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Good-By.

Marietta Holley

Again I see that May moon shine, Dost thou remember, soul of mine? I held your hand in mine, you know, And as I bent to whisper low, A tender light was in your eye, "Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by." There came a time my lips were white Beneath the pale and cold moonlight, And burning words I might not speak, You read, love, in my ashen cheek, As my whole heart breathed in this one cry, "Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by." Time's waves that roll so swift and fleet Have borne you far from me, my sweet, Have borne you to a sunny bay, Where brightest sunshine gilds your way, Do these words ever dim your sky - Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by? I cannot tell, but this I know They go with me where'er I go, I hear them in the crowded mart, At midnight lone, they chill my heart - They dim for me the earth and sky, Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart good-by. And in that hour of mystery, When loved ones shall bend over me, Near ones to kiss my lips and weep, As nearer steals the dreamless sleep, From all I'll turn with this last sigh, "Sweetheart, good-by, sweetheart, good-by."

Menie.

Robert Burns

Tune. - "Johnny's grey breeks." I. Again rejoicing nature sees Her robe assume its vernal hues, Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, All freshly steep'd in morning dews. And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, An' it winna let a body be. II. In vain to me the cowslips blaw, In vain to me the vi'lets spring; In vain to me, in glen or shaw, The mavis and the lintwhite sing. III. The merry plough-boy cheers his team, Wi' joy the tentie seedsman stalks; But life to me's a weary dream, A dream of ane that never wauks. IV. The wanton coot the water skims, Amang the reeds the ducklings cry, The stately swan majestic swims, And every thing is blest but I. V. The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, And owre the moorland whistles shrill; Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step, I meet him on the dewy hill. VI. And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Blythe waukens by the daisy's side, And mounts and sings on flittering wings, A woe-worn ghaist I hameward glide. VII. Come, Winter, with thine angry howl, And raging bend the naked tree: Thy gloom will sooth my cheerless soul, When nature all is sad like me! And maun I still on Menie doat, And bear the scorn that's in her e'e? For it's jet, jet black, an' it's like a hawk, An' it winna let a body be.

A Lover's Litanies - Third Litany. Ad Te Clamavi.

Eric Mackay

i. Again, O Love! again I make lament, And, Arab-like, I pitch my summer-tent Outside the gateways of the Lord of Song. I weep and wait, contented all day long To be the proud possessor of a grief. It comforts me. It gives me more relief Than pleasures give; and, spirit-like in air, It re-invokes the peace that was so brief. ii. It speaks of thee. It keeps me from the lake Which else might tempt me; and for thy sweet sake I shun all evil. I am calmer now Than when I wooed thee, calmer than the vow Which made me thine, and yet so fond withal I start and tremble at the wind's footfall. Is it the wind? Or is it mine own past Come back to life to lure me to its thrall? iii. I long to rise and seek thee where thou art And draw thee amorous to my wakeful heart That beats for thee alone, in vague unrest. I long to front thee when thou'rt lily-dress'd In white attire,--e'en like the flowers of old That Jesus praised; and, though the thought be bold, I'm fain to kiss thee, Sweetheart! through thy hair And hide my face awhile in all that gold. iv. I will not say what more might then be done, And how, by moonlight or beneath the sun, We might be happy. In a reckless mood I've talk'd of this; and dreams and many a brood Of tongue-tied fancies have my soul beset. I will not hint at fealty or the fret Of lips untrue, or anger thee therein, Or call to mind one word thou wouldst forget. v. I should withhold my raptures were I wise, I should not vex thee with my many sighs, Or claim one tear from thee, though 'tis my due. I should be silent. I should cease to sue! Sorrow should teach me what I fail'd to learn In days gone by; and cross'd at every turn By some new doubt, new-born of my desires, I should suppress the pangs with which I burn. vi. I am an outcast from the land of love And thou the Queen thereof, as white as dove New-sped from Heaven, and fine and fair to see As coy Queen Mab when, out upon the lea, She met her master and was lov'd of him. Thou art allied to long-hair'd cherubim, And I a something undesired of these, With woesome lips and eyes for ever dim. vii. I was ordain'd thy minstrel, but alas! I dare not greet thee when I see thee pass; I scarce, indeed, may hope at any time, To work my will, or triumph in a rhyme To do thee honour; no, nor make amends For unsought fervor, in the tangled ends Of my despair. How sad, how dark to me All things have grown since thou and I were friends! viii. It is the fault of thy despotic glance, It is the memory of a day's romance When, true to thee, though taunted for my truth, I dared to solemnise the joys of youth In one wild chant. It is thy fault, I say! Thy piteous fault that, on the verge of May, I lost the right to live, as heretofore, Untouched by doubt from day to brightening day. ix. O Summer's Pride! I loved thee from the first, And, like a martyr, I was blest and curst, And saved and slain, and crown'd and made anew, A grief-glad man, with yearnings not a few, But no just hope to win so fair a troth. I should have known how one may weep for both When lovers part, poor souls! beneath the moon, And how Remembrance may outlive an oath. x. The nymphs, I think, were like thee in the glade Of that Greek valley where the wine was made For feasts of Bacchus; for I dream at night Of those creations, kind and calm and bright; And in my thought, unhallow'd though it be, The sun-born Muses turn their gaze on me, And seem to know me as a friend of theirs, Though all unfit to serve them on my knee. xi. They lived and sang. They died as visions die, Supreme, eternal, offshoots of the sky, Made and re-made, undraped and draped afresh, To glad the earth like phantoms made of flesh, And yet as mistlike as delusions are! They stood beside Achilles in his car; They knew the gods and all their joysome deeds, And all the chants that sprang from star to star. xii. The myths of Greece, the maidens of the grove, The dear dead fancies of the days of Jove, Why were they bann'd? Oh, why in Reason's name, Were they abolished? They were good to claim, And good to dream of, and to crown with bays, Far-seen of men, far-shining in the haze Of withering doubts. They were the world's elect, As thou art mine, to bow to and to praise. xiii. Night after night I see thee, in my dreams, As fair as Daphne, with the morning beams Of thy bright locks about thee like a cloak,-- Fair as the young Aurora when she woke At Ph'thon's call, athwart the mountain-heights. I see thee radiant in the summer nights, And, bosom-pack'd with frenzies unrepress'd, I thrill to thee in Slumber's soft delights. xiv. I see thee pout. I see thee in disdain Look out, reluctant, through the falling rain Of thy long hair. I feel thee close at hand. I note thy breathing as I loose the band That binds thy waist, and then to waking life I backward start! Despair is Sorrow's wife; And I am Sorrow, and Despair's mine own, To lure me on to madness or to strife. xv. My sex offends thee, or the thought of this; For I did fright thee when I fleck'd a kiss With too much heat. I should have bow'd to thee, And left unsaid the word, deception-free, Which, like a flash, illumed the love within, My wilfulness was much to blame therein; But thou wilt shrive me, Sweet! of mine offence If passion-pangs be deem'd so dark a sin. xvi. Oh, give me back my soul that with the same I may achieve a deed of poet-fame, Or die belauded on the battle-field! There's much to seek. My hand is strong to wield Weapon or pen. If thou consent thereto Deeds may be done. If not, thine eyes are blue And Heaven is there,--a two-fold tender shrine Whose wrath I fear, whose judgment still I rue! xvii. I am but half myself. The life in me Is nigh crush'd out; and, though I seem to see Glory, and grace, and joy, as in the past, They are but shadows on the cozening blast, And dreams of devils and distorted things, And snakes coiled up that look like wedding rings, And faded flowers that once were fit for wreaths In bygone summers and in perish'd springs. xviii. There is a curse in every garden place, And when, at night, the lily's holy face Looks up to God, it seems to chide me there. The very sun with all his golden hair Is ill at ease, and birth and death of day Bring no relief; and darkly on my way My memory comes,--the ghost of my Delight,-- To fret and fume at woes it cannot slay. xix. Oh, bid me smile again, as in the time When all the breezes seem'd to make a chime, And all the birds on all the woodland slopes Had trills for me, and seem'd to guess the hopes That warm'd my heart. O thou whom I adore! How proud were I,--though wounded bitter-sore By shafts of doubt,--if, in default of love I could but win thy friendship as of yore. xx. Then were I blest indeed, and crown'd of fate As kings are crowned, as bards in their estate Are rapture-fraught, re-risen above the dust. Then were I torture-proof, and on the crust Of one kind word, though as a pittance thrown, I'd live for weeks! My tears I would disown And pray, contented with my discontent, As hermits pray when storms are overblown.

Behram And Eddetma.

Madison Julius Cawein

Against each prince now she had held her own, An easy victor for the seven years O'er kings and sons of kings; Eddetma, she Who, when much sought in marriage, hating men, Espoused their ways to win beyond their worth Through martial exercise and hero deeds: She, who accomplished in all warlike arts, Let cry through every kingdom of the kings: - "Eddetma weds with none but him who proves Himself her master in the push of arms, Her suitor's foeman she. And he who fails, So overcome of woman, woman-scorned, Disarmed, dishonored, yet shall he depart, Brow-bearing, forehead-stigmatized with fire, 'Behold, a freedman of Eddetma this.' Let cry, and many princes put to shame, Pretentious courtiers small in thew and thigh, Proud-palanquined from principalities Of Irak and of Hind and farther Sind. Though she was queenly as that Empress of The proud Amalekites, Tedmureh, and More beautiful, yet she had held her own. To Behram of the Territories, one Son of a Persian monarch swaying kings, Came bruit of her and her noised victories, Her maiden beauty and her warrior strength; Eastward he journeyed from his father's court, With men and steeds and store of wealth and arms, To the rich city where her father reigned, Its seven citadels by Seven Seas. And messengered the monarch with a gift Of savage vessels wroughten out of gold, Of foreign fabrics stiff with gems and gold. Vizier-ambassadored the old king gave His answer to the suitor: - "I, my son, What grace have I above the grace of God? What power is mine but a material? What rule have I unto the substanceless? Me, than the shadow of the Prophet's shade Less, God invests with power but of man; Man! and the right beyond man's right is God's; His the dominion of the secret soul - And His her soul! Now hath my daughter sworn, By all her vestal soul, that none shall know Her but her better in the listed field, Determining spear and sword. - Grant Fate thy trust; She hangs her hand upon to-morrow's joust, A prize to win. - My greeting and farewell." Informed Eddetma and the lists arose. Armored and keen with a Chorasmian mace, Davidean hauberk came she. Her the prince, Harnessed in scaly gold Arabian, met; So clanged the prologue of the battle. As Closer it waxed, Prince Behram, who a while Withheld his valor, - in that she he loved Opposed him and beset him, woman whom He had not scathed for the Chosro's' wealth, - Beheld his madness; how he were undone With shining shame unless he strove withal, Whirled fiery sword and smote; the bassinet Rushed from the haughty face that long had scorned The wide world's vanquished royalty, and so Rushed on his own defeat. For like unto A moon gray clouds have caverned all the eve, The thunder splits and, virgin triumph, there She sails a silver aspect, vanquished so Was Behram by his blow. A wavering strength Swerved in its purpose; with no final stroke Stunned stood he and surrendered; stared and stared, All his strong life absorbed into her face, All the wild warrior, arrowed by her eyes, Tamed, and obedient to lip and look. Then she on him, as condor on a kite, Plunged pitiless and beautiful and fierce, One trophy more to added victories; Haled off his arms, amazement dazing him; Seized steed and garb, confusion filling him; And scoffed him forth brow-branded with his shame. Dazzled, six days he sat, a staring trance; But on the seventh, casting stupor off, Rose, and the straitness of the case that held Him as with manacles of knitted fire, Considered, and decided on a way.... Once when Eddetma with a houri band Of high-born damsels, under eunuch guard, In the walled palace pleasaunce took her ease, Under a myrrh-bush by a fountain side, Where Afrits' nostrils snorted diamond rain In scooped cornelian, one, a dim, hoar head, - A patriarch mid gardener underlings, - Bent spreading gems and priceless ornaments Of jewelled amulets of hollow gold Sweet with imprisoned ambergris and musk; Symbolic stones in sorcerous carcanets, Gem-talismans in cabalistic gold. Whereon the princess marvelled and bade ask, What did the elder with his riches there? Who, questioned, mumbled in his bushy beard, "To buy a wife withal"; whereat they laughed As oafs when wisdom stumbles. Quoth a maid, With orient midnight in her starry eyes, And tropic music on her languid tongue, "And what if I should wed with thee, O beard Grayer than my great-grandfather's, what then?" "One kiss, no more, and, child, thou wert divorced," He; and the humor took them till the birds, That listened in the spice-tree and the plane, Sang gayly of the gray-beard and his kiss. Then quoth the princess, "Thou wilt wed with him Ansada?" mirth in her two eyes' gazelles, And gravity bird-nestled in her speech; And took Ansada's hand and laid it in The old man's staggering hand, and he unbent Thin, wrinkled brows and on his staff arose, Weighed with the weight of many heavy years, And kissed her leaning on his shaking staff, And heaped her bosom with an Amir's wealth, And left them laughing at his foolish beard. Now on the next day, as she took her ease With her glad troop of girlhood, - maidens who So many royal tulips seemed, - behold, Bowed with white years, upon a flowery sward The ancient with new jewelry and gems, Wherefrom the sun coaxed wizard fires and lit Glimmers in glowing green and pendent pearl, Ultramarine and beaded, vivid rose; And so they stood to wonder, and one asked As yesternoon wherefore the father there Displayed his Sheikh locks and the genie gems? - "Another marriage and another kiss? - What! doth the tomb-ripe court his youth again? O aged, libertine in wish not deed! O prodigal of wives as well as wealth! Here stands thy damsel"; trilled the Peri-tall Diarra with the raven in her hair, Two lemon-flowers blowing in her cheeks, And took the dotard's jewels with the kiss In merry mockery. Ere the morrow's dawn, Bethought Eddetma: "Shall my handmaidens, Teasing a gray-beard's whim to wrinkled smiles, For withered kisses still divide his wealth? While I stand idle, lose the caravan Whose least is notable? - My right and mine - Betide me what betides."... And with the morn Before the man, - for privily she came, Stood habited as of her tire-maids In humble raiment. Now the ancient saw And knew her for the princess that she was, And kindling gladness of the knowledge made Two sparkling forges of his deep dark eyes Beneath the ashes of his priestly brows. Not timidly she came; but coy approach Became the maiden of Eddetma's suite; And humbly answered he, "All my old heart!" - Responsive to her quavering request - "The daughter of the king did give thee leave? And thou wouldst well? - Then wed with me forth-right. Thy hand, thy lips." So he arose and gave Her of barbaric jewelry and gems, And seized her hand and from her lips the kiss, When from his age, behold, the dotage fell, And from the man all palsied hoariness; Victorious-eyed and amorous with youth, A god in ardent capabilities Resistless held her; and she, swooning, saw Gloating the branded brow of Prince Behram.

To Zoe

Walter Savage Landor

Against the groaning mast I stand, The Atlantic surges swell, To bear me from my native land And Zoe's wild farewell. From billow upon billow hurl'd I can yet hear her say, `And is there nothing in the world Worth one short hour's delay?' `Alas, my Zoe! were it thus, I should not sail alone, Nor seas nor fates had parted us, But are you all my own?' Thus were it, never would burst forth My sighs, Heaven knows how true! But, though to me of little worth, The world is much to you. `Yes,' you shall say, when once the dream (So hard to break!) is o'er, `My love was very dear to him, My fame and peace were more.'

Against The Cold Pale Sky

John Frederick Freeman

Against the cold pale sky The elm tree company rose high. All the fine hues of day That flowered so bold had died away. Only chill blue, faint green, And deepening dark blue were seen. There swinging on a bough That hung or floated broad and low. The lamp of evening, bright With more than planetary light, Was beautiful and free-- A white bird swaying on the tree. You watched and I watched, Our eyes and hearts so surely matched. We saw the white bird leap, leap Shining in his journey steep Through that vast cold sky. Our hearts knew his unuttered cry-- A cry of free delight Spreading over the clustering night. Pole Hill grave and stark Stared at the valley's tidal dark, The Darent glimmered wan; But that eager planet winging on, And singing on, went high Into the deeps and heights of sky. And our thoughts rising too Brightened the mortal darkness through Trembled and danced and sang Till the mute invisible heavens rang.

The Skyline Riders

Henry Lawson

Against the light of a dawning white My Skyline Riders stand, There is trouble ahead for a dark year dead And the selfish wrongs of a land; There are hurrying feet of fools to repeat The follies of Nineteen Eight, But darkly still on each distant hill My riders watch and wait. My Skyline Riders are down and gone As far as the eye can see, And the horses stand in the shades of dawn Where a single man holds three. We feel the flush and we feel the thrill Of the coming of Nineteen Nine, For my Skyline Riders are over the hill And into the firing line. The skyline lifts while a storm-cloud lowers, What's that? A shot! All's well! There is news out there for this land of ours That the tattling rifles tell. A 'thud' and a 'thud' and a flash like blood! There is light on the land at last! Australian guns on the nearer hills Are talking about the past. O, a lonely place in the days gone by Was the long first firing line, Where we fought as strangers, you and I, For the land that was yours and mine. There was time to dream in the firing line, There was time to starve and die, When the only things in that world of mine Were my Native Land and I. O, a lonely place was the firing line When the gaps were wide between, Hundreds of miles, in this land of mine And never a soldier seen. The dying must die and the dead were left Unmarked by the deadly tired, When struck to the heart in a firing line Where never a shot was fired. O, a lonely place was the firing line In the days of the dearth of men, But hundreds and hundreds of soldiers' sons Have flocked to the line since then We left it weak in the hour of pride, When our rule seemed firmly set, But danger threatened the firing line, And there's deadly danger yet. Proud of virtue, and proud of sin, Or proud 'neath a cruel wrong; Proud in failure or proud to win, Oh, the pride of man is strong! Proud of gold or of being without Or proud of women and wine, But get you down from your horse of pride And into the firing line. Pride in poverty, all the same, There's work for all men to do, With wrong to fight there is deathless fame To win in a land so new. Preacher and drunkard! and sportsman and bard! In the dawning of Nineteen Nine, Saints and sinners! ride hard! ride hard! They are pressed in the Firing Line.

A Prayer

James Joyce

Again! Come, give, yield all your strength to me! From far a low word breathes on the breaking brain Its cruel calm, submission's misery, Gentling her awe as to a soul predestined. Cease, silent love! My doom! Blind me with your dark nearness, O have mercy, beloved enemy of my will! I dare not withstand the cold touch that I dread. Draw from me still My slow life! Bend deeper on me, threatening head, Proud by my downfall, remembering, pitying Him who is, him who was! Again! Together, folded by the night, they lay on earth. I hear From far her low word breathe on my breaking brain. Come! I yield. Bend deeper upon me! I am here. Subduer, do not leave me! Only joy, only anguish, Take me, save me, soothe me, O spare me!

The Solution

Bertolt Brecht

After the uprising of the 17th June The Secretary of the Writers Union Had leaflets distributed in the Stalinallee Stating that the people Had forfeited the confidence of the government And could win it back only By redoubled efforts. Would it not be easier In that case for the government To dissolve the people And elect another?

Sonnet, Written On My Birth Day

Thomas Oldham

Again has Time his annual circle run, And April ushers in my natal day: Since first my infant eyes beheld the sun, How many a year has swiftly roll'd away! Full half my thread of life the Fates have spun; What various colours does the web display! Some dark, some brighter; ere the work be done The sadder hues will overshade the gay. Yet not to Melancholy will I yield; Against Despondency and Discontent Still Fortitude and Hope shall keep the field; Swerving from thee, O Virtue! I repent; Now! to repel Temptation I am steel'd; To follow thee I'm resolutely bent.

The Coiner

Rudyard Kipling

Against the Bermudas we foundered, whereby This Master, that Swabber, yon Bo'sun, and I (Our pinnace and crew being drowned in the main) Must beg for our bread through old England again. For a bite and a sup, and a bed of clean straw, We'll tell you such marvels as man never saw, On a Magical Island which no one did spy Save this Master, that Swabber, yon Bo'sun, and I. Seven months among Mermaids and Devils and Sprites, And Voices that howl in the cedars o'nights, With further enchantments we underwent there. Good Sirs, 'tis a tale to draw guts from a bear! 'Twixt Dover and Southwark it paid us our way, Where we found some poor players were labouring a play; And, willing to search what such business might be, We entered the yard, both to hear and to see. One hailed us for seamen and courteously Did guide us apart to a tavern near by Where we told him our tale (as to many of late), And he gave us good cheer, so we gave him good weight. Mulled sack and strong waters on bellies well lined With beef and black pudding do strengthen the mind; And seeing him greedy for marvels, at last From plain salted truth to flat leasing we passed. But he, when on midnight our reckoning he paid, Says, "Never match coins with a Coiner by trade, Or he'll turn your lead pieces to metal as rare As shall fill him this globe, and leave something to spare...." We slept where they laid us, and when we awoke Was a crown or five shillings in every man's poke. We bit them and rang them, and, finding them good, We drank to that Coiner as honest men should! For a cup and a crust, and a truss, etc.

Ashes Of Soldiers

Walt Whitman

Again a verse for sake of you, You soldiers in the ranks--you Volunteers, Who bravely fighting, silent fell, To fill unmention'd graves. Ashes of soldiers! As I muse, retrospective, murmuring a chant in thought, Lo! the war resumes--again to my sense your shapes, And again the advance of armies. Noiseless as mists and vapors, From their graves in the trenches ascending, From the cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee, From every point of the compass, out of the countless unnamed graves, In wafted clouds, in myraids large, or squads of twos or threes, or single ones, they come, And silently gather round me. Now sound no note, O trumpeters! Not at the head of my cavalry, parading on spirited horses, With sabres drawn and glist'ning, and carbines by their thighs--(ah, my brave horsemen! My handsome, tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride, With all the perils, were yours!) Nor you drummers--neither at reveille, at dawn, Nor the long roll alarming the camp--nor even the muffled beat for a burial; Nothing from you, this time, O drummers, bearing my warlike drums. But aside from these, and the marts of wealth, and the crowded promenade, Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the rest, and voiceless, The slain elate and alive again--the dust and debris alive, I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all dead soldiers. Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet; Draw close, but speak not. Phantoms of countless lost! Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my companions! Follow me ever! desert me not, while I live. Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living! sweet are the musical voices sounding! But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, with their silent eyes. Dearest comrades! all is over and long gone; But love is not over--and what love, O comrades! Perfume from battle-fields rising--up from foetor arising. Perfume therefore my chant, O love! immortal Love! Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers, Shroud them, embalm them, cover them all over with tender pride! Perfume all! make all wholesome! Make these ashes to nourish and blossom, O love! O chant! solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry. Give me exhaustless--make me a fountain, That I exhale love from me wherever I go, like a moist perennial dew, For the ashes of all dead soldiers.

The King's Task

Rudyard Kipling

After the sack of the City, when Rome was sunk to a name, In the years that the lights were darkened, or ever St. Wilfrid came, Low on the borders of Britain (the ancient poets sing) Between the Cliff and the Forest there ruled a Saxon King. Stubborn all were his people from cottar to overlord, Not to be cowed by the cudgel, scarce to be schooled by the sword; Quick to turn at their pleasure, cruel to cross in their mood, And set on paths of their choosing as the hogs of Andred's Wood. Laws they made in the Witan, the laws of flaying and fine, Common, loppage and pannage, the theft and the track of kine, Statutes of tun and of market for the fish and the malt and the meal, The tax on the Bramber packhorse and the tax on the Hastings keel. Over the graves of the Druids and under the wreck of Rome, Rudely but surely they bedded the plinth of the days to come. Behind the feet of the Legions and before the Norseman's ire Rudely but greatly begat they the framing of State and Shire. Rudely but deeply they laboured, and their labour stands till now, If we trace on our ancient headlands the twist of their eight-ox plough.... There came a king from Hamtun, by Bosenham he came, He filled Use with slaughter, and Lewes he gave to flame. He smote while they sat in the Witan, sudden he smote and sore, That his fleet was gathered at Selsea ere they mustered at Cymen's Ore. Blithe went the Saxons to battle, by down and wood and mere, But thrice the acorns ripened ere the western mark was clear. Thrice was the beechmast gathered, and the Beltane fires burned Thrice, and the beeves were salted thrice ere the host returned. They drove that king from Hamtun, by Bosenham o'erthrown, Our of Rugnor to Wilton they made his land their own. Camps they builded at Gilling, at Basing and Alresford, But wrath abode in the Saxons from cottar to overlord. Wrath at the weary war-game, at the foe that snapped and ran, Wolf-wise feigning and flying, and wolf-wise snatching his man. Wrath for their spears unready, their levies new to the blade, Shame for the helpless sieges and the scornful ambuscade. At hearth and tavern and market, wherever the tale was told, Shame and wrath had the Saxons because of their boasts of old. And some would drink and deny it, and some would pray and atone; But the most part, after their anger, avouched that the sin was their own. Wherefore, girding together, up to the Witan they came, And as they had shouldered their bucklers so did they shoulder their blame; (For that was the wont of the Saxons, the ancient poets sing), And first they spoke in the Witan and then they spoke to the King: "Edward King of the Saxons, thou knowest from sire to son, "One is the King and his People, in gain and ungain one. "Count we the gain together. With doubtings and spread dismays "We have broken a foolish people, but after many days. "Count we the loss together. Warlocks hampered our arms. "We were tricked as by magic, we were turned as by charms. "We went down to the battle and the road was plain to keep, "But our angry eyes were holden, and we struck as they strike in sleep, "Men new shaken from slumber, sweating with eyes a-stare "Little blows uncertain, dealt on the useless air. "Also a vision betrayed us and a lying tale made bold, "That we looked to hold what we had not and to have what we did not hold: That a shield should give us shelter, that a sword should give us power, A shield snatched up at a venture and a hilt scarce handled an hour: "That being rich in the open, we should be strong in the close, "And the Gods would sell us a cunning for the day that we met our foes. "This was the work of wizards, but not with our foe they bide, "In our own camp we took them, and their names are Sloth and Pride. "Our pride was before the battle, our sloth ere we lifted spear: "But hid in the heart of the people, as the fever hides in the mere: "Waiting only the war-game, the heat of the strife to rise "As the ague fumes round Oxeney when the rotting reed-bed dries. "But now we are purged of that fever, cleansed by the letting of blood, "Something leaner of body, something keener of mood. "And the men new, freed from the levies return to the fields again, "Matching a hundred battles, cottar and lord and thane; "And they talk loud in the temples where the ancient war- gods are; "They thumb and mock and belittle the holy harness of war. "They jest at the sacred chariots, the robes and the gilded staff. "These things fill them with laughter, they lean on their spears and laugh. "The men grown old in the war-game, hither and thither they range, "And scorn and laughter together are sire and dam of change; "And change may be good or evil, but we know not what it will bring; "Therefore our King must teach us. That is thy task, 0 King!"

After Yesterday

A. R. Ammons

After yesterday afternoon's blue clouds and white rain the mockingbird in the backyard untied the drops from leaves and twigs with a long singing.

The Botanic Garden. Part II. Containing The Loves of the Plants. A Poem. With Philosophical Notes: Canto II.

Erasmus Darwin

The Botanic Garden. Part II. Containing The Loves of the Plants. A Poem. With Philosophical Notes: Canto II. Again the Goddess strikes the golden lyre, And tunes to wilder notes the warbling wire; With soft suspended step Attention moves, And Silence hovers o'er the listening groves; 5    Orb within orb the charmed audience throng, And the green vault reverberates the song. "Breathe soft, ye Gales!" the fair CARLINA cries, Bear on broad wings your Votress to the skies. How sweetly mutable yon orient hues, 10    As Morn's fair hand her opening roses strews; How bright, when Iris blending many a ray Binds in embroider'd wreath the brow of Day; Soft, when the pendant Moon with lustres pale O'er heaven's blue arch unfurls her milky veil; 15    While from the north long threads of silver light Dart on swift shuttles o'er the tissued night! [Carlina. l. 7. Carline Thistle. Of the class Confederate Males. The seeds of this and of many other plants of the same class are furnished with a plume, by which admirable mechanism they perform long aerial journeys, crossing lakes and deserts, and are thus disseminated far from the original plant, and have much the appearance of a Shuttlecock as they fly. The wings are of different construction, some being like a divergent tuft of hairs, others are branched like feathers, some are elevated from the crown of the seed by a slender foot-stalk, which gives, than a very elegant appearance, others sit immediately on the crown of the seed. Nature has many other curious vegetable contrivances for the dispersion of seeds: see note on Helianthus. But perhaps none of them has more the appearance of design than the admirable apparatus of Tillandsia for this purpose. This plant grows on the branches of trees, like the misleto, and never on the ground; the seeds are furnished with many long threads on their crowns; which, as they are driven forwards by the winds, wrap round the arms of trees, and thus hold them fast till they vegetate. This it very analogous to the migration of Spiders on the gossamer, who are said to attach themselves to the end of a long thread, and rise thus to the tops of trees or buildings, as the accidental breezes carry them.] "Breathe soft, ye Zephyrs! hear my fervent sighs, Bear on broad wings your Votress to the skies!"-- --Plume over plume in long divergent lines 20    On whale-bone ribs the fair Mechanic joins; Inlays with eider down the silken strings, And weaves in wide expanse D'dalian wings; Round her bold sons the waving pennons binds, And walks with angel-step upon the winds. 25    So on the shoreless air the intrepid Gaul Launch'd the vast concave of his buoyant ball.-- Journeying on high, the silken castle glides Bright as a meteor through the azure tides; O'er towns and towers and temples wins its way, 30    Or mounts sublime, and gilds the vault of day. Silent with upturn'd eyes unbreathing crowds Pursue the floating wonder to the clouds; And, flush'd with transport or benumb'd with fear, Watch, as it rises, the diminish'd sphere. 35    --Now less and less!--and now a speck is seen!-- And now the fleeting rack obtrudes between!-- With bended knees, raised arms, and suppliant brow To every shrine with mingled cries they vow.-- "Save Him, ye Saints! who o'er the good preside; 40    "Bear Him, ye Winds! ye Stars benignant! guide." --The calm Philosopher in ether fails, Views broader stars, and breathes in purer gales; Sees, like a map, in many a waving line Round Earth's blue plains her lucid waters mine; 45    Sees at his feet the forky lightnings glow, And hears innocuous thunders roar below. ----Rife, great MONGOLFIER! urge thy venturous flight High o'er the Moon's pale ice-reflected light; High o'er the pearly Star, whose beamy horn. 50    Hangs in the east, gay harbinger of morn; Leave the red eye of Mars on rapid wing; Jove's silver guards, and Saturn's dusky ring; Leave the fair beams, which, issuing from afar; Play with new lustres round the Georgian star; 55    Shun with strong oars the Sun's attractive throne, The sparkling zodiack, and the milky zone; Where headlong Comets with increasing force Through other systems bend their blazing course.-- For thee Cassiope her chair withdraws, 60    For thee the Bear retracts his shaggy paws; High o'er the North thy golden orb shall roll, And blaze eternal round the wondering pole. So Argo, rising from the southern main, Lights with new stars the blue etherial plain; 65    With favoring beams the mariner protects, And the bold course, which first it steer'd, directs. Inventress of the Woof, fair LINA flings The flying shuttle through the dancing strings; [For thee the Bear. l. 60. Tibi jam brachia contrahit ardens Scorpius. Virg. Georg. l. 1. 34. A new star appeared in Cassiope's chair in 1572. Herschel's Construction of the Heavens. Phil. Trans. V. 75. p. 266.] [Linum. l. 67. Flax Five males and five females. It was first found on the banks of the Nile. The Linum Lusitanicum, or portigal flax, has ten males: see the note on Curcuma. Isis was said to invent spinning and weaving: mankind before that time were clothed with the skins of animals. The fable of Arachne was to compliment this new art of spinning and weaving, supposed to surpass in fineness the web of the Spider.] Inlays the broider'd weft with flowery dyes, 70    Quick beat the reeds, the pedals fall and rise; Slow from the beam the lengths of warp unwind, And dance and nod the massy weights behind.-- Taught by her labours, from the fertile soil Immortal Isis clothed the banks of Nile; 75    And fair ARACHNE with her rival loom Found undeserved a melancholy doom.-- Five Sister-nymphs with dewy fingers twine The beamy flax, and stretch the fibre-line; Quick eddying threads from rapid spindles reel, 80    Or whirl with beaten foot the dizzy wheel. --Charm'd round the busy Fair five shepherds press, Praise the nice texture of their snowy dress, Admire the Artists, and the art approve, And tell with honey'd words the tale of love. 85    So now, where Derwent rolls his dusky floods Through vaulted mountains, and a night of woods, The Nymph, GOSSYPIA, treads the velvet sod, And warms with rosy smiles the watery God; His ponderous oars to slender spindles turns, 90    And pours o'er massy wheels his foamy urns; With playful charms her hoary lover wins, And wields his trident,--while the Monarch spins. --First with nice eye emerging Naiads cull From leathery pods the vegetable wool; [Gossypia. l. 87. Gossypium. The cotton plant. On the river Derwent near Matlock in Derbyshire, Sir RICHARD ARKWRIGHT has created his curious and magnificent machinery for spinning cotton; which had been in vain attempted by many ingenious artists before him. The cotton-wool is first picked from the pods and seeds by women. It is then carded by cylindrical cards, which move against each other, with different velocities. It is taken from these by an iron-hand or comb, which has a motion similar to that of scratching, and takes the wool off the cards longitudinally in respect to the fibres or staple, producing a continued line loosely cohering, called the Rove or Roving. This Rove, yet very loosely twisted, is then received or drawn into a whirling canister, and is rolled by the centrifugal force in spiral lines within it; being yet too tender for the spindle. It is then passed between two pairs of rollers; the second pair moving faster than the first elongate the thread with greater equality than can be done by the hand; and is then twisted on spoles or bobbins. The great fertility of the Cotton-plant in these fine flexile threads, whilst those from Flax, Hemp, and Nettles, or from the bark of the Mulberry-tree, require a previous putrefection of the parenchymatous substance, and much mechanical labour, and afterwards bleaching, renders this plant of great importance to the world. And since Sir Richard Arkwright's ingenious machine has not only greatly abbreviated and simplefied the labour and art of carding and spinning the Cotton-wool, but performs both these circumstances better than can be done by hand, it is probable, that the clothing of this small seed will become the principal clothing of mankind; though animal wool and silk may be preferable in colder climates, as they are more imperfect conductors of heat, and are thence a warmer clothing.] 95    With wiry teeth revolving cards release The tanged knots, and smooth the ravell'd fleece; Next moves the iron-band with fingers fine, Combs the wide card, and forms the eternal line; Slow, with soft lips, the whirling Can acquires 100 The tender skeins, and wraps in rising spires; With quicken'd pace successive rollers move, And these retain, and those extend the rove; Then fly the spoles, the rapid axles glow;-- And slowly circumvolves the labouring wheel below. 105 PAPYRA, throned upon the banks of Nile, Spread her smooth leaf, and waved her silver style. [Cyperus. Papyrus. l. 105. Three males, one female. The leaf of this plant was first used for paper, whence the word paper; and leaf, or folium, for a fold of a book. Afterwards the bark of a species of mulberry was used; whence liber signifies a book, and the bark of a tree. Before the invention of letters mankind may be said to have been perpetually in their infancy, as the arts of one age or country generally died with their inventors. Whence arose the policy, which still continues in Indostan, of obliging the son to practice the profession of his father. After the discovery of letters, the facts of Astronomy and Chemistry became recorded in written language, though the antient hieroglyphic characters for the planets and metals continue in use at this day. The antiquity of the invention of music, of astronomical observations, and the manufacture of Gold and Iron, are recorded in Scripture.] --The storied pyramid, the laurel'd bust, The trophy'd arch had crumbled into dust; The sacred symbol, and the epic song, 110 (Unknown the character, forgot the tongue,) With each unconquer'd chief, or fainted maid, Sunk undistinguish'd in Oblivion's shade. Sad o'er the scatter'd ruins Genius sigh'd, And infant Arts but learn'd to lisp and died. 115 Till to astonish'd realms PAPYRA taught To paint in mystic colours Sound and Thought. With Wisdom's voice to print the page sublime, And mark in adamant the steps of Time. --Three favour'd youths her soft attention share, 120 The fond disciples of the studious Fair, [About twenty letters, ten cyphers, and seven crotches, represent by their numerous combinations all our ideas and sensations! the musical characters are probably arrived at their perfection, unless emphasis, and tone, and swell could be expressed, as well as note and time. Charles the Twelfth of Sweden had a design to have introduced a numeration by squares, instead of by decimation, which might have served the purposes of philosophy better than the present mode, which is said to be of Arabic invention. The alphabet is yet in a very imperfect state; perhaps seventeen letters could express all the simple sounds in the European languages. In China they have not yet learned to divide their words into syllables, and are thence necessitated to employ many thousand characters; it is said above eighty thousand. It is to be wished, in this ingenious age, that the European nations would accord to reform our alphabet.] Hear her sweet voice, the golden process prove; Gaze, as they learn; and, as they listen, love. The first from Alpha to Omega joins The letter'd tribes along the level lines; 125 Weighs with nice ear the vowel, liquid, surd, And breaks in syllables the volant word. Then forms the next upon the marshal'd plain In deepening ranks his dexterous cypher-train; And counts, as wheel the decimating bands, 130 The dews of 'gypt, or Arabia's sands, And then the third on four concordant lines Prints the lone crotchet, and the quaver joins; Marks the gay trill, the solemn pause inscribes, And parts with bars the undulating tribes. 135 Pleased round her cane-wove throne, the applauding crowd Clap'd their rude hands, their swarthy foreheads bow'd; With loud acclaim "a present God!" they cry'd, "A present God!" rebellowing shores reply'd-- Then peal'd at intervals with mingled swell 140 The echoing harp, shrill clarion, horn, and shell; While Bards ecstatic, bending o'er the lyre, Struck deeper chords, and wing'd the song with fire. Then mark'd Astronomers with keener eyes The Moon's refulgent journey through the skies; 145 Watch'd the swift Comets urge their blazing cars, And weigh'd the Sun with his revolving Stars. High raised the Chemists their Hermetic wands, (And changing forms obey'd their waving hands,) Her treasur'd gold from Earth's deep chambers tore, 150 Or fused and harden'd her chalybeate ore. All with bent knee from fair PAPYRA claim Wove by her hands the wreath of deathless fame. --Exulting Genius crown'd his darling child, The young Arts clasp'd her knees, and Virtue smiled. 155 So now DELANY forms her mimic bowers, Her paper foliage, and her silken flowers; [So now Delany. l. 155. Mrs. Delany has finished nine hundred and seventy accurate and elegant representations of different vegetables with the parts of their flowers, fructification, &c. according with the classification of Linneus, in what she terms paper-mosaic. She began this work at the age of 74, when her sight would no longer serve her to paint, in which she much excelled; between her age of 74 and 82, at which time her eyes quite failed her, she executed the curious Hortus ficcus above-mentioned, which I suppose contains a greater number of plants than were ever before drawn from the life by any one person. Her method consisted in placing the leaves of each plant with the petals, and all the other parts of the flowers, on coloured paper, and cutting them with scissars accurately to the natural size and form, and then parting them on a dark ground; the effect of which is wonderful, and their accuracy less liable to fallacy than drawings. She is at this time (1788) in her 89th year, with all the powers of a fine understanding still unimpaired. I am informed another very ingenious lady, Mrs. North, is constructing a similar Hortus ficcus, or Paper-garden; which she executes on a ground of vellum with such elegant taste and scientific accuracy, that it cannot fail to become a work of inestimable value.] Her virgin train the tender scissars ply, Vein the green leaf, the purple petal dye: Round wiry stems the flaxen tendril bends, 160 Moss creeps below, and waxen fruit impends. Cold Winter views amid his realms of snow DELANY'S vegetable statues blow; Smooths his stern brow, delays his hoary wing, And eyes with wonder all the blooms of spring. 165 The gentle LAPSANA, NYMPH'A fair, And bright CALENDULA with golden hair, [Lapsana, Nymph'a alba, Calendula. l. 165. And many other flowers close and open their petals at certain hours of the day; and thus constitute what Linneus calls the Horologe, or Watch of Flora. He enumerates 46 flowers, which possess this kind of sensibility. I shall mention a few of them with their respective hours of rising and setting, as Linneus terms them. He divides them first into meteoric flowers, which less accurately observe the hour of unfolding, but are expanded sooner or later, according to the cloudiness, moisture, or pressure of the atmosphere. 2d. Tropical flowers open in the morning and close before evening every day; but the hour of the expanding becomes earlier or later, at the length of the day increases or decreases. 3dly. 'quinoctial flowers, which open at a certain and exact hour of the day, and for the most part close at another determinate hour. Hence the Horologe or Watch of Flora is formed from numerous plants, of which the following are those most common in this country. Leontodon taraxacum, Dandelion, opens at 5--6, closes at 8--9. Hieracium pilosella, mouse-ear hawkweed, opens at 8, closes at 2. Sonchus l'vis, smooth Sow-thistle, at 5 and at 11--12. Lactuca sativa, cultivated Lettice, at 7 and jo. Tragopogon luteum, yellow Goatsbeard, at 3--5 and at 9--10. Lapsana, nipplewort, at 5--6 and at 10--1. Nymph'a alba, white water lily, at 7 and 5. Papaver nudicaule, naked poppy, at 5 and at 7. Hemerecallis fulva, tawny Day-lily, at 5 and at 7--8. Convolvulus, at 5--6. Malva, Mallow, at 9--10, and at 1. Arenarea purpurea, purple Sandwort, at 9--10, and at 2--3. Anagallis, pimpernel, at 7--8. Portulaca hortensis, garden Purilain, at 9--10, and at 11--12. Dianthus prolifer, proliferous Pink, at 8 and at 1. Cichoreum, Succory, at 4--5. Hypochiaeris, at 6--7, and at 4--5. Crepis at 4--5, and at 10--II. Picris, at 4--5, and at 12. Calendula field, at 9, and at 3. Calendula African, at 7, and at 3--4. As these observations were probably made in the botanic gardens at Upsal, they must require further attention to suit them to our climate. See Stillingfleet Calendar of Flora.] Watch with nice eye the Earth's diurnal way, Marking her solar and sidereal day, Her slow nutation, and her varying clime, 170 And trace with mimic art the march of Time; Round his light foot a magic chain they fling, And count the quick vibrations of his wing.-- First in its brazen cell reluctant roll'd Bends the dark spring in many a steely fold; 175 On spiral brass is stretch'd the wiry thong, Tooth urges tooth, and wheel drives wheel along; In diamond-eyes the polish'd axles flow, Smooth slides the hand, the ballance pants below. Round the white circlet in relievo bold 180 A Serpent twines his scaly length in gold; And brightly pencil'd on the enamel'd sphere Live the fair trophies of the passing year. --Here Time's huge fingers grasp his giant-mace, And dash proud Superstition from her base, 185 Rend her strong towers and gorgeous fanes, and shed The crumbling fragments round her guilty head. There the gay Hours, whom wreaths of roses deck, Lead their young trains amid the cumberous wreck; And, slowly purpling o'er the mighty waste, 190 Plant the fair growths of Science and of Taste. While each light Moment, as it dances by With feathery foot and pleasure-twinkling eye, Feeds from its baby-hand, with many a kiss, The callow nestlings of domestic Bliss. 195 As yon gay clouds, which canopy the skies, Change their thin forms, and lose their lucid dyes; So the soft bloom of Beauty's vernal charms Fades in our eyes, and withers in our arms. --Bright as the silvery plume, or pearly shell, 200 The snow-white rose, or lily's virgin bell, The fair HELLEBORAS attractive shone, Warm'd every Sage, and every Shepherd won.-- Round the gay sisters press the enamour'd bands, And seek with soft solicitude their hands. 205 --Ere while how chang'd!--in dim suffusion lies The glance divine, that lighten'd in their eyes; [Helleborus. I. 201. Many males, many females. The Helleborus niger, or Christmas rose, has a large beautiful white flower, adorned with a circle of tubular two-lipp'd nectarics. After impregnation the flower undergoes a remarkable change, the nectaries drop off, but the white corol remains, and gradually becomes quite green. This curious metamorphose of the corol, when the nectaries fall off, seems to shew that the white juices of the corol were before carried to the nectaries, for the purpose of producing honey: because when these nectaries fall off, no more of the white juice is secreted in the corol, but it becomes green, and degenerates into a calyx. See note on Lonicera. The nectary of the Tropaeolum, garden nasturtion, is a coloured horn growing from the calyx.] Cold are those lips, where smiles seductive hung, And the weak accents linger on their tongue; Each roseat feature fades to livid green,-- 210 --Disgust with face averted shuts the scene. So from his gorgeous throne, which awed the world, The mighty Monarch of the east was hurl'd, To dwell with brutes beneath the midnight storm, By Heaven's just vengeance changed in mind and form. 215 --Prone to the earth He bends his brow superb, Crops the young floret and the bladed herb; Lolls his red tongue, and from the reedy side Of slow Euphrates laps the muddy tide. Long eagle-plumes his arching neck invest, 220 Steal round his arms, and clasp his sharpen'd breast; Dark brinded hairs in bristling ranks, behind, Rise o'er his back, and rustle in the wind, Clothe his lank sides, his shrivel'd limbs surround, And human hands with talons print the ground. 225 Silent in shining troops the Courtier-throng Pursue their monarch as he crawls along; E'en Beauty pleads in vain with smiles and tears, Nor Flattery's self can pierce his pendant ears. Two Sister-Nymphs to Ganges' flowery brink 230 Bend their light steps, the lucid water drink, Wind through the dewy rice, and nodding canes, (As eight black Eunuchs guard the sacred plains), With playful malice watch the scaly brood, And shower the inebriate berries on the flood.-- 235 Stay in your crystal chambers, silver tribes! Turn your bright eyes, and shun the dangerous bribes; The tramel'd net with less destruction sweeps Your curling shallows, and your azure deeps; With less deceit, the gilded fly beneath, 240 Lurks the fell hook unseen,--to taste is death!-- --Dim your slow eyes, and dull your pearly coat, Drunk on the waves your languid forms shall float, [Two Sister-Nymphs. l. 229. Menispernum. Cocculus. Indian berry. Two houses, twelve males. In the female flower there are two styles and eight filaments without anthers on their summits; which are called by Linneus eunuchs. See the note on Curcuma. The berry intoxicates fish. Saint Anthony of Padua, when the people refused to hear him, preached to the fish, and converted them. Addison's travels in Italy.] On useless fins in giddy circles play, And Herons and Otters seize you for their prey.-- 245 So, when the Saint from Padua's graceless land In silent anguish sought the barren strand, High on the shatter'd beech sublime He stood, Still'd with his waving arm the babbling flood; "To Man's dull ear," He cry'd, "I call in vain, "Hear me, ye scaly tenants of the main!"-- 250 Misshapen Seals approach in circling flocks, In dusky mail the Tortoise climbs the rocks, Torpedoes, Sharks, Rays, Porpus, Dolphins, pour Their twinkling squadrons round the glittering shore; 255 With tangled fins, behind, huge Phoc' glide, And Whales and Grampi swell the distant tide. Then kneel'd the hoary Seer, to heaven address'd His fiery eyes, and smote his sounding breast; "Bless ye the Lord!" with thundering voice he cry'd, 260 "Bless ye the Lord!" the bending shores reply'd; The winds and waters caught the sacred word, And mingling echoes shouted "Bless the Lord!" The listening shoals the quick contagion feel, Pant on the floods, inebriate with their zeal, 265 Ope their wide jaws, and bow their slimy heads, And dash with frantic fins their foamy beds. Sopha'd on silk, amid her charm-built towers, Her meads of asphodel, and amaranth bowers, Where Sleep and Silence guard the soft abodes, 270 In sullen apathy PAPAVER nods. Faint o'er her couch in scintillating streams Pass the thin forms of Fancy and of Dreams; Froze by inchantment on the velvet ground Fair youths and beauteous ladies glitter round; [Papaver. l. 270. Poppy. Many males, many females. The plants of this class are almost all of them poisonous; the finest opium is procured by wounding the heads of large poppies with a three-edged knife, and tying muscle-shells to them to catch the drops. In small quantities it exhilarates the mind, raises the passions, and invigorates the body: in large ones it is succeeded by intoxication, languor, stupor and death. It is customary in India for a messenger to travel above a hundred miles without rest or food, except an appropriated bit of opium for himself, and a larger one for his horse at certain stages. The emaciated and decrepid appearance, with the ridiculous and idiotic gestures, of the opium-eaters in Constantinople is well described in the Memoirs of Baron de Tott.] 275 On crystal pedestals they seem to sigh, Bend the meek knee, and lift the imploring eye. --And now the Sorceress bares her shrivel'd hand, And circles thrice in air her ebon wand; Flush'd with new life descending statues talk, 280 The pliant marble softening as they walk; With deeper sobs reviving lovers breathe, Fair bosoms rise, and soft hearts pant beneath; With warmer lips relenting damsels speak, And kindling blushes tinge the Parian cheek; 285 To viewless lutes a'rial voices sing, And hovering Loves are heard on rustling wing. --She waves her wand again!--fresh horrors seize Their stiffening limbs, their vital currents freeze; By each cold nymph her marble lover lies, 290 And iron slumbers seal their glassy eyes. So with his dread Caduceus HERMES led From the dark regions of the imprison'd dead, Or drove in silent shoals the lingering train To Night's dull shore, and PLUTO'S dreary reign 295 So with her waving pencil CREWE commands The realms of Taste, and Fancy's fairy lands; Calls up with magic voice the shapes, that sleep In earth's dark bosom, or unfathom'd deep; That shrined in air on viewless wings aspire, 300 Or blazing bathe in elemental fire. As with nice touch her plaistic hand she moves, Rise the fine forms of Beauties, Graces, Loves; Kneel to the fair Inchantress, smile or sigh, And fade or flourish, as she turns her eye. 305 Fair CISTA, rival of the rosy dawn, Call'd her light choir, and trod the dewy lawn; Hail'd with rude melody the new-born May, As cradled yet in April's lap she lay. [So with her waving pencil. l. 295. Alluding to the many beautiful paintings by Miss EMMA CREWE; to whom the author is indebted for the very elegant Frontispiece, where Flora, at play with Cupid, is loading him with garden-tools.] [Cistus labdaniferus. l. 304. Many males, one female. The petals of this beautiful and fragrant shrub, as well as of the Oenothera, tree primrose, and others, continue expanded but a few hours, falling off about noon, or soon after, in hot weather. The most beautiful flowers of the Cactus grandiflorus (see Cerea) are of equally short duration, but have their existence in the night. And the flowers of the Hibiscus trionum are said to continue but a single hour. The courtship between the males and females in these flowers might be easily watched; the males are said to approach and recede from the females alternately. The flowers of the Hibiscus sinensis, mutable rose, live in the West Indies, their native climate, but one day; but have this remarkable property, they are white at the first expansion, then change to deep red, and become purple as they decay. The gum or resin of this fragrant vegetable is collected from extensive underwoods of it in the East by a singular contrivance. Long leathern thongs are tied to poles and cords, and drawn over the tops of these shrubs about noon; which thus collect the dust of the anthers, which adheres to the leather, and is occasionally scraped off. Thus in some degree is the manner imitated, in which the bee collects on his thighs and legs the same material for the construction of his combs.] I. "Born in yon blaze of orient sky, 310 "Sweet MAY! thy radiant form unfold; "Unclose thy blue voluptuous eye, "And wave thy shadowy locks of gold. II. "For Thee the fragrant zephyrs blow, "For Thee descends the sunny shower; 315 "The rills in softer murmurs slow, "And brighter blossoms gem the bower. III. "Light Graces dress'd in flowery wreaths "And tiptoe Joys their hands combine; "And Love his sweet contagion breathes, 320 "And laughing dances round thy shrine. IV. "Warm with new life the glittering throngs "On quivering fin and rustling wing "Delighted join their votive songs, "And hail thee, GODDESS OF THE SPRING." 325 O'er the green brinks of Severn's oozy bed, In changeful rings, her sprightly troop She led; PAN tripp'd before, where Eudness shades the mead, And blew with glowing lip his sevenfold reed; Emerging Naiads swell'd the jocund strain, 330 And aped with mimic step the dancing train.-- [Sevenfold reed. I. 328. The sevenfold reed, with which Pan is frequently described, seems to indicate, that he was the inventor of the musical gamut.] "I faint, I fall!"--at noon the Beauty cried, "Weep o'er my tomb, ye Nymphs!"--and sunk and died. --Thus, when white Winter o'er the shivering clime Drives the still snow, or showers the silver rime; 335 As the lone shepherd o'er the dazzling rocks Prints his steep step, and guides his vagrant flocks; Views the green holly veil'd in network nice, Her vermil clusters twinkling in the ice; Admires the lucid vales, and slumbering floods, 340 Fantastic cataracts, and crystal woods, Transparent towns, with seas of milk between, And eyes with transport the refulgent scene:-- If breaks the sunshine o'er the spangled trees, Or flits on tepid wing the western breeze, 345 In liquid dews descends the transient glare, And all the glittering pageant melts in air. Where Andes hides his cloud-wreath'd crest in snow, And roots his base on burning sands below; Cinchona, fairest of Peruvian maids 350 To Health's bright Goddess in the breezy glades On Quito's temperate plain an altar rear'd, Trill'd the loud hymn, the solemn prayer preferr'd: Each balmy bud she cull'd, and honey'd flower, And hung with fragrant wreaths the sacred bower; 355 Each pearly sea she search'd, and sparkling mine, And piled their treasures on the gorgeous shrine; Her suppliant voice for sickening Loxa raised, Sweet breath'd the gale, and bright the censor blazed. --"Divine HYGEIA! on thy votaries bend 360 Thy angel-looks, oh, hear us, and defend! While streaming o'er the night with baleful glare The star of Autumn rays his misty hair; Fierce from his fens the Giant AGUE springs, And wrapp'd in fogs descends on vampire wings; [Cinchona. l. 349. Peruvian bark-tree. Five males, and one female. Several of these trees were felled for other purposes into a lake, when an epidemic fever of a very mortal kind prevailed at Loxa in Peru, and the woodmen, accidentally drinking the water, were cured; and thus were discovered the virtues of this famous drug.] 365 "Before, with shuddering limbs cold Tremor reels, And Fever's burning nostril dogs his heels; Loud claps the grinning Fiend his iron hands, Stamps with his marble feet, and shouts along the lands; Withers the damask cheek, unnerves the strong, 370 And drives with scorpion-lash the shrieking throng. Oh, Goddess! on thy kneeling votaries bend Thy angel-looks, oh, hear us, and defend!" --HYGEIA, leaning from the blest abodes, The crystal mansions of the immortal gods, 375 Saw the sad Nymph uplift her dewy eyes, Spread her white arms, and breathe her fervid sighs; Call'd to her fair associates, Youth, and Joy, And shot all-radiant through the glittering sky; Loose waved behind her golden train of hair, 380 Her sapphire mantle swam diffus'd in air.-- O'er the grey matted moss, and pansied sod, With step sublime the glowing Goddess trod, Gilt with her beamy eye the conscious shade, And with her smile celestial bless'd the maid. 385 "Come to my arms," with seraph voice she cries, "Thy vows are heard, benignant Nymph! arise; Where yon aspiring trunks fantastic wreath Their mingled roots, and drink the rill beneath, Yield to the biting axe thy sacred wood, 390 And strew the bitter foliage on the flood." In silent homage bow'd the blushing maid,-- Five youths athletic hasten to her aid, O'er the scar'd hills re-echoing strokes resound, And headlong forests thunder on the ground. 395 Round the dark roots, rent bark, and shatter'd boughs, From ocherous beds the swelling fountain flows; With streams austere its winding margin laves, And pours from vale to vale its dusky waves. --As the pale squadrons, bending o'er the brink, 400 View with a sigh their alter'd forms, and drink; Slow-ebbing life with refluent crimson breaks O'er their wan lips, and paints their haggard cheeks; Through each fine nerve rekindling transports dart, Light the quick eye, and swell the exulting heart. 405 --Thus ISRAEL's heaven-taught chief o'er trackless lands Led to the sultry rock his murmuring bands. Bright o'er his brows the forky radiance blazed, And high in air the rod divine He raised.-- Wide yawns the cliff!--amid the thirsty throng 410 Rush the redundant waves, and shine along; With gourds and shells and helmets press the bands, Ope their parch'd lips, and spread their eager hands, Snatch their pale infants to the exuberant shower, Kneel on the shatter'd rock, and bless the Almighty Power. 415 Bolster'd with down, amid a thousand wants, Pale Dropsy rears his bloated form, and pants; "Quench me, ye cool pellucid rills!" he cries, Wets his parch'd tongue, and rolls his hollow eyes. So bends tormented TANTALUS to drink, 420 While from his lips the refluent waters shrink; Again the rising stream his bosom laves, And Thirst consumes him 'mid circumfluent waves. --Divine HYGEIA, from the bending sky Descending, listens to his piercing cry; 425 Assumes bright DIGITALIS' dress and air, Her ruby cheek, white neck, and raven hair; Four youths protect her from the circling throng, And like the Nymph the Goddess steps along.-- --O'er Him She waves her serpent-wreathed wand, 430 Cheers with her voice, and raises with her hand, Warms with rekindling bloom his visage wan, And charms the shapeless monster into man. [Digitalis. l. 425. Of the class Two Powers. Four males, one female, Foxglove. The effect of this plant in that kind of Dropsy, which is termed anasarca, where the legs and thighs are much swelled, attended with great difficulty of breathing, is truly astonishing. In the ascites accompanied with anasarca of people past the meridian of life it will also sometimes succeed. The method of administering it requires some caution, as it is liable, in greater doses, to induce very violent and debilitating sickness, which continues one or two days, during which time the dropsical collection however disappears. One large spoonful, or half an ounce, of the following decoction, given twice a day, will generally succeed in a few days. But in more robust people, one large spoonful every two hours, till four spoonfuls are taken, or till sickness occurs, will evacuate the dropsical swellings with greater certainty, but is liable to operate more violently. Boil four ounces of the fresh leaves of purple Foxglove (which leaves may be had at all seasons of the year) from two pints of water to twelve ounces; add to the strained liquor, while yet warm, three ounces of rectified spirit of wine. A theory of the effects of this medicine, with many successful cases, may be seen in a pamphlet, called, "Experiments on Mucilaginous and Purulent Matter," published by Dr. Darwin in 1780. Sold by Cadell, London.] So when Contagion with mephitic breath And withered Famine urged the work of death; 435 Marseilles' good Bishop, London's generous Mayor, With food and faith, with medicine and with prayer, Raised the weak head and stayed the parting sigh, Or with new life relumed the swimming eye.-- 440 --And now, PHILANTHROPY! thy rays divine Dart round the globe from Zembla to the Line; O'er each dark prison plays the cheering light, Like northern lustres o'er the vault of night.-- [Marseillle's good Bishop. l. 435. In the year 1720 and 1722 the Plague made dreadful havock at Marseilles; at which time the Bishop was indefatigable in the execution of his pastoral office, visiting, relieving, encouraging, and absolving the sick with extream tenderness; and though perpetually exposed to the infection, like Sir John Lawrence mentioned below, they both are said to have escaped the disease.] [London's generous Mayor, l. 435. During the great Plague at London in the year 1665, Sir John Lawrence, the then Lord Mayor, continued the whole time in the city; heard complaints, and redressed them; enforced the wisest regulations then known, and saw them executed. The day after the disease was known with certainty to be the Plague, above 40,000 servants were dismissed, and turned into the streets to perish, for no one would receive them into their houses; and the villages near London drove them away with pitch-forks and fire-arms. Sir John Lawrence supported them all, as well as the needy who were sick, at first by expending his own fortune, till subscriptions could be solicited and received from all parts of the nation. Journal of the Plague-year, Printed for E. Nutt, &c. at the R. Exchange. 1722.] From realm to realm, with cross or crescent crown'd, Where'er Mankind and Misery are found, 445 O'er burning sands, deep waves, or wilds of snow, Thy HOWARD journeying seeks the house of woe. Down many a winding step to dungeons dank, Where anguish wails aloud, and fetters clank; To caves bestrew'd with many a mouldering bone, 450 And cells, whose echoes only learn to groan; Where no kind bars a whispering friend disclose, No sunbeam enters, and no zephyr blows, HE treads, inemulous of fame or wealth, Profuse of toil, and prodigal of health; 455 With soft assuasive eloquence expands Power's rigid heart, and opes his clenching hands; Leads stern-ey'd Justice to the dark domains, If not to fever, to relax the chains; Or guides awaken'd Mercy through the gloom, 460 And shews the prison, sister to the tomb!-- Gives to her babes the self-devoted wife, To her fond husband liberty and life!-- --The Spirits of the Good, who bend from high Wide o'er these earthly scenes their partial eye, 465 When first, array'd in VIRTUE'S purest robe, They saw her HOWARD traversing the globe; Saw round his brows her sun-like Glory blaze In arrowy circles of unwearied rays; Mistook a Mortal for an Angel-Guest, 470 And ask'd what Seraph-foot the earth imprest. --Onward he moves!--Disease and Death retire, And murmuring Demons hate him, and admire." Here paused the Goddess,--on HYGEIA'S shrine Obsequious Gnomes repose the lyre divine; 475 Descending Sylphs relax the trembling strings, And catch the rain-drops on their shadowy wings. --And now her vase a modest Naiad fills With liquid crystal from her pebbly rills; Piles the dry cedar round her silver urn, 480 (Bright climbs the blaze, the crackling faggots burn), Culls the green herb of China's envy'd bowers, In gaudy cups the steamy treasure pours; And, sweetly-smiling, on her bended knee Presents the fragrant quintessence of Tea. INTERLUDE II. Bookseller. The monsters of your Botanic Garden are as surprising as the bulls with brazen feet, and the fire-breathing dragons, which guarded the Hesperian fruit; yet are they not disgusting, nor mischievous: and in the manner you have chained them together in your exhibition, they succeed each other amusingly enough, like prints of the London Cries, wrapped upon rollers, with a glass before them. In this at least they resemble the monsters in Ovid's Metamorphoses; but your similies, I suppose, are Homeric? Poet. The great Bard well understood how to make use of this kind of ornament in Epic Poetry. He brings his valiant heroes into the field with much parade, and sets them a fighting with great fury; and then, after a few thrusts and parries, he introduces a long string of similies. During this the battle is supposed to continue; and thus the time necessary for the action is gained in our imaginations; and a degree of probability produced, which contributes to the temporary deception or reverie of the reader. But the similies of Homer have another agreeable characteristic; they do not quadrate, or go upon all fours (as it is called), like the more formal similies of some modern writers; any one resembling feature seems to be with him a sufficient excuse for the introduction of this kind of digression; he then proceeds to deliver some agreeable poetry on this new subject, and thus converts every simile into a kind of short episode. B. Then a simile should not very accurately resemble the subject? P. No; it would then become a philosophical analogy, it would be ratiocination instead of poetry: it need only so far resemble the subject, as poetry itself ought to resemble nature. It should have so much sublimity, beauty, or novelty, as to interest the reader; and should be expressed in picturesque language, so as to bring the scenery before his eye; and should lastly bear so much veri-similitude as not to awaken him by the violence of improbability or incongruity. B. May not the reverie of the reader be dissipated or disturbed by disagreeable images being presented to his imagination, as well as by improbable or incongruous ones? P. Certainly; he will endeavour to rouse himself from a disagreeable reverie, as from the night-mare. And from this may be discovered the line of boundary between the Tragic and the Horrid: which line, however, will veer a little this way or that, according to the prevailing manners of the age or country, and the peculiar associations of ideas, or idiosyncracy of mind, of individuals. For instance, if an artist should represent the death of an officer in battle, by shewing a little blood on the bosom of his shirt, as if a bullet had there penetrated, the dying figure would affect the beholder with pity; and if fortitude was at the same time expressed in his countenance, admiration would be added to our pity. On the contrary, if the artist should chuse to represent his thigh as shot away by a cannon ball, and should exhibit the bleeding flesh and shattered bone of the stump, the picture would introduce into our minds ideas from a butcher's shop, or a surgeon's operation-room, and we should turn from it with disgust. So if characters were brought upon the stage with their limbs disjointed by torturing instruments, and the floor covered with clotted blood and scattered brains, our theatric reverie would be destroyed by disgust, and we should leave the play-house with detestation. The Painters have been more guilty in this respect than the Poets; the cruelty of Apollo in flaying Marcias alive is a favourite subject with the antient artists: and the tortures of expiring martyrs have disgraced the modern ones. It requires little genius to exhibit the muscles in convulsive action either by the pencil or the chissel, because the interstices are deep, and the lines strongly defined: but those tender gradations of muscular action, which constitute the graceful attitudes of the body, are difficult to conceive or to execute, except by a master of nice discernment and cultivated taste. B. By what definition would you distinguish the Horrid from the Tragic? P. I suppose the latter consists of Distress attended with Pity, which is said to be allied to Love, the most agreeable of all our passions; and the former in Distress, accompanied with Disgust, which is allied to Hate, and is one of our most disagreeable sensations. Hence, when horrid scenes of cruelty are represented in pictures, we wish to disbelieve their existence, and voluntarily exert ourselves to escape from the deception: whereas the bitter cup of true Tragedy is mingled with some sweet consolatory drops, which endear our tears, and we continue to contemplate the interesting delusion with a delight which it is not easy to explain. B. Has not this been explained by Lucretius, where he describes a shipwreck; and says, the Spectators receive pleasure from feeling themselves safe on land? and by Akenside, in his beautiful poem on the Pleasures of Imagination, who ascribes it to our finding objects for the due exertion of our passions? P. We must not confound our sensations at the contemplation of real misery with those which we experience at the scenical representations of tragedy. The spectators of a shipwreck may be attracted by the dignity and novelty of the object; and from these may be said to receive pleasure; but not from the distress of the sufferers. An ingenious writer, who has criticised this dialogue in the English Review for August, 1789, adds, that one great source of our pleasure from scenical distress arises from our, at the same time, generally contemplating one of the noblest objects of nature, that of Virtue triumphant over every difficulty and oppression, or supporting its votary under every suffering: or, where this does not occur, that our minds are relieved by the justice of some signal punishment awaiting the delinquent. But, besides this, at the exhibition of a good tragedy, we are not only amused by the dignity, and novelty, and beauty, of the objects before us; but, if any distressful circumstances occur too forcible for our sensibility, we can voluntarily exert ourselves, and recollect, that the scenery is not real: and thus not only the pain, which we had received from the apparent distress, is lessened, but a new source of pleasure is opened to us, similar to that which we frequently have felt on awaking from a distressful dream; we are glad that it is not true. We are at the same time unwilling to relinquish the pleasure which we receive from the other interesting circumstances of the drama; and on that account quickly permit ourselves to relapse into the delusion; and thus alternately believe and disbelieve, almost every moment, the existence of the objects represented before us. B. Have those two sovereigns of poetic land, HOMER and SHAKESPEAR, kept their works entirely free from the Horrid?--or even yourself in your third Canto? P. The descriptions of the mangled carcasses of the companions of Ulysses, in the cave of Polypheme, is in this respect certainly objectionable, as is well observed by Scaliger. And in the play of Titus Andronicus, if that was written by Shakespear (which from its internal evidence I think very improbable), there are many horrid and disgustful circumstances. The following Canto is submitted to the candour of the critical reader, to whose opinion I shall submit in silence.

The Return Of The Year

Archibald Lampman

Again the warm bare earth, the noon That hangs upon her healing scars, The midnight round, the great red moon, The mother with her brood of stars, The mist-rack and the wakening rain Blown soft in many a forest way, The yellowing elm-trees, and again The blood-root in its sheath of gray. The vesper-sparrow's song, the stress Of yearning notes that gush and stream, The lyric joy, the tenderness, And once again the dream! the dream! A touch of far-off joy and power, A something it is life to learn, Comes back to earth, and one short hour The glamours of the gods return. This life's old mood and cult of care Falls smitten by an older truth, And the gray world wins back to her The rapture of her vanished youth. Dead thoughts revive, and he that heeds Shall hear, as by a spirit led, A song among the golden reeds: "The gods are vanished but not dead!" For one short hour; unseen yet near, They haunt us, a forgotten mood, A glory upon mead and mere, A magic in the leafless wood. At morning we shall catch the glow Of Dian's quiver on the hill, And somewhere in the glades I know That Pan is at his piping still.

The Sonnets LXIII - Against my love shall be as I am now

William Shakespeare

Against my love shall be as I am now, With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn; When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night; And all those beauties whereof now he's king Are vanishing, or vanished out of sight, Stealing away the treasure of his spring; For such a time do I now fortify Against confounding age's cruel knife, That he shall never cut from memory My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life: His beauty shall in these black lines be seen, And they shall live, and he in them still green.

Storm Sabbat

Madison Julius Cawein

Against the pane the darkness, wet and cold, Pressed a wild face and raised a ragged arm Of cloud, clothed on with thunder and alarm And terrible with elemental gold. Above the fisher's hut, beyond the wold, The wind, a Salem witch, rushed shrieking harm, And swept her mad broom over every farm To devil-revels in some forest old. Hell and its-hags, it seemed, held court again On every rock, trailing a tattered gown Of surf, and whirling, screaming, to the sea Elf-locks, fantastic, of dishevelled rain; While in their midst death hobbled up and down Monstrous and black, with diabolic glee.

Three faces II. Genoa

Algernon Charles Swinburne

Again the same strange might of eyes, that saw In heaven and earth nought fairer, overcame My sight with rapture of reiterate awe, Again the same. The self-same pulse of wonder shook like flame The spirit of sense within me:    what strange law Had bid this be, for blessing or for blame? To what veiled end that fate or chance foresaw Came forth this second sister face, that came Absolute, perfect, fair without a flaw, Again the same?

A Sigh.

John Clare

Again freckled cowslips are gilding the plain, And crow-flowers yellow again o'er the lea, Again the speck'd throstle comes in with her strain, And welcomes the spring--but no spring can I see. I once hail'd the throstle, her singing begun, And bath'd in spring's dew when her flower met my eyes; I sought for the kingcup all cloth'd in the sun, And gather'd my cowslips, and joy'd in the prize. They brought nature's spring, and they comforted me, They wip'd winter off, and did pleasure restore; But, alas! in their tidings a change can I see, Fate's added a postscript, "Thy spring is no more."

Wages.

Robert Herrick

After this life, the wages shall Not shared alike be unto all.

On Reading A Recent Greek Poet

Bertolt Brecht

After the wailing had already begun along the walls, their ruin certain, the Trojans fidgeted with bits of wood in the three-ply doors, itsy-bitsy pieces of wood, fussing with them. And began to get their nerve back and feel hopeful.

The Unchanging

Walter De La Mare

After the songless rose of evening, Night quiet, dark, still, In nodding cavalcade advancing Starred the deep hill: You, in the valley standing, In your quiet wonder took All that glamour, peace, and mystery In one grave look. Beauty hid your naked body, Time dreamed in your bright hair, In your eyes the constellations Burned far and fair.

Triolet

Robert Fuller Murray

After the melting of the snow Divines depart and April comes; Examinations nearer grow After the melting of the snow; The grinder wears a face of woe, The waster smokes and twirls his thumbs; After the melting of the snow Divines depart and April comes.

The Divine Comedy by Dante: The Vision Of Paradise: Canto XXI

Dante Alighieri

Again mine eyes were fix'd on Beatrice, And with mine eyes my soul, that in her looks Found all contentment. Yet no smile she wore And, "Did I smile," quoth she, "thou wouldst be straight Like Semele when into ashes turn'd: For, mounting these eternal palace-stairs, My beauty, which the loftier it climbs, As thou hast noted, still doth kindle more, So shines, that, were no temp'ring interpos'd, Thy mortal puissance would from its rays Shrink, as the leaf doth from the thunderbolt. Into the seventh splendour are we wafted, That underneath the burning lion's breast Beams, in this hour, commingled with his might, Thy mind be with thine eyes: and in them mirror'd The shape, which in this mirror shall be shown." Whoso can deem, how fondly I had fed My sight upon her blissful countenance, May know, when to new thoughts I chang'd, what joy To do the bidding of my heav'nly guide: In equal balance poising either weight. Within the crystal, which records the name, (As its remoter circle girds the world) Of that lov'd monarch, in whose happy reign No ill had power to harm, I saw rear'd up, In colour like to sun-illumin'd gold. A ladder, which my ken pursued in vain, So lofty was the summit; down whose steps I saw the splendours in such multitude Descending, ev'ry light in heav'n, methought, Was shed thence. As the rooks, at dawn of day Bestirring them to dry their feathers chill, Some speed their way a-field, and homeward some, Returning, cross their flight, while some abide And wheel around their airy lodge; so seem'd That glitterance, wafted on alternate wing, As upon certain stair it met, and clash'd Its shining. And one ling'ring near us, wax'd So bright, that in my thought: said: "The love, Which this betokens me, admits no doubt." Unwillingly from question I refrain, To her, by whom my silence and my speech Are order'd, looking for a sign: whence she, Who in the sight of Him, that seeth all, Saw wherefore I was silent, prompted me T' indulge the fervent wish; and I began: "I am not worthy, of my own desert, That thou shouldst answer me; but for her sake, Who hath vouchsaf'd my asking, spirit blest! That in thy joy art shrouded! say the cause, Which bringeth thee so near: and wherefore, say, Doth the sweet symphony of Paradise Keep silence here, pervading with such sounds Of rapt devotion ev'ry lower sphere?" "Mortal art thou in hearing as in sight;" Was the reply: "and what forbade the smile Of Beatrice interrupts our song. Only to yield thee gladness of my voice, And of the light that vests me, I thus far Descend these hallow'd steps: not that more love Invites me; for lo! there aloft, as much Or more of love is witness'd in those flames: But such my lot by charity assign'd, That makes us ready servants, as thou seest, To execute the counsel of the Highest." "That in this court," said I, "O sacred lamp! Love no compulsion needs, but follows free Th' eternal Providence, I well discern: This harder find to deem, why of thy peers Thou only to this office wert foredoom'd." I had not ended, when, like rapid mill, Upon its centre whirl'd the light; and then The love, that did inhabit there, replied: "Splendour eternal, piercing through these folds, Its virtue to my vision knits, and thus Supported, lifts me so above myself, That on the sov'ran essence, which it wells from, I have the power to gaze: and hence the joy, Wherewith I sparkle, equaling with my blaze The keenness of my sight. But not the soul, That is in heav'n most lustrous, nor the seraph That hath his eyes most fix'd on God, shall solve What thou hast ask'd: for in th' abyss it lies Of th' everlasting statute sunk so low, That no created ken may fathom it. And, to the mortal world when thou return'st, Be this reported; that none henceforth dare Direct his footsteps to so dread a bourn. The mind, that here is radiant, on the earth Is wrapt in mist. Look then if she may do, Below, what passeth her ability, When she is ta'en to heav'n." By words like these Admonish'd, I the question urg'd no more; And of the spirit humbly sued alone T' instruct me of its state. "'Twixt either shore Of Italy, nor distant from thy land, A stony ridge ariseth, in such sort, The thunder doth not lift his voice so high, They call it Catria: at whose foot a cell Is sacred to the lonely Eremite, For worship set apart and holy rites." A third time thus it spake; then added: "There So firmly to God's service I adher'd, That with no costlier viands than the juice Of olives, easily I pass'd the heats Of summer and the winter frosts, content In heav'n-ward musings. Rich were the returns And fertile, which that cloister once was us'd To render to these heavens: now 't is fall'n Into a waste so empty, that ere long Detection must lay bare its vanity Pietro Damiano there was I yclept: Pietro the sinner, when before I dwelt Beside the Adriatic, in the house Of our blest Lady. Near upon my close Of mortal life, through much importuning I was constrain'd to wear the hat that still From bad to worse it shifted.--Cephas came; He came, who was the Holy Spirit's vessel, Barefoot and lean, eating their bread, as chanc'd, At the first table. Modern Shepherd's need Those who on either hand may prop and lead them, So burly are they grown: and from behind Others to hoist them. Down the palfrey's sides Spread their broad mantles, so as both the beasts Are cover'd with one skin. O patience! thou That lookst on this and doth endure so long." I at those accents saw the splendours down From step to step alight, and wheel, and wax, Each circuiting, more beautiful. Round this They came, and stay'd them; uttered them a shout So loud, it hath no likeness here: nor I Wist what it spake, so deaf'ning was the thunder.

Book IV. Ode I. To Venus.

Alexander Pope

Again? new tumults in my breast? Ah, spare me, Venus! let me, let me rest! I am not now, alas! the man As in the gentle reign of my Queen Anne. Ah, sound no more thy soft alarms, Nor circle sober fifty with thy charms. Mother too fierce of dear desires! Turn, turn to willing hearts your wanton fires, To Number Five direct your doves, There spread round Murray all your blooming loves Noble and young, who strikes the heart With every sprightly, every decent part; Equal, the injured to defend, To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend. He, with a hundred arts refined, Shall stretch thy conquests over half the kind; To him each rival shall submit, Make but his riches equal to his wit. Then shall thy form the marble grace, (Thy Grecian form) and Chloe lend the face: His house, embosom'd in the grove, Sacred to social life and social love, Shall glitter o'er the pendant green, Where Thames reflects the visionary scene: Thither, the silver-sounding lyres Shall call the smiling Loves, and young Desires; There, every Grace and Muse shall throng, Exalt the dance, or animate the song; There, youths and nymphs, in consort gay, Shall hail the rising, close the parting day. With me, alas! those joys are o'er; For me, the vernal garlands bloom no more. Adieu![170] fond hope of mutual fire, The still believing, still-renew'd desire; Adieu! the heart-expanding bowl, And all the kind deceivers of the soul! But why? ah, tell me, ah, too dear! Steals down my cheek th' involuntary tear? Why words so flowing, thoughts so free, Stop, or turn nonsense, at one glance of thee? Thee, dress'd in fancy's airy beam, Absent I follow through th' extended dream; Now, now I seize, I clasp thy charms, And now you burst (ah, cruel!) from my arms; And swiftly shoot along the Mall, Or softly glide by the canal, Now shown by Cynthia's silver ray, And now on rolling waters snatch'd away.

Abstinence.

Robert Herrick

Against diseases here the strongest fence Is the defensive virtue, abstinence.

Portrait Of A Boy

Stephen Vincent Benet

After the whipping he crawled into bed, Accepting the harsh fact with no great weeping. How funny uncle's hat had looked striped red! He chuckled silently. The moon came, sweeping A black, frayed rag of tattered cloud before In scorning; very pure and pale she seemed, Flooding his bed with radiance. On the floor Fat motes danced. He sobbed, closed his eyes and dreamed. Warm sand flowed round him. Blurts of crimson light Splashed the white grains like blood. Past the cave's mouth Shone with a large, fierce splendor, wildly bright, The crooked constellations of the South; Here the Cross swung; and there, affronting Mars, The Centaur stormed aside a froth of stars. Within, great casks, like wattled aldermen, Sighed of enormous feasts, and cloth of gold Glowed on the walls like hot desire. Again, Beside webbed purples from some galleon's hold, A black chest bore the skull and bones in white Above a scrawled "Gunpowder!" By the flames, Decked out in crimson, gemmed with syenite, Hailing their fellows with outrageous names, The pirates sat and diced. Their eyes were moons. "Doubloons!" they said. The words crashed gold. "Doubloons!"

Midsummer

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

After the May time, and after the June time, Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet, Cometh the round world's royal noon time, The red midsummer of blazing heat. When the sun, like an eye that never closes, Bends on the earth its fervid gaze, And the winds are still, and the crimson roses Droop and wither and die in its rays. Unto my heart has come that season, O my lady, my worshipped one, When over the stars of Pride and Reason Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun. Like a great red ball in my bosom burning With fires that nothing can quench or tame. It glows till my heart itself seems turning Into a liquid lake of flame. The hopes half shy, and the sighs all tender, The dreams and fears of an earlier day, Under the noontide's royal splendour, Droop like roses and wither away. From the hills of doubt no winds are blowing, From the isle of pain no breeze is sent. Only the sun in a white heat glowing Over an ocean of great content. Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory, Die, O my heart, in thy rapture-swoon, For the Autumn must come with its mournful story, And Love's midsummer will fade too soon.

The Fox And The Turkeys.

Jean de La Fontaine

Against a robber fox, a tree Some turkeys served as citadel. That villain, much provoked to see Each standing there as sentinel, Cried out, 'Such witless birds At me stretch out their necks, and gobble! No, by the powers! I'll give them trouble.' He verified his words. The moon, that shined full on the oak, Seem'd then to help the turkey folk. But fox, in arts of siege well versed, Ransack'd his bag of tricks accursed. He feign'd himself about to climb; Walk'd on his hinder legs sublime; Then death most aptly counterfeited, And seem'd anon resuscitated. A practiser of wizard arts Could not have fill'd so many parts. In moonlight he contrived to raise His tail, and make it seem a blaze: And countless other tricks like that. Meanwhile, no turkey slept or sat. Their constant vigilance at length, As hoped the fox, wore out their strength. Bewilder'd by the rigs he run, They lost their balance one by one. As Renard slew, he laid aside, Till nearly half of them had died; Then proudly to his larder bore, And laid them up, an ample store. A foe, by being over-heeded, Has often in his plan succeeded.

A Prayer

Ben Jonson

Again! Come, give, yield all your strength to me! From far a low word breathes on the breaking brain Its cruel calm, submission's misery, Gentling her awe as to a soul predestined. Cease, silent love! My doom! Blind me with your dark nearness, O have mercy, beloved enemy of my will! I dare not withstand the cold touch that I dread. Draw from me still My slow life! Bend deeper on me, threatening head, Proud by my downfall, remembering, pitying Him who is, him who was! Again! Together, folded by the night, they lay on earth. I hear From far her low word breathe on my breaking brain. Come! I yield. Bend deeper upon me! I am here. Subduer, do not leave me! Only joy, only anguish, Take me, save me, soothe me, O spare me!

The Mount Of The Muses.

Robert Herrick

After thy labour take thine ease, Here with the sweet Pierides. But if so be that men will not Give thee the laurel crown for lot; Be yet assur'd, thou shall have one Not subject to corruption.

Sin And Strife.

Robert Herrick

After true sorrow for our sins, our strife Must last with Satan to the end of life.

Rose And Murray

Conrad Potter Aiken

After the movie, when the lights come up, He takes her powdered hand behind the wings; She, all in yellow, like a buttercup, Lifts her white face, yearns up to him, and clings; And with a silent, gliding step they move Over the footlights, in familiar glare, Panther-like in the Tango whirl of love, He fawning close on her with idiot stare. Swiftly they cross the stage. O lyric ease! The drunken music follows the sure feet, The swaying elbows, intergliding knees, Moving with slow precision on the beat. She was a waitress in a restaurant, He picked her up and taught her how to dance. She feels his arms, lifts an appealing glance, But knows he spent last evening with Zudora; And knows that certain changes are before her. The brilliant spotlight circles them around, Flashing the spangles on her weighted dress. He mimics wooing her, without a sound, Flatters her with a smoothly smiled caress. He fears that she will someday queer his act; Feeling his anger. He will quit her soon. He nods for faster music. He will contract Another partner, under another moon. Meanwhile, 'smooth stuff.' He lets his dry eyes flit Over the yellow faces there below; Maybe he'll cut down on his drinks a bit, Not to annoy her, and spoil the show. . . Zudora, waiting for her turn to come, Watches them from the wings and fatly leers At the girl's younger face, so white and dumb, And the fixed, anguished eyes, ready for tears. She lies beside him, with a false wedding-ring, In a cheap room, with moonlight on the floor; The moonlit curtains remind her much of spring, Of a spring evening on the Coney shore. And while he sleeps, knowing she ought to hate, She still clings to the lover that she knew, The one that, with a pencil on a plate, Drew a heart and wrote, 'I'd die for you.'

Jonathan Swift Somers (Author of the Spooniad)

Edgar Lee Masters

After you have enriched your soul To the highest point, With books, thought, suffering, The understanding of many personalities, The power to interpret glances, silences, The pauses in momentous transformations, The genius of divination and prophecy; So that you feel able at times to hold the world In the hollow of your hand; Then, if, by the crowding of so many powers Into the compass of your soul, Your soul takes fire, And in the conflagration of your soul The evil of the world is lighted up and made clear - Be thankful if in that hour of supreme vision Life does not fiddle.

Midsummer.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

After the May time, and after the June time Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet, Cometh the round world's royal noon time, The red midsummer of blazing heat. When the sun, like an eye that never closes, Bends on the earth its fervid gaze, And the winds are still, and the crimson roses Droop and wither and die in its rays. Unto my heart has come that season, O my lady, my worshiped one, When over the stars of Pride and Reason Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun. Like a great red ball in my bosom burning With fires that nothing can quench or tame. It glows till my heart itself seems turning Into a liquid lake of flame. The hopes half shy, and the sighs all tender, The dreams and fears of an earlier day, Under the noontide's royal splendor, Droop like roses and wither away. From the hills of doubt no winds are blowing, From the isle of pain no breeze is sent. Only the sun in a white heat glowing Over an ocean of great content. Sink, O my soul, in this golden glory, Die, O my heart, in thy rapture-swoon, For the Autumn must come with its mournful story, And Love's midsummer will fade too soon.

The Sonnets XLIX - Against that time, if ever that time come

William Shakespeare

Against that time, if ever that time come, When I shall see thee frown on my defects, When as thy love hath cast his utmost sum, Call'd to that audit by advis'd respects; Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass, And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye, When love, converted from the thing it was, Shall reasons find of settled gravity; Against that time do I ensconce me here, Within the knowledge of mine own desert, And this my hand, against my self uprear, To guard the lawful reasons on thy part: To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, Since why to love I can allege no cause.

Mice In Council

Walter Crane

Against Cat sat a Council of Mice. Every Mouse came out prompt with advice; And a bell on Cat's throat Would have met a round vote, Had the bell-hanger not been so nice. The Best Policy Often Turns On An If

The Man In Gray.

Madison Julius Cawein

I. Again, in dreams, the veteran hears The bugle and the drum; Again the boom of battle nears, Again the bullets hum: Again he mounts, again he cheers, Again his charge speeds home O memories of those long gone years! O years that are to come! We live in dreams as well as deeds, in thoughts as well as acts; And life through things we feel, not know, is realized the most; The conquered are the conquerors, despite the face of facts, If they still feel their cause was just who fought for it and lost. II. Again, in thought, he hears at dawn The far reveille die; Again he marches stern and wan Beneath a burning sky: He bivouacs; the night comes on; His comrades 'round him lie O memories of the years long gone! O years that now go by! The vintager of Earth is War, is War whose grapes are men; Into his wine-vats armies go, his wine-vats steaming red: The crimson vats of battle where he stalks, as in a den, Drunk with the must of Hell that spurts beneath his iron tread. III. Again, in mind, he's lying where The trenches slay with heat; Again his flag floats o'er him, fair In charge or fierce retreat: Again all's lost; again despair Makes death seem three times sweet O years of tears that crowned his hair With laurels of defeat! There is reward for those who dare, for those who dare and do; Who face the dark inevitable, who fall and know no shame: Upon their banner triumph sits and in the horn they blew, Naught's lost if honor be not lost, defeat is but a name.

The Botanic Garden A Poem in Two Parts. Part 1: The Economy of Vegetation: Canto III.

Erasmus Darwin

Argument of the Third Canto. Address to the Nymphs. I. Steam rises from the ocean, floats in clouds, descends in rain and dew, or is condensed on hills, produces springs, and rivers, and returns to the sea. So the blood circulates through the body and returns to the heart. 11. II. 1. Tides, 57. 2. Echinus, nautilus, pinna, cancer. Grotto of a mermaid. 65. 3. Oil stills the waves. Coral rocks. Ship-worm, or Teredo. Maelstrome, a whirlpool on the coast of Norway. 85. III. Rivers from beneath the snows on the Alps. The Tiber. 103. IV. Overflowing of the Nile from African Monsoons, 129. V. 1. Giesar, a boiling fountain in Iceland, destroyed by inundation, and consequent earthquake, 145. 2. Warm medicinal springs. Buxton. Duke and Dutchess of Devonshire. 157. VI. Combination of vital air and inflammable gas produces water. Which is another source of springs and rivers. Allegorical loves of Jupiter and Juno productive of vernal showers. 201. VII. Aquatic Taste. Distant murmur of the sea by night. Sea-horse. Nereid singing. 261. VIII. The Nymphs of the river Derwent lament the death of Mrs. French, 297. IX. Inland navigation. Monument for Mr. Brindley, 341. X. Pumps explained. Child sucking. Mothers exhorted to nurse their children. Cherub sleeping. 365. XI. Engines for extinguishing fire. Story of two lovers perishing in the flames. 397. XII. Charities of Miss Jones, 447. XIII. Marshes drained. Hercules conquers Achilous. The horn of Plenty. 483. XIV. Showers. Dews. Floating lands with water. Lacteal system in animals. Caravan drinking. 529. Departure of the Nymphs like water spiders; like northern nations skaiting on the ice. 569. THE ECONOMY OF VEGETATION. The Botanic Garden A Poem in Two Parts. Part 1: The Economy of Vegetation: Canto III. AGAIN the GODDESS speaks!--glad Echo swells The tuneful tones along her shadowy dells, Her wrinkling founts with soft vibration shakes, Curls her deep wells, and rimples all her lakes, 5    Thrills each wide stream, Britannia's isle that laves, Her headlong cataracts, and circumfluent waves. --Thick as the dews, which deck the morning flowers, Or rain-drops twinkling in the sun-bright showers, Fair Nymphs, emerging in pellucid bands, 10    Rise, as she turns, and whiten all the lands. I. "YOUR buoyant troops on dimpling ocean tread, Wafting the moist air from his oozy bed, AQUATIC NYMPHS!--YOU lead with viewless march The winged vapours up the aerial arch, 15    On each broad cloud a thousand sails expand, And steer the shadowy treasure o'er the land, Through vernal skies the gathering drops diffuse, Plunge in soft rains, or sink in silver dews.-- YOUR lucid bands condense with fingers chill 20    The blue mist hovering round the gelid hill; In clay-form'd beds the trickling streams collect, Strain through white sands, through pebbly veins direct; Or point in rifted rocks their dubious way, And in each bubbling fountain rise to day. [The winged vapours. l. 14. See additional note No. XXV. on evaporation.] [On each broad cloud. l. 15. The clouds consist of condensed vapour, the particles of which are too small separately to overcome the tenacity of the air, and which therefore do not descend. They are in such small spheres as to repel each other, that is, they are applied to each other by such very small surfaces, that the attraction of the particles of each drop to its own centre is greater than its attraction to the surface of the drop in its vicinity; every one has observed with what difficulty small spherules of quicksilver can be made to unite, owing to the same cause; and it is common to see on riding through shallow water on a clear day, numbers of very small spheres of water as they are thrown from the horses feet run along the surface for many yards before they again unite with it. In many cases these spherules of water, which compose clouds, are kept from uniting by a surplus of electric fluid; and fall in violent showers as soon as that is withdrawn from them, as in thunder storms. See note on Canto I. l. 553. If in this state a cloud becomes frozen, it is torn to pieces in its descent by the friction of the air, and falls in white flakes of snow. Or these flakes are rounded by being rubbed together by the winds, and by having their angles thawed off by the warmer air beneath as they descend; and part of the water produced by these angles thus dissolved is absorbed into the body of the hailstone, as may be seen by holding a lump of snow over a candle, and there becomes frozen into ice by the quantity of cold which the hailstone possesses beneath the freezing point, or which is produced by its quick evaporation in falling; and thus hailstones are often found of greater or less density according as they consist of a greater portion of snow or ice. If hailstones consisted of the large drops of showers frozen in their descent, they would consist of pure transparent ice. As hail is only produced in summer, and is always attended with storms, some philosophers have believed that the sudden departure of electricity from a cloud may effect something yet unknown in this phenomenon; but it may happen in summer independent of electricity, because the aqueous vapour is then raised higher in the atmosphere, whence it has further to fall, and there is warmer air below for it to fall through.] [Or sink in silver dews. l. 18. During the coldness of the night the moisture before dissolved in the air is gradually precipitated, and as it subsides adheres to the bodies it falls upon. Where the attraction of the body to the particles of water is greater than the attractions of those particles to each other, it becomes spread upon their surface, or slides down them in actual contact; as on the broad parts of the blades of moist grass: where the attraction of the surface to the water is less than the attraction of the particles of water to each other, the dew stands in drops; as on the points and edges of grass or gorse, where the surface presented to the drop being small it attracts it so little as but just to support it without much changing its globular form: where there is no attraction between the vegetable surface and the dew drops, as on cabbage leaves, the drop does not come into contact with the leaf, but hangs over it repelled, and retains it natural form, composed of the attraction and pressure of its own parts, and thence looks like quicksilver, reflecting light from both its surfaces. Nor is this owing to any oiliness of the leaf, but simply to the polish of its surface, as a light needle may be laid on water in the same manner without touching it; for as the attractive powers of polished surfaces are greater when in actual contact, so the repulsive power is greater before contact.] [The blue mist. l. 20. Mists are clouds resting on the ground, they generally come on at the beginning of night, and either fill the moist vallies, or hang on the summits of hills, according to the degree of moisture previously dissolved, and the eduction of heat from them. The air over rivers during the warmth of the day suspends much moisture, and as the changeful surface of rivers occasions them to cool sooner than the land at the approach of evening, mists are most frequently seen to begin over rivers, and to spread themselves over moist grounds, and fill the vallies, while the mists on the tops of mountains are more properly clouds, condensed by the coldness of their situation. On ascending up the side of a hill from a misty valley, I have observed a beautiful coloured halo round the moon when a certain thickness of mist was over me, which ceased to be visible as soon as I emerged out of it; and well remember admiring with other spectators the shadow of the three spires of the cathedral church at Lichfield, the moon rising behind it, apparently broken off, and lying distinctly over our heads as if horizontally on the surface of the mist, which arose about as high as the roof of the church. There are some curious remarks on shadows or reflexions seen on the surface of mists from high mountains in Ulloa's Voyages. The dry mist of summer 1783, was probably occasioned by volcanic eruption, as mentioned in note on Chunda, Vol. II. and therefore more like the atmosphere of smoke which hangs on still days over great cities. There is a dry mist, or rather a diminished transparence of the air, which according to Mr. Saussure accompanies fair weather, while great transparence of air indicates rain. Thus when large rivers two miles broad, such as at Liverpool, appear narrow, it is said to prognosticate rain; and when wide, fair weather. This want of transparence of the air in dry weather, may be owing to new combinations or decompositions of the vapours dissolved in it, but wants further investigation. Essais sur L'Hygromet, p. 357.] [Round the gelid hill. l. 20. See additional notes, No. XXVI. on the origin of springs.] 25        "NYMPHS! YOU then guide, attendant from their source, The associate rills along their sinuous course; Float in bright squadrons by the willowy brink, Or circling slow in limpid eddies sink; Call from her crystal cave the Naiad-Nymph, 30    Who hides her fine form in the passing lymph, And, as below she braids her hyaline hair, Eyes her soft smiles reflected in the air; Or sport in groups with River-Boys, that lave Their silken limbs amid the dashing wave; 35    Pluck the pale primrose bending from its edge, Or tittering dance amid the whispering sedge.-- "Onward YOU pass, the pine-capt hills divide, Or feed the golden harvests on their side; The wide-ribb'd arch with hurrying torrents fill, 40    Shove the slow barge, or whirl the foaming mill. OR lead with beckoning hand the sparkling train Of refluent water to its parent main, And pleased revisit in their sea-moss vales Blue Nereid-forms array'd in shining scales, 45    Shapes, whose broad oar the torpid wave impels, And Tritons bellowing through their twisted shells. "So from the heart the sanguine stream distils, O'er Beauty's radiant shrine in vermil rills, Feeds each fine nerve, each slender hair pervades, 50    The skins bright snow with living purple shades, Each dimpling cheek with warmer blushes dyes, Laughs on the lips, and lightens in the eyes. --Erewhile absorb'd, the vagrant globules swim From each fair feature, and proportion'd limb, 55    Join'd in one trunk with deeper tint return To the warm concave of the vital urn. II. 1."AQUATIC MAIDS! YOU sway the mighty realms Of scale and shell, which Ocean overwhelms; As Night's pale Queen her rising orb reveals, 60    And climbs the zenith with refulgent wheels, Car'd on the foam your glimmering legion rides, Your little tridents heave the dashing tides, Urge on the sounding shores their crystal course, Restrain their fury, or direct their force. [Car'd on the foam. l. 61. The phenomena of the tides have been well investigated and satisfactorily explained by Sir Isaac Newton and Dr. Halley from the reciprocal gravitations of the earth, moon, and sun. As the earth and moon move round a centre of motion near the earth's surface, at the same time that they are proceeding in their annual orbit round the sun, it follows that the water on the side of the earth nearest this centre of motion between the earth and moon will be more attracted by the moon, and the waters on the opposite side of the earth will be less attracted by the moon, than the central parts of the earth. Add to this that the centrifugal force of the water on the side of the earth furthest from the centre of the motion, round which the earth and moon move, (which, as was said before, is near the surface of the earth) is greater than that on the opposite side of the earth. From both these causes it is easy to comprehend that the water will rise on two sides of the earth, viz. on that nearest to the moon, and its opposite side, and that it will be flattened in consequence at the quadratures, and thus produce two tides in every lunar day, which consists of about twenty- four hours and forty-eight minutes. These tides will be also affected by the solar attraction when it coincides with the lunar one, or opposes it, as at new and full moon, and will also be much influenced by the opposing shores in every part of the earth. Now as the moon in moving round the centre of gravity between itself and the earth describes a much larger orbit than the earth describes round the same centre, it follows that the centrifugal motion on the side of the moon opposite to the earth must be much greater than the centrifugal motion of the side of the earth opposite to the moon round the same centre. And secondly, as the attraction of the earth exerted on the moon's surface next to the earth is much greater than the attraction of the moon exerted on the earth's surface, the tides on the lunar sea, (if such there be,) should be much greater than those of our ocean. Add to this that as the same face of the moon always is turned to the earth, the lunar tides must be permanent, and if the solid parts of the moon be spherical, must always cover the phasis next to us. But as there are evidently hills and vales and volcanos on this side of the moon, the consequence is that the moon has no ocean, or that it is frozen.] 65        2."NYMPHS! YOU adorn, in glossy volumes roll'd, The gaudy conch with azure, green, and gold. You round Echinus ray his arrowy mail, Give the keel'd Nautilus his oar and sail; Firm to his rock with silver cords suspend 70    The anchor'd Pinna, and his Cancer-friend; With worm-like beard his toothless lips array, And teach the unwieldy Sturgeon to betray.-- Ambush'd in weeds, or sepulcher'd in sands, In dread repose He waits the scaly bands, 75    Waves in red spires the living lures, and draws The unwary plunderers to his circling jaws, Eyes with grim joy the twinkling shoals beset, And clasps the quick inextricable net. You chase the warrior Shark, and cumberous Whale, 80    And guard the Mermaid in her briny vale; Feed the live petals of her insect-flowers, Her shell-wrack gardens, and her sea-fan bowers; With ores and gems adorn her coral cell, And drop a pearl in every gaping shell. [The gaudy conch. l. 66. The spiral form of many shells seem to have afforded a more frugal manner of covering the long tail of the fish with calcareous armour; since a single thin partition between the adjoining circles of the fish was sufficient to defend both surfaces, and thus much cretaceous matter is saved; and it is probable that from this spiral form they are better enabled to feel the vibrations of the element in which they exist. See note on Canto IV. l. 162. This cretaceous matter is formed by a mucous secretion from the skin of the fish, as is seen in crab-fish, and others which annually cast their shells, and is at first a soft mucous covering, (like that of a hen's egg, when it is laid a day or two too soon,) and which gradually hardens. This may also be seen in common shell snails, if a part of their shell be broken it becomes repaired in a similar manner with mucus, which by degrees hardens into shell. It is probable the calculi or stones found in other animals may have a similar origin, as they are formed on mucous membranes, as those of the kidney and bladder, chalk-stones in the gout, and gall-stones; and are probably owing to the inflammation of the membrane where they are produced, and vary according to the degree of inflammation of the membrane which forms them, and the kind of mucous which it naturally produces. Thus the shelly matter of different shell-fish differs, from the courser kinds which form the shells of crabs, to the finer kinds which produces the mother-pearl. The beautiful colours of some shells originate from the thinness of the laminae of which they consist, rather than to any colouring matter, as is seen in mother-pearl, which reflects different colours according to the obliquity of the light which falls on it. The beautiful prismatic colours seen on the Labrodore stone are owing to a similar cause, viz. the thinness of the laminae of which it consists, and has probably been formed from mother-pearl shells. It is curious that some of the most common fossil shells are not now known in their recent state, as the cornua ammonis; and on the contrary, many shells which are very plentiful in their recent state, as limpets, sea-ears, volutes, cowries, are very rarely found fossil. Da Costa's Conchology, p. 163. Were all the ammoniae destroyed when the continents were raised? Or do some genera of animals perish by the increasing power of their enemies? Or do they still reside at inaccessible depths in the sea? Or do some animals change their forms gradually and become new genera?] [Echinus. Nautilus. l. 67, 68. See additional notes, No. XXVII.] [Pinna. Cancer. l. 70. See additional notes, No. XXVII.] [With worm-like beard. l. 71. See additional notes, No. XXVIII.] [Feed the live petals. l. 82. There is a sea-insect described by Mr. Huges whose claws or tentacles being disposed in regular circles and tinged with variety of bright lively colours represent the petals of some most elegantly fringed and radiated flowers as the carnation, marigold, and anemone. Philos. Trans. Abridg. Vol. IX. p. 110. The Abbe Dicquemarre has further elucidated the history of the actinia; and observed their manner of taking their prey by inclosing it in these beautiful rays like a net. Phil. Trans. Vol. LXIII. and LXV. and LXVII.] [And drop a pearl. l. 84. Many are the opinions both of antient and modern concerning the production of pearls. Mr. Reaumur thinks they are formed like the hard concretions in many land animals as stones of the bladder, gallstones, and bezoar, and hence concludes them to be a disease of the fish, but there seems to be a stricter analogy between these and the calcareous productions found in crab-fish called crab's eyes, which are formed near the stomach of the animal, and constitute a reservoir of calcareous matter against the renovation of the shell, at which time they are re-dissolved and deposited for that purpose. As the internal part of the shell of the pearl oyster or muscle consists of mother-pearl which is a similar material to the pearl and as the animal has annually occasion to enlarge his shell there is reason to suspect the loose pearls are similar reservoirs of the pearly matter for that purpose.] 85        3. "YOUR myriad trains o'er stagnant ocean's tow, Harness'd with gossamer, the loitering prow; Or with fine films, suspended o'er the deep, Of oil effusive lull the waves to sleep. You stay the flying bark, conceal'd beneath, 90    Where living rocks of worm-built coral breathe; Meet fell TEREDO, as he mines the keel With beaked head, and break his lips of steel; Turn the broad helm, the fluttering canvas urge From MAELSTROME'S fierce innavigable surge. 95    --'Mid the lorn isles of Norway's stormy main, As sweeps o'er many a league his eddying train, Vast watery walls in rapid circles spin, And deep-ingulph'd the Demon dwells within; Springs o'er the fear-froze crew with Harpy-claws, 100    Down his deep den the whirling vessel draws; Churns with his bloody mouth the dread repast, The booming waters murmuring o'er the mast. [Or with fine films. l. 87. See additional notes, No. XXIX.] [Where living rocks. l. 90. The immense and dangerous rocks built by the swarms of coral infects which rise almost perpendicularly in the southern ocean like walls are described in Cook's voyages, a point of one of these rocks broke off and stuck in the hole which it had made in the bottom of one of his ships, which would otherwise have perished by the admission of water. The numerous lime-stone rocks which consist of a congeries of the cells of these animals and which constitute a great part of the solid earth shew their prodigious multiplication in all ages of the world. Specimens of these rocks are to be seen in the Lime-works at Linsel near Newport in Shropshire, in Coal-brook Dale, and in many parts of the Peak of Derbyshire. The insect has been well described by M. Peyssonnel, Ellis, and others. Phil. Trans. Vol. XLVII. L. LII. and LVII.] [Meet fell Teredo. l. 91. See additional notes, No. XXX.] [Turn the broad helm. l 93. See additional notes, No. XXXI.] III. "Where with chill frown enormous ALPS alarms A thousand realms, horizon'd in his arms; 105    While cloudless suns meridian glories shed From skies of silver round his hoary head, Tall rocks of ice refract the coloured rays, And Frost sits throned amid the lambent blaze; NYMPHS! YOUR thin forms pervade his glittering piles, 110    His roofs of chrystal, and his glasy ailes; Where in cold caves imprisoned Naiads sleep, Or chain'd on mossy couches wake and weep; Where round dark crags indignant waters bend Through rifted ice, in ivory veins descend, 115    Seek through unfathom'd snows their devious track, Heave the vast spars, the ribbed granites crack, Rush into day, in foamy torrents shine, And swell the imperial Danube or the Rhine.-- Or feed the murmuring TIBER, as he laves 120    His realms inglorious with diminish'd waves, Hears his lorn Forum sound with Eunuch-strains, Sees dancing slaves insult his martial plains; Parts with chill stream the dim religious bower, Time-mouldered bastion, and dismantled tower; 125    By alter'd fanes and nameless villas glides, And classic domes, that tremble on his sides; Sighs o'er each broken urn, and yawning tomb, And mourns the fall of LIBERTY and ROME. [Where round dark craggs. l. 113. See additional notes, No. XXXII.] [Heave the vast spars. l. 116. Water in descending down elevated situations if the outlet for it below is not sufficient for its emission acts with a force equal to the height of the column, as is seen in an experimental machine called the philosophical bellows, in which a few pints of water are made to raise many hundred pounds. To this cause is to be ascribed many large promontories of ice being occasionally thrown down from the glaciers; rocks have likewise been thrown from the sides of mountains by the same cause, and large portions of earth have been removed many hundred yards from their situations at the foot of mountains. On inspecting the locomotion of about thirty acres of earth with a small house near Bilder's Bridge in Shropshire, about twenty years ago, from the foot of a mountain towards the river, I well remember it bore all the marks of having been thus lifted up, pushed away, and as it were crumpled into ridges, by a column of water contained in the mountain. From water being thus confined in high columns between the strata of mountainous countries it has often happened that when wells or perforations have been made into the earth, that springs have arisen much above the surface of the new well. When the new bridge was building at Dublin Mr. G. Semple found a spring in the bed of the river where he meant to lay the foundation of a pierre, which, by fixing iron pipes into it, he raised many feet. Treatise on Building in Water, by G. Semple. From having observed a valley north-west of St. Alkmond's well near Derby, at the head of which that spring of water once probably existed, and by its current formed the valley, (but which in after times found its way out in its present situation,) I suspect that St. Alkmond's well might by building round it be raised high enough to supply many streets in Derby with spring-water which are now only supplied with river-water. See an account of an artificial spring of water, Phil. Trans. Vol. LXXV. p. 1. In making a well at Sheerness the water rose 300 feet above its source in the well. Phil. Trans. Vol. LXXIV. And at Hartford in Connecticut there is a well which was dug seventy feet deep before water was found, then in boring an augur-hole through a rock the water rose so fast as to make it difficult to keep it dry by pumps till they could blow the hole larger by gunpowder, which was no sooner accomplished than it filled and run over, and has been a brook for near a century. Travels through America. Lond. 1789. Lane.] IV. "Sailing in air, when dark MONSOON inshrouds 130    His tropic mountains in a night of clouds; Or drawn by whirlwinds from the Line returns, And showers o'er Afric all his thousand urns; High o'er his head the beams of SIRIUS glow, And, Dog of Nile, ANUBIS barks below. 135    NYMPHS! YOU from cliff to cliff attendant guide In headlong cataracts the impetuous tide; Or lead o'er wastes of Abyssinian sands The bright expanse to EGYPT'S shower-less lands. --Her long canals the sacred waters fill, 140    And edge with silver every peopled hill; Gigantic SPHINX in circling waves admire; And MEMNON bending o'er his broken lyre; O'er furrow'd glebes and green savannas sweep, And towns and temples laugh amid the deep. [Dark monsoon inshrouds. l. 129. When from any peculiar situations of land in respect to sea the tropic becomes more heated, when the sun is vertical over it, than the line, the periodical winds called monsoons are produced, and these are attended by rainy seasons; for as the air at the tropic is now more heated than at the line it ascends by decrease of its specific gravity, and floods of air rush in both from the South West and North East, and these being one warmer than the other the rain is precipitated by their mixture as observed by Dr. Hutton. See additional notes, No. XXV. All late travellers have ascribed the rise of the Nile to the monsoons which deluge Nubia and Abyssinia with rain. The whirling of the ascending air was even seen by Mr. Bruce in Abyssinia; he says, "every morning a small cloud began to whirl round, and presently after the whole heavens became covered with clouds," by this vortex of ascending air the N.E. winds and the S.W. winds, which flow in to supply the place of the ascending column, became mixed more rapidly and deposited their rain in greater abundance. Mr. Volney observes that the time of the rising of the Nile commences about the 19th of June, and that Abyssinia and the adjacent parts of Africa are deluged with rain in May, June, and July, and produce a mass of water which is three months in draining off. The Abbe Le Pluche observes that as Sirius, or the dog-star, rose at the time of the commencement of the flood its rising was watched by the astronomers, and notice given of the approach of inundation by hanging the figure of Anubis, which was that of a man with a dog's head, upon all their temples. Histoire de Ciel.] [Illustration: Fertilization of Egypt.] [Egypt's shower-less lands. l. 138. There seem to be two situations which may be conceived to be exempted from rain falling upon them, one where the constant trade-winds meet beneath the line, for here two regions of warm air are mixed together, and thence do not seem to have any cause to precipitate their vapour; and the other is, where the winds are brought from colder climates and become warmer by their contact with the earth of a warmer one. Thus Lower Egypt is a flat country warmed by the sun more than the higher lands of one side of it, and than the Mediterranean on the other; and hence the winds which blow over it acquire greater warmth, which ever way they come, than they possessed before, and in consequence have a tendency to acquire and not to part with their vapour like the north-east winds of this country. There is said to be a narrow spot upon the coast of Peru where rain seldom occurs, at the same time according to Ulloa on the mountainous regions of the Andes beyond there is almost perpetual rain. For the wind blows uniformly upon this hot part of the coast of Peru, but no cause of devaporation occurs till it begins to ascend the mountainous Andes, and then its own expansion produces cold sufficient to condense its vapour.] 145        V. 1. "High in the frozen North where HECCLA glows, And melts in torrents his coeval snows; O'er isles and oceans sheds a sanguine light, Or shoots red stars amid the ebon night; When, at his base intomb'd, with bellowing sound 150    Fell GIESAR roar'd, and struggling shook the ground; Pour'd from red nostrils, with her scalding breath, A boiling deluge o'er the blasted heath; And, wide in air, in misty volumes hurl'd Contagious atoms o'er the alarmed world; 155    NYMPHS! YOUR bold myriads broke the infernal spell, And crush'd the Sorceress in her flinty cell. [Fell Giesar roar'd. l. 150. The boiling column of water at Giesar in Iceland was nineteen feet in diameter, and sometimes rose to the height of ninety-two feet. On cooling it deposited a siliceous matter or chalcedony forming a bason round its base. The heat of this water before it rose out of the earth could not be ascertained, as water looses all its heat above 212 (as soon as it is at liberty to expand) by the exhalation of a part, but the flinty bason which is deposited from it shews that water with great degrees of heat will dissolve siliceous matter. Van Troil's Letters on Iceland. Since the above account in the year 1780 this part of Iceland has been destroyed by an earthquake or covered with lava, which was probably effected by the force of aqueous steam, a greater quantity of water falling on the subterraneous fires than could escape by the antient outlets and generating an increased quantity of vapour. For the dispersion of contagious vapours from volcanos see an account of the Harmattan in the notes on Chunda, Vol. II.] 2. "Where with soft fires in unextinguish'd urns, Cauldron'd in rock, innocuous Lava burns; On the bright lake YOUR gelid hands distil 160    In pearly mowers the parsimonious rill; And, as aloft the curling vapours rise Through the cleft roof, ambitious for the skies, In vaulted hills condense the tepid steams, And pour to HEALTH the medicated streams. 165    --So in green vales amid her mountains bleak BUXTONIA smiles, the Goddess-Nymyh of Peak; Deep in warm waves, and pebbly baths she dwells, And calls HYGEIA to her sainted wells. [Buxtonia smiles. l. 166. Some arguments are mentioned in the note on Fucus Vol. II. to shew that the warm springs of this country do not arise from the decomposition of pyrites near the surface of the earth, but that they are produced by steam rising up the fissures of the mountains from great depths, owing to water falling on subterraneous fires, and that this steam is condensed between the strata of the incumbent mountains and collected into springs. For further proofs on this subject the reader is referred to a Letter from Dr. Darwin in Mr. Pilkington's View of Derbyshire, Vol I. p. 256.] "Hither in sportive bands bright DEVON leads 170    Graces and Loves from Chatsworth's flowery meads.-- Charm'd round the NYMPH, they climb the rifted rocks; And steep in mountain-mist their golden locks; On venturous step her sparry caves explore, And light with radiant eyes her realms of ore; 175    --Oft by her bubbling founts, and shadowy domes, In gay undress the fairy legion roams, Their dripping palms in playful malice fill, Or taste with ruby lip the sparkling rill; Croud round her baths, and, bending o'er the side, 180    Unclasp'd their sandals, and their zones untied, Dip with gay fear the shuddering foot undress'd, And quick retract it to the fringed vest; Or cleave with brandish'd arms the lucid stream, And sob, their blue eyes twinkling in the steam. 185    --High o'er the chequer'd vault with transient glow Bright lustres dart, as dash the waves below; And Echo's sweet responsive voice prolongs The dulcet tumult of their silver tongues.-- O'er their flush'd cheeks uncurling tresses flow, 190    And dew-drops glitter on their necks of snow; Round each fair Nymph her dropping mantle clings, And Loves emerging shake their showery wings. [And sob, their blue eyes. l. 184. The bath at Buxton being of 82 degrees of heat is called a warm bath, and is so compared with common spring-water which possesses but 48 degrees of heat, but is nevertheless a cold bath compared to the heat of the body which is 98. On going into this bath there is therefore always a chill perceived at the first immersion, but after having been in it a minute the chill ceases and a sensation of warmth succeeds though the body continues to be immersed in the water. The cause of this curious phenomenon is to be looked for in the laws of animal sensation and not from any properties of heat. When a person goes from clear day-light into an obscure room for a while it appears gloomy, which gloom however in a little time ceases, and the deficiency of light becomes no longer perceived. This is not solely owing to the enlargement of the iris of the eye, since that is performed in an instant, but to this law of sensation, that when a less stimulus is applied (within certain bounds) the sensibility increases. Thus at going into a bath as much colder than the body as that of Buxton, the diminution of heat on the skin is at first perceived, but in about a minute the sensibility to heat increases and the nerves of the skin are equally excited by the lessened stimulus. The sensation of warmth at emerging from a cold-bath, and the pain called the hot-ach, after the hands have been immersed in snow, depend on the same principle, viz. the increased sensibility of the skin after having been previously exposed to a stimulus less than usual.] "Here oft her LORD surveys the rude domain, Fair arts of Greece triumphant in his train; 195    LO! as he steps, the column'd pile ascends, The blue roof closes, or the crescent bends; New woods aspiring clothe their hills with green, Smooth slope the lawns, the grey rock peeps between; Relenting Nature gives her hand to Taste, 200    And Health and Beauty crown the laughing waste. [Here oft her Lord. l. 193. Alluding to the magnificent and beautiful crescent, and superb stables lately erected at Buxton for the accomodation of the company by the Duke of Devonshire; and to the plantations with which he has decorated the surrounding mountains.] VI. "NYMPHS! YOUR bright squadrons watch with chemic eyes The cold-elastic vapours, as they rise; With playful force arrest them as they pass, And to pure AIR betroth the flaming GAS. 205    Round their translucent forms at once they fling Their rapturous arms, with silver bosoms cling; In fleecy clouds their fluttering wings extend, Or from the skies in lucid showers descend; Whence rills and rivers owe their secret birth, 210    And Ocean's hundred arms infold the earth. [And to pure air. l. 204. Until very lately water was esteemed a simple element, nor are all the most celebrated chemists of Europe yet converts to the new opinion of its decomposition. Mr. Lavoisier and others of the French school have most ingeniously endeavoured to shew that water consists of pure air, called by them oxygene, and of inflammable air, called hydrogene, with as much of the matter of heat, or calorique, as is necessary to preserve them in the form of gas. Gas is distinguished from steam by its preserving its elasticity under the pressure of the atmosphere, and in the greatest degrees of cold yet known. The history of the progress of this great discovery is detailed in the Memoires of the Royal Academy for 1781, and the experimental proofs of it are delivered in Lavoisier's Elements of Chemistry. The results of which are that water consists of eighty-five parts by weight of oxygene, and fifteen parts by weight of hydrogene, with a sufficient quantity of Calorique. Not only numerous chemical phenomena, but many atmospherical and vegetable facts receive clear and beautiful elucidation from this important analysis. In the atmosphere inflammable air is probably perpetually uniting with vital air and producing moisture which descends in dews and showers, while the growth of vegetables by the assistance of light is perpetually again decomposing the water they imbibe from the earth, and while they retain the inflammable air for the formation of oils, wax, honey, resin, &c. they give up the vital air to replenish the atmosphere.] "So, robed by Beauty's Queen, with softer charms SATURNIA woo'd the Thunderer to her arms; O'er her fair limbs a veil of light she spread, And bound a starry diadem on her head; 215    Long braids of pearl her golden tresses grac'd, And the charm'd CESTUS sparkled round her waist. --Raised o'er the woof, by Beauty's hand inwrought, Breathes the soft Sigh, and glows the enamour'd Thought; Vows on light wings succeed, and quiver'd Wiles, 220    Assuasive Accents, and seductive Smiles. --Slow rolls the Cyprian car in purple pride, And, steer'd by LOVE, ascends admiring Ide; Climbs the green slopes, the nodding woods pervades, Burns round the rocks, or gleams amid the shades. 225    --Glad ZEPHYR leads the train, and waves above The barbed darts, and blazing torch of Love; Reverts his smiling face, and pausing flings Soft showers of roses from aurelian wings. Delighted Fawns, in wreathes of flowers array'd, 230    With tiptoe Wood-Boys beat the chequer'd glade; Alarmed Naiads, rising into air, Lift o'er their silver urns their leafy hair; Each to her oak the bashful Dryads shrink, And azure eyes are seen through every chink. 235    --LOVE culls a flaming shaft of broadest wing, And rests the fork upon the quivering string; Points his arch eye aloft, with fingers strong Draws to his curled ear the silken thong; Loud twangs the steel, the golden arrow flies, 240    Trails a long line of lustre through the skies; "'Tis done!" he shouts, "the mighty Monarch feels!" And with loud laughter shakes the silver wheels; Bends o'er the car, and whirling, as it moves, His loosen'd bowstring, drives the rising doves. 245    --Pierced on his throne the slarting Thunderer turns, Melts with soft sighs, with kindling rapture burns; Clasps her fair hand, and eyes in fond amaze The bright Intruder with enamour'd gaze. "And leaves my Goddess, like a blooming bride, 250    "The fanes of Argos for the rocks of Ide? "Her gorgeous palaces, and amaranth bowers, "For cliff-top'd mountains, and aerial towers?" He said; and, leading from her ivory seat The blushing Beauty to his lone retreat, 255    Curtain'd with night the couch imperial shrouds, And rests the crimson cushions upon clouds.-- Earth feels the grateful influence from above, Sighs the soft Air, and Ocean murmurs love; Etherial Warmth expands his brooding wing, 260    And in still showers descends the genial Spring. [And steer'd by love. l. 222. The younger love, or Cupid, the son of Venus, owes his existence and his attributes to much later times than the Eros, or divine love, mentioned in Canto I. since the former is no where mentioned by Homer, though so many apt opportunities of introducing him occur in the works of that immortal bard. Bacon.] [And in still showers. l. 260. The allegorical interpretation of the very antient mythology which supposes Jupiter to represent the superior part of the atmosphere or ether, and Juno the inferior air, and that the conjunction of these two produces vernal showers, as alluded to in Virgil's Georgics, is so analogous to the present important discovery of the production of water from pure air, or oxygene, and inflammable air, or hydrogene, (which from its greater levity probably resides over the former,) that one should be tempted to believe that the very antient chemists of Egypt had discovered the composition of water, and thus represented it in their hieroglyphic figures before the invention of letters. In the passage of Virgil Jupiter is called ether, and descends in prolific showers on the bosom of Juno, whence the spring succeeds and all nature rejoices. Tum pater omnipotens foecundis imbribus Aether Conjugis in gremium laetae descendit, et omnes Magnus alit, magno commixtus corpore, faetus. Virg. Georg. Lib. II. l. 325.] VII. "NYMPHS OF AQUATIC TASTE! whose placid smile Breathes sweet enchantment o'er BRITANNIA'S isle; Whose sportive touch in showers resplendent flings Her lucid cataracts, and her bubbling springs; 265    Through peopled vales the liquid silver guides, And swells in bright expanse her freighted tides. YOU with nice ear, in tiptoe trains, pervade Dim walks of morn or evening's silent shade; Join the lone Nightingale, her woods among, 270    And roll your rills symphonious to her song; Through fount-full dells, and wave-worn valleys move, And tune their echoing waterfalls to love; Or catch, attentive to the distant roar, The pausing murmurs of the dashing shore; 275    Or, as aloud she pours her liquid strain, Pursue the NEREID on the twilight main. --Her playful Sea-horse woos her soft commands, Turns his quick ears, his webbed claws expands, His watery way with waving volutes wins, 280    Or listening librates on unmoving fins. The Nymph emerging mounts her scaly seat, Hangs o'er his glossy sides her silver feet, With snow-white hands her arching veil detains, Gives to his slimy lips the slacken'd reins, 285    Lifts to the star of Eve her eye serene, And chaunts the birth of Beauty's radiant Queen.-- O'er her fair brow her pearly comb unfurls Her beryl locks, and parts the waving curls, Each tangled braid with glistening teeth unbinds 290    And with the floating treasure musks the winds.-- Thrill'd by the dulcet accents, as she sings, The rippling wave in widening circles rings; Night's shadowy forms along the margin gleam With pointed ears, or dance upon the stream; 295    The Moon transported stays her bright career, And maddening Stars shoot headlong from the sphere. [Her playful seahorse. l. 277. Described form an antique gem.] VIII. "NYMPHS! whose fair eyes with vivid lustres glow For human weal, and melt at human woe; Late as YOU floated on your silver shells, 300    Sorrowing and slow by DERWENT'S willowy dells; Where by tall groves his foamy flood he steers Through ponderous arches o'er impetuous wears, By DERBY'S shadowy towers reflective sweeps, And gothic grandeur chills his dusky deeps; 305    You pearl'd with Pity's drops his velvet sides, Sigh'd in his gales, and murmur'd in his tides, Waved o'er his fringed brink a deeper gloom, And bow'd his alders o'er MILCENA'S tomb. [O'er Milcena's tomb. l. 308. In memory of Mrs. French, a lady who to many other elegant accomplishments added a proficiency in botany and natural history.] "Oft with sweet voice She led her infant-train, 310    Printing with graceful step his spangled plain, Explored his twinkling swarms, that swim or fly, And mark'd his florets with botanic eye.-- "Sweet bud of Spring! how frail thy transient bloom, "Fine film," she cried, "of Nature's fairest loom! 315    "Soon Beauty fades upon its damask throne!"-- --Unconscious of the worm, that mined her own!-- --Pale are those lips, where soft caresses hung, Wan the warm cheek, and mute the tender tongue, Cold rests that feeling heart on Derwent's shore, 320    And those love-lighted eye-balls roll no more! --HERE her sad Consort, stealing through the gloom Of Hangs in mute anguish o'er the scutcheon'd hearse, Or graves with trembling style the votive verse. 325        "Sexton! oh, lay beneath this sacred shrine, When Time's cold hand shall close my aching eyes, Oh, gently lay this wearied earth of mine, Where wrap'd in night my loved MILCENA lies. "So shall with purer joy my spirit move, 330    When the last trumpet thrills the caves of Death, Catch the first whispers of my waking love, And drink with holy kiss her kindling breath. "The spotless Fair, with blush ethereal warm, Shall hail with sweeter smile returning day, 335    Rise from her marble bed a brighter form, And win on buoyant step her airy way. "Shall bend approved, where beckoning hosts invite, On clouds of silver her adoring knee, Approach with Seraphim the throne of light, 340    --And BEAUTY plead with angel-tongue for Me!" IX. "YOUR virgin trains on BRINDLEY'S cradle smiled, And nursed with fairy-love the unletter'd child, Spread round his pillow all your secret spells, Pierced all your springs, and open'd all your wells.-- 345    As now on grass, with glossy folds reveal'd, Glides the bright serpent, now in flowers conceal'd; Far shine the scales, that gild his sinuous back, And lucid undulations mark his track; So with strong arm immortal BRINDLEY leads 350    His long canals, and parts the velvet meads; Winding in lucid lines, the watery mass Mines the firm rock, or loads the deep morass, With rising locks a thousand hills alarms, Flings o'er a thousand streams its silver arms, 355    Feeds the long vale, the nodding woodland laves, And Plenty, Arts, and Commerce freight the waves. --NYMPHS! who erewhile round BRINDLEY'S early bier On show-white bosoms shower'd the incessant tear, Adorn his tomb!--oh, raise the marble bust, 360    Proclaim his honours, and protect his dust! With urns inverted, round the sacred shrine Their ozier wreaths let weeping Naiads twine; While on the top MECHANIC GENIUS stands, Counts the fleet waves, and balances the lands. [On Brindley's cradle smiled. l. 341. The life of Mr. Brindley, whose great abilities in the construction of canal navigation were called forth by the patronage of the Duke of Bridgwater, may be read in Dr. Kippis's Biographia Britannica, the excellence of his genius is visible in every part of this island. He died at Turnhurst in Staffordshire in 1772, and ought to have a monument in the cathedral church at Lichfield.] 365        X. "NYMPHS! YOU first taught to pierce the secret caves Of humid earth, and lift her ponderous waves; Bade with quick stroke the sliding piston bear The viewless columns of incumbent air;-- Press'd by the incumbent air the floods below, 370    Through opening valves in foaming torrents flow, Foot after foot with lessen'd impulse move, And rising seek the vacancy above.-- So when the Mother, bending o'er his charms, Clasps her fair nurseling in delighted arms; 375    Throws the thin kerchief from her neck of snow, And half unveils the pearly orbs below; With sparkling eye the blameless Plunderer owns Her soft embraces, and endearing tones, Seeks the salubrious fount with opening lips, 380    Spreads his inquiring hands, and smiles, and sips. [Lift her ponderous waves. l. 366. The invention of the pump is of very antient date, being ascribed to one Ctesebes an Athenian, whence it was called by the Latins machina Ctesebiana; but it was long before it was known that the ascent of the piston lifted the superincumbent column of the atmosphere, and that then the pressure of the surrounding air on the surface of the well below forced the water up into the vacuum, and that on that account in the common lifting pump the water would rise only about thirty-five feet, as the weight of such a column of water was in general an equipoise to the surrounding atmosphere. The foamy appearance of water, when the pressure of the air over it is diminished, is owing to the expansion and escape of the air previously dissolved by it, or existing in its pores. When a child first sucks it only presses or champs the teat, as observed by the great Harvey, but afterwards it learns to make an incipient vacuum in its mouth, and acts by removing the pressure of the atmosphere from the nipple, like a pump.] "CONNUBIAL FAIR! whom no fond transport warms To lull your infant in maternal arms; Who, bless'd in vain with tumid bosoms, hear His tender wailings with unfeeling ear; 385    The soothing kiss and milky rill deny To the sweet pouting lip, and glistening eye!-- Ah! what avails the cradle's damask roof, The eider bolster, and embroider'd woof!-- Oft hears the gilded couch unpity'd plains, 390    And many a tear the tassel'd cushion stains! No voice so sweet attunes his cares to rest, So soft no pillow, as his Mother's breast!-- --Thus charm'd to sweet repose, when twilight hours Shed their soft influence on celestial bowers, 395    The Cherub, Innocence, with smile divine Shuts his white wings, and sleeps on Beauty's shrine. [Ah! what avails. l. 387. From an elegant little poem of Mr. Jerningham's intitled Il Latte, exhorting ladies to nurse their own children.] XI. "From dome to dome when flames infuriate climb, Sweep the long street, invest the tower sublime; Gild the tall vanes amid the astonish'd night, 400    And reddening heaven returns the sanguine light; While with vast strides and bristling hair aloof Pale Danger glides along the falling roof; And Giant Terror howling in amaze Moves his dark limbs across the lurid blaze. 405    NYMPHS! you first taught the gelid wave to rise Hurl'd in resplendent arches to the skies; In iron cells condensed the airy spring, And imp'd the torrent with unfailing wing; --On the fierce flames the shower impetuous falls, 410    And sudden darkness shrouds the shatter'd walls; Steam, smoak, and dust in blended volumes roll, And Night and Silence repossess the Pole.-- [Hurl'd in resplendent arches. l. 406. The addition of an air-cell to machines for raising water to extinguish fire was first introduced by Mr. Newsham of London, and is now applied to similar engines for washing wall-trees in gardens, and to all kinds of forcing pumps, and might be applied with advantage to lifting pumps where the water is brought from a great distance horizontally. Another kind of machine was invented by one Greyl, in which a vessel of water was every way dispersed by the explosion of gun-powder lodging in the centre of it, and lighted by an adapted match; from this idea Mr. Godfrey proposed a water-bomb of similar construction. Dr. Hales to prevent the spreading of fire proposed to cover the floors and stairs of the adjoining houses with earth; Mr. Hartley proposed to prevent houses from taking fire by covering the cieling with thin iron-plates, and Lord Mahon by a bed of coarse mortar or plaister between the cieling and floor above it. May not this age of chemical science discover some method of injecting or soaking timber with lime-water and afterwards with vitriolic acid, and thus fill its pores with alabaster? or of penetrating it with siliceous matter, by processes similar to those of Bergman and Achard? See Cronstadt's Mineral. 2d. edit. Vol. I. p. 222.] "Where were ye, NYMPHS! in those disasterous hours, Which wrap'd in flames AUGUSTA'S sinking towers? 415    Why did ye linger in your wells and groves, When sad WOODMASON mourn'd her infant loves? When thy fair Daughters with unheeded screams, Ill-fated MOLESWORTH! call'd the loitering streams?-- The trembling Nymph on bloodless fingers hung 420    Eyes from the tottering wall the distant throng, With ceaseless shrieks her sleeping friends alarms, Drops with singed hair into her lover's arms.-- The illumin'd Mother seeks with footsteps fleet, Where hangs the safe balcony o'er the street, 425    Wrap'd in her sheet her youngest hope suspends, And panting lowers it to her tiptoe friends; Again she hurries on affection's wings, And now a third, and now a fourth, she brings; Safe all her babes, she smooths her horrent brow, 430    And bursts through bickering flames, unscorch'd, below. So, by her Son arraign'd, with feet unshod O'er burning bars indignant Emma trod. [Footnote: Woodmason, Molesworth. l. 416. The histories of these unfortunate families may be seen in the Annual Register, or in the Gentleman's Magazine.] "E'en on the day when Youth with Beauty wed, The flames surprized them in their nuptial bed;-- 435    Seen at the opening sash with bosom bare, With wringing hands, and dark dishevel'd hair, The blushing Beauty with disorder'd charms Round her fond lover winds her ivory arms; Beat, as they clasp, their throbbing hearts with fear, 440    And many a kiss is mix'd with many a tear;-- Ah me! in vain the labouring engines pour Round their pale limbs the ineffectual shower!-- --Then crash'd the floor, while shrinking crouds retire, And Love and Virtue sunk amid the fire!-- 445    With piercing screams afflicted strangers mourn, And their white ashes mingle in their urn. XII. "PELLUCID FORMS! whose crystal bosoms show The shine of welfare, or the shade of woe; Who with soft lips salute returning Spring, 450    And hail the Zephyr quivering on his wing; Or watch, untired, the wintery clouds, and share With streaming eyes my vegetable care; Go, shove the dim mist from the mountain's brow, Chase the white fog, which floods the vale below; 455    Melt the thick snows, that linger on the lands, And catch the hailstones in your little hands; Guard the coy blossom from the pelting shower, And dash the rimy spangles from the bower; From each chill leaf the silvery drops repel, 460    And close the timorous floret's golden bell. [Shove the dim mist. l. 453. See note on l. 20 of this Canto.] [Catch the hail-stones. l. 456. See note on l. 15 of this Canto.] [From each chill leaf. l. 459. The upper side of the leaf is the organ of vegetable respiration, as explained in the additional notes, No. XXXVII, hence the leaf is liable to injury from much moisture on this surface, and is destroyed by being smeared with oil, in these respects resembling the lungs of animals or the spiracula of insects. To prevent these injuries some leaves repel the dew-drops from their upper surfaces as those of cabbages; other vegetables close the upper surfaces of their leaves together in the night or in wet weather, as the sensitive plant; others only hang their leaves downwards so as to shoot the wet from them, as kidney-beans, and many trees. See note on l. 18 of this Canto.] [Golden bell. l. 460. There are muscles placed about the footstalks of the leaves or leaflets of many plants, for the purpose of closing their upper surfaces together, or of bending them down so as to shoot off the showers or dew-drops, as mentioned in the preceeding note. The claws of the petals or of the divisions of the calyx of many flowers are furnished in a similar manner with muscles, which are exerted to open or close the corol and calyx of the flower as in tragopogon, anemone. This action of opening and closing the leaves or flowers does not appear to be produced simply by irritation on the muscles themselves, but by the connection of those muscles with a sensitive sensorium or brain existing in each individual bud or flower. 1st. Because many flowers close from the defect of stimulus, not by the excess of it, as by darkness, which is the absence of the stimulus of light; or by cold, which is the absence of the stimulus of heat. Now the defect of heat, or the absence of food, or of drink, affects our sensations, which had been previously accustomed to a greater quantity of them; but a muscle cannot be said to be stimulated into action by a defect of stimulus. 2. Because the muscles around the footstalks of the subdivisions of the leaves of the sensitive plant are exerted when any injury is offered to the other extremity of the leaf, and some of the stamens of the flowers of the class Syngenesia contract themselves when others are irritated. See note on Chondrilla, Vol. II. of this work. From this circumstance the contraction of the muscles of vegetables seems to depend on a disagreeable sensation in some distant part, and not on the irritation of the muscles themselves. Thus when a particle of dust stimulates the ball of the eye, the eye-lids are instantly closed, and when too much light pains the retina, the muscles of the iris contract its aperture, and this not by any connection or consent of the nerves of those parts, but as an effort to prevent or to remove a disagreeable sensation, which evinces that vegetables are endued with sensation, or that each bud has a common sensorium, and is furnished with a brain or a central place where its nerves were connected.] "So should young SYMPATHY, in female form, Climb the tall rock, spectatress of the storm; Life's sinking wrecks with secret sighs deplore, And bleed for others' woes, Herself on shore; 465    To friendless Virtue, gasping on the strand, Bare her warm heart, her virgin arms expand, Charm with kind looks, with tender accents cheer, And pour the sweet consolatory tear; Grief's cureless wounds with lenient balms asswage, 470    Or prop with firmer staff the steps of Age; The lifted arm of mute Despair arrest, And snatch the dagger pointed to his breast; Or lull to slumber Envy's haggard mien, And rob her quiver'd shafts with hand unseen. 475    --Sound, NYMPHS OF HELICON! the trump of Fame, And teach Hibernian echoes JONES'S name; Bind round her polish'd brow the civic bay, And drag the fair Philanthropist to day.-- So from secluded springs, and secret caves, 480    Her Liffy pours his bright meandering waves, Cools the parch'd vale, the sultry mead divides, And towns and temples star his shadowy sides. [Jones's name. l. 476. A young lady who devotes a great part of an ample fortune to well chosen acts of secret charity.] XIII. "CALL YOUR light legions, tread the swampy heath, Pierce with sharp spades the tremulous peat beneath; 485    With colters bright the rushy sward bisect, And in new veins the gushing rills direct;-- So flowers shall rise in purple light array'd, And blossom'd orchards stretch their silver shade; Admiring glebes their amber ears unfold, 490    And Labour sleep amid the waving gold. "Thus when young HERCULES with firm disdain Braved the soft smiles of Pleasure's harlot train; To valiant toils his forceful limbs assign'd, And gave to Virtue all his mighty mind, 495    Fierce ACHELOUS rush'd from mountain-caves, O'er sad Etolia pour'd his wasteful waves, O'er lowing vales and bleating pastures roll'd, Swept her red vineyards, and her glebes of gold, Mined all her towns, uptore her rooted woods, 500    And Famine danced upon the shining floods. The youthful Hero seized his curled crest, And dash'd with lifted club the watery Pest; With waving arm the billowy tumult quell'd, And to his course the bellowing Fiend repell'd. [Fierce Achelous. l. 495. The river Achelous deluged Etolia, by one of its branches or arms, which in the antient languages are called horns, and produced famine throughout a great tract of country, this was represented in hieroglyphic emblems by the winding course of a serpent and the roaring of a bull with large horns. Hercules, or the emblem of strength, strangled the serpent, and tore off one horn from the bull; that is, he stopped and turned the course of one arm of the river, and restored plenty to the country. Whence the antient emblem of the horn of plenty. Dict. par M. Danet.] 505        "Then to a Snake the finny Demon turn'd His lengthen'd form, with scales of silver burn'd; Lash'd with restless sweep his dragon-train, And shot meandering o'er the affrighted plain. The Hero-God, with giant fingers clasp'd 510    Firm round his neck, the hissing monster grasp'd; With starting eyes, wide throat, and gaping teeth, Curl his redundant folds, and writhe in death. "And now a Bull, amid the flying throng The grisly Demon foam'd, and roar'd along; 515    With silver hoofs the flowery meadows spurn'd, Roll'd his red eye, his threatening antlers turn'd. Dragg'd down to earth, the Warrior's victor-hands Press'd his deep dewlap on the imprinted sands; Then with quick bound his bended knee he fix'd 520    High on his neck, the branching horns betwixt, Strain'd his strong arms, his sinewy shoulders bent, And from his curled brow the twisted terror rent. --Pleased Fawns and Nymphs with dancing step applaud, And hang their chaplets round the resting God; 525    Link their soft hands, and rear with pausing toil The golden trophy on the furrow'd soil; Fill with ripe fruits, with wreathed flowers adorn, And give to PLENTY her prolific horn. [Dragg'd down to earth. l. 517. Described from an antique gem.] XIV. "On Spring's fair lap, CERULEAN SISTERS! pour 530    From airy urns the sun-illumined shower, Feed with the dulcet drops my tender broods, Mellifluous flowers, and aromatic buds; Hang from each bending grass and horrent thorn The tremulous pearl, that glitters to the morn; 535    Or where cold dews their secret channels lave, And Earth's dark chambers hide the stagnant wave, O, pierce, YE NYMPHS! her marble veins, and lead Her gushing fountains to the thirsty mead; Wide o'er the shining vales, and trickling hills 540    Spread the bright treasure in a thousand rills. So shall my peopled realms of Leaf and Flower Exult, inebriate with the genial shower; Dip their long tresses from the mossy brink, With tufted roots the glassy currents drink; 545    Shade your cool mansions from meridian beams, And view their waving honours in your streams. [Spread the bright treasure. l. 540. The practice of flooding lands long in use in China has been but lately introduced into this country. Besides the supplying water to the herbage in dryer seasons, it seems to defend it from frost in the early part of the year, and thus doubly advances the vegetation. The waters which rise from springs passing through marl or limestone are replete with calcareous earth, and when thrown over morasses they deposit this earth and incrust or consolidate the morass. This kind of earth is deposited in great quantity from the springs at Matlock bath, and supplies the soft porous limestone of which the houses and walls are there constructed; and has formed the whole bank for near a mile on that side of the Derwent on which they stand. The water of many springs contains much azotic gas, or phlogistic air, besides carbonic gas, or fixed air, as that of Buxton and Bath; this being set at liberty may more readily contribute to the production of nitre by means of the putrescent matters which it is exposed to by being spread upon the surface of the land; in the same manner as frequently turning over heaps of manure facilitates the nitrous process by imprisoning atmospheric air in the interstices of the putrescent materials. Water arising by land-floods brings along with it much of the most soluble parts of the manure from the higher lands to the lower ones. River-water in its clear state and those springs which are called soft are less beneficial for the purpose of watering lands, as they contain less earthy or saline matter; and water from dissolving snow from its slow solution brings but little earth along with it, as may be seen by the comparative clearness of the water of snow-floods.] "Thus where the veins their confluent branches bend, And milky eddies with the purple blend; The Chyle's white trunk, diverging from its source, 550    Seeks through the vital mass its shining course; O'er each red cell, and tissued membrane spreads In living net-work all its branching threads; Maze within maze its tortuous path pursues, Winds into glands, inextricable clues; 555    Steals through the stomach's velvet sides, and sips The silver surges with a thousand lips; Fills each fine pore, pervades each slender hair, And drinks salubrious dew-drops from the air. "Thus when to kneel in Mecca's awful gloom, 560    Or press with pious kiss Medina's tomb, League after league, through many a lingering day, Steer the swart Caravans their sultry way; O'er sandy wastes on gasping camels toil, Or print with pilgrim-steps the burning soil; 565    If from lone rocks a sparkling rill descend, O'er the green brink the kneeling nations bend, Bathe the parch'd lip, and cool the feverish tongue, And the clear lake reflects the mingled throng." The Goddess paused,--the listening bands awhile 570    Still seem to hear, and dwell upon her smile; Then with soft murmur sweep in lucid trains Down the green slopes, and o'er the pebbly plains, To each bright stream on silver sandals glide, Reflective fountain, and tumultuous tide. 575        So shoot the Spider-broods at breezy dawn Their glittering net-work o'er the autumnal lawn; From blade to blade connect with cordage fine The unbending grass, and live along the line; Or bathe unwet their oily forms, and dwell 580    With feet repulsive on the dimpling well. So when the North congeals his watery mass, Piles high his snows, and floors his seas with glass; While many a Month, unknown to warmer rays, Marks its slow chronicle by lunar days; 585    Stout youths and ruddy damsels, sportive train, Leave the white soil, and rush upon the main; From isle to isle the moon-bright squadrons stray, And win in easy curves their graceful way; On step alternate borne, with balance nice 590    Hang o'er the gliding steel, and hiss along the ice.

The Happy Couple.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

After these vernal rains That we so warmly sought, Dear wife, see how our plains With blessings sweet are fraught! We cast our distant gaze Far in the misty blue; Here gentle love still strays, Here dwells still rapture true. Thou seest whither go Yon pair of pigeons white, Where swelling violets blow Round sunny foliage bright. 'Twas there we gather'd first A nosegay as we roved; There into flame first burst The passion that we proved. Yet when, with plighted troth, The priest beheld us fare Home from the altar both, With many a youthful pair, Then other moons had birth, And many a beauteous sun, Then we had gain'd the earth Whereon life's race to run. A hundred thousand fold The mighty bond was seal'd; In woods, on mountains cold, In bushes, in the field, Within the wall, in caves, And on the craggy height, And love, e'en o'er the waves, Bore in his tube the light. Contented we remain'd, We deem'd ourselves a pair; 'Twas otherwise ordain'd, For, lo! a third was there; A fourth, fifth, sixth appear'd, And sat around our board; And now the plants we've rear'd High o'er our heads have soar'd! How fair and pleasant looks, On yonder beauteous spot, Embraced by poplar-brooks, The newly-finish'd cot! Who is it there that sits In that glad home above? Is't not our darling Fritz With his own darling love? Beside yon precipice, Whence pent-up waters steal, And leaving the abyss, Fall foaming through the wheel, Though people often tell Of millers' wives so fair, Yet none can e'er excel Our dearest daughter there! Yet where the thick-set green Stands round yon church and sad, Where the old fir-tree's seen Alone tow'rd heaven to nod, 'Tis there the ashes lie Of our untimely dead; From earth our gaze on high By their blest memory's led. See how yon hill is bright With billowy-waving arms! The force returns, whose might Has vanquished war's alarms. Who proudly hastens here With wreath-encircled brow? 'Tis like our child so dear Thus Charles comes homeward now. That dearest honour'd guest Is welcom'd by the bride; She makes the true one blest, At the glad festal tide. And ev'ry one makes haste To join the dance with glee; While thou with wreaths hast graced The youngest children three. To sound of flute and horn The time appears renew'd, When we, in love's young morn, In the glad dance upstood; And perfect bliss I know Ere the year's course is run, For to the font we go With grandson and with son!

To A Lady Who Desired The Author To Write Some Verses Upon Her In The Heroic Style

Jonathan Swift

After venting all my spite, Tell me, what have I to write? Every error I could find Through the mazes of your mind, Have my busy Muse employ'd, Till the company was cloy'd. Are you positive and fretful, Heedless, ignorant, forgetful? Those, and twenty follies more, I have often told before. Hearken what my lady says: Have I nothing then to praise? Ill it fits you to be witty, Where a fault should move your pity. If you think me too conceited, Or to passion quickly heated; If my wandering head be less Set on reading than on dress; If I always seem too dull t'ye; I can solve the diffi - culty. You would teach me to be wise: Truth and honour how to prize; How to shine in conversation, And with credit fill my station; How to relish notions high; How to live, and how to die. But it was decreed by Fate - Mr. Dean, you come too late. Well I know, you can discern, I am now too old to learn: Follies, from my youth instill'd, Have my soul entirely fill'd; In my head and heart they centre, Nor will let your lessons enter. Bred a fondling and an heiress; Drest like any lady mayoress: Cocker'd by the servants round, Was too good to touch the ground; Thought the life of every lady Should be one continued play-day - Balls, and masquerades, and shows, Visits, plays, and powder'd beaux. Thus you have my case at large, And may now perform your charge. Those materials I have furnish'd, When by you refined and burnish'd, Must, that all the world may know 'em, Be reduced into a poem. But, I beg, suspend a while That same paltry, burlesque style; Drop for once your constant rule, Turning all to ridicule; Teaching others how to ape you; Court nor parliament can 'scape you; Treat the public and your friends Both alike, while neither mends. Sing my praise in strain sublime: Treat me not with dogg'rel rhyme. 'Tis but just, you should produce, With each fault, each fault's excuse; Not to publish every trifle, And my few perfections stifle. With some gifts at least endow me, Which my very foes allow me. Am I spiteful, proud, unjust? Did I ever break my trust? Which of all our modern dames Censures less, or less defames? In good manners am I faulty? Can you call me rude or haughty? Did I e'er my mite withhold From the impotent and old? When did ever I omit Due regard for men of wit? When have I esteem express'd For a coxcomb gaily dress'd? Do I, like the female tribe, Think it wit to fleer and gibe? Who with less designing ends Kindlier entertains her friends; With good words and countenance sprightly, Strives to treat them more politely? Think not cards my chief diversion: 'Tis a wrong, unjust aspersion: Never knew I any good in 'em, But to dose my head like laudanum. We, by play, as men, by drinking, Pass our nights to drive out thinking. From my ailments give me leisure, I shall read and think with pleasure; Conversation learn to relish, And with books my mind embellish. Now, methinks, I hear you cry, Mr. Dean, you must reply. Madam, I allow 'tis true: All these praises are your due. You, like some acute philosopher, Every fault have drawn a gloss over;[1] Placing in the strongest light All your virtues to my sight. Though you lead a blameless life, Are an humble prudent wife, Answer all domestic ends: What is this to us your friends? Though your children by a nod Stand in awe without a rod; Though, by your obliging sway, Servants love you, and obey; Though you treat us with a smile; Clear your looks, and smooth your style; Load our plates from every dish; This is not the thing we wish. Colonel ***** may be your debtor; We expect employment better. You must learn, if you would gain us, With good sense to entertain us. Scholars, when good sense describing, Call it tasting and imbibing; Metaphoric meat and drink Is to understand and think; We may carve for others thus; And let others carve for us; To discourse, and to attend, Is, to help yourself and friend. Conversation is but carving; Carve for all, yourself is starving: Give no more to every guest, Than he's able to digest; Give him always of the prime; And but little at a time. Carve to all but just enough: Let them neither starve nor stuff: And, that you may have your due, Let your neighbours carve for you. This comparison will hold, Could it well in rhyme be told, How conversing, listening, thinking, Justly may resemble drinking; For a friend a glass you fill, What is this but to instil? To conclude this long essay; Pardon if I disobey, Nor against my natural vein, Treat you in heroic strain. I, as all the parish knows, Hardly can be grave in prose: Still to lash, and lashing smile, Ill befits a lofty style. From the planet of my birth I encounter vice with mirth. Wicked ministers of state I can easier scorn than hate; And I find it answers right: Scorn torments them more than spight. All the vices of a court Do but serve to make me sport. Were I in some foreign realm, Which all vices overwhelm; Should a monkey wear a crown, Must I tremble at his frown? Could I not, through all his ermine, 'Spy the strutting chattering vermin; Safely write a smart lampoon, To expose the brisk baboon? When my Muse officious ventures On the nation's representers: Teaching by what golden rules Into knaves they turn their fools; How the helm is ruled by Walpole, At whose oars, like slaves, they all pull; Let the vessel split on shelves; With the freight enrich themselves: Safe within my little wherry, All their madness makes me merry: Like the waterman of Thames, I row by, and call them names; Like the ever-laughing sage,[2] In a jest I spend my rage: (Though it must be understood, I would hang them if I could;) If I can but fill my niche, I attempt no higher pitch; Leave to d'Anvers and his mate Maxims wise to rule the state. Pulteney deep, accomplish'd St. Johns, Scourge the villains with a vengeance; Let me, though the smell be noisome, Strip their bums; let Caleb[3] hoise 'em; Then apply Alecto's[4] whip Till they wriggle, howl, and skip. Deuce is in you, Mr. Dean: What can all this passion mean? Mention courts! you'll ne'er be quiet On corruptions running riot. End as it befits your station; Come to use and application; Nor with senates keep a fuss. I submit; and answer thus: If the machinations brewing, To complete the public ruin, Never once could have the power To affect me half an hour; Sooner would I write in buskins, Mournful elegies on Blueskins.[5] If I laugh at Whig and Tory; I conclude ' fortiori, All your eloquence will scarce Drive me from my favourite farce. This I must insist on; for, as It is well observed by Horace,[6] Ridicule has greater power To reform the world than sour. Horses thus, let jockeys judge else, Switches better guide than cudgels. Bastings heavy, dry, obtuse, Only dulness can produce; While a little gentle jerking Sets the spirits all a-working. Thus, I find it by experiment, Scolding moves you less than merriment. I may storm and rage in vain; It but stupifies your brain. But with raillery to nettle, Sets your thoughts upon their mettle; Gives imagination scope; Never lets your mind elope; Drives out brangling and contention. Brings in reason and invention. For your sake as well as mine, I the lofty style decline. I should make a figure scurvy, And your head turn topsy-turvy. I who love to have a fling Both at senate-house and king: That they might some better way tread, To avoid the public hatred; Thought no method more commodious, Than to show their vices odious; Which I chose to make appear, Not by anger, but by sneer. As my method of reforming, Is by laughing, not by storming, (For my friends have always thought Tenderness my greatest fault,) Would you have me change my style? On your faults no longer smile; But, to patch up all our quarrels, Quote you texts from Plutarch's Morals, Or from Solomon produce Maxims teaching Wisdom's use? If I treat you like a crown'd head, You have cheap enough compounded; Can you put in higher claims, Than the owners of St. James? You are not so great a grievance, As the hirelings of St. Stephen's. You are of a lower class Than my friend Sir Robert Brass. None of these have mercy found: I have laugh'd, and lash'd them round. Have you seen a rocket fly? You would swear it pierced the sky: It but reach'd the middle air, Bursting into pieces there; Thousand sparkles falling down Light on many a coxcomb's crown. See what mirth the sport creates! Singes hair, but breaks no pates. Thus, should I attempt to climb, Treat you in a style sublime, Such a rocket is my Muse: Should I lofty numbers choose, Ere I reach'd Parnassus' top, I should burst, and bursting drop; All my fire would fall in scraps, Give your head some gentle raps; Only make it smart a while; Then could I forbear to smile, When I found the tingling pain Entering warm your frigid brain; Make you able upon sight To decide of wrong and right; Talk with sense whate'er you please on; Learn to relish truth and reason! Thus we both shall gain our prize; I to laugh, and you grow wise.

To Miss Logan, With Beattie's Poems For A New Year'S Gift. Jan. 1, 1787.

Robert Burns

Again the silent wheels of time Their annual round have driv'n, And you, tho' scarce in maiden prime, Are so much nearer Heav'n. No gifts have I from Indian coasts The infant year to hail: I send you more than India boasts In Edwin's simple tale. Our sex with guile and faithless love Is charg'd, perhaps, too true; But may, dear maid, each lover prove An Edwin still to you!

The Lake

Matthew Arnold

Again I see my bliss at hand; The town, the lake are here. My Marguerite smiles upon the strand Unalter'd with the year. I know that graceful figure fair, That cheek of languid hue; I know that soft enkerchief'd hair, And those sweet eyes of blue. Again I spring to make my choice; Again in tones of ire I hear a God's tremendous voice 'Be counsell'd, and retire!' Ye guiding Powers, who join and part, What would ye have with me? Ah, warn some more ambitious heart, And let the peaceful be!

The Divine Comedy by Dante: The Vision Of Purgatory: Canto VII

Dante Alighieri

After their courteous greetings joyfully Sev'n times exchang'd, Sordello backward drew Exclaiming, "Who are ye?" "Before this mount By spirits worthy of ascent to God Was sought, my bones had by Octavius' care Been buried. I am Virgil, for no sin Depriv'd of heav'n, except for lack of faith." So answer'd him in few my gentle guide. As one, who aught before him suddenly Beholding, whence his wonder riseth, cries "It is yet is not," wav'ring in belief; Such he appear'd; then downward bent his eyes, And drawing near with reverential step, Caught him, where of mean estate might clasp His lord. "Glory of Latium!" he exclaim'd, "In whom our tongue its utmost power display'd! Boast of my honor'd birth-place! what desert Of mine, what favour rather undeserv'd, Shows thee to me? If I to hear that voice Am worthy, say if from below thou com'st And from what cloister's pale?"--"Through every orb Of that sad region," he reply'd, "thus far Am I arriv'd, by heav'nly influence led And with such aid I come. There is a place There underneath, not made by torments sad, But by dun shades alone; where mourning's voice Sounds not of anguish sharp, but breathes in sighs. "There I with little innocents abide, Who by death's fangs were bitten, ere exempt From human taint. There I with those abide, Who the three holy virtues put not on, But understood the rest, and without blame Follow'd them all. But if thou know'st and canst, Direct us, how we soonest may arrive, Where Purgatory its true beginning takes." He answer'd thus: "We have no certain place Assign'd us: upwards I may go or round, Far as I can, I join thee for thy guide. But thou beholdest now how day declines: And upwards to proceed by night, our power Excels: therefore it may be well to choose A place of pleasant sojourn. To the right Some spirits sit apart retir'd. If thou Consentest, I to these will lead thy steps: And thou wilt know them, not without delight." "How chances this?" was answer'd; "who so wish'd To ascend by night, would he be thence debarr'd By other, or through his own weakness fail?" The good Sordello then, along the ground Trailing his finger, spoke: "Only this line Thou shalt not overpass, soon as the sun Hath disappear'd; not that aught else impedes Thy going upwards, save the shades of night. These with the wont of power perplex the will. With them thou haply mightst return beneath, Or to and fro around the mountain's side Wander, while day is in the horizon shut." My master straight, as wond'ring at his speech, Exclaim'd: "Then lead us quickly, where thou sayst, That, while we stay, we may enjoy delight." A little space we were remov'd from thence, When I perceiv'd the mountain hollow'd out. Ev'n as large valleys hollow'd out on earth, "That way," the' escorting spirit cried, "we go, Where in a bosom the high bank recedes: And thou await renewal of the day." Betwixt the steep and plain a crooked path Led us traverse into the ridge's side, Where more than half the sloping edge expires. Refulgent gold, and silver thrice refin'd, And scarlet grain and ceruse, Indian wood Of lucid dye serene, fresh emeralds But newly broken, by the herbs and flowers Plac'd in that fair recess, in color all Had been surpass'd, as great surpasses less. Nor nature only there lavish'd her hues, But of the sweetness of a thousand smells A rare and undistinguish'd fragrance made. "Salve Regina," on the grass and flowers Here chanting I beheld those spirits sit Who not beyond the valley could be seen. "Before the west'ring sun sink to his bed," Began the Mantuan, who our steps had turn'd, "'Mid those desires not that I lead ye on. For from this eminence ye shall discern Better the acts and visages of all, Than in the nether vale among them mix'd. He, who sits high above the rest, and seems To have neglected that he should have done, And to the others' song moves not his lip, The Emperor Rodolph call, who might have heal'd The wounds whereof fair Italy hath died, So that by others she revives but slowly, He, who with kindly visage comforts him, Sway'd in that country, where the water springs, That Moldaw's river to the Elbe, and Elbe Rolls to the ocean: Ottocar his name: Who in his swaddling clothes was of more worth Than Winceslaus his son, a bearded man, Pamper'd with rank luxuriousness and ease. And that one with the nose depress, who close In counsel seems with him of gentle look, Flying expir'd, with'ring the lily's flower. Look there how he doth knock against his breast! The other ye behold, who for his cheek Makes of one hand a couch, with frequent sighs. They are the father and the father-in-law Of Gallia's bane: his vicious life they know And foul; thence comes the grief that rends them thus. "He, so robust of limb, who measure keeps In song, with him of feature prominent, With ev'ry virtue bore his girdle brac'd. And if that stripling who behinds him sits, King after him had liv'd, his virtue then From vessel to like vessel had been pour'd; Which may not of the other heirs be said. By James and Frederick his realms are held; Neither the better heritage obtains. Rarely into the branches of the tree Doth human worth mount up; and so ordains He who bestows it, that as his free gift It may be call'd. To Charles my words apply No less than to his brother in the song; Which Pouille and Provence now with grief confess. So much that plant degenerates from its seed, As more than Beatrice and Margaret Costanza still boasts of her valorous spouse. "Behold the king of simple life and plain, Harry of England, sitting there alone: He through his branches better issue spreads. "That one, who on the ground beneath the rest Sits lowest, yet his gaze directs aloft, Us William, that brave Marquis, for whose cause The deed of Alexandria and his war Makes Conferrat and Canavese weep."

A Dog After Love

Yehuda Amichai

After you left me I let a dog smell at My chest and my belly. It will fill its nose And set out to find you. I hope it will tear the Testicles of your lover and bite off his penis Or at least Will bring me your stockings between his teeth.

Upon M. Ben. Jonson. Epig.

Robert Herrick

After the rare arch-poet, Jonson, died, The sock grew loathsome, and the buskin's pride, Together with the stage's glory, stood Each like a poor and pitied widowhood. The cirque profan'd was, and all postures rack'd; For men did strut, and stride, and stare, not act. Then temper flew from words, and men did squeak, Look red, and blow, and bluster, but not speak; No holy rage or frantic fires did stir Or flash about the spacious theatre. No clap of hands, or shout, or praise's proof Did crack the play-house sides, or cleave her roof. Artless the scene was, and that monstrous sin Of deep and arrant ignorance came in: Such ignorance as theirs was who once hiss'd At thy unequall'd play, the Alchemist; Oh, fie upon 'em! Lastly, too, all wit In utter darkness did, and still will sit, Sleeping the luckless age out, till that she Her resurrection has again with thee.

To the White Julienne

Mary Hannay Foott

'The white Julienne remains the flower of Marie Antoinette.' - ALPHONSE KARR Again above thy fragile flowers I bend, to bring their perfume nigh; For only in the evening hours Thy odors pass thy blossoms by; But when the ministering day Deserts thee with the warmth and light That lulled thee, waking thou wilt pay For these, in sweetness, to the night. O flower of Marie Antoinette! Ungrateful to the lavish day, Refusing it thy fragrance, yet Relenting in such generous way, Perchance, like thee, while life was bright Her soul no holy savour shed, Yet scattered incense when grief's night Wept dews of blood upon her head! I bend, to bring thy perfume near, Again, I cannot leave the spot; Damp walls and prison gloom are here! The beauties of the garden-plot Are gone, save thee, White Julienne, Fond-handled by the fated queen! I hear her sigh above thee, then The sentry's tread behind the screen!

Threnody In May

Madison Julius Cawein

(In memory of Madison Cawein?) Again the earth, miraculous with May, Unfolds its vernal arras. Yesteryear We strolled together 'neath the greening trees, And heard the robin tune its flute note clear, And watched above the white cloud squadrons veer, And saw their shifting shadows drift away Adown the Hudson, as ships seek the seas. The scene is still the same. The violet Unlids its virgin eye; its amber ore The dandelion shows, and yet, and yet, He comes no more, no more! He of the open and the generous heart, The soul that sensed all flowerful loveliness, The nature as the nature of a child; Who found some rapture in the wind's caress, Beauty in humble weed and mint and cress, And sang, with his incomparable art, The magic wonder of the wood and wild. The little people of the reeds and grass, Murmur their blithe, companionable lore, The rills renew their minstrelsy. Alas, He comes no more, no more! And yet it seems as though he needs must come, Albeit he has cast off mortality, Such was his passion for the burgeoning time, Such to his spirit was the ecstasy The hills and valleys chorus when set free, No music mute, no lyric instinct dumb, But keyed to utterance of immortal rhyme. Ah, haply in some other fairer spring He sees bright tides sweep over slope and shore, But here how vain is all my visioning! He comes no more, no more! Poet and friend, wherever you may fare Enwrapt in dreams, I love to think of you Wandering amid the meads of asphodel, Holding high converse with the exalted few Who sought and found below the elusive clue To beauty, and in that diviner air Bowing in worship still to its sweet spell. Why sorrow, then, though fate unkindly lays Upon our questioning hearts this burden sore, And though through all our length of hastening days He comes no more, no more!

After The Sea-Ship

Walt Whitman

After the Sea-Ship--after the whistling winds; After the white-gray sails, taut to their spars and ropes, Below, a myriad, myriad waves, hastening, lifting up their necks, Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship: Waves of the ocean, bubbling and gurgling, blithely prying, Waves, undulating waves--liquid, uneven, emulous waves, Toward that whirling current, laughing and buoyant, with curves, Where the great Vessel, sailing and tacking, displaced the surface; Larger and smaller waves, in the spread of the ocean, yearnfully flowing; The wake of the Sea-Ship, after she passes--flashing and frolicsome, under the sun, A motley procession, with many a fleck of foam, and many fragments, Following the stately and rapid Ship--in the wake following.

Martyr ' La Mode

D. H. Lawrence (David Herbert Richards)

Ah God, life, law, so many names you keep, You great, you patient Effort, and you Sleep That does inform this various dream of living, You sleep stretched out for ever, ever giving Us out as dreams, you august Sleep Coursed round by rhythmic movement of all time, The constellations, your great heart, the sun Fierily pulsing, unable to refrain; Since you, vast, outstretched, wordless Sleep Permit of no beyond, ah you, whose dreams We are, and body of sleep, let it never be said I quailed at my appointed function, turned poltroon For when at night, from out the full surcharge Of a day's experience, sleep does slowly draw The harvest, the spent action to itself; Leaves me unburdened to begin again; At night, I say, when I am gone in sleep, Does my slow heart rebel, do my dead hands Complain of what the day has had them do? Never let it be said I was poltroon At this my task of living, this my dream, This me which rises from the dark of sleep In white flesh robed to drape another dream, As lightning comes all white and trembling From out the cloud of sleep, looks round about One moment, sees, and swift its dream is over, In one rich drip it sinks to another sleep, And sleep thereby is one more dream enrichened. If so the Vast, the God, the Sleep that still grows richer Have said that I, this mote in the body of sleep Must in my transiency pass all through pain, Must be a dream of grief, must like a crude Dull meteorite flash only into light When tearing through the anguish of this life, Still in full flight extinct, shall I then turn Poltroon, and beg the silent, outspread God To alter my one speck of doom, when round me burns The whole great conflagration of all life, Lapped like a body close upon a sleep, Hiding and covering in the eternal Sleep Within the immense and toilsome life-time, heaved With ache of dreams that body forth the Sleep? Shall I, less than the least red grain of flesh Within my body, cry out to the dreaming soul That slowly labours in a vast travail, To halt the heart, divert the streaming flow That carries moons along, and spare the stress That crushes me to an unseen atom of fire? When pain and all And grief are but the same last wonder, Sleep Rising to dream in me a small keen dream Of sudden anguish, sudden over and spent - CROYDON

The Sea Spirit

Madison Julius Cawein

Ah me! I shall not waken soon From dreams of such divinity! A spirit singing 'neath the moon To me. Wild sea-spray driven of the storm Is not so wildly white as she, Who beckoned with a foam-white arm To me. With eyes dark green, and golden-green Long locks that rippled drippingly, Out of the green wave she did lean To me. And sang; till Earth and Heaven seemed A far, forgotten memory, And more than Heaven in her who gleamed On me. Sleep, sweeter than love's face or home; And death's immutability; And music of the plangent foam, For me! Sweep over her! with all thy ships, With all thy stormy tides, O sea! - The memory of immortal lips For me!

Two Duets

Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch

From "Arion," an unpublished Masque I He. Aglai-a! Aglai-a! Sweet, awaken and be glad. She. Who is this that calls Aglaia? Is it thou, my dearest lad? He. 'Tis Arion, 'tis Arion, Who calls thee from sleep-- From slumber who bids thee To follow and number His kids and his sheep. She. Nay, leave to entreat me! If mother should spy on Us twain, she would beat me. He. Then come, my love, come! And hide with Arion Where green woods are dumb! She. Ar-i-on! Ar-i-on! Closer, list! I am afraid! He. Whisper, then, thy love Arion, From thy window, lily maid. She. Yet Aglaia, yet Aglaia Hath heard them debate Of wooing repenting-- "Who trust to undoing, Lament them too late." He. Nay, nay, when I woo thee, Thy mother might spy on All harm I shall do thee. She. I come, then--I come! To follow Arion Where green woods be dumb. SONG Sparrow of Love, so sharp to peck, Arrow of Love--I bare my neck Down to the bosom. See, no fleck Of blood! I have never a wound; I go Forth to the greenwood. Yet, heigh-ho! What 'neath my girdle flutters so? 'Tis not a bird, and yet hath wings, 'Tis not an arrow, yet it stings; While in the wound it nests and sings-- Heigh-ho! He. Of Arion, of Arion That wound thou shalt learn; What nothings 'tis made of, And soft pretty soothings In shade of the fern. She. When maids have a mind to, Man's word they rely on, Old warning are blind to-- I come, then--I come To walk with Arion Where green woods are dumb! II He. Dear my love, and O my love, And O my love so lately! Did we wander yonder grove And sit awhile sedately? For either you did there conclude To do at length as I did, Or passion's fashion's turn'd a prude, And troth's an oath derided. She. Yea, my love--and nay, my love-- And ask me not to tell, love, While I delay'd an idle day What 'twixt us there befell, love. Yet either I did sit beside And do at length as you did, Or my delight is lightly by An idle lie deluded!

The King Initiate

George William Russell

"They took Iesous and scourged him."--St. John Age after age the world has wept A joy supreme--I saw the hands Whose fiery radiations swept And burned away his earthly bands: And where they smote the living dyes Flashed like the plumes of paradise. Their joys the heavy nations hush-- A form of purple glory rose Crowned with such rays of light as flush The white peaks on their towering snows: It held the magic wand that gave Rule over earth, air, fire and wave. What sorrow makes the white cheeks wet: The mystic cross looms shadowy dim-- There where the fourfold powers have met And poured their living tides through him, The Son who hides his radiant crest To the dark Father's bosom pressed. --June 15, 1896

An Ode For Him. (Ben Jonson.)

Robert Herrick

Ah Ben! Say how, or when Shall we thy guests Meet at those lyric feasts Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun? Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad; And yet each verse of thine Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine. My Ben! Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it, Lest we that talent spend: And having once brought to an end That precious stock; the store Of such a wit the world should have no more.

The Sea Spirit

Madison Julius Cawein

Ah me! I shall not waken soon From dreams of such divinity! A spirit singing 'neath the moon To me. Wild sea-spray driven of the storm Is not so wildly white as she, Who beckoned with a foam-white arm To me. With eyes dark green, and golden-green Long locks that rippled drippingly, Out of the green wave she did lean To me. And sang; till Earth and Heaven seemed A far, forgotten memory, And more than Heaven in her who gleamed On me. Sleep, sweeter than love's face or home; And death's immutability; And music of the plangent foam, For me! Sweep over her! with all thy ships, With all thy stormy tides, O sea! The memory of immortal lips For me!

Rhomboidal Dirge.

George Wither

Ah me! Am I the swain That late from sorrow free Did all the cares on earth disdain? And still untouched, as at some safer games, Played with the burning coals of love, and beauty's flames? Was't I could dive, and sound each passion's secret depth at will? And from those huge o'erwhelmings rise, by help of reason still? And am I now, O heavens! for trying this in vain, So sunk that I shall never rise again? Then let despair set sorrow's string, For strains that doleful be; And I will sing, Ah me! But why, O fatal time, Dost thou constrain that I Should perish in my youth's sweet prime? I, but awhile ago, (you cruel powers!) In spite of fortune, cropped contentment's sweetest flowers, And yet unscorn'd, serve a gentle nymph, the fairest she, That ever was beloved of man, or eyes did ever see! Yea, one whose tender heart would rue for my distress; Yet I, poor I! must perish ne'ertheless. And (which much more augments my care) Unmoan'd I must die, And no man e'er Know why. Thy leave, My dying song, Yet take, ere grief bereave The breath which I enjoy too long, Tell thou that fair one this: my soul prefers Her love above my life; and that I died her's: And let him be, for evermore, to her remembrance dear, Who loved the very thought of her whilst he remained here. And now farewell! thou place of my unhappy birth, Where once I breathed the sweetest air on earth; Since me my wonted joys forsake, And all my trust deceive; Of all I take My leave. Farewell! Sweet groves, to you! You hills, that highest dwell; And all you humble vales, adieu! You wanton brooks, and solitary rocks, My dear companions all! and you, my tender flocks! Farewell my pipe, and all those pleasing songs, whose moving strains Delighted once the fairest nymphs that dance upon the plains! You discontents, whose deep and over-deadly smart Have, without pity, broke the truest heart. Sighs, tears, and every sad annoy, That erst did with me dwell, And all other joys, Farewell! Adieu! Fair shepherdesses! Let garlands of sad yew Adorn your dainty golden tresses. I, that loved you, and often with my quill, Made music that delighted fountain, grove, and hill; I, whom you loved so, and with a sweet and chaste embrace. Yea, with a thousand rather favours, would vouchsafe to grace, I now must leave you all alone, of love to plain; And never pipe, nor never sing again! I must, for evermore, be gone; And therefore bid I you, And every one, Adieu! I die! For, oh! I feel Death's horrors drawing nigh, And all this frame of nature reel. My hopeless heart, despairing of relief, Sinks underneath the heavy weight of saddest grief; Which hath so ruthless torn, so racked, so tortured every vein, All comfort comes too late to have it ever cured again. My swimming head begins to dance death's giddy round; A shuddering chillness doth each sense confound; Benumbed is my cold sweating brow A dimness shuts my eye. And now, oh! now, I die! From Faire Virtue.

To Chloe. I-23 (From The Odes Of Horace)

Helen Leah Reed

Ah Chloe, like a fawn you now elude me, Seeking its timid dam on lonely hills, Its dam who not without an idle tremor At breezes in the forest thrills. For if before the breeze the bushes quiver With rustling leaves, or if green lizards start Across the bramble, then it is it trembles, - This little fawn - in knees and heart. But Chloe, I am not a cruel tiger, Nor a G'tulian lion, thee to chase; And now that thou art old enough to marry, Beside thy mother take thy place.

Science, The Iconoclast.

Kate Seymour Maclean

"Oh! spare dual idols of the past, Whose lips are dumb, whose eyes are dim; Truth's diadem is not for him Who comes, the fierce Iconoclast: Who wakes the battle's stormy blast, Hears not the angel's choral hymn" THE IMAGE-BREAKER Ah me! for we have fallen on evil days, When science, with remorseless cold precision, Puts out the flame of poetry, and lays Her double-convex lens on fancy's vision. When not a star has longer leave to shine, Unweighed, unanalysed, reduced to gases,-- Resolved to something in the chemist's line, By those miraculously long-ranged glasses. The awful mysteries which Nature locks Deep in her stony bosom, hid for ages,-- The hieroglyphics of primeval rocks, Are glibly written out on short-hand pages. Within that rocky scroll, her palimpsest, The hand of time still writes, and still effaces Records in dolomite--and shale--and schist, The pre-historic history of Races. Cave-dwellers, under nameless strata hid, Vast bones of extinct monsters that were fossil, Ere the first Pharaoh built the pyramid, And shaped in stone his sepulchre colossal. What undiscovered secret yet remains Beneath the swirl and sway of billows tidal, Since Art triumphant led the deep in chains, And on the mane of ocean laid her bridle. Into those awful crypts of cycles dead, Shrouded and mute, each in its mummy-chamber, Her daring step intrudes without more dread Than to behold a fly embalmed in amber. Stars--motes--worlds--molecules, and microcosms, Her level gaze sweeps down the page recorded, And withers all its myths, and fairy blossoms, Condemned to explanations dull and sordid. Alike the sculptures of the graceful Greeks, Grey with the moss of eld and venerable, The fauns, the nymphs, the half-defaced antiques, The gods and men of mythologic fable, And legends of steel-casqued and mailed men, The old heroic tales of love and glory, Of knight, and palmer, and the Saracen, And the crusaders of enchanted story; Grim ghosts and goblins, and more harmless sprites That peopled once our juvenile romances, And made us shiver in our beds o'nights, Science has banished those bewitching fancies; And given us the merest husks instead, The very bones and skeleton of nature, Filling those peaceful hours with shapes of dread, And horrid ranks of Latin nomenclature. Blest is the Indian on his native plains, And blest the wandering Tartar, happy nomad, Fire-worshippers, whose twinkling altar-fanes Still gleam on lonely peaks beyond Allahbad. Shadows yet linger round their ruined towers, And whisper from the caverns and the islands, Their Memnon still is eloquent, but ours Stares on with shut lips in an age-long silence. Not so! The age still ripens for her needs The flower, the man. Behold her slow still finger Points where He comes, beneath whose feet the weeds Bloom out immortal flowers, the immortal Singer! Forward, not backward all the ages press; New stars arise, of whose bright occultation No glory of the dying past could guess: Still grows the unfinished miracle, Creation. Oh! Poet of the years that are to come, Singing at dawn thy idyls sweet and tender-- The preludes of the great millenium Of song, to drown the world in light and splendour Awake, arise! thou youngest born of time! Through flaming sunsets with red banners furled, The nations call thee to thy task sublime, To sing the new songs of a newer world!

Parentage

Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell

"When Augustus Caesar legislated against the unmarried citizens of Rome, he declared them to be, in some sort, slayers of the people." Ah no, not these! These, who were childless, are not they who gave So many dead unto the journeying wave, The helpless nurslings of the cradling seas; Not they who doomed by infallible decrees Unnumbered man to the innumerable grave. But those who slay Are fathers. Theirs are armies. Death is theirs, The death of innocences and despairs; The dying of the golden and the grey. The sentence, when these speak it, has no Nay. And she who slays is she who bears, who bears.

Rose Aylmer

Walter Savage Landor

Ah what avails the sceptred race, Ah what the form divine! What every virtue, every grace! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.

At Bologna, In Remembrance Of The Late Insurrections, 1837 - I - 1. Ah, Why Deceive Ourselves! By No Mere Fit

William Wordsworth

Ah why deceive ourselves! by no mere fit Of sudden passion roused shall men attain True freedom where for ages they have lain Bound in a dark abominable pit, With life's best sinews more and more unknit. Here, there, a banded few who loathe the chain May rise to break it; effort worse than vain For thee, O great Italian nation, split Into those jarring fractions. Let thy scope Be one fixed mind for all; thy rights approve To thy own conscience gradually renewed; Learn to make Time the father of wise Hope; Then trust thy cause to the arm of Fortitude, The light of Knowledge, and the warmth of Love.

The Wife Of Manoah To Her Husband

John Greenleaf Whittier

Against the sunset's glowing wall The city towers rise black and tall, Where Zorah, on its rocky height, Stands like an armed man in the light. Down Eshtaol's vales of ripened grain Falls like a cloud the night amain, And up the hillsides climbing slow The barley reapers homeward go. Look, dearest! how our fair child's head The sunset light hath hallowed, Where at this olive's foot he lies, Uplooking to the tranquil skies. Oh, while beneath the fervent heat Thy sickle swept the bearded wheat, I've watched, with mingled joy and dread, Our child upon his grassy bed. Joy, which the mother feels alone Whose morning hope like mine had flown, When to her bosom, over-blessed, A dearer life than hers is pressed. Dread, for the future dark and still, Which shapes our dear one to its will; Forever in his large calm eyes, I read a tale of sacrifice. The same foreboding awe I felt When at the altar's side we knelt, And he, who as a pilgrim came, Rose, winged and glorious, through the flame. I slept not, though the wild bees made A dreamlike murmuring in the shade, And on me the warm-fingered hours Pressed with the drowsy smell of flowers. Before me, in a vision, rose The hosts of Israel's scornful foes, Rank over rank, helm, shield, and spear, Glittered in noon's hot atmosphere. I heard their boast, and bitter word, Their mockery of the Hebrew's Lord, I saw their hands His ark assail, Their feet profane His holy veil. No angel down the blue space spoke, No thunder from the still sky broke; But in their midst, in power and awe, Like God's waked wrath, our child I saw! A child no more! harsh-browed and strong, He towered a giant in the throng, And down his shoulders, broad and bare, Swept the black terror of his hair. He raised his arm he smote amain; As round the reaper falls the grain, So the dark host around him fell, So sank the foes of Israel! Again I looked. In sunlight shone The towers and domes of Askelon; Priest, warrior, slave, a mighty crowd Within her idol temple bowed. Yet one knelt not; stark, gaunt, and blind, His arms the massive pillars twined, An eyeless captive, strong with hate, He stood there like an evil Fate. The red shrines smoked, the trumpets pealed He stooped, the giant columns reeled; Reeled tower and fane, sank arch and wall, And the thick dust-cloud closed o'er all! Above the shriek, the crash, the groan Of the fallen pride of Askelon, I heard, sheer down the echoing sky, A voice as of an angel cry, The voice of him, who at our side Sat through the golden eventide; Of him who, on thy altar's blaze, Rose fire-winged, with his song of praise. "Rejoice o'er Israel's broken chain, Gray mother of the mighty slain! Rejoice!" it cried, "he vanquisheth! The strong in life is strong in death! "To him shall Zorah's daughters raise Through coming years their hymns of praise, And gray old men at evening tell Of all be wrought for Israel. "And they who sing and they who hear Alike shall hold thy memory dear, And pour their blessings on thy head, O mother of the mighty dead!" It ceased; and though a sound I heard As if great wings the still air stirred, I only saw the barley sheaves And hills half hid by olive leaves. I bowed my face, in awe and fear, On the dear child who slumbered near; "With me, as with my only son, O God," I said, "Thy will be done!

Memorials Of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 XIII. The Matron Of Jedborough And Her Husband

William Wordsworth

Age! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers, And call a train of laughing Hours; And bid them dance, and bid them sing; And thou, too, mingle in the ring! Take to thy heart a new delight; If not, make merry in despite That there is One who scorns thy power: But dance! for under Jedborough Tower, A Matron dwells who, though she bears The weight of more than seventy years, Lives in the light of youthful glee, And she will dance and sing with thee. Nay! start not at that Figure there! Him who is rooted to his chair! Look at him, look again! for he Hath long been of thy family. With legs that move not, if they can, And useless arms, a trunk of man, He sits, and with a vacant eye; A sight to make a stranger sigh! Deaf, drooping, that is now his doom: His world is in this single room: Is this a place for mirthful cheer? Can merry-making enter here? The joyous Woman is the Mate Of him in that forlorn estate! He breathes a subterraneous damp; But bright as Vesper shines her lamp: He is as mute as Jedborough Tower: She jocund as it was of yore, With all its bravery on; in times When all alive with merry chimes, Upon a sun-bright morn of May, It roused the Vale to holiday. I praise thee, Matron! and thy due Is praise, heroic praise, and true! With admiration I behold Thy gladness unsubdued and bold: Thy looks, thy gestures, all present The picture of a life well spent: This do I see; and something more; A strength unthought of heretofore! Delighted am I for thy sake; And yet a higher joy partake: Our Human-nature throws away Its second twilight, and looks gay; A land of promise and of pride Unfolding, wide as life is wide. Ah! see her helpless Charge! enclosed Within himself it seems, composed; To fear of loss, and hope of gain, The strife of happiness and pain, Utterly dead! yet in the guise Of little infants, when their eyes Begin to follow to and fro The persons that before them go, He tracks her motions, quick or slow, Her buoyant spirit can prevail Where common cheerfulness would fail; She strikes upon him with the heat Of July suns; he feels it sweet; An animal delight though dim! 'Tis all that now remains for him! The more I looked, I wondered more, And, while I scanned them o'er and o'er, Some inward trouble suddenly Broke from the Matron's strong black eye, A remnant of uneasy light, A flash of something over-bright! Nor long this mystery did detain My thoughts; she told in pensive strain That she had borne a heavy yoke, Been stricken by a twofold stroke; Ill health of body; and had pined Beneath worse ailments of the mind. So be it! but let praise ascend To Him who is our lord and friend! Who from disease and suffering Hath called for thee a second spring; Repaid thee for that sore distress By no untimely joyousness; Which makes of thine a blissful state; And cheers thy melancholy Mate!

Collection of passages translated in the prose writings.

John Milton

[From Of Reformation in England, 1641.] Ah Constantine, of how much ill was cause Not thy Conversion, but those rich demains That the first wealthy Pope receiv'd of thee. DANTE, Inf. xix. 115. Founded in chast and humble Poverty, 'Gainst them that rais'd thee dost thou lift thy horn, Impudent whoore, where hast thou plac'd thy hope? In thy Adulterers, or thy ill got wealth? Another Constantine comes not in hast. PETRARCA, Son. 108. And to be short, at last his guid him brings Into a goodly valley, where he sees A mighty mass of things strangely confus'd Things that on earth were lost or were abus'd. Then past he to a flowry Mountain green, Which once smelt sweet, now stinks as odiously; This was that gift (if you the truth will have) That Constantine to good Sylvestro gave. ARIOSTO, Orl. Fur. xxxiv. 80. [From Reason of Church Government,    1641.] When I die, let the Earth be roul'd in flames. [From Apology for Smectymnuus, 1642.] Laughing to teach the truth What hinders? as some teachers give to Boys Junkets and knacks, that they may learne apace. HORACE, Sat. 1. 24. Jesting decides great things Stronglier, and better oft than earnest can. IBID. i. 10. 14. 'Tis you that say it, not I: you do the deeds And your ungodly deeds find me the words. SOPHOCLES, Elec. 624. [From Areopagitica, 1644.] This is true Liberty, when free-born Men, Having to advise the Public, may speak free, Which he who can, and will, deserv's high praise; Who neither can nor will, may hold his peace, What can be juster in a state then this? EURIPIDES, Supp. 438 [From Tetrachordon, 1645.] Whom do we count a good man, whom but he Who keeps the laws and statutes of the Senate, Who judges in great suits and controversies, Whose witness and opinion wins the cause? But his own house, and the whole neighbourhood See his foul inside through his whited skin. HORACE, Ep. i. 16. 40. [From The Tenure of Kings and Magistrates, 1649.] There can be slaine No sacrifice to God more acceptable Than an unjust and wicked king. SENECA, Herc. Fur. 922. [From History of Britain, 1670.] Brutus thus addresses Diana in the country of Leogecia. Goddess of Shades, and Huntress, who at will Walk'st on the rowling Sphear, and through the deep, On thy third Reign the Earth look now, and tell What Land, what Seat of rest thou bidst me seek, What certain Seat, where I may worship thee For aye, with Temples vow'd, and Virgin quires. To whom sleeping before the altar, Diana in a Vision that night thus answer'd. Brutus far to the West, in th' Ocean wide Beyond the Realm of Gaul, a Land there lies, Sea-girt it lies, where Giants dwelt of old, Now void, it fits thy People; thether bend Thy course, there shalt thou find a lasting seat, There to thy Sons another Troy shall rise, And Kings be born of thee, whose dredded might Shall aw the World, and conquer Nations bold.

Frank Leigh's Song. A.D. 1586

Charles Kingsley

Ah tyrant Love, Megaera's serpents bearing, Why thus requite my sighs with venom'd smart? Ah ruthless dove, the vulture's talons wearing, Why flesh them, traitress, in this faithful heart? Is this my meed?    Must dragons' teeth alone In Venus' lawns by lovers' hands be sown? Nay, gentlest Cupid; 'twas my pride undid me; Nay, guiltless dove; by mine own wound I fell. To worship, not to wed, Celestials bid me: I dreamt to mate in heaven, and wake in hell; For ever doom'd, Ixion-like, to reel On mine own passions' ever-burning wheel. Devonshire, 1854. From Westward Ho!

Ages And Ages, Returning At Intervals

Walt Whitman

Ages and ages, returning at intervals, Undestroy'd, wandering immortal, Lusty, phallic, with the potent original loins, perfectly sweet, I, chanter of Adamic songs, Through the new garden, the West, the great cities calling, Deliriate, thus prelude what is generated, offering these, offering myself, Bathing myself, bathing my songs in Sex, Offspring of my loins.

Autumn Sorrow

Madison Julius Cawein

Ah me! too soon the autumn comes Among these purple-plaintive hills! Too soon among the forest gums Premonitory flame she spills, Bleak, melancholy flame that kills. Her white fogs veil the morn, that rims With wet the moonflower's elfin moons; And, like exhausted starlight, dims The last slim lily-disk; and swoons With scents of hazy afternoons. Her gray mists haunt the sunset skies, And build the west's cadaverous fires, Where Sorrow sits with lonely eyes, And hands that wake an ancient lyre, Beside the ghost of dead Desire.

The Widower's Lament.

John Clare

Age yellows my leaf with a daily decline, And nature turns sick with decay; Short is the thread on life's spool that is mine, And few are my wishes to stay: The bud, that has seen but the sun of an hour, When storms overtake it may sigh; But fruit, that has weather'd life's sunshine and shower, Drops easy and gladly to die. The prop of my age, and the balm of my pain, With the length of life's years has declin'd; And, like the last sheep of the flock on the plain, She leaves me uneasy behind: I think of the days when our hearts they were one, And she of my youth was the pride; I look for the prop of my age, but it's gone, And I long to drop down by her side.

Translations. - The Twelfth Psalm. (Luther's Song-Book.)

George MacDonald

Ah God, from heaven look down and view; Let it thy pity waken; Behold thy saints how very few! We wretches are forsaken. Thy word they grant nor true nor right, And faith is thus extinguished quite Among the sons of Adam. They teach a cunning false and fine-- In their own wits they found it; Their heart in one doth not combine, Nor on God's word they ground it; One chooses this, the other that; Endless division they are at, And yet they keep smooth faces. God will outroot the teachers all Who with false shows present us; Besides, their proud tongues loudly call-- Tush! tush!--who can prevent us? We have the right and might in full; And what we say, that is the rule; Who dares to give us lessons! Therefore saith God: I must be up; My poor ones ill are faring; Their sighs crowd up to Zion's top. My ear their cry is hearing. My wholesome word shall speedily With comfort fill them, fresh and free, And strength be to the needy. Silver that seven times is tried With fire, is found the purer; God's word the same test must abide-- It still comes out the surer. It shall by crosses proved be; Men shall its power and glory see Shine strong upon the nations. God will its purity defend From this ill generation. Let us ourselves to thee commend Lest we fall from our station; The godless rout is all around Where these rude wanton ones are found Against thy folk exalted.

Cases - Commonwealth V. Marzynski

James Williams

(21 New England Reports, 228 [Massachusetts, 1893]) [On a complaint for keeping open a tobacconist's shop on Sunday, contrary to the law of Massachusetts, it was held that the court will take judicial notice that tobacco and cigars are not drugs and medicines, and will exclude the testimony of a witness who offers evidence that they are.] Against the statutes of the Old Bay State Marzynski on a Sunday stood behind His counter, well content his gain to find In pipes not pills, cigars not carbonate. From breakfast till 'twas dusk at half-past eight Tobacco cheered this hardened sinner's mind, The price of it his pockets, disinclined To add their dime to the collection plate. The State Attorney claimed the penalty; "Cigars are no cigars," said the defence, "But drugs, and we have witnesses to prove it." "Cigars to be cigars judicially We notice, and reject the evidence." So said the Court, and spat, and nought could move it.

A Woman's Fancy

Thomas Hardy

"Ah Madam; you've indeed come back here? 'Twas sad your husband's so swift death, And you away! You shouldn't have left him: It hastened his last breath." "Dame, I am not the lady you think me; I know not her, nor know her name; I've come to lodge here a friendless woman; My health my only aim." She came; she lodged. Wherever she rambled They held her as no other than The lady named; and told how her husband Had died a forsaken man. So often did they call her thuswise Mistakenly, by that man's name, So much did they declare about him, That his past form and fame Grew on her, till she pitied his sorrow As if she truly had been the cause Yea, his deserter; and came to wonder What mould of man he was. "Tell me my history!" would exclaim she; "OUR history," she said mournfully. "But YOU know, surely, Ma'am?" they would answer, Much in perplexity. Curious, she crept to his grave one evening, And a second time in the dusk of the morrow; Then a third time, with crescent emotion Like a bereaved wife's sorrow. No gravestone rose by the rounded hillock; "I marvel why this is?" she said. - "He had no kindred, Ma'am, but you near." She set a stone at his head. She learnt to dream of him, and told them: "In slumber often uprises he, And says: 'I am joyed that, after all, Dear, You've not deserted me!" At length died too this kinless woman, As he had died she had grown to crave; And at her dying she besought them To bury her in his grave. Such said, she had paused; until she added: "Call me by his name on the stone, As I were, first to last, his dearest, Not she who left him lone!" And this they did. And so it became there That, by the strength of a tender whim, The stranger was she who bore his name there, Not she who wedded him.

Song Intended To Have Been Sung In 'She Stoops To Conquer'

Oliver Goldsmith

Ah me! when shall I marry me? Lovers are plenty; but fail to relieve me: He, fond youth, that could carry me, Offers to love, but means to deceive me. But I will rally, and combat the ruiner: Not a look, not a smile shall my passion discover: She that gives all to the false one pursuing her, Makes but a penitent, loses a lover.

Hesperus

Ronald Ross

Ah whither dost thou float, sweet silent star, In yonder floods of evening's dying light? Before the fanning wings of rising night, Methinks thy silvery bark is driven far To some lone isle or calmly havened shore, Where the lorn eye of man can follow thee no more. How many a one hath watched thee even as I, And unto thee and thy receding ray Poured forth his thoughts with many a treasured sigh Too sweet and strange for the remorseless day; But thou hast gone and left unto their sight Too great a host of stars, and yet too black a night. E'en as I gaze upon thee, thy bright form Doth sail away among the cloudy isles Around whose shores the sea of sunlight smiles. On thee may break no black and boisterous storm To turn the tenour of thy calm career. As thou wert long ago so now thou dost appear. Art thou a tear left by the exiled day Upon the dusky cheek of drowsy night? Or dost thou as a lark carol alway Full in the liquid glow of heavenly light? Or, bent on discord and angelic wars, As some bright spirit tread before the trooping stars? The disenchanted vapours hide thee fast; The watery twilight fades and night comes on; One lingering moment more and thou art gone, Lost in the rising sea of clouds that cast Their inundations o'er the darkening air; And wild the night wind wails the lightless world's despair.

Autumn Sorrow

Madison Julius Cawein

Ah me! too soon the autumn comes Among these purple-plaintive hills! Too soon among the forest gums Premonitory flame she spills, Bleak, melancholy flame that kills. Her white fogs veil the morn, that rims With wet the moonflower's elfin moons; And, like exhausted starlight, dims The last slim lily-disk; and swoons With scents of hazy afternoons. Her gray mists haunt the sunset skies, And build the west's cadaverous fires, Where Sorrow sits with lonely eyes, And hands that wake an ancient lyre, Beside the ghost of dead Desire.

Les Ballons

Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde

Against these turbid turquoise skies The light and luminous balloons Dip and drift like satin moons Drift like silken butterflies; Reel with every windy gust, Rise and reel like dancing girls, Float like strange transparent pearls, Fall and float like silver dust. Now to the low leaves they cling, Each with coy fantastic pose, Each a petal of a rose Straining at a gossamer string. Then to the tall trees they climb, Like thin globes of amethyst, Wandering opals keeping tryst With the rubies of the lime.

The Duellist. Book III.

Charles Churchill

Ah me! what mighty perils wait The man who meddles with a state, Whether to strengthen, or oppose! False are his friends, and firm his foes: How must his soul, once ventured in, Plunge blindly on from sin to sin! What toils he suffers, what disgrace, To get, and then to keep, a place! How often, whether wrong or right, Must he in jest or earnest fight, Risking for those both life and limb Who would not risk one groat for him! Under the Temple lay a Cave, Made by some guilty, coward slave, Whose actions fear'd rebuke: a maze Of intricate and winding ways, Not to be found without a clue; One passage only, known to few, In paths direct led to a cell, Where Fraud in secret loved to dwell, With all her tools and slaves about her, Nor fear'd lest Honesty should rout her. In a dark corner, shunning sight Of man, and shrinking from the light, One dull, dim taper through the cell Glimmering, to make more horrible The face of darkness, she prepares, Working unseen, all kinds of snares, With curious, but destructive art: Here, through the eye to catch the heart, Gay stars their tinsel beams afford, Neat artifice to trap a lord; There, fit for all whom Folly bred, Wave plumes of feathers for the head; Garters the hag contrives to make, Which, as it seems, a babe might break, But which ambitious madmen feel More firm and sure than chains of steel; Which, slipp'd just underneath the knee, Forbid a freeman to be free. Purses she knew, (did ever curse Travel more sure than in a purse?) Which, by some strange and magic bands, Enslave the soul, and tie the hands. Here Flattery, eldest-born of Guile, Weaves with rare skill the silken smile, The courtly cringe, the supple bow, The private squeeze, the levee vow, With which--no strange or recent case-- Fools in, deceive fools out of place. Corruption, (who, in former times, Through fear or shame conceal'd her crimes, And what she did, contrived to do it So that the public might not view it) Presumptuous grown, unfit was held For their dark councils, and expell'd, Since in the day her business might Be done as safe as in the night. Her eye down-bending to the ground, Planning some dark and deadly wound, Holding a dagger, on which stood, All fresh and reeking, drops of blood, Bearing a lantern, which of yore, By Treason borrow'd, Guy Fawkes bore, By which, since they improved in trade, Excisemen have their lanterns made, Assassination, her whole mind Blood-thirsting, on her arm reclined; Death, grinning, at her elbow stood, And held forth instruments of blood,-- Vile instruments, which cowards choose, But men of honour dare not use; Around, his Lordship and his Grace, Both qualified for such a place, With many a Forbes, and many a Dun,[12] Each a resolved, and pious son, Wait her high bidding; each prepared, As she around her orders shared, Proof 'gainst remorse, to run, to fly, And bid the destined victim die, Posting on Villany's black wing, Whether he patriot is, or king. Oppression,--willing to appear An object of our love, not fear, Or, at the most, a reverend awe To breed, usurp'd the garb of Law. A book she held, on which her eyes Were deeply fix'd, whence seem'd to rise Joy in her breast; a book, of might Most wonderful, which black to white Could turn, and without help of laws, Could make the worse the better cause. She read, by flattering hopes deceived; She wish'd, and what she wish'd, believed, To make that book for ever stand The rule of wrong through all the land; On the back, fair and worthy note, At large was Magna Charta wrote; But turn your eye within, and read, A bitter lesson, Norton's Creed. Ready, e'en with a look, to run, Fast as the coursers of the sun, To worry Virtue, at her hand Two half-starved greyhounds took their stand. A curious model, cut in wood, Of a most ancient castle stood Full in her view; the gates were barr'd, And soldiers on the watch kept guard; In the front, openly, in black Was wrote, The Tower: but on the back, Mark'd with a secretary's seal, In bloody letters, The Bastile.[14] Around a table, fully bent On mischief of most black intent, Deeply determined that their reign Might longer last, to work the bane Of one firm patriot, whose heart, tied To Honour, all their power defied, And brought those actions into light They wish'd to have conceal'd in night, Begot, born, bred to infamy, A privy-council sat of three: Great were their names, of high repute And favour through the land of Bute. The first[16] (entitled to the place Of Honour both by gown and grace, Who never let occasion slip To take right-hand of fellowship, And was so proud, that should he meet The twelve apostles in the street, He'd turn his nose up at them all, And shove his Saviour from the wall! Who was so mean (Meanness and Pride Still go together side by side) That he would cringe, and creep, be civil, And hold a stirrup for the Devil; If in a journey to his mind, He'd let him mount and ride behind; Who basely fawn'd through all his life, For patrons first, then for a wife: Wrote Dedications which must make The heart of every Christian quake; Made one man equal to, or more Than God, then left him, as before His God he left, and, drawn by pride, Shifted about to t' other side) Was by his sire a parson made, Merely to give the boy a trade; But he himself was thereto drawn By some faint omens of the lawn, And on the truly Christian plan To make himself a gentleman,-- A title in which Form array'd him, Though Fate ne'er thought on 't when she made him. The oaths he took, 'tis very true, But took them as all wise men do, With an intent, if things should turn, Rather to temporise, than burn; Gospel and loyalty were made To serve the purposes of trade; Religions are but paper ties, Which bind the fool, but which the wise, Such idle notions far above, Draw on and off, just like a glove; All gods, all kings (let his great aim Be answer'd) were to him the same. A curate first, he read and read, And laid in, whilst he should have fed The souls of his neglected flock, Of reading such a mighty stock, That he o'ercharged the weary brain With more than she could well contain; More than she was with spirits fraught To turn and methodise to thought, And which, like ill-digested food, To humours turn'd, and not to blood. Brought up to London, from the plough And pulpit, how to make a bow He tried to learn; he grew polite, And was the poet's parasite. With wits conversing, (and wits then Were to be found 'mongst noblemen) He caught, or would have caught, the flame, And would be nothing, or the same. He drank with drunkards, lived with sinners, Herded with infidels for dinners; With such an emphasis and grace Blasphemed, that Potter[11] kept not pace: He, in the highest reign of noon, Bawled bawdy songs to a psalm tune; Lived with men infamous and vile, Truck'd his salvation for a smile; To catch their humour caught their plan, And laugh'd at God to laugh with man; Praised them, when living, in each breath, And damn'd their memories after death. To prove his faith, which all admit Is at least equal to his wit, And make himself a man of note, He in defence of Scripture wrote: So long he wrote, and long about it, That e'en believers 'gan to doubt it: He wrote, too, of the inward light, Though no one knew how he came by 't, And of that influencing grace Which in his life ne'er found a place: He wrote, too, of the Holy Ghost, Of whom no more than doth a post He knew; nor, should an angel show him, Would he, or know, or choose to know him. Next (for he knew 'twixt every science There was a natural alliance) He wrote, to advance his Maker's praise, Comments[13] on rhymes, and notes on plays, And with an all-sufficient air Placed himself in the critic's chair; Usurp'd o'er Reason full dominion, And govern'd merely by Opinion. At length dethroned, and kept in awe By one plain simple man of law,[15] He arm'd dead friends, to vengeance true, To abuse the man they never knew. Examine strictly all mankind, Most characters are mix'd, we find; And Vice and Virtue take their turn In the same breast to beat and burn. Our priest was an exception here, Nor did one spark of grace appear, Not one dull, dim spark in his soul; Vice, glorious Vice, possess'd the whole, And, in her service truly warm, He was in sin most uniform. Injurious Satire! own at least One snivelling virtue in the priest, One snivelling virtue, which is placed, They say, in or about the waist, Call'd Chastity; the prudish dame Knows it at large by Virtue's name. To this his wife (and in these days Wives seldom without reason praise) Bears evidence--then calls her child, And swears that Tom[17] was vastly wild. Ripen'd by a long course of years, He great and perfect now appears. In shape scarce of the human kind, A man, without a manly mind; No husband, though he's truly wed; Though on his knees a child is bred, No father; injured, without end A foe; and though obliged, no friend; A heart, which virtue ne'er disgraced; A head, where learning runs to waste; A gentleman well-bred, if breeding Rests in the article of reading; A man of this world, for the next Was ne'er included in his text; A judge of genius, though confess'd With not one spark of genius bless'd; Amongst the first of critics placed, Though free from every taint of taste; A Christian without faith or works, As he would be a Turk 'mongst Turks; A great divine, as lords agree, Without the least divinity; To crown all, in declining age, Inflamed with church and party rage, Behold him, full and perfect quite, A false saint, and true hypocrite. Next sat a lawyer,[18] often tried In perilous extremes; when Pride And Power, all wild and trembling, stood, Nor dared to tempt the raging flood; This bold, bad man arose to view, And gave his hand to help them through: Steel'd 'gainst compassion, as they pass'd He saw poor Freedom breathe her last; He saw her struggle, heard her groan; He saw her helpless and alone, Whelm'd in that storm, which, fear'd and praised By slaves less bold, himself had raised. Bred to the law, he from the first Of all bad lawyers was the worst. Perfection (for bad men maintain In ill we may perfection gain) In others is a work of time, And they creep on from crime to crime; He, for a prodigy design'd, To spread amazement o'er mankind, Started full ripen'd all at once A perfect knave, and perfect dunce. Who will, for him, may boast of sense, His better guard is impudence; His front, with tenfold plates of brass Secured, Shame never yet could pass, Nor on the surface of his skin Blush for that guilt which dwelt within. How often, in contempt of laws, To sound the bottom of a cause, To search out every rotten part, And worm into its very heart, Hath he ta'en briefs on false pretence, And undertaken the defence Of trusting fools, whom in the end He meant to ruin, not defend! How often, e'en in open court, Hath the wretch made his shame his sport, And laugh'd off, with a villain's ease, Throwing up briefs, and keeping fees! Such things as, though to roguery bred, Had struck a little villain dead! Causes, whatever their import, He undertakes, to serve a court; For he by art this rule had got, Power can effect what Law cannot. Fools he forgives, but rogues he fears; If Genius, yoked with Worth, appears, His weak soul sickens at the sight, And strives to plunge them down in night. So loud he talks, so very loud, He is an angel with the crowd; Whilst he makes Justice hang her head, And judges turn from pale to red. Bid all that Nature, on a plan Most intimate, makes dear to man, All that with grand and general ties Binds good and bad, the fool and wise, Knock at his heart; they knock in vain; No entrance there such suitors gain; Bid kneeling kings forsake the throne, Bid at his feet his country groan; Bid Liberty stretch out her hands, Religion plead her stronger bands; Bid parents, children, wife, and friends, If they come 'thwart his private ends-- Unmoved he hears the general call, And bravely tramples on them all. Who will, for him, may cant and whine, And let weak Conscience with her line Chalk out their ways; such starving rules Are only fit for coward fools; Fellows who credit what priests tell, And tremble at the thoughts of Hell; His spirit dares contend with Grace, And meets Damnation face to face. Such was our lawyer; by his side, In all bad qualities allied, In all bad counsels, sat a third, By birth a lord.[19] Oh, sacred word! Oh, word most sacred! whence men get A privilege to run in debt; Whence they at large exemption claim From Satire, and her servant Shame; Whence they, deprived of all her force, Forbid bold Truth to hold her course. Consult his person, dress, and air, He seems, which strangers well might swear, The master, or, by courtesy, The captain of a colliery. Look at his visage, and agree Half-hang'd he seems, just from the tree Escaped; a rope may sometimes break, Or men be cut down by mistake. He hath not virtue (in the school Of Vice bred up) to live by rule, Nor hath he sense (which none can doubt Who know the man) to live without. His life is a continued scene Of all that's infamous and mean; He knows not change, unless, grown nice And delicate, from vice to vice; Nature design'd him, in a rage, To be the Wharton[20] of his age; But, having given all the sin, Forgot to put the virtues in. To run a horse, to make a match, To revel deep, to roar a catch, To knock a tottering watchman down, To sweat a woman of the town; By fits to keep the peace, or break it, In turn to give a pox, or take it; He is, in faith, most excellent, And, in the word's most full intent, A true choice spirit, we admit; With wits a fool, with fools a wit: Hear him but talk, and you would swear Obscenity herself was there, And that Profaneness had made choice, By way of trump, to use his voice; That, in all mean and low things great, He had been bred at Billingsgate; And that, ascending to the earth Before the season of his birth, Blasphemy, making way and room, Had mark'd him in his mother's womb. Too honest (for the worst of men In forms are honest, now and then) Not to have, in the usual way, His bills sent in; too great to pay: Too proud to speak to, if he meets The honest tradesman whom he cheats: Too infamous to have a friend; Too bad for bad men to commend, Or good to name; beneath whose weight Earth groans; who hath been spared by Fate Only to show, on Mercy's plan, How far and long God bears with man. Such were the three, who, mocking sleep, At midnight sat, in counsel deep, Plotting destruction 'gainst a head Whose wisdom could not be misled; Plotting destruction 'gainst a heart Which ne'er from honour would depart. 'Is he not rank'd amongst our foes? Hath not his spirit dared oppose Our dearest measures, made our name Stand forward on the roll of Shame Hath he not won the vulgar tribes, By scorning menaces and bribes, And proving that his darling cause Is, of their liberties and laws To stand the champion? In a word, Nor need one argument be heard Beyond this to awake our zeal, To quicken our resolves, and steel Our steady souls to bloody bent, (Sure ruin to each dear intent, Each flattering hope) he, without fear, Hath dared to make the truth appear.' They said, and, by resentment taught, Each on revenge employ'd his thought; Each, bent on mischief, rack'd his brain To her full stretch, but rack'd in vain; Scheme after scheme they brought to view; All were examined; none would do: When Fraud, with pleasure in her face, Forth issued from her hiding-place, And at the table where they meet, First having bless'd them, took her seat. 'No trifling cause, my darling boys, Your present thoughts and cares employs; No common snare, no random blow, Can work the bane of such a foe: By nature cautious as he's brave, To Honour only he's a slave; In that weak part without defence, We must to honour make pretence; That lure shall to his ruin draw The wretch, who stands secure in law. Nor think that I have idly plann'd This full-ripe scheme; behold at hand, With three months' training on his head, An instrument, whom I have bred, Born of these bowels, far from sight Of Virtue's false but glaring light, My youngest-born, my dearest joy, Most like myself, my darling boy! He, never touch'd with vile remorse, Resolved and crafty in his course, Shall work our ends, complete our schemes, Most mine, when most he Honour's seems; Nor can be found, at home, abroad, So firm and full a slave of Fraud.' She said, and from each envious son A discontented murmur run Around the table; all in place Thought his full praise their own disgrace, Wondering what stranger she had got, Who had one vice that they had not; When straight the portals open flew, And, clad in armour, to their view Martin, the Duellist, came forth. All knew, and all confess'd his worth; All justified, with smiles array'd, The happy choice their dam had made.

Ah Poverties, Wincings Sulky Retreats

Walt Whitman

Ah poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats! Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me! (For what is my life, or any man's life, but a conflict with foes--the old, the incessant war?) You degradations--you tussle with passions and appetites; You smarts from dissatisfied friendships, (ah wounds, the sharpest of all;) You toil of painful and choked articulations--you meannesses; You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my tongue the shallowest of any;) You broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smother'd ennuis; Ah, think not you finally triumph--My real self has yet to come forth; It shall yet march forth o'ermastering, till all lies beneath me; It shall yet stand up the soldier of unquestion'd victory.

Phoebe Of The Scottish Glen

John Clare

Agen I'll take my idle pen And sing my bonny mountain maid-- Sweet Phoebe of the Scottish glen, Nor of her censure feel afraid. I'll charm her ear with beauty's praise, And please her eye with songs agen-- The ballads of our early days-- To Phoebe of the Scottish glen. There never was a fairer thing All Scotland's glens and mountains through. The siller gowans of the Spring, Besprent with pearls of mountain dew, The maiden blush upon the brere, Far distant from the haunts of men, Are nothing half so sweet or dear As Phoebe of the Scottish glen. How handsome is her naked foot, Moist with the pearls of Summer dew: The siller daisy's nothing to 't, Nor hawthorn flowers so white to view, She's sweeter than the blooming brere, That blossoms far away from men: No flower in Scotland's half so dear As Phoebe of the Scottish glen.

Undertone

Madison Julius Cawein

Ah me! too soon the Autumn comes Among these purple-plaintive hills! Too soon among the forest gums Premonitory flame she spills, Bleak, melancholy flame that kills. Her white fogs veil the morn that rims With wet the moonflow'r's elfin moons; And, like exhausted starlight, dims The last slim lily-disk; and swoons With scents of hazy afternoons. Her gray mists haunt the sunset skies, And build the west's cadaverous fire, Where Sorrow sits with lonely eyes, And hands that wake her ancient lyre, Beside the ghost of dead Desire.

Literary Squabbles

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Ah God! the petty fools of rhyme That shriek and sweat in pigmy wars Before the stony face of Time, And look'd at by the silent stars; Who hate each other for a song, And do their little best to bite And pinch their brethren in the throng, And scratch the very dead for spite; And strain to make an inch of room For their sweet selves, and cannot hear The sullen Lethe rolling doom On them and theirs and all things here; When one small touch of Charity Could lift them nearer Godlike state Than if the crowded Orb should cry Like those who cried Diana great. And I too talk, and lose the touch I talk of. Surely, after all, The noblest answer unto such Is perfect stillness when they brawl.

Sea Song

Laurence Hope (Adela Florence Cory Nicolson)

Against the planks of the cabin side, (So slight a thing between them and me,) The great waves thundered and throbbed and sighed, The great green waves of the Indian sea! Your face was white as the foam is white, Your hair was curled as the waves are curled, I would we had steamed and reached that night The sea's last edge, the end of the world. The wind blew in through the open port, So freshly joyous and salt and free, Your hair it lifted, your lips it sought, And then swept back to the open sea. The engines throbbed with their constant beat; Your heart was nearer, and all I heard; Your lips were salt, but I found them sweet, While, acquiescent, you spoke no word. So straight you lay in your narrow berth, Rocked by the waves; and you seemed to be Essence of all that is sweet on earth, Of all that is sad and strange at sea. And you were white as the foam is white, Your hair was curled as the waves are curled. Ah! had we but sailed and reached that night, The sea's last edge, the end of the world!

Ah what avails the sceptred race,

Walter Savage Landor

Ah what avails the sceptred race, Ah what the form divine! What every virtue, every grace! Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee.

Moesta Et Errabunda - (Twelve Translations From Charles Baudelaire)

John Collings Squire, Sir

Agatha, tell me, does thy heart not ache, Plunged in this squalid city's filthy sea, For another ocean where the splendours break Blue, clear, and deep as is virginity. Agatha, tell me, does thy heart not ache? The sea, the sea unending, comforts us! What demon gave the hoarse old sea who sings To her mumbling hurricanes' organ thunderous The god-like power to cradle sorrowful things? The sea, the sea unending, comforts us. Carry me, wagon, bear me, barque, away! Far! Far! For here the mud is made of tears! Does Agatha's sad heart not sometimes say: "O far from shudderings and crimes and fears, Carry me, wagon; bear me barque, away?" How far thou art, O scented paradise, O paradise where all is love and joy, Where all is worthy love 'neath the azure skies, And the heart drowns in bliss without alloy! How far thou art, O scented paradise! But the green paradise of childish loves, The games, the songs, the kisses and the flowers, The laughing draughts of wine in hidden groves, The violins throbbing through the twilight hours, But the green paradise of childish loves, The artless paradise of stealthy joys, Is that already leagues beyond Cathay? And can one, with a little plaintive noise, Bring it again that is so far away, The artless paradise of stealthy joys?

Vice.

William McKendree Carleton

[From Farmer Harrington's Calendar.] SEPTEMBER 10, 18 - . Ah me! it makes a sinner wondrous blue, To see so many other sinners too! When I rake over all my faults, and then Notice the same, or worse, in other men, It makes me very much surprised and sad, That Heaven should see Earth turning out so bad! Vice, vice, vice, vice! The country's mean enough, And has some villains that are pretty rough; But in this town, where art and nature both Are shoved into their very greatest growth, And where the utmost of all things is found, The Devil has his best men on the ground, And gives them weapons meeting his own views, And all the ammunition they can use! Vice, vice, vice, vice! I never had been led To think that Evil had so long a head! I've seen more ingenuity displayed In one crime, than 'twould take to learn a trade. Such cute inventions Sin will take in charge: Old Satan's patent-office must be large! And yet, for all their craft, in time how brief How many of these rascals come to grief! For though within them cunning may abound, The plain-clothed Truth is always standing round, Or following rogues through every land and clime, And gets them, if you'll only give him time. I don't believe - as some good people say - The Devil leads men on from day to day, And takes them to a rock, and, first they know, Pitches them off into some gulf below; Or baits them into different traps, and then Doesn't try at all to get them out again: I think he'd like to keep them, safe and sound, Doing his nasty work the whole year round; And when a rogue fails up and comes to grief, It hurts his brimstone-clothed but helpless chief! These thoughts limped past my saddened mind to-day, As through State's prison I pursued my way, Led round by one who didn't seem to be knowing What melancholy pictures he was showing! Those walls and guards, that all escape opposed; Those thick, iron doors - it thundered when they closed; The cells - each one a closet full of gloom: I'd just as soon sleep in a metal tomb![6] The hard-faced men who worked away (no doubt, For fear of hard-faced men that stood about), Wearing that garb of stripes a free man loathes, As if Law whipped them - even with their clothes; The way they glance up at you from within Their drooping eyelids, hard with grief or sin, Wondering, as they gaze upon you so, If you are not some one they used to know; The ghosts you feel, that creep 'round, all the time, Among these men who've shaken hands with crime; The mournful hope that some are toiling here Whose innocence in heaven is proved out clear: All these things to my inmost spirit talked, As through those regions dark I slowly walked; And when the front door closed behind me - free - The fresh air seemed like heaven itself to me! I recollect once getting sick with pain, When sitting near a sheriff, on the train, Who had a young man with him - not of age - Whom he was taking to this stone-bound cage. The poor boy talked to him with drooping head, And these are something like the words he said: [6]    And yet 'twas quite affecting, I declare, How some had ornaments up, even there! Not crime itself, or sad misfortune's smart Can crush all sense of beauty from the heart!

The Wraith

Paul Laurence Dunbar

Ah me, it is cold and chill And the fire sobs low in the grate, While the wind rides by on the hill, And the logs crack sharp with hate. And she, she is cold and sad As ever the sinful are, But deep in my heart I am glad For my wound and the coming scar. Oh, ever the wind rides by And ever the raindrops grieve; But a voice like a woman's sigh Says, "Do you believe, believe?" Ah, you were warm and sweet, Sweet as the May days be; Down did I fall at your feet, Why did you hearken to me? Oh, the logs they crack and whine, And the water drops from the eaves; But it is not rain but brine Where my dead darling grieves. And a wraith sits by my side, A spectre grim and dark; Are you gazing here open-eyed Out to the lifeless dark? But ever the wind rides on, And we sit close within; Out of the face of the dawn, I and my darling,--sin.

Moesta Et Errabunda

Charles Baudelaire

Agatha, tell me, could your heart take flight From this black city, from this filthy sea Off to some other sea, where splendour might Burst blue and clear-a new virginity? Agatha, tell me, could your heart take flight? The vast sea offers comfort in our pain! What demon lets the ocean's raucous cry Above the great wind-organ's grumbling strain Perform the holy rite of lullaby? The vast sea offers comfort in our pain! Frigate or wagon, carry me away! Away from where the mud is made of tears! Agatha, can your sad heart sometimes say: Far from the crimes, remorse, the grief of years, Frigate or wagon, carry me away! How distant are you, perfumed paradise, Where lovers play beneath the blue above, Where hearts may drown themselves in pure delights, Where what one loves is worthy to be loved! How distant are you, perfumed paradise! But the green paradise of youthful loves, The games and songs, the kisses, the bouquets, The violins that sing in hilly groves, The evening cups of wine in shady ways, But the green paradise of youthful loves, The sinless paradise of stolen joys, Is it already far beyond the seas? Can we recall it with our plaintive voice, And give it life with silver melodies, The sinless paradise of stolen joys?

A Boy's Grief.

George MacDonald

Ah me! in ages far away, The good, the heavenly land, Though unbeheld, quite near them lay, And men could understand. The dead yet find it, who, when here, Did love it more than this; They enter in, are filled with cheer, And pain expires in bliss. Oh, fairly shines the blessed land! Ah, God! I weep and pray-- The heart thou holdest in thy hand Loves more this sunny day. I see the hundred thousand wait Around the radiant throne: To me it is a dreary state, A crowd of beings lone. I do not care for singing psalms; I tire of good men's talk; To me there is no joy in palms, Or white-robed solemn walk. I love to hear the wild winds meet, The wild old winds at night; To watch the starlight throb and beat, To wait the thunder-light. I love all tales of valiant men, Of women good and fair; If I were rich and strong, ah then, I would do something rare. I see thy temple in the skies On pillars strong and white; I cannot love it, though I rise And try with all my might. Sometimes a joy lays hold on me, And I am speechless then; Almost a martyr I could be, And join the holy men. But soon my heart is like a clod, My spirit wrapt in doubt-- "A pillar in the house of God, And never more go out!" No more the sunny, breezy morn; No more the speechless moon; No more the ancient hills, forlorn, A vision, and a boon. Ah, God! my love will never burn, Nor shall I taste thy joy; And Jesus' face is calm and stern-- I am a hapless boy.

Age

William Lisle Bowles

Age, thou the loss of health and friends shalt mourn! But thou art passing to that night-still bourne, Where labour sleeps. The linnet, chattering loud To the May morn, shall sing; thou, in thy shroud, Forgetful and forgotten, sink to rest; And grass-green be the sod upon thy breast!

Poem: Les Ballons

Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde

Against these turbid turquoise skies The light and luminous balloons Dip and drift like satin moons, Drift like silken butterflies; Reel with every windy gust, Rise and reel like dancing girls, Float like strange transparent pearls, Fall and float like silver dust. Now to the low leaves they cling, Each with coy fantastic pose, Each a petal of a rose Straining at a gossamer string. Then to the tall trees they climb, Like thin globes of amethyst, Wandering opals keeping tryst With the rubies of the lime.

The Sunshade

Thomas Hardy

Ah - it's the skeleton of a lady's sunshade, Here at my feet in the hard rock's chink, Merely a naked sheaf of wires! - Twenty years have gone with their livers and diers Since it was silked in its white or pink. Noonshine riddles the ribs of the sunshade, No more a screen from the weakest ray; Nothing to tell us the hue of its dyes, Nothing but rusty bones as it lies In its coffin of stone, unseen till to-day. Where is the woman who carried that sun-shade Up and down this seaside place? - Little thumb standing against its stem, Thoughts perhaps bent on a love-stratagem, Softening yet more the already soft face! Is the fair woman who carried that sunshade A skeleton just as her property is, Laid in the chink that none may scan? And does she regret - if regret dust can - The vain things thought when she flourished this? SWANAGE CLIFFS.

An Oxford Idyll

Thomas Edward Brown

Ah little mill, you're rumbling still, Ah sunset flecked with gold! Ah deepening tinge, ah purple fringe Of lilac as of old! Ah hawthorn hedge, ah light-won pledge Of kisses warm and plenty, When she was true, and twenty-two, And I was two-and-twenty. I don't know how she broke her vow, She said that I was "horty" And there's the mill a goin' still, And I am five-and-forty. And sooth to tell, 'twas just as well, Her aitches were uncertain; Her ways though nice, not point-device; Her father liked his" Burton." But there's a place you cannot trace, So spare the fond endeavour, A cloudless sky, where Kate and I Are twenty-two for ever.

The Homestead

John Greenleaf Whittier

Against the wooded hills it stands, Ghost of a dead home, staring through Its broken lights on wasted lands Where old-time harvests grew. Unploughed, unsown, by scythe unshorn, The poor, forsaken farm-fields lie, Once rich and rife with golden corn And pale green breadths of rye. Of healthful herb and flower bereft, The garden plot no housewife keeps; Through weeds and tangle only left, The snake, its tenant, creeps. A lilac spray, still blossom-clad, Sways slow before the empty rooms; Beside the roofless porch a sad Pathetic red rose blooms. His track, in mould and dust of drouth, On floor and hearth the squirrel leaves, And in the fireless chimney's mouth His web the spider weaves. The leaning barn, about to fall, Resounds no more on husking eves; No cattle low in yard or stall, No thresher beats his sheaves. So sad, so drear! It seems almost Some haunting Presence makes its sign; That down yon shadowy lane some ghost Might drive his spectral kine! O home so desolate and lorn! Did all thy memories die with thee? Were any wed, were any born, Beneath this low roof-tree? Whose axe the wall of forest broke, And let the waiting sunshine through? What goodwife sent the earliest smoke Up the great chimney flue? Did rustic lovers hither come? Did maidens, swaying back and forth In rhythmic grace, at wheel and loom, Make light their toil with mirth? Did child feet patter on the stair? Did boyhood frolic in the snow? Did gray age, in her elbow chair, Knit, rocking to and fro? The murmuring brook, the sighing breeze, The pine's slow whisper, cannot tell; Low mounds beneath the hemlock-trees Keep the home secrets well. Cease, mother-land, to fondly boast Of sons far off who strive and thrive, Forgetful that each swarming host Must leave an emptier hive. O wanderers from ancestral soil, Leave noisome mill and chaffering store: Gird up your loins for sturdier toil, And build the home once more! Come back to bayberry-scented slopes, And fragrant fern, and ground-nut vine; Breathe airs blown over holt and copse Sweet with black birch and pine. What matter if the gains are small That life's essential wants supply? Your homestead's title gives you all That idle wealth can buy. All that the many-dollared crave, The brick-walled slaves of 'Change and mart, Lawns, trees, fresh air, and flowers, you have, More dear for lack of art. Your own sole masters, freedom-willed, With none to bid you go or stay, Till the old fields your fathers tilled, As manly men as they! With skill that spares your toiling hands, And chemic aid that science brings, Reclaim the waste and outworn lands, And reign thereon as king

The Divine Comedy by Dante: The Vision of Hell, Or The Inferno: Canto VII

Dante Alighieri

"Ah me!    O Satan!    Satan!" loud exclaim'd Plutus, in accent hoarse of wild alarm: And the kind sage, whom no event surpris'd, To comfort me thus spake: "Let not thy fear Harm thee, for power in him, be sure, is none To hinder down this rock thy safe descent." Then to that sworn lip turning, "Peace!"    he cried, "Curs'd wolf! thy fury inward on thyself Prey, and consume thee!    Through the dark profound Not without cause he passes.    So 't is will'd On high, there where the great Archangel pour'd Heav'n's vengeance on the first adulterer proud." As sails full spread and bellying with the wind Drop suddenly collaps'd, if the mast split; So to the ground down dropp'd the cruel fiend. Thus we, descending to the fourth steep ledge, Gain'd on the dismal shore, that all the woe Hems in of all the universe.    Ah me! Almighty Justice! in what store thou heap'st New pains, new troubles, as I here beheld! Wherefore doth fault of ours bring us to this? E'en as a billow, on Charybdis rising, Against encounter'd billow dashing breaks; Such is the dance this wretched race must lead, Whom more than elsewhere numerous here I found, From one side and the other, with loud voice, Both roll'd on weights by main forge of their breasts, Then smote together, and each one forthwith Roll'd them back voluble, turning again, Exclaiming these, "Why holdest thou so fast?" Those answering, "And why castest thou away?" So still repeating their despiteful song, They to the opposite point on either hand Travers'd the horrid circle: then arriv'd, Both turn'd them round, and through the middle space Conflicting met again.    At sight whereof I, stung with grief, thus spake: "O say, my guide! What race is this?    Were these, whose heads are shorn, On our left hand, all sep'rate to the church?" He straight replied: "In their first life these all In mind were so distorted, that they made, According to due measure, of their wealth, No use.    This clearly from their words collect, Which they howl forth, at each extremity Arriving of the circle, where their crime Contrary' in kind disparts them.    To the church Were separate those, that with no hairy cowls Are crown'd, both Popes and Cardinals, o'er whom Av'rice dominion absolute maintains." I then: "Mid such as these some needs must be, Whom I shall recognize, that with the blot Of these foul sins were stain'd."    He answering thus: "Vain thought conceiv'st thou.    That ignoble life, Which made them vile before, now makes them dark, And to all knowledge indiscernible. Forever they shall meet in this rude shock: These from the tomb with clenched grasp shall rise, Those with close-shaven locks.    That ill they gave, And ill they kept, hath of the beauteous world Depriv'd, and set them at this strife, which needs No labour'd phrase of mine to set if off. Now may'st thou see, my son! how brief, how vain, The goods committed into fortune's hands, For which the human race keep such a coil! Not all the gold, that is beneath the moon, Or ever hath been, of these toil-worn souls Might purchase rest for one."    I thus rejoin'd: "My guide! of thee this also would I learn; This fortune, that thou speak'st of, what it is, Whose talons grasp the blessings of the world?" He thus: "O beings blind! what ignorance Besets you?    Now my judgment hear and mark. He, whose transcendent wisdom passes all, The heavens creating, gave them ruling powers To guide them, so that each part shines to each, Their light in equal distribution pour'd. By similar appointment he ordain'd Over the world's bright images to rule. Superintendence of a guiding hand And general minister, which at due time May change the empty vantages of life From race to race, from one to other's blood, Beyond prevention of man's wisest care: Wherefore one nation rises into sway, Another languishes, e'en as her will Decrees, from us conceal'd, as in the grass The serpent train.    Against her nought avails Your utmost wisdom.    She with foresight plans, Judges, and carries on her reign, as theirs The other powers divine.    Her changes know Nore intermission: by necessity She is made swift, so frequent come who claim Succession in her favours.    This is she, So execrated e'en by those, whose debt To her is rather praise; they wrongfully With blame requite her, and with evil word; But she is blessed, and for that recks not: Amidst the other primal beings glad Rolls on her sphere, and in her bliss exults. Now on our way pass we, to heavier woe Descending: for each star is falling now, That mounted at our entrance, and forbids Too long our tarrying."    We the circle cross'd To the next steep, arriving at a well, That boiling pours itself down to a foss Sluic'd from its source.    Far murkier was the wave Than sablest grain: and we in company Of the' inky waters, journeying by their side, Enter'd, though by a different track, beneath. Into a lake, the Stygian nam'd, expands The dismal stream, when it hath reach'd the foot Of the grey wither'd cliffs.    Intent I stood To gaze, and in the marish sunk descried A miry tribe, all naked, and with looks Betok'ning rage.    They with their hands alone Struck not, but with the head, the breast, the feet, Cutting each other piecemeal with their fangs. The good instructor spake; "Now seest thou, son! The souls of those, whom anger overcame. This too for certain know, that underneath The water dwells a multitude, whose sighs Into these bubbles make the surface heave, As thine eye tells thee wheresoe'er it turn." Fix'd in the slime they say: "Sad once were we In the sweet air made gladsome by the sun, Carrying a foul and lazy mist within: Now in these murky settlings are we sad." Such dolorous strain they gurgle in their throats. But word distinct can utter none."    Our route Thus compass'd we, a segment widely stretch'd Between the dry embankment, and the core Of the loath'd pool, turning meanwhile our eyes Downward on those who gulp'd its muddy lees; Nor stopp'd, till to a tower's low base we came.

Ode On A Distant Prospect Of Clapham Academy.[1]

Thomas Hood

I. Ah me! those old familiar bounds! That classic house, those classic grounds My pensive thought recalls! What tender urchins now confine, What little captives now repine, Within yon irksome walls? II. Ay, that's the very house! I know Its ugly windows, ten a-row! Its chimneys in the rear! And there's the iron rod so high, That drew the thunder from the sky And turn'd our table-beer! III. There I was birch'd! there I was bred! There like a little Adam fed From Learning's woeful tree! The weary tasks I used to con! - The hopeless leaves I wept upon! - Most fruitless leaves to me! - IV. The summon'd class! - the awful bow! - I wonder who is master now And wholesome anguish sheds! How many ushers now employs, How many maids to see the boys Have nothing in their heads! V. And Mrs. S -    - ? - Doth she abet (Like Pallas in the parlor) yet Some favor'd two or three, - The little Crichtons of the hour, Her muffin-medals that devour, And swill her prize - bohea? VI. Ay, there's the playground! there's the lime, Beneath whose shade in summer's prime So wildly I have read! - Who sits there now, and skims the cream Of young Romance, and weaves a dream Of Love and Cottage-bread? VII. Who struts the Randall of the walk? Who models tiny heads in chalk? Who scoops the light canoe? What early genius buds apace? Where's Poynter? Harris? Bowers? Chase? Hal Baylis? blithe Carew? VIII. Alack! they're gone - a thousand ways! And some are serving in "the Greys," And some have perish'd young! - Jack Harris weds his second wife; Hal Baylis drives the wane of life; And blithe Carew - is hung! IX. Grave Bowers teaches A B C To savages at Owhyee; Poor Chase is with the worms! - All, all are gone - the olden breed! - New crops of mushroon boys succeed, "And push us from our forms!" X. Lo! where they scramble forth, and shout, And leap, and skip, and mob about, At play where we have play'd! Some hop, some run, (some fall,) some twine Their crony arms; some in the shine, - And some are in the shade! XI. Lo there what mix'd conditions run! The orphan lad; the widow's son; And Fortune's favor'd care - The wealthy-born, for whom she hath Mac-Adamised the future path - The Nabob's pamper'd heir! XII. Some brightly starr'd - some evil born, - For honor some, and some for scorn, - For fair or foul renown! Good, bad, indiff'rent - none may lack! Look, here's a White, and there's a Black And there's a Creole brown! XIII. Some laugh and sing, some mope and weep, And wish their frugal sires would keep Their only sons at home; - Some tease their future tense, and plan The full-grown doings of the man, And plant for years to come! XIV. A foolish wish! There's one at hoop; And four at fives! and five who stoop The marble taw to speed! And one that curvets in and out, Reining his fellow Cob about, - Would I were in his steed! XV. Yet he would glady halt and drop That boyish harness off, to swop With this world's heavy van - To toil, to tug. O little fool! While thou canst be a horse at school, To wish to be a man! XVI. Perchance thou deem'st it were a thing To wear a crown, - to be a king! And sleep on regal down! Alas! thou know'st not kingly cares; For happier is thy head that wears That hat without a crown! XVII. And dost thou think that years acquire New added joys? Dost think thy sire More happy than his son? That manhood's mirth? - Oh, go thy ways To Drury-lane when - plays, And see how forced our fun! XVIII. Thy taws are brave! - thy tops are rare! - Our tops are spun with coils of care, Our dumps are no delight! - The Elgin marbles are but tame, And 'tis at best a sorry game To fly the Muse's kite! XIX. Our hearts are dough, our heels are lead, Our topmost joys fall dull and dead Like balls with no rebound! And often with a faded eye We look behind, and send a sigh Towards that merry ground! XX. Then be contented. Thou hast got The most of heaven in thy young lot; There's sky-blue in thy cup! Thou'lt find thy Manhood all too fast - Soon come, soon gone! and Age at last A sorry breaking-up!

Agnes And The Hill-Man. Translated From The Danish.

William Morris

Agnes went through the meadows a-weeping, Fowl are a-singing. There stood the hill-man heed thereof keeping. Agnes, fair Agnes! "Come to the hill, fair Agnes, with me, The reddest of gold will I give unto thee!" Twice went Agnes the hill round about, Then wended within, left the fair world without. In the hillside bode Agnes, three years thrice told o'er, For the green earth sithence fell she longing full sore. There she sat, and lullaby sang in her singing, And she heard how the bells of England were ringing. Agnes before her true-love did stand: "May I wend to the church of the English Land?" "To England's Church well mayst thou be gone, So that no hand thou lay the red gold upon. "So that when thou art come the churchyard anear Thou cast not abroad thy golden hair. "So that when thou standest the church within To thy mother on bench thou never win. "So that when thou hearest the high God's name, No knee unto earth thou bow to the same." Hand she laid on all gold that was there, And cast abroad her golden hair. And when the church she stood within To her mother on bench straight did she win. And when she heard the high God's name, Knee unto earth she bowed to the same. When all the mass was sung to its end Home with her mother dear did she wend. "Come, Agnes, into the hillside to me, For thy seven small sons greet sorely for thee!" "Let them greet, let them greet, as they have will to do; For never again will I hearken thereto!" Weird laid he on her, sore sickness he wrought, Fowl are a-singing. That self-same hour to death was she brought. Agnes, fair Agnes!

Parentage

Alice Christiana Gertrude Thompson Meynell

"When Augustus Caesar legislated against the unmarried citizens of Rome, he declared them to be, in some sort, slayers of the people." Ah no, not these! These, who were childless, are not they who gave So many dead unto the journeying wave, The helpless nurslings of the cradling seas; Not they who doomed by infallible decrees Unnumbered man to the innumerable grave. But those who slay Are fathers. Theirs are armies. Death is theirs, The death of innocences and despairs; The dying of the golden and the grey. The sentence, when these speak it, has no Nay. And she who slays is she who bears, who bears.

Ah Sunflower

William Blake

Ah Sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun; Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done; Where the Youth pined away with desire, And the pale virgin shrouded in snow, Arise from their graves, and aspire Where my Sunflower wishes to go!

Fame

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Ah Fate, cannot a man Be wise without a beard? East, West, from Beer to Dan, Say, was it never heard That wisdom might in youth be gotten, Or wit be ripe before 't was rotten? He pays too high a price For knowledge and for fame Who sells his sinews to be wise, His teeth and bones to buy a name, And crawls through life a paralytic To earn the praise of bard and critic. Were it not better done, To dine and sleep through forty years; Be loved by few; be feared by none; Laugh life away; have wine for tears; And take the mortal leap undaunted, Content that all we asked was granted? But Fate will not permit The seed of gods to die, Nor suffer sense to win from wit Its guerdon in the sky, Nor let us hide, whate'er our pleasure, The world's light underneath a measure. Go then, sad youth, and shine; Go, sacrifice to Fame; Put youth, joy, health upon the shrine, And life to fan the flame; Being for Seeming bravely barter And die to Fame a happy martyr.

An Ode For Ben Jonson

Robert Herrick

Ah Ben! Say how, or when Shall we thy guests Meet at those lyric feasts Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun? Where we such clusters had As made us nobly wild, not mad; And yet each verse of thine Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine. My Ben Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it; Lest we that talent spend, And having once brought to an end That precious stock, the store Of such a wit the world should have no more.