rolleth up and dounThe be au t e e o f thi se flo r in s newe and b r igh t e .

0 lord q'

u od he,

‘if so wer e that I m igh t eHave al thi s tresor to m y- self allone

,

Ther is n o man that liveth under the troneOf go d , that sho ld e live so mery as IAnd atte laste the fe en d

,o u r enemy,

Putte in hi s thought that he sh‘o ld poyson beye,With which he m igh t e sleen hi s fe law es t

’weye

Fo r - why the fe en d fon‘

d hi m in swich lyvin ge ,That he had leve him t o so rwe bringe,Fo r this w as o u t r e ly hi s fu lle ententeT o sleen hem bothe

,and never t o repente .

And forth he go o th , n o lenger wold e he tarie,Into the toun

, u n- t o a po th e car ie ,

And preyed him,that he him wolde selle

Som poyson,that he m igh t e his t artes quelle

And eek ther was a po lca t in his hawe,That

,as he seyde

,his c apo u n s hadd e y- slawe

And fayn he wolde w r eke him ,if he m igh t e ,

On vermin,that destroyed him by n ight e .

The po th eca r ie an swe rd e , and thou shalt haveA thing that

,a l - so god my soule save,

In al this world ther n is n o cr eature,Fo r -why] B e ca u se . o u t r e ly] u t te r ly . hawe] ya rd .

wr ek e] aven ge .

Geoflrey C ba u cer 3 I

That e t c o r d ro nke hath o f this co nfit u r eNogh t but the mountance o f a corn o f whe t e ,That he n e shal hi s lyi anon fo r le t eYe

,sterve he shal, a n d that in lasse whyle

Than thou wolt goon a paas nat bu t a m yleThis poyson is so s trong and violent . ’

Thi s cursed man hath in his hond y- hentThi s poyson in a bo x, and sith he ranIn - t o the n ext e strete, u m - to a man ,And bo rwed [o f] him large botels threeAnd in the two his poyson poured heThe th r idd e he kept e c len e fo r h is drinke .Fo r a l the night he shoop him fo r to sw inke

In c a ryinge o f the gold o u t o f that place .

And whan this ryo t o u r , with sory grace,Had fill ed with wyn his grete botels three

,

T o his fe law es agaym r epa ir e th he .

What n ed e th it t o sermone o f i t more ?Fo r right as they had cast his deeth bifore,Right so they han him slayn ,

and that anon .

And whan that this was doon,thu s Spak that o o n ,

Now l'at u s sitte and drinke,and make u s merie,

And afterward we w o l hi s body berie . ’

And with tha t word it happed him,par c as,

T o take the botel ther the poyson was,

And d rank,and ya i hi s fe lawe drinke also ,

Fo r which anon they st o rven bothe two .

But , c ertes , I suppose that Avice nWroot never in n o canon

,m e in n o fen ,

Mo wonder signes o f empoisoningThan badde thi se w r e cche s two

,er hir ending .

Thu s ended been thi se ho m icyd e s two ,And eek the false e m poyso n e r also .

m o u n ta n ce] a m ou n t . fo r le t e] leave . ste rve] d ie .

si th] a fte r tha t . shoop] pla n n ed . swink e] la bo u r .

pa r ca s] by cha n ce . Av icen ] Avi cen n a , an Ar a b physicianfen ] cha pte r .

R O B E R T H E N R Y S O N

The Ta i l! of the Upon lan a’is Mon s a nd the

Bu rg e r Mon s

ESOBE

,my autho r , maki s m en t io u n

Of t 'wa myis,and thay

.

w e r sist e r is deir,

Of quhom e the eldest d u e l t m ane boron s toun,

The uther wyn n it upo nl an d , weill neir ,So li t e r , qu hi le under busk, quhile under br e ir ,Qu hi lis i n the com e, and ii th e r m en n is skaith,As o u t law is dois an d levis o n thair waith .

Thi s ru r a ll mous into the winter tyd eHad hunger , cauld, an d tho lit gret d ist r es.

The uther mous that in the burgh c an bydeWa s gi ld bro ther and maid ane fr e burgessToll fr e also

,but cu stu m mair o r les

,

And fr edom e had t o ga qu h a ir ever scho list ,Amang the cheis in a rk

,and meill in ki st .

Ane rym e quhen s cho was full and u n fu t e sair ,Scho tuik in m yn d e hir sister u po nl an d ,And langit fo r to hei r o f hi r w e ilfair ,T o se qu hat lyfe scho led under the wand :Bair fu t e , a llone, with pykest alf in hir hand,As pure pilgrym e scho passir o u t o f toun,T o seik hir sister baith o u r daill and doun .

Fur th mony wilsum w ayis can scho walk ,Throw moss an d mure

,throw banki s

,bu

,sk and b r e i r ,

Scho ran cryan d , qu hill scho come t o ane balk

bor on s t ou n ] bu rgh . wyn n it] dwe lt . upon la n d] i n th e

cou n t ry. ska i th] dam age . wa ith] hu n tin g . tho li t] en du r ed .

can ] did . bu t] wi thou t . cu stu m ] ta x . kist]chest .

wa n d] osie r . wi lsum ] l on esom e . qu h i ll] ti ll . ba lk ridg e .

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34. R obe r t H en ryson

That I and ye lay baith withi n ane wameI keip the rait and cu st o m e o f m y dame,And o f my ley ing in t o pove r t ie ,Fo r landis haif we nane in pr ope r t ie .

’

My fair sis ter,

’ quod scho,haif me excu si t ,

This rude dya t and I can n o t accordT o tender meit my sto m ok is ay u sit

,

Fo r qu h il is I fair als weill as ony lordThir w idd e r i t pe is and nutr is , o r thay be bord,Will brek my t ei th , and mak my wame full skle n d e r ,Quh ilk was be fo ir usit t o m e i t is tender .’

Weill,weill

,sister

,

’ quod the rur ale mous,

Gif it pleis yow ,sic thing as ye se heir

,

Baith meit and dr ink,herberie and hou s

,

Sall be your awin,will ye r emane all ye ir

Ye sall it haif with bl ith and mery cheir,And that sou ld mak the m a issis th at ar ru de

,

Amang fr ien d is,richt tend er and wonder gude .

Qu b at ple su r e is in fe ist is delicate,The qu hilk ar gevin with ane glowm an d brow ?Ane gen t ill hart is better recreateWith bl ith courage, than seith to him ane kowAne modicum is mair for till allow,

Sua that gu de will be carver at the dais,

Than th r aw in vult and mony spyci t mais .’

For a ll hir mer ie exho r t a t io u n ,

Thi s burges mous had l i t ill will t o sing,Bot he vil ie scho kest hir b r ovvis doun ,Fo r a ll the d ayn t e is that scho culd hi r bring .

Yit a t the last scho said, half in hething,Sister

,this vic tu all and your r oye ll feist

May weill suffice un to ane r u r all heist .

Thir] These . o r ] e r e . he rbe r ie] lodgin g. m a issis] m esses .

sei th] se e the . thr awin vu l t] cr o ss fa ce . he thin g] sco rn .

R ober t H en ryson 3 5

Let be this hole,and cu m unto my place

,

I sall t o yow schaw be experienceMy Gude Fryday is better n o r your PaceMy dische - likking is is wirth you r b aill e xpen c e .

I haif ho u sis anew o f grit defence ;Of c a t n o r fall n o r trap I haif na d r e id .

’

I grant,

’ qu od scho and o n t og idd e r yeid .

In Tst u bbill array throw rankes t gres and com e ,And under bu sh is

, pr evili e culd thay c r eip .

The eldest was the gide and went befo r n e,

The younger t o hir wayis tu ik gude keip .

On nych t thay ran , and o n the day c an sle ipQu hill i n the morning, o r the lave r ok sang,Thay fand the toun

,and i n bli thl ie culd gang .

No t fer fra thine u n td ane wi r thi e waneThi s burges brocht thame sone qu b air thay suld beWithou t G o d spe id thair herberie was taneInto ane spence with v ic t u e ll grit pleu r icBaith cheis a n d butter u po u n thair ske lfis hi e ,And fie sch e and fisch e aneuch

,baith fresche and salt ,

And sekkis fu ll o f meill and eik o f malt .

Efter qu hen thay disposit war to dyne,Wi tho u t in grace thay wesche a n d went t o meit ,With all co u r sis that c u ikis culd d efyn e ,Mu t to u n and be if st r ukkin in t a ilye is greitAne lo r d is fair thus culd thay counterfeit

,

Except ane thing,thay drank the watter c le ir

In steid o f wyne,bo t yit thay maid gude cheir .

With bl ith u pcast and merie countenance,

The eldest sister spe r i t at hi r gest ,Gif tha t scho be ressone fand d iffe r r en ceBe t u ix that chalmer and hir sar ie nest .

Pa ce] Ea ste r . a n ew] en o u gh . fa ll ] t ra p . la ve r ok ] la rk .

cu ld ] d i d . thin e] the n ce . spe n ce] la rd e r . st ru k k in ] cu t .

ta ilye is] slices. u pca st] r a i lle ry . spe r i t] a sked .

C 2

R obe r t H en ryson

Yea dame,

’ quo d scho,bot how lang will this lest ?

Fo r eve r m a ir,I wait

,and langer t o .

’

Gif it be swa,ye a r at eis

,

’ quod scho .

Till eik thair cheir ane su bcha rge fur th scho b ro cfit ,Ane plait o f gr o t t is, an d ane dische fu ll o f meillThr af ca ikis als I tr ow scho Spai r i t nocht,Abo u n d an t lie about hi r for to d e ill ;And man fu ll e fyn e scho brocht in steid of ge ill ,And ane qu h it e candill o u t o f ane coffer stall,In steid of spyce to gu st thair mou th w i th a l l .

Thus maid thay merie qu h ill thay m ych t na mair,And

,h a ill

,yu ill

,h a ill thay c ryi t u po n e hie .

Yit efter joy o ftym es cumis cair,

And t r o u b ill efter grit pr o spe r it ie .

Thus as thay sa t in all thair jo li t ie ,The Spe n sa r come with keyis in his hand,O ppyn n i t the d u r , and thame at d enner fand .

Thay t aryi t nocht to wasche , as I suppo is,Bo t on to ga qu ha that m ych t fo r m est w in .

The burges had ane bo ill , and in scho goisHir sister had na ho ill t o hide hir inT o se that selie mous it w as grit sin

,

So desolate and wil l o f ane gu d e reidFor verray d r e id scho fell in swou n neir deid .

Bot,

’ as God wald,it fell ane h appi e cace ;

The Spen sar had na laser fo r to bide,Nouther t o seik n o r se r ch e

,to skar n o r chace

,

Bot on he went,and left the d u r up wyde .

The bald burges hi s passing weill hes spyd eO u t of hir ho ill scho come and c ryi t on hie,How fair ye

,sister ? c ry peip , qu h a ir ever ye be ?

e ik] ek e o u t . su bcha rge] se con d cou r se .

Th r a f] Un leaven ed . m a n ] cake .

Spen sa r] bu t le r . w il l of] a st r ay fr o m .

R obe r t H en ryso 3 7

Thi s ru r all mous lay fla t ling o n the ground,

And fo r the d e ith scho was full sair d r e id an d,

Fo r till hi r hart straik mony wo fu ll stound,

As in ane fever scho t r im bli t fu te and handAnd quhen hi r sister in sic ply hi r fand

,

Fo r verray pietic scho began t o gr eit,

Syn e confort hi r with wo r d is hu n ny sweir .

Quhy ly ye thus ? ryse up , my sister dei r,Cum t o your m e it

,thi s perr ell is over past .’

The uther an swe r i t hir with hevie cheir,

I may n o t e i t,sa sair I am agast

I had .1eve r thi r fo u r ti e d ayis fast ,With watter c a ill

,and t o gnaw beni s and pe is,

Than a ll your feist in thi s d r e id and diseis .’

With fai r t r e t ie yit scho gart hi r u pryse ,And t o the burde thay baith t o gidder sa t ;And skan t li e had thay d r u nkin anis o r twyse ,Oub em 1n come Gib Hu nter

,o u r j olie ca t

,

And bad G o d speid the b iirges up with that,An d till hi r bo ill scho went as fyr e o n flintBawdr o n is the uther be the bak hes hint .

Fra fute t o fu te he kest hir t o and fra,

Quhili s up , quhi l is doun , al s cant as o ny kidQu hilis wald he lat hi r rin under the stra,Quhi lis wald he wink, and play with hi r bukh id .

Thu s t o the sel ie mous grit pane he di d,

Quhil l at the last, throw fortoun and gude hap ,Be tu ix the do r so u r and the wall scho crap .

And up in haist behi nd the pa r r alin gScho clam sa hie

,that Gilbert m ych t n o t get h i t ,

Syne be the clu ke thair c r aft e lie c an hi ng,

Till he w as gane,hi r cheir was all the better .

sto u n d ] pa n g . ply] plight . ca i ll] br o th . Bawd ron is]Puss . hin t] ca u ght . ca n t] playfu l . bu khid ] hid e - a n d - se ek .

d o r so u r, pa r r a lin g] ha n gin g, cu r t a in . c luk e ] cl aw .

3 8 R obe r t H en ryson

Syne doun scho lap qu h en thair was nane t o let hir,And t o the burges mous loud can scho c ryFa irwe ill

,sister

,thy feist heir I defy

Thy mangerie is mingir all with cair,

Thy guse is gude,thy gan se l l sour as gall ;

The su bcharge o f thy service is bot sa i r,Sa sall thow find h e ir e ft e rwar t may fal l .I thank yone co u r tyn e and yone perpall wallOf my defence n ow fra yone c r ewe l l be ist .

Al m ych t ie G o d,keip me fra sic ane feist

We r I in t o the kith that I come fra,

Fo r weill n o r wa suld I never cum agam e .

’

With that scho tuik hir leve and furth can ga ,

Qu hi l is throw the com e, and quhili s throw the planeQu hen scho was fur th and i r e , scho was full fane,And m e r il ie merkit unto the mureI c an n o t tell how eft e rwa r t scho fur e.

Bot I hard say scho passi t t o hi t den ,Als warme als woll

,suppo is it wa s not greit,

Full ben el ie st u ffit,baith but an d ben

,

Of peiss,and n u t t is, heinis, ry, and qu h e i t

Qu h en ever scho list , scho had aneu ch to e i t ,In quiet an d e is

,vvi tho u t t in o ny d r e id

Bot t o hir sist e r is feist n a mair scho yeid .

le t] p r even t . d e fy] r en o u n ce . m a n ge r ie] e a tin g .

m in gi t] m in gled . ga n se ll] sa u ce . fa ll] befa l l . pe rpa l l]pa r ti ti on . ki th] (kn own ) pla ce . m e rki t] t o ok he r way . wo ll

]wo o l . suppo is] thou gh . ben e l ie] com fo r ta b ly . bu t a n d ben

o u t - r o om a n d in - r o om,kit chen a n d pa r lo u r .

W I L L I A M D U N B A R

The Da nce gf the Sevin B eid ly

FF Feb ru a r the fyift en e nych t ,Fu ll lang be fo i r the d ayis lych t ,

I lay in till a tranceAnd then I saw baith hevin an d hellMe thocht

,am an g is the feyn d is fell ,

Mahoun gart c ry ane danceO ff sch r ew is that wer nevir schr evin

,

Agan iss the feist of Fast e r n is evin,T o mak thair observance ;He bad gall an dis g a graith a gyiss,And kast vp gam o u n t is in the skyiThat las t c ame o u t o f Fr ance .

Heille h a r lo t t es o n haw t an e wyissCome in with mony sin dr ie gyiss,Bo t yit luche nevir MahounQuhill pr e ist is come in with ha ir schevin n ekkis

,

Than a ll the feyn dis lewche , and maid gekkis,Blak Belly and Bawsy B rown .

Lat se,

’ quod he,Now qu h a begyn n is

With that the fowll Sevin De idly Syn n is

Begow th t o leip at anis .An d first o f all in dance wes Pryd ,With hair wyld bak and bonet o n syd ,Lyk t o mak va ist i e wanisAnd round abowt him

,as a quheill ,

Hang a ll in r u m pil lis t o the h e ill

Mahoun ] Ma ho m e t,i . e . th e devil . sch r evin ] shr ive n .

gr a i th a gyiss] pr epa r e a m a squ e . ga m ou n ti s] ga m bo ls.

Heil i e] Pr o u d . hawta n e] ha ughty . gekk is] m o cks .

Begowth] Bega n . va istie] em p ty .

40 Wi l li a m Du n ba r

His kethar fo r the nanisMony pr owd t r u m po u r with hi m t r ippit

Throw skald an d iyre,ay as thay

.

skippi t

Thay gyr n d with hi d do u ss grani s .

Than Yr e come in with sturt and st ryfe

His hand wes ay vpo u n hi s knyfe ,He br an d e ist lyk a beirBo st a r is

,br agga r

is,an d ba

o

rgan e r is,Eft ir hi in passi t in to pai r i s,Al l bodin i n feir of weir ;In iakki s an d st ryppis and bon n e t t is of st e ill ,Thair leggis w e r chenye it to the h e ill ,Ffr awa r t wes their affeirSum vpo u n vd i r with brandis beft

,

Sum jaggit v th ir is to the heft,With knyvis that sche rp cowd sche ir .

Nixt in the dance fo llowit Invy,Fild full of feid and fe ll o ny,Hid m a lyce an d d ispyt e

Ffo r pryv ie h a t r e n t that t r a t o u r t rym l it .

Him fo llowi t mony fr e ik d issym lit ,With fenye i t vvi r d is qu byte ;And fla t t e r e r is m to menis facis ;An d bakbyt t a r is of sind ry racis ,TO ley that had d e lyt eAnd r own ar is of fals l esing isAll ace ! that co u r t is o f noble kingisOf thame c an nevir be quyte .

Nixt him in dans come C u va tyce ,Rute of a ll evil l and grund o f vyse

,

k e tha t] ca sso ck . n a n is] n on ce . t r u m pou r] chea t .

stu r t ] t u r bu len ce . ba rga n e r is] W r a n gle r s. bo d in In fei r o f weir ]a r r ayed 1n gu ise o f wa r . ch enye i t] cla d i n cha in - m a i l .

Ffr awa r t] Fr owa r d a ffe ir] bea r in g. be i t] be a t . jaggi t]pr i cked . fe id] feu d . fr e ik ] wa g . r own a r is] whispe r e r s .

lesin gis] lies.

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42 Wi lli a m Dun ba r

Thay wer full strenge o f countenance,

Lyk t u rkass birn an d reid .

Than the fowll m o n st ir G lu t t eny,O ff wame vn sasiable and gredy,T o dance he did him dressHim fo llowi t mony fowll d r u n cka r t ,With c an an d co l lep, cop and quart ,In su rfle t and excess ;Full mony a waistless wallyd rag,With wam iss vnwe ild abl e

,did furth wag

,

In c r e ische that did in cr essDryn k ay thay c ryi t , with mony a ga ip ;The feyn di s ga if thame hait leid to la ip,Their lovery wes na less .

Na m en st r al lis playi t t o thame but dowt,Ffo r glem en thair w e r haldin owt

,

Be day,and eik by nych t

Except a m en st r a ll that slew a man ,Swa till his he r e t age he wan ,And en t ir t be b r e if o f richt .

Than c ryd Mahoun fo r a Hel e ian d padyan e

Syn c ran a feyn d to feche Makfadyan e ,Ffar n o r thwa r t in a nukeBe he the co r r en o ch had done schou t

,

Er sch em en so g add e r it him abow t,

In Hell grit rowme thay tuke .Thae t a r m egan t is, with tag and tatter,Ffu ll lowd in Er sche begow th to clatter,And r owp lyk revin and rukeThe Dcvill sa devit we s with thair yell

,

That in the d epe st po t o f hellHe sm o r i t thame with sm uke .

t u rka ss] pin ce r s . wa m e] be lly . wa llyd r a g] weakli n g.

cr eische] gr e a se . love ry] d esi r e . bu t] wi tho u t . pa dyan e]pagea n t . Be] By th e t im e tha t . Ersch em en ] Ga e ls .

r owp] cr o ak . d evi t] d ea fen ed . sm o r i t] sm o the r ed .

A N O N. c . 1 500

The Nu t-Br own Ma id

E it right o r wrong,these men among

On women do co m pl a in e

Afie rm yng this , how that it isA l abour spent in vaine

To love them wele fo r never a d el eThey love a man agayn e

Fo r lete a man do what he can,

Ther favour t o a t t ayn e ,Yet yf a newe t o them pursue,Th er fur s t tr ew lover thanLabour eth fo r nought fo r from he r thoughtHe is a ban n isshed m an .

I say n o t nay,but that all day

I t is bo the writ and sayd eThat womans fay

'

th is,as who saythe ,

Al l utterly decayedBut n eve r the les

,right good w it n es

In this case might be layd eThat they love t r ewe and co n tyn ew ;Recorde the Nu t b r own e maide

,

Whi che from her love,whan

,her t o prove ,

He cam t o make hi s mone,

Wolde n o t departe,fo r in her herte

She lovyd'

but him all one .

Than be twen e u s let u s di scusse,

What was all the manerBe twe n e them t oo we wyl alsoTelle all the peyn e in - fere

a m o n g] so m e ti m es . tha n ] the n . Re co r de ] Sha l lbe a r wi tn ess . in - fe r e] in co m pa n y .

44 An on .

That she was in n ow I begyn n e ,8 00 that ye me an swe r e .

Wherefore alle ye that present be,

I pray yo u geve an care .

I am the knygh t , I cu m be nygh t ,As secret as I can

,

Sayn g Alas,thus st o n dyth the

I am a ban n issh ed man .

’

And I,your wyll fo r t o fu lfylle ,

In this wyl n o t refuse,Tr usting t o sh ewe

,in wo r dis fewe

,

That men have an ill u seTo their own e shame, wym en t o blame

,

And c au seles them accu se .Therefore t o yo u , I an swe r e n ow

,

Alle wym e n t o excuseMyn own e hert dere

,with yo u what chi e r e ?

I prey yo u telle an o o nFo r in my m yn d e , of al l m ankyn d e ,I love but you allone .

’

I t st o n d ith so,a deed is d o

,

Wherefore moche harme shal gr oweMy d est e ny is for

‘to deyA sham fu l dethe I trow

,

Or elli s to flee the t o n mu s t bee,

None other wey I knoweBut t o vvi thd r awe

,as an ou tlaw

,

And take me t o my bowe ;Whe r fo r e adew,

my own e hert t r ewe,

None other rede I can,

For I m u st e t o the grene wode go o ,Alone

,a ban n isshed man .

’

the ton ] the o n e . r e d e I ca n ] co u n se l I kn ow.

An on . 45'

O Lor de,wha t is thi s wo r l dis blisse

,

That chau n ge th as the mone ?My som ers day

,in lusty may

,

Is d e rked before the noneI here yo u s aye fa rw e l nay

,nay

,

We depar te n o t 500 soneWhy say ye so , whed e r wyl ye go o ,Al as what have ye done ?

All m y welfare t o so r ow and careShu ld e chaunge

, yf ye were go nFor in my m yn d e , o f all m ankyn d e ,I love but you alone .

’

I can bel eve,i t shal yo u greve,

And so m wh a t yo u d ist r ayn eBut aftyrwa rd e , you r paynes hardeWithi n a day o r tw eyn eShal sone a - slake

,and ye shal take

Confort t o yo u agayn e .

Why shu l d ye nought ? fo r t o take thoughtYour labur were in vayne

,

And thu s I d o,and pray yo u ,

100

As he r t e ly as I c anFo r I m u st e t o o the gr ene wood go o ,Al one

,a ban n isshe d man .

’

Now syth that ye have shewed to meThe secret o f your m yn d e ,I shalbe playne t o yo u agayn e ,Lyke as ye shal me fyn d e .

Syth it"

is so,that ye wyll go o ,

I woll n o t leve behyn d eShal never be s ayd

,the Nu t brown e mayd

Was t o her love unkind

.

d e rk ed d a rken ed . d epa r t e] pa rt . whe d e r] whi the r .

di st r ayn e d isqu ie t . a - sla ke ] le ssen . sy th] sin ce .

leve] r em a in .

46 Anon .

Make yo u r edy,for 500 am I ,

All- though it were an o o nFor in my m yn d e , o f all m ankyn de ,I love but yo u alone .

’

Yet I you rede to take go od hede ,What men wyl thinke and sey

Of yonge and olde it shalbe tolde,

That ye be gone away,

You r wanton wyll e for t o fu lfyll e ,In grene wood you to play

,

And that ye m ygh t from you r d e lyt eNo o lenger make delay.

Rather than ye shu ld thu s for meBe called an yl le woman ,

Yet wolde I t o the grene wo dde goo,

Alone,a banysh ed man .

’

Though it be songe of olde and yonge,

That I shu ld be to blame,

Theirs be the charge,that Speke so large

In hurting o f m y nameFor I wyl prove that feythfu l

' love,

I t is d evoyd of shame,In you r distresse and h e avin esse ,To parte wyth yo u the same ;

And su re all thoo,that d o o n o t so

,

T r ewe lovers ar they noonBu t in m y m yn d e , of all m ankyn de ,I love but you alone .’

I co u n c e l yow ,remembre how

It is n o o m ayd en’s lawe

Nothing t o d ow t e,but t o r enne o u t

To wo d with an o u tl awe

Of yon ge] By you ng . pa r te wy th] sh a r e w i th . tho o ] tho se .

d ow te] fea r .

An on .

Fo r ye must ther e in your hande he reA bowe redy t o dr awe

,

And as a the ef thus must ye lyve ,Ever in d r ed e and awe

By whi che t o yow gret harme m ygh t grow,

Yet had I lever thanTha t I had t oo the grene wod goo ,Al one

,a banysshyd man .

’

I thi nke n o t nay,but as ye saye

,

I t is n oo m ayd en s loreBut love may make me

,fo r your sake

,

As ye have sa id before,T o co m on fote, t o hunte and shoteT o get u s mete and store

Fo r 500 tha t I your companyMay have

,I a ske n o o mor e

From whi che t o par te,it m aki th myn

As cold as ony stonFo r in my m yn d e , o f all m ankyn d e ,I love but yo u alone .

’

Fo r an o u t lawe thi s is the lawe,

Tha t men bym take and bindeWyt ho u t pyt e e , hanged t o bee ,An d waver with the wyn d e .

Yf I had neede,as go d fo r

- bede,

What rescous cou de ye fin d eFo r so the I trowe

, yo u and your boweShul drawe fo r fere b ehyn d e

And 1100 m e rveyle , fo r lyt el avayle

Were in your co u n cel thanWherefor e I t o o the woo d e

‘

wyl go o ,Al one

,a banysshd man .

’

leve r] ra the r . tha n ] then . r escou s] r es cu e , a id .

Fu l wel knowe ye,that wym en bee

F111 febyl fo r to fygh t ,Noo wo m anhed is it in d eed e ,To bee bolde as a knight

Yet in su che fere y'f that ye were

,

Am o n ge enemys day and nygh t ,I wold e wythst o n d e , with bowe in hande,T o greve them as I m ygh t ,

And yo u t o save,as wym en have

From death men many oneFo r in my m yn d e , o f all m ankyn d e ,I love but yo u alone .

’

Yet take good hed e,fo r ever I d r e d e ,

That ye cou de n o t su st e inThe thorney w aye s, the depe valeis ,The snowe

,the frost

,the reyn ,

The co ld e,the hete for drye or wete,

We mu s t lodge on the playnAn d

,u s above

,n o other rove

Bu t a brake bu ssh,or twayn e

Which e sone Shu ld e greve you,I beleve ,

And ye wolde glad ly thanThat I had t o o the grene wode go o ,Al one

,a banysshyd man .

’

Syth I have here ben par tyn e r eWith yo u o f joy and blysse ,I m u st e also parte o f your wo oEndure

,as reason is ;

Ye t I am sure of 00 pl esu r e ,And shortly it is‘

th is,

That where ye bee,me sem e th

,perde

,

I coude n o t fare a - m ysse .

r ove] r o o f. 00 ] o n e

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yo z i non .

Wyth bowe in hande for t o wi thst o n d eYour en m ys, yf nede be

And thi s same nygh t , before day- lygh t ,T o wood - ward wyl I flee

An d if ye wyl all thi s fu lfylle ,Do o i t sho r t e ly as ye can ,

Ellis wil I t o the grene wode go o ,Alone

,a banysshyd man .

’

I shal as n ow d o more for yo uThan longeth t o womanhede

,

iT o short my here,a bowe to bere,

T o shote in time o f nede .O my swete moder

,before all other

Fo r you have I most d r ed eBut now

,a - diew I mu st ensue

Wh e r fortune doth me leedeAll thi s make ye n ow lete u s flee

,

The day cu m e th fast u ponFo r in my m yn d e , of all m ankyn d e ,I love but yo u alone .

’

Nay,nay

,n o t 300

,ye shal not go o ,

And I shal telle yo u whyYour appe tyt e is t o be lygh tOf love

,I wele a8pie

For right as ye have sayd to me,

In lyke wyse h a r dclyYe wolde an swe r e

,who - so - ever it were

,

In way of company.

I t i s sayd o f olde,Son e hote

,sone co ld e

,

And so is a womanWherefore I t o o thewood e wyl go o ,Al one

,a banysshid man .

’

sho r t ely] qu ick ly . lon ge th] be lo n ge th . A ll thi s m akeYou a r e the ca u se o f a ll thi s . h a r d c ly] bo ld ly .

An on . 5’ I

Yef ye take hede,yet is n o o nedc

Such wo r dis t o say bee meFo r ofte ye reyd

,and longe assayed

,

Or I yo u Iovid , pe r d e eAnd though that I

,o f au n cest ry

A barons d o u gh t e r bee,Yet have yo u proved how I yo u loved,A squyc r o f low degree,

And ever shal,whatso be fal le

,

T o dey therefore a - noonFo r in my m yn d e , o f all m ankyn d e ,I love but you alone . ’

A barons childe t o be begyled ,I t were a cu r ssed dede

T o be fe low with an o u t - laweAlm i ghty god fo r - bede

Yet be t tyr were the por e squyc rAlone t o forest yed e

,

Than ye shal saye another day,

That be my wyked dedeYe were betrayed ; Wh e rfo r e , goodThe best rede that I can

,

I s,that I t o o the grene - wode go o ,Alone

,a banysshed man .

’

Whatso - ever be - fall e,I never shal

Of thi s thing yow upbraidBut yf ye go o and leve me 300 ,Then have ye me be t r a ied .

Remembre yo u wele how that ye dele,Fo r yf ye, as ye sayd e ,

Be so u nk'yn d e , t o leve behyn d eYour love

,the n o tb r own e maide

,

be e m e] r ega rdi n g m e . To d ey] We re I to d ie . yed e] wen t .

D 2

y2 An on .

Trust me tru ly that I shal dey,

Sone after ye be gone,

For in my m yn d e , o f all man - kyndeI love but yo u alone .

’

Yef that ye went , ye shu ld e repent,Fo r in the forest now

I have pu r ve id me o f a maide,Whom I love mor e than you .

Another fayr e r than ever ye were,I d are it we l avowe

And of yo u bothe, eche shu l d be wrotheWith other

,as I trowe

I t were mine ease t o lyv e in peaseSo wyl I , yf I can ;

Wh e r fo r e I to the wode wyl goo ,Alone

,a banysshi d man .

’

Thou gh in the wood I u n di r st o d eYe had a paramour

,

All thi s may nou ght r em eve my thought ,But that I will be your ;

And she shal fyn d e me softe and kinde,And cu r t e is every o u r

,

Glad t o fu l fyl le all that she wylleC o m m au n d me

,t o my power

For had ye,loo an ho n d r ed moo

,

Yet wolde I be that o n eFor

,in my m yn d e , o f a ll m ankyn d e ,

I love but you alone .

’

Myn own dere love,I see the prove

That ye be kynde and t r eweOf mayde and wyf, in al my lyf,The best that ever I ku ewe .

m o o] m o r e . tha t on e] o n e o f them . p r ove] p r o o f.

An on .

Be mery and glad,be n o more sad

,

The case is chaunged newFo r it were ru the

,that fo r you r t r o u th

Yo u shu ld have c ause t o rewe .

Be n o t di smayed what - soever I saydT o yo u , whan I began ,I wyl n o t t o o the grene wo d goo ,I am n o o banysshyd man .

’

Theis t id ingis be more glad t o me ,Than t o be made a qu en e ,

Yf I were sure they shu ld endu reBut it is often seen

,

When men wyl breke pr o m yse , they SpekeThe wo r di s o n the Splene .

Ye shape some wyle me t o begyle ,A

‘

nd stele fr o me,I wene

Then were the case wu r s than it wasAnd I more wo o begoneFor in my m yn d e , o f a ll m ankyn d e ,I love but yo u alone .

’

Ye shal n o t nede fu r ther t o d r ed eI will n o t disparage

Yo u, go d defende , sith ye descendOf so grete a lyn age

Now u n d e r sto n d e,t o West m o r e lo n d e

,

Whi ch is my he ryt age ,I wyl yo u brin ge, and wyth a ryu ge,Be wey o f m a ryage

I wyl yo u take, and lady make ,As shortly as I c anThu s have ye wone an erles son

,

And n o t a banysshyd man .

o n the sple n e] in gr ea t ha ste . d e fe n d e ] fo rb id .

$ 3

y4. An on .

Here may ye se e that wym en beIn love meke

,kinde

,and stable

Late never man r epr eve them than,Or calle them var iable

But r ather pr ey go d that we mayT o them be co m fo r t able ,

Whi ch so m tym e pr ovyth suche as he loveth,Yf they be charitableFor sith men wolde that wym en sho ld e

Be meke t o them e cheo n,

Moche mor e ought they t o go d obey,And serve bu t him alone .

E D M U N D S P E N S E R 1 5 52 1 5 99

The Cave of Morpheu s

E making speedy way through spersed ayre,

And throu gh the world o f waters wide and decpc,

To Morpheus hou se doth hastily repaire .Amid the bowels of the earth full st eepe ,And low

,where dawning day doth neuer peepe

,

His dwell i ng is there Te thys his we t bedDoth euer wash

,an d C yn thi a s till doth st e epe

In silu e r d eaw his eu er—d r o u pin g hed,Whiles sad Night ouer him her mantle black cloth spred .

Whose dou ble gates he fin d e th locked fast,

The o n e faire fr am ’d of bu r n ish t Yu o ry,The other all with silu e r o u e r c ast

And w ake fu ll dogges before them farre do lye ,Watching to banish Care their e n im y,Who oft is wont to trouble gentle Sle epe .

By them the Sprite doth passe in qu ietly,

And vn t o Morpheus comes , whom d rowned d ecpcIn d r owsie fi t he fin d e s of nothing he takes ke epe .

spe r sed] d ispe r sed .

Edm u nd Spense r yy

And more,t o lull e him in hi s slumber soft

,

A trickling streame from high rocke tumbling downeAnd euer - d r iz ling raine vpo n the loft,Mixt with a murmuring winde

,much like the sowne

Of swarming Bees,di d cast hi m in a swowne

N0 other n oyse , n o r peoples troublous cryes,As s till are wont t’annoy the walled t own c

,

Might th er e be heard but car e lesse Quiet lyes,

Wr apt in e t e r n all s ilence farre from en em yes.

The Cave gf'

Despa i r

O as they t r au e ild,10 they gan espy

An a rmed knight towar d s them gallop fast,

That seemed from some feared fo e t o fly,

O r other griesly thi ng, that him agast .Still as he fled

,hi s eye was backward cast

,

As if hi s feare still followed him behindAl s flew hi s s teed

,as he his bands had brast

,

And with his winged hee les di d tread the wind,

As he had beene a fole o f Pega sus hi s kind .

Nigh as he drew,they might pe r c eiu e his head

T o be vn a r m d , an d cu r ld vn com bed hear esVpst a r in g stifl e, dismayd with vn co u th dr eadNo r drop o f blo u d in all hi s face appe ar esNo r life in limbe and t o increase hi s fear es

,

In fowle r epr o ch o f knighthoods faire degr ee,

About hi s neck an hempen r ope he weares,

That with hi s glist r in g armes does ill agr eeBut he o f rope o r armes has n ow n o m em o r e e .

The Redcr osse knight toward hi m crossed fast,

T o weet,what mister wight was so dismayd

There him he find s al l sen c el esse and aghast,

That o f him selfe he seemed t o be afr aydaga st] te rr ified . wha t m iste r wight] wha t m a n n e r o f m an .

$6 Edm u nd Spense r

Whom hardly he from flying forward st ayd ,Till he these wordes t o him d e liu e r mightSi r knight

,aread who hath ye thus a r ayd ,

And eke from whom make ye this hasty flightFor neu er knight I saw in such misseeming plight .

He an swe r d nought at a ll,but adding new

Fc are to hi s first am az m e n t,s taring wide

With stony eyes,an d hartlesse hollow hew

,

Ast o n ish t stood,as one that had aspide

In fe rn all furies , with their chaines vn t id e .

Him yet aga in e , and yet aga in e bespakeThe gentle knight who nou ght to him r eplid e ,Bu t trembling eu e ry ioyn t d id inly qu ake,

And fo l t r in g tongu e at last these words se em d forthshake .

For Gods deare loue,Sir knight

,do me not stay

For loe he comes,he comes fast after mee .

Eft looking backe wou ld faine haue ru nne awayBut he him forst to stay

,an d tellen free

The secret cau se of his pe rplexit ieYet nathemore by his bold b artie speach,Cou ld his blon d - fr o sen hart em bo l d n ed bee

,

Bu t throu gh hi s bo ld n e sse rather feare d id reach,

Yet forst,at last he made throu gh silence su d d e in breach .

And am I now in safe t ie sure (quoth he)From him

,that wou ld haue forced me to dye ?

And is the point of death now tu rud fro mee,

That I m ay tell this h apl esse history ?Fcare nou ght (qu oth he) no d au n ge r now is nye .

Then shall I yo u recount a r u e fu ll cace,(Said he) the which with this vn lu cky eyeI late beheld

,a n d h ad not greater grace

Me reft from it,had bene partaker of the place .

a r e a d] expla in . a r ayd ] a ffli ct ed . Eft] Aft e rwa r d s.

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y8 Edm u nd Spense r

Fled fast away,halfe d ead with dying feare

Ne yet assu r’d o f life by you,Sir knight

,

Whose like infirm it ie like chaunce may beareBut God you neuer let his charmed speeches heare .

How may a man (said he) with idl e speachBe wonne

,to spoyl e the Castle of hi s health ?

I wote (qu oth he) whom t r iall late did teach,

That like wou ld n o t fo r all thi s w o r ld es wealthHis su btill tongue

,like dropping hon ny, m e al t

’th

Into the hart,an d searcheth e u e ry va i ne,

That ere o n e be aware,by secret stealth

His powre is reft,and w e akn esse doth r em a in e .

O neuer Sir desire t o t ry his gu ile fu ll traine.

Certes (said he) hence shall I neuer rest,Till I that treachours art haue heard an d trid eAnd yo u Si r knight , whose name mote I requ est,Of grace do me vu to his cabin gu ide .I that hight Tr eu isa n (quoth he) will rideAgainst my li king backe

,to doe you grace

But nor for gold n o r glee will I abideBy yo u ,

when ye a r r iu e in that same place ;Fo r len er had I d ie

,then se e his deadly face .

Ere long they come,where that same wicked wight

His dwelli ng h as,low in a n hollow caue

,

Farre vn d e r n e a th a craggie clift ypigh t ,Darke

,d o le fu l l

,d r e a r ie

,like a g r e ed ie grau e,

That still for carrion carcases doth cran eOn top whereof aye dwelt the ghastly O w le ,Shrieking his b alefu ll note

,which eu er dran e

Farre from that hau nt all other ch e a r efu ll fowleAnd all abou t it w an d r ing gho st es d id wa ile an d howle .

ypight ] pi t ched .

Edm u nd Spense r

And all about o ld stockes and stubs o f trees,

Wh ereon n o r,fruit

, n o r leafe was euer scen e ,Did hang vpo n the ragged rocky kneesOn whi ch had many wretches hanged beene

,

Whose carcases were scattered o n the greene,

And th r own e about the c lifls. Ar r iu ed there,

That bar e - head knight fo r dread an d do le fu ll teene,

Woul d faine haue fled,n e du rst appr o ch en m eare

,

Bu t th’other forst h im s tay,and comforted in feare .

That d a rkeso m e caue they enter,where

.

they findThat cursed man

,low sitting o n the ground

,

Musing fu ll s adly in hi s su lle in mindHis griesie lockes

,long g r owen ,

and vn bo u n d ,Diso r d r ed hong abou t hi s shou lders round

,

And hid his face thr ough whi ch hi s hollow eyneL o okt deadl y du ll

,and stared as astound ;

His raw - bone che eke s through penur ie and pine,

Were shr o nke into his iawe s,as he did neuer dine .

His garment nought bu t many ragged clou ts,With thornes together pind an d patched was ,The which h is naked sides he wrapt aboutsAnd him besid e there lay vpo n the grasA dr e a r ie corse

,whose life away did pa s,

All wa ll owd in hi s own e yet luke - warme blood,

Th at from hi s wound yet welled fresh alasIn whi ch a r u st ic knife fast fixed stood

,

An d made an open passage fo r the gushing flood .

Whi ch piteou s spectacle,appr o u in g trew

The wo fu ll tale that Tr eu isa n had told,When as the gentle Redcr osse knight did y ew ,

With '

fir ie zeale he burnt in courage bold,

Him t o an enge,before h is blon d were cold ,

t e e n e ] gr ie f. gr iesie] gr izzled .

60 Edm u nd Spen ser

And to the vill ein said,Thou damned wight ,

The author of thi s fact,we here behold

,

What iu st ice can but iu dge against thee right ,With thine own e blon d to price hi s blon d, here shed in

sight

What fr an t icke fit (qu oth he) hath thu s di straughtThee

,foolish man

,so rash a d o om e to giu e ?

What iu st ice euer other iu dgem en t tau ght,

But he should di e,who m e r i t e s not t o l iu e ?

None else t o death thi s man d e 3payr in g d r iu e ,But hi s own e gu il t ie mind d e se r u ing death .

I s then vn iu st to each his due t o g iu e ?Or let hi m d ie

,that loatheth lin ing breath ?

Or let him d ie at c ase,that lin eth here vn e a th ?

Who t r an c ls by the w e a r ie w an d r in g way,To come vu to his wished home in haste

,

And m e e t e s a flood,that doth his passage stay

,

I s not great grace to helpe him ouer past,

Or free his feet,that in the myre sticke fast ?

Most en u io u s man,that g r ie u e s at neighbours good,

And fond,that ioyest in the wo e thou hast ,

Why wilt not let him passe,that long hath stood

Vpo n the banke, ye t wilt thy selfe not passe the flood ?

He there does now cn ioy e t e rn all restAnd h appie c ase

,which thou doest want and c r au e

,

And further from it daily wanderestWhat if some litle paine the passage hau e

,

That makes fraile flesh to feare the bitter wan e ?Is not short paine well borne

,that brings long c ase

,

And layes the soule to sle epe i n qu iet grau e ?Sle epe after t oyle , port after stormie seas ,

Ease after warre,d eath after life does greatly please .

vn ea th] u n e a sy .

Edm u nd Spenser

The knight much wondred at h is su dd e in e wit,

And sa id,The terme o f lif e is limited

,

Ne may a man prolong,n o r shorten it

The sou ldi er m ay n o t mou e from w a t chful l sted,

No r l e au e hi s stand , vn t ill hi s C apt a in e bed .

Who life did l imit by a lm igh t ie do o m e,

(Qu oth he) knowes best the termes establishedAnd he

,that points the Centonell hi s roome

,

Doth l ic e ii se him depart at sou nd of morn ing droome .

I s n o t his deed,what eu er thi ng is d onne

,

In he au en and earth ? did n o t he all createT o die aga in e ? a ll ends that w as bego n n e .

Their times in hi s e t e rn all booke o f fateAr e written sure

,and haue their certaine date .

Who then c an st rin e with strong n e c essi t ie ,That holds the world in hi s still chaunging state

,

Or shu n n e the death o r d ayn e d by d e st ini e ?When houre o f d eath is come

,let none aske whence

,

why.

The lenger li fe,I wote the greater s in

,

The greater sin,the greater punishm ent

All those great battels,whi ch thou boasts t o win ,

Throu gh strife,and blo u d - shed

,and au engem e n t

,

Now pr aysed , hereafter deare thou shalt r epentFo r life must life

,and blo u d must blo u d repay .

Is n o t enough thy e u ill life fo r e Spen t ?Fo r he

,that once hath missed the right way

,

The further he doth go e , the fu rther he doth stray .

Then do n o fu rther go e , n o fu rther stray,But here li e downe

,and t o thy res t betake

,

Th’ill t o pr eu en t , that life e n sew en may .

Fo r what hath life,that m ay it loued make,

And g iu e s n o t rather cause it t o forsake ?st ed ] sta tion . po in ts] a ppo in ts .

6 1

6 2 Edm un d Spen se r

Feare,sickn esse

,age

,losse

,labour

,sorrow

,stri fe

,

Paine,hunger

,cold

,that makes the hart to quake

And euer fickle fortune rageth rife,

All which,and thou sands mo do make a loathsome li fe .

Thou wretched man,of death hast greatest need

If in true ballance thou wilt weigh thy stateFo r sn eu e r knight

,that d ared warlike deede

,

More lu cklesse d isau en t u r es d id amateWi tn esse the d o n geo n decpc , wherein of lateThy life shu t vp, for death so oft did c all ;And though good lucke prolonged hath thy da te

,

Yet d eath then,would the like mishaps forestall

,

Into the wh ich hereafter thou m a iest happen fall .

Why then doest thou , O man of sin ,desire

To d raw thy d ayes forth t o their last degree ?Is not the measure of thy sin fu ll hi reHigh heaped vp with huge in iqu i t ie ,Against the day of wrath

,to bu rden thee ?

I s not enough,that to thi s Ladi e milde

Thou falsed hast thy faith with pe r iu r ie ,And sold thy selfe to seru e Du essa vilde

,

With whom in all abu se thou hast thy selfe d efil d e ?

I s not he in st,that all thi s doth behold

From highest he au en,and bear es an equ al l eye ?

Shall he thy sins vp in hi s knowledge fold,And gu il t ie be o f thine im pie t ie ?Is not his law

,Let e u e ry sinner d ie

Die shall all flesh ? what then must needs be donne,Is it not better to do e will inglie ,Then linger

,till the glasse be all o u t ronne ?

Death 18 the e n d o f woes : die soone, O faeries sonne .

a m a t e] d a u n t . vi ld e] vi le .

Edm und Spen ser

The kn ight w as much e n in o u ed with his speach,

That as a swords point through hi s har t did perse,

An d in his consc ience made a secret breach,Well knowing true all

,that he did r eh e r se

And t o hi s fresh remembrance di d r eu c r se

The vgly vew o f hi s deformed crimes,

That all hi s manly powres it did disperse,

As he were charme d with in chau n t ed rimes ,That o ft eht im cs he quakt

,and fainted oftentimes.

In whi ch amazement,when the Miscreant

Pe r ce iu ed him t o wauer we ake and fraile,

Whi les trembling horror did hi s conscience dant,

And hell ish anguish did hi s sou le assail e,

To d r iu e him t o d cspa i r e , and quite t o qu ail e,He shew’d him painted in a table plaine

,

The d amned ghosts,that d o e in torments w a il e

,

And thousand fe en d s that do e them en dl e sse paineWith fire and brimstone

,whi ch fo r euer shall r em a in e .

The sight whereof so throu ghly hi m di sm aid,

That nou ght but death before hi s eyes he saw ,

And euer burn ing wrath before hi m laid,

By righteou s sentence o f th ’ Alm igh t ie s lawThen gan the vill ein hi m t o o u e r c r aw

,

And brought vu to hi m swords,ropes

,poison, fire

,

And all that might hi m t o perdi tion draw ;An d bad hi m choose

,what death he wou ld desire

Fo r death w as du e t o him,that had pr o u okt Gods ire .

Bu t when as none o f them he saw hi m t ake,

He t o hi m raught a dagger Sharpe and keene,

An d gaue it him in hand his hand did qu ake,And tremble like a leafe o f Aspin greene

,

An d troubled blon d th rough his pale face was seenthr ou ghly] tho r o u ghly . o u e r cr aw] exu l t ove r .

r a u ght] r e a ched .

64 Edm u nd Spen se r

To come,and goe with tydings from the hart ,

As it a ru nning messenger h ad beene .

At last r eso lu ’d to wo rke hi s fin a l l smart

,

He lifted vp his hand , that backe aga in e did start .

Which when as Vn a saw,throu gh eu e ry vaine

The c r u dl ed cold ran to her well of life,

As in a swowne bu t soone r e l iu ’d aga in e ,

Out of his hand she sn a t ch t the cu rsed kn ifek

And threw it to the grou nd,enraged rife

,

And to him said,Fie

,fie, faint h ar t ed knight,

What meanest thou by thi s r epr o chfu l l s trife ?I s thi s the ba t t e l l

,whi ch thou vau n t st to fight

With that fir e—mou thed Dragon,horrible and bright ?

Come,come away

,fraile

,feeble

,fle shl y wight ,

Ne let vaine words bewitch thy manly hart ,Ne d iu el ish thoughts dismay thy constant Spright .In he au enly mercies hast thou n o t a part ?Why shouldst thou then d e 3pe i r e , that chosen art ?Where iu st ice g rowe s, there grows eke greater grace ,The whi ch doth quench the brond o f helli sh smart

,

And that accurst hand - writing doth deface .

Arise,Sir knight arise

,and l e au e this cursed place .

So vp he rose, and thence amou nted streight .Whi ch when the carle beheld

,and saw his gu est

Would safe depart,for all his su btill sleight

,

He chose an halter from among the rest,

An d with it hu ng h im se lfc,vn bid vn bl est .

Bu t death he cou ld not wo rke hi m se lfc therebyFor thou sand times he so him se lfc h ad drest

,

Yet nathelesse it could n o t doe hi m die,

Till he shou ld die his last,that is eternally .

c ru dled] cu r d le d . ca r le] chu r l . vn bid] n o t pr aye d

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66 Edm u nd Spen se

Gather therefore the Rose,whi l est yet is prime,

For soone comes age,that will her pride d eflow r e

Gather the Rose of lou e,while st yet is time

,

Wh ile st lou ing thou mayst lou ed be with equ all crime .

The Pag ea n t of the Mon ths and Sea son s

O,forth issew ’

d the Seasons of the ye a r eFirst

,lu sty Spr ing , all dight in le an e s of flowres

That freshly bu dded and new bloosmes d id beare

(In which a thou sand birds had bu ilt their bow r e sThat sweetly sung, to call forth Paramou rs)An d in his hand a ian e l in he d id beare

,

And on his head (as fit for warlike stou res)A gu ilt engran en morion he d id weare

That as some did him lou e,so others d id him feare .

Then came the io lly Som m er,being dight

In a thin silken cassock colou red greene,

That w a s vnl yn ed all, t o be more lightAnd on his head a girlond well be se en eHe wore

,from whi ch as he had chau ffed been

The sweat d id d rop an d in his hand he boreA bo aw e an d sh aft e s

,as he in forrest greene

Had hu nted late the Libbard or the Bore,

And n ow wou ld bathe his limbes,with labor heated sore .

Then came the A u tu m ne all in yellow clad,

As thou gh he ioye d in his pl en t io u s s tore,Lad en with fru its that mad e him l au gh , fu ll gladThat he h ad ban ish t hu nger

,which to - fore

Had by the belly oft him pinched sore .

Vpo n his head a wreath that w as en r o ld

With cares of com e,of every sort he bore

An d in his hand a sickle he d id holde,

To r e ape the ripened fru its the which the earth had yold .

st ou r es] con fli cts . cha u ff ed] he a t ed . Libba r d] le opa r d .

yo ld] yi e ld e d .

Edm u nd Spen ser 6 7

Lastly,came Win ter c lo a th ed all in frize

,

Chatter ing his teeth fo r cold that did him chill ,Whil’s t o n his hoary beard h is breath did freeseAnd the dull drops that from h is pu rpled billAs from a limbeck d id adown d istill .In h is right hand a tipped st afle he held

,

With whi ch his feeble steps he stayed stillFo r

,he was faint with cold

,and weak with eld

That scarse his loosed limbes he hable was t o weld .

These,marching softly

,thu s in order went

,

An d after them,the Mou thes all riding came

First,stu rdy Ma r ch with brows fu l l s tern ly bent ,

An d armed strongly, rode vpo n a Ram ,

T he same which ouer Hellespon tus swamYet in his hand a Spade he also hent

,

And in a bag all sorts o f seeds ysame,

Wh ich o n the earth he strowed as he went,

And fild her womb with fr u i t fu l l h0pe o f nou rishment .

Next came fresh Apr i l l fu ll o f lu styhe d ,And wanton as a Kid whose hom e n ew bu d sVpo n a Bu ll he rode, the same which ledEu r opa flo t in g through t h

’A rgol ick fln d s

His hom es were gilden all with golden studsAnd garnished with ga r lo n d s goodly dight

'

Of all the faires t flowres and freshest budsWhich th ’ earth brings forth

,and wet he se em ’

d in sightWith wan es

,throu gh which he waded fo r his loues delight .

Then came faire May, the fayr e st mayd o n ground ,Deckt all with dainties o f her seasons pryde ,And throwing flow r e s o u t o f her lap aroundVpo n two b r e th r e n s Shou lders sh e did ride ,The tw in n e s of Led a which on eyth e r Sid e

lim be ck] a lem bic , sti ll . ysa m e] toge the r .

6 8 Edm u nd Spenser

Supported h e r like t o their so u e r a in e Queene .Lor d how a ll creatu res laught , when her they spide,And leapt and d au n c’t as they had r au ish t beene

And C upid selfe about her flu t t r e d all in greene .

And after her,came io lly I une , a r r ayd

All in greene le an es,as he a Player were

Yet in his time,he wrought as well as pl ayd ,

That by h is plou gh-

yr o n s mote right well appe a r eVpo n a Crab he rod e, that him d id beareWith crooked crawling steps an vn co u th pase,And backward yode

,as B argemen wont to fare

Bending their force contrary to their face,

Lik e that vng r ac io u s crew which faines demu rest grace .

Then came hot I u ly boyl ing like to fire,

That all his garments he had cast awayVpo n a Lyon raging yet with ireHe bo ldl y r ode and made him to obayI t was the beast that whylo m e did forrayThe Nem aean forrest

,till th ’Am phy tr ion ide

Him slew,and with his hide did him array

Behi n d e his back a sithe,and by his Side

Vn d e r his belt he bore a sickl e circling wide .

The sixt w as August, be l n g rich a r r ayd

In garment all of gold downe to the groundYet rode he not

,but l e d a lon ely Mayd

Forth by the lilly hand,the which was c r o u n d

With cares of com e,and full her hand was found

That w as the righteou s Virgin,whi ch o f o l d

L iv’d here on earth

,and plenty made abou nd

But,after Wrong w as lov

’d an d In st ice sold e

,

She left th ’vn r igh t eo u s world and was to h e au en extold .

Next hi m,Septem ber marched eeke o n foote

Yet was he he auy laden with the spoyl eOf ha r n est s riches

,which he made hi s boot

,

And him e n r ich t with bou nty o f the soyle

yod e] wen t . fo r r ay] r a id . boo t] bo o ty.

Edm und Spen se r 6 9

In his o n e hand, as fit fo r har n est s toyle ,He held a kni fe - hook and in th

’ other handA paire o f wa igh t s, w ith which he did assoyle

Both more and lesse,where it in doubt did stand

,

And equ all gaue t o each as In st ic e duly sc an n ’d .

Then came O ctober fu ll o f merry gleeFo r

,yet hi s noule w as totty o f the must

,

Which he was tr eading in the win e - fats se e,

And o f the ioyo u s oyle, whose gentl e gustMade him so fr o ll ick and so full o f lust :Vpo n a d r e adfu l l Scorpion he did r ide,The same whi ch by D ia n a es doom vni u st

Slew great O r ion and eeke by hi s sideHe had hi s ploughing Share

,and coul ter ready

Next was Nouem ber,he full grosse and fat

,

As fed with lard,and that right well might seeme

Fo r,he had been a fatting hogs o f late

,

That yet hi s browe s with sweat, did reek and SteemAn d yet the season w as ful l Sharp and breemIn planting eeke he took n o small delightWh ereon he rode

,n o t e asie was t o d e em c

Fo r it a d r e ad fu ll C en ta u r e was in sight,The seed o f Sa tu rne , and faire Na is

,C hi r on hight .

And after hi m,came next the chill Decem ber

Yet he through merry feasting which he made,An d great bonfires

,di d n o t the cold remember ;

His Sau io n r s bir th hi s m ind so mu ch did gladVpo n a shaggy- bearded Goat he rode

,

The same wherewith Da n I one in tender ye ar e s,They say, was n o n r ish t by th

’I d ee a n mayd ;

An d i n hi s hand a broad decpc bo awle he beares ;Of whi ch

,he freely drinks an health t o all his pe e r es.

a ssoyle] dete rm in e . n ou l e] hea d . to t ty] giddy.

br eem ] co ld .

7 0 Edm u nd Spen ser

Then came o ld I a nn a ry, wrapped wellIn many weeds to keep the cold awayYet did he quake and qu in et like to qu ell,And blowe his n ayle s to warme them if he mayFo r

,they wer e n u m bd with holding all the day

An hatchet keene,with which he felled wood

,

And from the trees d id lop the n e edl e sse SprayVpo n an hu ge great Earth—pot steane he StoodFrom whose wide m o n th

,there flowed forth the Romane

flo u d .

And lastly,came cold Febr u a ry, sitting

In an o ld wagon,for he cou ld not ride

Dr awn e o f two fishes for the season fitting,

Which through the flood before did softly slyd eAnd swim away yet had he by hi s sideHis plough and h a r n esse fit t o till the grou nd ,An d tooles to prune the trees

,before the prid e

Of hasting Prime did make them bu rge in roundSo past the tw e ln e Months forth

,and their d ew

fou nd .

B E N J 0 N S 0 N - 1637

To the m em ory gf my beloved,the a u thor Mr

W i l l iam Sha hespea r e : a nd wha t he ha th left a s

[Pr efixed t o the Fi r st Shakespear e Fo lio,1623]

O draw n o enuy (Sha kespea r e) on thy name,Am I thu s ample to thy Booke, an d Fame

While I confesse thy writings to be su ch,

AS neither Ma n,nor Muse

,can praise too mu ch .

’Tis tru e,and all men’s suffrage . Bu t these w ayes

Were not th e paths I meant vuto thy praisequ e ll] pe r ish . st e a n e] st o n e (ja r ) .

Ben yon son 7 I

Fo r seeli es t Ignorance o n these m ay light,Whi ch

,when it sounds at best

,but e c cho ’s right

Or blinde Affection,which doth n e

’re ad u an ce

The truth,but gropes

,an d vrge th al l by chance

,

Or crafty Malice,might pretend thi s praise

,

And th inke t o m i ne,wher e it se em ’

d t o raise .But thou art pr o o fc against them ,

and indeed,

Aboue th ’ ill fortune o f them,o r the need .

I,ther efore will begin . Soule o f the AgeThe applause delight the wonder o f o u r S tage

My Sha kespe a r e , ris e I will n o t lodge thee byC ha ucer

,o r Spenser , o r bid Bea um on t lye

A little further,t o make thee a r oome

Thou art a Moniment,without a t o m bc

,

And a r t al iu e s t ill, while thy Bo’oke doth lin e

,

And we haue wits t o r ead,and praise t o g iu e .

That I n o t mixe thee so , my braine excusesI meane with great

,but d ispr opo r t io n

’d Muses

Fo r,if I thought my iu dgem e n t were o f ye e r e s,

I should commit thee surely with thy pe e r cs,And tell

,how farre thou dids t o u r L i ly o u t - shine

,

Or spo r ting Kid , o r Ma r lowes mighty l in e .

And though thou hadst small La t ine,and lesse Gr ee lee ,

From thence t o honour th ee,I would not se eke

Fo r names ; but call forth thu n d’r in g Ai schi lus,

Eu r ipides, and Sophocles t o vs,

Pa ccuu iu s,A ccius

,him of C or dou a d ead

,

T o life ag a in e , t o heare thy Buskin tread,And shake a Stage Or

,when thy So cke s were o n

,

L e au e thee alone,fo r the comparison

Of all,that insolent Gr eece , o r h a u gh t ie R om e

Sent forth,o r since did from their a shes come .

Triumph,my Br i ta ine , thou hast o n e t o showe,

T o whom all Scenes of Eu r ope homage owe .

He was n o t o f an age,but fo r all tim e

And all the Muses s till were in their prim e,

h im of C or dou a ] Sen e ca .

7 2 Ben fon so

When like Apol lo he came forth to warmeOur c ares

,o r like a Mer cu ry t o charme

Nature her selfe was proud of his designes,

And ioy’d to weare the d ressing o f his lines

Which were so richl y spun , and wo u en so fi t,

AS,Since

,she will vou chsafe n o other Wit .

The mer ry Gr eeke , tar t A r istopha nes,Neat Ter en ce , witty Pla u tus, n ow not please ;

But antiquated,and deserted lye

As they were n o t o f Natur es family .

Yet must I n o t giuc Nature all Thy Ar t,

My gentle Sha kespea r e must cn ioy a par t .Fo r though th e Poets matter

,Nature be

,

His Art doth giuc the fashion . An d,that he

,

Who casts t o write a lin ing line, must sweat ,'

(Such as thine are) and strike the second heatVpon the Muses an u ile turne the same

,

(And h im se lfc with it) that he th inkes t o frameOr fo r the l awr e ll , he may gaine a sco r n e ,Fo r a good Poe t’s made

,as well as borne .

And su ch wert tho u . L o oke how the fathers faceLin es in h is is sue

,eu en so

,the race

Of Sha kespea r es minde, and manners br ightly shinesIn h is well t o r n ed , and true filed lines

In each of whi ch, he se em es t o shake a Lance,

AS b r an d ish’t at the eyes of Ignorance .

Sweet Swan o f A non what a Sight it wer eTo se e thee in our waters yet appe ar e ,

And make those fl ights upon the bankes o f Tha m esThat so did take El i z a

,and o u r I am es !

But s tay,I se e thee in the Hem ispher e

Adu an c’d,and made a Constellation there

Shine forth,thou Starre o f Poe ts

,and with rage

,

Or influ ence,chide

,or ch e e r e the dr ooping S tage ;

Which,S ince thy flight from hence

,hath m o n r n

’d

night,

And d espa i r es day, but for thy Volumes light .

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f obn M i lton

i nvoca t ion to Light

AIL holy light,o fspr ing of He av

’n fir st - born

,

Or of th ’ Eternal Coeternal beamMay I express thee u n blam ’d ? Since God is light

,

An d never bu t in u napproached lightDwelt from Et e r n it ie

,dwelt then in thee

,

Bright e fflu e n c e O f bright essence increate .

Or hear’s t tho u rather pure Ethereal stream,

Whose Fou ntain who shall tell ? before the Sun,

Before the Heavens thou w ert,and at the voice

Of God,as with a Mantle didst invest

The rising world of waters dark an d d eep,

Won from the void and formless infinite .Thee I r c - visit now with bolder w ing

,

Esc ap’t the Styg i a n Pool, thou gh long d e t a in

’d

In that obscu re soj ou rn,while in my flight

Throu gh u tter an d throu gh middle darkness borneWith other notes then to th’ O rphea n LyreI su ng of C ha os and Ete r n a l Night ,Tau ght by the h e av’n ly Muse to ventu re downThe dark descent

,an d up to reascend ,

Thou gh hard and rare thee I revisit safe,

An d feel thy sovran vital Lamp bu t‘

thouR evisit

’st n o t these eyes

,that r owle in vain

To fin d thy piercing ray,and fin d no d awn

SO thi ck a drop serene hath qu en ch t thi r Orbs,Or dim suffusion ve ild . Yet not the moreCease I to wand er where the Mu ses hau ntCleer Spring

,or sh ad ie Grove

,or Su nnie Hill

,

Smit with the love of sacred song bu t chiefThee Si on and the flow r i e Brooks beneathThat wash thy hallowd feet, and warbling flow ,

Nightly I visit nor so m t im e s forgetThose other tw o equ a l

’d with me in Fate,

So were I equ a l’d with them in renown

,

M il ton 7 y

Blind Tha m yr is and blind Md on ides,

And Ti r esia s and Phin ea s Prophets o ld .

Then feed o n thoughts , that vo lu n t a r i e moveHarmoniou s numbers as the wakefu l B irdSings darkling

,and in Shadiest Covert hi d

Tunes her noctu rnal Note . Thus with the YearSeasons return

,but n o t t o me returns

Day,o r the sweet approach o f Ev’n o r Morn ,

O r sight o f vernal bloom,o r Summers Rose

,

Or flocks,or her ds

,o r human face divine

But cloud in stead,and ever - du ring dark

Surrou nds me,from the ch e a r fu l w a ie s o f men

Cut O ff,and fo r the Book Of kn owledg fair

Presented with a Universal blancOf Natu r es works t o mee expu ng

’d and r as

’d,

An d wisdo m e at o n e entrance quite Shut out .So much the rather thou Cel estial lightShi ne inward

,and the mind throu gh all her power s

I rradiate,there plant eyes

,all mist from thence

Pu rge and disperse,that I may se e a n d tell

Of thi ngs invisible t o mortal sight .

S a m son’

s Blindn ess

UT chief o f all,

O loss o f sight,o f thee I most complain

Blind among enemies,O worse then chains

,

Du ngeon,o r begge ry, o r decrepit age

Light the prime work o f G o d t o me is extinct,

And all he r various obj ects o f delightAn n u l l

’d,which might in part my grief have eas’d

In fe r io u r t o the viles t n ow becomeOf man o r worm the vilest here excel me

,

They creep,yet se e

,I dark in light expo s

’d

T o daily fraud,contempt

,abuse and wrong

,

Within doors, o r without , s till as a foolIn power Of others

, n ever in my own ;

7 6 yohn M i l t on

Scarce half I seem t o live,dead more then half .

0 dark,dark

,dark

,amid the blaze o f noon

,

Irrecover ably dark, total EclipseWithout all hope o f day lO fir s t created Beam

,and thou great Word

,

Let there be l ight,and light was over all

Why am I thus ber e av’d thy prime d ecree ?The Sun to me is darkAnd S ilent as the Moon

,

When She deserts the nightHid in her vacant interlunar cave .Since light so necessary is to life

,

And almost life itself,if it be tru e

That light is in the Soul,

She all in every part why was the sightTo such a tender ball as th ’ eye confin ’

d ?

So obvious and so e asie t o be qu en ch’t,

And not as feeling through all parts diffus’d,

That she might look at w ill through every pore ?Then had I not been thu s exi l ’d from lightAs in the land o f darkness yet in light

,

T o live a life half dead,a living death,

And buried but O yet more miserableMy Self

,my Sepulcher‘

,a moving Gr ave

,

Buried,yet not exempt

By priviledge o f death“

and burialFrom worst o f other evils

,pains and wrongs

,

But made hereby obnoxious moreT o all the miseries of life

,

Life in captivityAmong inhuman foes .

J O H N D R Y D E N 163 1- 1700

[In 1679 , whi le En glan d wa s st i ll m a d ove r the Popish Plo t , theEa r l o f Sha ft esbu ry p ro m o ted a Bill t o exclu d e the Duke o f Yo rkfr om the su ccessi o n a s a Pa pist , a n d bega n t o a dvo ca t e th e cla im

o f th e Duke o f Mon m ou th , C ha r l es I I’

s i llegi tim a te son . A t the

Kin g’s in stiga ti on D ryd en w r o te A bsa lom a n d A chi tophel , figu r in gC ha r les I I a s David , Mon m ou th a s Absa lom

,Sha fte sbu ry a s

Achi t ophe l,a n d the Duke o f Bu ckin gha m a s ! im r i . Two po e t a st e r s,

Shadwe ll a n d Se t tle , who d r ew the i r pen s o n Sha fte sbu ry’

s sid e ,we r e sca r ified i n a se con d pa r t a s 0g a n d Do eg .]

(I A chi t ophe l

F these the false A chi tophel was first ,A Name t o all su cceed ing Ages curst .

Fo r close Designs and crooked Cou nsels fi t,

Sagacious,Bold

,and Turbulent o f wit

,

Restless,u nfixt in Principles and Place

,

In Pow ’r unpleased , impatient o f Disgrace

A fiery Soul , which working o u t i t s way,Fretted the Pigmy Body t o decayAn d O

’r informed the Tenement o f Clay .

A daring Pilot in extremity ;Pleas

’d with the Danger,when the Waves went high

He sought the S torms but,for a Calm unfit

,

Would Steer t o o nigh the Sands t o boast hisWit .Great Wits are sure t o Madness near a lli ’dAnd thi n Partitions d o their Bounds divideElse

,why shou ld he

,with Wealth and Honou r blest

,

Refuse hi s Age the n e e dfn l hours o f Rest PPu nish a Body whi ch he coud n o t please

,

Bankr upt o f Life,yet Prodigal o f Ease

An d all t o leave what w ith hi s Toil he wo nTo that u n fe a the r ’d two - legg

’d thi ng,a So n

Go t,whi le hi s Soul di d hud dled Notions trie

And born a Shapeless Lump,like Anarchy.

In Friendship false,implacable in Hate

,

7 8 701m Dryden

Re so lv’d t o Ru ine o r to Rule the State ;

To Compass this the Triple Bond he brokeThe Pillars of the Pu blick Safety Shook

,

And fitted I sr a el for a Foreign YokeThen

,se iz

’d with Fear,yet Still affecting Fame

,

Usu rp’d a Patriot’s Al l - a t t o n ing Name .

So e asie s till it proves in Fac t io n s TimesWith publick ! eal to cancel private CrimesHow safe is Treason and how sacred ill

,

Where none can sin against the Peoples Will,

Where C r o u d s can wink an d no offence be known,

Since in anothers guilt they fin d their own .

Yet,Fame d e se rv’

d,no Enemy can gru dge ;

The Statesman w e abhor,bu t praise the Judge .

In I sr a els cou rts ne’er sat an A bbethd inWith more d iscerning Eyes or Hands more clean

,

Un b r ib’d,u nsou ght

,th e Wretched t o r edress

Swift o f Dispatch and e asie of Access .Oh

,had he been content to serve the Crown

With Ve r t u eS onely proper t o the Gown,Or had the rankness of the Soil been freedFrom Cockl e that oppr e st the Noble Seed ,Da v id fo r him his tu nefu l Harp had strung,And He av

’n had wanted one Immortal Song .

(2 ) ! im r i

OME of their Chiefs were Princes of the LandIn the first Rank of these did ! im r i stand

A man so various,that he se em ’

d to beNot o n e , but all Mankind

’s Epitome .

Stiff in Opinions,always in the wrong

Was Every thing by starts,and Nothing long

Bu t,in the cou rse of one revolving Moon ,

Was Chymist,Fidler

,States - man

,an d Bu ffoon ;

Tr iple Bon d ] a n a l lu sion t o the Tr ip le All ian ce .

A bbethd in ] Chief Ju st i ce .

f ohn Dryde n

Then al l fo r Women,Painting

,Rhiming

,Drinking

,

B esides ten thousand Freak s that di ed in thinking .

Blest Madm an,who coud every hou r employ,

With somethi ng New t o wish,o r t o enjoy

Railing and praising were h is usu al Thc am s

An d both (t o shew hi s Judgment) in Ext r e am s

SO over Violent,o r over Civil

,

That every Man,with hi m

,was G o d o r Devi l .

In squ an d r ing Wealth was hi s pecu liar Ar tNothing went u nrewarded

,but Desert .

Begge r’d by fools

,whom still he found t o o late

He had his Jest,and they had hi s Estate .

He l au gh’d himself from Court then sou ght Relief

By forming Parties,but cou ld ne’r be Chief

Fo r,Spight o f hi m

,the weight o f Bu siness fell

On Absa lom and wise A chi topbel

Thus wicked but in Will,o f Means bereft

,

He left n o t Faction,b u t o f that was left .

3) Dfleg

OME in my Speedy pace I mu s t ou tru n,

As lame Mephiboshe th the Wisard’s So n

T o make qu ick way I ’ll Leap o’er heavy blocks,

Shu n rotten Uz z a as I wou d the Po xAnd hasten Og and Doeg t o rehearse,Two Fools that Crutch their Feeble sense o n Verse

,

Who by my Mu se,t o all su cceeding times

Shall live in Spight of their own Dogr e ll Rhimes .Doeg , though without kn owing how o r why

,

Made still a blu n d ’r in g kind o f MelodySpn r d boldly o n ,

an d Dash’d throu gh Thi ck and Thin

,

Through Sense and No n - sense,never o u t n o r in

Free from all meaning,whether good o r bad

And in o n e word,Heroically m ad

,

He was t o o warm o n Picking- work t o dwell,

But Faggo t t e d his Notions as they fell ,

8 0 fobn Dryd en

And,if they Rhim ’d and Ra t t l ’d , all was wel l .

Spigh t fu ll he is n o t , though he wrote a Satyr,Fo r Still there goes some thinking t o il l - NatureHe needs n o more than Birds and Beasts to think

,

All h is occasions are to eat an d d rink .

If he call Rogue and Rascal from a Garrat,

He means you no more Mischief than a ParatThe words for Friend an d Foe alike were mad e

,

T o Fetter ’em in Verse is all hi s Trade .Le t hi m be Gallows - Free by my consent,And nothing su ffer

,Since he nothing meant

Hanging Supposes humane Sou l an d r eason,

This Animal’s below committing Treason .

Shall he be h an g’d who never cou ’d Rebell

That’s a preferment for A chi tophel .

Railing in other Men may be a crime,

But ought to pass for mere instinct in hi mInstinct he fol lows and no farther knows

,

Fo r t o write Verse with him is to Tr a nspr ose .

’Twer e pity treason at his Door to layWho m a kes Hea ven

’s ga te a L ock to i ts own Key

Let hi m rayl o n , let his invective museHave fou r and Twenty letters to abuse

,

Whi ch if he Jumbles to one line of Sense,

Indict him of a Capital Offence .In Fire - works give him leave to vent his Spight

,

Those are the only Serpents he can writeThe height of hi s ambition is we knowBu t to be Master of a Pu ppet - ShowOn that one S tage his works may yet appear

,

And a months Harvest keeps him all the Year .

Who m a kes, 59 22] S e t t le ’s po em , A chi tophel Tr a n spr osed , bega nIn glo om y t im e s

,when pr i est cr a ft bo r e the sway ,

An d m a d e He ave n ’

s ga t e a lo ck t o the i r own k ey .

’

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8 2 ffobn Dryden

Thou whom the Penny Pamphlet fo il’d in prose ?Doeg , whom God for Mankinds mirth has made ,O’er- tops thy tallent in thy very TradeDoeg to thee, thy paintings are so Cou rse,A Poet is

,thou gh he’s the Poets Horse .

A Dou ble Noose thou on thy Neck dost pu llFor Writing Treason and for Writing d u llTo die for Faction is a common Evil ,But to be h an g

’d for Non - sense is the Devil .

Hadst thou the Glories of thy King expr e st ,Thy praises had been Satyr at the bestBu t thou in Clumsy verse

,u n l ickt

,unpointed ,

Hast Shamefully d efi’d the Lord’s Anointed

I will not rake the Du nghill of thy Crimes ,Fo r who wou ld reade thy Life that reads thy rhimes ?Bu t of King Dav id

’s Foes be this the Doom ,

May all be like the You ng - man A bsa lomAnd for my Foes m ay thi s their Blessing be,T o talk like Doeg an d to Write like Thee .

A L E X A N D E R P O P E 168 8—1744

A n Epi st le to D r . A rbu thn ot

[This is Pope’

s apologia pr o vi ta su a,a n d som e kn owledge o f his

l ife is n e ed ed t o u n d e r sta n d i t . Bo rn in 168 8,o f r espe cta ble C a tho l i c

st o ck,Pope l ived a n d d ied a C a tho li c . He wa s d e fo r m ed an d sickly

a gr ea t r ea d e r , if n o gr ea t scho la r ; a n d a p r e co ciou s po e t . His

P astor a ls, w r i t t en (he says) a t sixt een,a n d pr a ised whil e in m a n n

scr ip t byWa lsh, we r e pu blished in 1709 . Wi th th e Essay on C r i ticisma n d the R ape of the L ock (171 1 ) he le ap t in to fam e . The n ext twe lveyea rs we r e Spen t la rgely on t r a n sla tin g Hom e r

,a n d in 1725 h e

ed i te d Shakespea r e . Afte r gibbe tin g hi s li ter a ry fo es, a t Swi ft ’ssu ggestion , in th e Du n ciad h e

‘sto oped t o t ru th ’

u n d e r

Bo lin gbr oke ’s in flu en ce , a n d‘m o r a l ized his son g ’

by ve rsifyin gBo lin gbr oke ’s phi losophy in the Essa y on Ma n The Epistl e

A rbu thn o t] Pope’

s frien d a nd physician , an d him se lf a wi t .

Alex a nder P ope 8 3

to A rbu thn ot (wri t ten be fo r e his m o the r ’s d ea th i n 1733) Se rve d a s

p ro logu e to his Ho r a tian S a tir es o n con te m po r a ry so c ie ty .

In a n a ge o f fe r o ciou s po li ti cs, Pope w a s n o po li ti ci a n,a n d a t fir st

co n so r ted a s m u ch wi th Whi gs like Ad diso n a s wi th To r ies like Swift ,Arbu thn o t , At te rbu ry, a n d Bo li n gbr oke . Bu t his fr ien dships a n d

en m i ti es d r ew o r d r ove him m o r e a n d m o r e t owa r ds th e To r ie s .

He to ok u m br a ge a t Ad d ison ’

s pr a ise o f a r iva l po e t , Am br o sePhillips Na m by- Pa m hy an d su spe c ted hi m o f in st iga tin g a r iva lt r a n sla ti o n o f Hom e r . Ben t ley ha d a n o ld fe u d wi t h At t e r bu ry ,a n d ha d sa id o f Pope ’s I l iad tha t yo u m u st n o t ca ll i t Hom e r

Theo ba ld , havin g cr i ti cized hi s Shakespe a r e , wa s m a d e Kin g o f

the Dun ces, ti ll d epo sed in favou r o f C ibbe r , wi th who m Po pe h a da fr eshe r qu a rr el . A li te r a ry fli r ta ti o n wi th La dy Ma ry Wo r t leyMon ta gu en d e d in a r uptu r e

,whi ch invo lve d h e r fri en d Lo r d He rvey .

The o ld cr i ti c Den n is h a d ga ll ed Pope even be fo r e the Essay on

C r itic ism .

An d here , a s in a vo tive ta ble t hi s cha r a ct e r is la id Openchi ldi sh ly va in a n d thi n - skinn ed , r a n co r ou s an d sn obbish, bu tt ru ly a t ta ched to hi s pa r en ts, his frien d s, a n d his a r t .The n am es n o t expla in ed in the n o tes a r e e i the r we ll kn own

(like C o n gr eve ) , o r u n kn own (like Bu fo ) , o r m e r e ly sym boli c (like

HUT,shut the door

,good John fa t igu

’d I said

,

Tye u p the knocker, say I’m sick

,I ’m dead .

The dog - star rages l nay ’t iS past a dou bt

,

All Bedl am,o r Parnassus

,is let o u t

Fire in each eye,and paper s in each hand

,

They rave,recite

,and madden round the land .

What walls can guard m e,o r what shades c an hi de ?

They pierce my thickets,thro’ my grot they gli de

,

By land,by water

,they renew the charge

,

They stop the chariot,and they board the barge .

NO place is sacred,n o t the chu rch is free,

Ev’n Sunday Shines n o Sabbath - day t o meThen from the Mint walks for th the man o f rhyme ,Ha py l t o catch me

,j u st at dinner - time .

3 there a parson,much be - mns’d in beer,

A maudli n poetess,a rhyming peer

,

ohn ] Pope’

s m a n se rvan t .

the Min t the n a sa n c tu a ry fo r ba n kr up ts.

84 Alexa nder Pope

A clerk,fo r ed o o m

’d his father’s sou l to cross

,

Who pens a stanza when he Should engross ?Is there, who , lock d from ink and paper, scrawlsWith d e sp

’r a t e charcoal rou nd hi s d a rken ’d walls ?

All fly to Tw it ’n am,and in humble strain

Apply to me,to keep them mad or vain .

Arthu r,whose giddy so n neglects the laws ,

Imputes to me and my d am n’d works the cau se

Poor Cornus sees his frantic wife elope,

And cu rses wit,an d poetry

,an d Pope .

Friend to m y life 1 (which did not yo u prolong,The world had wanted many an idle song)What drop or nostrum c an this plagu e remove ?O r whi ch must end me

,a fool’s wrath o r love ?

A dire dilemma either way I’m sped .

I f foes,they write

,if friends

,they read me dead .

Se iz’d and ty

’d down to judge

,how wretched I

Who can’t be S ilent,and who will not lye

To lau gh,were want of goodness and of grace,

An d to be g rave , exceeds all pow’r of face .

I sit with sad civility, I readWith honest angu ish

,and an achi ng head

And drop at last,but in u nwilling c a r s

,

This s aving cou nsel,Keep you r piece nine years .

’

Nine years 1 cries he, who high in Dru ry- lane ,L u ll

’d by soft zephyrs thro

’ the broken pane,

Rhymes ere he wakes , an d prints before term ends ,O blig

’d by hu nger

,an d request of friends

The piece, yo u thin k, is incorr ect ? why take it ,

I ’m all su bmission,what you ’d have it

,make it . ’

Three things another’s modest wishes bou nd ,My friendship , an d a prologue , and ten pou nd .

Pi tho l eo n sends to me You know his Grace,I want a patron ask h im for a place .’

Pi tho le o n l ibe l l’d me bu t here’s a letterTwi t

’

n a m ] Tw icken ha m , whe r e Pope lived . Ar thu r] A r thu rMo o r e

,fa the r o f the po e t a st e r Ja m es Mo o r e , a ft e rwa r ds m en t ion ed .

Alexa nder Pope 8 y

Informs yo u ,Sir

,

’twas when he knew n o better .Dare yo u refuse him ? Curl invites t o dine,He’ll write a j ournal

,o r he’ll tu rn divine .

’

Bless m e a packet . ’Tis a stranger sues,

A virgin tragedy, an orphan muse .

’

If I dislike it,Fur ies

,death and rage l

I f I approve,

‘Commend it t o the Stage .

’

There,thank my stars

,my whole commission ends

,

The players and I are,luckily

,n o friends .

Fi r’d that the hou se rej ec t him

,

‘’Sdeath I ’ll print it,

And Shame the fools—You r in t ’r e St,Sir

,with Lintot . ’

Lintot,du ll rogu e will think your price to o much

No t,Sir

,if yo u revise it , and r etouch .

’

All my demurs bu t dou ble his attacksAt last he whispers

,Do and we go snacks .

’

Glad o f a qu arrel,s trait I clap the door

,

Sir,let me see you r works and yo u n o more .

’Tis su ng,when Mid as’ ears began to spring

,

(Midas , a sacred person and a king)His very minis ter who spy

’d them fi rs t

,

Some say his queen , was fo r c’d t o Speak

,o r burs t .

And is n o t mine, my friend , a sorer case,When ev’ry coxcomb perks them in my face ?A . Good friend, forbear ! yo u deal in d ang

’r o u s thi ngs ,

I ’d never name queens,ministers

,o r kings

Keep close t o c a r s,and those let asses prick

,’Tis nothing—P . Nothing ? if they bite and kick ?Out with i t

,.Du n c iad let the secret pass

,

That secr et t o each fool,that he ’s an ass

The tru th once told (and wherefor e should we lie ?)The queen o f Midas slept

,and so may I .

Yo u think this cru el ? take it fo r a rule,

No creature smarts so little as a fool .Let peak o f laughter

,Codrus round thee break

Thou u n co n ce rn’d canst hear the mighty crack

Cu r l] a pir a ti c a l pu blishe r . Lin t o t] Pope ’s pu blishe r .

Du n c ia d ] Pope ’s sa ti r e o f tha t tit le .

6 Alexa nder Pope

Pit,box

,an d ga l l

’ry in convulsions hu r l

’d,

Tho u s tand’s t unshook amidst a bursting world .

Who shames a scr ible r ? break one cobweb thro’,He Spins the Slight

,self - pleasing thread anew

Destroy his fib or sophi s try,in vain

,

The creature’s at his dir ty work again,

Th r o n’d on the centre of hi s thi n designs

,

Proud of a vast extent of flimsy lines !Whom have I liu r t ? has poet yet

,o r peer

,

Lost the arch’d eye brow,or Parnassian sneer ?

Does not one table Bavius still admit ?Still to one bishop Philips seem a wit ?Still Sappho—A . Hold ; for God - sake—you’ll offend

,

No names—be calm— learn prudence o f a friendI t o o cou ld wr ite

,and I am twice as tall

But foes like these—P . One fla t t ’r e r ’s worse th an all .Of a ll mad creatures

,if the le ar n ’

d are right,

I t is the slaver kills,and n o t the bite .

A fool quite angry is quite innocentAlas l ’tis ten times worse when they repent .One dedicates in high heroic prose

,

And ridicules beyond a hundred foesOne from all Grub - s treet will my fame defend

,

And more abusive,calls himself my friend .

This prints my letters,that expects a br ibe

,

And others roar aloud,Su bscribe

,subscribe .

’

There are,who to my person pay their court

I cough like Horace,and

,tho’ lean

,am short

,

Ammon’s great son one shoulder had too high,

Such Ovid’s nose,and

,Si r yo u have an eye

G o on,obliging creatures

,make m e se e

All that d isg r ac’d my better s

,met in me .

Say fo r my comfort,languishi ng i n bed

,

‘Just so immo rtal Maro held hi s head :

Phil ips] Am b r ose Phi ll ips, a pa sto r a l po e t , pa t r on i zed by the Pr im a t e o f a ll I r e la n d . Am m on

’

s gr ea t son ] Alexan d e r the Gr e a t .

Ma r o] Vi rgi l .

Alexan d e r Pope

An d when I die,be su re yo u let me know

Great Homer dy’d three thousand years ago .

Why did I write ? what sin t o me u nknownDipt me in ink

,my parents’

,o r my own ?

As yet a chi ld,n o r ye t a fool t o fame ,

I l isp’d in numbers , fo r the numbers came .

I left n o call ing fo r this idl e trade,

NO duty broke,n o father di so bey

’d .

The muse but se rv ’d t o c ase some friend

,n o t wife

,

T o help me thro’ this long disease,my li fe

,

To second,Ar buthnot thy art and care

,

And teach the being yo u pr e se rv’d t o bear .

But why then publish ? Granvill e the poli te,

And knowin g Walsh,wou ld tell me I could write

Well- n a t u r ’d Garth inflam ’

d with early praise,

An d Congreve lo v’d,and Swift e n d u r ’d my lays

The court ly Talbot,Somers

,Sheffi el d read

,

Ev’n mitred Rochester wou ld n o d the head,

And St . John’s s elf,great Dryden’s friends before

,

With open arms r e ce iv’d o n e poet more .

Happy my Stu dies,when by these appr o v

’d

Happier their author,when by thes e b e lo v ’

d !

From these the world will j udge o f men an d books,

No t from the Bu r n e rs,O ldm ixo n s, an d Cooks .

Soft were my numbers who could take OffenceWhile pure Description held the place o f sense ?Like gentl e Fanny’s was my flow’

ry theme ,A painted mistres s

,o r a purling Stream .

Yet then did Gildon draw hi s venal qu illI wish ’d the man a di nner

,and sate s till .

Yet then di d Dennis rave in furiou s fretI never an swe r ’d

,I was n o t in debt .

Gr a nvi lle] Lo rd La n sd own e . Wa lsh] a cr i ti c .

Ga r th] a u tho r o f The D ispen sa ry . Ta lbo t] Duke o f Sh r ewsbu ry .

So m e r s] th e Lo r d Ke epe r . Sheffie ld ] Ea r l o f Mu lgr ave .

Ro che st e r] At t e rbu ry, Bisho p o f R owest e r . St . John ] Visco u n tBo lin gbr oke . Bu rn e t] bishop a n d histo r ia n . O ldm ix on ,

Coo k] li te r a ry ha ck s, n ow fo r go t t e n . Gild o n,De n n is] c r iti cs .

8 8 Alex a nde r Pope

If want pr ovok’d

,o r madness made them print

,

I wag’d no w a r with Bedlam or the Mint .Did some more sober critic come abroad ;

If wrong,I sm il’d if right

,I ki ss’d the r o d .

Pains,read ing

,s tu dy

,are their j ust pretence

,

An d all they want is spirit, taste, and sense .Commas an d points they se t exactly right

,

An d’twere a sin to rob them of their mite .

Yet ne’er one sprig o f laurel g r a c’d these ribalds

,

From slashing Bentley down to pid l in g Tiba ldsEach wight

,who read s not

,an d but scans and spells

,

Each word - catcher,that lives on syllables ,

Ev’n su ch small critics some regard may claim,

Pr e se rv’d in Milton’s or in Shake spe a r

’s name .

Pretty ! in amber to observe the formsOf hairs

,or straws

,o r dirt

,or gru bs

,or worms

The things w e know are neither rich nor rare,

But wond er how the d evil they go t there .

Were others angry : I excu s’d them too ;Well might they rage

,I gave them but their due .

A man’s tru e merit ’tis n o t hard to findBut each man’s secret stand ard in hi s mind

,

Tha t casting - weight pride adds to emptiness,

This,who can gratify ? for who can gu ess ?

The bard whom pilfe r’d Pastorals renown

,

Who turns a Persian tale for half - a - crown,

Just writes t o make his barrenness appear,

And strains,from hard - bound brains

,eight lines a year ;

He,who s till wanting

,tho’ he lives on theft

,

Steals mu ch,Spends little

,yet has nothing left

An d he,who now to sense, n ow nonsense leaning,

Means not,but blund ers rou nd about a meaning

And he,who se fu st ian

’s so su blimely bad

,

I t is not poetry,but prose run m ad

Ben t ley] Richa rd Ben t ley, a gr ea t cla ssica l scho la r .

Tiba ld s] Theo ba ld , wh o e d i ted Shake spea r e be t t e r tha n Pope .

The ba r d ] Am br ose Phi llips, wh o a lso t r an sla t ed P er s ia n Ta l es.

https://www.forgottenbooks.com/join

9 0 Alexa nde r Pope

To Spread about the itch of verse and praise ;Nor like a pu ppy

,daggled thro

’ the town,

T o fetch an d car ry si ng- song up and down ;No r at rehearsals sweat

,and m o u th

’d,and c ry

’d,

With handk erchi ef and or ange at my sideBut sick of fops

,an d poetry

,and prate

,

T o Bufo left the whole Castali an State .

Prou d as Apollo on hi s forked hill,

Sate full - blown Bufo, pu ff

’d by ev’ry quillFed with soft Dedication all day long

,

Horace and he went hand in hand in song .

His l ibrary,where bu sts of poets dead

And a tru e Pindar stood without a head,

Re ce iv’d of wits an u n d ist in gu ish

’d race

,

Who first his ju dgment a sk’d,and then a place

Much they ext o ll’d his pictu res

,mu ch his seat

,

And fla t t e r ’d ev’ry day, and some days eatTill grown more frugal in his riper d ays

,

He paid some bards with port,and some with praise

,

T o some a dry rehearsal was assign’d

,

And others,harder s till

,he paid in kind .

Dryden alone (what wonder ?) came not nigh,Dryden alone e scap

’d thi s j udging eyeBu t s till the great have kindness i n reserve,He h e lp

’d to bu ry whom he h e lp

’d to starve .

May some choice patron bless each gray goose qu illMay every Baviu s have hi s Bu fo StillSo when a statesman wants a d ay’s defence,Or envy holds a whole week’s w a r with sense

,

Or Simple pride for flar t’ry makes d emand s,

May du nce by du nce be whistled O ff m y handsBlest be the great for those they take away,And those they left me for they left me GayLeft me to se e neglected genius bloom ,

Neglected die,an d tell it on hi s tomb

Of all thy blameless life the so le retu rnGay] John Gay, a u tho r o f The Begga r

’

s Oper a .

Alexa nder Pope 9 1

My verse,an d Qu e e n sb

’ry weeping o

’e r thy urn

Oh let me live my own,and die so t o o

(To l ive and die is all I have to d oMaintain a poet’s d ignity an d c ase

,

An d see what friends,an d read what books I please

Above a patron,tho

’ I condescendSometimes t o call a minister my friend .

I was n o t born fo r cou rts o r great affairsI pay my debts

,bel ieve

,and say m y pray rs

Can sleep without a poem in my head,

No r know,if Dennis be alive o r dead .

Why am I a sk’d what next Shall se e the light ?He av

’n s was I born fo r nothing but t o write ?

Has li fe n o j oys fo r me ? o r,t o be grave ,

Have I n o friend t o serve,n o soul to save ?

I found him close with Swift — Indeed n o doubt

(C r ie s prating Balbu s) somethi ng will come o u t .

’

’Tis all in vain,deny it as I will

,

No,su ch a genius never c an h e s till

An d then fo r mine obligin gly mistakesThe first lampoon Sir Will . o r Bubo makes .Poor guiltless I l and c an I chuse but smile

,

When ev’ry coxcomb knows me by my style ?Curst be the verse

,how well so e ’e r it flow

,

That tends to make o n e wor thy m an my fo e ,Give virtu e scandal

,innocence a fear

,

Or from the soft - ey’d virgin Steal a tearBut he who hurts a ha rmless neighbour’s peace

,

Insults fa ll ’n worth,o r beauty in distress

,

Who loves a lye,lame Slander helps about

,

Wh o writes a libel,o r who copies o u t

That fop, whose pride affects a patron’s name .

Yet absent,wou nds an author’s honest fame

Qu e en sb’

ry] the Du chess o f Q .,Gay

’

s la st pa t r o n ess.

Sir Will ] Si r Wi llia m Yo n ge , a live ly su ppo r te r o f Wa lpo le ’s .

Bubo] Bu bb Do d d in gto n , Lo r d Me lco m be , a d ia r ist o f im po r ta n cein his ti m e

9 2 Alexa nder Pope

Who c an you r merit selfi shly approve,And Show the sense of it without the loveWho has the vanity to call yo u friend,Yet wants the honou r

,in ju r

’d,t o defend

Who tells whate’er yo u think, whate’er yo u say,

And,if he lye not

,must at least betray

Who t o the Dean and silver bell can swear,And sees at Cannons what was never thereWho reads

,but with‘a lu st to misapply

,

Make satire a lampoon,and fiction lye ;

A lash like mine no honest man shall dread,

Bu t all such babbling blockheads in his Stead .

Let Sporn s tr emble—A . What ? that thi ng o f Si lk,Sporns

,that mere white cu rd o f ass’s milk ?

Satire or sense,alas can Sporn s feel ?

Who breaks a butterfly u pon a wheel ?P . Yet let me flap thi s bug with gil ded wings

,

This painted child o f d irt,that Stinks and stings

Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys ,Yet wit ne’er tastes

,and beau ty ne

’er enjoysSo well - bred Spaniels civilly delightIn mumblin g Of the game they dare not bite .

Eternal smiles his emptiness betray,AS shallow str eams r u n dimpling all the way.

Whether in florid im potence he Speaks ,And

,as the prompter breathes

,the puppet squeaks ;

O r at the ear o f Eve, familiar toad ,Half froth

,hal f venom

,Spits himself abroad

,

In pu ns,or politics

,or tales

,o r lies

,

Or spite,or smut

,or rhymes

,o r blasphemies .

His wit all see - saw,between that and thi s

,

Now high,n ow low

,now master up

,now miss

,

And he himself one vile antithesis .

C a n n on s] the se a t o f the Du ke o f Cha n d o s, who se si lve r be ll a n d

cha pla in -Dea n Pope wa s a lleged (fa lse ly, h e says) t o have sa ti r izedin his Mor a l Epistl es . Spo r u s] Lo rd He rvey , a fr ien d o f La dyMa ry Wo r t ley Mon ta gu .

Alexa nd er Pope

Amphi biou s thing that acting ei ther part,The t r ifling head

,o r the corrupted hear t,

Fop at th e toilet , fla t t’r e r at the board,

Now trips a lady,and n ow s t ruts a lord .

Eve’s tempter thu s the rabbins have expr e st ,A cherub’s face

,a reptile all the rest .

Beauty that shocks yo u ,parts that none will trust

,

’

Wit that can creep,and pride that licks the du s t .

No t fortu ne’s worshipper,n o r fashion’s fool,

No t lucre’s madman,nor ambition’s tool ,

No t proud,n o r servile be o n e poet’s praise ,

That,if he ple as

’d,he ple as

’d by manly ways:

That fla t t ’ry, ev’n t o kings

,he held a shame

,

And thought a lye in verse o r prose the same,That n o t in fancy’s maze he wan d e r ’d long,But St o op

’d t o truth

,and m o r a liz

’d hi s song:

That n o t fo r fame,but virtu e’s better end

,

He stood the fu riou s fo e,the timid friend

,

The damning critic,half approving wit

,

The coxcomb hi t,o r fearing t o be hit

L au gh’d at the loss o f friends he never had ,

The dull,the prou d

,the wicked

,and the mad

The distant threats o f vengeance o n h is head,The blow u nfelt

,the tear he never shed

The tale r eviv’d,the lye so o ft o

’e r th r own ,

Th’ imputed trash,and dulness n o t his own

The morals blacke n ’d when the wr itings ’Scape ,

The libe l ’d person,and the pic tu r

’d ShapeAbu se

,o n all he lov ’

d,o r lo v

’d hi m,spread

,

A friend in exile,o r a father dead

The whi sper,that to greatness Still t o o near,

Perhaps yet vibrates o n his so v’r e ign’s ear

Welcome fo r thee,fair virtue all the past

Fo r thee,fair vi rtu e welcome ev’n the las t

A . Bu t why insu lt the poor,affront the great ?

P . A knave’s a knave,t o me

,in ev’ry state

Alike my scorn,if he su cceed o r fail

,

94 Alexa nder Pope

Sporns at cou rt,or Japhe t in a j ail,

A hireling sc r ible r,or a hi reling peer

,

Knight of the post cor rupt,or of the Shir e

If o n a pillory, o r near a throne ,He gain his prince’s ear

,or lose hi s own .

Yet soft by natu re,more a dupe than wi t

Sappho c an tell yo u how this man was bitThis dreaded sa t

’r ist Dennis will confess

Foe to his pride,bu t friend to his dis tress

So humble,he has kn o ck’d at T ibbald ’s doo r ,

Has dru nk with Cibber,nay has rhym

’d fo r Moor e .

Fu ll ten years sl an d e r ’d,did he once reply ?

Three thousand suns went down o n We lst ed’s lye .

To please a mistress one a spe r s’d his li fe

He l ash’d him n o t,but let her be hi s wife

Let Bu dge l charge low Gru b - street o n his quill ,And write whate’er he pl e as

’d,except his will

Let the two Curls of town and cou rt,abuse

His father,mother

,body

,soul

,and muse .

Yet why ? that father held it fo r a rule,I t was a sin t o call o u r neighbou r foolUnspotted names

,and memorable long !

If there be force in virtu e,o r in song .

Of gentle blood,part Shed i n honour’5 c au se ,

While yet i n Britain honou r had applau se,Each parent spru ng—A . What fortu ne, pray

P . Their own,

And better got,than Bestia’s from the throne .

Born to no pride,inheriting no strife

,

No r marrying discord in a noble wife,

Stranger to civil and religious rage,

The good man walk’d innoxiou s thro’ his age .

Sa ppho] La dy Ma ry Wo r t ley Mo n t a gu . C ibbe r] Co ll ey C ibbe r ,a cto r a n d d r am a ti st . Mo o r e] Ja m es Mo o r e , po e ta st e r .

We lsted ] sa id t o have l ibe l led Pope t o the Duke o f C han d os (se ea bove ) . Bu dge l] a jo u rn a list ; a n d

,Pope in sin u a tes, a fo rge r .

Be st ia ] the Du ke o f Ma r lbo r o u gh m a r ryin g d isco rd ]l ike D ryd en a n d Ad d ison

,who m a rr ied ti t led wives.

.Alexa n d e r Pope 9 5

No cou rts he saw,n o suits would ever t ry,

No r dar’d an oath,n o r hazarded a lye .

Un le a r n’d,he knew n o scho o lrn an

’s subtile art ,

No langu age,but the language Of the heart .

By natu re honest , by experience wise ,Healthy by t em p

’r an ce , and by exercise

His life,tho

’ long,t o Sickn ess past u nknown ,

His death was instant,and withou t a groan .

O grant me thus t o live,and thu s t o die

Who sprung from kings shall know less joy than I .

O friend may each domestic bliss be thineBe n o unpleasing melancholy mineMe

,let the tender offi ce long engage

,

T o rock the cr adle o f reposing age,With lenient arts extend a mother’s breath

,

Make langu or smile,and smooth the bed o f death ,

Explore the thou ght,explain the asking eye,

And keep a wh ile o n e parent from the SkyOn cares like these if length o f days attend

,

May he av’n,to bless those days

,preser ve my friend ,

Preserve him social,che a r fu l , and ser ene,

An d j ust as rich as when he se rv’d a queen .

A . Whether that blessing be d eny’d o r giv

’n,

Thus far was r ight,the rest belongs t o he av’n .

O L I V E R G O L D S M I T H 1728- 1774

The Deser ted V i l lag e

WEET AUBURN loveli est village o f the pla in,Where health and plenty che e r ’d the labouring swain ,

Wh er e smiling spr ing its earliest visit paid,

An d part ing summer’s lingering blooms d e lay’d :

Dear lovely bower s o f innocence and ease,

Seats o f my youth,when every sport could please,

How Often have I lo it e r ’d O’er thy green ,Where humble happin ess c n d e a r ’d each scene

9 6 O liv er Goldsm i th

How often have I pau s’d o n every cha rm

,

The she l t e r ’d cot,the cultivated farm

,

The never - faili ng brook,the busy mill

,

The decent chu rch that t opp’d the neighbou ring hill

,

The hawthorn bu sh,with seats beneath the Shade

,

Fo r talking age and wh isp’r in g lover s made

How Often have I bless’d the coming day,

When toil remitting lent i t s tu rn t o play,

And all the village train,from labour free

,

Led up their sports beneath the Spreading treeWhile many a pastime circled in the ShadeThe young contending as the o ld su rvey

’d

And many a gambol fr o lick’d o’er the ground,

And Sleights o f art and feats o f s trength went roundAnd Still as each repeated pleasure t ir ’d

,

Su cceeding Sports the mirthfu l band in spi r’d ;

The dancing pair that Simply sought renown,

By holding out to tire each other downThe swain mistru stless of his smutted face

,

While secret lau ghter t it t e r ’d round the placeThe bashful Virgin’s side—long looks o f love,The matron’s glance that would those looks reproveThese were thy charm s

,sweet village sports like

these,

With sweet su ccession,tau ght e’en toil to please

These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,

These were thy charms—But a l l these charms are fled .

Sweet smiling vill age,lovelies t of the lawn

,

Thy sports are fled,and all thy charms withdrawn

Am ids t thy bowers the tyrant’s hand is seen

,

And desolation saddens all thy greenOne onl y master grasps the whole domain

,

And half a till age stints thy smili ng plainN0 more thy glassy brook reflects the day

,

Bu t chok’d with sedges,works i ts weedy way .

Along thy glad es,a solitary guest

,

The hollow- sounding bittern gu ards i t s nest ;

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O liver Gold sm ith

Remembrance wakes with all her busy train ,Swells at my breast

,and turns the past to pain .

In all my wan d ’r in gs round thi s world o f care ,In all my gr iefs— and G O D h as given my ShareI Still had hopes m y latest hours to crown ,Amidst these humble bowers t o lay me downT O hu sband o u t life’s taper at the close,And keep the flame from wasting by repose .

I still had hopes,fo r pride attends u s s till,

Amidst the swains to Show my book - le a r n’d skill,

Arou nd my fire an evening group t o draw,

And tell o f al l I felt,and all I saw

And,as a hare

,whom hou nds and horns pursu e,

Pants t o the place from whence a t first she flew ,

I stil l h ad hopes,my long vexations pass

’d,

Here t o return—and die at home at last .O blest retirement

,friend t o life’s decli ne,

Retreats from care,that never must be mine,

How happy he who crowns in Shades like theseA youth o f labour with an age o f easeWho quits a world where Strong temptations t r yAnd

,sin ce ’

t is har d t o combat,learns to fly

Fo r hi m n o wretches,born t o work and weep,

Explore the mine,o r tempt the dangerous deep

NO sur ly porter Stands in guilty stateT o Spurn imploring famine from the gateBut o n he moves to meet his latter e n d ,Angels arou nd befriending Vir tu e’s friendBends t o the grave with u npe

’

r c e iv’d decay

,

While Resignation gently Slopes the way ;And, all hi s prospects b r igh t

’n ing t o the last ,

His Heaven commences ere the world be pass’d

Sweet w as the sound,when o ft at evening’s close

Up yonder hill the village murmur roseThere, as I pass

’d with car el ess s teps and slow,

The mingling notes came so ft en ’d from below ;

O liver Gold sm i th

The swain r esponsive as the m ilk - maid sung,

The sober herd that low’d t o meet the i r you ngThe noisy geese that gabbled o

’e r the pool

,

The playful chi ldr en just let loose from schoolThe watchdog’s voice that bay’d the whi sp

’r ing wind

And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mindThese a ll in sweet con fusion sou ght the shade,And fill ’d each pause the nightingale had made .But n ow the sounds o f population fail

,

No cheerfu l murmur s flu ctuate in the gale,

No busy st eps the grass - grown foot - way tread ,Fo r all the bloomy flush o f life i s fled .

All but yo u widow’d,soli tary thing

That feebly bends beside the plashy SpringShe

,wretched matron

,fo r c

’d,i n age, fo r bread,

To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread,To pick her wint ry faggot from the thorn

,

To se ek her nightly Shed,and weep till morn ;

She onl y left Of all the harmless train,

The sad historian o f the pensive plain .

Near yonder copse,where once the garden smil’(1

,

And still where many a garden flower grows wild ;There

,where a few torn shr ubs the place disclose ,

The village preacher’s modest mansion rose .

A man he was t o all the country d ear,

And pa ssing rich with forty pounds a yearRemote from towns he ran his godl y race

,

9 9

No r e’e r h ad ch ang’d,n o r wished t o change hi s pla ce

Unpr ac t is’d he t o fawn

, o r seek fo r power,By doctrines fashio n ’

d to the varying hou r ;Far other aims hi s hear t had learned t o prize .

More skill ’d t o raise the wretched than t o rise .

His house was known t o all the vagrant train ;He chid their wan d ’r ings, but r e l iev

’

d their pain ;The long- r em em be r ’d beggar w as his guest ,Whose beard descending swept h is aged breast ;

C !

1 00 O liver Goldsm i th

The r u in ’d Spendthrift,n ow n o longer prou d,

C la im’d kind red there

,and had hi s claims allow’d

The broken soldier,kindl y bade t o s tay

,

Sat by hi s fire,and talk’d the ni ght away

Wept o’er his wounds,o r tales o f sorrow done

,

Sho u l d e r’d hi s cr utch

,and Show’d how fields were wo n .

Ple as’d with hi s guests

,the good man lea r n ’d to glow

,

And qu ite forgot their vices in their woe ;Careless their merits

,o r their faults t o scan

,

His pity gave ere charity began .

Thus t o relieve the wretched was hi s pride,And e’en hi s failings leau ’d t o Virtue’s sideBut in h is du ty prompt at every call

,

He w a t ch’d and wept,he pr ay

’d an d felt,for all.

And, as a bird each fOn d endearment tries

T o tempt i t s new - fledg’d Offspr ing t o the Skies

,

He tried each art,r epr ov

’d each dull delay

,

Allu r’d to br ighter worlds, and led the w ay.

Beside the bed where parting l ife was laid,

And sorrow,guilt

,and pain

,by tu rns dismay’d

,

The reverend champion stood . At his control,Despair and anguish fled the struggling sou l ;Comfort came down the trembling wretch t o r aise

,

And hi s last fal t ’r ing accents whi spe r’d praise.

At chu rch,with meek and unaffected grace

,

His looks ado r n ’d the venerable place ;Tru th from hi s lips pr eva il

’d with double sway,

And fools,who came to scoff, remain

’d t o pray .

The service pass’d

,arou nd the pious man

,

With steady zeal,each honest rustic ran

Even chi ldren fo llow’d with endearing wile,

And plu ck’d his gown

,t o Share the good man’s smile .

His ready smile a parent’S warmth expr e ss’d

,

Their welfare pl e as’d hi m

,and their car es d ist r e ss’d

To them his heart,his love

,his griefs were given

,

But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven .

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1 o 2 O liver Gold sm ith

Imagination fondly Stoops t o traceThe parlour splendours of that festive place ;The whi te - wash

’d wall

,the nicely sand ed floor

,

The va r n ish’d clock that cl ick’d behind the doorThe chest co n t r iv’d a double debt t o pay

,

A bed by night,a chest o f d rawers by day

The pictures pl a c’d

'

for o rnament and u se,

The twelve good ru les,the royal

'

game of gooseThe hearth

,except when winter ch ill ’d the d ay,

With aspen bou ghs,and flowers

,and fennel gay

Whi le broken tea - cups,wi sely kept fo r Show

,

R an g’d o

’e r the chimney

, gl ist en’d i n a row .

Vain,transitory splendou rs . Could not all

Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fallObscure it sinks

,nor shall it more impart

An hour’s importance to the poor man’s heartThither no more the peasant Shall repairTo sweet oblivion o f his daily careNo more the farmer’s news

,the barber’s tale

No more the wood—man’s ballad shall prevailNO more the smith his dusky brow Shall clear

,

Relax his po n d’r o u s s trength

,and lean to hear ;

The host himself no longer shall be foundCareful to se e the mantling bliss go roundNor the coy maid , half willing t o be pr ess

’d,

Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest .Yes let the rich deride

,the proud disd ain

,

These simple blessings of the lowly tra inTo me more dear

,congenial t o my heart

,

One native charm,than all the gloss o f art

Spontaneous j oys,where Nature has i t s play

,

The soul adopts,an d owns their fir st - born sway

The twe lve go o d r u les] Ta b le o f m o r a l pr e cep t s hu n g u p in

t ave rn s .

the r oya l gam e o f go ose] so m e thin g l ike ba ckga m m o n .

O liv er Gold sm i th

Lightly they frolic o ’e r the vacant mind

,

Unenvied,unmolested

,u n co nfin

’d

But the long pomp,the midnight masquerade

,

With all th e fr eaks o f wanton wealth a r r ay’d,

In these,ere t r ifle r s half their wish obtain

,

The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ;An d

,e’en while fashion’S brightest arts d ecoy

,

The heart dist rusting asks,if thi s be joy.

Ye friends t o t ruth,ye statesmen

,who survey

The rich man’S j oys increase,the poor’3 decay

,

’Tis yours t o j udge,how wide the lim its stand

Between a Splendid and a happy land .

Prou d swells the tide with loads o f freighted o r e,

And shou ting Folly hails them from h e r ShoreHoard s e’en beyond the miser’s wish abound

,

And rich men flock from all the world around .

Yet count o u r gains . Thi s wealth is bu t a nameThat leaves o u r usefu l produ cts Still the same .

No t 80 the loss . The man Of wealth and pr id eTakes u p a space that many poor suppli edSpace fo r his lak e

,his park’s extend ed bounds

,

Space fo r his horses,equipage

,a n d hounds ;

The robe that wraps his lim bs i n s ilken slothHas robb’d the neighbouring fields o f half their growth ;His seat

,where soli tary Sports a r e seen

,

Indi gnant spu rns the co ttage from the greenAround the world each n e ed fn l product fl ies ,Fo r all the luxuries the world suppliesWhil e thus the land ado r n

’

d fo r pleasu re, allIn barren splendour feebly waits the fall .As some fair female u n ad o r n ’d and plain

,

Secure t o please while you th confirms he r reign,

Slights every bo r r ow ’d charm that dress su pplies ,No r shares with art the triumph o f her eyesBut when those charms are pass

’d,fo r charms are frail

,

When time advances,and when lover s fail

,

I 04 O liver Goldm zz’

t/J

She then shi nes forth,solic itou s t o bless

,

In all the glaring impotence o f dress .Thus fares the land

,by luxury betray’d

,

In nature’S siru plest charms at first array’

;d

But verging to d ecline,i t s Splendours ri se

,

I t s vista s s trike,its palaces surpri se

,

While sco u rg’d by famine from the smiling land

,

The mournful peasant leads hi s humble bandAnd whi le he sinks

,without o n e a rm t o save

,

The country blooms— a garden,and a grave .

Where then,ah ! where

,Shall poverty reside

,

T o’scape the pr essure o f contiguous pride ?

I f t o some common’3 fenceless limits st r ay’d

,

He drives h is flock t o pick the scanty blade,

Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth di vide,And e’en the bare—Worn common is denied .

I f t o the city sped—What waits him there ?T o se e profu sion that he must n o t share ;T o se e ten thousand baneful arts combin’dT o pamper luxury

,and thin mankind

T o se e those j oys the sons o f pleasure knowExtorted from h is fellow creatu re’s wo e .

Here,while the cou rtier glitters in brocade

,

There the pale artist pli es the sickly trade,

Here,while the proud their long- d rawn pomps display

,

There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.

The dome where Pleasure holds her m i dni ght reignHere

,richly d e ck’d

,admits the gorgeou s train

Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing squ are,

The r attling chariots clash,the torches glare .

Sur e scenes like these no troubles e’er annoySure these d enote one universal j oyAre these thy serious thoughts 2—Ah

,turn thi ne eyes

Where the poor houseles s shi v’r in g female lies .She once

,perhaps

,in village plenty ble ss’d

,

Has wept at t ales o f innocence d ist r e ss’d ;

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1 06 O liver Goldrm i t/y

Good heaven what sorrows gloo m’d that parting day

,

That c a ll ’d them from their native walks away ;When the poor exiles

,every pleasure pass

’d,

Hu ng rou nd their bowers,and fondl y lo ok’d their last

,

And took a long farewell,and W ish’d in vain

For seats like these beyond the western mainAnd shu dd ’r ing s till t o fa ce

’

the distant d eep,

Re t u r n’d and Wept

,an d s till r e t u r n ’d to weep .

The good old sire the first pr epa r’d to go

To new—fou nd worlds,and wept for others’ woe

Bu t for himself,in conscious virtu e brave

,

He only w ish’d for worlds beyond the grave .

His lovely d au ghter,loveli er in her tears

,

The fond companion of hi s helpless years,

Silent went next,neglectfu l o f her charms

,

An d left a lover’s for a father’s arms .With lou der plaints the mother spoke her woe s

,

And ble ss’d the co t where every pleasu re rose,An d kiss

’d her thou ghtless babes W ith many a tear

,

And c l asp’d them close

,in sorrow doubly d ear ;

Whils t her fond hu sband strove to lend reliefIn all the silent manliness of grief .0 Luxury . thou cu r s

’d by Heaven’S decree

,

How ill exchan g’d are thi ngs like these for thee

How d o thy potions , With insidiou s joy,Diffuse their pleasu res onl y to destroy !Kingdoms

,by thee

,t o sickly greatness grown ,

Boast of a florid vigou r not their own ;At every drau ght more large an d large they grow

,

A bloated mass o f rank unwieldy wo eTill sapp

’d their strength

,and every part u nsou nd

,

Down,down they sink

,an d spread a ru in round .

E’en now the d evastation is begun,And half the business o f destruction doneE’en now

,methinks

,as po n d

’r in g here I stand,

I see the ru ral virtu es leave the land

O live r Goldm zi t/J 1 0 7

Down wher e yo n anchor ing vessel spreads the sail ,That idly waiting flaps with ev’ry gale

,

Downward they move,a melancholy band

,

Pass from the shore,and darken a ll the strand .

Contented toil,and hospitable care

,

And kind connubial tend erness , are there ;And piety

,with wishe s plac

’d above,

An d s teady loyalty,and faithful love .

And thou,sweet Poetry

,thou lovelies t maid ,

Still firs t t o fly where sensual j oys invad eUnfi t in these degenerate tim m o f shameT o catch the heart

, o r s trike fo r honest fameDear cha rming nymph

,n egle c t ed

'

an d decr ied,

My shame in crowds,my solitary pride

Thou sou rce o f all my bli ss,an d all my wo e

,

That fo u n d ’st me poor at first,and ke ep

’st me so

Thou guide by whi ch the nobler ar ts excel,

Thou nurse o f every virtue,fare thee well

Farewell,and Oh ! where’er thy voice be tried ,

On Torno’s cl iffs,o r Pam bam a r c a

’s side

,

Whether where equinoctial fervou rs glow,

Or win ter wraps th e polar world i n snow,

Still let thy voi ce,prevailing over time

,

Redress the rigours o f th’ inclement climeAid slighted tru th with thy persuasive strainTeach erring man t o Spurn the rage o f gainTeach hi m ,

that states o f native strength po sse ss’d

,

Though very poor,may still be very ble ss’d ;

That trade’3 proud empir e hastes t o swift decay,As ocean sweeps the labour’d mole awayWhile self- dependent power c an time defy,As rocks resis t the bill ows and the sky.

To rn o] pe r ba s La ke To rn eo i n Swed en .

Pa m bam a r cafa m o u n ta in n e a r Qu ito .

W I L L I A M C O W P E R 1731- 1 800

071 fine R eceipt g‘my Mot/Mf r Pi ctu re ou t

of .Nogy‘bl é

T/ae G ift of m y C ousin A m i Bod/mm

[Cowpe r’

s m o the r d ied when h e wa s six . C owpe r su ffe r ed fr omr e cu r r en t a t t a cks o f m a dn ess . He w a s 5 9 when h e wr o te thi s po em .]

OH that those lips h ad language Life has pass

’d

With me but roughly since I heard thee last .Those lips are t hine—t hy own sweet smiles I se e

,

The same that oft in ch ildho o d iso lace d meVoice only fails

,else

,how distinct they say,

Grieve not,my chi ld

,chase all thy fears away

The meek intelligence o f those dear eyes

(Blest be the art that can immortalize,The art that baffles time’s tyrannic claimTo quench it) here shi nes on me still the same .Faithful remembrancer of one so dear

,

Oh welcome gu est,though unexpected

,here

Who bidd ’st me honour with an artless song,

Affectionate,a mother lost so long

,

I will obey, not willingly alone,But gladly

,as the precept were her own

And,while that face renews my filial grief

,

Fancy shall weave a charm for my reliefShall steep me in Elysian reverie

,

A momentary d ream,that thou art she .

My mother I when I le a r n ’d that thou wast dead

,

Say,wast thou conscious of the tears I shed

Hove r’d thy Spirit o’er thy sorrowing son

,

Wretch even then,life’s j ourney ju st begu n .

P

Perhaps thou g av’st me

,thou gh unseen

,a kiss

Perhaps a tear,if sou ls c an weep in bliss

Ah tha t maternal smile it answers—Yes .

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0 Wi llia m Cowpe r

Thy constant flow of love,that knew no fall ,

Ne’er r o u ghen’d by those catarac ts and br akes

That humour in t e rpo s’d too often makes

Al l, this still legible in m em

’ry

’s page

,

And still to be so,to my latest age

,

Adds joy to du ty, makes me glad to paySuch honou rs to thee as my numbers mayPerhaps a frail memorial

,but sincere

,

Not sco r n ’d in he av’n,thou gh little n o t ic’d here .

Could time,his flight r eve r s’d

,restore the hours

When,playing with thy vestu re

’S tissu ed flow ’r s

,

The violet,the pink

,and j essamine

,

I pr ick’d them into paper with a pin

,

(And thou wast happier than myself the While ,Would’s t softly speak

,and stroke m y head an d smile)

Could those few pleasant hours agai n appear,Might one wish bring them

,would I wish them here ?

I wou ld not trust my heart— the dear delightSeems so to be d e si r ’d

,perhaps I might .

But no—what here we call o u r life is such,

So little to be lov’d , and thou so much,

That I Shoul d il lo requ ite thee t o constrain

Thy unbound sp i rit into bonds again .

Thou,as a gallant bark from Albion’s coast

(The storms all w e a the r’d and the ocean c r o ss

’d)

Shoots into port at some well h aven ’d isle,Wher e spices breathe and br ighter seasons smile,There sits qu iescent on the floods that showHer beauteou s form reflected clear below,

W’hile airs impregnated with incense playArou nd her

,fanning light he r s treamers gay

So thou,with sails how swift hast r each’d the shore

Where tempests never beat n o r billows ro ar,’

An d thy lov’d consort on the d ang

’r o u s tide

Of life,long since

,has an cho r ’d at thy side .

Bu t me,scarce hoping t o attain that rest ,

Whe r e t em pests, &c .] fr o m Ga r th .

Wi l lia m Cowpe r

Always from port withheld,always dist r ess’d

Me howlin g winds dr ive devious,tempest t o ss’d ,

Sa ils r ipt , seams 0p’ni n g wide, and compass lost ,

And day by day some cu rr ent’s thwarting forceSets me more di stant from a pro sp

’r o u s course .

But oh the thought,that thou art safe

,and he

That thou ght is joy, arr ive What may t o me .

My boast is n o t th at I dedu ce my birthFrom loins e n th r o n ’d

,and ru lers o f the earth

But higher far my prou d pretensions riseThe so n o f parents pass

’d into the skies .

And n ow,farewel l— time

,u n r evok

’d,h as r u n

His wonted course,yet what I w ish ’d i s done .

By contemplation’3 help,n o t sou ght i n vain ,

I seem t’ have liv’d my childhood o’e r again

T o have r e n ew ’d the joys that once were mine ,

Without the sin o f violating thineAnd , while the wings o f fancy still are free,And I c an view this mimic shew o f thee

,

Time has but half succeeded i n his theftThyself r em ov

’d,thy power t o sooth me left .

W I L L I A M B L A K E

Toe Boole of Tbel

The l’s Motto .

I I I

l 7s7—1 827

Does the Eagle know what is in the pitOr wilt thou go ask the Mole ?Can Wisdom be put in a silver r o d ,Or Love in a golden bowl ?

I

I'HE dau ghters o f [the] Seraphim led rou nd theirsu nny flo cks

All but theyyounge s t she in paleness sought the sec ret air,

1 1 2 Wi llia m Bla ke

To fade away l ike morning beauty from he r m ortal dayDown by the river of Adona her soft voice is hea rd,And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew

O life of this our spring ! why fades the lotus o f thevva t e r ?

Why fade these chi ldr en o f the Spring,born but to smile

and fall ?Ah Thel is like a wat’ry bow

,and like a partin g cloud

Like a reflection in a glass like shadows in the waterLike dreams of infants

,like a smile u pon an infant’s face

Like the dove’s voice like transient day '

; like music inthe air .

Ah gentle may I lay me down,and gentle r est my head ,

And gentle Sleep the Sleep o f death,and gentle hear the

vo i ce

Of Him that walketh in the garden in the evening time .

’

The Lily o f the Valley,breathing in the humble grass

,

Answered the lovely maid and said I am a wat’ry weed,

And I am very small,and love to dwell in lowly vales

So weak,the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head .

Yet I am visited from heaven,and He that smiles o n all

Walks in the valley,and each morn over me Spreads His

hand,

Saying,Rejoice

,thou humble grass

,thou n ew - born lily

flower,

Thou gentle maid of Silent vall eys and of modest brooksFo r thou shalt be clothed in light

,and fed with morn ing

manna,

Till summer’s heat melts thee besid e the fou ntains an dthe Springs

,

To flourish in eternal vales . Then why shoul d Thelcomplain ?

Why shou ld the mistress of the vales of Har u tter a sigh

She c e as’d,and sm il’d in tears

,then sa t down in her s ilver

shrine .

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1 14. Wi llia m Bla ke

The Clou d then show’d h i s gold en head and h is brightform em e rg

’d,

Hovering a n d glittering on the air before the face of Thel .

O Virgin,kn ow

’st thou not o u r steed s d rink of the

golden springsWhere Lu y ah doth renew his horses ? L o ok

’st thou on

my youth,

And fearest thou,becau se I vanish and am seen no more,

Nothing remains O Maid,I tell thee

,when I pass away,

I t is to tenfold life,to love

,to peace

,an d raptu res holy

Unseen descend in g,weigh m y light Wi ngs upon balmy

flowers,

And court the fair - eyed dew,to take me to her shining

tentThe weeping virgin

,trembling

,kneels befo re the risen su n ,

Till w e arise link’d in a golden band an d never part,

Bu t wa lk united,bearing food to all our tender flowers .’

Dost thou,O little Clou d I fear that I am n o t like thee,

For I walk thro’ the vales of Har,and smell the sweetest

flowers,

Bu t I feed not the little flowers ; I hear the warblingbird s

,

Bu t I feed not the warbling birds ; th ey°fly an d seek

their foodBu t Thel delights in these no more

,becau se I fade away

An d all sha ll '

say, Withou t a u se this shining womanl iv

’d,

Or d id she only live to be at d eath the food of worms

The Clou d r e cl in’d upon his airy throne

,and an sw e r

’d

thu s

Then if th ou art the food of worms,O Virgin o f the skies ,

How great thy use , how great thV blessing Everythingthat lives

Wi lli a m Bla ke 1 1 y

Lives n o t alone n o r fo r itself . Fear n o t , and I will call'

The weak Worm from i ts lowly bed,and thou shalt hear

its voice .Come forth

,Worm o f the silent vallev

,t o thy pensive

Qu een .

’

The helpless Worm arose,a n d sa t u pon the Lily

’s leaf,

And the bright Cloud sa il’

d on,to find his partner in the

vale .

1 11

Then Thel ast o n ish’d view’d the Worm upon ‘its dewy

bed .

Art thou a Worm ? Image of weakness , art thou buta Worm

I see thee like an infant wrapped in the Lily’s leaf .Ah ! weep not

,little voice

,thou canst n o t speak

,but

thou canst weep .

Is this a Worm ? I see thee lay helpless an d nakedweep i n g

,

An d none to answer,none to cherish thee with mother’s

smiles . ’

The Clod o f Clay heard the Worm’s voice an d r a is

’d herpitying head

She bow ’

d over the weeping infant,and her life e xh a l ’d

In milky fondness then o n Thel she fix’d her humbleeyes .

O Beauty o f the vales o f Har we live not for ourselves .Thou sees t me

,the meanest thing

,an d so I am indeed .

My bosom o f itself is cold,and o f itself is dark

Bu t He,that loves the lowly

,pours His oil u pon my head

,

An d kisses me,an d binds His nu ptial bands around my

breastAn d S

fiys Thou mother of my chi ldren I have lovedt e e

,

1 1 6 Wi lli a m Bla ke

And I have given thee a crown that none can take away .

But how this is,sweet Maid

,I know n o t

,and I cannot

knowI ponder

,and I cannot ponder yet I live an d love . ’

The Dau ghter o f Beauty W ip’d her pitying tears with her

white veil,

And said : Alas ! I knew not this , and therefor e didI weep .

That G o d would love a worm I knew,and pu nish the

evil footThat wilfu l b r u is’d i t s helpless form but that He

ch e r ish’d it

With milk and oil I never knew,and therefore did I weep

And I co m pla in’d in the mild air

,becau se I fade away

,

And lay me down in thy cold bed,an d leave my shining

lot .’

ueen of the vales,

’ the matron Clay an sw e r’d,I heard

thy sighs,

And a ll thy moans flew o’er my roof,but I have ca ll ’d

them down .

Wilt thou,O Queen

,enter my house ? ’Tis given thee

to enterAnd to retu rn fear nothi ng

,enter with thy virgin feet .’

The e t e r n a l gates’ terrific Porter lifted the northern barThel e n t e r ’d in and saw the secrets of th e l an d u nknown .

She saw the cou ches of the d ead,and where the fibrou s

rootsOf every hear t o n earth infixe s deep i ts r estless twistsA land o f sorrows and of tears where never smile was seen .

She wan d e r ’d in the land of clou ds thro’ val leys dark ,l ist

’n ing

Dolours an d lamentations ; waiting oft beside a dewygr ave

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1 1 8 Wi llia m Bla ke

Stands still u pon the mou ntain l ooking on this lit tle BirdWi th eyes of soft humility and wonder, love and awe .

Then lou d from their green covert all the Birds begintheir song

Th e Thru sh,the Linnet and the Goldfinch

,Robin and

the WrenAwake the Su n from his sweet revery u pon the mou ntainThe Nightingale again assays his song

,and thro’ the day

An d thro’ the night warbles luxuriant every Bird o f songAttending his loud harmony with admiration and love .This is a Vision of the lamentation of Beulah over O lo lo n .

Thou perceivest the Flowers put forth their , preciou sOdou rs

An d none c an tell how from so small a centre comes su chsweet

,

Forgetting that within that centre Eternity expandsI ts ever - during doors

,that O g and Anak fiercely gu ard .

First,ere the morning breaks

,j oy opens in the flowery

bosoms,

Joy even . to tears,which the Sun rising d ries first the

Wild ThymeAnd Meadow- sweet

,downy and soft

,waving among the

reed s,

Light springing on the air,lead the sweet dance ; they

wakeThe Honeysuckle sleeping on the oak ; the flau nting

beau tyRevels along u pon the wind ; the White - thorn, lovely

MaOpens I

ie r many lovely eyes ; lis ten i ng the Rose still

sleepsNone dare to wake her ; soon she bursts her crimson

c u r t a in ’d be d

And comes forth in the maj esty o f beau ty. Every Flower,The Pink

,the jessamine , the Wallflower, the Carnation ,

The jonquil, the mild Lily opes her heavens every Tree

R obe r t Bu rn r 1 1 9

An d Flower an d Herb soon fill the air with an innumerabledance

,

Yet all in ord er sweet and lovely . Men are Sick with loveSuch is a Vision of the lamentation of Beu lah over O lo lo n .

[From Mi l ton .]

R O B E R T B U R N S 175 9- 1796

Tbe C ott er ’r Sa tu rd ay M g/J t

Y lov’d,my ho n o u r ’d

,much respected friend

No mercenary bard his homage paysWith honest pride I scorn each selfish en d

,

My dearest meed a friend ’s esteem an d praiseT o yo u I sing, in simple Scottish lays ,

The lowly train in life’s sequ e st e r’d scene

The native feelings strong, the gu ile le ss'

ways

What Ai ken in a cottage wou ld have beenAh tho’ his worth unknown , far happier there, I ween .

I

November chill blaws lou d w i ’ angry soughThe sho r t ’n ing winter - day is near a close

The miry beasts retreating frae the pleughThe b la ck’n in g trains o

’ craws t o their reposeThe toil - worn Cotter frae h is labour goes

,

This night his weekly moil is at an e n d,

Collects his spad es,his mattocks

,and his hoes

,

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend,

An d weary,o’er the moor

,his cou rse does h am ewa r d bend .

At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the shelter of an aged treeTh’ expectant w e e - thi ngs

,t o d d li n

’

,stacher through

To meet their D ad,w i

’ flich t e r in ’ noise an’ glee .

His wee bit ingle,b l ink in bo n n il ie

,

st a che r] st agge r . flich t e r in’

] flu t te r in g. in gle] hea r th .

1 20 R obe r t Ba r /Ir

His clean hearth - stane,hi s thrifty w ifie ’s smile

,

The lisping infant prattling on his knee,

Does a’ hi s weary kiau gh an d care begu ile,

An’ makes him qu ite forget his labou r an’ his toil .

Belyy e, the elder bairns come drapping inAt service o u t

,amang the farmers roun

Some c a ’ the pleu gh,some herd

,some tentie rin

A cannie err and t o a n e ibo r town :Their eldest hope

,their Jenny

,woman grown

,

In yo u thfu’ bloom

,love sparkl ing i n her e’e

,

Comes hame,perhaps to shew a braw new gown

,

Or d eposite her sair- wo n penny - fee,

To help her parents d ear,if they in hardship be .

With joy u n fe ign’d brothers and sisters meet

,

An’ each for other’s we e lfa r e kindly spiersThe social hou rs

,swift - w in g

’d,unnoticed fleet

Each tells the un'

cos that he sees or hears ;The parents

,par tial

,eye their hopeful years ;

Anticipation forward points the view.

The mother,W i ’ her needle an’ her Sheers

,

Gars au ld claes look amaist as weel ’s the newThe father mixes a’ w i’ admonition due .

Their master’s an’ their m i stress’s command,

The you nkers a’ are warned t o obey ;An’ mind their labours w i’ an eydent hand

,

An’ ne’er,tho’ o u t o’ sight

,t o j auk or play

And O be su re to fear the Lord alway,

An’ mind you r du ty,duly

,morn an’ night .

Lest i n temptation’s path ye gang astray,

Implore His counsel an d assisting mightThey never sou ght i n vain that sought the Lord aright

ki a u gh] a n xi e ty . Be lyy e] So on . t en tie he ed fu l .u n cos] st r a n ge thin gs . eyd en t] d iligen t . jau k d a lly .

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1 22 R obe r t Ba r n :

Are honou r,virtu e

,conscience

,all exil’d ?

I s there no pity,no relenting ru th

,

Points to the parents fondling o’e r their child ?

Then paints the r u in ’d maid

,and their distraction wild ?

Bu t now the su pper crowns their simple board,

The halesome parritch,chief of Scotia’s food

The sowpe their only hawkie does afford ,That ’yont the hallan snu gly chows her co o dThe dame brings forth in complimental mood ,

To grace the lad,her weel - bain’d kebbuck

,fell

An d aft he ’s prest

,an d aft he c a ’s it good

The fru gal w ifie,garrulou s

,will tell

How’twas a towmond au ld sin ’ lint was i’ th e bell .

Th e che e r fu’ su pper done

,w i’ seriou s face

They rou nd the ingle form a circle wid eThe Sire tu rns o’er

,w i

’ patriarchal grace,

The big ha’ bible,ance his father’s prid e

His bonnet rev’r e i1t ly i s laid aside,

His lyart h afle t s wearing thin an’ bare ;Those strains that once d id sweet in ! ion glide

He wales a portion with j u diciou s care,

Ai nd Let u s worship G o d he say s with solemn air .

They chant their artless notes in simple gu iseThey tu ne their hearts

,by far the noblest aim

Perhaps Du ndee’s wild warbling measu res rise,

Or plaintive Martyrs,worthy of the name

Or noble Elgin beets the h e av’nw a r d flame,

The sweetest far of Scotia’s holy laysCompared with these

,I talian trills are tame

Th e tickled ears no heartfelt raptu res raiseNae u nison h a e they with o u r Creator’s praise .

sowpe] beve r age . hawkie] cow . ha lla n ] pa r ti t ion .

h a in’

d ] save d . ke bbu ck] che e se . fe ll] ta sty . t owm on d]twe lvem on th . i

’

th e be ll] in flowe r . lya r t hafl’e ts] gr izzled

t e m p les . wa le s] cho o se s . be e ts] a d d s fu e l t o .

R ober t Bu r /u 1 2 3

The priest - like father reads the sacred page,

How Abram was the friend of G o d o n highOr Moses bade e t e r n a l warfare wageWith Amalek’s ungra cious progenyOr how the royal bard d id groaning lieBeneath the stroke o f Heaven’s avengi ng ireOr job

’s pathetic plaint,a n d wa iling c ry

Or rapt I saiah’s wild seraphic fireOr other holy seers that tune the sacred lyre .

Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme,

How gu iltless blood fo r guilty man was shedHow He who bore in Heaven the second nameHad n o t o n earth whereon t o lay His headHow His first followers and servants sped

The precepts sage they wrote t o many a landHow he

,was lone in Patmos banished ,

Saw in the su n a mighty angel stand,And heard great Bab’lo n ’s doom pronounced by Heaven’s

command .

Then kn eeling down t o Heaven’s Eternal KingThe saint

,the father

,a n d the hu sband prays

Hope ‘springs exu lting o n triumphant wing ’

That thus they all shall meet in future daysThere ever bask i n uncreated ray s ,

No more to sigh,or shed the bi tter tear

,

Together hymning their Creator’s p raise,

In su ch society, ye t st ill more dear

While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere .

Compared with this,how poor Religion’s prid e

,

I n all the pomp o f method and o f art,

When men display t o congregations wid eDevotion’s every grace

,except the heart

The .Power,incensed

,the pageant will desert

,

1 24. R obe r t Ba rm

The pompou s strain,the s acerdotal stole ;

But haply,i n some cottage far apart

,

May hear,well pleased

,the language of the soul

An d in His Book of Life the inmates poor enrol .

Then homeward all take o ff their several w ayThe youngling cottagers retire to restThe parent - pair their secret homage pay

,

And proffer up to He av’n the warm requ est

,

That He who stills the raven’s clamorou s nest,And decks the lily fair in flowery pride

,

Wou ld,in the way His wisdom sees the best

,

Fo r them and for their little ones provideBu t chi efly in their hearts with grace d ivine preside .

From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springsThat makes her loved at home

,revered abroad

Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,

An honest man ’s the noblest work of God

And certes,in fair virtu e’s heavenl y road

,

The cottage leaves the palace far behi nd,

What i s a lordl ing’s pomp ? a cumbrous load,Disguising oft the wretch o f human kind

,

Studied in arts of hell,in wickedness r efin ’d

O Scotia my dea r,my native soil

For whom my warmest Wish to Heaven is sentLong may thy hardy sons of rustic toilB e bles t with health

,and peace

,and sweet content

And O may Heaven their simple lives preventFr om lu xu ry’s contagion

,weak and vile

Then,howe’er crowns and coronets be rent

,

A virtuous popu lace may rise the While,

An d stand a wall of fire around their much- loved isle .

O Thou who poured the pa tr iotic tideThat Streamed thro’Wallace’s undaunted heart

,

Who dared t o nobly stem tyrannic prid e,

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1 2 6 R obe r t Bu m r

That every naig w as ca’d a shoe on,

The smith and thee gat roarin’ fou o n

That at the Lord’s hou se,even on Sunday,

Thou drank w i’ Kirkton jean till Monday .

She prophesied th a t,.l a t e o r soon

,

Thou wou ld be found d eep d rown’d in DoonOr c a t ch ’d W i ’ warlocks in the mirkBy Allow ay

’s auld hau nted kirk .

Ah,gentle dames it gars m e greet

To think how mony counsels sweet,

How mony l en g th en’d sage advices

,

The husband frae the wife d espisesBu t to o u r tale Ae market night ,

Tam had got planted u nco right,

Fast by an ing le , ~bl e e z in g finely,

Wi ’ reaming swats,that d rank divinely

And at hi s elbow,Souter johnny,

His ancient,tru sty, drou thy crony

Tam lo’ed him—like a very brither . ;They h ad been fo u fo r weeks thegither .The night d rave on W i ’ sangs an d clatter,And aye the ale w as growing betterThe land lady and Tam grew graciou s

,

Wi’ favours secret,sweet

,and preciou s

The souter tau ld his qu eerest storiesThe landlord’s laugh w as ready choru sThe storm withou t might rair and rustle,Tam d id na mind the storm a whistle .

Care,mad to se e a man sa e happy

,

F’em d rown’d himsel amang the n appy.

As bees flee hame W i’ lades o’ treasure,The minutes w in g

’d their way W i

’ pleasu reKings m ay be blest , bu t Tam was gloriou s ,O ’er a’ the ills 0’ life victoriou s !Bu t pleasu res are like poppies spread

You sei ze the flow ’r,its bloom i s Shed ;

r e a m in g] c r e a m in g, fr o thin g . swa ts] a le . c r o n y] chu m .

R ober t Bu m ;

Or like the snow falls in the riverA moment whi te

,then melts for ever

Or like the borealis race,

That flit ere yo u c an point their placeOr lik e the rainbow’s lovely formEvanishing amid the storm .

Nae man c an tether time n o r tid eThe hou r approaches Tam maun ri d e ;That hour

,0’ night’S black arch the key stane

,

That dreary hou r,he mounts h is beast i n ;

And sic a night he taks the road i n,

As ne’er poor sinner was abroad in .

The wind blew as ’

twad blawn i t s la st ;The rattling show ’

r s rose o n the blastThe Speedy gleams the darkness sw all ow

’d

Loud,deep

,and lang

,the thu nder be l low ’

d

That night,a child might u nderstand

,

The Deil had bu siness on his hand .

Weel mou nted on his gray mare , Meg,A better never lifted leg

,

Tam skelpit o n thro’ d u b and mire,

Despising wind,an d rain

,and fire

,

Wh iles holding fast his gu de blu e bonnet,

Wh il es croon ing o ’e r some auld Scots so n rie t ;Whiles glow’ring rou nd w i ’ pru dent cares

,

Lest bogles catch him u nawares .Kirk -Alloway w a s drawing . nigh

,

Whare gha ist s and bou lets nightly c ry.

By this time he w as cross the O

fo r d,

Where in the snaw the Chapman sm o o r’d

An d past the birks and meikle stane,

Where dr u nken Charlie brak ’s neck bane ;

And thro’ the wh im s,and by the cairn

,

Where hu nters fand the m u r d e r’d bairn

And near the thorn,aboon the well

,

Where Mu ngo’s mither h an g’d hersel .

1 2 7

ske lpi t] sla ppe d .~ d u bj pu ddle . ho u le ts] ow ls .

1 2 8 R ober t Ba rm

Before him Doon pours all his floodsThe doubling storm roars thro’ the woodsThe lightnings flash from pole to poleNear and more near the thunders rollWhen

,glimmering thro’ the groaning trees

,

Kirk All oway se em’d i n a bleeze ;

Thro’ ilka bore the beams were glancing ;And lou d resou nded m irth and d ancing .

Inspiring bold john BarleycornW

'

hat dangers thou canst make u s scornWi ’ t ippen ny, we fear nae evilWi ’ usqueb ae

,we’ll face the devil

The swats sae r e am’d in Tammie’s noddle,

Fair play,he car’d na deils a boddle

Bu t Maggie stood right sair ast o n ish’d,

Till,by the heel an d hand adm o n ish

’d,

She ven t u r ’d forward on the lightAnd

,vow Tam saw an unco sight

Warlocks an d Wit ches in a danceNae cotillon brent n ew frae France

,

Bu t ho r npi es , j igs , s trathspeys , and reels ,Pu t life an mettle in thei r heels .A Winnock - bu nker in the east

,

There sat au ld Nick,in sh ape 0’ b east

A t o u z ie tyke,black

,grim

,an d large

To gie them mu sic w a s his charge :He sc r ew ’d the pipes an d g art them skirl,Till roof and rafters a’ did

o

d irl .Coffi ns stood rou nd like open presses ,That shaw ’d the

'

d ead in their last dressesAnd by some devilish cantraip sleightEach in its cauld hand held a light ,By which heroic Tam w as ableT o note u pon the haly t able

bo r e] ho le . u squ eba e] whisky . bo dd le] Sm a ll Sco ts co in .

w in n o ck- bu n ke r] win d ow- chest . t ou z ie] shaggy . tyke]d o g . ski r l] shr iek . d i r l] qu ive r . ca n t r a ip] spe ll .

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1 3 0 R ober t Ba rm

That night enlisted in the core,

Lang after kent on Carrick shore

(Fo r mony a beast to dead she shot ,And pe r ish

’d mony a bonnie boat

,

And shook baith meikle corn and bear,.

And kept the cou ntry- side in fear.)Her cutty sark

,o’ Paisley harn

,

That Whi le a lassie she had worn,

In longitu de tho’ sorely scanty,

I t was her best,an d she w as vau n tie .

Ah ! little kent thy reverend grannieThat sark sh e coft for her w e e NannieWi ’ twa pu n d Scots (

’twas a’ her riches)Wad ever g r a c

’d a dance o f Witches

But here my mu se her Wing maun courSic flights are far beyond her pow

’r

T o sing how Nannie lap and flang,

(A souple j ade She w as,and strang)

And how Tam stood,like ane b evvi t ch ’d

,

An d thou ght his very een en r ich ’d

Even Satan glow r’

d,and fidg

’d fu ’ fain,

And ho t ch ’d an d blew W i’ might an d main

Till first a e caper,syne anither

,

Tam tint his reason a’ thegither,

And roars o u t Weel done,Cu tty—sark

And in an instant all was d arkAnd scarcely h ad he Maggie ralli ed,When out the hell ish legion salli ed .

As bees bizz o u t W i’ angry fykeWhen plu ndering herd s assail their byke

,

As open pu ssie’s mortal foesWhen pop she s tarts before their° nose

,

As eager ru ns the market—crowd,

When Catch the thi ef resounds alou d,

bear] a kin d o f bar ley ha r n ] ya rn .

ho t ch’

d ] fidge t ed . fyke] fu ss.

R obe r t Bum r 1 3 1

So Maggie ru ns the witches follow,

Wi ’ mony an eldritch Skr iech and hollow .

Ah,Tam ah , Tam tho u

’l l get thy fa ir in ’

In hell they’ll roast thee like a herrin’

In vain thy Kate awaits thy comin ’

Kate soon wi ll be a wo e fu ’ womanNow do thy speedy utmost , Meg,And win the key- stane o ’ the brigThere at them thou thy tail may toss

,

A ru nni ng stream they darena cross .But ere the key- stane she could make

,

The fien t a tail she had t o shakeFo r Nannie

,far before the rest

,

Hard upon noble Maggie prest,

An d flew at Tam w i’ furious ettle

But little wist she Maggie’s mettleAe spring brought o ff her m aster hale

,

Bu t left behind he r ain gray tai lThe carlin claught her by the rump

,

And left poor Maggie scarce a stump .

Now,wha this tale 0’ truth shall read

,

Each man and mother ’s so n,take heed

Whene’er t o drink yo u are in cl in’d,

Or cu tty- sarks rin in your mind,

Think ye may buy the j oys o ’e r d earRemember Tam o

’Shan t e r

’s mar e .

e ld r i t ch] fr igh tfu l . Skr ie ch] shr i ek . fa i rin’

] r ewa rd .

fie n t] d eu ce . e t t le] in ten t . cla ught] clu tched , ca ugh t .

W I L L I A M W O R D S W O R T H 1770- 1 8 50

Tbe R a in ed Cot tage

[Abo u t°

1 796 Wo r d swo r th wr o te , bu t d id n o t pu bli sh,a po em

which h e ca lled Tbe R u in ed C ottage . He in co rpo r a t ed i t in Bo ok Io f Tba Excu rsion ( pu blished whe r e i t is pu t in t o th e m ou tho f a piou s Sco t t ish ped la r , a n d i t s po ign a n cy soft en ed by qu ie ti str efle cti on s. These r efle cti on s, I be li eve ,we r e a d d ed la t e r ; by r em ovin gthem — an d they com e away wi thou t l eavin g a sca r —we g e t som e

thin g l ike the o r igin a l ba r e t r a gedy]

HUS d id he Speak . I se e around me her eThings which you cannot se e we die

,my Friend

,

Nor we alone,bu t that whi ch each man loved

And prized in his peculiar nook o f earthDies with him

,or is changed and very soon

Even of the good is no memorial left .—The Poets

,in their elegies and songs

Lamenting the departed, call the groves,They call upon the hills and streams to mou rn

,

An d senseless rocks nor idl y for they speak,

In these their invocations,with a voice

Obedient to the strong creative powerOf human passion . Sympathies there areMore tranqu il

,yet perhaps of kind red birth

,

That steal upon the meditative mind,

And grow with thought . B eside yon spring I stood ,And eye d i t s waters till we seemed to feelOne sadness

,they and I . For them a bond

Of brotherhood is broken time has beenWhen

,every day, the touch of human hand

Dislodged the natural sleep that binds them u pIn mortal still ness and they ministeredT o human comfort . Stooping down to drink,Upon the slimy foot - stone I espiedThe useless fragment o f a wood en bowl,G r e en with the moss o f years

,and subj ect only

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l 34 Wi llia m Wora’rwo r tb

Had failed,and every leaf and flower wer e lost

In the dark hedges . So their days were spentIn peace and comfort and a pretty boyWas their best hope

,next t o the G o d in heaven .

Not twenty years ago,but you I think

Can scarcely bear it now in mind,there came

Two blighting seasons,when the fields were left

With half a harvest . I t pleased Heaven t o addA worse affliction in the plague of warThis happy Land was stricken to the heartA Wand erer then among the cottages

,

I,with my freight of winter raiment

,saw

The hardships o f that season many richSank down

,as in a dream

,among the poor

And o f the poor did many cease to be,

And their place knew them not . Meanwhile, abridgedOf daily comforts

,gladly reconciled

To numerous self- denials,Margaret

Went struggling on throu gh those calamitous yearsWith cheerful hope

,until the second autumn

,

When her life’s Helpmate o n a sick- bed lay,

Smitten with perilous fever . In diseaseHe lingered long an d

,when his strength returned

,

He fou nd the little he had stored,t o meet

The hou r of accident o r cr ippling age,

Was all cons umed . A second infant nowWas added to the troubles o f a timeLad en

,for them and all of their d egree

,

With care an d sorrow shoals of artisansFrom ill - required labour turned adriftSought daily bread from public char ity,They, and their wives and children—happier farCould they have lived as d o the little birdsThat peck along the hedge - r ows

,o r the kite

That makes her dwelling on the mountain rocks

Wi l li a m Wora'

rwor tb

A sad reverse it was fo r him who longHad fill ed with plenty

,and possessed in peace

,

Thi s lonely Cottage . At the door he stood,

And whistled many a snatch o f merry tunesThat had n o mirth in them o r with hi s knifeCar ved uncouth figures o n the heads o f SticksThen

,n o t les s idly

,sou ght

,throu gh every nook

In hou se o r garden,any casual work

Of use o r ornament and with a strange,

Amusin g,yet u neasy

,novelty

,

He mingled,where he might

,the various tasks

Of summer,autumn

,winter

,and o f spring .

But thi s endu red not hi s good humour soonBecame a weight in which n o pleasure w as

And poverty brought o n a petted moodAn d a sore temper day by day he dr ooped

,

And he wou ld leave hi s work— a n d to the townWou ld tu rn without an errand hi s slack stepsOr wander here and there among the fields .One whi le he would speak lightly o f his babes

,

An d with a cr uel tongue at other timesHe tossed them with a false unnatu ral joyAnd ’twas a ruefu l thing t o se e the looksOf the poor innocent children Every smile

,

Said Margaret t o me,here beneath these trees

,

Made my heart bleed .

”

While thu s it fared with them,

T o whom thi s cottage,till those hapless years

,

Had been a blessed home,it w as my chance

T o travel in a country far remoteAnd when these lofty elms once more appearedWhat pleasant expectations lu red me o nO’er the flat Common —With qu ick step I reachedThe threshold

,lifted with light hand the latch

But,when I entered

,Margaret looked at me

A li ttle while then turned her head awaySpeechless

,—and

,sitting down upon a chair

,

1 36 Wi llia m Wor a'rwor tb

Wept bitterly. I wist not what t o do,

Nor how to speak to her . Poor Wr etch at lastShe rose from o ff her seat

,and then

,—O Sir

I cannot tell how she pronounced my nameWith fervent love, an d With a face of griefUnutterably helpless

,and a look

That seemed to cling upon me,she enquired

If I had seen her husband . As sh e spakeA strange su rprise and fear came to my heart

,

Nor h ad I power to answer ere she toldThat he had disappeared— n o t two months gone .He left his house two wretched days had past

,

And o n the thi rd,as wistfully she raised

Her head from o ff her pill ow,to look forth

,

Like one in trouble,fo r returning light

,

Within her chamber- casement sh e espiedA folded paper

,lying as if placed

To meet her waking eyes . This tremblinglyShe opened— found no writing

,but beheld

Pieces of money carefully enclosed,

Silver and gold . I shuddered at the sight,

”

Said Margaret,for I knew it Was his hand

That must have placed it there and ere that d ayWas ended

,that long anxious d ay, I learned ,

From one Who by my husband had been sentWith the sad news

,that he had joined a troop

Of soldiers,going to a d istant land .

-He left me thu s—h e could not gather heartTo take a farewell of me for he fearedThat I should foll ow with my babes

,and sink

Beneath the misery of that wandering life .”

Thi s tale d id Margaret tell with many tearsAn d

,when she ended

,I had li ttle power

To give her comfort,an d was glad to take

Such word s of hope from her own mouth as servedT o cheer us both . But long w e had not talked

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1 3 8 Wi llia m Word rwor tb

I t s pri de of neatness . Daisy- flowe r s and thriftHad broken their trim bord er - lines

,and straggled

O’er paths they used to deck carnations,once

Prized for surpassing beau ty,and n o less

For the pecu liar pains they had required,

Declined their languid heads,wanting support .

The cumbrous bind—weed,with i t s wreaths and bells

,

Had tvvin ed about her two small rows o f peas,

An d dragged them t o the earth .

Ere this an hourWas wasted—Back I turned my restless stepsA stranger passed ; an d

,gu essing whom I sought

,

He said that she was used t o ramble far .The su n was sinking in the west and n ow

I sate with sad impatience . From withi nHer solitary infant cried alou dThen

,like a blast that dies away self - st ifled

,

The voice was silent . From the bench I ’ roseBu t neither cou ld divert n o r soothe my thoughts .The Spot

,though fair

,w as very desolate

The longer I remained,more desolate

And,looking round me

,now I first observed

The corner stones, on either sid e the porch,

With dull r e d stains discolou red,an d s tuck o ’e r

With tu fts an d hairs of wool,as if the sheep

,

That fed upon the Common,thither came

Fam ili a r ly, and fou nd a cou ching—placeEven at her threshold . Deeper Shadows fellFrom these tall elms the cottage - clock struck eightI tu rned

,an d saw her d istant a few steps .

Her face w as pale and thin—her figure,too

,

Was changed . As She unlocked the door, she said,I t grieves me yo u have waited here so long,But

,in good truth

,I’ve wand ered mu ch of late

An d,sometimes—to m y shame I speak—have need

Of my best prayers t o bring me back again .

”

While on the board sh e spread o u r evening meal,

Wi lli a m Wora'

rwo r tb 1 3 9

She told m e—in terrupting n o t the workWhich gave employm ent t o he r listless handsThat She had parted with her elder childT o a kind master o n a distant farmNow happily apprenticed . I perceiveYo u look a t me

,and yo u have cause t o - day

I have been travelli ng far an d many daysAbout the fields I wander

,knowing thi s

Only,that what I seek I cannot find

An d so I waste my time fo r I am changedAnd t o mysel f

,

” said she,have done much wrong

And t o this helpless infant . I have sleptWeeping

,and weeping have I waked my tea rs

Have flowed as if my body were n o t suchAs others are and I could never die .

Bu t I am n ow in mind and in my heartMore easy ; and I hope,

” said she,that God

Will give me patience t o endure the thi ngsWhich I behold at home .”

I t wou ld have grievedYour very soul t o se e her :

evermoreHer eyelids drooped , her eyes downward were castAnd

,when she at her table gave me food

,

She did n o t look at me . Her voice was low ,

Her body was subdued . In every ac t

Pertaini ng t o her hou se - affairs,appeared

The careless still ness o f a thi nking mindSelf- occu pied t o whi ch all outward thi ngsAr e l ike an idl e matter . Still she sighed,But yet n o motion o f the breast was seen ,No heaving o f the hea r t . While by the fireWe sate together

,sighs came o n my ear,

I knew n o t how,and hardly whence they came .

Ere my departu re,to her care I gave,

Fo r her son’s u se,some tokens o f regard ,

140 Wi llia m W0ra'

rwor tb

Which with a look o f welcome she receivedAnd I exhorted her t o place her trustIn God’s good love , an d seek hi s help by prayer .I took my staff

,and

,when I kissed h e r babe

,

The tears stood in her eyes . I left her thenWith the best hope and comfort I could giveShe thanked me for my wish —but fo r my h0peI t seemed She did n o t thank me .

I returned,

And took my rounds along this road againWhen on i t s sunny bank the primrose flowerPeeped for th

,t o give an earnest o f the Spring .

I found he r sad and drooping she had learnedNo tidings o f her husband if he lived

,

She knew n o t that he lived if he were dead,

She knew n o t he was dead . She seemed the sameIn person and appearance but her houseBespake a sleepy hand o f negligenceThe floor was neither dry nor neat

,the hearth

Was comfortless,and her small lo t of books

,

Whi ch,in the cottage - window

,heretofore

Had been piled up against the corner panesIn seemly or der

,now

,with straggling leaves

Lay scattered here and there,open o r shut

,

As they had chanced to fall . He r infant BabeHad from i t s mother caught the trick o f grief,And sighed among i t s playthings . I withdrew,

And once agai n entering the garden saw,

Mor e plainly still,that poverty and grief

Were now come nearer t o her weeds d efacedThe hardened soil

,and knots o f withered grass

No ridges there appeared of clear black mould,No wi nter greenness ; of her herbs and flowersI t seemed the better part wer e gnawed awayOr trampled into earth a chain o f straw

,

Wh ich h ad been twined about the slend er stemOf a young apple- tr ee

,lay at it s root

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142 Wi llia m Wor a'

rwortb

That in yo n arbour oftentimes she sateAl one

,through half the vacant sabbath day

And,if a dog passed by, she still would quit

The shade,and look abroad . On this o ld bench

For hours sh e sate an d evermore he r eyeWas busy in the dis tance

,shaping things

That made her heart beat qu ick . You se e that path,

Now faint,—the grass has crept o ’e r its grey line

There,t o and fr o

,sh e paced through many a day

Of the warm summer,from a belt of hemp

That girt her waist,spinning the long—drawn thr ead

With backward steps . Yet ever as there passedA man whose garments showed the soldier’s red

,

Or crippled mendicant in soldier’s garb,

The little child who sate t o turn the wheelCeased from his task and she with falterin g voiceMade many a fond enquiry an d when they

,

Whose presence gave n o comfort,were gone by

,

Her heart was still more sad . And by yo n gate,That bars the travell er’s road

,sh e often stood

,

And when a stranger horseman came,the latch

Would lift,and in hi s face look wistfully

Most happy,if,from aught discovered there

Of tender feeling,she might dare repeat

The same sad qu estion . Meanwhile her poor HutSank to decay for he w as gone

,whose hand

,

At the first nipping of October frost,

Closed up each chink,and with fresh bands o f s traw

Chequer ed the green - grown thatch . And so she livedThrough the long winter

,reckless and alone

Until her house by frost,and thaw

,and rain

,

Was sapped and while she slept,the nightly damps

Did chil l her breast and in the stormy d ayHer tattered clothes were ru ffled by the wind,Even at the side o f her own fir e . Yet stillShe loved this wretched spot

, n o r would fo r wo rldsHave par ted hence and still that length o f road

,

Wi llia m Wor a'

fwo r ib 143

And thi s r u de ben ch , o n e tor turing hope endeared,Fast r ooted at her heart and here

,my Friend

,

In sicknes s she remained and here She diedLast human tenant o f these ruined walls

Lin er

C om par ed a f ew m i l es a bov e Tin t e r n A bbey, on r e - fvi r i t z'

ng

tbc ba n k: of tbe [xi/ye du r ing a Tour . j u ly 1 3, I 798 .

IVE years have past five summers,with the length

Of five long winters and again I hearThese waters

,rolling from their mountain - springs

With a soft inland murmu r .1—Once againDo I behold these steep and lofty cliffs

,

That o n a wild secluded scene impressThoughts o f more deep seclusion ; and connectThe landscape with the quiet o f the sky.

The day is come when I again reposeHere

,under this dark syc amore

,and view

These plots o f cottage - ground,these or chard—tufts

,

Whi ch a t this s eason,with thei r unripe fru its

,

Ar e clad in o n e green hue,and lose themselves

’Mid groves and copses . Once again I se eThese hedge - rows

,hardly hedge - rows

,little lines

Of Spor tive wood r u n wild these pastoral farms,

Green t o the very door and wreaths o f smokeSent up

,in silence

,from among the trees

With some uncertain notice,as might seem

Of vagrant dwellers in the hou seless wood s,

Or o f some Hermit’s cave,where by hi s fire

The Hermit sits alone .

These beauteous forms,

Through a long absence,have n o t been t o me

As i s a landscape t o a blind man’s eye1 The r ive r is n o t afie c t ed by the t id e s a few m iles a bove Tin t e rn .

[Wo rd swo r th’s n o te .

144. Wi lli a m Wor a’rwor tb

But o ft,in lonely r oom s

,and ’mid the din

Of towns and cities,I have owed t o them

,

In hours o f weariness,sensations sweet

,

Felt in the blood,and felt along the heart

And passing even into m y pu rer mind,With tranquil restoration z— feelings tooOf unremembered pleasure such

,perhaps

,

As have no slight or trivial influ enceOn that best portion o f a good man’s life

,

His little , nameless , unr emembered, actsOf kindness an d o f love . Nor less

,I tr u s t

,

T o them I may have owed another gift,

Of a spect more su blime that blessed mood,

In whi ch the bu rthen of the mystery,In which the heavy an d the weary weightOf all thi s u nintelli gible world

,

I s lightened — that serene and blessed mood,

In which the affections gently lead u s on,

Until,the breath of this corporeal frame

And even the motion of o u r human bloodAlmost suspend ed

,w e are laid asleep

In body,an d become a living sou l

Wh ile with an eye made qu iet by the powerOf harmony

,an d the deep power o f joy

,

We se e into the life of thi ngs .I f thi s

B e bu t a vain belief, yet, oh how oftIn darkness and amid the many ShapesOf j oyless daylight When the fretful stirUnpr ofit able , an d the fever of the world ,Have hung upon the beatings of my heartHow o ft

,in spirit

,have I turned to thee

,

O sylvan Wye thou wanderer thro’ the woods,How often has my spirit turned to thee

And n ow,with gleams of half- extinguished thought ,

With many recognitions d im and faint,

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146 Wi llia m Wo ra’rwor tb

‘

Whose dwelling is the light o f setting su ns,

And the round ocean and the living air,And the blu e sky, and in the mind o f manA motion an d a spirit , that impelsAll thi n king things , all obj ects of all thought ,And r olls through all things . Therefore am I s tillA

'

lo ve r of the meadows and the woods,And mountains and of all that we beholdFrom thi s green earth of all the mighty worldOf eye

,an d ear

,-both what th ey half c reate,

And What perceive wel l pleased to r ecognizeIn natu re an d the langu age of the senseThe anchor of my purest thoughts

,the nu rse

,

The guide,the gu ardian o f my heart , and soul

Of all my moral being .

No r perchance,

If I were n o t thu s taught, should I the moreSuffer my genial spirits to decayFo r thou art with me here upon the banksOf this fair river thou my dearest Friend

,

My dear, dear Friend and in thy voice I catchThe language o f my former heart

,and read

My former pleasures in the Shooting lightsOf thy wil d eyes . Oh yet a little whileMay I behold in thee what I was once

,

My dear,dear Sister and this prayer I make,

Knowing tha t Natu re never did betrayThe heart that loved her ’tis her privilege

,

Through all the years o f this our life,to lead

From joy t o j oy fo r she can so informThe mind that is w ithin us

,so impress

With quietness and beau ty,and so feed

With lofty thoughts,that neither evil tongu es

,

Rash judgements , n o r the sneer s of selfish men,No r gr eetings where no kindness is

,nor all

The dreary intercourse of d aily life,

Shall e’er prevail against us, o r disturb

Wi llia m Wora'

rwo r tb 147

O u r cheerful faith, that all which we beholdIs full o f blessings . Therefore let the moonShine o n thee in thy so litary walkAnd let the misty mountain - winds be freeTo blow against thee and

,in after years

,

When these wild ecstasies shall be maturedInto a sober pleasure when thy mindShall be a mansion fo r a ll lovely form s ,Thy memory be as a dwelling - placeFo r all sweet sounds and harmonies oh then

,

If soli tu de,o r fear

,o r pain , or grief,

Should be thy portion,with what healing thoughts

Of tender joy wilt thou remember me,And these my exhortations . No r

,perchance

If I should be where I n o more c an hearThy voice

,nor catch from thy wild eyes these gleams

Of past existence—wilt thou then forgetThat o n the banks o f this d elightfu l s treamWe stood together and that I

,so long

A worshipper o f Natu re,hi ther came

Unwearied in that service rather sayWith w armer love—o h with far deeper zealOf holi er love . No r wilt thou then forgetThat afte r many wand er ings

,many years

Of absence,these s teep woods and lofty cliffs

,

And thi s gr een pastoral landscape, were t o meMore dear

,both fo r themselves and fo r thy sake

R esolu t ion a n d I nd epend en ce

IHERE was a roaring in the wind a ll nightThe rain came heavily and fell in floods

Bu t n ow the su n is rising c alm a n d brightThe birds are singing in the distant woodsOver hi s own sweet voice the Stock - d ove broodsThe jay makes answer as the Magpie chattersAnd all the air is filled with pleasant noise o f water s .

x 2

Wi llia m Wo rd rwor tb

All things that love the su n a r e out o f door sThe sky rej oices in the morning

’s birthThe grass is bright with rain - drops — o u the moorsThe hare is ru nning races in her mirthAnd with h e r feet She from the plashy earthRaises a mist that

,glittering in the sun

,

Runs with her all the w ay, wherever she doth run .

I was a Traveller then upon the moorI saw the hare that raced about with joyI heard the woods and distant waters roarOr heard them not

,as happy as a boy

The pleasant season did my heart employMy o ld remembrances went from me wholly ;And all the ways of men

,so vain and melancholy .

IV

Bu t,as i t sometimes chanceth, from the might

Of joy in minds that can n o fu rther go,

As high as we have mou nted in delightIn o u r dej ection do we sink as lowTo me that morning d id it happen so

An d fears and fancies thick u pon me cameDim sadness—and blind thoughts

,I knew not

,nor

name .

I heard the sky- lark warbling in the skyAnd I bethought me of the playfu l hareEven such a happy Child of earth am IEven as these blissfu l creatures d o I fareFar from the world I walk, and from all careBu t there may come another day to meSolitude

,pain of heart

,distress , and poverty.

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1 y0 Willia m Worar m or tb

X

Such seemed this Man,not all alive n o r dead

,

Nor all asleep—in hi s extreme o ld ageHis body was bent dou ble

,feet and head

Coming together in life’s pilgrimage ;As if some dire constraint of pain

,o r rage

Of sickness felt by him in times long past,

A more than human weight upon his frame had cast .

Himself he propped,limbs

,body

,and pale face

,

Upon a long grey staff of shaven woodAn d

,st ill as I drew

'

near with gentle pace,

Upon the margin of that moorish floodMotionless as a clou d the old Man stood

,

That heareth not the lou d Winds when they callAnd moveth all together

,if it move at all .

At length,himself unsettling

,he the pond

Stirr ed with his Staff,and fixedly did look

Upon the mu ddy water,which he conned

,

As if he had been read ing in a bookAn d now a str anger’s pr ivilege I took ;And

,drawing to his sid e

,to him d id say,

This morning gives us promise of a glorious

X I I I

A gentle answer did the old Man make,

In courteou s speech which forth he slowly drewAnd him with further word s I thus bespake,What occupation d o you there pursue ?This is a lonesome place for one like yo u .

’

Ere he replied,a flash of mild surp r ise

Broke from the sable orbs of his yet - vivid eyes .

Wi llia m Wora’n vor tb 1 5 1

His words cam e feebly,from a feeble chest

,

Bu t each in solemn order followed each,

With something o f a lofty utterance drestChoice word and measured phrase

,above the reach

Of or dinary men a stately speechSuch as grave Livers d o in Scotland u se

,

Religious men,who give t o G o d and m an their dues .

He told,that t o these waters he had come

To gather leeches,being o ld and poor

Employment hazardous and wearisome .

An d he had many hardshi ps to endureFrom pond t o pond he roamed

,from moor t o moo r

Housing,with God’s good help

,by choice o r chance

And in thi s way he gained an honest mainten ance .

The o ld Man st ill s tood talkin g by my sideBut n ow h is voic e t o me was like a str eamScar ce heard n o r word from word could I divideAnd the whole body o f the Man d id seemLike o n e whom I had met with in a dream ;

Or like a man from some far region sent,

To give me human strength,by apt ad rho n ishm e n t .

XVI I

My former thoughts returned the fear that killsAnd hope that is unwill ing t o be fedCold

,pain

,and labour

,an d all fle shly ills

And mighty Poets in their misery dead .

—Perplexed,an d longing to be comforted

,

My question eagerly di d I renew,

How is it that yo u live, and what is i t yo u d o ?

Wi llia m Wor a'rwor tb

XVI I IHe with a smile di d then his words r epeatAnd said that

,gathering leeches

,far and wide

He travelled . s tir ring thus about his feetThe waters o f the pools where they abide .Once I could meet with them on every sideBut they have dwindled long by slow decayYet still I persevere

,an d find them where I may .

’

X IXWhile he wa s talking thus

,the lonely place

,

The old Man’s shape,and speech— all troubled me

In my mind’s eye I seem ed t o se e him paceAbout the weary moors continually

,

Wandering abou t alone an d silently .

While I these thou ghts within myself pursued,

He,having made a pause

,the same discourse renewed .

And soon with this he other matter blend ed,

Cheerfully uttered,with demeanou r kind

,

But stately in the main and,when he ended

I could have laughed myself to scorn to findIn that decrepit Man so firm a mind .

G o d,

’ said I,be my help and stay secure ;

I ’ll think of the Leech - gatherer o n the lonely moor

S I R W A L T E R S C O T T 1771- 1 832

N el son , Pi t t , an d Fox

O mute an d to material thingsNew life revolving summer brings

The genial call d ead Nature hears,

And in her glory reappears .But oh my cou ntry’s wintry stateWhat second spring shall renovate ?

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I r4 S i r Wa l te r Scot t

Who,when the frantic crowd amain

St r a in’d at su bj ection’s bursting r ein

,

O’er their wild mood full conquest ga in’d

,

The pride,he wou ld not crush

,r e st r a in

’d,

Show’d their fierce zeal a worthier cause,

And brought the freeman’s arm t o aid the freeman’s

Had’st thou bu t l iv’d,thou gh st r ipp

’d of power,

A watchm an o n the lonely tower ,Thy thril l ing trump had r o u s

’d the land,

When fraud o r danger wer e at handBy thee

,as by the beacon - light

,

O u r pilots had kept course arightAs some proud column

,though alone

,

Thy strength had pr opp’d the tottering throne

Now is the“

stately column broke,

The beacon - light is qu e n ch’d in smoke

,

The trumpet’s silver sound is still,

The warder silent o n the hill

Oh thi nk,how to his latest day

,

When Death,j ust hovering

,c laim

’d his prev

With Pal in u r e ’s u n al t e r ’d mood,

Firm at his d angerous post he stoodEach call for needfu l rest r epe ll

’d,

With dyin g hand the rudder held,

Till,in h is fall

,with fateful sway

,

The steerage o f the realm gave wayThen

,while o n Britain’s thousand plains ,

One unpolluted chur ch remains,

Whose peaceful bells ne’er sent arou ndThe bloody tocsin’s maddeni ng sound ,Bu t still

,upon the hallow’d day

,

Convoke the swains to praise and prayWhile faith and civil peace are clear,Grace this cold marble with a tear

,

He,who preserved them

,P ITT

,lies here

Pa lin u r e] [En ea s’

s he lm sm a n .

S i r Wa l t er Scot t

No r yet suppress the generous sigh,

Because hi s r ival slumbers ni ghNo r be thy r equ ier ca t dumb,Lest it be said o ’e r Fox’s tomb .

For talents mourn,untimely lost

,

When best em ploy’d

,and wanted most

Mourn genius high,and lore pr ofound

,

And wit that lov’d t o play

,n o t wound

And all the r easoning powers divin e,

T o penetr ate,resolve

,combine ;

And feel ings keen,and fancy’s glow

,

They sleep with him who sleeps be lowAn d

,if thou m o u rn

’st they could n o t save

From error him who owns thi s grave,

Be every harsher thought suppr ess’d

,

And sacred be the last long rest .Her e

,where the e n d o f e arthl y things

Lays her oes,pat riots

,bards

,and ki ngs

Wher e st ifi th e hand,an d still the tongue

,

Of those who fought,and spoke

,an d sung

Her e,where the fr etted ai sles prolong

The distant notes o f holy song,As if some angel spoke agen

,

All peace o n earth,good - Will t o men

I f ever from an Engli sh heart,

O,ber e let prej udice depart

,

And,partial feeling cast aside

,

Record,that Fo x a Br iton died

When Europe c r o u ch’d t o France’s yoke,And Austria bent

,and Prussia broke,

And the firm Russian’s purpose braveWas ba r t e r

’d by a timorous slave,

Even then dishonour’s peace he spu r n’d,

The sul li ed olive - branch r e t u r n’d

,

Stood fo r his cou ntry’s glory fas t,

And n a il’d her colou rs t o the mast

1 5 6 Si r Wa l ter Scot t

Heaven,t o reward hi s firmness

,gave

A portion in this ho n o u r ’d grave,

And ne’er held marble in its trustOf two su ch wondrous men the dust .

With more than mortal powers en dow ’d,

How high they soar’d above the crowdTheirs was n o common party race

,

jostling by dark intrigu e for place ;Like fabled Gods

,their mighty w a r

Shook realms an d nations in its j ar ;Beneath each banner prou d to stand

,

L o ok’d up the noblest of the land,

Till throu gh the British world were knownThe names of P ITT and Fo x alone .Spells o f su ch force no Wizard graveE’er fr am ’d i n dark Thessalian cave

,

Thou gh his cou ld drain the ocean d ry,And force the planets from the sky.

These Spells are spent,and

,spent with these

,

The wine of life is o n the leesGeniu s

,and taste

,and talent gone

,

For eyer t o m b ’d beneath the stone,Where— taming thought to human prideThe mighty chiefs sleep side by side .Drop upon Fox’s grave the tear

,

’Twill trickle to his rival’s bierO’er P ITT’S the mournful requiem sound

,

An d Fox’s shall the notes rebound .

The solemn echo seems to c ry,Here let their d iscord with them die .Speak not for those a separate doom

,

Whom Fate made Brothers in the tombBu t search the land of living men

,

Where wilt thou find their like agen ?

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1 y8 Sa m u el Taylor Cole r idge

She stole along,she nothi ng spoke

,

The sighs sh e heaved were soft an d low ,

And naught was green upon the o akBut moss and rarest misletoeShe kneels beneath the huge oak tree

,

And in silence prayeth she .

The lady sprang u p su ddenl y,The lovely lady

,Christabel

I t moaned as near,as near can be

,

But what it is she cannot tell .On the other side it seems to be

,

Of the huge,broad - breasted

,old oak tree .

The night is chill the forest bareI s it the wind that m o an e th bleak ?There is not wind enou gh in the airT o move away the ringlet cu rlFrom the lovely lady’s cheekThere is not wind enough to twirlThe o n e red leaf

,the last of its clan

,

That dances as often as dance it can,

Hanging so light,and hanging so high,

On the topmost twig that looks u p at the

Hu sh,beating heart of Christabel

jesu , Maria, shield her wellShe folded her arms beneath her cloak ,An d s tole to the other side of the oak .

IVha t sees she there ?

There she sees a d amsel bright,

Drest in a silken robe of White,That shadowy in the moonlight shoneThe neck that made th a t

'

whi t e robe wan ,Her stately neck

,and arms were bare

He r blue - veined feet u n san d al ’d were,

Sa m uel Tayl or Coler idg e

And wi ldly gli t t e r ed h e r e and thereThe gems entangled in h e r hair .I guess

,

’twas frightful there t o see

A lady so r ichly clad as sheBeautiful exceed ingly

Mary,mother

,save me n ow !

(Said Christabel,) And who art thou ?

The lady strange made answer meet,

An d her voice was faint and sweetHave pity o n my sore distress

,

I scarce c an speak fo r wear inessS tretch forth thy hand

,and have n o fear

Said Christabel,How camest thou here ?

And the lady,whose voice w as faint and sweet

,

Did thus pu rsue her answer meet

My sire is o f a noble line,

And my name is GeraldineFive warriors seized me yestermorn ,Me

,even me

,a maid forlorn

They choked my cr ies with force and fr ight,

And tied me o n a palfrey white .

The palfrey was as fleet a s wind,

And they rode furiously behi nd .

They Spurred amain,their steeds were white

And once we crossed the shade o f night .AS sur e as Heaven shall rescue me ,I have n o thought what men they beNo r d o I know how long it is(Fo r I have lain entranced I wis)Since o n e

,the tallest o f the five,

Too k me from the pa lfrey’5 back,

A weary woman,sca rce alive .

Some mutter ed words hi s com r ades spokeHe placed me underneath this o ak

1 6o Sa m u el Tayl or Cole r idg e

He swor e they wou ld return with has teWhither they went I cannot tellI thought I heard

,some minutes past

,

Sou nds as of a castle bell .Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she)And help a wretched maid to flee .

Then Christabel stretched forth her hand,

And comforted fair Gerald ineO well

,bright dame may yo u command

The service o f Sir Leoline ;And gladly o u r stou t chivalryWi ll he send forth and friend s withalTo gu ide and guard you safe and freeHome to you r noble father

’s hall .

She rose and forth with steps they passedThat strove to be

,and were n o t

,fast .

Her gracious stars the lady blest ,An d thus spake on sweet ChristabelAl l o u r household are at rest

,

The hall as silent as the cellSir Leoline is weak in health

,

And may not well awakened be,

Bu t we will move as if in stealth,

And I beseech y ou r courtesy,

This night,to share you r couch wi th

They crossed the moat,and Christabel

Took the key that fitted wellA little door she opened straight

,

All in the middl e of the gateThe gate that w a s ironed within and w ithout

,

Where an army in battle array had marched o u t .

The lady sank, belike through pain ,And Christabel with might and main

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1 6 2 Sa m ue l Taylor Coler idg e

Sweet Christabel her feet doth bare,

And j ealous of the li stening airThey steal their way from stair t o stair

,

Now In glimmer,and n ow in gloom

,

And now they pass the Baron’s room,

As still as death, with stifled breathAnd n ow have reached her chamber doorAnd n ow doth Geraldine press downThe ru shes of the chamber floor .

The moon shi nes dim in the open air,

And n o t a moonbeam enters here .

But they withou t its light can se e

The chamber carved so cu riously,

Ca rved with figures strange and swee tAll made o u t o f the carver’s brain

,

For a lady’s chamber meetThe lamp with twofold silver chainI s fastened to an angel’s feet .

The silver lamp burns dead and dimBut Chr istabel the lamp will trim .

She trimmed the lamp,and made it bright

,

And left it swinging t o and fr o,

Wh ile Geraldine,in wretched plight

,

Sank down u pon the floor below .

O weary lady,Gerald ine

,

I pray yo u ,drink this cordial wine

I t i s a wine of vir tuou s powers ;My mother made i t of vs 11d flowers .

And will you r mother pity me,

Who am a maiden most forlorn ?Christabel answered—W

'

o e is meShe di ed the hour that I w a s born .

I have heard the grey - haired friar tellHow o n her death - bed she d id say,

Sa m ue l Taylor Cole r idg e

Tha t she should hear the castl e - bellS tr ike twelve upon my wedding - day .

O mother dear that thou wert hereI would

,said Geraldi ne

,she were

But soon with altered voice,said She

Off,wander ing mother Peak and pine

I have power t o bid thee flee .

’

Alas what ai ls poo r Geraldi ne ?Why stares she with unsettled eye ?Can she the bodiless dead espy ?And why with hollow voice cries She ,O ff

,woman

,o ff this hou r is mine

Thou gh thou her guardi an Spir i t be,O ff

,woman

,off ’tis given t o me .

Then Chr is tabel knelt by the lady’s side,

And raised t o heaven her eyes so blueAlas said she

,this ghastly ride

Dear lady it hath wildered yo uThe lady wiped h e r meis t cold brow

,

And faintly said,

’t is over n ow

Again the wild-flowe r w ine she drankHer fair large eyes ’gan glitter bright

,

And from the floor whereon She sank,

The lofty lady stood uprightShe was most beautifu l t o see

,

Like a lady o f a far co u n t r é e .

And thus the lofty lady spakeAll they who live in the upper sky,Do love yo u ,

holy Christabel .

And y o u love them ,and for their sake

And fo r the good which me be fe l,

Even I i n my degree wi ll t ry,

Fair maiden,t o requite yo u well .

But n ow u nrobe yourself fo r IMust pray

,ere yet in be d I li e .

’

L 2

1 64 Sa m u el Taylor Coler idg e

Qu oth Christabel,So let it be

And as the lady bade,did she .

He r gentle limbs did she undress,

A'

nd lay down in her loveliness .

Bu t throu gh her brain o f weal and wo eSo many thoughts moved to and fro

,

That vain it wer e her lids t o close ;So half- way from the bed sh e rose

,

And o n her elbow d id r eclineT o look at the lady Geraldine .

Beneath the lamp the lady bowed,

And Slowly r o lled her eyes aroundThen drawing in her breath aloud

,

Like one that shu dd ered,she unbound

The cinctu re from beneath her breastHe r silken robe

,and inn er vest,

Dropt t o her feet,and full in view

,

Behold her bosom and half her sideA sight to d r eam of

,n o t to tell

O shield her shield sweet Christabel !

Yet Gerald ine nor Speaks nor stirsAh what a stricken look w as her sDeep from withi n she seems half- w ayTo lift some weight with sick assay,And eyes the maid and seeks delayThen suddenly

,as o n e defied,

Collects herself in scorn and pride ,And lay down by the Maiden’s SideAnd in her arms the maid sh e took,

Al i we l - a - day !And with low voice and doleful lookThese words did sayIn the touch of this bosom there workethWhich is lord of thy utterance

,Christabel

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6 Sa m u el Taylor C ole r idg

A star hath se t,a star hath risen

,

O Ger aldine since arms of thineHave been the lovely lady’s prison .

O Geraldine ! one hour w as thineTho u ’

st had thy will By tairn and rill,

The night - bird s all that hou r were still .But now they a r e j ubilant anew,

From cliff and tower,t u—whoo tu—Whoo !

Tu—whoo tu—Whoo from wood and fell

And se e the lady ChristabelGathers herself from o u t her trance ;He r limbs relax, her cou ntenanceGrows sad and soft the smooth thin lidsClose o’er her eyes an d tea rs she shedsLarge tears that leave the lashes brightAn d o ft the while she seems t o smileAs infants at a sudden light

Yea,she doth smile

,and she doth weep

,

Like a youthful hermitess,

Beauteous in a wilderness,

Who,praying always

,prays in sleep .

And,if she move unqu ietly

,

Per chance,

’t is but the blood so free

Comes back and tingles in h e r feet .No doubt

,she hath a vision sweet .

What if her guardian Spirit ’twere,

What if Sh e knew her mother near ?But this she knows

,in joys and woes

,

That saints w ill aid if men will callFor the blue sky bends over all

[No te —The re is a se con d pa r t , m ost ly fa r in fe r io r ; bu t the

po em wa s n eve r com p le t ed,a n d co u ld n eve r (I thin k) have been

com ple ted ]

L O R D B Y R O N 178 8- 1 824

Fm m Tbe ‘Di r ian of j’udg em e nt

HE cherubs and the saints bow’d down beforeThat arch - angelic hierarch

,the fi rst

Of essences angelica],who wore

The aspect o f a god but this ne’er nursedPride in his heavenly bosom

,in whose core

NO thought,save fo r his Master ’s service, durst

Intrude,however glorified and high

He kn ew hi m but the Viceroy o f the sky.

He and the sombre,silent Spirit met

They knew each other both fo r good and illSu ch w as their power

,that neither could forget

His former friend and fu ture fo e but stillThere was a hi gh

,immortal

,proud regret

In e i the r ’s eye, as if’twere less . their will

Than destiny t o make the eternal yearsTheir date o f war

,and their champ clos the spheres .

The spirits were in neutral space,before

The gate o f heaven like eastern thresholds isThe place where Death’s grand cause is argued o

’e r

,

And souls d espa t ch’d t o that world o r t o this

And therefore Micha el an d the other woreA civil aspect though they did n o t ki ss

,

Yet still between hi s Darkness and his B r ightnessThere pass

’d a mutual glance o f great politeness .

The Archangel bow ’d,n o t like a moder n beau ,

Bu t with a grac eful Oriental bend ,Pressing o n e radiant arm j u st where belowThe heart i n good men is supposed t o tend ;hie r a r ch] Mi cha e l . th e so m br e

,si le n t Spi r it] Sa ta n .

1 6 8 Lord Byron

He turu ’d as t o an equal,n o t t o o low

,

But kin dly ; Satan met hi s ancient friendWith mor e hauteur

,as m ight an old Castilian

Poor noble meet a mushroom rich civili an .

He merely bent his d iabolic browAn instant and then r aising it

,he stood

In act t o assert his right or wrong,and show

Cause Why King George by n o means could o r shouldMake o u t a case to be exempt from woeEternal

,more than other kings

,endued

With better sense and hearts,whom history mentions

,

Who long have paved hell with their good intentions

Michael began What wou ld st thou with thi s man,

Now dead,an d b rou ght before the Lord ? What ill

Ha th he wrought since his mortal race began,

That thou cans t claim him ? Speak and do thy will,

If it be just . if i n this earthly spanHe hath been gr eatly faili ng t o fulfil

His duties as a king and mortal, say,

And he i s thine ; if not, let him have way.

’

Michael replied the Prince Of Air,even here

,

Before the Gate of hi m thou servest , mustI claim my subj ect and will make appearThat as he was my worshipper in du st,

So sh a ll he be in Spirit,although dear

To thee and thine,because nor wine nor lust

Wer e o f his weaknesses ; yet o n the throneHe r e ign

’d o’e r millions to serve me alone.

Look t o ou r earth, or r ather m ine it was,

O n ce,m or e thy master’s but I tr iumph n o t

In this poo r planet’s conquest nor,alas !

Need he thou servest envy me my lot

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I 7O Lord Byr on

Of monarchs— from the bloody rolls am ass’d

Of sin and slaughter— from the Caesar’s school,

Take the Worst pup il ; and produ ce a reignMore d r e n ch ’d with gore

,more cu m be r ’d witli the slain .

He ever w a r r’d with freedom and the free

Nations as men,home su bj ects

,foreign foes

,

SO that they u t t e r’d the word Liberty

Found George the Third their first Opponent . WhoseHistory was ever st a in ’d as his will beWith national and individu al woes ?I grant hi s household abstinence I grantHis neutral virtues

,which most monarchs want

I know he was a constant consort own

He w as a decent sire,and mid d ling lord .

Al l this is much,and most upon a throne

As temperance,if at Apicius’ board

,

Is more than at an anchorite’s supper Shown .

I grant him all the kindest c an accordAn d this w as well for him

,but not for those

Millions who found hi m what Oppression chose .

The New World Shook him o ff the Old yet groansBeneath What he an d his prepared

,if n o t

Completed he leaves heirs o n many thronesTo all his vices

,without what begot

Compassion fo r him—his tame virtues dronesWho Sleep

,or despots who have n ow forgot

A lesson which sha ll be r e - taught them,wake

Upon the thrones O f earth but let them qu ake

P E R C Y B Y S S H E S H E L L E Y 1792- 1 822

Tbe Sen si t ive Pla n t

PART F I RSTSENSITIVE Plant in a garden grew

,

And the young wind s fed it with silver dew,

And it Opened its fan - like leaves t o the l ight,

And closed them beneath the kisses o f Night .

And the Spring arose o n the garden fair,Like the Spirit o f Love felt everywhereAnd each flower and herb o n Earth’s dark breastRose from the dreams o f i t s wint ry rest .

But none ever trembled and panted with blissIn the garden

,the field

,o r the wilderness,

Like a d o e in the noontide with love’s sweet want ,As the companionless Sensitive Plant .

The snowdrop,and then the violet

,

Arose from the ground with warm r a in wet,

And their breath was mixed with fresh Odour,sent

From the turf,like the voice and the instrument .

Then the pied wind - flowe r and the tu lip tall,And narcissi

,the fairest among them all

,

Who gaze o n their eyes in the stream’s recess,

Till they die o f their own dear loveliness

And the Naiad - like lily o f the vale ,Whom youth makes so fair and passion SO paleThat the light Of i t s tremulou s bells is seenThrough their pavilions o f tender green ;

And the hyacinth pu rple,and white

,and blue

,

Which flung from i t s bells a sweet peal anewOf music so delicate

,soft

,and intense

,

I t was felt like an odour within the sense

I 7 2 Per cy Byr rbe Sbelley

And the rose like a nymph t o the bath addressed,

Which unveiled the depth of her glowing breast ,Till

,fold after fold, t o the fainting air

The soul of her beau ty and love lay bare

And the wand - like lily,which lifted u p,

AS a Maenad, i t s m o o n ligh ta co lo u r ed cu p,

Till the fiery star,which is its eye,

Gazed throu gh clear dew o n the tend er sky

And the j essamine faint,and the sweet tuberose

,

The sweetest flower for scent that blowsAnd a ll rare blossoms from every climeGr ew in that garden in perfect prime .

And o n the stream whose inconstant bosomWas pranked

,u nder boughs o f embower ing blossom

,

With golden and green light,slanting through

Their heaven o f many a tangled hu e,

B road water—lilies lay tremulously,And starry river—bud s glimmered by

,

And around them the so ft stream did glide and danceWith a mo tion o f sweet sound and radiance .

An d the sinuous paths o f lawn and o f moss ,Whi ch led through the garden along an d ac ross

,

Some open at once to the su n and the breeze,

Some lost among bowers of blossoming trees,

Were all paved with daisies and d elicate bellsAs fair as the fabulous asphodels

,

And flow’r e t s which

,drooping as day drooped too ,

Fell into pavilions,white

,pu rple

,and blue

,

T o roof the glow - worm from the evening d ew .

And from thi s u n d efilé d Paradi seThe flowers (as an infant

’s awakening eyesSm ile on i t s mother

,whose singing sweet

Can first lull,an d at las t must awaken it) ,

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74 Pe rcy Byr rbe Sbel ley

Each and a ll like minister ing angel s wer eFo r the Sensitive Plan t sweet joy to bear ,Whilst the lagging hour s o f the day went byLike windless c louds o ’e r a tender sky.

And when evening descended from Heaven above,

And the Earth was all rest,and the air was a ll love ,

And delight,though less br ight

,was far mo r e deep

,

And the day’s veil fell from the world of sleep,

And the beasts,and the birds

,and the insects were

drownedIn an ocean of dreams without a sound

,

Whose waves never mark,though they ever impr ess

The light sand which paves it,consciousness

,

(Only overhead the sweet nightingaleEver sang m ore sweet as the d ay might fail,And snatches o f its Elysian chan tWere mixed with the dreams o f the Sensitive Plant)

The Sensitive Plant was the earliestUpgathered into the bosom o f rest ;A sweet child weary of i t s delight

,

The feebles t and yet the favourite,

Cradled within the embrace O f Night .

PART SEc o ND

There was a Power in this sweet place,

An Eve in this Eden a ruling GraceWhich to the flowers

,did they waken o r dream ,

Was as God is to the starry scheme .

A Lady , the wonder o f h e r kind,Whose form was upborne by a lovely mindWhich

,d ilating

,had mould ed her mien and motion

Like a se a - flowe r unfold ed beneath the ocean,

Pe rcy Byu be Sbel/ey 1 7 )

Tended the garden from morn t o evenAnd the meteors o f that sublunar Heaven ,Like the lamps o f the air when Night walks forth ,Laughed round her footsteps up from the Earth

She had n o companion o f mortal race,

But her tremulous breath and her flushing faceTold

,whil s t the morn kissed the sleep from her eyes ,

That her d reams were less slumber than Paradise

As if some bright Spir i t fo r her sweet sakeHad deserted Heaven while the stars were awake

,

As if yet around her he lingering wer e,

Thou gh the veil o f daylight concealed him from he r .

Her step seemed to pity the grass i t pressedYo u might hear by the heaving o f her breast

,

That the coming and going o f the windBrought pleasu re there and left passion behind .

And wherever her aery footstep trod,

Her t r ailing hair from the grassy so dErased its light vestige

,with shadowy sweep

,

Like a sunny st O I m o’e r the dark green deep .

I dou bt not the flowers o f that garden sweetRej oiced in the sou nd o f her gentle feetI doubt n o t they felt the Spirit that cameFrom her glowing fingers through all their frame .

She Sprinkled bright water from the streamOn those that were faint with the sunny beamAnd o u t o f the cups o f the heavy flowersShe emptied the rain o f the thu nder - showers .

She li fted their heads with he r tender hands,

An d su stained them with rod s and osier- bands ;If the flowers had been her own infants

,she

Could never have nursed them more tenderly .

1 76 Per cy Byr rbe Sbe lley

And all killing insects and gnawing worms,

And thi ngs of obscene and unlovely forms,

She bore,in a basket o f Indian woof

,

Into the rough woods far aloof,

In a basket,O f grasses and wild flowers full

,

The freshest her gentle hands could pullFor the poor banished insects

,whose intent

,

Although they did ill,w as innocent .

But the bee and the beamlik e ephemerisWhose path is the lightning’s

,and soft moths that kiss

The sweet lips of the flowers,a n d harm not

,did she

Make her attend ant angels be .

And many an antenatal tomb,

Where butterflies dream of the life to come,

She left clinging rou nd the smooth and darkEdge of the odorous cedar bark .

This fairest creature from earliest SpringThus moved through the gard en ministeringAl l the sweet season o f Summertide

,

And ere the first leaf looked brown— sh e died

PART TH I RD

Three days the flowers of the gard en fair,

Like stars when the moon is awakened,were

,

Or the waves of Baiae,ere luminous

She floats u p through the smoke of Vesuvius .

And on the fourth,the Sensitive Plant

Felt the sou nd o f the fu neral chant,

And the steps of the bearers,heavy and slow

,

And the sobs of the mou rners,deep and low

The weary sound and the heavy breath,

And the silent motions of passing death,

And the smell,cold

,Oppressive

,and dank

Sent throu gh the pores O f the coffin - plank

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Pe r cy Byr rbe Sbel ley

Then the rain came down,and the broken stalks

Were bent and tangled across the walksAn d the leafless network of parasite bowersMassed into ru in and all sweet flowers .

Between the time of the wi nd and the snowAll loathl iest weeds began to grow

,

Whose coarse leaves were Splashed with many a speck,

Like the water - snake’s belly and the toad’s back .

And thistles,and nettles

,and darnels rank

,

And the do ck, an d henbane, and hemlock dank,Stretched o u t its long and holl ow shank,And stifled the air till the d ead wind Stank .

And plants,at whose names the verse feels loath

,

Filled the place With a monstrous u nd er rowth,

Prickly,and pulpous

,and blistering

,an blu e

,

Livid,and starred with a lu rid d ew .

And agarics,and fungi

,with m ildew an d mou ld

Started like mist from the wet grou nd coldPale

,fleshy

,as if the d ecaying d ead

With a Spirit o f growth had been animated

Spawn,weeds

,and filth

,a leprou s scum

,

Made the ru nning rivu let thi ck an d dumb,

And at i t s ou tlet flags hu ge as stakesDammed it up with roots knotted like w ater- snakes .

And hou r by hour,when the air w as still

,

The vapours arose which have strength t o killAt m orn they were seen

,at noon they were felt

,

At night they were d arkness no star cou ld melt .

And u nctuous meteors from Spray to sprayCrept an d flit t ed in broad noondayUnseen every branch o n which they alitBy a venomous blight was bu rned an d bit .

Per cy Byr rbe Sbel ley

The Sensitive Plant,like o n e forbid

,

Wept,and the tears within each lid

Of. i t s folded leaves,whi ch together grew

,

Were changed t o a blight o f frozen glue .

Fo r the leaves soon fell,and the branches soo n

By the heavy axe of the blast were hewnThe sap shrank t o the root throu gh every poreAs blood t o a heart that will beat n o more .

For Winter came the wind was hi s whipOne choppy finger was o n hi s lipHe had torn the cataracts from the hi llsAn d they clanked at h is girdl e like manacles

His breath was a chain whi ch without a sou ndThe earth

,and the air

,and the water bound

He came,fiercely driven

,in h is chariot - throne

By the tenfold blasts o f the Arctic zone .

Then the weeds whi ch were forms o f living deathFled from the frost t o the earth beneath .

Their decay and sudden flight from frostWas but like the vanishing o f a ghost

And under the roots o f the Sensitive PlantThe moles and the dormice died fo r wantThe birds dropped stiff from the frozen airAnd were caught in the branches naked and bare .

First there came down a thawing r ainAn d its du ll drops froze o n the boughs againThen there steamed up a freezing dewWhi ch t o the drops o f the thaw - rain grew ;

An d a northern wh irlwind,wandering about

Like a wolf that had smel t a dead child o u t,

Shook the boughs thus laden,and heavy

,and stiff

,

And snapped them o ff with his rigid griff .

M 2

[ 7 9

1 8 o Percy Byi rbe Sbe l ley

When Winter had gon e and Spring came backThe Sensitive Plant was a leafless wreck ;But the mandrakes

,and toadstools

,and docks

,and darnels

,

Rose like the dead from their ruined charnels .

CON CLUS ION

Whether the Sensitive Plant,or that

Whi ch within i t s bou ghs like a Spirit sa t ,Ere i t s outward form had known decay,Now felt this change

,I cannot say.

Whether that Lady’s gentle mind,

No longer with the form combinedWhich scattered love

,as stars do light

,

Fou nd sadness,where it left delight

,

I dare not gu ess but in this lifeOf error

,ignorance

,a n d strife

,

Where nothi ng is,but all things seem

,

And w e the shadows of the dream,

I t is a modest creed,an d yet

Pleasant if one considers i t,

To own that death itself must be,

Like all the rest,a mockery .

That gard en sweet,that lady fair

,

And all sweet shapes and odou rs there,

In truth have never passed away’Tis we

,

’t is ou rs

,are Changed not they.

For love,an d beau ty

,and delight

,

There is n o death nor change their mightExceeds o u r organs

,which endure

No light,being themselves obscu re .

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2 Pe rcy Byr rbe'

Sbe lley

Or oft i n graver mood, when he will lookThings wiser than were ever read in book

,

Except in Shakespeare’s wisest tenderness .You will se e Hogg

,—and I cannot express

His virtues,

- though I know that they are great,

Because he locks,then barricades the gate

Within which they inhabit —o f his witAnd wisdom

,you’ll c ry o u t when you are bit .

He is a pearl within an oyster shell,

One of the r ichest Of the deep - and thereI s English Peacock

,with hi s mou ntain Fair

,

Turned into a Flamingo — that shy birdThat gleams i’ the Ind ian a ir—have yo u not heardWhen a man marries

,dies

, o r turns Hindoo ,His best friend s hear no more o f him — bu t youWill se e him

,and will like him t o o

,I hope

,

With the milk - whi te Snowdonian AntelopeMatched with this cameleopard—his fine w itMakes such a wound

,the knife is lost in it

A strain t o o learned for a shall ow age,

Too wise for selfish bigots let h is page,

Whi ch charms the Chosen spirits of the time,Fold itself u p for the serener cl imeOf years to come

,and find its recompense

In that just expectation .

—Wit and sense,

Virtu e an d human knowledge all that mightMake this du ll world a business of delight

,

Are all combined in Horace Smith —An d these,With some exceptions

,which I need not tease

Your patience by descanting On,—are all

You and I know in London .

I recallMy thoughts, and bid yo u look upon the night .

Hogg] a n Oxfo r d fr ien d o f She lley’s. Pea co ck] Thom a s LovePea co ck , n ove l ist a n d po e t . his m ou n t a in Fa i r] Pe a co ck’sWe lsh wife . Ho r a ce Sm i th] a u tho r ,wi th hi s br o the r j am es,

o f R ejected A ddr esses.

Percy Byr rbe Sbe l/ey 1 8 3

As water does a sponge,so the moonl ight

Fill s the void,hollow

,u niversal air

What se e yo u —unpavil ioned Heaven is fair,

Whether the moon,into her Chamber gone

,

Leaves midni ght t o the golden Stars,o r wan

Climbs with diminished beams the azure steepOr wheth er c lou ds sail o ’e r the inverse d eep

,

Piloted by the many- wandering blast,

An d the rare stars rush through them d im and fastAll thi s is beau t iful in every land .

But what se e yo u beside —a shabby standOf Hackney coaches—a brick hou se o r wa llFencin g some lonely cou rt

,whi te wi th the sc rawl

Of o u r unhappyp olitics—o r worse

A wretched woman reelin g by,whose curse

Mixed with the watchman’s,partner o f h e r tr ade,

Yo u must accept in place Of ser enadeO r yell ow - haired Po llo n ia murmurin gTo Henry

,some u nutterable thing .

I se e a Chaos o f green leaves and fruitBuilt round dark caverns

,even to the root

Of the livin g stems that feed them - in whose bowersThere sleep in their dark dew the fold ed flowersBeyond

,the surface o f the u nsickled corn

Trembles n o t in the slumbering air, and borneIn Ci rcles qu aint

,and ever- Changin g dance

,

Like w inged star s the fir e -flie s flash and glance,

Pale in the open moonshi ne,bu t each o n e

Under the dark trees seems a l ittle su n,

A meteor tamed a fixed star gone astrayFrom the silver regions o f the milky wayAf ar the Contadino’s song is heard ,Rude

,but made sweet by di stance— and a bird

Whi ch cannot be the Nightingale,and yet

I know none else that sings SO sweet as i t

C on ta din o] Ita li an peasa n t .

1 84 Percy Byr rbe Sbe lley

At this late hou r —an d then all i s stillNow—Italy or London , whi ch yo u will .

Next winter you mu st pass with me ; I’ll have

My house by that time tu rned into a grave.O f dead despondence an d low - thou ghted care

,

And all the dreams whi ch o u r tormentors areOh ! that Hunt

,Hogg

,Peacock

,and Smith were

With everything belonging to them fairWe will have books

,Spanish

,Italian

,Greek

And ask one week to make another weekAs like his father

,as I’m unlike mine

,

Which is not his fault,as yo u may divine .

Thou gh we eat little flesh and drink n o wine,

Yet let’s be merry we’ll have tea and ; oastCustards for supper

,and an endl ess host

Of syllabubs and j ellies and mince - pies,

An d other su ch lady - like lu xu ries,

Feasting on whi ch we will philosophizeAnd we’ll have fires out of the Grand Duke’s woodTo thaw the six weeks’ Winter in our blood .

And then we’ll talk —what shall we talk about ?Oh there are themes enou gh for many a boutOf thou ght - entangled descant — as to nervesWith cones and parallelograms and curvesI ’ve sworn to strangle them if once they dareTo bother me—when yo u are with me there .

And they shall never more Sip laudanum ,

From Helicon or Himeros —Well,come

,

And in despite of God and of the d evil,

We’ll make our friend ly phi losophi c revelOu tlast the leafless tim e till bu ds an d flowersWarn the obscure inevitable hou rs

,

Sweet meeting by sad parting to renewTO - morrow t o fr esh woods and pastures n ew .

’

Him e r o s] Love .

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1 8 6 yobn Kea t r

Heard melodies are sweet,but those u nheard

Are sweeter ther efore , ye soft pipes, play onNot to the sensual ear

,but

,more e n d e a r ’d ,

Pipe to the spiri t d itties o f no toneFair you th

,beneath the tr ees

,thou canst not leave

Thy song, nor ever c an those trees be bar eBold Lover

,never

,never canst thou kiss ,

Though winning near the goal—yet,do n o t grieve

She cannot fade,though thou hast not thy bliss,

For ever Wilt thou love,and sh e be fair

Ah,happy

,happy boughs that cannot shed

Your leaves,n o r ever bid the Spring adieu

And,happy mel odist

,u nwearied

,

Fo r ever piping songs fo r ever newMore happy love more happy

,happy love

Fo r ever warm and still t o be e n joy’d

,

For ever panting,and for ever young ;

All breathing human passion far above,

That leaves a heart hi gh - sorr owful and Cloy’d,A bu rning forehead

,and a par chi ng tongue .

Who are these coming to the sacrifice ?T o what green altar

,O mysterious priest,

L e ad’st thou that heifer lowing at the skies

,

An d all her s ilk en flanks with garlands dr est ?What little town by river o r se a - shore

,

Or mountain - built with peaceful citadel,I s emptied o f thi s folk

,this pious morn ?

And, little town , thy streets fo r evermoreWill s ilent be and not a soul t o t e l l

Why thou art desolate,can e

’e r r eturn .

Kea t r I 8 7

V

O Attic shape ! Fair attitud e with bredeOf marble men an d maidens overwrought

,

With forest branche s a n d the trodden weedThou

,silent form

,dost tease u s o u t o f thought

As doth eternity Cold PastoralWhen o l d age sha ll this generation waste

,

Thou shalt r emain,in midst o f other wo e

Than ou rs,a friend t o man

,t o whom thou say’s t

,

Beau ty is t ruth,truth beau ty

,

’-that is al l

Ye know o n earth,and all ye need t o know .

Tbe Eve of S t . Agn es

IT . AGNES’ Eve—Ah

,bitter Chil l i t was

The owl,for all hi s feathers

,w as a - cold

The hare l im p’d trembling through the frozen grass .

And silent was the flock in woolly foldNumb were the - Beadsman’s fingers

,whi le he told

His rosary,and whil e hi s frosted breath,

Like pious incense from a censer old,

Se e rri’d taking fl ight fo r heaven

,without a death

,

Past t h e sweet Virgin’s pictu re,while hi s prayer he saith .

His prayer he saith,thi s patient

,holy man

Then .takes hi s lamp,and riseth from hi s knees

,

And back returneth,meagre

,barefoot

,wan

,

Al ong the Chapel aisle by slow degreesThe scu lpt u r

’d dead

,o n each side

,seem t o freeze

,

Em pr iso n’d i n black

,purgatorial r ails

Knights,ladies

,praying in dumb or at’r ies

,

He passeth by ; and his weak spirit failsT o think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails .

I 8 8 ffol m KBd l’

J‘

I I INorthward he turneth through a little door

,

And scarce three steps,ere Mu sic’s golden tongu e

Fla t t e r’d to tears thi s aged man an d poor ;

But no—already had his death- bell rungThe j oys of all hi s life were said and sungHis was harsh penance on St . Agnes’ EveAnother way he went , and soon amongRough ashes sat he fo r hi s soul’s reprieve

,

And all night kept awake,for sinners’ sake to grieve .

IVThat ancient Bead sman heard the prelude softAnd so it ch an c’d

,fo r many a door w as wide

,

From hu rry to an d fro . Soon , up aloft,The silver

,snarling trumpets ’gan to chide

The level Chambers,r eady with their pride

,

Were glowing t o r eceive a thousand gu estsThe carved angels

,ever eager - eyed

,

St a r’d,where upon their heads the cornice r ests

,

With hair blown back,and wings pu t cross - wise on

breasts .v

At length bu rs t in the argent revelry,

With plume,tiara

,and all rich array

,

Numerous a s shadows haunting fa e r ilyThe brain

,n ew st u ff

’d,in youth

,with triumphs gay

Of old romance . These let u s wish away,And turn

,sole - thou ghted

,to o n e Lady there

,

Whose heart had brooded,all that wintry day

,

On love,and wing

’d St . Agnes’ saintly care,

As she had heard old dames full many times declare .

v1

They told he r how,upon ' St . Agnes’ Eve

,

Young virgins might have visions of delight,And soft ad o r ings fr om their loves receiveUpon the h o n ey

’d middle o f the night,

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1 9 0 Kea tr

x

He ventures in let n o bu z z ’d whi sper tellAl l eyes be muffl ed

,o r a hundred swords

Will s torm his heart,Love’s fev’r o u s citadel

Fo r hi m ,those Chambers held barbar ian hordes

,

Hyena foemen,and hot - blooded lords

,

Whose very dogs would execrations howlAgainst his lineage not one breast afford sHim any mercy

,in that mansion foul

,

Save one old beldame,weak in body and in soul .

Ah,happy Chance the aged creature came

,

Shu fflin g 'along with ivory - headed wand,

T o where he stood,bi d from the torch’s flame,

Behind a broad hall - pillar,far beyond

The sou nd of merriment and Chorus blandHe startled h e r bu t soon she knew hi s face

,

And gr asp’d h is fingers in her palsied hand

,

Saying,Mercy

,Porphyro hi e thee from thi s place

They are all here to - night,the Whole blood - thi rs ty race !

x11

Get hence get hence ! there ’s dwa rfish Hildebrand ;He had a fever late

,and in the fit

He cursed thee and thine,both hou se and land

Then there ’s that o ld Lord Mau rice

,n o t a whi t

More tame fo r his gray hairs—Al as me fli tFlit lik e a ghost away .

’ Ah,Gossip dear

,

We’re safe enough here in thi s arm - chair si t,

And tell me how Good Saints ! not here, n o t

hereFollow me

,Chi ld

,or else these stones will be thy bier . ’

XI I IHe follow’d thr ough a lowly arched way

,

Bru shi ng the cobwebs with his lofty plume,An d as she m u t t e r

’d Well - a—well - a - d ay

He found him in a little moonlight room,

Kea tr I 9 l

Pale,la t ti c

’

d,chi ll

,and si lent as a tomb .

Now tell me where isMade line,

’ said he,

0 te ll me,An gela

,by the holy loom

Which none but secret sisterhood may see,

When they St . Agnes’ wo o l are weaving piously .

’

x rv

St . Agnes ! Ah ! i t is St . Agnes’ EveYet men will mu rder u

pon holy days

Thou must hold water i n a witch’s sieve ,And be li ege - lord o f all the Elves and FaysT o ventur e so : i t fi lls me with amaz eT o Se e thee

,Porphyro — St . Agnes’ Eve

God’s help my lady fai r the conj uror playsThi s very night good angels her deceive

But let me lau gh awhile,I ’ve mickle time to gr i eve .

xv

Fe ebly she laugheth in the languid moon,

While Porphyro upon her face doth look,

Like puzzled urchin o n an aged croneWh o keepeth cl o s

’d a wond’rous riddl e - book

,

As spectacled sh e sits in chimney nook .

But soon his eyes grew brilliant,when she told

His lady’s purpose ; and he sc a r C e could brookTears

,at the thought o f those enchantments cold

,

And Madeline asleep in lap o f legends o l d .

XV I

Sudden a thought came like a fu ll - blown rose,

Flushi ng hi s brow,and in hi s pained heart

Made purple r iot then doth he proposeA stratagem

,tha t makes the beldame start

A cruel man and impiou s thou artSweet lady

,let he r pray

,and sleep

,and dream

Alone with her good angels,far apart

From wicked men l ike thee . G O, go

— I deemThou canst n o t su rely be the same that thou di dst seem .

’

I 9 2 Kea t r

xv11

I wil l not harm her,by all saints I swear

,

’

Qu oth Porphyro O may I ne’er find graceWhen m y weak voice shall whisper i t s last prayer,If one of her soft ringlets I displace

,

Or look with ru ffi an passion in her faceGood Angela

,believe me by these tears

Or I will,even in a moment’s space

,

Awake,with horrid Shout

,my fo em en

’s ears

,

And beard them,though they be more fan g

’d than

wolves and bears . ’

XVI I IAh why wilt thou affright a feeble sou lA poor

,weak

,palsy- s tricken

,chu rchyard thing,

Whose passing - bell may ere the midnight toll ;Whose prayers for thee

,each m o m and evening

,

Wer e never m iss’d .—Thus plaining

,doth sh e bring

A gentler speech from bu rning Porphyro ;So wofu l

,and of su ch deep sorrowing

,

That Angela gives promise she will doWhatever he shall Wish

,betide her weal or wo e .

Whi ch was,to lead him

,in close secrecy

,

Even to Madeline’s chamber,and there hid e

Him in a Closet,of su ch privacy

That he might see her beauty unespied,

And w in perhaps that night a peerless bride,

While leg io n’d faeries pae’d the coverlet

,

And pale enchantment held her sleepy- eyed .

Never on such a night have lovers met,

Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrou s

xx

I t shall be as thou wish e st ,’ said the Dame

Al l cates and dainties shall be stored thereQuickly on this feast - night by the tambour frameHer own lute thou W ilt see no time to spare,

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1 94 701772 Kea t r

xx1v

A casement high an d triple - arch’d there wa s,

Al l garlanded with carven im ag’r ie s

Of fruits,and flowers

,and bunches of knot - grass

,

And d iamonded with panes of qu aint device,

I nnumerable of s tains and splendid dyes,

As are the tiger - moth’s deep - dam ask’d wings

And in the mid st,

’mong thou sand heraldries,And twil ight saints

,and di m e m bla z o n in gs,

A shielded scu tcheon blu sh’d with blood of queenskings .

xxv

Fu ll o n thi s casement shone the wintry moon,

And threw warm gules on Madel ine’s fair breast,

AS down sh e knelt for heaven’s grace and boonRose - bloom fell on her hands

,together prest

,

And o n her silver cross soft amethyst,

And on her hair a glory,like a saint

She se em ’d a splendid angel

,newly dr est

,

Save wings,for heaven — Porphyro grew faint

She knelt,SO pure 2 thing

,so free from mortal ta i nt .

xxv1

Anon hi s heart revives h e r vespers done,

Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she freesUnclasps her warmed j ewels one .by oneLoosens her fragrant bo ddic e ; by degreesHer rich attire creeps rustling to her kneesHalf - hidden

,like a mermaid in se a -weed

,

Pensive awhil e she dreams awake,and sees

,

In fancy,fair St . Agnes in her be d

,

But dares n o t look behi nd,or all the charm is fled .

xxvu

Soon,trembling in her soft and Chilly nest

,

I n sort of wakeful swoon, pe rplex

’

d She lay,

Un t il the poppied warmth of sleep Oppr ess’d

Her soothed limbs,a n d soul fatigu ed away ;

Kea t r 1 9 y

Flown,like a thought

,until the morrow - day ;

Blissfu lly have n ’d both from joy and painC lasp

’d like a missal where swart Paynims pray

Blinded alike from sunshi ne and from rain,

As though a rose shou ld shu t,and be a bud again .

xxvi I I

Stol’n t o thi s paradise,and so entranced

,

Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,

And Iisten’d t o her breathi ng,if it chanced

T o wake into a slumberous tend ernessWhich when he heard

,that minute did he bless

,

An d br e a th’d himself : then from the Closet crept,

Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness,

And over the hu sh’d carpet,silent

,stept

,

And ’tween the cu rtains pe ep’d,where

,10 —how fast

she slept .xx i x

Then by the bed - side,where the faded moon

Made a d im,s ilver twi light

,soft he se t

A table,an d

,half an gu ish

’d,threw thereon

A cloth o f woven c r im son,gold

,and j et

O fo r some drowsy Morphean amulet !The boisterous

,midnight

,festive Clarion

,

The kettl e- drum,and far - heard clarinet

,

Affray his ears,though but in dying tone

The hall door shuts again,and all the noise is gone .

xxx

And stil l she slept an azure - lidded sleep,

In blanched linen,smooth

,and laven d e r ’d ,

While he from forth the closet brought a heapOf candied apple

,quince

,and plum

,and gourd

With j ellies soother than the creamy cu rd,

An d lucent syr ops, t inct with CinnamonManna and dates

,in argosy t r an sfe r r ’d

From Fez ; and spiced dainties , every o n e,

From silken Samarcand t o c ed a r’d Lebanon .

N 2

1 9 6 f obn Kea t r

xxxI

These delicates he he ap’d with glowing hand

On golden dishes and in baskets brightOf wreathed silver sumptu ous they standIn the retired qu iet of the night

,

Fi lling the Chi lly room with perfume light .And n ow

,my love

,my seraph fair

,awake !

Thou art my heaven , and I thine eremiteOpen thine eyes

,for meek St . Agnes’ sake

,

Or I shall drowse beside thee,so my soul doth ache .

’

xxx11Thus whispering

,his warm

,u nnerved arm

Sank in her pillow . Shad ed was her d reamBy the du sk cu rtains —’twas a midnight CharmImpossible t o melt as iced streamThe lustrous salvers In the moonlight gleamBroad golden fringe u pon the carpet liesI t se em ’d he never

,never could redeem

From such a steadfast spell hi s lady’s eyesSo mus’d awhile

,en t o il

’d in woofed phantasies .

xxx111Awakenin g up, he took her hollow lu te ,Tumu ltuous

,-and

,in chord s that tenderest be

,

He play’d an ancient ditty

,long Since mute

,

In Provence c a ll ’d,La belle d ame sans mercy

Close to her ear touching the melodyVVh e r ew i th d ist u rb’d

,she u t t e r

’d a soft moan

He ceased—she panted qu ick—r - an d suddenlyHer blue affrayed eyes wid e open shone

Upon his knees he sank,pale as smooth - scu lptu red stone.

xxx1vHer eyes were Open

,bu t sh e still beheld,

Now wide awake,the vision of her Sleep

There was a painfu l change,that nigh expe ll

’d

The blisses of her dream so pure and deep .

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1 9 8 ? obn Kea tr

xxxvu r

My Madeline ! sweet dreamer ! lovely br ideSay

,may I be for aye thy vassal blest ?

Thy beauty’s shield,heart shap

’d and vermeil dyed ?

Ah,silver shrine

,here will I take my r est

After so many hours of toil and quest,

A fam ish ’d pilgrim,—sav’d by miracle .

Though I have found,I will not r o b thy nest

Saving o f thy sweet self i f thou th ink’st well

To tru st,fair Madeline

,t o no ru de infidel .

Hark 1 ’tis an e lfin - storm from faery landOf haggar d seeming

,but a boon indeed

Arise—arise the morning is at handThe bloated wassa ill e r s will never heedLet u s away

,my love

, with happy speedThere are n o ears t o hear

,o r eyes t o se e ,

Drown’d all i n Rhenish and the sleepy meadAwake . ar ise . my love

,and fearless be,

For o ’e r the southern moors I have a home fo r thee .

’

XL

She hurried at his words,beset with fears

,

Fo r ther e were sleeping dragons all around,At glaring watch

, perhaps, with ready SpearsDown the wide sta i rs a darkling way they found .

In all the house was heard n o human sound .

A chain - d r o op’d lamp was flickering by each door ;

The ar ras,r ich with horseman

,hawk

,and hound,

Flu t t e r ’d i n the besieging Wind’s uproar ;And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor .

XL I

They glide,like phantoms

,into the wid e hall ,

Like phantoms, t o the i ron porch, they glide ;

Wher e lay the Porter,in uneasy sprawl,

With a huge empty fiago n by his Side :

7obn Kea t r 1 9 9

The wakeful bloodhound rose,and shook his hid e

,

But hi s sagacious eye an inmate ownsBy, o n e , .

an d o n e,the bolts fu ll easy sl ide

The chain s lie sil ent o n the footwor’

n stonesThe key turns

,and the door upon it s hinge s groans .

xL I I

An d they are gone aye,ages long ago

These lovers fled away into the storm .

That night the Baron dreamt o f many a wo e ,And al l his warrior- guests

,with shade and form

Of witch,and demon

,and large coffin - worm

,

Wer e long be - n igh tm a r’d . Angela the o ld

Died palsy- twi t ch’d,with meagre face deform

The Beadsman,after thousand aves told

,

Fo r aye unsought fo r slept among his ashes cold .

T H O M A S H O O D 1 799- 1 845

Tbe Br idge g‘S ig/J r

D r own ’

d l d r own’

d —Ha m let .

NE more Unfor tunate,

Weary o f br eath,

Ra shly importunate,

Gone t o her death

Take her up tenderly,

Lift her with car eFashio n

’d so slenderly,

Young,and so fair

Look at he r garmentsClinging like cer ementsWhi lst the wave constantlyDrips from he r clothi ngTake her up instantly

,

Loving,n o t loathi ng .

Tbom a r H ood

Tou ch her not scornfu llyThink o f her mournfully,Gently and humanlyNo t of the stains o f her,All that remains of herNow is pu re womanly.

Make no deep scru tinyInto her mutinyRash a n d u ndu tifu lPast all d ishonou rDeath has left on herOnly the beau tifu l .

Still,for all sli ps of hers

,

One of Eve’S familyWipe those poor lips of hersOozing so clammily .

Loop u p her tressesEscaped from the comb

,

Her fair auburn tressesWhi ls t wond erment guessesWhere w as her home ?

Who w as her father ?Who w a s her mother ?Had she a sister ?Had she a brother ?Or was there a dearer oneStill

,an d a nearer one

Yet,than all other ?

Al as for the rarityOf Christian charityUnder the su nOh it was pitifulNear a whole city full

,

Home she h ad none

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Tbom a r H ood

Er e h e r limbs frigidlyStiffen t o o rigidly,Decently

,—kindly

,

Smoothe and compose themAnd her eyes

,close them,

Staring so blindly

Dreadfu lly staringThro’ muddy impurity

,

As when with the daringLast look o f despair ing,Fix’d o n futurity.

Perishing gloomily,

Spu r r’d by contumely

,

Cold inhumanity,

Burning insanity,

Into her rest .Cross h e r hands humbly,AS if pr aying d -u m bly,Over h e r br east

Owning h e r weakness,He r evil behaviour

,

An d leaving,with meekness ,

Her sins t o her Saviour

R A L P H W A L D O E M E R S O N

T fell in the ancient per iodsWhi ch the brooding soul surveys ,

O r ever the wil d Time coined itselfInto calendar months and days .

Thi s was the lapse o f Uriel,

Which in Paradise befell .

1 803- 1 8 82

R a lpb Wa ldo Em e r r on

Once,among the Pleiads walking

,

SAID overheard the young gods talkingAnd the tr eason

,t o o long pent

,

T o his ears was evident .The young deities d i scussedLaws o f form

,and metr e j ust

Orb,quintessence

,and sunbeams

,

What su bsist e th,and what seems .

One,with low tones that decide

,

And doubt and r everend u se defied,

With a look tha t solved the sphere,

And stirred the devils everywhere,

Gave hi s sentiment divineAgainst the being o f a line .Line in nature is n o t foundUnit and un iverse are round ;In vain produced

,all r ays return ;

Evil wi ll bless,and ice will bur n .

’

As Ur iel spoke with pier cing eye,

A shudder ran around the skyThe stern Old war- gods shook their headsThe seraphs fr owned fr om myrtle - bedsSeemed t o the holy festivalThe rash word boded ill t o al l ;The balance beam o f Fate was b ;entThe bounds o f good an d ill were r ent ;Strong Hades could n o t keep his own

,

But all sli d t o confusion .

A sad self - knowledge,withering

,fell

On the beauty o f Ur i elIn heaven once eminent, the go dWithdrew

,tha t hour

,into hi s cloud

Whether doomed t o long gyrationIn the se a o f generation

,

SAID ] a Pe rsia n po e t .

20 3

204 R a lbb Wa ldo Em e r r on

Or by knowledge grown t o o brightT o hit the nerve of feebler Sight .Straightway

,a forgetting wind

Stole over the celestial kind,

And their lips the secret kept,

If in ashes the fir e - seed Slept .But n ow and then

,truth - speaking things

Shamed the angels’ veiling wingsAn d

,shr ill ing from the solar course

,

O r from fru it . of Chemic force,

Procession O f a soul in matter,

Or the speeding change of water,

Or out o f the good O f evil born,

Came Ur ie l’s voice of Cherub scorn

,

And a blush tinged the u pper sky,An d the god s Shook

,they knew not why.

E L I ! A B E T H B A R R E T T B R O W N I N G 1 806—1 861

Tbc C ry of tbc C /J i ld r en

(De il , (psi? n'

wp e’

pxeo Oe’

y.’

Oll y/n o w , r e’

k va ;

Med ea .

O ye hear the children weeping,O my brother s

,

Ere the sorrow comes with years ?They are leaning their you ng heads against their mothers

,

And tba t cannot stop their tears .The you ng lambs are bleating in the meadows ,The young birds are chi rping in the nest ,The young fawns are playing with the shadows ,The young flowers are blowing toward the west

Bu t the young, young chi ldren , O my brothers ,They are weeping bitterly

They are weeping in the playt ime of the others ,In the cou ntry of the free .

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206 Eliza beth Ba r ret t Brown i ngIf you li sten by that grave, in su n and shower

,

With you r ear down,little Alice never cries

Could we see her face,be sure we should n o t know

For the smile has time for growing in h e r eyesAn d merry go her moments

,lulled and stilled in

The shroud by the kirk - ChimeI t is good when it happens

,

’say the Children ,

That we die before our time .

’

V

Alas,alas

,the Chi ldren they are seeking

Death in life,as best to have

They are binding u p their hearts away from breaking,With a cerement from the grave .

G O o u t,chi ldren

,from the mine and from the C i ty

,

Sing out,chi ldren

,as the little thrushes do

Pluck you handfu ls o f the meadow cowslips pretty,

Laugh aloud,t o feel your fingers let them through

But they a nswer, Are you r cowslips ‘

o f the meadowsLike o u r weeds anear the mine ?

Leave us qu iet in the dark o f the coal - shadows,

From your pleasu res fair and fine

Fo r oh,

’say the Chi ldren ,

‘w e are weary

,

And we cannot run o r leap ;If we cared fo r any meadows

,i t were merely

T o drop down i n them and sleep .

Our knees tremble sor ely i n the stooping,

We fall upon o u r faces,trying t o go ;

An d,underneath o u r heavy eyelids d rooping

,

The reddest flower would look as pale as snowFo r

,all day

,we drag o u r burden tiring

Through the coal - dark,u nderground

O r , all d ay, w e drive the wheels o f i ronIn the factories

,round a n d rou nd .

Eliga betb Ba r r et t Brown ing 2 o 7

VI IFo r

,a ll day

,the wheels are d roning

,turning

,

Their wind comes in o u r faces,

Till o u r hear ts turn,—o u r head

,with pulses burning

,

And the wall s turn in their placesTurns the sky in the hi gh window blank and reeling,Turns the long light that drops adown the wall

,

Turn the bla ck flies that crawl along the ceili ng,

All are turning,all the d ay, and we with all .

And all day,the iron wheels are droning

,

And sometimes we cou ld pr ay,

O ye wheels (breaking o u t in a mad moaning) ,Stop be silent fo r t o - day

VI I IAye ! be silent ! Let them hear each other breathing

Fo r a moment,mouth to mouth !

Let them touch each other’3 hands,in a fresh wr eathi ng

Of their tender human youthLet them feel that thi s cold metall i c motionIs n o t all the life G o d fashions o r reveals

Let them prove their living souls against the notionThat they live in yo u , o r under you , O wheelsSt ill

,all day

,the iron wheels go onward ,

Gr inding life down from i t s markAn d the Children’s souls

,whi ch God is calling sunward,

Spin o n blindl y in the dark .

Ix

Now tell the poor young Children,O my brothers

,

T o look up t o Him and praySO the blessed One who blesseth all the others ,

Will bless them another day.

They answer,Who is G o d that He should hear u s,

While the rushing o f the iron wheels i s stir red ?When we sob a loud

,the human creatures near u s

Pass by,hear ing n o t

,o r answer n o t a word .

20 8 El iga betb Ba r ret t Br own ing

And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding)Strangers speaking at the door

I s i t likely God, with angels singing rou nd Him,

Hears o u r weeping any more ?

x

Two words,indeed

,of praying w e remember

,

And at midnight’s hou r of harm,

Our Father looking u pward in the Chamber,

We say softly fo r a Charm .

We know n o other words,except O u r Father

And we thi nk that,in some pau s e of angels’ song

,

God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather,

And hold both withi n His right hand whi ch is s trong.

Our Father If He heard us,He would su rely

(Fo r they call Him good a n d mild)Answer

,smiling down the steep world very pu rely,Come and rest with Me

,My chi ld .

”

Bu t,no say the Chi ld ren

,weeping faster

,

He is speechl ess as a s toneAnd they tell us

,of His image is the master

Who commands u s t o work on .

Go to say the chi ldren , u p in Heaven ,Dark

,wheel - like

,tu rning clou ds are all w e fin d .

Do not mock u s ; grief has made u s unbelievingWe look u p for G o d

,bu t tears have made u s blind .

’

Do yo u hear. the Chi ldren weeping and disproving,O my brothers

,what ye preach ?

For God’s possible is tau ght by His world ’s loving,And the Children dou bt of each .

An d well m ay the chi ld ren weep before youThey are weary ere they run

They have never seen the sunshine,nor the glory

Which is brighter than the su n .

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2 1 0 A lfred , Lord Tennyr on

A land of streams some,like a d ownward smoke ,

Slow—dropping veils o f thinnest lawn,d id go

An d some thro’ wavering lights and shadows broke,‘

Rolling a slumbrous sheet o f foam below.

They saw the gleaming river seaward flowFr om the inner land far o ff

,three mou ntain - tops

,

Three Silent pinnacles of aged snow,

Stood su nset - flu sh’d and,d ew

’d with showery dr ops ,

Up- Clomb the shadowy pine above the woven copse .

The Charmed su nset l in ge r’d low adown

In the redWes t thro’ mou ntain clefts the d aleWas seen far inland

,an d the yellow down

Bo rd e r’d with palm

,and many a Wind ing vale

And meadow,se t with slender galingale

A land where all things always se em ’d the same

An d round about the keel with faces pale,

Dark faces pale against that rosy flame,

The mild - eyed melancholy L otos - eaters came .

Branches they bore of that enchanted stem,

Lad en with flower and fru it,whereof they gave

To each,bu t whoso d id receive of them

,

And taste,to him the gushing of the wave

Far far away did seem to mou rn and raveOn alien Shores an d if hi s fellow spake

,

His voice w as thin,as voices from the grave

And deep - asleep he se em ’d,yet all awake

,

And mu sic in his ears his beating heart did make .

They sa t them down upon the yellow sand,

Between the su n and moon upon the shoreAnd sweet i t was to dream of Fatherland

,

Of Child,and wife

,and slave bu t evermore

Most weary se em’d the se a

,weary the oar

,

Weary the wanderi ng fields o f barren foam .

Then some o n e s aid,We will retu rn no more

And all a t once they sang,Our island home

I s far .beyond the wave ; w e will n o longer roam .

’

Alf r ed , Lord T en nyJ on 2 1 1

C HORI C SONGI

There i s sweet m usic here that softer fallsThan petals from blown roses o n the grass

,

Or night - dews on still waters between wallsOf shadowy granite, in a gleaming passMusic that ge n t l ie r on the spirit lies ,Than t i r ’d eyelid s u pon t i r ’d eyesMusic that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies .Here are cool mosses deep

,

And thro’ the moss the i vies creep,

And i n the s tream the long - leaved flowers weep,

And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep .

Why are we w e igh’d u pon with heaviness

,

An d u tterly consumed with sharp distress,

While all thi ngs else have rest from weariness ?All things have rest why shou ld w e toil alone

,

We only toil,who are the first o f things

,

And make perpetu al moan,

Still from o n e sorrow t o another thrownNo r ever fold o u r wings

,

And ceas e from wanderings,

No r steep o u r br ows in slu m ber’s holy balmNo r hearken what the Inner spiri t sings ,Ther e is n o joy but calmWhy shou ld w e only toil, the roof and crown o f

L O in the middle o f the wood,

The folded leaf i s woo’d from o u t the budWith winds u pon the branch

,and there

Grows green and broad,and takes n o car e

,

Su n - st e ep’d a t noon

,and in the moon

Nightly dew- fed and tu rning yellow0 2

2 1 2 Alfred ]Lord Tennyr on

Falls,and floats adown the air .

L O sw e e t en’d with th e summer light ,

The fu ll - ju iced apple,waxing over - mellow

,

Drops in a silent‘ au tumn night .Al l its allotted len

gth of days

,

The flower ripens i n its place,

Ripens an d fades,and falls

,and hath no toil

,

Fast rooted i n the fru itful soil .

Hatefu l is the dark - blu e sky,Vau lted o’er the dark - blu e sea .

Death is the end of life ah,why

Should life all labou r be ?Let u s alone . Time d riveth onward fast

,

And in a little while o u r lips are dumb .

Let u s alone . What is it that Will last ?All things are taken from u s

,an d become

Portions and parcels of the dreadfu l Past .Let u s alone . What pleasu re can w e haveTo w a r with evil ? I s there any peaceIn ever Climbing u p the Climbing wave ?All thi ngs have rest

,an d ripen toward the grave

In Silence ripen,fall and cease

Give u s long rest or d eath, da rk d eath, or dreamfu l ease .

vHow sweet i t were

,hearing the downward stream

,

With half- shut eyes ever to seemFalling asleep in a half - dreamTo dream and dream

,like yonder amber light ,

Which wil l n o t leave the myrrh - bu sh on the height ;To hear each other’s whi spe r

’d speech

Eating the Lotos d ay by d ay,To watch the crisping ripples on the beach

,

And tend er cu rving lines of creamy spray ;To lend o u r hearts an d spi rits who lly

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Alfr ed , Lord Tennyr on

Thro’ many a w ov’

n acanthu s - wreath d ivineOnly to hear and se e the far- o ff sparkling brine

,

Only to hear were sweet , st r e t ch’d out beneath the pine .

VI I IThe Lotos blooms below the barren peakThe Lotos blows by every winding creekAll day the wind breathes low with mellower toneTb r o ’ every hollow cave and alley loneRou nd and rou nd the Spicy downs the yellow Lotos - dust

is blown .

We have had enou gh O f action,an d of motion we ,

Ro ll’d to starboard

,r o ll

’d to larboard

,when the surge

was seething free,

Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam - fountainsin the se a .

Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equ al mind,In the hollow Lotos—land to live and lie reclinedOn the hills like Gods together

,careless of mankind .

For they lie beside their nectar,and the bolts are hu r l ’d

Far below them i n the valleys,and the clouds are lightly

cu r l’d

Round their golden houses,girdled with the gleam ing

Wh ere they smile in secret,looking over wasted land s ,

Blight and famine,plague and earthquake

,roaring d eeps

a n d fiery sands,

Clanging fights,an d flaming towns

,and sinking ships

,and

praying hands .But they smile

,they find a music centred i n a doleful song

Steaming u p, a lamentation an d an ancient tale of wrong,Like a tale of little meaning tho’ the words are strong ;Chanted from an ill - u sed race of men that cleave the soil ,Sow the seed

,an d reap the harvest with endu ring toil ,

Storing yearly lit tle dues of wheat,and wine and oil

Till they perish and they suffer— some,

’tis wh ispe r’d

down in hell

A lf r ed , Lo rd Tennyr on 2 1 y

Suffer endl ess anguish,others in Elysian vall eys dwell ,

Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphod el .Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil , the shoreThan labour in the deep mid - ocean

,wind and wave and

o a r ;

Oh rest ye,brother marin ers

,we w ill n o t wander more.

T li ttle profits that an idle king,

By thi s still hearth,among these barren c rags

,

Ma t ch’d with an aged wife

,I mete and dole

Unequal laws unto a savage race,

That hoard,and sleep

,and feed

,and know n o t me .

I cannot rest from travel I will drinkLife t o the lees all times I have e n joy

’d

Gr eatly,have su ffe r ’d greatly

,both with those

That loved me,and alone on shore

,and when

Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy HyadesVext the dim se a I am become a name ;Fo r always roaming with a hungry h eartMuch have I seen and known Cities o f menAnd manners

,climates

,councils

,governments

,

Myself n o t least,bu t ho n o u r

’

d o f them allAnd d runk delight o f battle with my peers

,

Fa r o n the r inging plains o f windy Troy .

I am a part o f all that I have metYet all experience is an arch whe r e th r o ’

Gleams that u n t r ave ll ’d world,whose margin fades

Fo r ever and fo r ever when I move .

How d ull it is t o pau se , t o make an en d ,T o rust u n bu r n ish’d , n o t t o shine in useAs tho

’t o breath e were life . Life piled o n life

Were all t o o little,and of o n e t o me

Little remains but every hour is savedFrom that eternal silence

,somethi ng more,

A bringer o f new things and V ile it were

2 1 6 Alf r ed , Lord T ennyr on

Fo r some three ssuns to store and hoard myself

,

And this gray spirit yearning in desireTo follow knowledge

,like a Sinking star

,

Beyond the utmost bound of hu mo

an thought .Thi s is m y so n

,mine own Telemachus,

T o whom I leave the sceptre and the isleW

’ell- loved O f me,discerning t o fulfil

This labou r,by slow pru dence to make mild

A r ugged people,and thro’ soft degrees

Subdu e them to the useful and the good .

Most blameless is he,centred in the sphere

Of common du ties,d ecent n o t t o fail

In offices of tenderness, and payMeet adoration to my household gods

,

When I am gone . He works hi s work,I m ine .

There lies the port the vessel puff s h e r sailTher e gloom the dark broad seas . My mariners

,

Sou ls that have t o il ’d,and wrou ght

,and thought with

meThat ever with a frolic welcome tookThe thunder and the sunshi ne

,and opposed

Free hearts,free foreheads —you and I are o ld

Old age hath yet his honour and his toilDeath Closes all : bu t something ere the e n d ,Some work of noble note

,may yet be done

,

Not unbecoming men that strove with God sThe lights begin to twinkle from the rocks

,

The long day wanes the Slow moon climbs the deepMoans round with many voices . Come

,my friend s

,

’Tis n o t too late to seek a newer world .

Push O ff,and sitting well in order sm ite

The sounding fu rrows fo r my purpose hold sTo sail beyond the sunset

,and the baths

Of all th e '

we st e r n stars, until I die .I t may be that the gulfs will wash us downIt may be we shall touch the Happy Isles ,An d se e the great Achilles

,whom we knew .

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2 1 8 Alfr ed , Lord Ten nyr on

All night no ru d er air perplexThy slid ing keel

,till Phosphor

,bright

As our pure love,thro’ early light

Shall glimmer on the d ewy decks .

Sphere all you r lights around,above

Sleep,gentle heavens

,before the prow

Sleep,gentle winds

,as he sleeps now

,

My friend,the brother of my love

My Arthu r,whom I shall not se e

Till all my w idow ’d race be run

Dear as the mother t o the so n ,More than my brothers are t o me .

I hear the noise about thy keelI hear the bell stru ck in the nightI se e the cabin - window bright

I see the sailor at the wheel .

Thou bring’s t the sailor t o his wi fe,

And t r avell’d men from foreign landsAnd letters unto trembling hands

An d,thy d ark freight

,a van ish ’d life .

SO bring him we have idle dreamsThi s look of quiet fla t t e r s thusOur home - bred fancies O to us

,

The fools o f habit,sweeter seems

To rest beneath the clover so d,

That takes the sunshine and the rains,

Or where the kneeling hamlet drainsThe Chalice o f the grapes o f G o d

d r a in s Go d ] take s the Sa c r a m en t .

A f red, Lo rd Ten nyr on 2 1 9

Than if with thee the roaring well sShou ld gu lf him fathom - d ee p in brineAnd hand s SO Often c laSp

’d in mine,

Should toss with tangle a n d with shells .

I I ICalm is the morn withou t a sound

,

Calm as t o suit a calmer grief,

An d only thro’

the faded leafThe chestnut patter ing t o the ground

Cahn and deep peace on this high wold,

And o n these dews that drench the furze,An d all the Silvery gossamers

That twinkle into green and gold

Calm an d still light on yo u great plainThat sweeps with all its aut umn bowers

,

An d crowded farms and lessening towers,

T o mingle with the bounding main

Calm and deep peace in this wide air,

These leaves that redden t o the fallAnd in my heart

,if calm at all

,

I f any calm,a calm despair

Calm o n the seas,and silver sleep

,

And waves that sway them selves in rest ,And dead calm in that noble breast

Which heaves but with the heaving deep .

The Danube t o the Severn gaveThe d a rken ’d heart that beat n o moreThey laid him by the pleasant shore

,

And in the hearing o f the wave .

Da n u be Seve rn ] Ar thu r Ha l la m d ied in Vie n n a ; wa s

bu ri ed a t C li e ved e n o n the Seve r n .

2 20 Alf red , Lord T ennyr ou

There twice a day the Severn fillsThe salt se a - water passes by,And hu shes half the babbling Wye

,

An d makes a Silence in the hills .

The Wye is hu sh ’d nor moved along,

And hu sh ’d my deepest grief o f all,

When fill ’d with tears that cannot fall,

I brim with sorrow drowning song.

The tide flows down,the wave again

Is vocal in it s wood ed wallsMy deeper angu ish also falls

,

An d I can speak a little then .

REM IN ISC ENCES

The pa th by whi ch we twain d id goWhich led by tracts that pleased u s well

,

Thro’ four sweet year s arose and fell,

From flower to flower,from snow t o snow

An d we with singing che e r ’d the way,

And,c r own

’d with all the season lent ,From April on t o April went

,

An d glad at heart from May to May

But where the path we walk’d beganTo slant the fifth autumn al slope

,

As we descended followin g Hope,

There sa t the Shadow fe a r ’d o f man

Who broke o u r fair companionship,

An d spread hi s mantle d ark and cold,

And wrapt thee formles s in the fold,

And d u ll ’d the mu rmur on thy lip,

fo u r Swee t yea r s] the i r fou r ye a r s o f r esid en ce t oge the r a t Tr in i tyCo ll ege , C a m br idge .

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22 2 Alf red , Lord Tennyr on

Each voice four Changes on the wind,That now dilate

,and now d ec r ease ,

Peace an d goodwill, goodwill and peace,Peace and goodwill

,to a ll mankind .

This year I slept a n d woke with pain,

I almost w ish ’d no more to wake,

And that m y hold on life would breakBefore I heard those bells again

But they my troubled spirit ru le,

Fo r they co n t r o ll’d me when a boy

They bring me sorrow t o u ch’d with joy,

The merry merry bells of Yule .

F IRST SPRINGWith weary steps I loiter on

,

Tho’ a lways under a l t e r ’d ski esThe pu rple from the d istance dies

,

My prospect a n d horizon gone .

NO jo y the blowing season gives ,The herald melodies of spring

,

Bu t in the songs I love to singA dou btfu l gleam of solace lives .

If a ny care for What is hereSurvive i n sp i ri ts r en d e r ’d free

,

Then are these songs I sing of theeNot all u ngrateful to thine ear.

MOODSI

Be near me when m y light is low,

When the blood creeps,and the nerves prick

And tingle and the heart is sick,And all the wheels o f Being slow .

Alfred , Lo rd T ennyr on 2 2 3

Be near me when the sensuous fr ameIs r a ck’d with pangs that conquer t rustAnd Time

,a maniac sca ttering dus t,

A Life , a Fury slingin g flame .

Be near me when my faith is dry,

And men the flie s'

o f latter spring,That lay their eggs

,and sting and sing

,

And weave their petty cells and die .

Be near me when I fade away,

T o point the term o f human Strife.

An d o n the low dark verge of lifeThe twilight o f eternal day.

Oh yet we trust that somehow goodWill be the final goal of ill

,

T o pangs o f natu re,sins O f will

,

Defects of doubt,and taints o f blood

That nothing walks with aimless feetThat not o n e life shall be d e st r oy

’d,

Or cast as rubbish t o the void ,When G o d hath made the pile complete

That n o t a worm is cloven in vainThat n o t a moth with vain desir eIs sh r ive l

’d in a fruitless fire,

Or bu t subserves another’s gain .

Behold,we know n o t anything ;

I can bu t trust that good shall fallAt last— far o ff—a r last

,t o all

,

An d every winter Change t o Spring.

So runs my dream but what am IAn infant crying in the nightAn infant crying fo r the light

And with n o langu age but a c ry.

2 24 Alf r ed , Lord Ten nyr on

Peace come away the song o f wo eI s after all an earthl y song :Peace come away w e d o him wrong

To sing so wildly let us go .

Come let u s go your cheeks are paleBut half my life I leave behindMethinks my friend i s richl y Shrined

But I shall pass m y work will fail .

Yet in these ears,till hearing di es

,

One se t slow bell will seem to tollThe passing o f the sweetest sou l

That ever lo ok’d with human eyes .

I hear it n ow,and o ’e r and o’er

,

Eternal greetings to the dead ;And Ave

,Ave

,Ave

,

’ said,

Ad ieu,adieu for evermore .

SEC OND C HRISTMASAgain at Christmas did we weave

The holly round the Christmas hearthThe silent snow po ssess

’d the earthAnd calmly fell o u r Christmas - eve

The yul e - clog sparkled keen with frost,

No wing of wind the region swept,

But over all things brood ing sleptThe quiet sense of something lost .

As in the winters left behind,

Again o u r ancient games had place,

The mimic picture’s br eathi ng grace,

And dance and song and hoodman - blind .

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2 26 Alfr ed, Lord T ennyr on

The round o f space,and rapt below

Thro’ all the dewy - t asse l l’d wood

,

An d shadowing down the horned floodIn ripples

,fan my brows an d blow

The fever from m y cheek, and S ighThe full n ew life that feeds thy breathThroughout my frame

,till Dou bt a n d Death

,

Ill brethren,let the fancy fly

From belt to belt of crimson seasOn leagu es of Odou r s treaming far

,

To where in yonder orient starA hundred spirits whi sper Peace

REM INI SCENC ESI

I past besid e the reverend wallsIn which of o l d I wore the gownI roved at random thro’ the town

,

And saw the tumult of the halls

And heard once more in college fanesThe storm their high - built organs make

,

And thu nd er - mu s ic,rolling

,shake

The prophets bl a z o n ’d on the panes

An d caught once more the distant shou t,

The measu red pulse of racing oarsAmong the willows paced the shores

And many a bridge,an d all abou t

The same grey flats again,an d felt

The same,but not the same and las t

Up that long walk of limes I pastTo se e the rooms in which he dwelt .

th e r eve r en d wa lls] Tr in i ty Co llege , Ca m br idge .

A lfred , Lo rd T ennyr o 22 7

Another name was o n the doorI l inge r

’d all within w a s noise

Of songs,and clapping hands

,a n d boys

That c r ash ’d the glass and beat the floor

Where once we held debate,a band

Of youthful friends,o n mind and art

,

And labour,and the changing mart

,

And all the framework Of the land

When o n e wou ld aim an arrow fair,

But ‘send it slackly from the s tringAnd o n e would pierce an outer ring

,

And one an inner,here and there

And last the master - bowman,he,

Would cleave the mark . A willing earWe lent him . Who , but hung t o hear

The rapt oration flowing free

From point t o point,with power and gr ace

And music in the bou nds o f law,

T o those conclusions when we sawThe G o d Within him light hi s face

,

And seem t o lift the form ,and glow

In azure orbits heavenly- wiseAnd over those ethereal eyes

The bar o f Michael Angelo .

Witch- elm s that counterchange the floorOf this flat lawn with dusk and brightAnd thou

,with all thy breadth and height

Of foliage,towering sycamore

a ba n d Of you thfu l fri en ds] Ten nyson an d Ha ll am whi le a t

C am br i dge be lon ged t o a so cie ty ca lled the Apost les . Th e

ba r O f Mi cha e l An ge lo] Eyeb r ows m ee tin g .

P 2

22 8 Af red , Lord T ennyson.

How often , hither wander ing down ,My Arthur found your shadows fair

,

And shook to all the liberal airThe du s

‘t and din and steam o f town

He brought an eye fo r all he sawHe mixt in all our simple sportsThey pleased him

,fresh from brawling courts

And d u sty pu rlieus of the law .

O joy to hi m in this retreat ,Immantled in ambrosial d ark

,

To drink the cooler air,and mark

The landscape winking thro’ the heat

0

O sound to rout the brood o f cares,

The sweep of scythe in morning dew,

The gust that round the garden flew,

And tumbled half the mellowing pears

O bliss,when all in Circle d rawn

Abou t him,heart and ear were fed

To hear him,as he lay and read

The Tu scan poets o n the lawn

Or in the all - golden afternoonA guest

,o r happy sister

,sung

,

Or here she brought the harp and flungA ballad to the brightening moon

Nor less it pleased in livelier moods,

Beyond the boun ding hi ll to Stray,And break the livelong summer d ay

With banqu et in the distant woods

Whereat w e glanced from theme to theme,

D iscu ss’d the books to love or hate

,

Or t o u ch ’d the changes of the state,

Or threaded some Socratic dreamha ppy Sist e r ] Ha lla m w a s en gaged t o o n e o f Te n n yson

’

s Si st e r s.

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2 30 Alf red ,Lord Ten nyso

But when those others,one by o n e

,

Withdrew themselves fr om me and night,

And in the house light after lightWent o u t

,and I w as all alone

,

A hu nger seized my heart I readOf that glad year which once had been ,In those fa l l’n leaves which kept their green

,

The noble letters of the d ead

And strangely on the s ilence brokeThe s ilent - speaking word s

,and strange

Was love’s d umb cry defying changeTo test his worth and strangely spoke

The faith,the vigour

,bold to dwell

On dou bts that drive the coward back,

An d keen thro’ wor dy snares to trackSuggestion t o her inmost cell .

SO word by word, and line by line,The d ead man t o u ch ’d me from the past

,

And all a t once it se em ’d at last

His living soul w as flash’d on mine,

An d mine in his wa s wound,and whi r l ’d

About empyreal heights of thought,

An d came o n that whi ch is,and caught

The d eep pulsations of the world,

zo ni an music measuring o u t

The steps of Tim e— the shocks of ChanceThe blows o f Death . At length my trance

Was c an ce ll’d,s tricken thro’ with doubt .

Vagu e word s bu t ah,how hard t o frame

In matter - mou lded forms o f speech,

Or ev’n for intellect t o reachThro’ memory that whi ch I became

Alf r ed , Lor d Ten nyr on 2 3 1

Till n ow the doubtful dusk r eve a l ’dThe knolls once more’ where

,c o u ch

’d at e ase

,

The white kine glimme r’d,and the trees

Laid their d ark arms abou t the field

And su ck’

d from o u t the distant gloomA breeze began t o tremble o ’

e r

The large leaves o f the sycamore,

An d flu ctu ate all the st ill pe r fu m e,

And gathering fr e shl ie r overhead,

Ro ck’d the ful l - foliaged elms,and swung

The heavy - folded rose,an d flung

The lili es t o an d fro,a n d said

The d awn,the dawn

,

’ and died away ;And East and West

,withou t a breath ,

M ixt their d im lights , like life and death,To broaden into bound less day .

TH IRD C HRI STMAS

The time draws near the birth of Chr is tThe moon is hid

,the night is still

A single chu rch below the hillIs pealing

,folded in the mist .

A single peal of bells below,

That wakens at thi s hour o f restA single mu rmur in the breast

,

That these are not the be lls I kn ow.

L ike strangers’ voices here they sound,

In lands where n o t a memory strays ,No r landmark breathes o f other days

,

Bu t all is new u nh a llow’d ground .

n o t the be lls I kn ow] By thi s t im e the Ten n yson s h a dO ld ho m e in Li n co ln shi r e .

2 3 2 Alfr ed , Lord Tennyr on

TH IRD SPRINGNow fades the las t long str eak o f snow

,

Now bu rgeons every maze of quickAbou t the flowering squ ares

,and thick

By ashen roots the violets blow .

Now rings the woodland lou d and long,

The distance takes a lovelier hue,

And drown’d in yonder living blu eThe lark becomes a sightless song .

Now d ance the lights on lawn and lea,

The flocks are whiter down ‘ the vale,

And milk ier every milky sailOn winding stream or distant se a

Where n ow the seamew pipes,or dives

In yond er greening gleam,and fly

The happy bird s,that change their sky

To build and brood that live their lives

From land to land and in my breas tSpring wakens too and my regre tBecomes an April violet

,

And buds an d blossoms like the res t .

F INAL MOODI

Love is and was my Lord and King,

And in hi s presence I attendT o hear the tidings of my friend

,

Which every hou r h is cou riers bring .

Love i s and was my King and Lord,

And will be,tho’ as yet I keep

Within hi s court o n earth,and sleep

En co m pass’d by his faithful gu ard

,

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2 34 Wi llia m M a bepea ce Tba cber ay

This Bou illabaisse a noble d ish isA sort of soup or br oth

,o r brew

,

Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes,

That Greenwich never could outdoGreen herbs

,red peppers

,mussels

,saffe r n

,

Soles,onions

,garlic

,roach

,and dace

All these yo u eat at Terré’s tavern

,

In that one d ish O f Bouill abaisse .

Indeed,a rich a n d savou ry stew ’tis

And true philosophers,methinks

,

Who love all sorts of natural beauties,

Shou ld love good victuals and good drinks .And Cordelier or BenedictineMight gladly

,sure

,his lot embrace

,

No r find a fast - day too afll ic t in gWhich served him u p a Bouill abaisse .

I wonder if t he hou s e s till there is ?Yes

,here the lamp is

,as before

The smiling red - cheeked é c a ill é r e isS till Opening oysters at the door .

I s Terré s till alive and able ?I recollect his droll grimace ;

He’d come and smile before your table,

And hope yo u liked you r Bouill abaisse .

We enter—nothing ’s changed or Older .

How ’s Monsieu r Terré

,waiter

,pray ?

The waiter stares and shrugs hi s shoulderMonsieu r is dead thi s many a day .

’

I t i s the lot o f s aint and sinner,

SO honest Terré ’s r u n his race .

’

What will Monsieur requ ir e fo r dinner ?Say

,d o yo u s till cook Bouill abaisse ?

Oh,o u i

,Monsieur

,

’ ’s the waiter’s answer

Quel vin Monsieur dé sire—t - il ?

Tell me a good o n e .

’ That I c an SirThe Chambertin with yellow seal .

Wi llia m Ma bepea ce Tba cbe r ay

So Terré ’s gone

,

’ I say, and sink inMy o ld a c cu st o m

’d corner- place

He ’

s done with feasting an d with drinking,

With Burgundy a n d Bouillabaisse .

’

My old ac c u st o m’d corner here is

,

The table still i s in the nookAh v an ish

’d many a busy year is

,

This well - known Chair since last I took .

When first I saw ye,ca r i lu ogbi ,

I’d s car ce a beard upon my face

,

An d n ow a grizzled,grim o ld fogy,

I sit and wait for Bou il labaisse .

Where are yo u , o l d companions trusty,Of early d ays

,here met to din e ?

Come,waiter quick

,a flagon crusty

I’ll pledge them in the good o ld wine .The kind o ld voices a n d o ld facesMy memory c an quick retrace

Around the board they take their places,

An d share the wine and Bouill abaisse .

There ’

s jack has made a wondrous marriageThere ’s laughi ng T o m i s l aughing ye ;t

There ’s brave Augustus drives his carriage ;There ’s poor o l d Fred i n the Gazette

,

On james’s head the grass is growing

Good Lo rd the world h as wagged apaceSince here we se t the Claret flowing

,

And dr ank,and ate the Bouill abaisse .

Ah me how quick the d ays are flittingI mind me o f a t ime that ’s gone

,

When here I ’d si t,as n ow I ’m sitt ing

,

In this s ame place—but n o t alone.ca r i lu ogb i] d ea r scen es .

2 36 Wi llia m Ma bepea ce Tba cbe r ay

A fair you ng form was nestled near me,A dear

,dear face looked fondly up,

And sweetly spoke an d smiled t o cheer me .

—There ’s n o o n e now t o share my cup .

I d rink it as the Fates ordain it .Come

,fill it

,an d have done with rhymes

Fill up the lonely glass,and drain it

In memory of dear old times .Welcome the Wine

,whate’er the seal is

An d Si t you down and say you r graceWith thankfu l heart

,whate’er the meal is .

—Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse

R O B E R T B R O W N I N G 1 8 12—1 8 8 9

Tbc F lower’

r Al a m e

1

ERE ’S the gar den she walked across ,

Arm in my arm,su ch a short while since

Hark,n ow I pu sh its wicket , the moss

Hinders the hinges an d makes them winceShe mu s t have reached this shru b ere She turned ,AS back with that mu rmur the wicket swungFor sh e laid the poor snail , my chance foot spu rned ,To feed and forget it the leaves among .

11

Down this s id e of the gravel - walkShe went While her robe’s edge bru shed the box

And here she pau sed in her graciou s talkTo point me a moth on the milk- white phl ox .

The r e ’

s n o o n e n ow] Tha cke r ay’

s yo u n g w ife wen t m a d .

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2 3 8 R obe r t Brown ing

Come,bu d

,show me the leas t of her tr aces ,

Treasu re my lady’s lightes t footfall !—Ah

, yo u may flou t and turn u p your facesRoses

,you are not SO fair after all

Tbe L a st R ide Tog etber

ISAID—Then

,Dearest

,since ’

t is so,

Since n ow at length my fate I know,

Since nothing all my love avails,

Since a ll,my life seemed meant for

,fails

,

S ince this w as written and needs must beMy whole heart rises up to blessYour name in pride and thankfu lnessTake back the hope yo u gave , - I claimOnly a memory o f the s ame

,

-And this beside,if yo u will not blame ,

Your leave fo r one more las t ride with me .

11

My mistress bent that br ow o f hersThose deep dark eyes wher e pride demursWhen pity wou ld be softening throu gh

,

Fixed me a breathi ng - while or twoWith life or death in the balance

The blood replenished me againMy last thou ght was at least not vainI and my mistress

,side by side

Shall be together,breathe and ride

,

So o n e d ay more am I d e ifie dWho knows but the world may e n d to - night .

Hu sh if yo u saw some western cloudAll billowy- bosomed

,over b- owed

By many bened ictions —sun’8And moon’s and evening -

’s tar 3 at once

R obe r t Br own ing

And so, yo u , looking and loving best ,

Conscious grew,your passion drew

Clou d,sunset

;moo nr ise

,s tar - Shine t o o

,

Down o n yo u ,near and yet more near

,

Till flesh must fade fo r heaven was hereThu s leant she and lingered— joy and fearThus lay sh e a moment o n my breast .

Then we began to rid e . My soulSmoothed itself o u t— a long - cr amped scrollFr e shen ing and flu ttering in the wind .

Past hopes already lay behind .

What need to s trive with a life awry ?Had I said that

,had I done this

,

So might I gain , so might I miss .Might She have loved me ? j u s t as wellShe might have hated

,— who c an tell ?

Where had I been n ow if the wors t befell ?An d here w e are rid ing, sh e a n d I .

V

Fai l I alone,in words and deeds ?

Why,al l men strive and who succeeds ?

We rode it s eemed my Spirit flew,

Saw other regions,cities new

,

AS the world ru shed by o n either side .

I thought,—All labou r

,yet n o less

Bear u p beneath their unsuccess .Look at the e n d o f work

,contras t

The petty Done,the Undone vast

,

Thi s Present o f theirs with the hopefu l Pas tI hoped she

‘would love me here we ride .

V I

What hand a n d brain went ever paired ?What heart alike conceived an d dared ?What ac t proved all i t s thought had been ?What w ill but fel t the fleshly screen ?

2 3 9

240 Robe r t Br own ing

We ride and I see her bosom heave .There ’

s many a crown for who c an reach;Ten lines

,a statesman’s life in each

The flag stu ck on a heap o f bones,

A soldier’s doing what atones ?They s cratch his name o n the Abbey - s tones .My riding is better

,by their leave .

VI IWhat does it all mean

,poet ? well

,

Your brains beat into rhythm—yo u tellWhat we felt only ; yo u expressedYo u hold things beautiful the best

,

And pace them in rhyme so,side by Sid e

,

’Tis something,nay ’

t is much—but then ,Have yo u you rself what

’s best for men ?

Are yo u —poor, sick, O l d ere you r timeNearer one whit your own sublimeThan we who never have turned a rhyme ?Sing

,riding ’

s a j oy ! For me , I rid e .

VI I IAnd yo u ,

great scu lptor— so,you gave

A score of years to Art,her slave

,

And that ’s your Venus—whence we turnTo yonder girl that fords the burnYo u acquiesce

,and shall I repine ?

What,man of music

, yo u ,grown grey

With notes an d nothing else to say,I s this your sole praise from a fr iend ,Greatly his Opera’s s trains intend

,

Bu t in music w e know how fashi ons endI gave my youth— bu t we ride, in fine.

IXWho knows what ’s fi t fo r u s ?

i

Had fateProposed bliss here Should su blimateMy being had I signed the bondStill one must lead some life beyond ,

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242 R ober t Br own ing

Men nobly call by many a name the Mou ntAs over many a land of theirs its largeCalm front of snow like a triumphal targeIs reared

,and still with old names

,fresh names

Each to its proper prais e and own accountMen call the Flower the Sunflower

,sportively.

Oh,Angel of the East

,one

,one gold look

Across the waters to thi s twilight nook,

-The far sad waters,Angel

,to this nook

I I IDear Pilgrim

,art thou for the East indeed ?

G O Saying ever as thou dost proceed,

That I,French Rudel, Choose fo r my d evice

A sunflower ou tspread like a sacrificeBefore its idol . See These inexpertAnd hurried fingers cou ld not fail to hu rtThe woven picture ’tis a woman’s skillIndeed but nothing baffl ed me

,so

,ill

Or well,the work is finished . Say

,men feed

On songs I sing,and therefore bask the bees

On my flowe r ’s breast as o n a platform broadBu t

,as the flowe r ’s concern is not fo r these

Bu t solely fo r the sun,so men applaud

In vain this Ru del,he n o t looking here

Bu t to the East— the East Go,say this , Pilgrim

A Tocca ta of G a luppi’

s

1

OH

, Galuppi , Bal d assa r o , thi s i s very sad to findI c an hardly misconceive yo u it wou ld prove medeaf and blind

But althou gh I take your meaning,

’tis with such a heavymind

Fr en ch Ru d e l] Ru de l wa s a fa m ous t r ou ba d ou r . Tocca ta ]a. m u si ca l com posi tion . Ba ld a ssa r o Ga lu ppi] a Ven e tia ncom pose r .

R obe rt Brown ing 243

I I

Here yo u come with your o ld music, and here’s all the

good it brings .What

,they lived once thus at Venice where the merchantswere the kings

,

Where St . Mark’s is,where the Doges used t o wed the

sea with rings .P

Ay, because the se a’s the street there ; an d

’tis archedby . . what yo u callShl ck

’S bridge with houses o n i t

,where they kept

the carnivalI was never o u t o f England—i t ’

s as if I saw i t all !

Did young people take their pleasure when the sea waswarm in May ?

Balls and masks begun at midnight,burning ever t o mid

dayWhen they made upfresh adventur es fo r the morrow,

d o

yo u say ?

V

Was a lady such a lady, cheeks so r ound and lips so r ed,

On her neck the small face buoyant, like a bell -flowe r o n

i t s bed,

O’er the breas t’s superb abundance where a m an mightbase his head

VI

Wel l, (and it was gracefu l o f them) they

’d br eak talk Offand affor d

—She,t o bite he r m ask’s black velvet , he, t o finger o n

his swor d,While yo u sa t and played Toccatas

,s tately at the c lavi

Chord

244 R obe rt Br own i ng

What ? Those lesser thi rds so plaintive,sixths diminished

,

Sigh o n sigh,

Told them something ? Those suspensions,those solu

tions Must we die ?Those commisera ting sevenths Life might las t we c an

but t ry "

VI I I‘Were yo u happy ?

’ ‘Ye s

’ ‘And a r e yo u s till ashappy ? Yes . And yo u ?Then

,mor e kisses Did I s top them

,when a

million seemed so few ?Hark ! the dominant’s persistence

,til l i t mus t be a n

swe r ed t o

So an octave struck the answer . Oh,they praised yo u ,

I dare sayBrave Galupp i ! that was music ! good alike at graveand gay

I can always leave O ff talking,when I hear a master play.

’

XThen they left you fo r their pleasure : till in due time,

o n e by o n e,

Some with lives that came to nothi ng,some with deeds

as well undone,

Death c ame tacitly and took them where they never seethe su n .

But when I si t down to reason,think t o take m y s tand

n o r swerve,While I tr iumph o

’e r a secret wrung from natur e’s close

r eserve,In yo u come with your cold music , till I creep thro

’ everynerve .

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246 R obe r t Brom nz'

ng

A foolish thought,and worse

,perhaps

There mu s t be many a pair of friend sWho

,a rm in arm

,deserve the warm

Moon - births and the long evening - ends .

I I ISo

,for their sakes

,be May still May

Let their new time,as mine o f o l d

,

Do all i t did for me I bidSweet sights and sounds throng manifold .

IV

Only,one little sight

,one p lant,

Woods have in May,that s tarts up gr een

Save a sole s treak which,so t o speak

,

I s spr ing’s blood,split its leaves between

,

vThat

,they might spare ; a certain wood

Might miss the plant their loss were smallBut I

,—Whene’er the leaf grows there

,

It s drop comes from my heart,that ’s a ll .

Tbe Pa t r i otA n O ld S t ory

1

T wa s roses,r oses

,all the way

,

With myrtle m ixed in my path like madThe house- roofs s eemed t o heave and sway

,

The church - spires flamed,such flags they had

,

A year ago o n this very day

11

The air broke into a mist with bell s,

The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries .Had I said

,Good folk

,mere noise repels

But give me your su n from yonder skiesThey

‘

h ad answered,And afterward

,what else ?

R obe r t Brown ing 247

Alack,i t was I who leaped at the su n

T o give i t my loving friends t o keepNought man could d o

,have I left u ndone

And yo u se e my harvest,what I reap

Thi s very day, n ow a year is run .

IVThere ’

s nobody o n the hou s e- tops n ow

] u st a pa ls ied few at the windows se tFo r the best o f the sight is

,a ll a llow

,

At the Shambles’ Gate—o r,better yet

,

By the very scaffold’s foot,I trow.

V

I go in the r ain , and, more than needs,A r ope cuts both my wrists behind

And I thi nk,by the feel

,my forehead bleeds

,

Fo r they fling,whoever has a mind

,

Stones at me fo r my year’s misdeeds .

v1

Thus I enter ed,and thus I go

In tr iumphs,peopl e have dr opped down dead .

Paid by the World,—wha t dost thou owe

Me ? G od might question n ow instead,

’Tis G o d shall r epay I am safer so .

My L n r z‘

Du o/565 3

Fe r r a r a

HAT ’S my last Duchess painted o n the wall

,

Looking as if she were alive I callThat piece a wonder

,n ow : Fra Pan do lf

’s hands

Worked busily a day,and there she s tands .

Will ’t please yo u si t and look at he r ? I saidFra Pan do lf by d esign

,fo r never read

248 Robe r t Br own ing

Strangers like yo u that pictu red countenance,The depth and passion o f its earnes t glance

,

But t o myself they turned (since none puts byThe cur tain I have drawn for you , bu t I)And seemed as they wou ld ask me

,if they durst

,

How such a glance came there so,n o t the first

Are you to turn and ask thu s . Sir,

’twas notHer husband’s presence only

,called that spot

Of joy into the Du chess’ cheek perhapsFr é Pan do lf chanced to say Her mantle lapsOver my Lady’s wris t too much ’

,or Paint

Must never hope t o reproduce the faintHalf-flu sh that dies along her throat such stuffWas cou rtesy

,she thought , and cause enough

Fo r calling u p that spot of joy. She hadA heart how shall I s ay ? too so o n m ad e glad

,

T o o eas ily impressed she l iked whate’erShe looked o n

,and her looks went everywhere .

Sir,

’twas all o n e My favour at her breast,

The dropping o f the daylight in the West,

The bough o f cherries some o ffic io u s foolBroke in the orchard for her

,the white mu le

She rode with round the terrace— all and eachWould dr aw from her alike the approving speech

,

O r blush,at least . She thanked men

,—good but thanked

Somehow I know not how as if she rankedMy gift o f a nine- hundred -

years - o ld nameWith anybody’s gift . Who’d stoop t o blameThi s sort o f trifling ? Even had yo u skillI n speech— (which I have n o t) - t o make your willQuite clear to su ch an o n e

,and say Just this

Or that in you disgusts me here you miss,

Or there exceed the mark —and if sh e letHerself be lessoned so

,n o r plainly se t

Her wits t o yours,forsooth

,and made excu se

,

- E’en then would be some stooping,an d I chuse

Never t o st00p . Oh,Sir

,she smiled

,no dou bt

,

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2 yo R ober t Brown i ng

Ah,o n e and all

,how they helped

,wou ld d ispart n ow an d

n ow combine,

! ealous to hasten the work,heighten their master his

praiseAnd one wou ld bu ry hi s brow with a blind plunge down

t o hell,

Bu rrow awhi le and build,broad on the roots o f thi ngs

,

Then up again swim into sight,having based me my

palace well,

Fou nded it,fearless of flame

,flat o n the nether spr ings .

And another would mount and march,like the excellent

minion he was,

Ay, another and yet another, one crowd but with manya crest

,

Ra l sm g my rampired wal ls o f gold as transparent as glassEager t o do and die

,yield each hi s place t o the rest

Fo r higher still and higher (as a runner tips with fire,

Wh en‘

a great illumination surprises a festal nightOutlining round and r ound Rome’s dome from space t o

spire)Up

,the pinnacled glory reached

,and the pride o f my

sou l w as in sight .

In sight ? Not half ! for it seemed,i t was certain

,t o

match man’s birth,

Nature in turn conceived,obeying an impulse as I

And the emulous heaven yearned down,made effor t t o

r each the earth,

As the ear th had done her best,in my passion

,t o scale

the skyNovel splendou rs bu rs t forth

,grew familiar and dwelt

with mine,

No t a point n o r peak bu t fou nd and fixed i t swanderingStar

R ober t Br own ing 2 y r

Meteor - moo ns,ball s o f blaze and they d id n o t pale n o r

pine,

Fo r earth had attained t o heaven,there was n o more

near n o r far .

vNay more fo r there wanted n o t who walked in the glar e

and glow,

Presences plain in the place o r,fresh from the Proto

plas t,Furnished fo r ages t o come

,when a kindli er wind should

blow,

Lur ed n ow t o begin and live,in a house t o their liking

at las tOr else th e wonderful Dead who have passed th rough the

body and gone,

But wer e back once more t o breathe in an o ld worldwor th their new

What never had been,wa s n ow what was

,as i t shall be

anon ;And wha t i s

,— shal l I say

,ma tched both ? fo r I was

made per fect t o o .

All through my keys that gave their sounds t o a wish o f

my soul,

Al l thr ough my soul that prai sed as i ts wish flowedvisibly forth

,

Al l thr ough music an d me ! Fo r think,had I painted

the whole,

Why,ther e it had stood

,t o se e

,n o r the process so

wonder - worthHad I wr itten the same, made verse—s till , effect proceeds

from cause,

Ye know why the forms are fair,ye hear how the tale

is toldI t is a ll triumphant art

,bu t art in obedi ence t o laws

,

Painter and poet are proud in the artist - li st en rolled

2y2 R obe r t Br own ing

vr r

But here is the finger of G o d,a flash o f the will that c an ,

Ex1st en t behind all laws,that made them and

,10

,they

areAnd I know not if

,save in this

,such gift be allowed to

man,

That out o f three sounds he frame,not a fourth sound

,

but a sta r .Consider it well each tone of o u r s cale in itself is noughtI t is everywhere in the world—loud

,soft

,and all is

saidGive it t o me t o use I mix it with two in my thoughtAnd

,there ! Ye have heard an d seen consider andbow the head

vm

Well,it is gone at last

,the palace of music I r eared

Gone and the good tears start,the praises tha t come

too slowFo r one is assured at firs t

,one scarc e can say that he feared ,

That he even gave it a thought,the go n e

’

thi n g was

to go .

Never t o be again Bu t many more of the kindAs good

,nay

,better perchance is thi s your comfort

t o me ?To me

,who must be saved because I cling with my mind

To the same,s ame self

,same love

,same G o d ay, what

w as,shall b e .

1x

Therefore t o whom turn I but t o Thee,the ineffable

Name ?Builder and maker

,Thou

,o f hou ses not m ade with

handsWhat

,have fear of change from Thee who art ever thesame ?

Doubt that Thy power c an fill the heart that Thypower expands ?

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2 R ober t Brown i ngx11

Well,i t is earth with me silence resumes her reign

I will be patient and proud, and soberly acqu iesce .Give me the keys . I feel for the common chord again

,

Sliding by semitones,till I sink t o the minor

,-yes

,

And I blunt it into a ninth,and I stand o n alien ground

,

Surveying a whi le the heights I rolled fr om into thedee

Which,haik

,I have dared and done

,for my resting- place

is found,

The C Major of this life so,now I will t ry t o sleep .

Ec/J et los

ERE is a s tory shall stir yo u Stand up,Gr eeks dead

and gone,

Who breasted,beat Barbarians

,s temmed Persia rolling on

,

Did the deed and saved the world,for the day was

Marathon

N0 man but did hi s manlies t,kep t rank and fought away

In hi s tr ibe and file up,back

,out

,down—was the spear

arm playLike a wind - whipt branchy wood

,all Spear - arms a - swing

that day

But one man kept no rank and his sole arm plied no spear,

As a flashi ng came and went,and a form i’ the van

,the

rear,

Brightened the battle up,fo r he blazed n ow there

,n ow

here .

No r helmed nor shi elded,he ! bu t

,a goat- ski n all hi s

wear,

Like a till er of the soil,with a clown’s lim bs broad and

bar e,

Went he ploughing o n an d o n : he pushed with a ploughm an’s shar e .

R obe r t Brown ing 5"

Did the weak mid - line give way;as tu nnies o n whom theshark

Precipitates his bu lk did the right - wing halt when,s tark

On hi s heap o f slain lay stretched Ka ll im a cho sPolemarch

Did the steady phalanx falter ? To the rescu e,at the

need,

The clown w as ploughi ng Persia,clearing Greek ear th o f

weed,

As he routed through the Sakia n and rooted u p the Mede .

But the deed done,battle wo n

,- nowhere t o be descried

On the meadow,by the stream

,at the mar sh— look far

and wideFrom the foot o f the mountain , n o

,t o the las t blood

plashed seaside,

No t anywhere o n view blazed the large limbs thonged andbrown

,

Shearing and clearing still with the share before whi chdown

T o the dust went Persia’s pomp,as he ploughed fo r

Greece,that clown

How spake the Oracle ? Care for no name at allS ay but j ust thi s We praise o n e helpfu l whom we c allThe Holder o f the Ploughshare .” The great deed ne’er

grows small .’

No t the great name ! Sin g—woe fo r the great nameMiltiades

And i t s end at Paros isle Wo e fo r Themistokles—Satr ap in S ar dis court ! Name n o t the clown like

these

E M I L Y B R O N T E 1 8 1 8 - 1 848

Tbe Pr ison erA F r agm en t

N the dungeon - crypts idly did I stray,Reckless o f the lives wasting there away ;Draw the ponderou s bars open

,Ward er s tern

He dared not say me nay— the hinges harshly turn .

Our guests are darkly lodged,

’ I whispe r’d,gazing

throughThe vault

,whose gra ted eye showed heaven more grey

than blu e ;(This was when glad Spring lau ghed in awaking pride)Aye

,darkly lodged enou gh r eturned my sull en guid e .

Then,God forgive my you th forgive my careless

tongue ;I s coffed

,as the chill chains on the damp flagst o n es rung

Confined in triple walls,art thou so much t o fear,

That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetter shere ?

The captive raised her face it was as soft and mildAs sculptured marble saint

,o r slumbering u nwe an

’d

childI t was so soft and mild

,it was so sweet and fair

,

Pain could not trace a line,nor grief a shadow there !

The captive raised her hand and pressed it t o her browI have been struck

,

’she said

,and I am suffering n ow

Yet these are little worth,your bolts and irons s trong

And, were they forged in steel, they could no t hold m e

lo ngf

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2 ; 8 Em i ly Br on té'

Then dawns the Invisible the Unseen i t s truth r evealsMy ou tward sense is gone

,my inward essence feels

I ts wings are almost free— its home,its harbour found,

Measu ring the gulf,it stoops and dar es the final bound .

Oh d readful is the check—intense the agonyWhen the ear begins to hear

,and the eye begins to se e

When the pulse begins to throb,the brain to thi nk again

The sou l to feel the flesh,an d the flesh to feel the chain .

Yet I’

wo u ld lose n o sting,would wish no tortu re less

The more that anguish racks,the earlier it will bless

And robed in fires o f hell,or bright with heavenly shine

,

I f it but herald death,the vision is divine

She ceased to speak,an d we

,unanswering

,turned to go

We had no fu rther power t o work the captive wo eHer cheek

,her gleaming eye

,d eclared that man had given

A sentence,unapproved

,and overruled by Heaven .

L ost Lin er

O coward sou l is mine,

No trembler in the world’s s torm - troubled sphereI se e Heaven’s glories shine

,

And faith shines equ al,arming me from fear .

O G o d within my breast,

Alm ighty,ever - present DeityLife—that in me h as res t

,

As I—undying Life—have power in thee

Vain are the thou sand creedsThat move men’s hearts unutterably vain

Worthless as withered weeds,

O r idl est froth amid the boundless main ,

Em i ly Br on te”

2 $9

T o waken do u bt’

in o n e

Holding so fas t by thine infinity ;So surely anchored o n

The'

st e adfast rock o f im mor t ality .

With wide - embracing loveThy spirit animates eternal years

,

Pervades an d brood s above,

Changes,sustains

,dissolves,create s , and rears.

Though earth and man were gone,

And suns and universes ceased t o be,

And Thou were left alone,

Every existence would exist in Thee .

There is n o room fo r Death,

Nor atom that his might could render voidThou—THOU art B eing and Breath,

And what THOU art may never be destroyed .

W A L T W H L T M A N 1 8 1 9- 1 8 92

Pioneerr .

’ O Pion eer r !

COME my tan - faced childr en,Follow well in order

,get your weapons ready

,

Have yo u your pistols ? have yo u your sharp - edged axes ?Pioneers O pioneers

Fo r we cannot tarry here,

We must march my darlings,we must bear the brunt o f

danger,

We the youthful sinewy r aces, .

a ll the rest o n u s depend,

Pioneers O_pio n e e r s

O yo u youths , Wester n youths,So im patient , fu ll o f action

,full o f man ly pride and

friendship,

Plain I se e yo u Western you ths , se e yo u t r am pm g withthe foremost

,

Pioneers O pioneers

26 o Wa l t Wbi t znn n

Have the elder r aces hal ted ?Do they droop and end their lesson

,wear ied over ther e

beyond the seas ?We take up the task eternal

,an d the bur den and the

lesson,

Pioneers O pioneer s

All the past we leave behind,

We debouch upon a newer mightier world, varied wor ld,Fr esh an d s trong the world we seize

,world o f labour and

the mar ch,

Pioneer s.

O pioneers

We detachments s teady throwing,

Down the edges,throu gh the pa sses

,up the mountains

steep ,Conquering

,holding

,dar ing

,venturing as we go the

unknown ways,

Pioneers O pioneers

We primaeval forests felling,

We the r ivers s temming,vexing we and pier cing deep the

mines withi n,

We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving

,

Pioneers O pioneers

Colorado men a r e we,

From the peaks gigantic,from the great sierras and the

high plateau s,

Fr om the mine and from the gully,from the hunting

trail we come,

Pioneers O pioneers

From Nebraska,from Arkansas

,

Centr al inland race a r e we,fr om Missouri

,with the

continental blood in terve in ’d ,All the hands o f comrades clasping, all the Southern , all

the Northern,

Pioneers O pioneers

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Wa lt Wbi tnn t n

Life’s invo lv’d and varied pageants,

All the forms and shows,all the workmen at their work,

All the seamen and the landsmen,all the ~ m ast e r s with

their slaves,

Pioneers O pioneers

All the hapless silent lovers,

Al l the pr isoners in the prisons,all the righteou s and

wicked,

All’

the j oyous,all the sorrowing

,all the living

,all

dying,

Pioneers O pioneers

I t o o with my soul and body,

We,a curious tr io

,picking

,wandering on o u r way,

Through these shores amid the shadows,with the appari

tions p r essing,

Pioneers O pioneers

Lo,the darting bowling o rb

Lo,the brother orbs around

,all the clustering suns and

planets,

All thedazzling days,all the mystic nights with dreams

,

Pioneers ! O pioneers !

These are of u s, they are with u s,

A ll for pr imal needed work, while the followers ther e i nembryo wait behind

,

We to - day’s procession heading,we the r oute for travel

clearing,

Pioneers O pioneers

O you daughters (if the WestO yo u young and elder daughters O you mothers an d

yo u wivesNever must yo u be divided , in o u r ranks you move un ited ,

Pioneers O pioneers

Wa lt Wbitm a n 26 3

Minstrels latent on the prairies(Shrouded bards o f other lands , yo u may rest , yo u have

done your work,)Soon I hear yo u coming warbling, soon yo u rise and

tramp amid u s,

Pioneers O pioneers

No t fo r delectations sweet,

No t the cushi on and the slipper,not the peaceful and the

stud ious,

No t the riches s afe and palling,not fo r u s the tame

enj oyment,

Pioneers O pioneers

Do the feasters gluttonous feas t ?Do the corpulent sleepers sleep ? have th ey lo ck’d and

bolted doors ?Still b e ours the di et hard

,and the blanket o n the ground,

Pioneers O pioneersHas the night descended ?

Was the road o f late so toilsome ? did we stop discour agednoddi ng o n o u r way ?

Yet a passing hour I yield yo u in your tr acks t o pauseoblivious

,

Pioneers O pioneers

Till with sound o f trumpet,

Far,far o ff the daybr eak call—hark how loud and clear

I hear it wind,

Swift t o the head o f the army - swift spring t o yourplaces

,

Pioneers O pioneers

Tbe A rt i llery/m a n

’

s V ision

HILE my wife at my side lies slumbering, and thewars are over long

,

And my head o n the pill ow rests at home,and the vacant

midnight passes,

2 64. Wa l t Wbi tm a n

And through the s tillness,throu gh the dark

,I hear

,j ust

hear,the breath of my infant

,

There in the room as I wake from sleep thi s vision pressesupon me

Th e‘

engagem en t opens there and then in fantasy unreal,

The skirmishers begin,they crawl cautiously ahead

,I hear

the irr egu lar snap snapI hear the sounds of the different missiles

,the short t - b - t

t - b - t of the r ifle - balls,

I se e the shells exploding leaving small whi te clou ds,I hear

the great shells shrieking as they pass,

The gr ape lik e the hum and whir r o f wind throu gh thetr ees

, (tumultuous now the contes t rages ,)All the

.scenes a t the batteries rise in detail befor e meagai n

,

The crashi ng and smoking,the pride o f the men in their

p i ecesThe chi ef-gunner ranges and sights his piece and selects

a fuse o f the right time,

After firing I se e him lean aside and look eagerlyo ff tonote the effect ;

Elsewher e I hear the cry of a regim ent charging, (theyoung colonel leads himself this time with br an d ish

’d

sword,)

I see the gaps cu t by the enemy’s volleys , (quickly fil l’d

up,n o delay

,)I breathe the suffocating smoke

,then the flat cloud s hover

low concealing allNow a str ange ‘lu ll fo r a few seconds

,not a shot fired o n

either side,

Then resumed th e chaos lou der than ever,with eager

calls an d orders of officers,

While from some distant part of the field the wind waftsto my ears a shou t of applause

, (some special success ,)An d ever the sou nd of the cannon far o r near

, (rou singeven in d reams a devilish exultation and all the o l dmad joy in the d epths of my soul

,)

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266 Wa l t Wbi t m a n

Fast as she can sh e hu rries,something ominous

,her steps

trembling,

She does not tar ry t o smooth her hair nor adj us t he r cap.

Open the envelope quickly,

O this i s not o u r son’s wr iting,yet h is name is sign’

,d

O a strange hand writes for our dear son,O stricken

mother’s soulAll swims before he r eyes

,flashes with black

,she catches

the main words only,

Sentences broken, gun i bot wound in tbe br ea st

,ca va lry

sk ir m ish, ta ken to bospi ta l ,

14t pr esen t low,bu t wi ll soon be be t ter .

Ah now the single figure t o me,

Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio with all i t s cities andfarms

,

Sickly white in the face and dull in the head , very faint,By the j amb o f a door leans .

Gr ieve n ot so,clea r m otber

, (the just - grown daughter speaksthrough her sobs

,

The little sisters huddle around speechless and dismay’d,)See

,dea r est m otber , tbe le tter .fayi Pe te will soon be be t ter .

Al as poor boy, he will never be better , (n o r maybe needst o be better

,that brave and simple soul,)

While they stand at home at the door he 18 d ead already,The only so n is dead .

But the mother needs to be better,

She with thin form presently drest in black,By d ay her meals u n t o u ch

’d,then at n ight fit fu llV

sleeping,often waking

,

In the midnight waking,weeping

,longing with one deep

longing,

O t hat sh e might withdraw unnoticed, silent from lifeescape an d withd raw

,

T o follow,t o seek

,to be with her d ear dead son .

M A T T H E W A R N O L D 1 8 22- 1 8 8 8

Tbj r i i i

A MO NODY,to com m em or a te tbc a u tbor

’i f r iend , ARTHUR

HUGH CLOUGH,who d ied a t Flor en ce

,1 861

Thu s yeste r day, to- d ay, to- m o r r ow com e ,

They hust le on e an o the r a n d they pa ssBu t a ll ou r hu stlin g m o r r ows o n ly m akeThe sm o o th t o- d ay o f God .

F r om LUCRETIUS,a n u npubl isbed Tr agedy.

OW changed is here each spot man makes o r fill sIn the two Hinkseys nothing keeps the s ameThe vill age - s treet i t s haunted mansion lacks

,

And from the sign is gone Sibylla’s name,

And from the roofs the twisted chimney- stacksA r e ye t o o changed

,ye hills ?

See,

’t is n o foot o f unfamiliar m en

T o - night from Oxford up your pathway straysHere came I often

,often

,in o ld days

Thyr sis and I we still had Thyr sis then .

Runs it n o t her e,the track by C hildswo r th Farm ,

Up past the wood,t o where the e lm - tree crowns

The bi ll behind whose ridge the sunset flames ?The signal - elm ,

that looks o n l lsley Downs,

The Val e,the three lone weirs

,the youthful

ThamesThi s winter - eve i s warm

,

Humid the air ; leafless , yet soft as spring,The tender purple spr ay o n copse and briersAnd that sweet City with her dreaming Spires ,She needs n o t June fo r beauty’s heightening,

Lovely all tim es she lies,lovely t o - night

Only,methi nks

,some loss o f habit’s power

Befalls me wandering thr ough this upland dimOnce pass

’d I blindfold here

,at any hour

,

Now seldom come I,since I came with him .

26 8 Ma ttbew A rn o/cl

That single elm - tree brightAg ains t the west— I miss i t i s it gone ?We prized it cl early while i t s tood

,we said

,

Our friend,the Scholar - Gipsy

,w as n o t dead

Whi le the tree lived,he in these fields lived o n .

Too rare,too rar e

,grow now my visits her e

But once I knew each field,each flower

,each stick

And with the country - folk acquaintance madeBy barn in threshing - time

,by new- built r ick .

Here,t o o

,our shepherd - pipes we firs t assay

’d .

Ah me this many a yearMy pipe is lost

,my shepherd’s - holiday

Needs must I lose them,needs with heavy heart

Into the world and wave o f men departBut Thyr sis o f hi s own will went away.

I t i rk’d him t o be here,he could not rest .

He loved each simple j oy the country yields ,He loved his mates but yet he could not keep

,

For that a shadow low e r ’d o n the fields,

Here with the shepherds and the silly sheep .

Some life o f men u nbles tHe knew

,whi ch made hi m droop

,and fill’d hi s head .

He went hi s piping took a troubled soundOf storms that rage outside our happy groundHe coul d n o t wait their passing

,he is dead

So,some tempestuous morn in early June

,

When the year’s primal bu rs t o f bloom is o’er

,

Before the roses and the longest dayWhen garden - walks

,and all the gr assy floor

,

With blossoms,r ed and whi te

,o f fallen May

,

And chestnu t -flowe r s are strewnSo have I heard the cuckoo’s parting c ry,From the w e t field

,thr ough the vext garden- tr ees

Come with the volleying r ain and tossing breezeTbc bloom i f gone , a nd wi tb tbc bloom go I

the S cho la r -Gipsy] See Arn o ld’

s po em o f tha t n a m e .

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2 70 .lkl a t tbew A rn o/d

She knew each lily whi te which Enna yields,

Each r ose with blu shing faceShe loved the Dorian pipe

,the Dorian strain .

Bu t ah,of our poor Thames she never heard

Her foot the C u m n e r cowslips never st i r r ’dAn d w e shou ld tease her with our plaint in vain .

Well wind - d ispe r s’d and vain the words will be

,

Yet,Thyr sis, let me give my grief its hour

In the o l d hau nt,and fin d o u r tree - t opp

’d hill

Who,if not I

,for questing here hath power ?

I know the wood whi ch hides the daffodi l,

I know the Fyfie ld tree,I know what whi te

,what pu rple fritillaries

The grassy harvest of the river- fie ld s,

Above by Ensham,down by Sandford

,yields

,

And what sedg’d brooks are Tham es’s tributaries

I know these slopes who knows them if n o t I ?But many a dingle on the loved hi ll - side

,

With thorns once s tu dded,old

,whi te - blo ssom

’d

trees,

Where thick the cowslips grew,and

,fa r descried

,

High t owe r ’d the spikes o f purple orchi ses ,Hath since o u r day put by

The coronals of that forgotten time .

Down each green bank hath gone the ploughboy’steam

,

An d only in the hidden brookside gleamPrimroses

,orphans of the flowery prime .

Where is the girl,who

,by the boatman’s door

,

Above the locks,above the boating throng

,

Un m o o r’

d our skiff,when

,through the Wytham flats

,

Red loosestrife and blond meadow sweet among,

An d darting swallows,and light water -

,gnats

We t r a ck’d the shy Thames shore ?

En n a ] in Si c i ly, whe r e Pr o se rpin e wa s ca r r ied o ff to Ha d es.

M a t tbew Ar nold 2 7 1

Where are the mowers,who

,as the tiny swell

Of o u r boat passing he av’d the river- grass ,Stood with su spend ed scythe t o se e us pass ?

They al l are gone,and thou art gone as well .

Yes,thou art gone and round m e t o o the night

In ever- nearing circle weaves her shade .

I se e her veil d raw soft across the d ay,I feel her slowly chill ing breath invadeThe cheek grown thin

,the brown hair sp r ent with

grey 5I feel h e r finger light

Laid pauseful ly upon life’s headlong trainThe foot less prompt to meet the morning dew

,

The heart less bounding at emotion new,

And hOpe , once c r u sh’d,less quick t o spring again .

And long the way appears,which se em

’

d so shortT o the u npr a c t is

’d eye o f s anguine youth

And hi gh the mountain - tops,in cloudy air

,

The mou ntain - tops where is the thr one of Tru th,

T0ps in li fe’s morning - su n so bright and bare

Unbreachable the fortOf the long - ba t t e r

’

d world upli fts its wall .And strange and vain the earthl y turmoil grows

,

And near an d real the charm o f thy repose,

And night as welcom e as a friend would fall .

But hush the upland hath a sudden lossO f qu iet —Look adown the dusk hi ll - side

,

A troop o f Oxford hunters going home,

As in o ld days,j ovial and talking

,ride

From hunting with the Berkshi re hounds theycome

Qu ick,let me fly

,and cross

Into yo u fur ther field —’

T is done and se e,

Back’d by the sunset

,whi ch doth glor ify

The orange and pale violet eveni ng - sky,Bare o n i t s lonely ridge

,the Tree the Tree

2 7 2 Ma t tbew Ar no[d

I take the omen Eve lets down he r veil,

The whi te fog cr eeps from bush t o bush about,The west u nflu shes

,the hi gh stars grow bright

,

An d i n the sc a t t e r ’d farms the lights come out .I cannot reach the Signal Tree to - night

,

Yet,happy omen

,hail !

Hear i t from thy broad lu cent Arno vale(Fo r there thine earth f- o rge t t in g eyelids keepThe morningless an d unawakening sleep

Under the flowery oleanders pale) ,Hear it

,O Thyr sis, s till o u r Tr ee is there

Ah,vain These English fields

,this upland dim

,

These brambles pale with m is t engarlanded,

That lone,sky

- pointing tree,are not for hi m .

T o a boon southern country he is fled ,And now in happier air

,

Wandering with the great Mother’s tr ain divine

(And purer o r more subtle soul than thee,I trow

,the mighty Mother doth not se e

Withi n a folding of the Apennine,

Thou hearest the immortal strains o f old .

Putting hi s sickle t o the perilous grainIn the ho t cornfield o f the Phrygian king,

Fo r thee the Lityerses song againYoung Daphnis with hi s s ilver voice doth sing ;Sings hi s Sicilian fold

,

His sheep,hi s hapless love, hi s blind ed eyes

And how a call celestial rou nd him rangAn d heavenward from the fou ntain - brink he sprang

,

And all the marvel of the gold en skies .

Ther e thou art gone, and me thou l e avest hereSole in these field s yet will I not despairDespair I will n o t

,whi le I yet descry

’Neath the soft canopy o f English airth e gr e a t Mo the r] Dem e t er .

Li tye r ses son g] a Gr e ek ha rve st fo lk- son g, whi ch t o ld how the

shephe rd Da phn is wa s saved by Her a cles fr o m the Phrygian Kin gLi tye r ses, who had fo r ced hi m in to a r eapin g con t est .

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2 74 Ma t thew Arn old

T o o rare,too rare

,grow now my visits here

Mid city - noise,not

,as with thee of yore

,

Thyr sis, in reach o f sheep - bells is my homeThen through the great town’s harsh

,heart - wearying

roar,

Let in thy voice a whisper often comeTo chase fatigue and fear

Why f a in test thou P I wa nder’d ti l l I died .

R oa m on the l ight we sought is shin ing sti ll .

Dost thou a sk pr oof .9 O ur Tr ee ye t cr owns the hi ll ,

O u r Schola r tr a ve ls ye t the loved hi l lside .

G E O R G E M E R E D I T H 1 8 28 - 1 909

A Bal la d of Pa st Mer i d ia n

AST night,retu rning from my twilight walk

,

I met the grey mist,Death

,whose eyeless brow

Was bent on me,and from his hand of chalk

He reached me flowers as from a withered bough .

Oh Death,what bitter nosegays givest’ thou

Death said,I gather

,

’a n d pu rsued hi s w ay.

Another stood by me, a shape in stone,Sword - hacked and iron - s tained

,with breasts of clay

,

An d metal veins,that somethi ng fiery shone .

Oh Life,how naked and how hard when known

Life said,As thou hast carved me

,su ch am I .’

Then Memory,like the night - j ar on the pine

,

And sightless Hope,a woodlark in night sky

,

Sang notes of life and d eath till night’s d ecline .Of d eath

,of life

,those inwound notes are m ine .

D . G . R O S S E T T I 1 8 28—1 88 2

The La st Three f rom Trafa lg a rA t the A n n iv er sa ry Ba ngne t , 2 1st O ct ober 1 87

*

N gr appled shi ps around The Victory,

Thr ee boys did England’s Duty with stout cheer,

While o n e dread tru th was kept from every ear,

More dir e than deafening fire that churned the se aFo r in the flag - shi p’s weltering cockpit

,he

Who was the Battle’s Heart without a peer,

He who had seen all fearful sights s ave Fear,

Was passing from all li fe save Victory.

And r ound the old memorial board to - day,

Three greybeards - each a warworn British TarView through the mist of year s that hour afarWho soon shall greet

,

’mid memories of fierce fray,The impassioned soul which o n its radiant w aySoared through the fiery cloud o f Trafalgar .

A L G E R N O N C H A R L E S S W I N B U R N E1 8 37—1 909

Choru s f rom A ta la n ta

HEN the hounds o f spring are o n winter’s traces,

The mother o f months in meadow or plainFills the shadows and windy placesWith lisp o f leaves and ripple o f rain

And the brown bright n ightingale amorousIs half assu aged fo r I tylu s

,

Fo r the Thr acian ships and the foreign faces,

The tongu eless vigil,and all the pain .

8 2

2 7 6 Alg ern on Cha r/es Swinbu rne

Come with bows bent an d with emptying of quivers ,Maiden most perfect

,lady of light ,

Wi th a noise of wind s and many rivers ,With -

a clamou r of waters,and with might

Bind on thy sand als,O thou most fleet

,

Over the splendou r an d speed of thy feet ;For the faint east qu ickens

,the w an west shivers

,

Round the feet of the day an d the feet of the ii igh t .

Where shall we find her,how shall w e sing to her

,

Fold o u r hand s rou nd her knees,an d cling ?

O that man’s heart were as fire and cou ld spring to her,

Fire,or the strength of the streams that spring

For the stars and the winds are unto herAs raiment

,as songs of the harp - player ;

For the risen stars and the fallen cling t o her,

And the southwest - wind an d the west - wind sing .

For winter’s rains and ru ins are over,

An d all the season of snows and sinsThe days dividing lover an d lover

,

The light that loses,the night that wins

And time r em em be r’d i s grief forgotten

,

And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,

An d i n green u nd erwood an d coverBlossom by blossom the spring begins .

The fu ll s treams feed o n flower of ru shes,

Ripe grasses trammel a travelling foot,

The faint fresh flame o f the you ng year flushesFrom leaf to flower a n d flower t o fruit

And fru it and leaf are as gold an d fire,

And the oat is heard above the lyre,And the hoofed heel of a satyr crushesThe chestnut - husk at the chestnut - root .

And Pan by noon an d Bacchu s by night ,Fl e e t e r of foot than the flee t - foot kid

,

Follows with d ancing a n d fills with d elightThe Maenad and the Bassarid

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2 7 8 Algern on Cha r les Swinbu rne

Frail forces we findTo bridle the spiri t of Gods o r bindTill the heat of their hearts wax cold .

But the peace that was s tablished between them toI s rent n ow in twain by the strength of hi s handWho stirs up the storm of hi s sons overboldTo pluck from fight what he lost of right

,

By council and j udgement of Gods that spakeAn d gave great Pallas the str ife’s fair stake

,

The lordship and love of the lovely land,The grace o f the town that hath o n i t for crown

But a headband to wearOf violets o n e - hued with her hair

For the vales and the green high places of earthHold nothi ng so fair

,

And the depths o f the se a bear no such birthOf the manifold births they bear .

T o o well , too well was the great s take worthA strife divine for the Gods to j u dge

,

A crowned God’s triumph,a foiled God’s grudge

,

Though the loser be strong and the victress wi s eWho played long since fo r so large a prize

,

The frui tfu l immortal anointed adoredDear city of men without master o r lord

,

Fair fortress a n d fostress of sons born free,

Who stand in her sight an d in thine,O su n

,

Slaves of no man,su bj ects of none

A wonder enthroned on the hills and se a,

A maiden crowned with a fourfold gloryThat none from the pride of her head may rend

,

Violet and olive - leaf purple and hoary,Song - wreath and story the faires t of fame

,

Flowers that the winter can blas t not or bendA light u pon earth as the sun’s own flame

,

A name as his name,

Athens,a praise without e n d .

T H O M A S H A R D Y b. 1 84o

Fr ien ds Bg'ond

ILL IAM DEWY,Tranter Reuben , Farmer Ledlow

late at plough,

Robert’s kin,and John’s

,and Ned’s

,

And the Squire,and Lady Susan

,lie in Me llsto ck

chu rchyard n ow

Gone,

’ I call them,gone fo r good

,that group o f local

hearts and head s ;Yet at mothy cur few - tide

,

And at midni ght when the noon - heat breathes it backfrom walls and leads

,

They’ve a way o f Whispering t o me—fellow- wight whoyet abide

In the muted,measu r ed note

Of a ripple under archways,o r a lone c ave ’S s till icide

We have t r iu m ph’d : thi s achi evement turns the bane

to antidote,

Unsuccesses t o success,

Many thought - worn eves and morrows to a morr ow freeo f thought .

N0 more need we corn and clothi ng,feel o f o ld ter r es

trial s tressChill detraction stirs n o sigh

Fear o f death has even bygone u s : death gave all tha tw e possess . ’

W. D . Ye mid bu rn the o ld bass - Viol tha t se t I su chva lu e by .

’

Squ i r e . Yo u may hold the manse in fee,

Yo u m aywed my spouse, may let my chi ldren’s memory

o f me d ie .

’

2 8 0 Thom a s H a rdy

L a dy . Yo u may have my r ich brocades,my laces take

each household keyRansack coffer

,desk

,bur eau

Quiz the few poor treasur es hid there,con the letters

kept by me .

’

Fa r . Ye mid zell my favourite heifer,ye mid let the

charlock grow,

Fou l the gr in t e r n s, give up thrift .’

Wife . I f ye break my bes t blu e china,children

,I shan ’t

care o r ho .

’

A ll . We’ve no wish to hear the tidings,how the people’s

fortunes shi ft ;What your daily doings are ; 1

Who a r e wedded,born

,di vided ; if your lives beat slow

or swift .

Curious not the least are we if o u r intents yo u makeo r mar

,

I f you quir e to o u r o ld tune,

I f the City stage Still passes,if the weirs Still roar afar .’

—Thu s,w ith very god s’ composur e

,freed those crosses

late and soonWhi ch

,in life

,the Trine allow

(Why, none wi t t e th) , and ignoring all that haps beneaththe moon

,

William Dewy,Tranter Reu ben

,Farmer Ledlow late

at plou gh,

Robert’s kin,and John’s

,and Ned’s

,

And the Squire,and Lady Su san

,mu rmu r mildly to

me Il OW .

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2 8 2 R ober t Br idg es

Bu t in the pu rple pool ther e nothing grows,

No t the white water - lily spoked with goldThough best She loves the hollows

,and well knows

On quiet streams her broad Shields t o unfoldYet should her roots but tryWithi n these deeps to lie

,

No t her long reaching stalk could ever holdHer waxen head so high .

Sometimes an angler comes,and drops his hook

Within its hi dden depths,an d

’gainst a treeLeaning his rod

,reads in some pleasant book

,

Forgetting soon his pride o f fi sheryAn d dreams

,or falls asleep

,

Wh i le curiou s fishes peepAbout his nibbled bait

,o r scornfully

Dart o ff and rise and leap .

And sometimes a Slow figure ’neath the trees,

In ancient - fashi oned smock,with tottering care

Upon a staff propping his weary knees,

May by the pathway o f the forest fareAs from a buried d ayAcross the mind wil l s tray

Some perishing mute Shadow,

- and unawareHe passeth o n his way.

Else,he that wishes solitude is s afe

,

Whether he bathe at morning in the streamOr lead his love there when the hot hours chafeThe meadows

,bu sy with a blu rring steam

Or watch,as fades the light

,

The gibbou s moon grow bright,

Until her magic rays d ance in a d ream,

And glorify the night .

Where is thi s bower beside the silver Thames ?O pool and flowery thi ckets

,hear my vow

O trees of freshest foliage and straight stems,

No Sharer of my secret I allow

R obe r t Lou is St even son 2 8 3

Lest ere I come the whileS trange feet you r shades defile

Or lest the burly oarsman turn his prowWithi n you r guardian isle .

R O B E R T L O U I S S T E V E N S O N 1 8 5 0- 1 8 94

Chr i stm a s a t S ea

HE Sheets were frozen har d,and they cu t the naked

hand ;The decks were like a slide

,where a seaman scar ce could

Stand,

The wind was a nor’- wester,blowing squally O ff the se a

And cliffs and spouting breakers were the only thingsa - lee .

They heard the surf a - roaring before the break o f day ;But ’twas only with the peep o f l ight we saw how ill we

lay .

We tumbled every hand o n deck instanter,with a shout

,

And we gave her the m a in t ops’l,a n d Stood by to go about .

Al l day w e t ack’d and t ack

’d between the South Head

and the NorthAll day we haul’d the fr ozen sheets

,and go t n o fur ther

forthAll day as cold as charity

,in bitter pain and dread

,

For very l ife . an d nature we t ack’d from head t o head .

We gave the South a wider berth,fo r there the tide - r ace

r o a r’

d

But every tack w e made we brought the North Headclose aboard

So’s we saw the cliff s and hou ses

,and the breakers

ru nning high,

And the coastguard in his garden,with his glass ag ainst

his eye .

2 84 R ober t L ou i s Steven son

The frost was o n the village r oofs as white as oceanfoam

The good red fires were burning bright in every longshore'

homeThe windows sparkled clear

,and the chimneys vo l ley

’d

out ;And I vow we sn iff’d the victu als as the vessel went about .

The bells u pon the chu rch were ru ng with a mightyj ovial cheer

For it ’S j u s t that I Should tell yo u how (of all days inthe year)

This d ay of o u r adversity was blessed Christmas morn ,And the hou se above the coastguard’s w as the hou s e

where I was born .

O well I saw the pleasant room,the pleasant faces there

,

My mother’s Silver spectacles

,my father’s silver hair

An d well I saw the fir e l igh t , like a fl ight of homely elvesG O d ancing round the china - plates that s tand upon the

shelves

And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that w as of me,Of the shadow on the household and the so n that went

to se a

And O the wicked fool I se em ’d,in every kind of way

,

T O be here and hau ling frozen ropes on blessed ChristmasDay .

They lit the high sea - light,a n d the d ark began to fall

,

‘All hand s to loose top - gallant sails ! ’ I heard thecaptain call .

‘By the Lord,She’ll never stand it

,

’o u r first mate

jackson cried ,‘I t ’s the o n e way or the other

,Mr . Jackson

,

’ hereplied;

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2 8 6 S i r Wi lli a m Wa tson

Wailed n o t the wood s their task o f Shame,

Doomed to provide the insensate flame ?

Mourned not the rumouring winds,when She

The sweet queen of a tragic hour,

Crowned with ’ her snow- whi te memoryThe crimson legend of the T owe r ?Or when a thousand witcheries layFelled w ith one stroke

,at Fotheringay ? 1

Ah,thou hast heard the iron treadAnd cl ang o f many an armoured age

,

And well r e c all ’st the famou s dead,

Captains o r counsellors brave o r“ sage,

Kings that on kings their myriads hurled,

Ladies whose smile embroiled the world .

Rememberest thou the perfect knight,

The soldier,courtier

,bard in one

,S

Sidney,that pensive Hesper - light

O’er Chivalry’S departed sun ?Knew’

st thou the virtue,sweetness

,lor e

,

Whose nobly hapless name was More ?

The roystering prince,that afterward

Belied his madcap youth,and proved

A greatly simple warrior lor dSu ch as o u r warr ior fathers loved

Lives he not still ? for Shakespeare sinThe last o f o u r i

adven t

His battles o ’e r,he takes his ease

,

Glory put by,and sceptred toil .

Round him the carven centu riesLike forest branches ar ch and coil .In that dim fane

,he is not sure

Who los t or wo n at Az in co u r !

swe e t qu een ] La dy J a n-

e Gr ey . a tho u san d wi t cher ies]Ma ry Qu e en o f S co ts . Th e r oyst e r in g prin ce] Hen ry V .

S ir Wi ll i a m Wa t son

Roofed by the mother minster vastThat guard s Au gustine’s ru gged thr one

,

The darling Of a knightly PastSleeps in his bed o f scu lptured stone

,

And flings, o’

e r many a warlike tale,

The Shadow Of his du sky mail .

The monarch who,albeit his crown

Graced an au gu s t and s apient head,

Rode rou ghshod to a Stained renownO’er Wallace an d Llewellyn dead

,

An d eased at last by Solway strandHis restless heart and ru thl ess hand

Or that disastrous king o n whomFate

,like a tempest

,early fell

,

An d the dark secret of whose doomThe Keep o f Pomfret kept full wellOr h im whose light ly leaping wor dsOn Becket d rew the d astard swords

Or Eleanor’s undau nted son,

That,Starr ed with id le glory

,came

Bearing from ’leagu ered AscalonThe barren splendour of hi s fame

,

And,vanquished by an unknown bow

,

Lies vainly great at Fo n t evr au d :

Or h im ,the footprints Of whose power

Made mightier whom he overthrew ;A man bu ilt like a mountain - tower

,

A fortress o f heroic thew ;The Conqu eror

,in o u r soil who se t

This stem o f Kinghood flowering yet ;

t he m o the r m in st e r ] C a n t e r bu ry C a thed r a l .The B la ck Pr in ce . The m o n a r ch] Edwa r d I .d isa st r o u s kin g] Ri cha rd I I . O r h im

Elea n o r’s u n d a u n ted son ] Ri cha r d I .

2 8 8 S i r Willi a m Wa tson

These o r the living fame Of these,

Perhaps thou m in gle st—who Shall say

With thr ice remoter memories ,An d phantoms of the mistier day,Long ere the tanner’s daughter’s so nFr om Harold’s hands thi s realm had won .

What year s are thine, not mine to guessThe S tars look you thful

,thou being by ;

Youthfu l the su n’s glad—heartedness ;Witless of t ime the u nageing Sky

And these dim - groping roots aroundSO d eep a human Past are wou nd,

That,m u sm g in thy shad e, for me

The tid ings scarce wou ld s trangely fallOf fair - haired despots of the se aScaling our eastern island -wall

,

From their long Ship O f norland pine,

Their surf- deer driven o’er wild s O f brine.

Nay,hid by thee from Summer’s gaze

That seeks in vain this couch o f loam,

I should behold, without amaze,Camped on yo u down the hosts o f Rome ,

No r start thou gh English woodlands heardThe self- same mandatory word

AS by the Cataracts O f the NileMarshalled the legions long ago

,

Or where the lakes are one blu e smileNeath pageants O f Helvetian snow

,

Or ’mid the Syrian sand s that lieS ick Of the day’s great tearles s eye

,

Or on barbaric plains afar,

Where,und er Asia’s fevering ray

,

The long lines o f imperial warO’er Tigris passed

,and with dismay

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Sir Wi ll ia m Wa t son

Shall her great noons and sunsets beBlur r ed with thine infelicity ?

Now from these veins the S tr o f old,

The warmth an d lust of life departFull O f mortal ity

,behold

The cavern that was once my heartMe

,with blind arm

,in season due

,

Let the aerial woodman hew.

Fo r not though mighties t.

mortals fall,

The starry chariot hangs delayed .

His axle is uncooled,nor Shall

The thund er of His wheels be Stayed.

A changeless pace His coursers keep ,

And halt not at the well s o f sleep .

‘The South shall bless,the E

/

as t shall blig ,h t

The r ed rose Of the Dawn Shall blow ;The million lili ed Stream o f NightWide in ethereal meadows flow ;

And Autumn mourn ; and everythingDance to the wild pipe of the Spring .

With oceans heedless round her feet,

An d the indifferent heavens above,

Earth shall the ancient tale repeatOf wars and tears

,an d death and love

And,wise from all the foolish Past

,

Shall peradventure hail at las t

The advent o f that morn divineWhen nations may as forests grow

,

Wherein the oak hates not the pine,

Nor beeches wish the cedars wo e ,But all

,in their Unlikeness , blend

Confederate t o one golden end

Beauty the Vision whereunto,

In j oy,with pantings

,from afar

,

Fr a ncis Thom pson

Thr ou gh sound and Odour, form and hue,An d mind an d clay

,a n d worm and star

Now touchi ng goal , n ow backward hu r ledfToil s the indomitable world .

’

F R A N C I S T H O M P S O N 1 860- 1 907

The H ound of H ea ven

FLED Him ,down the nights and down the days

I fled Him,down the arches Of the years

I fled Him,down the labyrinthin e ways

Of my own mind and in the mist of tear sI hid from Him

,and under running laughter .

Up vistaed hopes,I sped

And shot,precipitated

,

Adown Titanic glooms Of chasmed fears,

From those strong Feet that followed,followed after .

But with unhurrying chase,

And unper turbed pace,

Deliberate Speed,maj estic instancy

,

They beat—and a Voice beatMore instant than the Fe c t

All thi ngs betray thee,who betrayest

I pleaded,outl aw - wise

,

By m any a hearted casement,curtained red

,

Trel li sed with intertwining charities

(Fo r , though I knew His love Who followed,Yet was I sore adread

Lest,having Him

,I must have naught beside .)

But,if o n e little casement parted wide

,

The gust Of His approach would clash it t o .

Fear wist n o t to evade as Love wist t o pursue .

Ac ross the margent o f the world I fle d,

Fr a n cis Thompson

And troubled the gold gateways o f the s tars,

Smiting fo r Shelter on their clanged barsFretted t o d u lcet j ars

And Silvern chatter the pale ports 0’ the moon .

I said t o dawn Be sudden to eve Be soonWith thy young Skyey blossoms heap me over

From thi s tremendou s LoverFloat thy vague veil about me

,les t He see

I tempted all His servitors,but to find

My own betrayal in their constancy,

In faith to Him their fickl e n ess to me,

Their t raitorous t rueness,and their loyal deceit .

To all swift things fo r swiftness did I sue ;Clung t o the whi s tling mane of every wind .

But whether they swept,smoothly fleet;

The long savannahs o f the blue ;Or whether , Thund er - driven

,

They clanged His chariot thwart a heaven,

Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn 0’ their

feetFear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue .

Still with unhurrying chase,

And unperturbed pace,

Deliberate speed,maj estic instancy

,

Came o n the following Fe c t,

And a Voice above their beatNaught shelters thee

,who wilt not Shelter Me .’

I sought n o more that after which I str ayedIn face o f man or maid

But Still within the little children’s eyesSeems somethi ng

,somethi ng that r eplies

,

7"

hey at least are fo r me, surely fo r meI turned me t o them very wistfu lly ;Bu t j ust as their young eyes grew sudden fair

With dawning answers there,

Their angel plucked them from me by the hair .

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2 94 Fr a n cis Thompson

‘The ir sound is but their stir , they Speak by silences .

Natur e,poor s tepdame, cannot slake my drouthLet her

,if She would ow e me

,

Drop yon blue bosom - veil of Sky, and show meThe breasts 0’ her tenderness

Never did any milk of hers once blessMy thirsting mouth .

Nigh an d nigh draws the chase,

With unperturbed pace,

Deliberate speed,maj estic instancy

,

And past those noised FeetA Voice comes yet more fleet

‘Lo nau ght contents thee,who co n t en t

’st not

Naked I wait Thy love’s uplifted StrokeMy harness piece by piece Thou hast hewn from me,

And smitten me ' to my kneeI am defenceless u tterly .

I slept,methinks

,a n d woke

,

And,slowly gazing

,find me stripped in Sleep .

In the rash lu stihead of m y young powers ,I Shook the pillaring hou rs

And pu lled my life u pon me grimed with smears,

I Stand amid the d u st o’ the mounded yearsMy mangled you th lies d ead beneath the hEap .

My days have crackl ed an d gone up in smoke,

Have pu ffed and bu rs t as su n - s tarts on a stream .

Yea,faileth now even dream

The dreamer,a n d the lu te the lutanist

Even the linked fantasies,in whose blossomy twist

I swung the earth a trinket at my wrist,

Are yielding ; cord s of all too weak accou ntFor earth

,with heavy griefs so ove rplu ssed .

Ah is Thy love ind eedA weed

,albeit an amaranthine weed

,

Sufferi ng n o flowers except i t s own to mount ?

Fran cis Thom pson

Ah ! mustDesigner infinite

Ah ! must Thou char the wood ere Thou c anstwith it ?

My freshn ess spent i t s wavering shower i’ the dustAn d n ow my heart i s as a broken fount

,

Wherein tea r - drippings s tagnate, spil t down everFrom the dank thoughts that Shiver

Upon the sighful branches o f my mind .

Such is what is t o be ?The pulp so bitter

,how Shall taste the rind ?

I dim ly guess what Time in mists confoundsYet ever and anon a trumpet sou ndsFrom the hi d battlements o f EternityThose Shaken mists a Space unsettle

,then

Rou nd the half - glimpsed turrets slowly wash againBut not ere hi m who su m m on e th

I firs t have seen,enwound

With glooming robes purpureal,cypress - crowned

His name I know,and what his trumpet saith .

Whether man’s heart o r life i t be whi ch yieldsThee harvest

,must Thy harvest fields

Be dunged with rotten death ?

Now o f that long pursuitComes o n at hand the bruit

That Voice is rou nd me like a bursting se aAnd is thy earth so marred

,

Shattered in shard o n shard ?L o

, all things fly thee, for thou flie st MeStrange

,piteous

,fu t ile thi ng !

Wher efore Should any se t thee love apart ?Seeing none but I makes much o f nau ght (HeAn d human love needs human meriting

How hast thou meritedO f all man’s clotted clay the dingies t clot ?

Alack, thou knowest n o t

2 9 6 Fr a n ci s Thompson

How little worthy of any love thou artWhom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee

,

Save'Me

,save only Me ?

All which I took from thee I did but take,Not for thy harms

,

But just that thou might’s t seek i t in My arms .Al l which thy child’s mistake

Fan cies as lost,I have s tored for thee at home

Rise,clasp My hand

,and come .’

Halts by me that footfall :Is my gloom

,after a ll

,

Shade o f His hand,ou tstretched caressingly ?

Ah,fondest

,blindest

,weakest

,

I am He Whom thou seekestThou d r avest love from thee

,who d r avest Me .’

R U D Y A R D K I P L I N G

Ford 0’

Kabu l R iver

ABUL town ’s by Kabul river

Blow the bu gle,draw the sword

There I lef’ my mate for ever,

Wet an’ d r ippin’ by the ford .

Ford,ford

,ford o

’ Kabul river,

Ford 0’ Kabul river in the dark !

There ’s the river u p.

and b r im m in’

,an’ there ’

S

’arf a squad ron swimmin’’Cross the ford o’ Kabul river in the

Kabu l town ’s a blasted place

Blow the bu gle,draw the sword

’Strewth I Sha’n’t forget ’is faceWet an’ d r ippin

’ by the ford

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2 9 8 R udya rd KiplingTurn your ’orse from Kabul townBlow the bu gle

,draw the sword

’Im an’ ’arf m y tr00p is down ,Down an’ d r own d ed by the ford .

Ford,ford

,ford o’ Kabul river

,

Ford 0’ Kabul river in the d ark

There ’s the r iver low an’ fallin’,but it ain t

use 0’ callin’’Cross the ford O’ Kabul river in the dark .

PRI NTED IN ENGLANDAT THE OXFORD UN IVERS ITY PRESS

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Th e Pa g ea n t o f En g l ish Pr os e ,be in g 5 00 pa ssage s by 3 25 a u tho r sfr o m th e XIV th to XXth Ce n tu r ie s ,a r r a n ge d in th e a lpha be t ica l o r d e r

o f a u tho r ’s n a m e s. S e le c t e d byR . M . LEO NARD, w ith a chr o n ologica l l ist o f a u tho r s w i th th e t i tl e so f ext r a c ts

,n o te s

,subje ct an d sty l e

in d exe s. 1 9 1 2 . W i th a h a l f—to n e

o f C a xto n’

s Tr oy Bo ok. Ox fo r dS tan d a r d Au tho r s. Pp . xxv i i i +744. Fr o m 45 . n e t .

En gl ish Prose fr o m Ba co n to

Ha r dy ,se le c te d by E K . BRO ADUS

a n d R . K . GORDON, w i th S u m

m a r ie s an d a few n o t es .

Pp. x i i + 6 1 2 . 65 . n e t .

En g li sh Pr ose fro m Ma n d evi l le to

Ru skin , cho se n a n d a r r a n ge d byW . PEACOCK. 1 903 . Pp. x iv + 3 8 0 .

25 . 3 d . n e t .

The sa m e,w ith n o te s by T. BA L

STON . 1 9 1 2 . Pp . iv + 5 32 . 3 5 . 6d . n .

C h a r a cte r s fr o m th e H isto r ie s a n dMe m o i r s o f th e S eve n te e n th C e ntu ry , w i th a n Essay o n th e Cha ra c te r a n d H isto r ical No te s by D .

NI CHOL SMITH . Pp . l i i

S eve n ty - six cha ra cte r s fr o m C l a r e n

d o n,Bu r n e t , Tho m a s Fu l le r ,

Aubr ey , S ir Ph il ip Warw ick, a n dm a ny o the r s.

1 9 1 8 “

En g l ish P r ose . Na r r a tive , Desc r 1p t 1ve , D r a m a tic (Ma lo r y to

S te ve n so n ) , c o m p ile d by H . A .

TREBLE. 1 9 1 6. Pp . xi i 5 10 . 25 . 3d .

n e t

Pr o se an d Ve r se

Th e Ox fo rd T r e a su ry o f Engl ishL i t e r a tu r e

,by G. E. HADOW a n d

W . H. HA Dow ,a s ta te m e n t o f

l ite r a ry a im s a n d m e tho d s a n d

a se le c tio n o f ch a r a c te r istic e x

a m ple s . With br ie f in t r o d u c t io n s,c r i t ica l . exp la n a to ry ,

o r b io g r aph ic a l . Thr e e vo ls .

, 4s . 6d . n e t e a ch.Vo l . 1. O ld Engl ish (Be ow u l f

m o d e r n ize d ) to Ja c o be a n . S e c o n de d it io n

,1 907. Pp. x i i + 3 5 6 . Vo l . I I .

The Gr ow th o f the Dr a m a . S e co n dc d .

,1 90 8 . Pp. v i i i + 41 6. Vo l . I II .

J a cobe a n tOV i cto r ia n . 1 908 . Pp .432 .

Pa tr iotic Pro se , se le c te d by F.

PAGE. In c l u d e s se le c t io n s fro m th e

w r i t in gs o fA c to n Ma tthew A r n o ld ,Be l lo c

,B u rke , Go r d o n , Jo hn so n ,

K e b le,La n d o r

,Ma zzin i , Na pie r ,

Pla to,Ra le igh, Ru skin , S a v i le ,Sy d n ey Sm ith , S te ve n so n , S w in

b u r n e,W a sh in g t o n ,W i lso n

,W o r d s

w o r th, & c .,

860. 1 9 1 5 . Pp . 220.

2 5 . 6d . n e t .

Th is En g la n d , an An tho logy fr omh e r w r i te r s , c o m p i le d by E.TH O MA S .

1 9 1 5 . Pp . 1 9 0 . 3 5 . n e t.

En g l ish Essa ys, Ba co n to S te ve nso n

,cho se n a n d a r r a n ge d by W.

PEACO CK . 1 903 . Pp . x ii 5 5 6. 25 . 3d .

n e t .

Th e sa m e,w ith n o te s by C . B .

WHEELER. Thi r d e d it io n,

1 9 1 3 .

Pp. x i i 68 8 . 3 5 . 6d . n e t . No te s,

25 . n e t .

En g l ish Essa ys , 1 600 - 1 900 ,

c ho se n by S . V. MA KOW ER a n d

B . H . BLACKWELL. 1 9 1 2 . Pp.x i i 400 . 25 . 3 d . n e t.

Th e sa m e, w ith n o te s by A . F.

S CHUSTER. 1 9 1 3 . Pp . x iv + 5 74.

3 s . 6d . n e t . No te s o n ly , 23 . n e t.

En gl i sh L e tte r s (XV—XIXth C e ntu t ie s) , S ir T. Mo r e to th e B r ow n

in gs a n d Cha r lo tte Br o n te, se le c t e db y M . DU C KITT a n d H. WRAGG .

1 9 1 3 . Pp . xvi +460 . 2 5 . 3 d . n e t;

Th e sa m e , w ith n o te s by E. Ma xW ELL . x vi 600 . 3 5 . 6d . 11 .

En g l ish S h o r t S to r ies o f th e

Ni n e te e n th Ce n tu r y , se le cte d byH . WALKER a n d H . S . M ILFORD.1 9 14, r e pr in te d 1 9 1 5 a n d 1 9 16.

Pp . xxxv i + 48 6. 2 5 . 3 d . n e t .

Ex e r c i se s in D ic ta t io n a n d C o m

po s itio n , w i th a vo ca bu la ry i h

c lu d in g a l l d iffi c ul t w o r d s , by N .

NO TMA N. 1 9 1 3 . Pp . 1 68 2s . 6d . n .

G r a d u a te d P a ssa g e s fo r Re p r od u c t io n

,in th r e e pa r ts, o f 1 the

sta n d a r d o f t r a in in g fo r n a va l

ca d e tsh ips,the Oxfo r d a n d C a m

br id ge S cho o l C e r t ific a te,

a n d

S a n d hu r st o r Wo o lw ich , by M . L.

BANKS . 1 9 1 2 . Pp . 1 9 2 . e s. 6d . 11 .

En g l i sh P r ose P a ssa g e s fo r

Re pe t it io n , cho se n a n d a r r a n ge dby H . A . TREB LE . 1 9 1 3 . Pp. 1 76.

1 3 . n e t . A lso S h o r te r P r o se P a ssa g e s , by th e sa m e . 1 9 1 8 . 1 5 . 3 d . 11 .

Exe r c i se s in Pr o se L ite r a tu r ea n d Co m po s i t io n

,by G . CLIFFO RD

DENT. 1 9 1 5 . Pp . 300 . 45 .

Also se pa r a te ly . Pa r t I,Te xt

, 9d .,

Te xt a n d Exe r c ises , 1 5 . Pa r t I I,

Te xt 1 5 .

,Te xt a n d Exe r c ise s, 1 5 . 6d .

Pa r t II I , Te xt , 1 5 . 3 d . ; Te xt a n d

Exe r c ise s, 25 .

S h o r t Essa y s fo r Fo u r th a n d

F ifth Fo r m s,

w ith spe c im e n

a n a ly se s, a n d a n i n d e x, by S . E.

W INBO LT . 1 9 1 7. Pp . 29 2. 3 s . n e t .

P r é o i s W r i ti n g , a pr ogr e ssivec o u r s e : Pa r t I fo r be gin n e r s

,

Pa r t I I O ffi c ia l Co r r e spo n d e n c e,M in u te s . & c . , pp. 146, gr a d u a te d ,

by F.E.R O EE5 0N . 1 9 1 3 . 2s . 6d . n e t .

Key , by J . A . MORTLOCK,pp . 5 0 .

5 5 . n e t .

tar ts 111 a nd IV.

Th e W r i t i n g o f En g l i sh , byP. J . HARTOG with th e ass is ta n c e

o f Mr s. An n II . LANGDON. Thir de d i t io n

,1 9 1 2 . ,Pp . x i i

, 1 64. 45 . n e t .

CONTENTS —f'he te a ch in g o f th e

m o the r to n gue a n d o f co m po s i tio nin Fr e n c h S m oo ls IV. Th e Wr it

in g o f En g ish , th e Re a d in g o f

En gl ish L i ter a tu r e ; V. L ite r a ryTr a in i n g. Wi th No t e s, Exe r c ises ,a n d I n d e x .

Fu l l l is ts o f a se r i es o f A n n o ta te d Ed it io n s o fEig l ish C lass ica l Au tho r s,u n d e r th e ge n e r a l e d ito r ship o f C . B. W H EILER , to be o bta in e d o n

a ppl ica t io n to Mr . M il fo r d . Th e se r ie s , wh ich co n ta i n s m o r e tha n fiftyvo lu m e s o f pr o se a n d ve r se , i n c l u d e s five vo hm e s o f a n tho lo g ie s a n dw o rks by A r n o ld

,Ba co n , Cow l e y , Cow pe r , D

gQu in c ey , Dufl

'

e r in,El iO t,Lan d o r , Ma ca u lay , Ma r low e

,Re a d e

,Ru skin

,co tt , a n d m a ny o the rs .

S e l e c t En g l i sh C l a ssi c s . A se r ie s o f sdec t io n s w ith in tr o d uc t io n sby S ir ARTHUR QUILLeR - COUCH.

Fu l l l ists o n a ppl ic a tio n .

Fca p 8 vo (6j x d ) . 6d . n e t e a ch .

O xfo r d P la in T ex ts . Fca p 8 v0 (63x va ry i n g in pr ice fr o m 6d .

n e t to 25 . n e t . A la r ge n u m be r o f Pla in Ttxts ha ve n ow be e n issued ,1n c lu d in g th e te x ts o f tw e n ty - thr e e o f the phf s O f Sha kespe a r e .

H i st o r i c a l P a ssa g e s fo' Pr é c is

Wr it in g,by F. E. R o s sso n. 1 9 1 7.

Pp . 1 1 8 . a s. 6d . n e t.

With the Pr o g r e ss ive Co u rse(a bo ve ) . 1 9 1 7. Pp. 264. 45 . n e t.

En g l i sh C o m p o s i t i on ba se d o n

th e stu dy o f l ite r a ry no d e ls, byA . C R Uss . 1 9 13 . Pp . z )o . 23 . 6d .

n e t .

CONTENTS —Th e H isb ry o f th e

Essa y , Wr i t i n g a n Essay , Type so f Essay , S ty le , Let e r Wr i t in g,Pa r a phr as in g

,Ve r seWr i tin g, S u m

m a ry , In d e x .

S e l e c t P a ssa g e s m Du ty to th e

S ta te a n d K in d r e d Subje c ts . Fo r

r e a d in g,a n a ly sis, an d t r a n sl a t io n

in Scho o ls a n d Ge lkg e s . Ar r an ge dby J . G . J ENNxNGs 1 9 1 3 .

Fi r s t S e r ie s,Pa r ts I a n d I I. Pp.

1 00 . 1 5 . 4d .

S e c o n d S e r ie s ,Pf) . 140 . 1 5 . 8 d

,

Pa r ts I—IV,in m e vo l . Pp . 230 .

a s 6d