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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
PALGKAVE'S 
 THE 
 
 GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 EDITED WITH NOTES 
 BY 
 
 WALTER BARNES, A. M. 
 
 HEAD OF DEPARTMENT OF ENGLISH 
 
 IN THE STATE NORMAL SCHOOL^ FAIRMONT^ W. VA. 
 
 AUTHOR OF '^'^ENGLISH IN THE COUNTRY SCHOOL''-' 
 
 CHICAGO NEW YORK 
 
 ROW, PETERSON & COMPANY 
 
1p^^ 
 
 
 CorYRIGHT, 1915 
 BY 
 
 ROW, PETERSON & COMPANY 
 
 AUG 2 1915 
 
 ©CIA406973 
 
PALGRAVE'S PREFACE 
 
 This little Collection differs, it is believed, from others 
 in the attempt made to include in it all the best original 
 Lyrical pieces and Songs in our language (save a very 
 few regretfully omitted on account of length), by writers 
 not living, — and none beside the best. Many familiar 
 verses will hence be met with ; many also which should be 
 familiar: — the Editor will regard as his fittest readers 
 those who love Poetry so well, that he can offer them 
 nothing not already known and valued. 
 
 The Editor is acquainted with no strict and exhaustive 
 definition of Lyrical Poetry ; but he has found the task 
 of practical decision increase in clearness and in facility 
 as he advanced with the work, whilst keeping in view 
 a few simple principles. Lyrical has been here held 
 essentially to imply that each Poem shall turn on some 
 single thought, feeling, or situation. In accordance with 
 this, narrative, descriptive, and didactic poems^unless 
 accompanied by rapidity of movement, brevity, and the 
 colouring of human passion, — have been excluded. 
 Humourous poetry, except in the very unfrequent 
 instances where a truly poetical tone pervades the whole, 
 with what is strictly personal, occasional, and religious, 
 has been considered foreign to the idea of the book. 
 Blank verse and the ten-syllable couplet, with all pieces 
 markedly dramatic, have been rejected as alien from 
 what is commonly understood by Song, and rarely con- 
 forming to Lyrical conditions in treatment. But it is 
 not anticipated, nor is it possible, that all readers shall 
 think the line accurately drawn. Some poems, as Gray 's 
 
 5 
 
g FALdKAVE'S FKKFACE 
 
 Elegy, the Allegi^o and Penscroso, Wordsworth's Euth or 
 Campbell's Lord Ullin, might be claimed with perhaps 
 equal justice for a narrative or descriptive selection: 
 whilst with reference especially to Ballads and Sonnets, 
 the Editor can only state that he has taken his utmost 
 pains to decide without caprice or partiality. 
 
 This also is all he can plead in regard to a point even 
 more liable to question; — what degree of merit should 
 give rank among the Best. That a poem shall be worthy 
 of the writer's genius, — that it shall reach a perfection 
 commensurate with its aim, — ^that we should require fin- 
 ish in proportion to brevity, — that passion, colour, and 
 originality cannot atone for serious imperfections in 
 clearness, unity or truth, — that a few good lines do not 
 make a good poem, that popular estimate is serviceable 
 as a guidepost more than as a compass, — above all, that 
 excellence should be looked for rather in the whole than 
 in the parts, — such and other such canons have been 
 always steadily regarded. He may however add that 
 the pieces chosen, and a far larger number rejected, have 
 been carefully aud repeatedly considered; and that he 
 has been aided throughout by two friends of independent 
 and exercised judgment, besides the distinguished person 
 addressed in the Dedication. It is hoped that by this 
 procedure the volume has been freed from that one-sided- 
 ness which must beset individual decisions : — but for the 
 final choice the Editor is alone responsible. 
 
 Chalmer's vast collection, with the whole works of all 
 accessible poets not contained in it, and the best Anthol- 
 ogies of different periods, have been twice systematically 
 read through : and it is hence improbable that any omis- 
 sions which may be regretted are due to oversight. The 
 poems are printed entire, except in a very few instances 
 where a stanza or passage has been omitted. Thes^ omis- 
 
PALGRAVE'S PREFACE 7 
 
 sions have been risked only when the piece could be thus 
 brought to a closer lyrical unity : and, as essentially op- 
 posed to this unity, extracts, obviously such, are 
 excluded. In regard to the text, the purpose of the book 
 has appeared to justify the choice of the most poetical 
 version, wherever more^han one exists ; and much labour 
 has been given to present each poem, in disposition, spell- 
 ing, and punctuation, to the greatest advantage. 
 
 In the arrangement, the most poetically-effective order 
 has been attempted. The English mind has passed 
 through phases of thought and cultivation so various 
 and so opposed during these three centuries of Poetry, 
 that a rapid passage between old and new, like rapid 
 alteration, of the eye 's focus in looking at the landscape, 
 will always be wearisome and hurtful to the sense of 
 Beauty. The poems have been therefore distributed into 
 Books corresponding, I to the ninety years closing about 
 1616, II thence to 1700, III to 1800, IV to the half cen- 
 tury just ended. Or, looking at the Poets who more or 
 less give each portion its distinctive character, they 
 might be called the Books of Shakespeare, Milton, Gray, 
 and Wordsworth. The volume, in this respect, so far as 
 the limitations of its range allow, accurately reflects the 
 natural growth and evolution of our Poetry. A rigidly 
 chronological sequence, hoAvever, rather fits a collection 
 aiming at instruction than at pleasure, and the wisdom 
 which comes through pleasure: — within each book the 
 pieces have therefore been arranged in gradations of 
 feeling or subject. And it is hoped that the contents of 
 this Anthology will thus be found to present a certain 
 unity, ''as episodes," in the noble language of Shelley, 
 ''to that great Poem which all poets, like the co-operat- 
 ing thoughts of one great mind, have built up since the 
 beginning of the world." 
 
8 PALGRAVE'S PREFACE 
 
 As he closes his long survey, the Editor trusts he may 
 add without egotism, that he has found the vague general 
 verdict of popular Fame more just than those have 
 thought, who, with too severe a criticism, would confine 
 judgments on Poetry to ''the selected few of many gen- 
 erations." Not many appear to have gained reputation 
 without some gift or performance that, in due degree, 
 deserved it : and if no verses by certain writers who show 
 less strength than sweetness, or more thought than mas- 
 tery of expression, are printed in this volume, it should 
 not be imagined that they have been excluded without 
 much hesitation and regret, — far less that they have 
 been slighted. Throughout this vast and pathetic array 
 of Singers now silent, few have been honoured with the 
 name Poet, and have not possessed a skill in words, a 
 sympathy with beauty, a tenderness of feeling, or serious- 
 ness in reflection, which render their works, although 
 never perhaps attaining that loftier and finer excellence 
 here required, — better worth reading than much of what 
 fills the scanty hours that most men spare for self- 
 improvement, or for pleasure in any of its more elevated 
 and permanent forms. — And if this be true of even 
 mediocre poetry, for how much more are we indebted to 
 the best! Like the fabled fountain of the Azores, but 
 with a more various power, the magic of this Art can 
 confer on each period of life its appropriate blessing: 
 on early years Experience, on maturity Calm, on age, 
 Youthfulness. Poetry gives treasures ''more golden 
 than gold," leading us in higher and healthier ways than 
 those of the world, and interpreting to us the lessons of 
 Nature. But she speaks best for herself. Her true 
 accents, if the plan has been executed with success, may 
 be heard throughout the following pages: — wherever the 
 Poets of England are honoured, wherever the dominant 
 
PALGRAVE'S PREFACE 9 
 
 language of the world is spoken, it is hoped that they 
 will find fit audience. 
 
 1861 
 
 Some poems, especially in Book I, have been added : — 
 either on better acquaintance; — in deference to critical 
 suggestions ; — or unknown to the Editor when first gath- 
 ering his harvest. For aid in these after-gleanings he is 
 specially indebted to the excellent reprints of rare early 
 verse given us by Dr. Hannah, Dr. Grosart, Mr. Arber, 
 Mr. Bullen, and others, — and (in regard to the additions 
 of 1883) to the advice of that distinguished Friend, by 
 whom the final choice has been so largely guided. The 
 text has also been carefully revised from authoritative 
 sources. It has still seemed best, for many reasons, to 
 retain the original limit by which the selection was con- 
 fined to those then no longer living. But the editor hopes 
 that, so far as in him lies, a complete and definitive col- 
 lection of our best Lyrics, to the central year of this 
 fast-closing century, is now offered. 
 
 1883-1890-1891 
 
INTRODUCTION TO THIS EDITION 
 
 This edition of ^'The Golden Treasury" differs, I 
 believe, from other editions in that the notes are literary 
 rather than linguistic. I have shaped all my annota- 
 tions to four ends: to bring out the literary quali- 
 ties of the poems ; to discuss the metre ; to introduce any 
 material that might aid in the interpretation, as, for 
 example, the circumstances under which some of the 
 lyrics in Shakespeare's plays were originally sung; and 
 to give suggestions about the oral reading. I have 
 endeavored, in a word, to assist students in the appre- 
 ciation of the poems. 
 
 Such an edition is assuredly new. But is it desirable ? 
 I believe it is. It is because I felt the need of such an 
 edition in my own work that my thoughts were first 
 directed to the subject. I do not question, of course, 
 that many a teacher will teach the poems better with an 
 un-annotated edition than many another teacher v/ill 
 with notes— notes like these or any other notes. Such 
 a teacher will find this edition valuable only in saving 
 time for him and his students and in giving him a chance 
 hint here and there. But surely there are many teachers 
 that will be glad to receive suggestions as to the literary 
 qualities of the poems and the methods of approach to 
 them. 
 
 Certain it is that many of us do not know how to teach 
 poetry. IMany of us emphasize the linguistic, the formal, 
 and the intellectual phases, and ignore that for which 
 poetry exists : the expression and the communication of 
 emotion. I know that some teachers of English believe 
 that the emotional cannot be taught except through the 
 
 11 
 
12 INTRODUCTION TO THIS EDITION 
 
 intellectual, that a poem must be zealously studied before 
 it can be enjoyed. Of course, it is true that many poems 
 cannot be enjoyed until certain intellectual problems 
 have been solved, and it is equally true that the intel- 
 lectual and the emotional go hand in hand. But the 
 trouble has been that most of us content ourselves with 
 the intellectual elements, taking it for granted that the 
 student will feel the emotion of himself or that he would 
 not feel it whatever we might do to assist him. I do not 
 believe that. I believe that the student can be very mate- 
 rially assisted if the teacher will lay emphasis upon the 
 literary interpretation, upon the emotional phases of the 
 poetry. It is in that belief that this edition has been 
 prepared. I have tried to steer between the matter-of- 
 fact, unemotional dissection of the poems, which will not 
 arouse students, and the ecstatic admiration, which will 
 arouse merely their antagonism ; but Scylla and Charyb- 
 dis are so perilously close to each other that I do not 
 pretend I have not, at times, approached each of them. 
 Believing that there is no use in telling a student 
 flatly that he must appreciate a poem, when perhaps he 
 does not know and cannot discover what is the meaning 
 of it or of some part of it, I have tried, in making my 
 annotations, to remove all the mental obstacles before 
 approaching the emotional elements or the oral reading. 
 I have included a good many textual glosses, though I 
 set out with the intention of giving few. I have found, 
 on the whole, that it is not the obsolete word that pre- 
 sents the greatest difficulty, but the word which, in the 
 particular passage, has an unusual meaning. If a stu- 
 dent does not know any meaning for a word, he will con- 
 sult a dictionary — perhaps; but if he knows a meaning, 
 he may conclude that it fits the particular case, and so 
 WTcst the entire passage from its proper meaning. Take 
 
INTRODUCTION TO THIS EDITION 13 
 
 an illustration : Suppose that the student does not know 
 that ''stare", in the second stanza of No. 73, means 
 ''starling", but that he does know, as he certainly will, 
 that there is a verb, "stare", meaning to "gaze at fix- 
 edly." The chances are that he will so interpret the 
 word, connecting it with "sing" and "give" in the same 
 stanza. Most of my notes on words and phrases are on 
 those that might be misunderstood. I have made few 
 glosses on mythological references. 
 
 A word as to the directions for oral reading. Most 
 of us believe that poetry should be read aloud. But 
 we permit our convictions to be set aside too easily — 
 we have not time, or the students do not read well, or 
 we ourselves do not read well. We need to believe that 
 poetry is not poetry until it is read aloud, as music is 
 not music until it is sung or played. I hold that it is 
 an essential part of our work as teachers of poetry to 
 train students in the art of reading aloud. For this 
 reason I have given, directly or by implication, many 
 suggestions for oral reading. I have tried not to be 
 "elocutionary", and I have tried to base my suggestions 
 on the obvious qualities of the poems under discussion. 
 There is one other unusual feature in the book. I 
 have annotated all the poems in the first book, but I 
 have left a good many for the student to work out in the 
 second book, more in the third book, and very many in 
 the fourth. The motive underlying this is, of course, 
 the desire to give the student some ideals of criticism 
 and some bases of appreciation, and to make him inde- 
 pendent of text and teacher by putting him forward 
 to do the work. I have tried to make him self-sufficient, 
 within limits; and I have tried to make myself, by the 
 time the student has done faithful work on the first part 
 of the book, unnecessary. 
 
14 INTRODUCTION TO THIS EDITION 
 
 Teachers will readily perceive that I have had space 
 for but the notes. Even in these I have had to be so 
 brief that I fear I am sometimes obscure, and I also have 
 had to' employ some technical terms without properly 
 defining them. I have had no space to make cross- 
 references, I have had no space to discuss the different 
 lyric forms or the characteristics of the authors and the 
 periods. I am sorry I could not touch upon all this, 
 for I believe it is, though often overdone, an essential 
 part of literary study. But the necessity of doing well 
 the one thing I thought should be done prevented me 
 from following up any of these interesting lines. I sug- 
 gest that the teacher provide himself with ''Notes on 
 Palgrave's Golden Treasury," the Macmillan Co., New 
 York, where he Avill find all this and much more. 
 
 I have changed the punctuation in many places — for 
 the better, I hope. These alterations were made not so 
 much to make the meaning different as to make it clear. 
 
 I have not had access to the definitive editions of some 
 of the poems in ' ' The Golden Treasury ' ', so have had 
 little opportunity to study variant readings intelligently. 
 I have employed the reading that seemed the best. This 
 is not good scholarship, certainly ; but I have been the 
 less unwilling to do this because I design the notes for 
 students rather than for scholars, and I have yet to find 
 a young student who is very much interested in 
 pedantic quibbling — and scribbling — on minute points 
 of scholarship. 
 
 My thanks are due Professor Bliss Perry of Harvard 
 University, Professor Waitman Barbe of West Virginia 
 University, and Mr. Charles Welsh of the World Book 
 Company, for their sensible and sympathetic criticism 
 of my manuscript. W. B. 
 
 Fairmont, W. Va., Dec. 15, 1914. 
 
THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 BOOK ONE 
 
 1 SPRING 
 
 Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; 
 Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, 
 Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing : 
 "Cuckoo, jug- jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!" 
 
 The palm and may make country houses gay. 
 Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day. 
 And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay : 
 "Cuckoo, jug- jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!" 
 
 The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, 
 Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit. 
 In every street these tunes our ears do greet: 
 "Cuckoo, jug- jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!" 
 Spring! the sweet Spring! 
 
 TJiomas Nash 
 
 THE FAIRY LIFE 
 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck I; 
 In a cowslip's bell I lie; 
 There I couch when owls do cry ; 
 
 15 
 
16 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 On the bat's back I do fly 
 
 After summer merrily. 
 
 Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 
 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 
 
 3 Come unto these yellow sands, 
 
 And then take hands: 
 Courtsied when you have, and kiss'd 
 
 The wild waves whist, 
 Foot it featly here and there 
 And, sweet Sprites, the burthen bear. 
 Hark, hark! 
 
 Bow-bow. 
 The watch-dogs bark: 
 
 Bow-wow. 
 Hark, hark ! I hear 
 The strain of strutting chanticleer 
 Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow ! 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 4 SUMMONS TO LOVE 
 
 Phoebus, arise ! 
 
 And paint the sable skies 
 
 With azure, white, and red; 
 
 Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed 
 
 That she may thy career with roses spread; 
 
 The nightingales thy coming each- where sing: 
 
 Make an eternal Spring! 
 
 Give life to this dark world which lieth dead; 
 
 Spread forth thy golden hair 
 
 In larger locks than thou wast wont before, 
 
 And emperor-like decore 
 
 With diadem of pearl thy temples fair; 
 
WILLIAM DRUMMOND I7 
 
 Chase hence the ugly night, 
 
 Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light. 
 
 — This is that happy morn, 
 
 That day, long-wished day 
 
 Of all my life so dark, 
 
 (If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn 
 
 And fates my hopes betray)^ 
 
 Which, purely white, deserves 
 
 An everlasting diamond should it mark. 
 
 This is the morn shoald bring unto this grove 
 
 My Love, to hear and recompense my love. 
 
 Fair King, who all preserves. 
 
 But show thy blushing beams. 
 
 And thou two sweeter eyes 
 
 Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams 
 
 Did once thy heart surprize. 
 
 Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise; 
 
 If that ye winds would hear 
 
 A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, 
 
 Your furious chiding stay; 
 
 Let Zephyr only breathe. 
 
 And with her tresses play. 
 
 — The winds all silent are, 
 
 And Phoebus in his chair 
 
 Ensaffroning sea and air 
 
 Makes vanish every star; 
 
 Night like a drunkard reels 
 
 Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming wheels; 
 
 The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue. 
 
 The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue; 
 
 Here is the pleasant place — 
 
 And nothing wanting is, save She, alas! 
 
 William Drummond of Haivthornden 
 
18 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 5 TIME AND LOVE 
 
 When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 
 The rich proud cost of out-worn buried age; 
 When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed, 
 And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage ; 
 When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
 Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, 
 And the firm soil win of the watery main. 
 Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; 
 When I have seen such interchange of state, 
 Or state itself confounded to decay, 
 Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate — 
 That Time will come and take my Love away: 
 — This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
 But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, 
 But sad mortality o'ersways their power. 
 How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, 
 Whose action is no stronger than a flower? 
 how shall summer's honey breath, hold out 
 Against the wreckful siege of battering days. 
 When rocks impregnable are not so stout 
 Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays? 
 fearful meditation ! where, alack ! 
 Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? 
 Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back ? 
 Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? 
 ! none, unless this miracle have might : 
 That in black ink my love may still shine bright. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
7 
 
 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWl-] 19 
 
 THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE 
 
 Come live with me and be my Love, 
 And we will all the pleasures prove 
 That hills and valleys, dale and field, 
 And all the craggy mountains yield. 
 
 There will we sit upon the rocks 
 And see the shepherds feed their flocks 
 By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals. 
 
 There will I make thee beds of roses 
 And a thousand fragrant posies, 
 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
 Embroider 'd all with leaves of myrtle; 
 
 A gown made of the finest wool. 
 Which from our pretty lambs we pull, 
 Pair lined slippers for the cold, 
 With buckles of the purest gold; 
 
 A belt of straw and ivy buds. 
 With coral clasps and amber studs: 
 And if these pleasures may thee move, 
 Come live with me and be my Love. 
 
 Thy silver dishes for thy meat. 
 As precious as the gods do eat, 
 Shall on an ivory table be 
 Prepared each day for thee and me. 
 
 The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
 For thy delight each May-morning: 
 If these delights thy mind may move. 
 Then live with me and be my Love. 
 
 Christopher Marlowe 
 
20 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 8 OMNIA VINCIT 
 
 Fain would I change that note 
 To which fond Love hath charm 'd me 
 Long, long to sing by rote, 
 Fancying that that harm'd me; 
 Yet when this thought doth come: 
 ''Love is the perfect sum 
 
 Of all delight," 
 I have no other choice 
 Either for pen or voice 
 
 To sing or write. 
 
 Love ! they wrong thee much 
 That say thy sweet is bitter, 
 When thy rich fruit is such 
 As nothing can be sweeter. 
 Fair house of joy and bliss, 
 Where truest pleasure is, 
 
 I do adore thee ; 
 
 1 know thee what thou art, 
 I serve thee with my heart, 
 
 And fall before thee ! 
 
 Unknown 
 
 9 A MADEIGAL 
 
 Crabbed Age and Youth 
 Cannot live together: 
 Youth is full of pleasance, 
 Age is full of care; 
 Youth like summer morn, 
 Age like winter weather; 
 Youth like summer brave, 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 21 
 
 Age like winter bare ; 
 Youth is full of sport, 
 Age 's breath is short ; 
 Youth is nimble, Age is lame ; 
 Youth is hot and bold. 
 Age is weak and cold; 
 Youth is wild, and Age is tame : — 
 Age, I do abhor thee. 
 Youth, I do adore thee ; 
 O ! my Love, my Love is young. 
 Age, I do defy thee — 
 O sweet shepherd, hie thee, 
 For methinks thou stay 'st too long. 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 10 Under the greenwood tree 
 
 Who loves to lie with me, 
 And turn his merry note 
 Unto the sweet bird's tlij:"oat — 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither! 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Who doth ambition shun 
 And loves to live i' the sun. 
 Seeking the food he eats 
 And pleased with what he gets — 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ! 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
22 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 11 It was a lover and his lass — 
 
 With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino! 
 That o'er the green corn-field did pass 
 In spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
 When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding: 
 
 Sweet lovers love the Spring. 
 
 Betw^een the acres of the rye — 
 
 With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino ! 
 These pretty country folks w^ould lie. 
 In spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
 When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding: 
 Sweet lovers love the Spring. 
 
 This carol they began that hour — 
 
 With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino ! 
 How that life was but a flower 
 In spring time, the only pretty ring time. 
 When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding: 
 Sweet lovers love the Spring. 
 
 And therefore take the present time — 
 
 With a hey and a ho, and a hey nonino ! 
 For love is crowned wdth the prime 
 In spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
 When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding: 
 Sweet lovers love the Spring. 
 
 William. Shakespeare 
 
 12 PRESENT IN ABSENCE 
 
 Absence, hear thou this protestation 
 Against thy strength, 
 Distance, and length: 
 
SIR PHILIP SYDNEY 23 
 
 Do what thou canst for alteration, 
 
 For hearts of truest mettle 
 Absence doth join, and Time doth settle. 
 
 Who loves a mistress of such quality, 
 
 His mind hath found 
 
 Affection 's ground 
 Beyond time, place, and mortality. 
 
 To hearts that cannot vary 
 Absence is present, Time doth tarry. 
 
 By absence this good means I gain : 
 That I can catch her. 
 Where none can match her. 
 In some close corner of my brain; 
 
 There I embrace and kiss her : 
 And so I both enjoy and miss her. 
 
 John Donne 
 
 13 VIA AMORIS 
 
 High-way, since you my chief Parnassus be, 
 And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet. 
 Tempers her words to trampling horses' feet 
 More oft than to a chamber-melody,— 
 Now, blessed you bear onward blessed me 
 To her, where I my heart, safe-left, shall meet; 
 My IMuse and I must you of duty greet 
 With thanks and wishes, wishing thankfully: 
 Be you still fair, honour 'd by public heed; 
 By no encroachment wrong 'd, nor time forgot; 
 Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed ; 
 And, that you know I envy you no lot 
 
24 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss, — 
 Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss! 
 
 ;S'*V Philip Sidney 
 
 14 ABSENCE 
 
 Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
 Upon the hours and times of your desire ? 
 I have no precious time at all to spend 
 Nor services to do, till you require ; 
 Nor dare I chide the world-without-end-hour 
 Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, 
 Nor think the bitterness of absence sour 
 When you have bid your servant once adieu ; 
 Nor dare I question with my jealous thought 
 Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, 
 But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought 
 Save, where you are, how happy you make those ;- 
 So true a fool is love, that in your will 
 Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 15 How like a winter hath my absence been 
 From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
 What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, 
 What old December 's bareness everywhere ! 
 And yet this time removed was summer 's time ; 
 The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 
 Bearing the wanton burden of the prime. 
 
 Like widow 'd wombs after their lords' decease: 
 Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
 But hope of orphans, and un father 'd fruit ; 
 For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
 
WI. LIAM SHAKESPEARE 25 
 
 And, thou away, the very birds are mute ; 
 Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer 
 That leaves look pale, dreading the winter 's near. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 16 A CONSOLATION 
 
 When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
 I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
 • And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
 And look upon myself, and curse my fate. 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope. 
 Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, 
 Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope. 
 With what I most enjoy contented least; 
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising. 
 Haply I think on thee — and then my state. 
 Like to the lark at break of day arising 
 From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven 's gate ; 
 For thy sweet love remember 'd, such wealth brings 
 That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 17 THE UNCHANGEABLE 
 
 never say that I was false of heart. 
 
 Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify: 
 
 As easy might I from myself depart 
 
 As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie. 
 
 That is my home of love ; if I have ranged. 
 
 Like him that travels, I return again, 
 
 Just to the time, not with the time exchanged. 
 
 So that myself bring water for my stain. 
 
26 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Never believe, though in my nature reign 'd 
 All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
 That it could so preposterously be stain 'd 
 To leave for nothing all thy sum of good : 
 For ''nothing" this wide universe I call^ 
 Save thou, my rose: in it thou art my all. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 18 
 To me, fair friend, you never can be old, 
 For, as you were when first your eye I eyed. 
 Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold 
 Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; 
 Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd 
 In process of the seasons have I seen ; 
 Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, 
 Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 
 Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand. 
 Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived ; 
 So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand. 
 Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived : 
 For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, — 
 Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 19 ROSALINE 
 
 Like to the clear in highest sphere 
 Where all imperial glory shines. 
 Of selfsame colour is her hair 
 Whether unfolded, or in twines : 
 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! 
 
THOIMAS LODGE 27 
 
 Her eyes are sapphires set in snow, 
 Resembling heaven by every wink; 
 The Gods do fear whenas they glow, 
 And I do tremble when I think 
 Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 
 
 Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud 
 That beautifies Aurora's face. 
 Or like the silver crimson shroud 
 That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace: 
 
 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
 Her lips are like two budded roses 
 Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh. 
 Within which bounds she balm encloses 
 Apt to entice a deity : 
 
 Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 
 
 Her neck is like a stately tower 
 Where Love himself imprison 'd lies, 
 To watch for glances every hour 
 From her divine and sacred eyes: 
 
 Heigh ho, for Rosaline ! 
 With orient pearl, with ruby red. 
 With marble white, with sapphire blue 
 Her body every way is fed, 
 Yet soft in touch and sweet in view: 
 
 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
 
 Nature herself her shape admires ; 
 The Gods are wounded in her sight; 
 And love forsakes his heavenly fires 
 And at her eyes his brand doth light : 
 
 Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 
 Then muse not. Nymphs, though I bemoan 
 
28 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The absence of fair Rosaline, 
 Since for a fair there's fairer none, 
 Nor for her virtues so divine : 
 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline; 
 Heigh ho, my heart ! would God that she were mine ! 
 
 Thomas Lodge 
 
 20 Omitted from this edition. 
 
 21 A PICTURE 
 
 Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory, 
 Subdue her heart, who makes me glad and sorry : 
 Out of thy golden quiver 
 Take thou thy strongest arrow 
 That will through bone and marrow, 
 And me and thee of grief and fear deliver: — 
 But come behind, for if she look upon thee, 
 Alas! poor Love! then thou art woe-begone thee. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 22 A SONG FOR MUSIC 
 
 Weep you no more, sad fountains; 
 
 What need you flow so fast ? 
 Look how the snowy mountains 
 
 Heaven 's sun doth gently waste ! 
 But my Sun's heavenly eyes 
 View not your weeping. 
 That now lies sleeping. 
 Softly, now softly lies. 
 Sleeping. 
 
 Sleep is a reconciling, 
 
 A rest that peace begets : — 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 29 
 
 Doth not the sun rise smiling, 
 When fair at even he sets? 
 
 — Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes ! 
 Melt not in weeping! 
 While She lies sleeping, 
 Softly, now softly lies. 
 Sleeping ! 
 
 Unknown 
 
 23 TO HIS LOVE 
 
 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? 
 
 Thou art more lovely and more temperate: 
 
 Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
 
 And summer 's lease hath all too short a date ; 
 
 Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
 
 And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; 
 
 And every fair from fair sometimes declines, 
 
 By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd. 
 
 But thy eternal summer shall not fade 
 
 Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
 
 Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade, 
 
 When in eternal lines to time thou growest: — 
 
 So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, 
 
 So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 24 TO HIS LOVE 
 
 When in the chronicle of wasted time 
 I see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
 And beauty making beautiful old rhyme 
 In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights 
 
30 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best 
 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
 I see their antique pen would have exprest 
 Ev'n such a beauty as you master now. 
 So ^11 their praises are but prophecies 
 Of this our time, all, you prefiguring; 
 And for they look'd but with divining eyes, 
 They had not skill enough your worth to sing: 
 For w^e, which now behold these present days. 
 Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 25 BASIA 
 
 Turn back, you wanton flyer, 
 And answer my desire 
 
 With mutual greeting. 
 Yet bend a little nearer, — 
 True beauty still shines clearer 
 
 In closer meeting ! 
 Hearts with hearts delighted 
 Should strive to be united, 
 Each other's arms with arms enchaining,- 
 
 Hearts with a thought, 
 Rosy lips with a kiss still entertaining. 
 
 What harvest half so sweet is 
 As still to reap the kisses 
 
 Grown ripe in sowing? 
 And straight to be receiver 
 Of that which thou art giver, 
 
 Rich in bestowing? 
 
THOMAS CAMPION 31 
 
 There is no strict observing 
 Of times' or seasons' swerving, 
 There is ever one fresh spring abiding. 
 Then what we sow with our lips 
 Let us reap, love's gains dividing. 
 Thomas Campion 
 
 26 ADVICE TO A GIRL 
 
 Never love unless you can 
 
 Bear with all the faults of man! 
 
 Men sometimes will jealous be 
 
 Though but little cause they see. 
 
 And hang the head as discontent, 
 
 And speak what straight they will repent. 
 
 Men, that but one Saint adore, 
 Make a show of love to more ; 
 Beauty must be scorn 'd in none, 
 Though but truly served in one: 
 For what is courtship but disguise ? 
 True hearts may have dissembling eyes. 
 
 Men, when their affairs require. 
 Must awhile themselves retire ; 
 Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk, 
 And not ever sit and talk. 
 If these and such-like you can bear, 
 Then like, and love, and never fear ! 
 
 Thomas Campion 
 
 27 LOVE'S PERJURIES 
 
 On a day, alack the day! 
 
 Love, w^hose month is ever May, 
 Spied a blossom passing fair 
 
32 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Playing in the wanton air. 
 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
 
 All unseen, 'gan passage find, 
 
 That the lover, sick to death, 
 
 Wished himself the heaven 's breath. 
 
 ''Air," quoth he, ''thy cheeks may blow; 
 
 Air, would I might triumph so ! 
 
 But, alack, my hand is sworn 
 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn. 
 
 Vow, alack, for youth unmeet. 
 
 Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 
 
 Do not call, it sin in me 
 
 That I am forsworn for thee: 
 
 Thou for whom Jove would swear 
 
 Juno but an Ethiope were, 
 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 
 Turning mortal for thy love." 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 28 A SUPPLICATION 
 
 Forget not yet the tried intent 
 Of such a truth as I have meant; 
 My great travail so gladly spent: 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
 Forget not yet when first began 
 The weary life ye know, since whan 
 The suit, the service none tell can : 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
 Forget not yet the great assays, 
 The cruel wrong, the scornful ways, 
 The painful patience in delays: 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
SIR THOMAS WYAT 33 
 
 Forget not ! O, forget not this : 
 How long ago hath been, and is 
 The mind that never meant amiss: 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
 Forget not then thine own approved 
 The which so long hath thee so loved, 
 Whose steadfast faith yet never moved : 
 Forget not this! 
 
 Sw Thomas Wyat 
 
 29 TO AURORA 
 
 if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm, 
 
 And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil my rest; 
 
 Then thou would 'st melt the ice out of thy breast 
 
 And thy relenting heart would kindly warm. 
 
 if thy pride did not our joys control. 
 
 What world of loving wonders jshould 'st thou see ! 
 
 For if I saw thee once transform 'd in me, 
 
 Then in thy bosom I would pour my soul; 
 
 Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine; 
 
 And if that aught mischanced, thou should 'st not moan 
 
 Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone ; 
 
 No, I would have my share in what were thine : 
 
 And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one. 
 
 This happy harmony would make them none. 
 
 William Alexander, Earl of Sterline 
 
 30 IN LACRIMAS 
 
 I saw my Lady weep, 
 And Sorrow proud to be advanced so 
 In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. 
 
 Her face was full of woe, 
 
34 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts 
 Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. 
 
 Sorrow was there made fair, 
 And Passion, wise ; Tears, a delightful thing ; 
 Silence, beyond all speech, a wisdom rare : 
 
 She made her sighs to sing. 
 And all things with so sweet a sadness move 
 As made my heart at once both grieve and love. 
 
 fairer than aught else 
 The world can show, leave off in time to grieve ! 
 Enough, enough: your joyful look excels: 
 
 Tears kill the heart, believe, 
 strive not to be excellent in woe. 
 Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 31 TRUE LOVE 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 Which alters when it alteration finds. 
 Or bends with the remover to remove : — 
 
 no ! it is an ever-fixed mark 
 
 That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ; 
 
 It is the star to every wandering bark, 
 
 Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. 
 
 Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come; 
 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks. 
 
 But bears it out ev 'n to the edge of doom : — 
 
 If this be error, and upon me proved, 
 
 1 never writ, nor no man ever loved. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
SIR PHILIP SYDN1<]Y 35 
 
 32 A DITTY 
 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his, 
 By just exchange one for another given; 
 I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, 
 There never was a better bargain driven: 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 
 
 His heart .in me keeps him and me in one, 
 My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides ; 
 He loves my heart, for once it was his own, 
 I cherish his because in me it bides: 
 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 33 LOVE'S INSIGHT 
 
 Though others may Her brow adore, 
 
 Yet more must I, that therein see far more 
 
 Than any other's eyes have power to see. 
 
 She is to me 
 ]\Iore than to any others she can be! 
 I can discern more secret notes 
 That in the margin of her cheeks Love quotes, 
 Than any else besides have art to read. 
 
 No looks proceed 
 From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 34 LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE 
 
 Were I as base as is the lowly plain. 
 
 And you, my love, as high as heaven above, 
 
 Yet should the thoughts of me, your humble swain. 
 
 Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love. 
 
36 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Were I as high as heaven above the plain, 
 
 And you, my love, as humble and as low 
 
 As are the deepest bottoms of the main, 
 
 Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go. 
 
 Were you the ea^th, dear love, and I the skies. 
 
 My love should shine on you like to the sun. 
 
 And Look upon you with ten thousand eyes 
 
 Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were done. 
 
 Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you, 
 
 Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. 
 
 Joshua Sylvester 
 
 35 CARPE DIEM 
 
 Mistress mine, where are you roaming? 
 stay and hear! your true-love's coming 
 
 That can sing both high and low. 
 Trip no further, pretty sweeting: 
 Journeys end in lovers meeting — 
 
 Every wise man's son doth know. 
 
 What is love ? 'tis not hereafter : 
 Present mirth hath present laughter; 
 
 What 's to come is still unsure ; 
 In delay there lies no plenty, — 
 Then come and kiss me, Sweet-and-frv\^enty : 
 
 Youth's a stuff will not endure. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 36 AN HONEST AUTOLYCUS 
 
 Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave, and new, 
 Good penny-worths, — but money cannot move: 
 
 I keep a fair but for the Fair to view ; 
 A beggar may be liberal of love. 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 37 
 
 Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true — 
 
 The heart is true. 
 
 Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again ; 
 My trifles come as treasures from my mind ; 
 It is a precious jewel to be plain ; 
 
 Sometimes in shell the orient 'st pearls we find: — 
 Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain ! 
 
 Of me a grain ! 
 
 Unknown 
 
 37 WINTER 
 
 When icicles hang by the wall 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall. 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail. 
 
 When blood is nipt, and ways be foul : 
 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl 
 Tu-whit ! 
 Tu-who ! A merry note ! 
 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 When all about the wind doth blow. 
 And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
 
 And birds sit brooding in the snow. 
 And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 
 
 When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl: 
 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl 
 Tu-whit ! 
 Tu-who! A merry note! 
 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
38 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 38 
 
 That time of year thou may 'st in me behold 
 
 When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
 
 Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, 
 
 Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
 
 In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 
 
 As after sunset fadeth in the west, 
 
 Which by and by black night doth take away, 
 
 Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
 
 In me thou see'st the glowing of siich fire, 
 
 That on the ashes of his youth doth lie 
 
 As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 
 
 Consumed with that which it was nourish 'd by: 
 
 — This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong. 
 
 To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 39 MEMORY 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet, silent thought 
 
 I summon up remembrance of things past, 
 
 I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought. 
 
 And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste. 
 
 Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 
 
 For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, 
 
 And weep afresh love's long-since-cancell'd woe. 
 
 And moan the expense of many a vanish 'd sight. 
 
 Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
 
 And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
 
 The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
 
 Which I new pay, as if not paid before. 
 
 — But if the while I think on thee, dear Friend, 
 
 All losses are restored, and sorrows end. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
WIIiLIAM SHAKESPEARE 39 
 
 40 SLEEP 
 
 Come, Sleep, Sleep ! the certain knot of peace, 
 The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, 
 The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, 
 Th' indifferent judge between the high and low; 
 With shield of proof shield me from out the prease 
 Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw: 
 
 make in me those civil wars to cease; 
 
 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so : 
 
 Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, 
 A chamber deaf of noise and blind of light, 
 A rosy garland and a weary head; 
 And if these things, as being thine in right, 
 ]\Iove not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me. 
 Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 41 EEVOLUTIONS 
 
 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, 
 
 So do our minutes hasten to their end ; 
 
 Each changing place with that which goes before, 
 
 In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 
 
 Nativity, once in the main of light, 
 
 Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown 'd. 
 
 Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight. 
 
 And Time that gave, doth now his gift confound. 
 
 Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth. 
 
 And delves the parallels in beauty's l)row, 
 
 Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth. 
 
 And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow : — 
 
 And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand 
 
 Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 
 
 William. Shakespeare 
 
40 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 42 
 
 Farewell ! thou art too dear for my possessing, 
 
 And like enough thou know'st thy estimate; 
 
 The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; 
 
 My bonds in thee are all determinate. 
 
 For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? 
 
 And for that riches where is my deserving? 
 
 The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, 
 
 And so my patent back again is swerving. 
 
 Thyself thou gav'st, thy own w^orth then not knowing, 
 
 Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; 
 
 So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 
 
 Comes home again, on better judgment making. 
 
 Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter : 
 
 In sleep, a king ; but waking, no such matter. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 43 THE LIFE WITHOUT PASSION 
 
 They that have power to hurt, and will do none, 
 That do not do the thing they most do show, 
 "Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, 
 Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow, — 
 They rightly do inherit heaven's graces. 
 And husband nature's riches from expense; 
 They are the lords and owners of their faces, 
 Others, but stewards of their excellence. 
 The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, 
 Though to itself it only live and die ; 
 But if that flow^er wdth base infection meet, 
 The basest weed outbraves his dignity : 
 For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds ; 
 Lilies that fester smell far worse than w^eeds. 
 William Shakespeare 
 
SIR THOMAS WYAT 41 
 
 44 THE LOVER'S APPEAL 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus? 
 Say nay ! say nay ! for shame, 
 To save thee from the blame 
 Of all my grief and grame. 
 And wilt thou leave me thus? 
 Say nay ! say nay ! 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus, 
 That hath loved thee so long 
 in wealth and woe among: 
 And is thy heart so strong 
 As for to leave me thus? 
 Say nay ! say nay ! 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus, 
 That hath given thee my heart 
 Never for to depart 
 Neither for pain nor smart; 
 And wilt thou leave me thus? 
 Say nay ! say nay ! 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus, 
 
 And have no more pity 
 
 Of him that loveth thee? 
 
 Alas! thy cruelty! 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus? 
 
 Say nay ! say nay ! 
 
 Sir Thomas Wyat 
 
 45 THE NIGHTINGALE 
 
 As it fell upon a day 
 
 In the merry month of May, 
 
 Sitting in a pleasant shade 
 
42 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Which a grove of myrtles made, 
 
 Beasts did leap and birds did sing, 
 
 Trees did grow and plants did spring; 
 
 Every thing did banish moan 
 
 Save the Nightingale alone. 
 
 She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 
 
 Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn. 
 
 And there sung the dolefuU'st ditty 
 
 That to hear it was great pity. 
 
 "Fie, fie, fie," now would she cry; 
 
 *'Teru, teru," by and by: 
 
 That to hear her so complain 
 
 Scarce I could from tears refrain; 
 
 For her griefs so lively shown 
 
 Made me think upon mine own. 
 
 — Ah, thought I, thou mourn 'st in vain, 
 
 None takes pity on thy pain: 
 
 Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, 
 
 Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee; 
 
 King Pandion, he is dead. 
 
 All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; 
 
 All thy fellow birds do sing 
 
 Careless of thy sorrowing. 
 
 Even so, poor bird, like thee 
 
 None alive will pity me. 
 
 Bichard Barnefield 
 
 46 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, 
 Brother to Death, in silent darkness born. 
 Relieve my languish, and restore the light; 
 With dark forgetting of my care, return. 
 And let the day be time enough to mourn 
 The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth ; 
 
SAMUEL DANIEL 43 
 
 Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, 
 Without the torment of the night's untruth 
 Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, 
 To model forth the passions of the morrow ; 
 Never let rising sun approve you liars. 
 To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow : 
 Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain. 
 And never wake to feel the day's disdain. 
 
 Samuel Daniel 
 
 47 
 
 The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth 
 Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, 
 While late-bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth 
 Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making ; 
 And mournfully bewailing, 
 Her throat in tunes expresseth 
 What grief her breast oppresseth 
 For Tereus' force on her chaste will prevailing. 
 
 O Philomela fair, O take some gladness, 
 That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness : 
 Thine earth now springs, mine f adeth ; 
 Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. 
 
 Alas, she hath no other cause of anguish 
 
 But Tereus' love, on her by strong hand wroken, 
 Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish. 
 Full womanlike complains her will was broken. 
 But I, who, daily craving. 
 Cannot have to content me. 
 Have more cause to lament me. 
 Since wanting is more woe than too much having. 
 
44 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 
 
 O Philomela fair, take some gladness 
 That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness : 
 Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; 
 Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 48 FEUSTRA 
 
 Take, take those lips away 
 That so sweetly were forsworn. 
 And those eyes, the break of day, 
 Lights that do mislead the morn; 
 But my kisses bring again. 
 
 Bring again — 
 Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, 
 
 Seal'd in vain ! 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 49 LOVE'S FAREWELL 
 
 Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part, — 
 
 Nay I have done, you get no more of me ; 
 
 And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, 
 
 That thus so cleanly I myself can free. 
 
 Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 
 
 And when we meet at any time again. 
 
 Be it not seen in either of our brows 
 
 That we one jot of former love retain. 
 
 Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath, 
 
 When, his pulse failing, passion speechless lies. 
 
 When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, 
 
 And innocence is closing up his eyes, 
 
 — ^Now if thou would 'st, when all have given him over, 
 
 From death to life thou might 'st him yet recover! 
 
 Michael Drayton 
 
THOMAS CAMPION 45 
 
 50 IN IMAGINE PERTRANSIT HOMO 
 
 Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow! 
 
 Though thou be black as night 
 
 And she made all of light, 
 Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow! 
 
 Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth ! 
 
 Though here thou liv'st disgraced 
 
 And she in heaven is placed, 
 Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth ! 
 
 Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth, 
 
 That so have scorched thee 
 
 As thou still black must be 
 Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth. 
 
 Follow her, while yet her glory shineth ! 
 
 There comes a luckless night 
 
 That will dim all her light : 
 — And this the black unhappy shade divineth. 
 
 Follow still, since so thy fates ordained ! 
 
 The sun must have his shade, 
 
 Till both at once do fade, — 
 The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained. 
 
 Thomas Campion 
 
 51 BLIND LOVE 
 
 me! what eyes hath Love put in my head. 
 Which have no correspondence with true sight ; 
 Or if they have, where is my judgment fled, 
 That censures falsely what they see aright ? 
 
46 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, 
 
 What means the world to say it is not so ? 
 
 If it be not, then love doth well denote 
 
 Love 's eye is not so true as all men 's. No, 
 
 How can it? how can love's eye be true. 
 
 That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? 
 
 No marvel then though T mistake my view: 
 
 The sun itself sees not till heaven clears. 
 
 O cunning Love ! w^ith tears thou keep 'st me blind, 
 
 Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find ! 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 52 
 
 Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me ! 
 
 For who a sleeping lion dares provoke? 
 It shall suffice me here to sit and see 
 
 Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke. 
 What sight can more content a lover's mind 
 Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind? 
 
 My words have charm 'd her, for secure she sleeps, 
 Though guilty much of wrong done to my love ; 
 
 And in her slumber, see ! she close-eyed weeps : 
 Dreams often more than waking passions move. 
 
 Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee. 
 
 That she in peace may wake and pity me. 
 
 Thomas Campion 
 
 53 THE UNFAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS 
 
 While that the sun with his beams hot 
 Scorched the fruits in dale and mountain, 
 Philon the shepherd, late forgot, 
 
UNIvNOWN 47 
 
 Sitting beside a crystal fountain, 
 In shadow of a green oak tree 
 Upon his pipe this song play 'd he : 
 
 ''Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, 
 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu. Love ; 
 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 ''So long as I was in your sight 
 I was your heart, your soul, and treasure ; 
 And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd 
 Burning in flames beyond all measure : 
 
 — Three days endured your love to me, 
 
 And it was lost in other three ! 
 Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu. Love ; 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 "Another Shepherd you did see 
 To whom your heart was soon enchained ; 
 Full soon your love was leapt from me, 
 Full soon my place he had obtained. 
 
 Soon came a third, your love to win, 
 
 And we were out and he was in. 
 Adieu, Love, adieu. Love, untrue Love, 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love ; 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 "Sure you have made me passing glad 
 That you your mind so soon removed 
 Before that I the leisure had 
 To choose you for my best beloved: 
 
 For all your love was past and done 
 
 Two days before it was begun. 
 Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love, 
 
48 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu. Love ; 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 54 ADVICE TO A LOVER 
 
 The sea hath many thousand sands. 
 The siui hath motes as many, 
 The sky is full of stars; and Love 
 As full of woes as any: 
 Believe me, that do know the elf, 
 And make no trial by thyself! 
 
 It is in truth a pretty toy 
 
 For babes to play withal ; — 
 
 But ! the honeys of our youth 
 
 Are oft our age 's gall ! 
 
 Self-proof in time will make thee know 
 
 He was a prophet told thee so : 
 
 A prophet that, Cassandra-like, 
 Tells truth without belief ; 
 For headstrong Youth will run his race, 
 Although his goal be grief : — 
 Love's Martyr, when his heat is past. 
 Proves Care's Confessor at the last. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 55 A EENUNCIATION 
 
 Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white, 
 For all those rosy ornaments in thee, — 
 
 THou art not sweet, though made of mere delight, 
 Nor fair, nor sweet — unless thou pity me ! 
 
THOMAS CAMPION 49 
 
 I will not soothe thy fancies ; thou shalt prove 
 That beauty is no beauty without love. 
 
 — Yet love not me, nor seek not to allure 
 
 My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine ; 
 
 Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure, 
 
 I '11 not be wrapp 'd up in those arms of thine : 
 
 — Now show it, if thou be a woman right — 
 
 Embrace and kiss and love me in despite ! 
 
 Thomas Campion 
 
 56 Blow, blow, thou winter wind. 
 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 
 As man's ingratitude; 
 
 Thy tooth is not so keen 
 
 Because thou art not seen, 
 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly ; 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. 
 
 Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 
 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky. 
 
 Thou dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot; 
 
 Though thou the waters warp. 
 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 
 As friend remember 'd not. 
 Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly ; 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly. 
 
 Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 
 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
50 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 57 A SWEET LULLABY 
 
 Come little babe, come silly soul, 
 
 Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief; 
 
 Born, as I doubt, to all our dole. 
 
 And to thy self unhappy chief. 
 Sing lullaby and lap it warm, 
 Poor soul that thinks no creature harm. 
 
 Thou little think 'st and less dost know, 
 The cause of this thy mother's moan. 
 Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe. 
 And I myself am all alone. 
 
 Why dost thou weep ? why dost thou wail ? 
 
 And knowest not yet what thou dost ail. 
 
 Come little wretch, ah silly heart. 
 Mine only joy, what can I more? 
 If there be any wrong thy smart 
 That may the destinies implore: 
 
 'Twas I, I say, against my will; 
 
 I wail the time, but be thou still. 
 
 And dost thou smile, oh thy sweet face! 
 Would God Himself He might thee see. 
 No doubt thou would 'st soon purchase grace, 
 I know right well, for thee and me ; 
 
 But come to mother, babe, and play, 
 
 For father false is fled away. 
 
 Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance, 
 Thy father home again to send, 
 If death do strike me with his lance, 
 Yet mayst thou me to him commend. 
 If any ask thy mother's name, 
 Tell how by love she purchased blame. 
 
UNKNOWN 51 
 
 Then will his gentle heart soon yield; 
 
 I know him of a noble mind ; 
 
 Although a Lion in the field, 
 
 A Lamb in town thou shalt him find: 
 Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid. 
 His sugar 'd words hath me betray 'd. 
 
 Then mayst thou joy and be right glad, 
 
 Although in woe I seem to moan, 
 
 Thy father is no rascal lad, 
 
 A noble youth of blood and bone ; 
 
 His glancing looks, if he once smile, 
 Right honest women may beguile. 
 
 Come, little boy, and rock asleep. 
 Sing lullaby and be thou still ; 
 I, that can do nought else but weep. 
 Will sit by thee and wail my fill: 
 
 God bless my babe, and lullaby, 
 
 From this thy father's quality! 
 
 Unknoiun 
 
 58 
 
 With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb 'st the skies! 
 
 How silently, and with how Avan a face ! 
 
 What ! may it be that e 'en in heavenly place 
 
 That busy archer his sharp arrows tries ! 
 
 Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes 
 
 Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case; 
 
 I read it in thy looks : thy languished grace. 
 
 To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. 
 
 Then, e'en of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, 
 
 Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? 
 
 Are beauties there as proud as here they be? 
 
52 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Do they above love to be loved, and yet 
 
 Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? 
 
 Do they call virtue, there, ungratefulness? 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney 
 
 59 CRUDELIS AMOR 
 
 When thou must home to shades of underground, 
 
 And there arrived, a new admired guest, 
 
 The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, 
 
 White lope, blithe Helen, and the rest, 
 
 To hear the stories of thy finish 'd love 
 
 From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move ; 
 
 Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights. 
 Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make. 
 Of tourneys and great challenges of knights, 
 And all these triumphs for thy beauty's sake: 
 When thou hast told these honours done to thee. 
 Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me ! 
 
 Thomas Campion 
 
 60 SEPHESTIA'S SONG TO HER CHILD 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
 When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 
 
 Mother's wag, pretty boy, 
 
 Father 's sorrow, father 's joy ; 
 
 When thy father first did see 
 
 Such a boy by him and me. 
 
 He was glad, I was woe ; 
 
 Fortune changed made him so. 
 
 When he left his pretty boy. 
 
 Last his sorrow, first his joy. 
 
ROBERT GREENE 53 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee. 
 When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 
 
 Streaming tears that never stint. 
 
 Like pearl drops from a flint. 
 
 Fell by course from his eyes. 
 
 That one another 's place supplies ; 
 
 Thus he grieved in every part, 
 
 Tears of blood fell from his heart, 
 
 When he left his pretty boy, 
 
 Father's sorrow, father's joy. 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, 
 When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee. 
 
 The wanton smiled, father wept, 
 
 Mother cried, baby leapt; 
 
 More he crow'd, more we cried, 
 
 Nature could not sorrow hide. 
 
 He must go, he must kiss 
 
 Child and mother, baby bless, 
 
 For he left his pretty boy. 
 
 Father's sorrow, father's joy. 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee. 
 When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee. 
 
 Bohert Greene 
 
 61 A LAMENT 
 
 My thoughts hold mortal strife; 
 
 I do detest my life. 
 
 And with lamenting cries, 
 
 Peace to my soul to bring. 
 
 Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize ; 
 
 — But he, grim grinning King, 
 
54 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the best surprise, 
 Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, 
 Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come. 
 
 William Drummond 
 
 62 DIRGE OP LOVE 
 
 Come away, come away, Death, 
 And in sad cypres let me be laid; 
 
 Fly away, fly away, breath; 
 I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
 My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 
 
 O prepare it ! 
 My part of death, no one so true 
 Did share it. 
 
 Not a flower, not a flower sweet 
 On my black coffin let there be strown; 
 
 Not a friend, not a friend greet 
 My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. 
 A thousand thousand sighs to save. 
 
 Lay me, O where 
 Sad true lover never find my grave, 
 To weep there. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 63 TO HIS LUTE 
 
 My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow 
 With thy green mother in some shady grove. 
 When immelodious winds but made thee move, 
 And birds their ramage did on thee bestow. 
 Since that dear Voice which did thy sounds approve. 
 Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow, 
 
wiLLiA:\r dri':\i]\i(;ni) 55 
 
 Is reft from Earth to time those sphere^ above, 
 
 What art thou but a harbinger of woe? 
 
 Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more, 
 
 But orphans' wailings to the fainting ear; 
 
 Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear ; 
 
 For which be silent as in woods before : 
 
 Or if that any hand to touch thee deign, 
 
 Like widow 'd turtle, still her loss complain. 
 
 William Drummond 
 
 64 FIDELE 
 
 Fear no more the heat 0' the sun, 
 Nor the furious winter's rages; 
 
 Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
 
 Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages. 
 
 Golden lads and girls all must. 
 
 As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 
 
 Fear no more the frown 0' the great, 
 Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 
 
 Care no more to clothe and eat: 
 To thee the reed is as the oak. 
 
 The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
 
 All follow this, and come to dust. 
 
 Fear no more the lightning flash 
 
 Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; 
 
 Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
 
 Thou hast finish 'd joy and moan. 
 
 All lovers young, all lovers must 
 
 Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
56 THE C OLDEN TREASURY 
 
 65 A SEA DIRGE 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies; 
 
 Of his bones are coral made ; 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes; 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell. 
 
 Hark! now I hear them, — 
 *' Ding, dong, bell." 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 66 A LAND DIRGE 
 
 Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren. 
 
 Since o'er shady groves they hover 
 
 And with leaves and flowers do cover 
 
 The friendless bodies of unburied men ; 
 
 Call unto his funeral dole 
 
 The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole 
 
 To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm 
 
 And, when gay tombs are robb'd, sustain no harm; 
 
 But keep the wolf far thence, that 's foe to men ; 
 
 For with his nails he'll dig them up again. 
 
 John Webster 
 
 67 POST MORTEM 
 
 If Thou survive my well-contented day 
 
 When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, 
 
 And shalt by fortune once more re-survey 
 
 These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, 
 
 Compare them with the bettering of the time; 
 
 And though they be outstripp'd by every pen. 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 57 
 
 Eeserve them for my love, not for their rhyme 
 
 Exceeded by the height of happier men. 
 
 O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought — 
 
 * ' Had my friend 's Muse grown with this growing age, 
 
 A dearer birth than this his love had brought, 
 
 To march in ranks of better equipage; 
 
 But since he -died, and poets better prove, 
 
 Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love." 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 68 THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
 Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
 Give warning to the world that I am fled 
 From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell. 
 Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
 The hand that writ it ; for I love you so. 
 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot, 
 If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
 if, I say, you look upon this verse 
 "When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 
 Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, 
 But let your love even with my life decay ; 
 Lest the wise world should look into your moan. 
 And mock you with me after I am gone. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 69 YOUNG LOVE 
 
 Tell me where is Fancy bred. 
 Or in the heart, or in the head? 
 How begot, how nourished? 
 Reply, reply. 
 
58 THE goldi:n treasury 
 
 It is engender 'd in the eyes; 
 With gazing fed; and Fancy dies 
 In the cradle where it lies. 
 Let us all ring Fancy 's knell ; 
 I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
 — Ding, dong, bell. 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 70 A DILEMMA 
 
 Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting. 
 
 Which, clad in damask mantles, deck the arbours, 
 And then behold your lips where sweet love harbours, 
 My eyes present me with a double doubting: 
 For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes 
 Whether the roses be your lips, or your lips the roses. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 71 ROSALYND'S MADRIGAL 
 
 Love in my bosom, like a bee. 
 Doth suck his sweet; 
 Now with his wings he plays with me, 
 Now with his feet. 
 Within mine eyes he makes his nest, 
 His bed amidst my tender breast; 
 My kisses are his daily feast. 
 And yet he robs me of my rest : 
 Ah ! wanton, will ye ? 
 
 And if I sleep, then percheth he 
 
 With pretty flight. 
 And makes his pillow of my knee 
 
 The livelong night. 
 
THOMAS LODGE 59 
 
 Strike I my lute, he tunes the string; 
 He music plays, if so I sing ; 
 He lends me every lovely thing, 
 Yet cruel he my heart doth sting: 
 Whist, wanton, will ye? — 
 
 Else I with roses every day 
 
 Will whip you hence. 
 And bind you, when you long to play, 
 For your offence; 
 I '11 shut my eyes to keep you in ; 
 I '11 make you fast it for your sin ; 
 I '11 count your power not worth a pin ; 
 — Alas ! what hereby shall I win. 
 If he gainsay me? 
 
 What if I beat the wanton boy 
 
 With many a rod? 
 He will repay me with annoy. 
 Because a god. 
 Then sit thou safely on my knee. 
 And let thy bower my bosom be ; 
 Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee, 
 Cupid ! so thou pity me. 
 
 Spare not, but play thee ! 
 
 Thomas Lodge 
 
 72 CUPID AND CAMPASPE 
 
 Cupid and my Campaspe play'd 
 
 At cards for kisses : Cupid paid. 
 
 He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows. 
 
 His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; 
 
 Loses them too ; then down he throws 
 
60 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The coral of his lip, the rose 
 
 Growing on's cheek (but none knows how) ; 
 
 With these, the crystal of his brow, 
 
 And then the dimple on his chin; 
 
 All these did my Campaspe win : 
 
 And last he set her both his eyes — 
 
 She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 
 
 O Love ! has she done this to thee ? 
 
 What shall, alas! become of me? 
 
 Jolin Lyly 
 
 73 Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day, 
 With night we banish sorrow ; 
 Sweet air, blow soft; mount, larks, aloft 
 
 To give my Love good-morrow ! 
 Wings from the wind to please her mind. 
 
 Notes from the lark I'll borrow; 
 Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing. 
 To give my Love good-morrow ; 
 
 To give my Love good-morrow ; 
 Notes from them both I'll borrow. 
 
 Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast, 
 
 Sing, birds, in every furrow; 
 And from each hill let music shrill 
 Give my fair Love good-morrow! 
 Blackbird and thrush in every bush, 
 
 Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow! 
 You pretty elves, amongst yourselves 
 Sing my fair Love good-morrow; 
 To give my Love good-morrow 
 Sing, birds, in every furrow ! 
 
 TJiomas Hey wood 
 
EDMUND SPENSER 61 
 
 74 PROTHALAMION 
 
 Calm was the day, and through the trembling air 
 Sweet-breathing Zephyrus did softly play — 
 A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay 
 Hot Titan 's beams, which then did glister fair ; 
 When I, (w^hom sullen care. 
 Through discontent of my long fruitless stay 
 In princes' court, and expectation vain 
 Of idle hopes, which still do fly away 
 Like empty shadows, did afflict by brain) 
 Walked forth to ease my pain 
 Along the shore of silver-streaming Thames, 
 Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems. 
 Was painted all with variable flowers. 
 And all the meads adorn 'd with dainty gems 
 Fit to deck maidens' bowers, 
 And crown their paramours 
 Against the bridal day, which is not long: 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 There in a meadow by the river's side 
 
 A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy, 
 
 All lovely daughters of the flood thereby. 
 
 With goodly greenish locks all loose untied 
 
 As each had been a bride; 
 
 And each one had a little wicker basket 
 
 Made of fine twigs, entrailed curiously. 
 
 In which they gather 'd flowers to fill their flasket, 
 
 And with fine fingers cropt full feateously 
 
 The tender stalks on high. 
 
 Of every sort which in that meadow grew 
 
 They gather 'd some: the violet, pallid blue, 
 
 The little daisy that at evening closes, 
 
Q2 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The virgin lily, and the primrose true, 
 With store of vermeil roses, 
 To deck their bridegrooms' posies 
 Against the bridal day, which was not long: 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 With that I saw two Swans of goodly hue 
 Come softly swimming down along the Lee; 
 Two fairer birds I yet did never see: 
 The snow which doth the top of Pindus strow 
 Did never whiter show. 
 
 Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be 
 For love of Leda, whiter did appear ; 
 Yet Leda was, they say, as write as he. 
 Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near ; 
 So purely white they were 
 
 That even the gentle stream, the which them bare 
 Seemed foul to them, and bade his billows spare 
 To wet their silken feathers, lest they might 
 Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair 
 And mar their beauties bright, 
 That shone as Heaven's light 
 Against their bridal day, which was not long: 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had liowers their fill, 
 Ran all in haste to see that silver brood 
 As they came floating on the crystal flood ; 
 Whom when they saw, they stood amazed still 
 Their wondering eyes to fill. 
 Them seem 'd they never saw a sight so fair 
 Of fowls, so lovely that they sure did deem 
 Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair 
 
EDMUND SPENSER 53 
 
 Which through the sky draw Venus ' silver team ; 
 For sure they did not seem 
 To be begot of any earthly seed, 
 But rather Angels, or of Angels' breed; 
 Yet were they bred of summer's heat, they say, 
 In sweetest season, when each flower and weed 
 The earth did fresh array: 
 So fresh they seem'd as day, 
 Ev'n as their bridal day, which was not long: 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 Then forth they all out of their baskets drew 
 Great store of flowers, the honour of the- field, 
 That to the sense did fragrant odours yield. 
 All which upon those goodly birds they threw 
 And all the waves did strew. 
 That like old Peneus' waters they did seem. 
 When down along by pleasant Tempe 's shore 
 Scatter 'd with flowers, through Thessaly they stream, 
 That they appear, through lilies' plenteous store. 
 Like a bride's chamber-floor. 
 
 Two of those nymphs meanwhile two garlands bound 
 Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found, 
 The which presenting all in trim array, 
 Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crown 'd. 
 Whilst one did sing this lay 
 Prepared against that day. 
 Against their bridal day, which was not long: 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly till I end my song. 
 
 *'Ye gentle birds! the world's fair ornament. 
 And Heaven's glory, whom this happy hour 
 Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bower. 
 
54 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Joy may you have, and gentle heart's content 
 
 Of your love's couplement; 
 
 And let fair Venus, that is queen of love, 
 
 With her heart-quelling son upon you smile, 
 
 Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove 
 
 All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile 
 
 For ever to assoil. 
 
 Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord, 
 
 And blessed plenty wait upon your board ; 
 
 And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound, 
 
 That fruitful issue may to you afford, 
 
 Which may your foes confound. 
 
 And make your joys redound 
 
 Upon your bridal day, which is not long: 
 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. ' 
 
 So ended she ; and all the rest around 
 To her redoubled that, her undersong, 
 Which said their bridal day should not be long; 
 And gentle Echo from the neighbour ground 
 Their accents did resound. 
 So forth those joyous birds did pass along 
 Adown the Lee that to them murmur 'd low, 
 As he would speak but that he lack 'd a tongue ; 
 Yet did by signs his glad affection show. 
 Making his stream run slow. 
 And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell 
 'Gan flock about these twain, that did excel 
 The rest so far as Cynthia doth shend 
 The lesser stars. So they, enranged well, 
 Did on those two attend. 
 And their best service lend 
 
 Against their wedding day, which was not long: 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
EDMUND SPENSER 65 
 
 At length they all to merry London came, 
 To merry London, my most kindly nurse, 
 That to me gave this life's first native source, 
 Though from another place I take my name, 
 An house of ancient fame. 
 
 There when they came whereas those bricky towers 
 The which on Thames' broad aged back to ride, 
 Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers, 
 There whilome wont the Templar-knights to bide, 
 Till they decay 'd through pride ; 
 Next whereunto there stands a stately place, 
 Where oft I gained gifts and goodly grace 
 Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell. 
 Whose want too well now feels my friendless case — 
 But ah ; here fits not well 
 Old woes, but joys to tell 
 Against the bridal day, which is not long : 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, 
 
 Great England's glory and the Avorld's wide wonder. 
 
 Whose dreadful name late through all Spain did 
 
 thunder, 
 And Hercules' two pillars standing near 
 Did make to quake and fear. 
 — Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry ! 
 That fillest England with thy triumphs' fame 
 Joy have thou of thy noble victory, 
 And endless happiness of thine own name 
 That promiseth the same ; 
 
 That through thy prowess and victorious arms 
 Thy country may be freed from foreign harms. 
 And great Elisa's glorious name may ring 
 Through all the world, fill'd with thy wide alarms, 
 
QQ THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Which some brave Muse may sing 
 
 To ages following, 
 
 Upon the bridal day, which is not long : 
 
 Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 From those high towers this noble lord issuing 
 Like radiant Hesper when his golden hair 
 In th ' ocean billows he hath bathed fair, 
 Descended to the river's open viewing 
 With a great train ensuing. 
 Above the rest were goodly to be seen 
 Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature, 
 Beseeming well the bower of any queen, 
 With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature. 
 Fit for so goodly stature, 
 
 That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight 
 Which deck the baldric of the Heavens bright ; 
 They two, forth pacing to the river's side, 
 Eeceived those two fair brides, their love's delight; 
 Which, at th' appointed tide. 
 Each one did make his bride 
 Against their bridal day, which is not long: 
 Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song. 
 
 Edmund Spenser 
 
 75 THE HAPPY HEART 
 
 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? 
 
 sweet content! 
 Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex 'd? 
 
 O punishment! 
 Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'd 
 To add to golden numbers, golden numbers? 
 
THOMAS DEKKER 67 
 
 O sweet content ! O sweet, O sweet content ! 
 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; 
 
 Honest labour bears a lovely face; 
 Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny ! 
 
 Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring? 
 
 O sweet content ! 
 Swdmm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? 
 
 O punishment ! 
 Then he that patiently want's burden bears, 
 No burden bears, but is a king, a king ! 
 O sweet content ! sweet, O sweet content ! 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace; 
 Honest labour bears a lovely face; 
 Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny ! 
 
 Thomas Dekker 
 
 76 SIC TRANSIT 
 
 Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me ; 
 
 For while thou view'st me with thy fading light 
 Part of my life doth still depart with thee, 
 
 And I still onward haste to my last night: 
 Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly — 
 So every day we live, a day we die. 
 
 But O ye nights, ordain 'd for barren rest. 
 How are my days deprived of life in you 
 
 When heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest, 
 By feigned death life sweetly to renew ! 
 
 Part of my life, in that, you life deny : 
 
 So every day we live, a day we die. 
 
 Tliomas Campion 
 
gg THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 77 This Life, which seems so fair, 
 
 Is like a bubble blown up in the air 
 By sporting children's breath, 
 Who chase it everywhere 
 And strive who can most motion it bequeath. 
 And though it sometimes seem of its own might 
 Like to an eye of gold to be fix'd there, 
 And firm to hover in that empty height, 
 That only is because it is so light. 
 — But in that pomp it doth not long appear ; 
 For when 'tis most admired, in a thought, 
 Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought. 
 
 William Drummond 
 
 78 SOUL AND BODY 
 
 Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 
 [Foil'd by] those rebel powers that thee array, 
 "Why doth thou pine within, and suffer dearth. 
 Painting thy outward w^alls so costly gay? 
 Why so large cost, having so short a lease. 
 Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? 
 Shall worms, inheritors of this excess. 
 Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? 
 Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 
 And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; 
 Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; 
 Within be fed, without be rich no more: — 
 So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men. 
 And death once dead, there's no more dying then. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 79 The man of life upright. 
 
 Whose guiltless heart is free 
 
THOMAS CAMPION 69 
 
 From all dishonest deeds, 
 Or thought of vanity ; 
 
 The man whose silent days 
 
 In harmless joys are spent, 
 Whom hopes cannot delude 
 
 Nor sorrow discontent: 
 
 That man needs neither towers 
 
 Nor armour for defence, 
 Nor secret vaults to fly 
 
 From thunder 's violence ; 
 
 He only can behold 
 
 With unaffrighted eyes 
 The horrors of the deep 
 
 And terrors of the skies. 
 
 Thus, scorning all the cares 
 That fate or fortune brings. 
 
 He makes the heaven his book. 
 His wisdom heavenly things; 
 
 Good thoughts his only friends. 
 His wealth a well-spent age, 
 
 The earth his sober inn 
 And quiet pilgrimage. 
 
 Thomas Campion 
 
 80 THE LESSONS OF NATURE 
 
 Of this fair volume which we ''world" do name 
 If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care. 
 Of Him who it corrects and did it frame 
 
70 THK C OLDEN TREASURY 
 
 We clear might read the art and wisdom rare ; 
 
 Find out His power which wildest powers doth tame, 
 
 His providence extending everywhere, 
 
 His justice which proud rebels doth not spare, 
 
 In every page, no period of the same. 
 
 But silly we, like foolish children, rest 
 
 Well pleased with colour 'd vellum, leaves of gold. 
 
 Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best. 
 
 On the great Writer 's sense ne 'er taking hold ; 
 
 Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught. 
 
 It is some picture on the margin wrought. 
 
 William Drummond 
 
 81 
 
 Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move ? 
 
 Is this the justice which on earth we find? 
 
 Is this that firm decree which all doth bind? 
 
 Are these your influences, Powers above? 
 
 Those souls which vice's moody mists most blind, 
 
 Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove 
 
 And they who thee, poor idol Virtue, love. 
 
 Ply like a feather toss'd by storm and wind. 
 
 Ah ! if a Providence doth sway this all. 
 
 Why should best minds groan under most distress? 
 
 Or why should pride humility make thrall, 
 
 And injuries the innocent oppress? 
 
 Heavens, hinder, stop this fate ; or grant a time 
 
 When good may have, as well as bad, their prime ! 
 
 William Drummond 
 
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 71 
 
 82 THE WORLD'S WAY 
 
 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry — 
 
 As: to behold desert a beggar born, 
 
 And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, 
 
 And purest faith unhappily forsworn, 
 
 And gilded honour shamefully misplaced. 
 
 And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 
 
 And right perfection wTongfully disgraced, 
 
 And strength by limping sway disabled, 
 
 And art made tongue-tied by authority. 
 
 And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, 
 
 And simple truth miscall'd simplicity. 
 
 And captive Good attending captain 111: — 
 
 — Tired with all these, from these would I be gone. 
 
 Save that, to die, I leave my Love alone. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 83 A WISH 
 
 Happy were he could finish forth his fate 
 In some unhaunted desert, where, obscure 
 From all society, from love and hate 
 Of worldly folk, there should he sleep secure, 
 
 Then wake again, and yield God ever praise ; 
 Content with hip, with haws, and brambleberry ; 
 In contemplation passing still his days. 
 And change of holy thoughts to make him merry ; 
 
 Who, when he dies, his tomb might be the bush 
 Where harmless robin resteth with the thrush : 
 — Happy were he ! 
 
 Robert Dcvereux, Earl of Essex 
 
72 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 84 SAINT JOHN BAPTIST 
 
 The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King, 
 Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, 
 Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, 
 Which he more harmless found than man, and mild. 
 His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, 
 With honey that from virgin hives distill'd. 
 Parch 'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing 
 Made him appear, long since from earth exiled. 
 There burst he forth : ' ' All ye whose hopes rely 
 On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn, 
 Repent, repent, and from old errors turn!" 
 — Who listen 'd to his voice, obey'd his cry? 
 Only the echoes, which he made relent. 
 Rung from their flinty caves, ''Repent! Repent!" 
 
 William Drummond 
 
BOOK TWO 
 
 85 
 
 ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY 
 
 This is the month, and this the happy morn 
 Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King, 
 Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, 
 Our great redemption from above did bring; 
 For so the holy sages once did sing 
 That He our deadly forfeit should release. 
 And with His Father work us a perpetual peace. 
 
 That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable. 
 
 And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty 
 
 Wherewith He wont at Heaven's high council-table 
 
 To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, 
 
 He laid aside ; and, here with us to be, 
 
 Forsook the courts of everlasting day, 
 
 And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. 
 
 Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 
 Afford a present to the Infant God? 
 Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain 
 To welcome Him to this His new abode, 
 Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod. 
 Hath took no print of the approaching light, 
 And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons 
 bright? 
 
 See how from far, upon the eastern road. 
 The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet : 
 
 73 
 
74 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 O, run, prevent them with thy humble ode 
 
 And lay it lowly at His blessed feet ; 
 
 Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, 
 
 And join thy voice unto the Angel quire, 
 
 From out His secret altar touch 'd with hallow 'd fire. 
 
 The IJynm 
 
 It was the winter wild 
 
 While the heaven-born Child 
 
 All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; 
 
 Nature in awe to Him 
 
 Had doff'd her gaudy trim, 
 
 With her great Master so to sympathize: 
 
 It was no season then for her 
 
 To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. 
 
 Only with speeches fair 
 
 She woes the gentle air 
 
 To hide her guilty front with innocent snow. 
 
 And on her naked shame. 
 
 Pollute with sinful blame. 
 
 The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; 
 
 Confounded, that her Maker's eyes 
 
 Should look so near upon her foul deformities. 
 
 But He, her fears to cease, 
 
 Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; 
 
 She, crown 'd with olive green, came softly sliding 
 
 Down through the turning sphere. 
 
 His ready harbinger. 
 
 With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; 
 
 And waving wide her myrtle wand. 
 
 She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. 
 
JOHN MILTON 75 
 
 No war, or battle's sound 
 
 Was heard the world around: 
 
 The idle spear and shield were high uphung ; 
 
 The hooked chariot stood 
 
 Unstain 'd with hostile blood ; 
 
 The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; 
 
 And kings sat still with awful eye, 
 
 As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. 
 
 But peaceful was the night 
 
 Wherein the Prince of Light 
 
 His reign of peace upon the earth began : 
 
 The winds, with wonder whist 
 
 Smoothly the waters kist, 
 
 Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, 
 
 Who now hath quite forgot to rave, 
 
 While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. 
 
 The stars, with deep amaze. 
 
 Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, 
 
 Bending one way their precious influence; 
 
 And will not take their flight 
 
 For all the morning light. 
 
 Or Lucifer that often warn 'd them thence ; 
 
 But in their glimmering orbs did glow 
 
 Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go. 
 
 And though the shady gloom 
 
 Had given day her room, 
 
 The sun himself withheld his wonted speed. 
 
 And hid his head for shame, 
 
 As his inferior flame 
 
 The new-enlight'd world no more should need; 
 
 He saw a greater Sun appear 
 
 Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear. 
 
76 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The shepherds on the lawn 
 
 Or ere the point of dawn 
 
 Sate simply chatting in a rustic row; 
 
 Full little thought they than 
 
 That the mighty Pan 
 
 Was kindly come to live with them below; 
 
 Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep 
 
 Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep : — 
 
 When such music sweet 
 
 Their hearts and ears did greet 
 
 As never was by mortal finger strook — 
 
 Divinely-warbled voice 
 
 Answering the stringed noise, 
 
 As all their souls in blissful rapture took ; 
 
 The air, such pleasure loth to lose, 
 
 With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. 
 
 Nature, that heard such sound 
 
 Beneath the hollow round 
 
 Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilling, 
 
 Now was almost won 
 
 To think her part was done, 
 
 And that her reign had here its last fulfilling ; 
 
 She knew such harmony alone 
 
 Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union. 
 
 At last surrounds their sight 
 
 A globe of circular light 
 
 That with long beams the shamefaced night array 'd; 
 
 The helmed Cherubim 
 
 And sworded Seraphim 
 
 Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display 'd, 
 
 Harping in loud and solemn quire 
 
 With unexpressive notes to Heaven's new-born Heir. 
 
JOHN MILTON 77 
 
 Such music, as 'tis said, 
 
 Before was never made 
 
 But when of old the Sons of Morning simg, 
 
 While the Creator great 
 
 His constellations set 
 
 And the well-balanced world on hinges hung 
 
 And cast the dark foundations deep, 
 
 And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. 
 
 Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! 
 
 Once bless our human ears, 
 
 If ye have power to touch our senses so ; 
 
 And let your silver chime 
 
 Move in melodious time; 
 
 And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow; 
 
 And with your ninefold harmony 
 
 Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. 
 
 For if such holy song 
 
 Enwrap our fancy long, 
 
 Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold ; 
 
 And speckled Vanity 
 
 Will sicken soon and die. 
 
 And leprous Sin will melt from earthy mould; 
 
 And Hell itself will pass away. 
 
 And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. 
 
 Yea, Truth and Justice then 
 
 Will down return to men, 
 
 Orb 'd in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, 
 
 Mercy will sit between 
 
 Throned in celestial sheen, 
 
 With radiant feet the tissued clouds down-steering ; 
 
 And Heaven, as at some festival. 
 
 Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall. 
 
78 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 But wisest Fate says No ; 
 This must not yet be so ; 
 The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy, 
 That on the bitter cross 
 Must redeem our loss, 
 So both Himself and us to glorify : 
 Yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep 
 The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the 
 deep, 
 
 With such a horrid clang 
 As on Mount Sinai rang 
 
 While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake : 
 The aged Earth aghast 
 With terror of that blast 
 Shall from the surface to the centre shake. 
 When, at the world's last session, 
 The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread His 
 throne. 
 
 And then at last our bliss 
 
 Full and perfect is, 
 
 But now begins; for from this happy day 
 
 The old Dragon under ground, 
 
 In straiter limits bound, 
 
 Not half so far casts his usurped sway ; 
 
 And, wroth to see his kingdom fail. 
 
 Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. 
 
 The Oracles are dumb; 
 
 No voice or hideous hum 
 
 Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving ; 
 
 Apollo from his shrine 
 
 Can no more divine, 
 
JOHN MILTON 79 
 
 With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving : 
 
 No nightly trance or breathed spell 
 
 Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. 
 
 The lonely mountains o'er 
 
 And the resounding shore 
 
 A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament; 
 
 From haunted spring and dale 
 
 Edged with poplar pale 
 
 The parting Genius is with sighing sent ; 
 
 "With flower-inwoven tresses torn 
 
 The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. 
 
 In consecrated earth 
 
 And on the holy hearth 
 
 The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ; 
 
 In urns and altars round 
 
 A drear and dying round 
 
 Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ; 
 
 And the chill marble seems to sweat, 
 
 While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat. 
 
 Peor and Baalim 
 Forsake their temples dim, 
 With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine; 
 And mooned Ashtaroth 
 Heaven's queen and mother both, 
 Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; 
 The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn: 
 In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz 
 mourn. 
 
 And sullen Moloch, fled. 
 Hath left in shadows dread 
 
80 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 
 
 His burning idol all of blackest hue; 
 
 In vain with cymbals' ring 
 
 They call tjie grisly king, 
 
 In dismal dance about the furnace blue; 
 
 The brutish gods of Nile as fast, 
 
 Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. 
 
 Nor is Osiris seen 
 
 In Memphian grove, or green, 
 
 Trampling the unshower 'd grass with lowings loud ; 
 
 Nor can he be at rest 
 
 Within his sacred chest ; 
 
 Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; 
 
 In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark 
 
 The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. 
 
 He feels from Juda's land 
 
 The dreaded Infant's hand; 
 
 The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; 
 
 Nor all the gods beside 
 
 Longer dare abide. 
 
 Not Typhon huge, ending in snaky twine : 
 
 Our Babe, to show His Godhead true. 
 
 Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew. 
 
 So, when the sun in bed 
 Curtain 'd with cloudy red 
 Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, 
 The flocking shadows pale 
 Troop to the infernal jail, 
 Each fetter 'd ghost slips to his several grave; 
 And the yellow-skirted fays 
 
 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved 
 maze. 
 
JOHN MILTON 81 
 
 But see ! the Virgin blest 
 
 H?ith laid her Babe to rest ; 
 
 Time is our tedious song should here have ending: 
 
 Heaven's youngest-teemed star 
 
 Hath fix'd her polish 'd car, 
 
 Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending; 
 
 And all about the courtly stable 
 
 Bright-harness 'd Angels sit in order serviceable. 
 
 John Milton 
 
 86 SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1687 
 
 From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony 
 
 This universal frame began. 
 "When Nature underneath a heap 
 
 Of jarring atoms lay 
 And could not heave her head, 
 The tuneful voice was heard from high: 
 
 ''Arise, ye more than dead!" 
 Then cold and hot and moist and dry 
 In order to their stations leap, 
 
 And Music's power obey. 
 From harmony, from heavenly harmony 
 
 This universal frame began : 
 
 From harmony to harmony 
 Through all the compass of the notes it ran. 
 The diapason closing full in Man. 
 
 What passion cannot Music raise and quell? 
 When Jubal struck the chorded shell, 
 His listening brethren stood around, 
 And, wondering, on their faces fell 
 To worship that celestial sound. 
 
32 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Less than a god they thought there could not dwell 
 Within the hollow of that shell 
 That spoke so sweetly and so well. 
 
 What passion cannot Music raise and quell? 
 
 The trumpet's loud clangor 
 
 Excites us to arms, 
 With shrill notes of anger 
 
 And mortal alarms. 
 The double double double beat 
 
 Of the thundering drum 
 
 Cries ' ' Hark ! the foes come ; 
 Charge! charge! 'tis too late to retreat!" 
 
 The soft complaining flute 
 In dying notes discovers 
 The woes of hopeless lovers, 
 Whose dirge is whisper 'd by the warbling lute. 
 
 Sharp violins proclaim 
 Their jealous pangs and desperation, 
 Fury, frantic indignation, 
 Depth of pains, and height of passion 
 For the fair disdainful dame. 
 
 But oh! what art can teach. 
 What human voice can reach 
 
 The sacred organ's praise? 
 Notes inspiring holy love. 
 Notes that wing their heavenly ways 
 To mend the choirs above. 
 
 Orpheus could lead the savage race, 
 And trees unrooted left their place 
 Sequacious of the lyre: 
 
JOHN DRYDEN 83 
 
 But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher : 
 When to her Organ vocal breath was given, 
 An Angel heard, and straight appear 'd — 
 Mistaking Earth for Heaven. 
 
 GRAND CHORUS 
 
 As from the power of sacred lays 
 
 The spheres began to move, 
 And sung the great Creator's praise 
 
 To all the blest above; 
 So, when the last and dreadful hour 
 This crumbling pageant shall devour. 
 The trumpet shall be heard on high, 
 The dead shall live, the living die. 
 And Music shall untune the sky. 
 
 John Dry den 
 
 87 ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT 
 
 Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughter 'd saints, whose bones 
 Lie scatter 'd on the Alpine mountains cold; 
 Even them who kept Thy truth so pure of old 
 When all our fathers worshipt stocks and stones, 
 Forget not : in Thy book record their groans 
 Who were Thy sheep, and in their ancient fold 
 Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that roll'd 
 Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans 
 The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 
 To Heaven. Their martyr 'd blood and ashes sow 
 O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway 
 The triple T^^rant: that from these may grow 
 A hundred-fold, who, having learnt Thy way, 
 Early may fly the Babylonian woe. John Milton 
 
34 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 88* 
 
 HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S RETURN 
 FROM IRELAND 
 
 The forward youth that would appear, 
 Must now forsake his Muses dear, 
 
 Nor in the shadows sing 
 
 His numbers languishing. 
 
 'Tis time to leave the books in dust, 
 And oil the unused armour's rust. 
 
 Removing from the wall 
 
 The corslet of the hall. 
 
 So restless Cromwell could not cease 
 In the inglorious arts of peace, 
 
 But through adventurous war 
 
 Urged his active star: 
 
 And like the three-fork 'd lightning, first 
 Breaking the clouds where it was nurst. 
 
 Did through his own side 
 
 His fiery way divide : 
 
 For 'tis all one to courage high, 
 The emulous, or enemy ; 
 
 And with such, to enclose 
 
 Is more than to oppose; 
 
 An poems marked with a star (*) are left unannotated. 
 These are not to be omitted, but are to be taken up by the 
 student without the assistance which the notes give in the study 
 of the other poems. In general, the method of study should be 
 the one used throughout this book, though, of course, variations 
 are to be made to fit the structure and nature of any particular 
 poem. 
 
ANDREW MARVELL §5 
 
 Then burning through the air he went 
 And palaces and temples rent; 
 
 And Caesar's head at last 
 
 Did through his laurels blast. 
 
 'Tis madness to resist or blame 
 The face of angry heaven's flame; 
 
 And if we would speak true, 
 
 Much to the Man is due 
 
 Who, from his private gardens, where 
 He lived reserved and austere, 
 
 (As if his highest plot 
 
 To plant the bergamot,) 
 
 Could by industrious valour climb 
 To ruin the great work of time, 
 And cast the Kingdoms old 
 Into another mould; 
 
 Though Justice against Fate complain. 
 And plead the ancient Rights in vain — 
 
 But those do hold or break 
 
 As men are strong or weak; 
 
 Nature, that hateth emptiness. 
 Allows of pentration less, 
 
 And therefore must make room 
 
 Where greater spirits come. 
 
 What field of all the civil war 
 Where his were not the deepest scar? 
 
 And Hampton shows what part 
 
 He had of wiser art. 
 
gg THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 
 
 Where, twining subtle fears with hope, 
 He wove a net of such a scope 
 
 That Charles himself might chase 
 To Carisbrook's narrow case. 
 
 That thence the Koyal actor borne 
 The tragic scaffold might adorn: 
 While round the armed bands 
 Did clap their bloody hands. 
 
 He nothing common did or mean 
 Upon that memorable scene, 
 But with his keener eye 
 The axe's edge did try; 
 
 Nor caird the Gods, with vulgar spite, 
 To vindicate his helpless right; 
 
 But bow'd his comely head 
 
 Down, as upon a bed. 
 
 — This was that memorable hour 
 Which first assured the forced power: 
 So when they did design 
 The Capitol's first line, 
 
 A Bleeding Head, where they begun, 
 Did fright the architects to run; 
 And yet in that the State 
 Foresaw its happy fate ! 
 
 And now the Irish are ashamed 
 To see themselves in one year tamed ; 
 So much one man can do 
 That does both act and know. 
 
ANDREW MARVELL g? 
 
 . They can affirm his praises best, 
 And have, though overcome, confest 
 How good he is, how just 
 And fit for highest trust. 
 
 Nor yet grown stiffer with command, 
 But still in the Republic's hand — 
 
 How fit he is to sway 
 
 That can so well obey ! 
 
 He to the Commons' feet presents 
 A Kingdom for his first year's rents, 
 
 And (what he may) forbears 
 
 His fame, to make it theirs: 
 
 And has his sword and spoils ungirt 
 To lay them at the Public's skirt. 
 
 So when the falcon high 
 
 Falls heavy from the sky, 
 
 She, having kill'd, no more doth search 
 But on the next green bough to perch, 
 
 Where, when he first does lure. 
 
 The falconer has her sure. 
 
 — What may not then our Isle presume 
 While victory his crest does plume ? 
 
 What may not others fear 
 
 If thus he crowns each year? 
 
 As Caesar he, ere long, to Gaul, 
 To Italy an Hannibal, 
 
 And to all States not free 
 
 Shall climacteric be. 
 
THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The Pict no shelter now* shall find 
 Within his parti-colour 'd mind, 
 But from this valour sad 
 Shrink underneath the plaid — 
 
 Happy, if in the tufted brake 
 The English hunter him mistake. 
 
 Nor lay his hounds in near 
 
 The Caledonian deer. 
 
 But Thou, the War's and Fortune's son 
 
 March indefatigably on; 
 And for the last effect 
 Still keep the sword erect. 
 
 Besides the force it has to fright 
 The spirits of the shady night. 
 The same arts that did gain 
 A power, must it maintain. 
 
 Andrew Marvell 
 
 89 LYCIDAS 
 
 Elegy on a Friend drowned in the Irish Channel 1637 
 
 Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more 
 
 Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 
 
 I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, 
 
 And with forced fingers rude 
 
 Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 
 
 Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear 
 
 Compels me to disturb your season due: 
 
 For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, 
 
 Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. 
 
JOHN MILTON 89 
 
 "Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew 
 Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 
 He must not float upon his watery bier 
 Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, 
 Without the meed of some melodious tear. 
 
 Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well 
 That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring ; 
 Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. 
 Hence with denial vain and coy excuse : — 
 So may some gentle Muse 
 With lucky words favour my destined urn, 
 And as he passes, turn 
 And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. 
 
 For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, • 
 Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill; 
 Together both, ere the high lawns appear 'd 
 Under the opening eyelids of the Morn, 
 We drove a-field, and both together heard 
 What time the grey-fly winds her sultry horn, 
 Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, 
 Oft till the star that rose at evening bright 
 Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel, 
 Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute. 
 Temper 'd to the oaten flute ; 
 
 Kough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel 
 From the glad sound would not be absent long ; 
 And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. 
 
 But, oh ! the heavy change, now thou art gone. 
 Now thou art gone, and never must return ! 
 Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves 
 With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, 
 
90 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And all their echoes, mourn: 
 
 The willows and the hazel copses green 
 
 Shall now no more be seen 
 
 Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. 
 
 As killing as the canker to the rose, 
 
 Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, 
 
 Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear 
 
 When first the white-thorn blows: 
 
 Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 
 
 Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep 
 Closed 'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? 
 For neither were ye playing on the steep 
 Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie. 
 Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, 
 Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. 
 Ay me ! I fondly dream — 
 
 Had ye been there — For what could that have done ? 
 What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, 
 The Muse herself, for her enchanting son. 
 Whom universal nature did lament, 
 When by the rout that made the hideous roar 
 His gory visage dow^n the stream was sent, 
 Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? 
 
 Alas ! what boots it with incessant care 
 To tend the homely, slighted shepherd's trade 
 And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? 
 Were it not better done, as others use, 
 To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, 
 Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair? 
 Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 
 (That last infirmity of noble mind) 
 To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; 
 
JOHN MILTON 91 
 
 But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, 
 
 And think to burst out into sudden blaze, 
 
 Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears 
 
 And slits the thin-spun life. ' ' But not the praise, 
 
 Phoebus replied, and touch 'd my trembling ears; ^ 
 
 ''Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 
 
 Nor in the glistering foil 
 
 Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies ; 
 
 But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes 
 
 And perfect witness of all-judging Jove. 
 
 As he pronounces lastly on each deed, 
 
 Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed." 
 
 fountain Arethuse, and thou honour 'd flood 
 Smooth-sliding INIincius, crown 'd with vocal reeds, 
 That strain I heard was of a higher mood. 
 But now my oat proceeds, 
 And listens to the herald of the sea 
 That came in Neptune's plea. 
 He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds. 
 What hard mishap hath doom'd this gentle swain. 
 And question 'd every gust of rugged wings 
 That blows from off each beaked promontory. 
 They knew not of his story ; 
 And sage Hippotades their answer brings : 
 That not a blast was from his dungeon stray 'd; 
 The air was calm, and on the level brine 
 Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd.— 
 It was that fatal and perfidious bark 
 Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark. 
 That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 
 
 Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, 
 His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge 
 
92 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 
 
 Like to that sanguine liower inscribed with woe. 
 
 "Ah! who hath reft," quoth he, "my dearest pledge!" 
 
 Last came, and last did go 
 
 The Pilot of the Galilean lake. 
 
 Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 
 
 (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). 
 
 He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake: 
 
 "How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, 
 
 Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake 
 
 Creep and intrude and climb into the fold! 
 
 Of other care they little reckoning make 
 
 Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, 
 
 And shove away the worthy bidden guest. 
 
 Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves know how to hold 
 
 A sheep-hook, or have learn 'd aught else the least 
 
 That to the faithful herdman 's art belongs ! 
 
 What recks it them ? What need they ? They are sped ; 
 
 And when they list, their lean and flashy songs 
 
 Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw ; 
 
 The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed. 
 
 But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw 
 
 Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: 
 
 Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw 
 
 Daily devours apace, and nothing said: 
 
 — But that two-handed engine at the door 
 
 Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more." 
 
 Return, Alpheus; the dread voice is past 
 That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse, 
 And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 
 Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. 
 Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use 
 Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks 
 
JOHN MILTON 93 
 
 On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks, 
 
 Throw hither all your quaint enamell'd eyes 
 
 That on the green turf suck the honey 'd showers 
 
 And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. 
 
 Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, 
 
 The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, 
 
 The white pink, and the pansy freak 'd with jet, 
 
 The glowing violet, 
 
 The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine. 
 
 With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head. 
 
 And every flower that sad embroidery wears: 
 
 Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, 
 
 And daffadillies fill their cups with tears 
 
 To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies — 
 
 For so to interpose a little ease. 
 
 Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise: 
 
 Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas 
 
 Wash far away, — where'er thy bones are hurl'd. 
 
 Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides 
 
 Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, 
 
 Visitest the bottom of the monstrous world; 
 
 Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, 
 
 Sleep 'st by the fable of Bellerus old. 
 
 Where the great Vision of the guarded mount 
 
 Looks tow ard Namancos and Bayona 's hold ; 
 
 — Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth: 
 
 — And, ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth ! 
 
 Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more; 
 For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead. 
 Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor: 
 So sinks the day-star in the ocean -bed, 
 And yet anon repairs his drooping head 
 And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 
 
94 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Flames in the forehead of the morning sky. 
 
 So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, 
 
 Through the dear might of Him that walk 'd the waves ; 
 
 Where, other groves and other streams along, 
 
 With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves. 
 
 And hears the unexpressive nuptial song 
 
 In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 
 
 There entertain him all the Saints above 
 
 In solemn troops, and sweet societies. 
 
 That sing, and singing, in their glory move, 
 
 And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. 
 
 Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; 
 
 Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore 
 
 In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 
 
 To all that wander in that perilous flood. 
 
 Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, 
 While the still morn went out with sandals gray. 
 He touched the tender stops of various quills. 
 With eager thought warbling his Doric lay. 
 And now the sun had stretch 'd out all the hills. 
 And now was dropt into the western bay; 
 At last he rose, and twitch 'd his mantle blue: 
 To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. 
 
 John Milton 
 
 90 
 
 ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 
 
 Mortality, behold and fear ! 
 
 What a change of flesh is here ! 
 
 Think how many royal bones 
 
 Sleep within these heaps of stones. 
 
 Here they lie, had realms and lands, 
 
 Who now want strength to stir their hands. 
 
FRANCIS BEAUMONT 95 
 
 Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust 
 
 They preach, ''In greatness is no trust." 
 
 Here's an acre sown indeed 
 
 With the richest royallest seed 
 
 That the earth did e'er suck in 
 
 Since the first man died for sin. 
 
 Here the bones of birth have cried : 
 
 ' ' Though gods they were, as men they died ! ' ' 
 
 Here are sands, ignoble things, 
 
 Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings. 
 
 Here's a world of pomp and state 
 
 Buried in dust, once dead by fate. 
 
 Francis Beaumont 
 
 91* THE LAST CONQUEROR • 
 
 Victorious men of earth, no more 
 
 Proclaim how wide your empires are; 
 
 Though you bind-in every shore 
 And your triumphs reach as far 
 
 As night or day. 
 Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey 
 
 And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 
 
 Death calls ye to the crowed of common men. 
 
 Devouring Famine, Plague, and War, 
 
 Each able to undo mankind. 
 Death's servile emissaries are; 
 Nor to these alone confined, 
 
 He hath at will 
 More quaint and subtle ways to kill; 
 A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 
 Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. 
 
 James Shirley 
 
96 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 92 DEATH THE LEVELLER 
 
 The glories of our blood and state 
 
 Are shadows, not substantial things; 
 There is no armour against fate ; 
 
 Death lays his icy hand on kings: 
 Sceptre and Crown 
 Must tumble down, 
 And in the dust be equal made 
 With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 
 
 Some men with swords may reap the field, 
 
 And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
 But their strong nerves at last must yield ; 
 They tame but one another still: 
 Early or late 
 They stoop to fate. 
 And must give up their murmuring breath 
 When they, pale captives, creep to death. 
 
 The garlands wither on your brow; 
 
 Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; 
 Upon Death's purple altar now 
 
 See where the victor-victim bleeds: 
 Your heads must come 
 To the cold tomb; 
 Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 
 
 James Shirley 
 
 93 WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED 
 
 TO THE CITY 
 
 Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, 
 
 Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, 
 
 If deed of honour did thee ever please, 
 
JOHN MILTON 97 
 
 Guard them, and him within protect from harms. 
 
 He can requite thee ; for he knows the charms 
 
 That call fame on such gentle acts as these, 
 
 And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas 
 
 Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. 
 
 Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower: 
 
 The great Emathian conqueror bid spare 
 
 The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower 
 
 Went to the ground ; and the repeated air 
 
 Of sad Electra's poet had the power 
 
 To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. 
 
 John Milton 
 
 94 ON HIS BLINDNESS 
 
 When I consider how my light is spent 
 
 Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, 
 
 And that one talent which is death to hide 
 
 Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 
 
 To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
 
 My true account, lest He returning chide, — 
 
 ''Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" 
 
 I fondly ask: — But Patience, to prevent 
 
 That murmur, soon replies : ' ' God doth not need 
 
 Either man's work, or His own gifts: who best 
 
 Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best ; His state 
 
 Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed 
 
 And post 'er land and ocean without rest : — 
 
 They also serve who only stand and wait." 
 
 John Milton 
 
 95* CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE 
 
 How happy is he born and taught 
 That serveth not another's will, 
 
98 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Whose armour is his honest thought 
 And simple truth his utmost skill ! 
 
 Whose passions not his masters are, 
 Whose soul is still prepared for death, 
 Untied unto the world by care 
 Of public fame, or private breath; 
 
 Who envies none that chance doth raise, 
 Nor vice ; who never understood 
 How deepest wounds are given by praise; 
 Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; 
 
 Who hath his life from rumours freed. 
 Whose conscience is his strong retreat, 
 Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
 Nor ruin make oppressors great ; 
 
 Who God doth late and early pray 
 More of His grace than gifts to lend, 
 And entertains the harmless day 
 With a religious book or friend; 
 
 — This man is freed from servile bands 
 Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; 
 Lord of himself, though not of lands; 
 And having nothing, yet hath all. 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton 
 
 96* THE NOBLE NATURE 
 
 It is not growing like a tree 
 In bulk, doth make Man better be; 
 Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
 
BEN JONSON 99 
 
 To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: 
 A lily of a day 
 Is fairer far in May, 
 Although it fall and die that night — 
 It was the plant and flower of Light. 
 In small proportions we just beauties see ; 
 And in short measures life may perfect be. 
 
 Ben Jonson 
 
 97 THE GIFTS OF GOD 
 
 When God at first made IMan, 
 Having a glass of blessings standing by, 
 ''Let us," said He, ''pour on him all Ave can; 
 Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie. 
 
 Contract into a span." 
 
 So strength first made a way; 
 Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure. 
 When almost all was out, God made a stay, 
 Perceiving that alone, of all His treasure. 
 
 Rest in the bottom lay. 
 
 "For if I should," said He, 
 "Bestow this jewel also on My creature. 
 He would adore My gifts instead of IMe, 
 And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature : 
 
 So both should losers be. 
 
 "Yet let him keep the rest. 
 But keep them with repining restlessness; 
 Let him be rich and weary, that at least, 
 If goodness lead him not, yet weariness 
 
 May toss him to I\Iy breast." 
 
 George Herbert 
 
^00 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 98 THE RETREAT 
 
 Happy those early days, when I 
 Shined in my Angel-infancy! 
 Before I understood this place 
 Appointed for my second race, 
 Or taught my soul to fancy aught 
 But a white, celestial thought; 
 When yet I had not walk'd above 
 A mile or two from my first Love, 
 And looking back, at that short space 
 Could see a glimpse of His bright face ; 
 When on some gilded cloud or flower 
 My gazing soul would dwell an hour, 
 And in those weaker glories spy 
 Some shadows of eternity; 
 Before I taught my tongue to wound 
 My conscience with a sinful sound. 
 Or had the black art to dispense 
 A several sin to every sense. 
 But felt through all this fleshly dress 
 Bright shoots of everlastingness. 
 
 how I long to travel back, 
 And tread again that ancient track ! 
 That I might once more reach that plain 
 Where first I left my glorious train ; 
 From whence th' enlighten 'd spirit sees 
 That shady City of palm trees! 
 But ah ! my soul with too much stay 
 Is drunk, and staggers in the way: — 
 Some men a forward motion love. 
 But I by backward steps would move ; 
 
JOHN MILTON 101 
 
 And when this dust falls to the urn, 
 In that state I came, return. 
 
 Henry Vaughan 
 
 99 TO MR. LAWRENCE 
 
 Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son, 
 Now that the fields are dank and ways are mire, 
 Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire 
 Help waste a sullen day, what may be won 
 From the hard season gaining? Time will run 
 On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire 
 The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire 
 The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun. 
 What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, 
 Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise 
 To hear the lute well touch 'd, or artful voice 
 Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air? 
 He who of those delights can judge, and spare 
 To interpose them oft, is not unwise. 
 
 John Milton 
 
 100 TO CYRIACK SKINNER 
 
 Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench 
 Of British Themis, with no mean applause 
 Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws. 
 Which others at their bar so often wrench, 
 To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench 
 In mirth, that after no repenting draws ; ' 
 Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause, 
 And what the Swede intend, and what the French. 
 
102 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 To measure life learn thou betimes, and know 
 Toward solid good what leads the nearest way, 
 For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, 
 And disapproves that care, though wise in show, 
 That with superfluous burden loads the day. 
 And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains. 
 
 John Milton 
 
 101* A HYMN IN PRAISE OF NEPTUNE 
 
 Of Neptune's empire let us sing. 
 At whose command the waves obey; 
 To whom the rivers tribute pay, 
 
 Down the high mountains sliding; 
 To whom the scaly nation yields 
 Homage for the crystal fields 
 
 Wherein they dwell, 
 And every sea-god pays a gem 
 Yearly out of his watery cell. 
 To deck great Neptune's diadem. 
 
 The Tritons, dancing in a ring 
 Before his palace gates, do make 
 The water with their echoes quake. 
 
 Like the great thunder sounding: 
 The sea-n3^mphs chaunt their accents shrill. 
 And the Syrens taught to kill 
 
 With their sweet voice. 
 Make every echoing rock reply, 
 Unto their gentle murmuring noise, 
 The praise of Neptune's empery. 
 
 Thomas Campion 
 
BEN JONSON 103 
 
 102* HYMN TO DIANA 
 
 Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair, 
 
 Now the sun is laid to sleep. 
 Seated in thy silver chair, 
 
 State in wonted manner keep: 
 Hesperus entreats thy light, 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 Earth, let not thy envious shade 
 
 Dare itself to interpose; 
 Cynthia's shining orb was made 
 
 Heaven to clear when day did close : 
 Bless us then with wished sight, 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 Lay thy bow of pearl apart 
 
 And thy crystal shining quiver ; 
 Give unto the flying hart 
 
 Space to breathe, how short s.oever: 
 Thou that mak'st a day of night, 
 Goddess excellently bright! 
 
 Ben Jonson 
 
 103 
 
 WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS 
 
 Whoe'er she be, 
 
 That not impossible She 
 
 That shall command my heart and me; 
 
 Where'er she lie, 
 
 Lock'd up from mortal eye 
 
 In shady leaves of destiny ; 
 
104 THE GOLDEN TREASUKY 
 
 Till that ripe birth 
 
 Of studied Fate stand forth 
 
 And teach her fair steps tread our earth; 
 
 Till that divine 
 
 Idea take a shrine 
 
 Of crystal flesh, through which to shine : 
 
 — Meet you her, my Wishes, 
 
 Bespeak her to my blisses. 
 
 And be ye call'd, my absent kisses. 
 
 I wish her beauty 
 
 That owes not all its duty 
 
 To gaudy tire, or glist 'ring shoe-tie : 
 
 Something more than 
 Taffata or tissue can. 
 Or rampant feather, or rich fan. 
 
 A face that's best 
 
 By its own beauty drest. 
 
 And can alone commend the rest: 
 
 A face made up 
 
 Out of no other shop 
 
 Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. 
 
 Sidneian showers 
 
 Of sweet discourse, whose powers 
 
 Can crown old Winter's head with flowers. 
 
 Whate'er delight 
 
 Can make day's forehead bright 
 
 Or give down to the wings of night: 
 
RICHARD CRASHAW 105 
 
 Soft, silken hours, 
 
 Open suns, shady bowers; 
 
 'Bove all, nothing within that lowers; 
 
 Days that need borrow 
 
 No part of their good morrow 
 
 From a fore-spent night of sorrow: 
 
 Days, that in spite 
 
 Of darkness, by the light 
 
 Of a clear mind are day all night. 
 
 Life, that dares send 
 
 A challenge to his end, 
 
 And when it comes, say, ''Welcome, friend.'' 
 
 I wish her store 
 
 Of worth may leave her poor 
 
 Of wishes; and I wish — no more. 
 
 Now, if Time knows 
 
 That Her, whose radiant brows 
 
 Weave them a garland of my vows; 
 
 Her that dares be 
 
 What these lines wish to see: 
 
 I seek no further, it is She. 
 
 'Tis She, and here 
 
 Lo! I unclothe and clear 
 
 My wishes' cloudy character: 
 
 Such worth as this is 
 Shall fix my flying wishes. 
 And determine them to kisses. 
 
106 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Let her full glory, 
 
 My fancies, fly before ye; 
 
 Be ye my fictions : — but her story. 
 
 lUchard Crashaw 
 
 104* THE GREAT ADVENTURER 
 
 Over the mountains 
 
 And over the waves. 
 
 Under the fountains 
 
 And under the graves ; 
 
 Under the floods that are deepest, 
 
 "Which Neptune obey ; 
 
 Over rocks that are steepest 
 
 Love will find out the way. 
 
 Where there is no place 
 
 For the glow-worm to lie ; 
 
 Where there is no space 
 
 For receipt of a fly; 
 
 Where the midge dares not venture 
 
 Lest herself fast she lay; 
 
 If love come, he will enter 
 
 And soon find out his way. 
 
 You may esteem him 
 
 A child for his might; 
 
 Or you may deem him 
 
 A coward from his flight ; 
 
 But if she whom love doth honour 
 
 Be concealed from the day, 
 
 Set a thousand guards upon her. 
 
 Love will find out the way. 
 
UNKNOWN 107 
 
 Some think to lose him 
 By having him confined; 
 And some do suppose him, 
 Poor thing, to be blind; 
 But if ne'er so close ye wall him, 
 Do the best that you may. 
 Blind love, if so ye call him. 
 Will find out his way. 
 
 You may train the eagle 
 
 To stoop to your fist; 
 
 Or you may inveigle 
 
 The phoenix of the east; 
 
 The lioness, ye may move her 
 
 To give o 'er her prey ; 
 
 But you'll ne'er stop a lover: 
 
 He will find out his way. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 105 
 
 THE PICTURE OF LITTLE T. C. IN A PROSPECT 
 OF FLOWERS 
 
 See with what simplicity 
 This nymph begins her golden days: 
 In the green grass she loves to lie, 
 And there with her fair aspect tames 
 The wilder flowers, and gives them names ; 
 But only with the roses plays, 
 
 And them does tell 
 What colours best become them, and what smell. 
 
 Who can fortell for what high cause 
 This darling of the Gods was born? 
 
108 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Yet this is she whose chaster laws 
 The wanton Love shall one day fear, 
 And, under her command severe. 
 See his bow broke, and ensigns torn. 
 Happy who can 
 Appease this virtuous enemy of man ! 
 
 O then let me in time compound 
 And parley with those conquering eyes. 
 Ere they have tried their force to w^ound ; 
 Ere with their glancing wheels they drive 
 In triumph over hearts that strive. 
 And them that yield but more despise : 
 Let me be laid, 
 Where I may see the glories from some shade. 
 
 Meantime, whilst every verdant thing 
 Itself does at thy beauty charm, 
 Eeform the errors of the Spring: 
 Make that the tulips may have share 
 Of sweetness, seeing they are fair ; 
 And roses of their thorns disarm; 
 But most procure 
 That violets may a longer age endure. 
 
 But young beauty of the woods, 
 Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers, 
 Gather the flowers, but spare the buds ; 
 Lest Flora, angry at thy crime 
 To kill her infants in their prime. 
 Should quickly make th ' example yours ; 
 And ere we see — 
 Nip in the blossom — all our hopes and thee. 
 
 Andrew Marvell 
 
SIR CHARLES SEDLEY 109 
 
 106 CHILD AND MAIDEN 
 
 Ah, Chloris ! could I now but sit 
 
 As unconcern 'd as when 
 Your infant beauty could beget 
 
 No happiness or pain! 
 When I the dawn used to admire, 
 
 And praised the coming day, 
 I little thought the rising fire 
 
 Would take my rest away. 
 
 Your charms in harmless childhood lay 
 
 Like metals in a mine ; 
 Age from no face takes more away 
 
 Than youth conceal 'd in thine. 
 But as your charms insensibly 
 
 To their perfection prest, 
 So love as unperceived did fly, 
 
 And center 'd in my breast. 
 
 My passion with your beauty grew. 
 
 While Cupid at my heart, 
 Still as his mother favour 'd you, 
 
 Threw a new flaming dart : 
 Each gloried in their wanton part; 
 
 To make a lover, he 
 Employ 'd the utmost of his art — 
 
 To make a beauty, she. 
 
 Sir Charles Sedley 
 
 107* CONSTANCY 
 
 I cannot change, as others do. 
 Though you unjustly scorn, 
 Since that poor swain that sighs for you, 
 
110 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 For you alone was born: 
 No, Phyllis, no, your heart to move 
 
 A surer way I'll try, — 
 And to revenge my slighted love, 
 
 Will still love on, and die. 
 
 When, kill'd with grief, Amintas lies, 
 
 And you to mind shall call 
 The sighs that now unpitied rise. 
 
 The tears that vainly fall ; 
 That welcome hour that ends his smart 
 
 Will then begin your pain, 
 For such a faithful tender heart 
 
 Can never break in vain. 
 
 John Wilmot, Earl of Eocliester 
 
 108* COUNSEL TO GIRLS 
 
 Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, 
 
 Old Time is still a-flying; 
 And this same flower that smiles to-day. 
 
 To-morrow will be dying. 
 
 The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun, 
 
 The higher he's a-getting 
 The sooner will his race be run, 
 
 And nearer he's to setting. 
 
 That age is best which is the first. 
 When youth and blood are warmer; 
 
 But being spent, the worse, and worst 
 Times, still succeed the former. 
 
 Then be not coy, but use your time ; 
 And while ye may, go marry ; 
 
ROBERT HERRICK HI 
 
 For having lost but once your prime, 
 You may for ever tarry. 
 
 Bohert Herrick 
 
 109 
 
 TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS 
 
 Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind. 
 
 That from the nunnery 
 Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, 
 
 To war and arms I fly. 
 
 True, a new mistress now I chase. 
 
 The first foe in the field; 
 And with a stronger faith embrace 
 
 A sword, a horse, a shield. 
 
 Yet this inconstancy is such 
 
 As you too shall adore : 
 I could not love thee, Dear, so much, 
 
 Loved I not Honour more. 
 
 Richard Lovelace 
 
 110* ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA 
 
 You meaner beauties of the night, 
 
 That poorly satisfy our eyes 
 More by your number than your light. 
 
 You common people of the skies, — 
 What are you, when the Moon shall rise? 
 
 You curious chanters of the wood 
 
 That warble forth dame Nature's lays. 
 
 Thinking your passions understood 
 
 By your weak accents — what's your praise 
 
 When Philomel her voice doth raise? 
 
112 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 You violets that first appear, 
 By your pure purple mantles known, 
 
 Like the proud virgins of the year. 
 
 As if the spring were all your own, — 
 
 What are you, when the Rose is blown? 
 
 So when my Mistress shall be seen 
 In form and beauty of her mind, 
 
 By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, 
 Tell me, if she were not design 'd 
 
 Th' eclipse and glory of her kind? 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton 
 
 111 TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY 
 
 Daughter to that good Earl, once President 
 Of England's Council and her Treasury, 
 Who lived in both, unstain'd with gold or fee, 
 And left them both, more in himself content. 
 Till the sad breaking of that Parliament 
 Broke him, as that dishonest victory 
 At Chaeroneia, fatal to liberty, 
 Kill'd with report that old man eloquent; — 
 Though later born than to have known the days 
 Wherein your father flourish 'd, yet by you, 
 Madam, methinks I see him living yet: 
 So well your words his noble virtues praise, 
 That all both judge you to relate them true. 
 And to possess them, honour 'd Margaret. 
 
 John Milton 
 
 112* THE TRUE BEAUTY 
 
 He that loves a rosy cheek 
 Or a coral lip admires. 
 
THOMAS CAREW 113 
 
 Or from star-like eyes doth seek 
 
 Fuel to maintain his fires; 
 As old Time makes these decay, 
 So his flames must waste away. 
 
 But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
 Gentle thoughts, and calm desires. 
 
 Hearts with equal love combined. 
 Kindle never-dying fires. 
 
 Where these are not, I despise 
 
 Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. 
 
 Thomas Carew 
 
 113 TO DIANEME 
 
 Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes 
 Which star-like sparkle in their skies; 
 Nor be you proud, that you can see 
 All hearts your captives — yours, yet free; 
 Be you not proud of that rich hair 
 Which wantons with the lovesick air: — 
 Whenas that ruby which you wear. 
 Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, 
 Will last to be a precious stone 
 When all your world of beauty's gone. 
 
 Bohert Herrick 
 
 114* Love in thy youth, fair Maid ; be wise ; 
 Old Time will make thee colder ; 
 And though each morning new arise, 
 Yet we each day grow older. 
 
 Thou as Heaven art fair and young. 
 Thine eyes like twin stars shining, 
 
 But ere another day be sprung 
 All these will be declining. 
 
114 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Then winter comes with all his fears, 
 And all thy sweets shall borrow; 
 
 Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears,- 
 And I too late shall sorrow ! 
 
 Unknown 
 
 115 Go, lovely Rose ! 
 
 Tell her, that wastes her time and me, 
 
 That now she knows, 
 When I resemble her to thee. 
 How sweet and fair she seems to be. 
 
 Tell her, that's young 
 And shuns to have her graces spied, 
 
 That hadst thou sprung 
 In deserts where no men abide, 
 Thou must have uncommended died. 
 
 Small is the worth 
 Of beauty from the light retired. 
 
 Bid her come forth. 
 Suffer herself to be desired, 
 And not blush so to be admired. 
 
 Then die! that she 
 The common fate of all things rare 
 
 May read in thee: 
 How small a part of time they share 
 That are so wondrous sweet and fair! 
 Edmund Waller 
 
 116* TO CELIA 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
 And I will pledge with mine; 
 
BEN JONSON 115 
 
 Or leave a kiss but in the cup 
 
 And I'll not look for wine. 
 The thirst that from the soul doth rise 
 
 Doth ask a drink divine; 
 But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 
 
 I would not change for thine. 
 
 I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
 
 Not so much honouring thee 
 As giving it a hope, that there 
 
 It could not wither 'd be; 
 But thou thereon didst only breathe 
 
 And sent'st it back to me; 
 Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 
 
 Not of itself but thee ! 
 
 Ben Jonson 
 
 117 CHERRY-RIPE 
 
 There is a garden in her face 
 
 Where roses and white lilies blow; 
 
 A heavenly paradise is that place. 
 Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; 
 
 There cherries grow that none may buy, 
 
 Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry. 
 
 Those cherries fairly do enclose 
 
 Of orient pearl a double row. 
 Which when her lovely laughter shows. 
 
 They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow; 
 Yet them no peer nor prince may buy. 
 Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry. 
 
 Her eyes like angels watch them still; 
 Her brows like bended bows do standi 
 
llg THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Threat 'ning with piercing frowns to kill 
 
 All that approach with eye or hand 
 These sacred cherries to come nigh, 
 Till Cherry-Ripe themselves do cry! 
 
 Unknown 
 
 118 CORINNA'S MAYING 
 
 Get up, get up for shame ! The blooming morn 
 Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. 
 See how Aurora throws her fair 
 Fresh-quilted colours through the air. 
 Get up, sweet Slug-a-bed, and see 
 The dew bespangling herb and tree. 
 Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east. 
 Above an hour since ; yet you not drest. 
 Nay ! not so much as out of bed ? 
 When all the birds have matins said. 
 And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin. 
 Nay, profanation, to keep in, — 
 Whenas a thousand virgins on this day. 
 Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in may. 
 
 Rise ; and put on your foliage, and be seen 
 To come forth, like the Spring-time, fresh and green 
 And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
 For jewels for your gown or hair: 
 Fear not; the leaves will strew 
 Gems in abundance upon you: 
 Besides, the childhood of the day has kept. 
 Against you come, some orient pearls unwept: 
 Come, and receive them while the light 
 Hangs on the dew-locks of the night; 
 
ROBERT HERRICK 117 
 
 And Titan on tlie eastern hill 
 
 Retires himself, or else stands still 
 Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying : 
 Few beads are best, when once we go a Maying. 
 
 Come, my Corinna, come ; and coming, mark 
 How each field turns a street; each street a park 
 
 Made green, and trimm'd with trees: see how 
 
 Devotion gives each house a bough 
 
 Or branch : Each porch, each door, ere this, 
 
 An ark, a tabernacle is. 
 Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove, 
 As if here were those cooler shades of love. 
 
 Can such delights be in the street, 
 
 And open fields, and we not see't? 
 
 Come, we'll abroad: and let's obey 
 
 The proclamation made for May, 
 And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; 
 But, my Corinna, come, let's go a Maying. 
 
 There's not a budding boy, or girl, this day, 
 But is got up, and gone to bring in may. 
 
 A deal of youth, ere this, is come 
 
 Back, and with white-thorn laden home. 
 
 Some have despatch 'd their cakes and cream, 
 
 Before that we have left to dream; 
 And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, 
 And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth ; 
 
 Many a green- gown has been given. 
 
 Many a kiss, both odd and even ; 
 
 Many a glance, too, has been sent 
 
 From out the eye. Love's firmament; 
 Many a jest told of the keys betraying 
 This night, and locks pick 'd:— Yet we're not a Maying. 
 
118 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 — Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, 
 And take the harmless folly of the time ! 
 
 We shall grow old apace, and die 
 
 Before, we know our liberty. 
 
 Our life is short; and our days run 
 
 As fast away as does the sun. 
 And as a vapour, or a drop of rain 
 Once lost, can ne'er be found again. 
 
 So when or you or I are made 
 
 A fable, song, or fleeting shade. 
 
 All love, all liking, all delight 
 
 Lies drown 'd with us in endless night. 
 Then while time serves, and we are but decaying, 
 Come, my Corinna! come, let's go a Maying. 
 
 Robert Herrick 
 
 119 THE POETRY OF DRESS 
 
 I 
 
 A sweet disorder in the dress 
 
 Kindles in clothes a wantonness: — 
 
 A lawn about the shoulders, thrown 
 
 Into a fine distraction ; 
 
 An erring lace, which here and there 
 
 Enthrals the crimson stomacher; 
 
 A cuff neglectful, and thereby 
 
 Ribbands to flow confusedly; 
 
 A winning wave, deserving note. 
 
 In the tempestuous petticoat; 
 
 A careless shoe-string, in whose tie 
 
 I see a wild civility: — 
 
 Do more bewitch me, than when art 
 
 Is too precise in every part. 
 
 Robert Herrick 
 
ROBERT HERRICK II9 
 
 II 
 
 120 When, as in silks my Julia goes, 
 
 Then, then, methinks, how sweetly Hows 
 That liquefaction of her clothes ! 
 
 Next, when I cast mine eyes and see 
 That brave vibration each way free, 
 O how that glittering taketh me! 
 
 Robert Her rick 
 
 III 
 
 121* My Love in her attire doth shew her wit, 
 It doth so well become her : 
 For every season she hath dressings fit, 
 
 For Winter, Spring, and Summer. 
 No beauty she doth miss 
 When all her robes are on; 
 But Beauty's self she is 
 When all her robes are gone. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 122* ON A GIRDLE 
 
 That which her slender waist confined 
 Shall now my joyful temples bind; 
 No monarch but would give his crown 
 His arms might do what this has done. 
 
 It was my Heaven 's extremest sphere. 
 The pale which held that lovely deer; 
 My joy, my grief, my hope, my love 
 Did all within this circle move. 
 
120 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 
 
 A narrow compass! and yet there 
 Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair. 
 Give me but what this ribband bound, 
 Take all the rest the Sun goes round. 
 
 Edmund Waller 
 
 123 A MYSTICAL .ECSTASY 
 
 E 'en like two little, bank-dividing brooks. 
 
 That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, 
 
 And having ranged and search 'd a thousand nooks. 
 Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, 
 Where in a greater current they conjoin: 
 
 So I my Best-Beloved's am; so He is mine. 
 
 E'en so we met; and after long pursuit, 
 
 E'en so we join'd; we both became entire. 
 
 No need for either to renew a suit ; 
 
 For I was flax and He was flames of fire : 
 Our firm-united souls did more than twine : 
 
 So I my Best-Beloved's am; so He is mine. 
 
 If all those glittering Monarchs that command 
 The servile quarters of this earthly ball. 
 
 Should tender, in exchange, their shares of land, 
 I would not change my fortunes for them all. 
 Their wealth is but a counter to my coin : 
 
 The world's but theirs; but my Beloved's mine. 
 
 Francis Quarles 
 
 124* TO ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND 
 HIM ANY THING 
 
 Bid me to live, and I will live 
 Thy Protestant to be; 
 
ROBERT HERRICK 121 
 
 Or bid me love, and I will give 
 A loving heart to thee. 
 
 A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 
 
 A heart as sound and free 
 As in the whole world thou canst find, 
 
 That heart I'll give to thee. 
 
 Bid that heart stay, and it will stay, 
 
 To honour thy decree; 
 Or bid it languish quite away, 
 
 And 't shall do so for thee. 
 
 Bid me to weep, and I will weep 
 
 While I have eyes to see; 
 And having none, yet I will keep 
 
 A heart to weep for thee. 
 
 Bid me despair, and I'll despair, 
 
 Under that cypress tree; 
 Or bid me die, and I will dare 
 
 E'en Death, to die for thee. 
 
 Thou art my life, my love, my heart, 
 
 The very eyes of me, 
 And hast command of every part, 
 
 To live and die for thee. 
 
 Robert Herrick 
 
 125 Love not me for comely grace, 
 
 For my pleasing eye or face, 
 Nor for any outward part. 
 No, nor for my constant heart, — 
 
122 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 For those may fail, or turn to ill, 
 So thou and I shall sever. 
 Keep therefore a true woman's eye, 
 And love me still, but know not why — 
 So hast thou the same reason stilL 
 To dote upon me ever! 
 
 Unknown 
 
 126* Not, Celia, that I juster am 
 Or better than the rest; 
 For I would change each hour, like them, 
 Were not my heart at rest. 
 
 But I am tied to very thee 
 
 By every thought I have ; 
 Thy face I only care to see. 
 
 Thy heart I only crave. 
 
 All that in woman is adored 
 
 In thy dear self I find — 
 For the whole sex can but afford 
 
 The handsome and the kind. 
 
 Why then should I seek further store, 
 
 And still make love anew? 
 When change itself can give no more, 
 
 'Tis easy to be true. 
 
 Sir Charles Sedley 
 
 127 TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON 
 
 When Love with uncon fined wings 
 Hovers within my gates. 
 
RICHARD LOVELACE 123 
 
 And my divine Althea brings 
 
 To whisper at the grates ; 
 When I lie tangled in her hair 
 
 And fetter 'd to her eye, — 
 The gods that wanton in the air 
 
 Know no snch liberty. 
 
 When flowing cups run swiftly round, 
 
 With no allaying Thames, 
 Our careless heads with roses bound. 
 
 Our hearts with loyal flames; 
 When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 
 
 When healths and draughts go free — 
 Fishes that tipple in the deep 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When, like committed linnets, I 
 
 With shriller throat shall sing 
 The sweetness, mercy, majesty, 
 
 And glories of my King; 
 When I shall voice aloud how good 
 
 He is, how great should be, — 
 Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 Stone walls do not a prison make, 
 
 Nor iron bars a cage ; 
 Minds innocent and quiet take 
 
 That for an hermitage. 
 If I have freedom in my love 
 
 And in my soul am free, 
 Angels alone, that soar above, 
 
 Enjoy such liberty. 
 
 Richard Lovelace 
 
124 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 128 
 
 TO LUCASTA, GOING BEYOND THE SEAS 
 
 If to be absent were to be 
 Away from thee, 
 Or that when I am gone 
 You or I were alone, — 
 Then, my Lucasta, might I crave 
 Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave. 
 
 But I'll not sigh one blast or gale 
 To swell my sail, 
 Or pay a tear to 'suage 
 The foaming blue-god's rage; 
 For whether he will let me pass 
 Or no, I'm still as happy as I was. 
 
 Though seas and land betwixt us both, 
 Our faith and troth, 
 Like separated souls, 
 All time and space controls; 
 Above the highest sphere we meet 
 Unseen, unknown, and greet as Angels greet. 
 
 So then we do anticipate 
 Our after-fate, 
 And are alive i' the skies, 
 If thus our lips and eyes 
 Can speak like spirits unconfined 
 In Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind. 
 
 Bichard Lovelace 
 
 129* ENCOURAGEMENTS TO A LOVER 
 
 "Why so pale and wan, fond lover 1 
 Prythee, why so pale? 
 
SIR JOHN SUCKLING 125 
 
 Will, if looking well can't move her, 
 Looking ill prevail? 
 Prythee, why so pale? 
 
 Why so dull and mute, young sinner? 
 
 Prythee, why'so mute? 
 Will, when speaking w^ell can't win her, 
 
 Saying nothing do't? 
 
 Prythee, why so mute? 
 
 Quit, quit, for shame ! this will not move, 
 
 This cannot take her; 
 If of herself she will not love, 
 
 Nothing can make her, — 
 
 The D— 1 take her ! 
 
 Sir John Suckling 
 
 130* A SUPPLICATION 
 
 Awake, awake, my Lyre ! 
 And tell thy silent master's humble tale 
 
 In sounds that may prevail : 
 Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire. 
 
 Though so exalted she 
 
 And I so lowly be 
 Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony. 
 
 Hark, how the strings awake ! 
 And, though the moving hand approach not near, 
 
 Themselves with awful fear 
 A kind of numerous trembling make. 
 
 Now all thy forces try ; 
 
 Now all thy charms apply; 
 Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye. 
 
126 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Weak Lyre ! thy virtue sure 
 Is useless here, smce thou art only found 
 
 To cure, but not to wound. 
 And she to wound, but not to cure. 
 
 Too weak, too, wilt thou prove 
 
 My passion to remove ; 
 Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to Love. 
 
 Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre! 
 For thou canst never tell my humble tale 
 In sounds that will prevail. 
 Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire; 
 All thy vain mirth lay by. 
 Bid thy strings silent lie, 
 Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die. 
 
 Abraham Coivley 
 
 131 THE MANLY HEART 
 
 Shall I, wasting in despair, 
 Die because a woman's fair? 
 Or make pale my cheeks with care 
 'Cause another's rosy are? 
 Be she fairer than the day 
 Or the flowery meads in May — 
 If she think not well of me, 
 "What care I how fair she be ? 
 
 Shall my silly heart be pined 
 'Cause I see a woman kind? 
 Or a well disposed nature 
 
GEORGE WITHER 
 
 Joined with a lovely feature? 
 
 Be she meeker, kinder than 
 
 Turtle-dove or pelican — 
 If she be not so to me, 
 What care I how kind she be? 
 
 Shall a woman's virtues move 
 Me to perish for her love ? 
 Or her well-deservings known 
 Make me quite forget mine o^\ti? 
 Be she with that goodness blest 
 Which may merit name of Best — 
 If she be not such to me, 
 What care I how good she be? 
 
 'Cause her fortune seems too high, 
 Shall I play the fool and die ? 
 She that bears a noble mind 
 If not outward helps she find. 
 Thinks what with them he would do 
 Who without them dares her woo; 
 And unless that mind I see. 
 What care I how great she be? 
 
 Great, or good, or kind, or fair, 
 I will ne'er the more despair; 
 If she love me, this believe : 
 I will die ere she shall grieve. 
 If she slight me when I woo, 
 I can scorn and let her go; 
 For if she be not for me, 
 What care I for whom she be? 
 George Wither 
 
 127 
 
128 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 132* MELANCHOLY 
 
 Hence, all you vain delights, 
 
 As short as are the nights 
 
 Wherein you spend your folly: 
 
 There's nought in this life sweet 
 
 If man were wise to see't 
 
 But only melancholy, 
 
 O sweetest Melancholy! 
 Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, 
 A sigh that piercing mortifies, 
 A look that's fasten 'd to the ground, 
 A tongue chain 'd up without a sound ! 
 Fountain-heads and pathless groves, 
 Places which pale passion loves! 
 Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
 Are warmly housed save bats and owls ! 
 A midnight bell, a parting groan ! 
 These are the sounds we feed upon: 
 Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley ; 
 Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. 
 
 John Fletcher 
 
 133 FOESAKEN 
 
 waly, waly up the bank 
 
 And waly, waly do\ATi the brae, 
 And waly, waly yon burn-side. 
 
 Where I and my Love wont to gae! 
 
 1 leant my back unto an aik, 
 
 I thought it was a trusty tree; 
 But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, 
 Sae my true Love did lichtly me. 
 
uni^:nown 
 
 O waly, waly, but love be bonny 
 
 A little time while it is new ; 
 But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld 
 
 And fades awa' like morning dew. 
 O wherefore should I busk my head? 
 
 Or wherefore should I kame my hair? 
 For my true Love has me forsook, 
 
 And says he'll never love me mair. 
 
 Now Arthur-seat sail be my bed; 
 
 The sheets shall ne 'er be prest by me ; 
 Saint Anton 's well sail be my drink, 
 
 Since my true Love has forsaken me. 
 Marti 'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw 
 
 And shake the green leaves aff the tree ? 
 
 gentle Death, when wilt thou come? 
 For of my life I am wearie. 
 
 'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, 
 
 Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie; 
 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry. 
 
 But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. 
 "When we came in by Glasgow town 
 
 "We were a comely sight to see : 
 My Love was clad in the black velvet, 
 
 And I myself in cramasie. 
 
 But had I wist, before I kist, 
 
 That love had been sae ill to win, 
 
 1 had lockt my heart in a case of gowd 
 And pinn'd it with a siller pin. 
 
 And ! if my young babe were born, 
 And set upon the nurse 's knee. 
 
 129 
 
130 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And I myself were dead and gane, 
 And the green grass growing over me ! 
 
 Unknow7i 
 
 134 
 
 Upon my lap my sovereign sits 
 
 And sucks upon my breast ; 
 
 Meantime his love maintains my life 
 
 And gives my sense her rest. 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 
 
 When thou hast taken thy repast, 
 
 Repose, my babe, on me ; 
 
 So may thy mother and thy nurse 
 
 Thy cradle also be. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 
 
 I grieve that duty doth not work 
 
 All that my wishing would. 
 
 Because I would not be to thee 
 
 But in the best I should. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 
 
 Yet as I am, and as I may, 
 
 I must and will be thine. 
 
 Though all too little for thy self 
 
 Vouchsafing to be mine. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy! 
 
 Unlcnoivn 
 
UNKNOWN 131 
 
 135 FAIR HELEN 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies ! 
 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 
 O that I were where Helen lies 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea ! 
 
 Curst be the heart that thought the thought, 
 And curst the hand that fired the shot, 
 When in my arms burd Helen dropt, 
 And died to succour me ! 
 
 think na but my heart was sair 
 
 When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair ! 
 
 1 laid her down wi' meikle care 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea. 
 
 As I went down the water-side, 
 None but my foe to be my guide, 
 None but my foe to be my guide, 
 On fair Kirconnell lea; 
 
 I lighted down my sword to draw, 
 I hacked him in pieces sma', 
 I hacked him in pieces sma', 
 
 For her sake that died for me. 
 
 O Helen fair, beyond compare ! 
 I'll make a garland of thy hair 
 Shall bind my heart for evermair — 
 Until the day I die. 
 
 O that I were where Helen lies ! 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 
132 "I'HE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Out of my bed she bids me rise, 
 
 Says, ''Haste and come to me!" 
 
 Helen fair! O Helen chaste! 
 If I were with thee, I were blest. 
 Where thou lies low and takes thy rest 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea. 
 
 1 wish my grave were growing green, 
 A winding-sheet drawn ower my een, 
 And r in Helen's arms lying. 
 
 On fair Kirconnell lea. 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies! 
 Night and day on me she cries; 
 And I am weary of the skies, 
 Since my Love died for me. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 136 THE TWA CORBIES 
 
 As I was walking all alane, 
 
 I heard twa corbies making a mane ; 
 
 The tane unto the t'other say, 
 
 ' ' Where sail we gang and dine today ? ' 
 
 " — In behint yon auld fail dyke, 
 I wot there lies a new-slain Knight ; 
 And naebody kens that he lies there, 
 But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair. 
 
 ''His hound is to the hunting gane, 
 His hawk to fetch the wild- fowl hame, 
 
UNKNOWN 3^33 
 
 His lady's ta'en another mate, 
 So we may mak our dinner sweet. 
 
 ''Ye '11 sit on his white hause-bane, 
 And I'll pick out his bonnie blue een ; 
 Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair 
 We'll theek our nest when it grows bare. 
 
 ''Mony a one for him makes mane, 
 But nane sail ken where he is gane ; 
 O'er his white banes, when they are bare. 
 The wind sail blaw for evermair. ' ' 
 
 Unknown 
 
 137* 
 
 ON THE DEATH OP MR. WILLIAM HERVEY 
 
 It was a dismal and a fearful night, — 
 
 Scarce could the Morn drive on th' unwilling light, 
 
 When sleep, death's image, left my troubled breast, 
 
 By something liker death possest. 
 My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow, 
 
 And on my soul hung the dull weight 
 
 Of some intolerable fate. 
 What bell was that 1 Ah me ! Too much I know ! 
 
 My sweet companion and my gentle peer, 
 Why hast thou left me thus unkindly here, 
 Thy end for ever, and my life, to moan ? 
 
 O thou hast left me all alone ! 
 Thy soul and body, when death's agony 
 
 Besieged around thy noble heart, 
 
 Did not with more reluctance part 
 Than I, my dearest friend, do part from thee. 
 
134 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say, 
 
 Have ye not seen us, walking every day ? 
 
 Was there a tree about which did not know 
 The love betwixt us two? 
 
 Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade. 
 Or your sad branches thicker join, 
 And into darksome shades combine, 
 
 Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid. 
 
 Large was his soul : as large a soul as e 'er 
 
 Submitted to inform a body here; 
 
 High as the place 'twas shortly in Heaven to have, 
 
 But low and humble as his grave : 
 So high that all the virtues there did come 
 
 As to the chiefest seat 
 
 Conspicuous, and great; 
 So low that for me too it made a room. 
 
 Knowledge he only sought, and so soon caught, 
 As if for him knowledge had rather sought ; 
 Nor did more learning ever crowded lie 
 
 In such a short mortality. 
 Whene'er the skilful youth discoursed or writ, 
 
 Still did the notions throng 
 
 About his eloquent tongue ; 
 Nor could his ink flow faster than his wit. 
 
 His mirth was the pure spirits of various wit, 
 
 Yet never did his God or friends forget ; 
 
 And when deep talk and wisdom came in view. 
 Retired, and gave to them their due. 
 
 For the rich help of books he always took, 
 
 Though his own searching mind before 
 Was so with notions written o'er 
 
 As if wise Nature had made that her book. 
 
ABRAHAM COWLEY I35 
 
 With as much zeal, devotion, piety. 
 He always lived, as other saints do die. 
 Still with his soul severe account he kept, 
 
 Weeping all debts out ere he slept. 
 Then down in peace and innocence he lay, 
 
 Like the sun's laborious light. 
 
 Which still in water sets at night, 
 Unsullied with his journey of the day. 
 
 Abraham Cowley 
 
 138 FRIENDS IN PARADISE 
 
 They are all gone into the world of light ! 
 
 And I alone sit lingering here ; 
 Their very memory is fair and bright. 
 
 And my sad thoughts doth clear. 
 
 It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast. 
 
 Like stars upon some gloomy grove. 
 Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest 
 After the sun's remove. 
 
 I see them walking in an air of glory, 
 
 Whose light doth trample on my days : 
 My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, 
 Mere glimmering and decays. 
 
 holy Hope ! and high Humility, 
 
 High as the heavens above ! 
 These are your walks, and you have show'd them me, 
 To kindle my cold love. 
 
 Dear, beauteous Death ! the jewel of the just, 
 Shining nowhere, but in the dark : 
 
236 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 
 Could man outlook that mark ! 
 
 He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know 
 
 At first sight, if the bird be flown ; 
 But what fair well or grove he sings in now, 
 That is to him unknown. 
 
 And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams 
 
 Call to the soul, when man doth sleep ; 
 So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes. 
 And into glory peep. 
 
 Henry Vaughan 
 
 139 TO BLOSSOMS 
 
 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, 
 Why do ye fall so fast ? 
 Your date is not so past, 
 
 But you may stay yet here awhile 
 To blush and gently smile. 
 And go at last. 
 
 What ! were ye born to be 
 
 An hour or half's delight, 
 And so to bid good-night? 
 
 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth 
 
 Merely to show your worth, 
 
 And lose you quite. 
 
 But you are lovely leaves, where w^e 
 May read how soon things have 
 Their end, though ne'er so brave 
 
ROBERT HERRICK I37 
 
 • And after they have shown their pride, 
 Like you, awhile, they glide 
 Into the grave. 
 
 Bohcrt Her rich 
 
 140* TO DAFFODILS 
 
 Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 
 
 You haste away so soon; 
 As yet the early-rising Sun 
 
 Has not attain 'd his noon. 
 Stay, stay. 
 
 Until the hasting day 
 Has run 
 
 But to the even-song; 
 And, having pray'd together, we 
 
 Will go with you along. 
 
 We have short time to stay as you, 
 
 We have as short a Spring; 
 As quick a growth to meet decay 
 As you, or any thing. 
 
 We die. 
 As your hours do, and dry 
 
 Away 
 Like to the Summer 's rain ; 
 Or as the pearls of morning's dew 
 Ne'er to be found again. 
 
 Eohert Herrick 
 
 141* THE GIRL DESCRIBES HER FAWN 
 
 With sweetest milk and sugar first 
 I it at my own fingers nursed ; 
 And as it grew, so every day 
 
138 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 It wax'd more white and sweet than they. 
 
 It had so sweet a breath ! and oft 
 
 I blush 'd to see its foot more soft 
 
 And white, — shall I say, — than my hand' 
 
 Nay, any lady 's of the land ! 
 
 It is a wondrous thing how fleet 
 'Twas on those little silver feet: 
 With what a pretty skipping grace 
 It oft would challenge me the race; 
 And when 't had left me far away, 
 'Twould stay, and run again, and stay; 
 For it was nimbler much than hinds, 
 And trod as if on the four winds. 
 
 I have a garden of my own. 
 
 But so with roses overgrown 
 
 And lilies, that you would it guess 
 
 To be a little wilderness; 
 
 And all the spring-time of the year 
 
 It only loved to be there. 
 
 Among the beds of lilies I 
 
 Have sought it oft, where it should lie ; 
 
 Yet could not, till itself would rise, 
 
 Find it, although before mine eyes ; 
 
 For in the flaxen lilies' shade 
 
 It like a bank of Mlies laid. 
 
 Upon the roses it would feed. 
 Until its lips e'en seem'd to bleed; 
 And then to me 'twould boldly trip. 
 And print those roses on my lip. 
 But all its chief delight was still 
 On roses thus itself to fill. 
 
ANDREW MARVELL 139 
 
 .Aj^d its pure virgin limbs to fold 
 lu whitest sheets of lilies cold. 
 Had it lived long, it would have been 
 Lilies without, roses within. 
 
 Andreiv Marvell 
 
 142 THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN 
 
 How vainly men themselves amaze 
 To win the palm, the oak, or bays, 
 And their uncessant labours see 
 Crown 'd from some single herb or tree, 
 Whose short and narrow-verged shade 
 Does prudently their toils upbraid; 
 While all the flowers and trees do close 
 To weave the garlands of Repose. 
 
 Fair Quiet, have I found thee here. 
 And Innocence, thy sister dear ! 
 Mistaken long, I sought you then 
 In busy companies of men. 
 Your sacred plants, if here below. 
 Only among the plants will grow. 
 Society is all but rude 
 To this delicious solitude. 
 
 No white nor red was ever seen 
 
 So amorous as this lovely green. 
 
 Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, 
 
 Cut in these trees their mistress' name. 
 
 Little, alas, they know or heed 
 
 How far these beauties hers exceed ! 
 
 Fair trees ! wheres'e'er your barks I wound. 
 
 No name shall but your own be found. 
 
l^Q THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 When we have rmi our passions' heat, 
 Love hither makes his best retreat. 
 The gods, who mortal beauty chase, 
 Still in a tree did end their race : 
 Apollo hunted Daphne so. 
 Only that she might laurel grow; 
 And Pan did after Syrinx speed 
 Not as a nymph, but for a reed. 
 
 What wondrous life is this I lead ! 
 Ripe apples drop about my head ; 
 The luscious clusters of the vine 
 Upon my mouth do crush their wine ; 
 The nectarine and curious peach 
 Into my hands themselves do reach ; 
 Stumbling on melons, as I pass, 
 Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass. 
 
 Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less 
 
 Withdraws into its happiness : 
 
 The mind, that ocean where each kind 
 
 Does straight its own resemblance find; 
 
 Yet it creates, transcending these. 
 
 Far other worlds, and other seas; 
 
 Annihilating all that's made 
 
 To a green thought in a green shade. 
 
 Here at the fountain's sliding foot 
 Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, 
 Casting the body's vest aside 
 My soul into the boughs does glide ; 
 There like a bird, it sits and sings, 
 Then whets and claps its silver wings. 
 And, till prepared for longer flight. 
 Waves in its plumes the various light. 
 
ANDREW MARVELL 141 
 
 Such was that happy Garden-state 
 While man there walk'd without a mate; 
 After a place so pure and sweet, 
 What other help could yet be meet ? 
 But 'twas beyond a mortal's share 
 To wander solitary there : 
 Two paradises 'twere in one, 
 To live in Paradise alone. 
 
 How well the skilful gardener drew 
 Of flowers and herbs this dial new! 
 Where, from above, the milder sun 
 Does through a fragrant zodiac run ; 
 And, as it works, th' industrious bee 
 Computes its time as well as we. 
 How could such sweet and wholesome hours 
 Be reckon 'd, but with herbs and flowers? 
 
 Andrew Marvell 
 
 143* FORTUNATI NIMIUM 
 
 Jack and Joan, they think no ill, 
 
 But loving live, and merry still : 
 
 Do their week-day's work, and pray 
 
 Devoutly on the holy-day; 
 
 Skip and trip it on the green. 
 
 And help to choose the Summer Queen; 
 
 Lash out at a country feast 
 
 Their silver penny with the best. 
 
 Well can they judge of nappy ale, 
 And tell at large a winter tale ; 
 Climb up to the apple loft, 
 
142 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And turn the crabs till they be soft. 
 Tib is all the father's joy. 
 And little Tom the mother's boy. 
 All their pleasure is, Content, 
 And care, to pay their yearly rent. 
 
 Joan can call by name her cows 
 
 And deck her windows with green boughs; 
 
 She can wreaths and tutties make, 
 
 And trim with plums a bridal cake. 
 
 Jack knows what brings gain or loss, 
 
 And his long flail can stoutly toss ; 
 
 Makes the hedge which others break. 
 
 And ever thinks what he doth speak. 
 
 — Now, you courtly dames and knights, 
 That study only strange delights, 
 Though you scorn the homespun gray, 
 And revel in your rich array, 
 Though your tongues dissemble deep 
 And can your heads from danger keep : — 
 Yet, for all your pomp and train, 
 Securer lives the silly swain ! 
 
 Thomas Campion 
 
 U4 L 'ALLEGRO 
 
 Hence, loathed Melancholy, 
 
 Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born 
 In Stygian cave forlorn 
 
 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights 
 unholy ! 
 Find out some uncouth cell 
 
JOHN MILTON 143 
 
 Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous 
 wings 
 And the night-raven sings : 
 
 There under ebon shades, and low-brow 'd 
 rocks 
 As ragged as thy locks, 
 
 In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. 
 
 But come, thou Goddess fair and free, 
 In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, 
 And by men, heart-easing Mirth, 
 Whom lovely Venus at a birth. 
 With two sister Graces more, 
 To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore; 
 Or whether, as some sager sing, 
 The frolic wind that breathes the spring, 
 Zephyr, with Aurora playing, 
 As he met her once a-Maying — 
 There on beds of violets blue 
 And fresh-blown roses washed in dew 
 Fill 'd her with thee, -a daughter fair. 
 So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 
 
 Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee 
 Jest, and youthful jollity. 
 Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles. 
 Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles. 
 Such as hang on Hebe 's cheek. 
 And love to live in dimple sleek; 
 Sport that wrinkled Care derides. 
 And Laughter holding both his sides: — 
 Come, and trip it as you go 
 On the light fantastic toe ; 
 And in thy right hand lead with thee 
 The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty. 
 
144 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And if I give thee honour due, 
 
 Mirth, admit me of thy crew, 
 
 To live with her, and live with thee 
 ^^ In unreproved pleasures free ; 
 
 To hear the lark begin his flight 
 
 And singing startle the dull night 
 
 From his watch-tower in the skies, 
 
 Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; 
 
 Then to come, in spite of sorrow. 
 
 And at my window bid good-morrow 
 
 Through the sweetbriar, or the vine. 
 
 Or the twisted eglantine ; 
 
 While the cock with lively din 
 ^^ Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 
 
 And to the stack, or the barn-door, 
 
 Stoutly struts his dames before. 
 
 Oft listening how the hounds and horn 
 
 Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn. 
 
 From the side of some hoar hill. 
 
 Through the high wood echoing shrill: 
 
 Sometime walking, not unseen, 
 
 By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, 
 
 Right against the eastern gate 
 ^° Where the great Sun begins his state 
 
 Robed in flames and amber light. 
 
 The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; 
 
 While the ploughman, near at hand, 
 
 Whistles o'er the furrow 'd land. 
 
 And the milkmaid singeth blithe. 
 
 And the mower whets his scythe. 
 
 And every shepherd tells his tale 
 
 Under the hawthorn in the dale. 
 
 Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures 
 ''^ Whilst the landscape round it measures: 
 
100 
 
 JOHN MILTON 
 
 Russet lawns, and fallows gray, 
 Where the nibbling flocks do stray; 
 Mountains, on whose barren breast 
 The labouring clouds do often rest ; 
 Meadows trim, with daisies pied, 
 Shallow brooks, and rivers wide; 
 Towers and battlements it sees 
 Bosom 'd high in tufted trees, 
 "Where perhaps some Beauty lies. 
 The cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 
 
 Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes 
 From betwixt two aged oaks. 
 Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, 
 Are at their savoury dinner set 
 Of herbs, and other country messes 
 Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses; 
 And then in haste her bower she leaves 
 With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; 
 Or, if the earlier season lead, 
 To the tann'd haycock in the mead. 
 
 Sometimes with secure delight 
 The upland hamlets will invite. 
 When the merry bells ring round, 
 And the jocund rebecks sound 
 To many a youth and many a maid, 
 Dancing in the chequer 'd shade; 
 And young and old come forth to play 
 On a sun-shine holiday. 
 Till the live-long day-light fail ; 
 Then to the spicy nut-brown ale. 
 With stories told of many a feat. 
 How Faery Mab the junkets eat :— 
 She was pinch 'd and puU'd, she said; 
 And he, by Friar 's lantern led ; 
 
 145 
 
146 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 
 
 Tells how tlie drudging Goblin sweat 
 To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 
 When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 
 His shadowy flail hath thresh 'd the corn 
 That ten day-labourers could not end, 
 
 ^^° Then lies him down the lubber fiend, 
 
 And, stretch 'd out all the chimney's length, 
 Basks at the fire his hairy strength, 
 And crop-full out of doors he flings. 
 Ere the first cock his matin rings. 
 Thus done the tales, to bed they creep. 
 By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep. 
 
 Tower 'd cities please us then 
 And the busy hum of men. 
 Where throngs of knights and barons bold, 
 
 120 jj-^ weeds of peace, high triumphs hold. 
 With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 
 Rain influence, and judge the prize 
 Of wit or arms, while both contend 
 To win her grace, whom all commend. 
 There let Hymen oft appear 
 In saffron robe, with taper clear, 
 And pomp, and feast, and revelry. 
 With mask, and antique pageantry ; 
 Such sights as youthful poets dream 
 
 ^^° On summer eves by haunted stream. 
 Then to the well-trod stage anon, 
 If Jonson 's learned sock be on. 
 Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child. 
 Warble his native wood-notes wild. 
 
 And ever against eating cares 
 Lap me in soft Lydian airs 
 Married to immortal verse. 
 Such as the meeting soul may pierce 
 
JOHN MILTON 147 
 
 In notes, with many a winding bout 
 
 Of linked sweetness long drawn out ; 
 
 With wanton heed and giddy cunning, 
 
 The melting voice through mazes running, 
 
 Untwisting all the chains that tie 
 
 The hidden soul of harmony ; 
 
 That Orpheus' self may heave his head 
 
 From golden slumber, on a bed 
 
 Of heap 'd Elysian flowers, and hear 
 
 Such strains as would have won the ear 
 
 Of Pluto, to have quite set free 
 
 His half-regain 'd Eurydice. 
 
 These delights if thou canst give, 
 Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 
 
 John Milton 
 
 145 IL PENSEROSO 
 
 Hence, vain deluding Joys, 
 
 The brood of Folly without father bred ! 
 How little you bestead 
 
 Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys ! 
 Dwell in some idle brain, 
 
 And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, 
 As thick and numberless 
 
 As the gay motes that people the sunbeams. 
 Or likest hovering dreams, 
 ^^ The fickle pensioners of IMorpheus' train. 
 
 But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, 
 Hail, divinest Melancholy ! 
 Whose saintly visage is too bright 
 
148 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 To hit the sense of human sight, 
 
 And therefore to our weaker view 
 
 'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom 's hue : 
 
 Black, but such as in esteem 
 
 Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, 
 
 Or that Starr 'd Ethiop queen that strove 
 
 -^ To set her beauty's praise above 
 
 The sea-nymphs, and their powers offended. 
 Yet thou art higher far descended: 
 Thee bright-hair 'd Vesta, long of yore, 
 To solitary Saturn bore ; 
 His daughter she (in Saturn's reign 
 Such mixture was not held a stain). 
 Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 
 He met her, and in secret shades 
 Of woody Ida's inmost grove, 
 
 ^° While yet there was no fear of Jove. 
 
 Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, 
 Sober, steadfast, and demure, 
 All in a robe of darkest grain 
 Flowing with majestic train, 
 And sable stole of Cipres lawn 
 Over thy decent shoulders drawn ; 
 Come, but keep thy wonted state. 
 With even step, and musing gait. 
 And looks commercing with the skies, 
 
 40 Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes: 
 There, held in holy passion still, 
 Forget thyself to marble, till 
 With a sad, leaden, downward cast 
 Thou fix them on the earth as fast. 
 And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet, 
 Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, 
 
JOHN MILTON 149 
 
 And hears the Muses in a ring 
 
 Aye round about Jove's altar sing. 
 
 And add to these retired Leisure 
 
 That in trim gardens takes his pleasure. 
 
 But first and chiefest, with thee bring 
 
 Him that yon soars on golden wing 
 
 Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, 
 
 The cherub Contemplation; 
 
 And the mute Silence hist along, 
 
 'Less Philomel will deign a song, 
 
 In her sweetest saddest plight 
 
 Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, 
 
 While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 
 
 Gently o'er the accustom 'd oak. 
 
 — Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, 
 
 Most musical, most melancholy! 
 
 Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among 
 
 I woo, to hear thy even-song ; 
 
 And missing thee, I walk unseen 
 
 On the dry smooth-shaven green, 
 
 To behold the wandering Moon 
 
 Riding near her highest noon. 
 
 Like one that had been led astray 
 
 Through the heaven's wide pathless way, 
 
 And oft, as if her head she bow'd, 
 
 Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 
 
 Oft, on a plat of rising ground 
 I hear the far-off Curfew sound 
 Over some wide-water 'd shore, 
 Swinging slow with sullen roar ; 
 Or, if the air will not permit. 
 Some still removed place will fit, 
 Where glowing embers through the room 
 
150 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ^° Teach light to counterfeit a gloom : 
 Far from all resort of mirth, 
 Save the cricket on the hearth, 
 Or the bellman's drowsy charm 
 To bless the doors from nightly harm. 
 
 Or let my lamp at midnight hour 
 Be seen in some high lonely tower, 
 Where I may oft out-watch the Bear 
 With thrice- great Hermes, or unsphere 
 The spirit of Plato, to unfold 
 
 ^^ What worlds or what vast regions hold 
 The immortal mind, that hath forsook 
 Her mansion in this fleshy nook ; 
 And of those demons that are found 
 In fire, air, flood, or under ground. 
 Whose power hath a true consent 
 With planet, or with element. 
 Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy 
 In scepter 'd pall come sweeping by, 
 Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, 
 
 ^°° Or the tale of Troy divine; 
 
 Or what, though rare, of later age 
 Ennobled hath the buskin 'd stage. 
 
 But, O sad Virgin, that thy power 
 Might raise Musaeus from his bower, 
 Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 
 Such notes as, warbled to the string. 
 Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek 
 And made Hell grant what Love did seek! 
 Or call up him that left half-told 
 
 1^'^ The story of Cambuscan bold. 
 Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 
 And who had Canace to wife 
 
JOHN MILTON 151 
 
 That own'd the virtuous ring and glass, 
 And of the wondrous horse of brass 
 On which the Tartar king did ride. 
 And if aught else great bards beside 
 In sage and solemn tunes have sung 
 Of turneys, and of trophies hung, 
 Of forests, and enchantments drear. 
 Where more is meant than meets the ear. 
 
 Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career. 
 Till civil-suited Morn appear. 
 Not trick 'd and frounced as she was wont 
 With the Attic Boy to hunt, 
 But kercheft in a comely cloud 
 While rocking winds are piping loud. 
 Or usher 'd with a shower still, 
 When the gust hath blown his fill. 
 Ending on the rustling leaves 
 With minute drops from off the eaves. 
 And when the sun begins to fling 
 His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring 
 To arched walks of twilight groves, 
 And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, 
 Of pine, or monumental oak. 
 Where the rude axe, with heaved stroke, 
 Was never heard the nymphs to daunt 
 Or fright them from their hallow 'd haunt. 
 There in close covert by some brook. 
 Where no profaner eye may look, 
 Hide me from day's garish eye, 
 While the bee with honey 'd thigh 
 That at her flowery work doth sing, 
 And the waters murmuring, 
 With such consort as they keep. 
 
]^52 " THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Entice the dewy-feather 'd Sleep ; 
 
 And let some strange mysterious dream 
 
 Wave at his wings in airy stream 
 
 Of lively portraiture display 'd, 
 ^^° Softly on my eyelids laid; 
 
 And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 
 
 Above, about, or underneath, 
 
 Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, 
 
 Or the unseen Genius of the wood. 
 But let my due feet never fail 
 
 To walk the studious cloister's pale, 
 
 And love the high-embowed roof. 
 
 With antique pillars massy proof. 
 
 And storied windows richly dight 
 ^^^ Casting a dim religious light. 
 
 There let the pealing organ blow 
 
 To the full-voiced quire below 
 
 In service high and anthems clear. 
 
 As may with sweetness, through mine ear, 
 
 Dissolve me into ecstasies. 
 
 And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. 
 And may at last my weary age 
 
 Find out the peaceful hermitage, 
 
 The hairy gown and mossy cell 
 ^^° Where I may sit and rightly spell 
 
 Of every star that heaven doth shew, 
 
 And every herb that sips the dew ; 
 
 Till old experience do attain 
 
 To something like prophetic strain. 
 
 These pleasures, Melanchoty, give. 
 And I with thee will choose to live. 
 
 John Milton 
 
ANDREW MARVELL 
 
 153 
 
 146 
 
 SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA 
 
 Where the remote Bermudas ride 
 In the ocean 's bosom unespied, 
 Prom a small boat that row'd along 
 The listening winds received this song : 
 
 ''What should we do but sing His praise 
 That led us through the watery maze, 
 Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks, 
 That lift the deep upon their backs, 
 Unto an isle so long unknown, 
 And yet far kinder than our own ? 
 He lands us on a grassy stage. 
 Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage: 
 He gave us this eternal Spring 
 Which here enamels everything, 
 And sends the fowls to us in care 
 On daily visits through the air. 
 He hangs in shades the orange bright 
 Like golden lamps in a green night, 
 And does in the pomegranates close 
 Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. 
 He makes the figs our mouths to meet 
 And throws the melons at our feet ; 
 But apples, plants of such a price. 
 No tree could ever bear them twice. 
 With cedars chosen by His hand 
 Prom Lebanon He stores the land; 
 And makes the hollow seas that roar 
 Proclaim the ambergris on shore. 
 He cast (of which we rather boast) 
 The Gospel's pearl upon our coast; 
 
154 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And in these roeks for us did frame 
 A temple where to sound His name. 
 Oh ! let our voice His praise exalt 
 Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, 
 "Which thence, perhaps, rebounding may 
 Echo beyond the Mexique bay!" 
 
 Thus sung they in the English boat 
 A holy and a cheerful note ; 
 And all the way, to guide their chime, 
 With falling oars they kept the time, 
 
 Andrciv Marvcll 
 
 147 AT A SOLEMN MUSIC 
 
 Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, 
 Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse ! 
 Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ. 
 Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce ; 
 And to our high-raised phantasy present 
 That undisturbed Song of pure concent. 
 Aye sung before the sapphire-colour 'd throne 
 
 To Him that sits thereon. 
 With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; 
 Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 
 Their loud uplifted angel- trumpets blow ; 
 And the Cherubic host in thousand quires 
 Touch their immortal harps of golden wires. 
 With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms, 
 
 Hymns devout and holy psalms 
 
 Singing everlastingly: 
 That we on Earth, with undiscording voice 
 May rightly answer that melodious noise ; 
 
JOHN MILTON I55 
 
 As once we did, till disproportion 'd sin 
 Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din 
 Broke the fair music that all creatures made 
 To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd 
 In perfect diapason, whilst they stood 
 In first obedience, and their state of good. 
 O may we soon again renew that Song, 
 And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long 
 To His celestial consort us unite, 
 To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light ! 
 
 John Milton 
 
 148* NOX NOCTI INDICAT SCIENTIAM 
 
 When I survey the bright 
 Celestial sphere, 
 So rich with jewels hung, that night 
 Doth like an Ethiop bride appear, 
 
 My soul her wings doth spread, 
 And heaven-ward flies. 
 The Almighty's mysteries to read 
 In the large volumes of the skies. 
 
 For the bright firmament 
 Shoots forth no flame 
 So silent but is eloquent 
 In speaking the Creator's name. 
 
 No unregarded star 
 Contracts its light 
 Into so small a character, 
 Removed far from our human sight. 
 
156 
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASLTRY 
 
 But if we steadfast look, 
 We shall discern 
 In it as in some holy book, 
 How man may heavenly knowledge learn. 
 
 It tells the Conqueror, 
 
 That far-stretch 'd power 
 Which his proud dangers traffic for 
 Is but the triumph of an hour, 
 
 That from the farthest North 
 Some nation may. 
 Yet undiscover 'd, issue forth, 
 And 'er his new-got conquest sway : 
 
 Some nation yet shut in 
 With hills of ice, 
 May be let out to scourge his sin, 
 Till they shall equal him in vice. 
 
 And then they likewise shall 
 Their ruin have ; 
 For as yourselves your Empires fall, 
 And every Kingdom hath a grave. 
 
 Thus those celestial fires. 
 Though seeming mute, 
 The fallacy of our desires 
 And ell the pride of life, confute. 
 
 For they have watch 'd since first 
 The world had birth : 
 And found sin in itself accursed, 
 And nothing permanent on earth. 
 
 William Hahington 
 
JOHN NORRIS ^ 157 
 
 149* HYMN TO DARKNESS 
 
 Hail thou most sacred venerable thing! 
 What Muse is worthy thee to sing ? 
 Thee, from whose pregnant universal womb 
 All things, ev'n Light, thy rival, first did come. 
 What dares he not attempt that sings of thee. 
 
 Thou first and greatest mystery ? 
 Who can the secrets of thy essence tell ? 
 Thou, like the light of God, art inaccessible. 
 
 Before great Love this monument did raise. 
 
 This ample theatre of praise. 
 Before the folding circles of the sky 
 Were tuned by Him, Who is all harmony. 
 Before the morning Stars their hymn began, 
 
 Before the council held for man. 
 Before the birth of either time or place, — 
 Thou reign 'st unquestion'd monarch in the empty space. 
 
 Thy iiative lot thou didst to Light resign. 
 
 But still half of the globe is thine. 
 Here with a quiet, but yet awful hand. 
 Like the best emperors thou dost command. 
 To thee the stars above their brightness owe. 
 
 And mortals their repose below ; 
 To thy protection fear and sorrow flee. 
 And those that weary are of light, find rest in thee. 
 
 John N orris of Bemerton 
 
 150* A VISION 
 
 I saw Eternity the other night. 
 Like a great ring of pure and endless light, 
 All calm, as it was bright ; 
 
158 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years. 
 
 Driven by the spheres, 
 Like a vast shadow moved, in which the World 
 
 And all her train were hurl'd. 
 
 Henry Vaughan 
 
 151 
 ALEXANDER'S FEAST, OR, THE POWER OF 
 MUSIC 
 
 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 
 By Philip's warlike son. 
 Aloft in awful state 
 The godlike hero sate 
 On his imperial throne ; 
 His valiant peers were placed around, 
 Their browns with roses and with myrtles bound, 
 (So should desert in arms be crown 'd). 
 The lovely Thais by his side 
 Sate like a blooming Eastern bride 
 In flower of youth and beauty 's pride : — 
 Happy, happy, happy pair! 
 None but the brave 
 None but the brave 
 None but the brave deserves the fair! 
 
 Timotheus, placed on high 
 Amid the tuneful quire. 
 With flying fingers touch 'd the lyre; 
 The trembling notes ascend the sky 
 And heavenly joys inspire. 
 The song began from Jove 
 Who left his blissful seats above — 
 Such is the powder of mighty love I 
 
JOHN DRYDEN 159 
 
 A dragon's fiery form belied the god; 
 
 Sublime on radiant spires he rode 
 
 When he to fair Olympia prest, 
 
 And while he sought her snowy breast, 
 
 Then round her slender waist he curl'd, 
 
 And stamp 'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the 
 
 world. 
 — The listening crowd admire the lofty sound ; 
 ''A present deity!" they shout around; 
 *^A present deity!" the vaulted roofs rebound. 
 With ravish 'd ears 
 The monarch hears, 
 Assumes the god; 
 Affects to nod 
 And seems to shake the spheres. 
 
 The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung, 
 Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young: 
 *'The jolly god in triumph comes; 
 Sound the trumpets, beat the drums ! 
 Flush 'd with a purple grace 
 He shows his honest face : 
 
 Now give the hautboys breath ; he comes, he comes ! 
 Bacchus, ever fair and young. 
 Drinking joys did first ordain; 
 Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, 
 Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: 
 Eich the treasure. 
 Sweet the pleasure. 
 Sweet is pleasure after pain." 
 
 Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; 
 Fought all his battles o'er agahi. 
 
 And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew 
 the slain! 
 
IQQ THE GOLDEN TREASUKY 
 
 The master saw the madness rise, ' 
 
 His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; 
 
 And while he Heaven and "Earth defied 
 
 Changed his hand and check 'd his pride. 
 
 He chose a mournful Muse 
 
 Soft pity to infuse : 
 
 He sung Darius great and good, 
 
 By too severe a fate 
 
 Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen. 
 
 Fallen from his high estate. 
 
 And weltering in his blood ; 
 
 Deserted at his utmost need 
 
 By those his former bountj^ fed; 
 
 On the bare earth exposed he lies 
 
 With not a friend to close his eyes. 
 
 — With downcast looks the joyless victor sate. 
 
 Revolving in his alter 'd soul 
 
 The various turns of Chance below ; 
 
 And now and then a sigh he stole. 
 
 And tears began to flow. 
 
 The mighty master smiled to see 
 That love was in the next degree; 
 'Twas but a kindred-sound to move, 
 For pity melts the mind to love. 
 Softly sweet, in Lydian measures 
 Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 
 ''War," he sung, ''is toil and trouble, 
 Honour but an empty bubble ; 
 Never ending, still beginning. 
 Fighting still, and still destroying; 
 If the world be worth thy winning, 
 Think, think, it worth enjoying : 
 Lovely Thais sits beside thee. 
 
JOHN DRYDEN Igl 
 
 Take the good the gods provide thee ! ' ' 
 
 — The many rend the skies with loud applause ; 
 
 So love was crown 'd, but Music won the cause. 
 
 The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
 
 Gazed on the Fair 
 
 Who caused his care. 
 
 And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, 
 
 Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again; 
 
 At length with love and wine at once opprest 
 
 The vanquish 'd victor sunk upon her breast. 
 
 Now strike the golden lyre again; 
 A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! 
 Break his bands of sleep asunder 
 And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. 
 Hark ! hark ! the horrid sound 
 Has raised up his head : 
 As awaked from the dead 
 And amazed he stares around. 
 *' Revenge, revenge," Timotheus cries, 
 ''See the Furies arise! 
 See the snakes that they rear 
 How they hiss in their hair. 
 And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! 
 Behold a ghastly band. 
 Each a torch in his hand ! 
 
 Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain 
 And unburied remain 
 Inglorious on the plain ; 
 Give the vengeance due 
 To the valiant crew ! 
 
 Behold how they toss their torches on high. 
 How they point to the Persian abodes 
 And glittering temples of their hostile gods." 
 
152 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 — The princes applaud with a furious joy: 
 
 And the King seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy 
 
 Thais led the way 
 
 To light him to his prey, 
 
 And like another Helen, fired another Troy! 
 
 — Thus, long ago. 
 Ere heaving bellows learn 'd to blow, 
 While organs yet were mute, 
 Timotheus, to his breathing flute 
 And sounding lyre, 
 
 Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 
 At last divine Cecilia came, 
 Inventress of the vocal frame ; 
 The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store 
 Enlarged the former narrow bounds. 
 And added length to solemn sounds, 
 With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. 
 — Let old Timotheus yield the prize 
 Or both divide the crown : 
 He raised a mortal to the skies; 
 She drew an angel down! 
 
 John Dryden 
 
BOOK THREE 
 
 152 ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM 
 VICISSITUDE 
 
 Now the golden Morn aloft 
 
 Waves her dew-bespangled wing; 
 With vermeil cheek and whisper soft 
 She woos the tardy Spring : 
 Till April starts, and calls around 
 The sleeping fragrance from the ground, 
 And lightly o'er the living scene 
 Scatters his freshest, tenderest green. 
 
 New-born flocks, in rustic dance, 
 
 Frisking ply their feeble feet; 
 Forgetful of their wintry trance, 
 
 The birds his presence greet: 
 But chief, the sky-lark warbles high 
 His trembling thrilling ecstasy. 
 And lessening from the dazzled sight, 
 Melts into air and liquid light. 
 
 Yesterday the sullen year 
 
 Saw the snowy whirlwind fly; 
 Mute was the music of the air. 
 
 The herd stood drooping by. 
 Their raptures now that wildl}^ flow 
 No yesterday nor morrow know; 
 'Tis Man alone that joy descries 
 With forward and reverted eyes. 
 
 Smiles on past misfortune's brow 
 Soft reflection's hand can trace, 
 1G3 
 
154 TJIE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And o'er the cheek of sorrow throw 
 
 A melancholy grace; 
 While hope prolongs our happier hour, 
 Or deepest shades, that dimly lour 
 And blacken round our weary way, 
 Gilds with a gleam of distant day. 
 
 Still where rosy pleasure leads. 
 
 See a kindred grief pursue ; 
 Behind the steps that misery treads 
 
 Approaching comfort view; 
 The hues of bliss more brightly gioAv 
 Chastised by sabler tints of woe. 
 And, blended, form, with artful strife, 
 The strength and harmony of life. 
 
 See the wretch that long has tost 
 
 On the thorny bed of pain, 
 At length repair his vigour lost 
 And breathe and walk again: 
 The meanest floweret of the vale. 
 The simplest note that swells the gale, 
 The common sun, the air, the skies. 
 To him are opening Paradise. 
 
 Thomas Gray 
 
 153 ODE TO SIMPLICITY 
 
 Thou, by Nature taught 
 
 To breathe her genuine thought 
 In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong ; 
 
 Who first, on mountains wild, 
 
 In Fancy, loveliest child. 
 Thy babe, or Pleasure's, nursed the powers of song! 
 
WILLIAM COLLINS 165 
 
 Thou, who with hermit heart, 
 
 Disdain 'st the wealth of art, 
 And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall, 
 
 But com'st, a decent maid 
 
 In Attic robe array 'd, — 
 chaste, unboastful Nymph, to thee I call ! 
 
 By all the honey 'd store 
 
 On Hybla's thymy shore, 
 By all her blooms and mingled murmurs dear ; 
 
 By her whose love-lorn woe 
 
 In evening musings slow 
 Soothed sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear; 
 
 By old Cephisus deep, 
 
 Who spread his wavy sweep 
 In warbled wanderings round thy green retreat ; 
 
 On whose enamell'd side. 
 
 When holy Freedom died. 
 No equal haunt allured thy future f eet : — 
 
 sister meek of Truth, 
 
 To my admiring youth 
 Thy sober aid and native charms infuse ! 
 
 The flowers that sweetest breathe. 
 
 Though Beauty cull'd the wreath, 
 Still ask thy hand to range their order 'd hues. 
 
 While Rome could none esteem 
 
 But Virtue's patriot theme, 
 You loved her hills, and led her laureat band; 
 
 But stay'd to sing alone 
 
 To one distinguished throne; 
 And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter 'd land. 
 
166 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 No more, in hall or bower, 
 
 The Passions own thy power; 
 Love, only Love, her forceless numbers mean : 
 
 For thou hast left her shrine ; 
 
 Nor olive more, nor vine. 
 Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene. 
 
 Though taste, though genius bless 
 
 To some divine excess. 
 Faints the cold work till thou inspire the whole ; 
 
 What each, what all supply 
 
 May court, may charm our eye ; 
 Thou, only thou, canst raise the meeting soul ! 
 
 Of these let others ask 
 
 To aid some mighty task; 
 I only seek to find thy temperate vale, 
 
 Where oft my reed might sound 
 
 To maids and shepherds round. 
 And all thy sons, O Nature! learn my tale. 
 
 William Collins 
 
 154* SOLITUDE 
 
 Happy the man, whose wish and care 
 A few paternal acres bound. 
 Content to breathe his native air 
 In his own ground; 
 
 Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 
 Whose flocks supply him with attire ; 
 Whose trees in summer yield him shade. 
 In winter, fire; 
 
ALEXANDER POPE Igy 
 
 Blest, who can unconcern 'dly find 
 Hours, days, and years, slide soft away 
 In health of body, peace of mhid, 
 Quiet by day, 
 
 Sound sleep by night ; study and ease 
 Together mixt, sweet recreation, 
 And innocence, which most does please, 
 With meditation. 
 
 Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; 
 Thus unlamented let me die; 
 Steal from the world, and not a stone 
 Tell where I lie. 
 
 Alexander Pope 
 
 155* THE BLIND BOY 
 
 say what is that thing call 'd Light, 
 Which I must ne'er enjoy; 
 
 What are the blessings of the sight? 
 tell your poor blind boy ! 
 
 You talk of wondrous things you see, 
 You say the sun shines bright; 
 
 1 feel him warm, but how can he 
 
 Or make it day or night? 
 
 My day or night myself I make 
 When 'er I sleep or play ; 
 
 And could I ever keep awake 
 With me 'twere always day. 
 
158 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 With heavy sighs I often hear 
 You mourn my hapless woe ; 
 
 But sure with patience I can bear 
 A loss I ne'er can know. 
 
 Then let not what I cannot have 
 My cheer of mind destroy : 
 
 Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, 
 Although a poor blind boy. 
 
 Colley Cihber 
 
 156 
 
 ON A FAVORITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB OF 
 GOLD FISHES 
 
 'Twas on a lofty vase's side, 
 Where China's gayest art had dyed 
 The azure flowers that blow, 
 Demurest of the tabby kind 
 The pensive Selima, reclined, 
 Gazed on the lake below. 
 
 Her conscious tail her joy declared: 
 The fair round face, the snowy beard. 
 The velvet of her paws, 
 Her coat that with the tortoise vies, 
 Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes — 
 She saw and purr'd applause. 
 
 Still had she gazed, but 'midst the tide 
 Two angel forms were seen to glide. 
 The Genii of the stream ; 
 
THOMAS GRAY 159 
 
 Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue, 
 Though richest purple, to the view 
 Betray 'd a golden gleam. 
 
 The hapless Nymph with wonder saw: 
 
 A whisker first, and then a claw, 
 
 "With many an ardent wish, 
 
 She stretch 'd, in vain, to reach the prize — 
 
 What female heart can gold despise? — 
 
 What Cat's averse to fish? 
 
 Presumptuous maid ! with looks intent 
 Again she stretch 'd, again she bent, 
 Nor knew the gulf between — 
 Malignant Fate sat by and smiled — 
 The slippery verge her feet beguiled : 
 She tumbled headlong in! 
 
 Eight times emerging from the flood. 
 She mew'd to every watery God 
 Some speedy aid to send : — 
 No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd. 
 Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard — 
 A favorite has no friend! 
 
 From hence, ye Beauties ! undeceived. 
 Know one false step is ne'er retrieved. 
 And be with caution bold : 
 Not all that tempts your wandering eyes 
 And heedless hearts, is lawful prize. 
 Nor all that glitters, gold ! 
 
 Thomas Gray 
 
170 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 157 TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY 
 
 Timely blossom, Infant fair, 
 Fondling of a happy pair, 
 Every morn and every night 
 Their solicitous delight, 
 Sleeping, waking, still at ease. 
 Pleasing, without skill to please; 
 Little gossip, blithe and hale. 
 Tattling many a broken tale. 
 Singing many a tuneless song. 
 Lavish of a heedless tongue; 
 Simple maiden, void of art, 
 Babbling out the very heart, 
 Yet abandon 'd to thy will, 
 Yet imagining no ill, 
 Yet too innocent to blush; 
 Like the linnet in the bush 
 To the mother-linnet's note 
 Moduling her slender throat. 
 Chirping forth thy petty joys; 
 Wanton in the change of toys. 
 Like the linnet green, in May 
 Flitting to each bloomy spray; 
 Wearied then and glad of rest, 
 Like the linnet in the nest : — 
 This, thy present happy lot, 
 This in time will be forgot : 
 Other pleasures, other cares. 
 Ever-busy Time prepares; 
 And thou shalt in thy daughter see. 
 This picture once resembled thee. 
 Ambrose Philips 
 
JAMES THOMSON 171 
 
 158* RULE BRITANNIA 
 
 When Britain first at Heaven's command 
 
 Arose from out the azure main, 
 This was the charter of her land, 
 
 And guardian angels sung the strain : 
 Rule, Britannia ! Britannia rules the waves ! 
 Britons never shall be slaves. 
 
 The nations not so blest as thee 
 Must in their turn to tyrants fall, 
 
 Whilst thou shalt flourish, great and free, 
 The dread and envy of them all. 
 
 Still more majestic shalt thou rise. 
 
 More dreadful from each foreign stroke ; 
 
 As the loud blast that tears the skies 
 Serves but to root thy native oak. 
 
 Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; 
 
 All their attempts to bend thee down 
 Will but arouse thy generous flame. 
 
 And work their woe and thy renown. 
 
 To thee belongs the rural reign ; 
 
 Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; 
 All thine shall be the subject main. 
 
 And every shore it circles thine ! 
 
 The Muses, still with Freedom found, 
 Shall to thy happy coast repair ; 
 
 Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown 'd 
 And manly hearts to guard the fair : — 
 
172 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 
 
 Rule, Britannia ! Britannia rules the waves ! 
 Britons never shall be slaves ! 
 
 James Thomson 
 
 159 THE BARD 
 
 Pindaric Ode 
 
 ^'Ruin seize thee, ruthless King! 
 
 Confusion on thy banners wait 
 Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing, 
 
 They mock the air with idle state. 
 Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail. 
 Nor e'en thy virtues. Tyrant, shall avail 
 To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, 
 From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!" 
 — Such were the sounds that o'er the crested pride 
 
 Of the first Edward scatter 'd wild dismay. 
 As down the steep of Snowdon's shaggy side 
 
 He wound with toilsome march his long array : — 
 Stout Glo 'ster stood aghast in speechless trance ; 
 *'To arms!" cried Mortimer, and couch 'd his quivering 
 lance. 
 
 On a rock, whose haughty brow 
 Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, 
 
 Robed in the sable garb of woe, 
 With haggard eyes the Poet stood; 
 (Loose, his beard and hoary hair 
 Stream 'd like a meteor to the troubled air) 
 And with a masters' hand and prophet's fire 
 Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre : 
 
 ''Hark, how each giant-oak and desert-cave 
 Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath! 
 
THOMAS GRAY 
 
 173 
 
 O'er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave, 
 
 Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe; 
 Vocal no more, since Cambria's fatal day. 
 To high-born Hoel's harp, or soft Llewellyn's lay. 
 
 ''Cold is Cadwallo's tongue. 
 
 That hush'd the stormy main; 
 Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed; 
 
 Mountains, ye mourn in vain 
 
 Modred, whose magic song 
 Made huge Plinlimmon bovv^ his cloud-topt head. 
 
 On dreary Arvon's shore they lie 
 Smear 'd with gore and ghastly pale : 
 Far, far aloof the affrighted ravens sail ; 
 
 The famish 'd eagle screams, and passes by. 
 Dear lost companions of my tuneful art. 
 
 Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes. 
 Dear as the ruddy drops that Avarm my heart, 
 
 Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — 
 No more I weep ; They do not sleep ; 
 
 On yonder cliffs, a griesly band, 
 I see them sit ; They linger yet, 
 
 Avengers of their native land : 
 With me in dreadful harmony they join, 
 And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line. 
 
 '' 'Weave the tvarp and iccave the tvoof, 
 The winding sheet of Edward's race; 
 Give ample room and verge enough 
 The characters of hell to trace. 
 Mark the year, and mark the night, 
 When Severn shall re-echo with affright 
 The shrieks of death thro' Berkley's roof that ring, 
 Shrieks of an agonizing king! 
 
174 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 She-ivolf of Frayice, with unrelenting fangs 
 That tcar'st the howels of thy mangled mate, 
 
 From thee he horn, tvho o'er thy country hangs. 
 The scour age of heaven! What terrors round him 
 
 ivait! 
 Amazement in his van, tvith flight combined. 
 And sorrow's faded form, and soliindc behind. 
 
 ^Mighty victor, miglity lord, 
 
 Low on his fiincral couch he lies! 
 No pitying heart, no eye, afford 
 
 A tear to grace his obsequies. 
 Is the sable warrior fledf 
 Thy son is gone. lie rests among the dead. 
 The swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were bornf 
 — Gone to salute the rising morn. 
 Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the zephyr blows. 
 
 While proudly riding o'er the azure realm 
 In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes : 
 
 Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm: 
 Begayxlless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway. 
 That hush'd in grim repose expects his evening prey. 
 
 'Fill high the sparkling bowl. 
 The rich repast prepare; 
 
 Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast : 
 Close by the regal chair 
 
 Fell Thirst and Famine scowl 
 
 A baleful smile upon their baffled guest. 
 Heard ye the din of battle bray, 
 
 Lance to lance, and horse to horse f 
 
 Long years of havock urge their destined course, 
 And thro' the kindred squadrons motv their way. 
 
 Ye towers of Jidius, London's lasting shame. 
 
THOMAS GRAY 275 
 
 With many a foul and midnight ynurder fed, 
 Revere his consort's faith, his father's fame. 
 
 And spare the meek usurper's holy head! 
 
 Above, helow, the rose of snoiv, 
 
 Tivined ivith her blushing foe, ive spread: 
 
 The bristled boar in infant-gore 
 Wallows beneath the thorny shade. 
 
 Noiv, brothers, bending o'er the accursed loom, 
 
 Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom. 
 
 * Edward, lo! to sudden fate 
 
 (Weave we the ivoof; The thread is spun;) 
 Half of thy heart ive consecrate. 
 
 (The web is wove; The work is done.) ' 
 — Stay, oh stay ! nor thus forlorn 
 Leave me imbless'd, unpitied, here to mourn: 
 In yon bright track that fires the western sl^ies 
 They melt, they vanish from my eyes. 
 But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon's height, 
 
 Descending slow, their glittering skirts unroll? 
 Visions of glory, spare my aching sight. 
 Ye unborn ages, crowd not on my soul! 
 No moro our long-lost Arthur we bewail:— 
 All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia's issue, hail! 
 
 ''Girt with many a baron bold. 
 Sublime their starry fronts they rear; 
 
 And gorgeous dames, and statesmen old 
 In bearded majesty, appear. 
 In the midst a form divine ! 
 Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-line, 
 Her lion-port, her awe-commanding face 
 Attemper 'd sweet to virgin-grace. 
 
176 "THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 What strings symphonious tremble in the air, 
 What strains of vocal transport round her play ! 
 
 Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear; 
 They breathe a soul to animate thy clay. 
 
 Bright Rapture calls, and, soaring as she sings, 
 
 Waves in the eye of heaven her many-colour 'd v^ings. 
 
 *'The verse adorn again 
 
 Fierce war, and faithful love. 
 And truth severe by fairy fiction drest. 
 
 In buskin 'd measures move 
 Pale grief, and pleasing pain. 
 With horror, tyrant of the throbbing breast. 
 A voice as of the cherub-choir 
 
 Gales from blooming Eden bear. 
 
 And distant warblings lessen on my ear. 
 That, lost in long futurity, expire. 
 Fond impious man, think 'st thou yon sanguine cloud 
 
 Raised by thy breath, has quench 'd the orb of day? 
 To-morrow he repairs the golden flood 
 
 And warms the nations with redoubled ray. 
 Enough for me : with joy I see 
 
 The different doom our fates assign: 
 Be thine despair and sceptred care. 
 
 To triumph and to die are mine. ' ' 
 • — He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height 
 Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night. 
 
 Thomas Gray 
 
 160* ODE WRITTEN IN 1746 
 
 How sleep the brave, who sink to rest 
 By all their country 's wishes blest ! 
 When Spring, with dewy fingers cold. 
 
WILLIAM COLLINS 177 
 
 Returns to deck their hallow 'd mould, 
 She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
 Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 
 
 By fairy hands their knell is rung, 
 By forms unseen their dirge is sung: 
 There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, 
 To bless the turf that wraps their clay; 
 And Freedom shall awhile repair 
 To dAvell a weeping hermit there! 
 Willimn Collins 
 
 161* LAMENT FOR CULLODEN 
 
 The lovely lass o' Inverness, 
 Nae joy nor pleasure can she see ; 
 For e'en and morn she cries, "Alas!" 
 And aye the saut tear blins her ee : 
 ''Drumossie moor — Drumossie day — 
 A waefu' day it was to me ! 
 For there I lost my father dear. 
 My father dear, and brethren three. 
 
 *' Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, 
 Their graves are growing green to see; 
 And by them lies the dearest lad 
 That ever blest a woman's ee ! 
 Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, 
 A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
 For mony a heart thou hast made sair 
 That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee." 
 Robert Burns 
 
178 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 162 LAMENT FOR FLODDEN 
 
 I've heard them lilting* at our ewe-milking, 
 
 Lasses a' lilting before dawn o' day; 
 But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning — 
 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning. 
 
 Lasses are lonely and dowie and wae; 
 Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing. 
 
 Ilk ane lifts her leglin and hies her away. 
 
 In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now^ are jeering, 
 Bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray; 
 
 At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching — 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming 
 'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play; 
 
 But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie — 
 The Flowers of the Forest are weded away. 
 
 Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border ! 
 
 The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; 
 The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the fore- 
 most. 
 
 The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. 
 
 We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking; 
 
 Women and bairns are heartless and wae; 
 Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning — 
 
 The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. 
 
 Jane Elliott 
 
JOHN LOGAN I79 
 
 163* THE BRAES OF YARROW 
 
 ' ' Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream, 
 When first on them I met my lover ; 
 Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream, 
 When now thy waves his body cover ! 
 For ever now, Yarrow stream! 
 Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; 
 For never on thy banks shall I 
 Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow^ ! 
 
 ''He promised me a milk-white steed 
 
 To bear me to his father's bowers; 
 
 He promised me a little page 
 
 To squire me to his father's towers; 
 
 He promised me a wedding ring, — 
 
 The w^edding-day was fix'd to-morrow; — 
 
 Now he is wedded to his grave, 
 
 Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow ! 
 
 ' ' Sweet were his words when last we met ; 
 My passion I as freely told him; 
 Clasp 'd in his arms, I little thought 
 That I should never more behold him ; 
 Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; 
 It vanish 'd with a shriek of sorrow; 
 Thrice did the water-wraith ascend. 
 And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow. 
 
 "His mother from the window look'd 
 
 With all the longing of a mother; 
 
 His little sister w^eeping walk'd 
 
 The green-wood path to meet her brother ; 
 
 They sought him east, they sought him Avcst, 
 
230 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 
 
 They sought him all the forest thorough ; 
 They only saw the cloud of night, 
 They only heard the roar of Yarrow. 
 
 *'No longer from thy window look — 
 Thou hast no son, thou tender mother! 
 No longer walk, thou lovely maid; 
 Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! 
 No longer seek him east or Avest 
 And search no more the forest thorough ; 
 For, w^andering in the night so dark, 
 He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow. 
 
 ''The tear shall never leave my cheek, 
 No other youth shall be my marrow — 
 I'll seek thy body in the stream. 
 And then with thee 111 sleep in Yarrow." 
 — The tear did never leave her cheek, 
 No other youth became her marrow ; 
 She found his body in the stream. 
 And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. 
 
 JoJm Logan 
 
 164* WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW 
 
 Down in yon garden sweet and gay 
 Where bonnie grows the lily, 
 
 I heard a fair maid sighing say, 
 ''My wish be wi' sweet Willie! 
 
 '* Willie's rare, and Willie's fair, 
 And Willie's wondrous bonny; 
 
 And Willie hecht to marry me 
 Gin e'er he married ony. 
 
UNKNOWN 181 
 
 *'0 gentle wind, that bloweth south 
 
 From where my Love repaireth, 
 Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth 
 
 And tell me how he f areth ! 
 
 /*0 tell sweet Willie to come doun 
 
 And hear the mavis singing, 
 And see the birds on ilka bush 
 And leaves around them hinging. 
 
 ^'The lav 'rock there, wi' her white breast 
 
 And gentle throat sae narrow; 
 There's sport eneuch for gentlemen 
 
 On Leader haughs and Yarrow. 
 
 ''0 Leader haughs are wide and braid 
 
 And Yarrow haughs are bonny; 
 There Willie hecht to marry me 
 
 If e'er he married ony. 
 
 '^But Willie's gone, whom I thought on, 
 
 And does not hear me weeping; 
 Draws many a tear frae true loA^e's e'e 
 
 When other maids are sleeping. 
 
 ** Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid, 
 
 The night I'll mak' it narrow. 
 For a' the live-lang winter night 
 
 I lie twined o' my marrow. 
 
 * ' came ye by yon water-side ? 
 
 Pou'd you the rose or lily? 
 Or came you by yon meadow green, 
 
 Or saw you my sw^eet Willie?" 
 
182 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 She sought him up, she sought him down, 
 She sought him braid and narrow; 
 
 Syne, in the cleaving of a craig, 
 She found him drown 'd in Yarrow! 
 
 Unknown 
 
 165 LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE 
 
 Toll for the Brave ! 
 The brave that are no more! 
 All sunk beneath the wave 
 Fast by their native shore ! 
 
 Eight hundred of the brave, 
 Whose courage well was tried, 
 Had made the vessel heel 
 And laid her on her side. 
 
 A land-breeze shook the shrouds 
 And she was overset ; 
 Down went the Royal George, 
 With all her crew complete. 
 
 Toll for the brave ! 
 Brave Kempenfelt is gone; 
 His last sea-fight is fought. 
 His work of glory done. 
 
 It was not in the battle ; 
 No tempest gave the shock ; 
 She sprang no fatal leak. 
 She ran upon no rock. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER ;|^g3 
 
 His SAvord was in its slicath, 
 His fing^ers held the pen, 
 When Kempenfelt went down 
 With twice four hundred men. 
 
 — Weigh the vessel up 
 Once dreaded by our foes ! 
 And mingle with our cup 
 The tears that England owes. 
 
 Her timbers yet are sound, 
 
 And she may float again. 
 
 Full charged with England's thunder, 
 
 And plough the distant main. 
 
 But Kempenfelt is gone, 
 
 His victories are o'er; 
 
 And he and his eight hundred 
 
 Shall plough the Avave no more. 
 
 William Cowper 
 
 166* BLACK-EYED SUSAN 
 
 All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, 
 The streamers waving in the Avind, 
 
 When black-eyed Susan came aboard; 
 '*0! where shall I my true-love find? 
 
 Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true 
 
 If my sweet William sails among the crew." 
 
 William, who high upon the yard 
 Eock'd with the billow to and fro, 
 
 Soon as her well-known voice he heard 
 He sigh'd, and cast his eyes beloAv : 
 
184 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands 
 And quick as lightning on the deck he stands. 
 
 So the sweet lark, high poised in air, 
 
 Shuts close his pinions to his breast 
 If chance his mate's shrill call he hear. 
 
 And drops at once into her nest : — 
 The noblest captain in the British fleet 
 Might envy William's lip those kisses sweet. 
 
 '*0 Susan, Susan, lovely dear. 
 
 My vows shall ever true remain; 
 Let me kiss off that falling tear ; 
 
 We only part to meet again. 
 Change as ye list, ye winds ; my heart shall be 
 The faithful compass that still points to thee. 
 
 ** Believe not what the landmen say 
 
 Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; 
 
 They'll tell thee, sailors, w^hen away, 
 In every port a mistress find: 
 
 Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 
 
 For Thou art present wheresoe'er I go. 
 
 *'If to fair India's coast we sail, 
 
 Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright; 
 
 Thy breath is Afric's spicy gale. 
 Thy skin is ivory so white : 
 
 Thus every beauteous object that I view 
 
 Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 
 
 '^ Though battle call me from thy arms 
 
 Let not my pretty Susan mourn; 
 Though cannons roar, yet safe from harms 
 
 William shall to his Dear return. 
 
JOHN GAY 185 
 
 Love turns aside the balls tliat round me fly, 
 
 Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye." 
 
 The boatswain gave the dreadful word, 
 
 The sails their swelling bosom spread, 
 No longer must she stay aboard ; 
 
 They kiss'd, she sigh 'd, he hung his head. 
 Her lessening boat unwilling row^s to land ; 
 ''Adieu!" she cries; and waved her lily hand. 
 
 John Gay 
 
 167* SALLY IN OUR ALLEY 
 
 Of all the girls that are so smart 
 
 There's none like pretty Sally; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 There is no lady in the land 
 
 Is half so sweet as Sally; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 Her father he makes cabbage-nets 
 
 And through the streets does cry ' 
 Her mother she sells laces long 
 
 To such as please to buy 'em. 
 But sure such folks could ne'er beget 
 
 So sweet a girl as Sally! 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 When she is by, I leave my work, 
 I love her. so sincerely; 
 
186 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 My master comes like any Turk, 
 And bangs me most severely — 
 
 But let him bang his bellyful, 
 I'll bear it all for Sally; 
 
 She is the darling of my heart. 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 Of all the days that's in the week 
 
 I dearly love but one day — 
 And that's the day that comes betwixt 
 
 A Saturday and Monday; 
 For then I'm drest all in my best 
 
 To walk abroad with Sally; 
 She is the darling of my heart. 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 My master carries me to church. 
 
 And often am I blamed 
 Because I leave him in the lurch 
 
 As soon as text is named ; 
 I leave the church in sermon-time 
 
 And slink away to Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart, 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
 When Christmas comes about again 
 
 then I shall have money ; 
 I'll hoard it up, and box it all, 
 
 1 '11 give it to my honey ; 
 
 I would it were ten thousand pound, 
 
 I 'd give it all to Sally ; 
 She is the darling of my heart. 
 
 And she lives in our alley. 
 
HENRY CAREY igj 
 
 My master and the neighbours all 
 
 Make game of me and Sally, 
 And, but for her, I'd better be 
 
 A slave and row a galley; 
 But when my seven long years are out 
 
 then I'll marry Sally, — 
 O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed. . . 
 
 But not in our alley ! 
 
 Henry Carey 
 
 168* A FAREWELL 
 
 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, 
 
 An' fill it in a silver tassie. 
 That I may drink before I go 
 
 A service to my bonnie lassie. 
 The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith, 
 
 Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the ferry, 
 The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 
 
 And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. 
 
 The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 
 
 The glittering spears are ranked ready; 
 The shouts o' war are heard afar. 
 
 The battle closes thick and bloody ; 
 But it's not the roar o' sea or shore 
 
 Wad make me langer wisli to tarry; 
 Nor shout o' war that's heard afar — 
 
 It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 169 If doughty deeds my lady please. 
 Right soon I'll mount my steed; 
 
188 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And strong his arm, and fast his seat 
 
 That bears frae me the meed. 
 I'll Avear thy colours in my cap, 
 
 Thy picture at my heart ; 
 And he that bends not to thine eye 
 Shall rue it to his smart ! 
 
 Then tell me how to woo thee, Love ; 
 
 tell me how to woo thee! 
 For thy dear sake, nae care I '11 take 
 Tho' ne'er another trow me. 
 
 If gay attire delight thine eye, 
 
 I'll dight me in array; 
 I'll tend thy chamber door all night, 
 
 And squire thee all the day. 
 If sweetest sounds can win thine ear, 
 
 These sounds I'll strive to catch; 
 Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell, 
 
 That voice that nane can match. 
 
 But if fond love thy heart can gain, 
 
 I never broke a vow; 
 Nae maiden lays her skaith to me, 
 
 I never loved but you. 
 For you alone I ride the ring, 
 
 For you I wear the blue. 
 For you alone I strive to sing, 
 
 tell me how to woo ! 
 Then tell me how to woo thee. Love ; 
 
 tell me how to woo thee ! 
 For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take, 
 
 Tho' ne'er another trow me. 
 
 Bohert Graham of Gartmore 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 189 
 
 170 TO A YOUNG LADY 
 
 Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, 
 
 Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — 
 
 Silent and chaste she steals along. 
 
 Far from the world's gay busy throng; 
 
 With gentle yet prevailing force. 
 
 Intent upon her destined course; 
 
 Graceful and useful all she does. 
 
 Blessing and blest where'er she goes; 
 
 Pure-bosom 'd as that watery glass. 
 
 And Heaven reflected in her face. 
 
 William Cowper 
 
 171* THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 
 
 Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile — 
 Tho' shut so close thy laughing eyes. 
 Thy rosy lips still wear a smile 
 And move, and breathe delicious sighs ! 
 
 Ah, now soft blushes tinge her cheeks 
 And mantle o 'er her neck of snow ; 
 Ah, now she murmurs, now she speaks 
 What most I wish — and fear to know! 
 
 She starts, she trembles, and she weeps! 
 Her fair hands folded on her breast : 
 — And now, how like a saint she sleeps ! 
 A seraph in the realms of rest ! 
 
 Sleep on secure ! Above controul 
 
 Thy thoughts belong to Heaven and thee : 
 
190 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And may the secret of thy soul 
 Remain within its sanctuary ! 
 
 Samuel Rogers 
 
 172* For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove 
 An unrelenting foe to Love, 
 And when we meet a mutual heart 
 Come in between, and bid us part? 
 
 Bid us sigh on from day to day, 
 And wish and wish the soul away, 
 Till youth and genial years are flown, 
 And all the life of life is gone? 
 
 But busy, busy still art thou. 
 To bind the loveless, joyless vow, 
 The heart from pleasure to delude, 
 To join the gentle to the rude. 
 
 For once, Fortune, hear my prayer, 
 And I absolve thy future care : 
 All other blessings I resign, 
 Make but the dear Amanda mine. 
 James Thomson 
 
 173 The merchant, to secure his treasure. 
 Conveys it in a borrow 'd name: 
 Euphelia serves to grace my measure, 
 But Cloe is my real flame. 
 
 My softest verse, my darling lyre 
 
 Upon Euphelia 's toilet lay — 
 
 "When Cloe noted her desire 
 
 That 1 should sing, that I should play. 
 
MATTHEW PRIOR 191 
 
 My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, 
 But with my numbers mix my sighs; 
 And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise, 
 I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes. 
 
 Fair Cloe blush 'd; Euphelia frown 'd; 
 I sung, and gazed ; I play 'd, and trembled ; 
 And Venus to the Loves around 
 Remark 'd how ill we all dissembled. 
 
 Matthew Prior 
 
 174 LOVE'S SECRET 
 
 Never seek to tell thy love. 
 Love that never told can be ; 
 
 For the gentle wind doth move 
 Silently, invisibly. 
 
 I told my love, I told my love, 
 
 I told her all my heart ; 
 Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears: — 
 
 Ah! she did depart. 
 
 Soon after she was gone from me 
 
 A traveller came by, . 
 Silently, invisibly: 
 
 He took her with a sigh. 
 
 William Blake 
 
 175* When lovely woman stoops to folly 
 
 And finds too late that men betray,— 
 What charm can soothe her melancholy, 
 What art can wash her guilt away? 
 
192 THE GOLDEN TREASUKY 
 
 The only art her guilt to cover, 
 To hide her shame from every eye, 
 To give repentance to her lover 
 And wring his bosom, is — to die. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith 
 
 176 Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, 
 How can ye blume sae fair ! 
 How can ye chant, ye little birds. 
 And I sae fu' o' care! 
 
 Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonnie bird 
 That sings upon the bough; 
 
 Thou minds me o' the happy days 
 "When my fause Luve was true. 
 
 Thou '11 break my heart, thou bonnie bird, 
 That sings beside thy mate ; 
 
 For sae I sat, and sae I sang. 
 And wist na o' my fate. 
 
 Aft hae I roved by bonnie Doon 
 To see the woodbine twine. 
 
 And ilka bird sang o' its love; 
 And sae did I o' mine. 
 
 Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
 
 Frae aff its thorny tree; 
 And my fause luver staw the rose. 
 
 But left the thorn wi' me. 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
THOMAS GRAY I93 
 
 177 THE PROGRESS OF POESY 
 
 A Pindaric Ode 
 
 Awake, Aeolian lyre, awake, 
 And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. 
 From. Helicon's harmonious springs 
 
 A thousand rills their mazy progress take; 
 The laughing flowers that round them blow 
 Drink life and fragrance as they flow. 
 Now the rich stream of music winds along 
 Deep, majestic, smooth, and strong. 
 Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign; 
 Now rolling down the steep amain 
 Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : 
 The rocks and nodding groves re-bellow to the roar. 
 
 Oh ! Sovereign of the willing soul. 
 Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, 
 Enchanting shell ! the sullen Cares 
 
 And frantic Passions hear thy soft controul. 
 On Thracia's hills the Lord of War 
 Has curb'd the fury of his car 
 And dropt his thirsty lance at thy command. 
 Perching on the sceptred hand 
 Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather 'd king 
 With ruffled plumes, and flagging wing: 
 Quench 'd in dark clouds of slumber lie 
 The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. 
 
 Thee the voice, the dance, obey, 
 Temper 'd to thy warbled lay. 
 O'er Idalia's velvet-green 
 The rosy-crowned Loves are seen 
 On Cytherea's day; 
 
194 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 With antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, 
 Frisking light in frolic measures; 
 NoAv pursuing, now retreating, 
 
 Now in circling troops they meet ; 
 To brisk notes in cadence beating 
 
 Glance their many-twinkling feet. 
 Slow melting strains their Queen's approach declare: 
 
 Where 'er she turns, the Graces homage pay : 
 With arms sublime that float upon the air 
 
 In gliding state she Avins her easy way : 
 O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move 
 The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. 
 
 Man's feeble race what ills await! 
 Labour and Penury, the racks of Pain, 
 Disease, and Sorrow's weeping train. 
 
 And Death, sad refuge from the storms of fate! — 
 The fond complaint, my song, disprove, 
 And justify the laws of Jove : 
 Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? 
 Night, and all her sickly dews. 
 Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry 
 He gives to range the dreary sky : 
 Till down the eastern cliffs afar 
 
 Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of 
 war. 
 
 Li climes beyond the solar road, 
 Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, 
 The Muse has broke the twilight gloom 
 
 To cheer the shivering native 's dull abode. 
 And oft, beneath the odorous shade 
 Of Chili 's boundless forests laid. 
 She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat. 
 
THOMAS GRAY 
 
 In loose numbers wildly sweet, 
 
 Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. 
 
 Her track, where'er the goddess roves. 
 
 Glory pursue, and generous Shame, 
 
 Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. 
 
 Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, 
 Isles, that crown th' Aegean deep. 
 Fields that cool Ilissus laves. 
 Or where ]\Iaeander 's amber waves 
 In lingering labyrinths creep. 
 How do your tuneful echoes languish, 
 Mute but to the voice of anguish ! 
 "Where each old poetic mountain 
 
 Inspiration breathed around 
 Every shade and hallow 'd fountain 
 
 Llurmur 'd deep a solemn sound ; 
 Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour 
 
 Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains : 
 Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, 
 
 And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. 
 When Latium had her lofty spirit lost. 
 They sought, oh Albion! next, thy sea-encircled coast. 
 
 Far from the sun and summer-gale 
 In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid. 
 What time, where lucid Avon stray 'd. 
 
 To him the mighty Mother did unveil 
 Her awful face : the dauntless child 
 Stretch 'd forth his little arms, and smiled. 
 ''This pencil take," she said, "whose colours clear 
 Richly paint the vernal year ; 
 Tliine, too, these golden keys, immortal Boy ! 
 This can unlock the gates of joy ; 
 
 195 
 
196 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 
 
 Of horror that, and thrilling fears, 
 
 Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears." 
 
 Nor second, He that rode sublime 
 Upon the seraph- wings of Extasy 
 The secrets of the abyss to spy : 
 
 He pass 'd the flaming bounds of place and time ; 
 The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze 
 Where angels tremble while they gaze, 
 He saw ; but blasted with excess of light, 
 Closed his eyes in endless night. 
 Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car 
 Wide o'er the fields of glory bear 
 Two coursers of ethereal race. 
 
 With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding 
 pace. 
 
 Hark, his hands the lyre explore ! 
 
 Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er. 
 
 Scatters from her pictured urn 
 
 Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. 
 
 But ah ! 'tis heard no more — 
 
 Oh ! lyre divine, what daring spirit 
 
 Wakes thee now? Tho' he inherit 
 
 Nor the pride nor ample pinion 
 
 That the Theban eagle bear, 
 Sailing with supreme dominion 
 
 Thro ' the azure deep of air : 
 Yet oft before his infant eyes would run 
 
 Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray 
 With orient hues, unborrow 'd of the sun ; 
 
 Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way 
 Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate : 
 Beneath the Good how far — but far above the Great. 
 
 Thomas Gray 
 
WILLIAM COLLINS 197 
 
 178 THE PASSIONS 
 
 An Ode for Music 
 
 When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
 While yet in early Greece she sung. 
 The Passions oft, to hear her shell. 
 Throng 'd around her magic cell. 
 Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
 Possest beyond the Muse's painting. 
 By turns they felt the glowing mind 
 Disturb 'd, delighted, raised, refined: 
 'Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, 
 Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspired, 
 From the supporting myrtles round 
 They snatch 'd her instruments of sound, 
 And, as they oft had heard apart 
 Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
 Each (for Madness ruled the hour) 
 Would prove his own expressive power. 
 
 First Fear his hand, its skill to try. 
 
 Amid the chords bewilder 'd laid, 
 And back recoil'd, he knew not why, \^ 
 
 E'en at the sound himself had made. 
 
 Next Anger rush'd, his eyes on fire. 
 
 In lightnings own'd his secret stings; 
 In one rude clash he struck the lyre 
 
 And swept with hurried hand the strings. 
 
 With woeful measures wan Despair, 
 
 Low sullen sounds, his grief beguiled; 
 A solemn, strange, and mingled air, 
 
 'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 
 
;[98 THE GOLDEN" TREASURY 
 
 But thoii, Hope, with eyes so fair, 
 
 What was thy delighted measure? 
 Still it whisper 'd promised pleasure 
 
 And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! 
 Still would her touch the strain prolong 
 
 And from the rocks, the woods, the vale 
 She call 'd on Echo still through all the song ; 
 
 And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 
 
 A soft responsive voice was heard at every close ; 
 And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden 
 hair ; — 
 
 And longer had she sung : — but with a frown 
 
 Revenge impatient rose: 
 He threw his blood-stain 'd sword in thunder down ; 
 
 And with a witliering look 
 The war-denouncing trumpet took 
 And blew a blast so loud and dread. 
 Were ne 'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ! 
 
 And ever and anon he beat 
 
 The doubling drum with furious heat ; 
 And, though sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
 
 Dejected Pity at his side 
 
 Her soul-subduing voice applied. 
 Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, 
 While each strain 'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from 
 his head. 
 
 Thy numbers. Jealousy, to nought were fix'd: 
 
 Sad proof of thy distressful state ! 
 Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd; 
 
 And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate. 
 
WILLIAM COLLINS I99 
 
 With eyes up-raised, as one inspired, 
 
 Pale Melancholy sat retired ; 
 
 And from her wild, sequester 'd seat, 
 
 In notes of distance made more sweet, 
 
 Pour 'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul : 
 
 And dashing soft from rocks around, 
 
 Bubbling runnels join'd the sound. 
 Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole. 
 Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, 
 
 Round an holy calm diffusing, 
 
 Love of peace, and lonely musing, 
 In hollow murmurs died away. 
 
 But 0! how alter 'd was its sprightlier tone, 
 When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue. 
 
 Her bow across her shoulder flung. 
 
 Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew. 
 Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung :— 
 
 The hunter 's call, to Faun and Dryad known ! 
 The oak-crown 'd Sisters and their chaste-eyed Queen, 
 
 Satyrs and Sylvan Boys were seen 
 
 Peeping from forth their alleys green; 
 Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear ; 
 
 And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. 
 
 Last came Joy 's ecstatic trial : 
 lie, with viny crown advancing, 
 
 First to the lively pipe his hand addrest: 
 But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol 
 
 Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best : 
 They would have thought who heard the strain 
 They saw, in Tempe 's vale, her native maids 
 Amidst the festal-sounding shades 
 
200 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 To some unwearied minstrel dancing; 
 While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings, 
 
 Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round; 
 
 Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; 
 
 And he, amidst his frolic play, 
 
 As if he would the charming air repay, 
 Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 
 
 O Music ! sphere-descended maid, 
 Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid! 
 Why, goddess! why, to us denied. 
 Lay 'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ? 
 As in that loved Athenian bower 
 You learn 'd an all-commanding power, 
 Thy mimic soul, Nymph endear 'd, 
 Can well recall what then it heard. 
 Where is thy native simple heart, 
 Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art ? 
 Arise, as in that elder time, 
 Warm, energic, chaste, sublime ! 
 Thy wonders, in that god-like age, 
 Fill thy recording Sister's page: 
 'Tis said, and I believe the tale. 
 Thy humblest reed could more prevail, 
 Had more of strength, diviner rage, 
 Than all which charms this laggard age, 
 E 'en all at once together found : — 
 Cecilia's mingled w^orld of sound. 
 bid our vain endeavours cease ; 
 Revive the just designs of Greece ; 
 Return in all thy simple state 1 
 Confirm the tales her sons relate ! 
 
 William Collins 
 
CHRISTOPHER SMART 201 
 
 179* THE SONG OF DAVID 
 
 He sang of God, the mighty source 
 Of all things, the stupendous force 
 
 On which all strength depends: 
 From Whose right arm, beneath Whose eyes, 
 All period, power, and enterprise 
 
 Commences, reigns, and ends. 
 
 The world, the clustering spheres He made, 
 The glorious light, the soothing shade, 
 
 Dale, champaign, grove and hill; 
 The multitudinous abyss. 
 Where secrecy remains in bliss. 
 
 And wisdom hides her skill. 
 
 *'Tell them, I AM," Jehovah said 
 To Moses ; while Earth heard in dread, 
 
 And, smitten to the heart, 
 At once, above, beneath, around. 
 All Nature, without voice or sound. 
 Replied, '^0 Lord, T-HOU ART." 
 
 Christopher Smart 
 
 180 INFANT JOY 
 
 ''I have no name; 
 I am but two days old." 
 —What shall I call thee? 
 **I happy am; 
 
202 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Joy is my name." 
 
 — Sweet joy befall thee ! 
 
 Pretty joy! 
 
 Sweet joy, but two days old; 
 
 Sweet joy I call thee : 
 
 Thou dost smile : 
 
 I sing the w^hile, 
 
 Sweet joy befall thee ! 
 
 William Blake 
 
 181 A CRADLE SONG 
 
 Sleep, sleep, beauty bright. 
 Dreaming in the joys of night ; 
 Sleep, sleep ; in thy sleep 
 Little sorrows sit and weep. 
 
 SwTct babe, in thy face 
 Soft desires I can trace, 
 Secret joys and secret smiles, 
 Little pretty infant wiles. 
 
 As thy softest limbs I feel, 
 Smiles as of the morning steal 
 O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast 
 Where thy little heart doth rest. 
 
 Oh the cunning wiles that creep 
 In thy little heart asleep ! 
 When thy little heart doth wake, 
 Then the dreadful light shall break. 
 Williain Blake 
 
THOMAS GRAY 203 
 
 182* ODE ON THE SPRING 
 
 Lo ! where the rosy-bosom 'd Hours, 
 
 Fair Venus' train, appear. 
 Disclose the long-expecting flowers 
 
 And wake the purple year ! 
 The Attic warbler pours her throat 
 Responsive to the cuckoo's note. 
 The untaught harmony of Spring; 
 While, whispering pleasure as they fly, 
 Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky 
 
 Their gather 'd fragrance fling. 
 
 Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch 
 
 A broader, browner shade. 
 Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech 
 
 'er-canopies the glad-e, 
 Beside some water's rushy brink 
 With me the Muse shall sit, and think 
 (At ease reclined in rustic state) 
 How vain the ardour of the crowd. 
 How low, how little are the proud, 
 
 How indigent the great ! 
 
 Still is the toiling hand of Care ; 
 
 The panting herds repose ; 
 Yet hark, how thro' the peopled air 
 
 The busy murmur glows ! 
 The insect-youth are on the wing. 
 Eager to taste the honied spring 
 And float amid the liquid noon ; 
 Some lightly o'er the current skim. 
 Some show their gaily-gilded trim 
 
 Quick-glancing to the sun. 
 
204 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 To Contemplation's sober eye 
 
 Such is the race of Man ; 
 And they that creep, and they that fly, 
 
 Shall end where they began. 
 Alike the Busy and the Gay 
 But flutter thro' life's little day, 
 In Fortune's varying colours drest; 
 Brush 'd by the hand of rough Mischance, 
 Or chill 'd by Age, their airy dance 
 
 They leave, in dust to rest. 
 
 Methinks I hear in accents low 
 
 The sportive kind reply : 
 *'Poor moralist! and what art thou? 
 
 A solitary fly ! 
 Thy joys no glittering female meets, 
 No hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, 
 No painted plumage to display ; 
 On hasty wings thy youth is flown ; 
 Thy sun is set, thy spring is gone — 
 
 We frolic while 'tis May." 
 
 Thomas Gray 
 
 183* THE POPLAR FIELD 
 
 The poplars are fell'd; farewell to the shade 
 And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade ; 
 The winds play no longer and smg in the leaves, 
 Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 
 
 Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view 
 Of my favourite field and the bank where they grew ; 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 205 
 
 And now in the grass behold they are laid, 
 
 And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade ! 
 
 The blackbird has fled to another retreat, 
 Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat ; 
 And the scene where his melody charm 'd me before 
 Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. 
 
 My fugitive years are all hasting away. 
 And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, 
 With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head. 
 Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 
 
 The change both my heart and my fancy employs, 
 I reflect on the frailty of man and his joys : 
 Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see, 
 Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. 
 
 William Coiuper 
 
 184 TO A MOUSE 
 
 On turning licr up in her nest, irith the plough, 
 November, 1785 
 
 Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, 
 
 what a panic 's in thy breastie ! 
 Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 
 Wi ' bickering brattle ! 
 
 1 wad be laith to rin an ' chase thee 
 Wi' murd'ring pattle! 
 
 I 'm truly sorry man 's dominion 
 Has broken Nature's social union, 
 
206 THE f^OLDEN TREASURY 
 
 An' justifies that ill opinion 
 
 Which makes thee startle 
 
 At me, thy poor* earth-born companion 
 
 An' fellow-mortal! 
 
 I doubt na, whiles, but thoa may thieve; 
 
 What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! 
 
 A daimen-icker in a thrave 
 
 'S a sma' request; 
 
 I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, 
 
 And never miss't! 
 
 Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin 1 
 
 Its silly wa's the win's are strewin; 
 
 And naething, now, to big a new ane, 
 
 O ' f oggage green ! 
 
 An' bleak December's winds ensuin' 
 
 Baith snell an ' keen ! 
 
 Thou saw the fields laid ba^;c an' waste 
 
 An' weary winter comin' fast. 
 
 An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 
 
 Thou thought to dwell. 
 
 Till, crash! the cruel coulter past 
 
 Out thro' thy cell. 
 
 That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble 
 Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
 Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, 
 But house or hald. 
 To thole the winter's sleety dribble 
 An' cranreuch cauld ! 
 
 But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane 
 In proving foresight may be vain: 
 
ROBERT BURNS 207 
 
 The best laid schemes o ' mice an ' men 
 Gang aft a-gley, 
 
 An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain 
 For promised joy. 
 
 Still thou art blest, compared wi ' me ! 
 
 The present only toucheth thee : 
 
 But, Och ! I backward cast my e'e 
 
 On prospects drear! 
 
 An' forward, tho' I canna see, 
 
 I guess an ' fear ! 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 185* A WISH 
 
 Mine be a cot beside the hill; 
 A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; 
 A willowy brook that turns a mill. 
 With many a fall shall linger near. 
 
 The swallow oft, beneath my thatch 
 Shall twitter from her clay-built nest; 
 Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch, 
 And share my meal, a welcome guest. 
 
 Around my ivied porch shall spring 
 Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew ; 
 And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing 
 In russet-gown and apron blue. 
 
 The village-church among the trees, 
 Where first our marriage-vows were given, 
 With merry peals shall swell the breeze 
 And point with taper spire to Heaven. 
 
 Sam2iel Rogers 
 
208 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 
 
 186 ODE TO EVENING 
 
 If aught of oaten stop or pastoral soug 
 
 May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear 
 
 Like thy own solemn springs, 
 
 Thy springs, and dying gales, 
 
 O Nymph reserved,— while now the bright-hair 'd sun 
 Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts, 
 
 With brede ethereal wove, 
 
 'erhang his wavy bed. 
 
 Now air is hush 'd, save where the weak-eyed bat, 
 With short, shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, 
 
 Or where the beetle winds 
 
 His small but sullen horn. 
 
 As oft he rises midst the twilight path, 
 Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum, — 
 
 Now teach me, maid composed. 
 
 To breathe some soften 'd strain, 
 
 Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, 
 ]\Iay not unseemly with its stillness suit ; 
 
 As, musing slow, I hail 
 
 Thy genial loved return. 
 
 For when thy folding-star arising shows 
 His paly circlet, at his warning lamp 
 
 The fragrant Hours, and Elves 
 
 Who slept in buds the day. 
 
 And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge 
 And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still. 
 
WILLIAM COLLINS 209 
 
 The pensive Pleasures sweet, 
 Prepare thy shadowy car. 
 
 Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene ; 
 Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells, 
 
 Whose walls more awful nod 
 
 By thy religious gleams; 
 
 Or, if chill blustering winds or driving rain 
 Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut 
 
 That, from the mountain's side. 
 
 Views wilds, and swelling floods. 
 
 And hamlets brown, and dim-discover 'd spires ; 
 And hears their simple bell ; and marks o 'er all 
 
 Thy dewy fingers draw 
 
 The gradual dusky veil. 
 
 While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, 
 And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve ! 
 
 While Summer loves to sport 
 
 Beneath thy lingering light; 
 
 While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves ; 
 Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, 
 
 Affrights thy shrinking train 
 
 And rudely rends thy robes : 
 
 So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, 
 
 Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, 
 
 Thy gentlest influence own. 
 
 And love thy favourite name ! 
 
 William Collins 
 
210 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 187 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY 
 CHURCHYARD 
 
 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
 The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, 
 The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
 And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 
 
 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds. 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight. 
 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds ; 
 
 Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
 The moping owl does to the moon complain 
 Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
 Molest her ancient solitary reign. 
 
 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade. 
 Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 
 Each in his narrow cell for ever laid. 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
 
 The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 
 The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed. 
 The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 
 
 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
 No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
 Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 
 
 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 
 
 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 
 
THOMAS GRAY 211 
 
 How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 
 How bow 'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 
 
 Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; 
 Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
 The short and simple annals of the poor. 
 
 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave. 
 Awaits alike th ' inevitable hour : — 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 
 
 Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault 
 
 If memory o 'er their tomb no trophies raise. 
 
 Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault 
 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 
 
 Can storied urn or animated bust 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
 Can honour 's voice provoke the silent dust ? 
 Or flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death ? 
 
 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire, 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have sway 'd 
 Or waked to extasy the living lyre ; 
 
 But knowledge to their eyes her ample page. 
 Rich with the spoils of time, did ne 'er unroll ; 
 Chill penury repress 'd their noble rage, 
 And froze the genial cui'rent of the soul. 
 
 Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
 The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; 
 
212 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 
 
 Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast 
 The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 
 Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 
 Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country 's blood. 
 
 Th' applause of listening senates to command, 
 The threats of pain and ruin to despise. 
 To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
 And read their history in a nation's eyes 
 
 Their lot forbad ; nor circumscribed alone 
 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; 
 Forbad to wade thro' slaughter to a throne, 
 And shut the gates of mercy on mankind. 
 
 The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
 To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame. 
 Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride 
 "With incense kindled at the Muse 's flame. 
 
 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife 
 Their sober wishes never learn 'd to stray ; 
 Along the cool sequester 'd vale of life 
 They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. 
 
 Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect 
 
 Some frail memorial still erected nigh. 
 
 With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck 'd, 
 
 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 
 
 Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse, 
 The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
 
THOMAS GRAY 213 
 
 And many a holy text around she strews 
 That teach the rustic moralist to die. 
 
 |i^or who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
 This pleasing anxious being e'er resign 'd, 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
 Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind? 
 
 On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
 Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 
 E 'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, 
 E 'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 
 
 For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead. 
 Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; 
 If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
 Some kindred spirit shall enquire thy fate, — 
 
 Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 
 "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 
 Brushing with hasty steps the dews away 
 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 
 
 ''There at the foot of yonder nodding beech 
 That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 
 His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, 
 And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 
 
 ''Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn. 
 Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; 
 Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, 
 Or crazed with care, or cross 'd in hopeless love. 
 
 ' ' One morn I miss 'd him on the custom 'd hill, 
 Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; 
 
214 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 
 Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. 
 
 ''The next with dirges due in sad array 
 Slow through the ehureh-way path we saw him borne, — 
 Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
 Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 
 
 THE EPITAPH 
 
 Here rests his head upon the lap of earth 
 A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown ; 
 Fair science frown 'cl not on his humble birth 
 And melancholy mark'd him for her ow^n. 
 
 Large w^as his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 
 
 Heaven did a recompense as largely send : 
 
 He gave to misery (all he had) a tear. 
 
 He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. 
 
 No farther seek his merits to disclose, 
 Or draw his frailties from their dread abode: 
 (There they alike in trembling hope repose), 
 The bosom of his Father and his God. 
 
 Thomas Gray 
 
 188* MARY MORISON 
 
 O Mary, at thy window be. 
 It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! 
 Those smiles and glances let me see 
 That make the miser's treasure poor. 
 How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 
 A weary slave frae sun to sun. 
 
ROBERT BURNS 215 
 
 Could 1 the rich reward secure, 
 The lovely Mary Llorison. 
 
 Yestreen, when to the trembling string 
 The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha', 
 To thee my fancy took its wing, — 
 I sat, but neither heard nor saw ; 
 Tho' this was fair, and that was braw, 
 And yon the toast of a' the tow^n, 
 I sigh'd, and said amang them a', 
 "Ye are na Mary Morison." 
 
 O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 
 Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee ? 
 Or canst thou break that heart of his, 
 Whase only faut is loving thee? 
 If love for love thou wilt na gie, 
 At least be pity to me shown ; 
 A thought ungentle canna be 
 The thought o' Mary Morison. 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 189* BONNIE LESLEY 
 
 saw ye bonnie Lesley 
 
 As she gaed o 'er the border ? 
 
 She's gane, like Alexander, 
 
 To spread her conquests farther. 
 
 To see her is to love her, 
 And love but her for ever ; 
 
 For Nature made her what she is. 
 And ne'er made sic anither! 
 
21G THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Thou art a queen, Fair Lesley, 
 Thy subjects we, before thee; 
 
 Thou art divine, Fair Lesley, 
 The hearts o ' men adore thee. 
 
 The Deil he could na scaith thee, 
 Or aught that wad belang thee ; 
 
 He'd look into thy bonnie face, 
 And say ' ' I canna wrang thee ! ' ' 
 
 The Powers aboon will tent thee, 
 Misfortune sha' na steer thee; 
 
 Thou'rt, like themselves, sae lovely 
 That ill they '11 ne 'er let near thee. 
 
 Eeturn again, Fair Lesley, 
 
 Return to Caledonie ! 
 That we may brag we hae a lass 
 
 There's nane again sae bonnie. 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 190 my Luve's like a red, red rose 
 
 That's newly sprung in June; 
 O my Luve's like the melodic 
 That's sweetly play'd in tune. 
 
 As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 
 So deep in luve am I ; 
 
 And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
 Till a ' the seas gang dry : 
 
 Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 
 And the rocks melt wi ' the sun ; 
 
ROBERT BURNS 217 
 
 I will luve thee still, my dear, 
 
 While the sands o' life shall run. 
 
 And fare thee weel, my only Luve ! 
 
 And fare thee weel awhile! 
 And I will come again, my Luve, 
 
 Tho' it were ten thousand mile. 
 Kohert Burns 
 
 191* HIGHLAND MARY 
 
 Ye banks and braes and streams around 
 
 The castle o' Montgomery, 
 Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 
 
 Your waters never drumlie ! 
 There simmer first unfauld her robes, 
 
 And there the langest tarry ; 
 For there I took the last fareweel 
 
 0' my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 How sweetly bloom 'd the gay green birk, 
 
 How rich the hawthorn's blossom. 
 As underneath their fragrant shade 
 
 I clasp 'd her to my bosom ! 
 The golden hours on angel wings 
 
 Flew o'er me and my dearie; 
 For dear to me as light and life 
 
 Was my sweet Highland Mary. 
 
 Wi' mony a vow and lock'd embrace 
 Our parting was fu' tender; 
 
218 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And pledging aft to meet again, 
 
 We tore oursels asunder ; 
 But, Oh ! fell Death 's untimely frost, 
 
 That nipt my flower sae early ! 
 Now green's the sod and cauld's the clay, 
 
 That wraps my Highland Mary. 
 
 pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 
 
 I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly; 
 And closed for aye the sparkling glance 
 
 That dwelt on me sae kindly ; 
 And mouldering now in silent dust 
 
 That heart that lo 'ed me dearly ! 
 But still within my bosom's core 
 
 Shall live my Highland Mary. 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 192 AULD ROBIN GRAY 
 
 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, 
 And a' the world to rest are gane, 
 The waes o' my heart fa' in show^ers frae my e'e, 
 While my gudeman lies sound by me. 
 
 Young Jamie lo 'ed me weel and sought me for his bride, 
 But saving a croun he had naething else beside ; 
 To make the croun a pund young Jamie gaed to sea, 
 And the croun and the pund were baith for me. 
 
 He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, 
 When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown 
 awa: 
 
LADY ANNE LINDSAY 219 
 
 My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea — 
 And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin ' me. 
 
 My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin ; 
 I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win ; 
 Auld Rob maintain 'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e 
 Said, ''Jennie, for their sakes, 0, marry me!" 
 
 My heart it said nay ; I look'd for Jamie back ; 
 
 But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack ; 
 
 His ship it was a wrack — why didna Jamie dee ? 
 
 Or why do I live to cry, ' ' Wae 's me ? " 
 
 My father urgit sair ; my mother didna speak. 
 But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break ; 
 They gi 'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea — 
 Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. 
 
 I hadna been a wife a week but only four. 
 When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, 
 I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he — 
 Till he said, " I 'm come hame to marry thee. ' ' 
 
 sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say ; 
 We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away— 
 
 1 wish that I were dead, but I 'm no like to dee ; 
 And why was I born to say, ' ' Wae 's me ! " 
 
 I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; 
 I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; 
 But I '11 do my best a gude wife aye to be. 
 For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. 
 
 Lady Anne Lindsay 
 
220 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 193 DUNCAN GRAY 
 
 Duncan Gray cam here to woo, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't ; 
 On blythe Yule night when we were fou, 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't: 
 Maggie coost her head fu' high, 
 Look'cl asklent and unco skeigh, 
 Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh; 
 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o't! 
 
 Duncan fleech 'd, and Duncan pray 'd ; 
 Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig ; 
 Duncan sigh 'd baith out and in, 
 Grat his een baith bleer 't and blin ', 
 Spak o' lowpin ower a linn ! 
 
 Time and chance are but a tide, 
 Slighted love is sair to bide ; 
 ''Shall I, like a fool," quoth he, 
 ''For a haughty hizzie dee? 
 She may gae to — France, for me!" 
 
 How it comes let doctors tell, 
 
 Meg grew sick — as he grew well; 
 
 Something in her bosom wrings ; 
 
 For relief a sigh she brings, 
 
 And, her een, they spak sic things! 
 
 Duncan was a lad o' grace; 
 Maggie 's was a piteous case ; 
 Duncan couldna be her death. 
 Swelling pity smoor'd his wrath; 
 
ROBERT BURNS 221 
 
 Now they're crouse and canty baith 
 Ha, ha, the wooing o 't ! 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 194 THE SAILOR'S WIFE 
 
 And are ye sure the news is true ? 
 
 And are ye. sure he's weel? 
 Is this the time to think o ' wark ? 
 
 Ye jades, lay by your wheel. 
 Is this the time to spin a thread, 
 
 When Colin 's at the door? 
 Reach down my cloak, I '11 to the quay, 
 
 And see him come ashore. 
 For there 's nae luck about the house, 
 
 There's nae luck at a'; 
 There's little pleasure in the house 
 
 When our gudeman's awa. 
 
 And gie to me my bigonet, 
 
 My bishop 's satin gown ; 
 For I maun tell the baillie's wife 
 
 That Colin 's in the town. 
 My Turkey slippers maun gae on. 
 
 My stockins pearly blue; 
 It's a' to pleasure our gudeman. 
 
 For he's baith leal and true. 
 
 Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside. 
 
 Put on the muckle pot; 
 Gie little Kate her button gown 
 
 And Jock his Sunday coat ; 
 
222 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And mak their shoon as black as slaes, 
 Their hose as white as snaw; 
 
 It's a' to please my ain gudeman, 
 For he's been long awa. 
 
 There's twa fat hens upo' the coop 
 
 Been fed this month and mair, 
 ]\Iak haste and thraw their necks about, 
 
 That Colin weel may fare ; 
 And spread the table neat and clean, 
 
 Gar ilka thing look braw ; 
 For wha can tell how Colin fared 
 
 When he was far awa ? 
 
 Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, 
 
 His breath like caller air; 
 His very foot has music in't 
 
 As he comes up the stair — 
 And will I see his face again? 
 
 And will I hear him speak? 
 I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought. 
 
 In troth I'm like to greet! 
 
 If Colin 's weel, and weel content, 
 
 I hae nae mair to crave : 
 And gin I live to keep him sae, 
 
 I'm blest aboon the lave. 
 And will I see his face again. 
 
 And will I hear him speak? 
 I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought. 
 
 In troth. I'jh like to greet. 
 For there's nae luck about the house. 
 
 There 's nae luck at a ' : 
 
WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE 223 
 
 There's little pleasure in the house 
 When our gudeman's awa. 
 
 William Julius Mickle 
 
 195 ABSENCE 
 
 When I think on the happy days 
 I spent wi' you, my dearie, 
 
 And now what lands between us lie, 
 How can I be but eerie ! 
 
 How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, 
 As ye were wae and weary ! 
 
 It was na sae ye glinted by 
 When I was wi' my dearie. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 196* JEAN 
 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw 
 
 I dearly like the Wc^st, 
 For there the bonnie lassie lives, 
 
 The lassie I lo'e best. 
 There wild woods grow, and rivers row, 
 
 And mony a hill between ; 
 But day and night my fancy's flight 
 
 Is ever wi' my Jean. 
 
 I see her in the dewy flowers, 
 
 I see her sweet and fair ; 
 I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 
 
 I hear her charm the air. 
 
224 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 There's not a bonnie flower that springs 
 By fountain, shaw, or green, 
 
 There's not a bonnie bird that sings 
 But minds me o' my Jean. 
 
 blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft 
 
 Amang the leafy trees ; 
 Wi' bahny gale, frae hill and dale 
 
 Bring hame the laden bees ; 
 And bring the lassie back to me 
 
 That 's aye sae neat and clean ; 
 Ae smile o' her wad banish care, 
 
 Sae charming is my Jean. 
 
 What sighs and vows amang the knowes 
 
 Hae passM at ween us twa ! 
 How fond to meet, how wae to part 
 
 That night she gaed awa ! 
 The Powers aboon can only ken 
 
 To whom the heart is seen, 
 That nane can be sae dear to me 
 
 As my sweet lovely Jean ! 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 197 JOHN ANDERSON 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John, 
 When we were first acquent, 
 Your locks were like the raven, 
 Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
 But now your brow is bald, John, 
 Your locks are like the snow ; 
 But blessings on your frosty pow, 
 John Anderson my jo. 
 
ROBERT BURNS 225 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John, 
 We clamb the hill thegither, 
 And mony a canty day, John, 
 "We Ve had wi ' ane anither ; 
 Now we maun totter down, John, 
 But hand in hand we'll go. 
 And sleep thegither at the foot, 
 John Anderson my jo. 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 198* THE LAND O' THE LEAL 
 
 I'm wearing awa', Jean, 
 
 Like snaw when its thaw, Jean, 
 
 I'm wearing awa' 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 There's nae sorrow there, Jean, 
 There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, 
 The day is aye fair. 
 
 In the land o' the leal. 
 
 Ye were aye leal and true, Jean, 
 Your task's ended noo, Jean, 
 And I'll welcome you 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean, 
 She was baith guid and fair, Jean ; 
 we grudged her right sair 
 
 To the lando' the leal! 
 
 Then dry that tearfu' e'e, Jean, 
 My soul langs to be free, Jean, 
 
226 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And angels wait on me 
 To the land o ' the leal. 
 
 Now fare ye weel, my ain Jean, 
 
 This warld's care is vain, Jean; 
 
 We'll meet and aye be fain 
 In the land o ' the leal ! 
 
 Lady Caroline Nairn 
 
 199 ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF 
 
 ETON COLLEGE 
 
 Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, 
 
 That crown the watery glade, 
 Where grateful Science still adores 
 
 Her Henry's holy shade; 
 And ye, that from the stately brow 
 Of Windsor's heights th' expanse below 
 Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey. 
 Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among 
 Wanders the hoary Thames along 
 
 His silver-winding way ; — 
 
 Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade ! 
 
 Ah fields beloved in vain ! 
 Where once my careless childhood stray 'd, 
 
 A stranger yet to pain ! 
 I feel the gales that from ye blow 
 A momentary bliss bestow. 
 As, waving fresh their gladsome wing. 
 My >veary soul they seem to soothe. 
 
 And, redolent of joy and youth, 
 
 To breathe a second spring. 
 
THOMAS GRAY 227 
 
 Say, Father Thames (for thou hast seen 
 
 Full many a sprightly race, 
 Disporting on thy margent green, 
 
 The paths of pleasure trace) ; 
 Who foremost now delight to cleave 
 With pliant arm, thy glassy wave? 
 The captive linnet which enthral? 
 What idle progeny succeed 
 To chase the rolling circle's speed. 
 
 Or urge the flying ball? 
 
 While some, on earnest business bent. 
 
 Their murnuiring labours ply 
 'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint 
 
 To sweeten liberty, 
 Some bold adventurers disdain 
 The limits of their little reign 
 And unknown regions dare descry ; 
 Still as they run they look behind, 
 They hear a voice in every wind. 
 
 And snatch a fearful joy. 
 
 Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, 
 
 Less pleasing when possest ; 
 The tear, forgot as soon as shed. 
 
 The sunshine of the breast; 
 Theirs, buxom health, of rosy hue, 
 Wild wit, invention ever new. 
 And lively cheer, of vigour born, 
 The thoughtless day, the easy night, 
 The spirits pure, the slumbers light 
 
 That fly tli' approach of morn. 
 
 Alas ! regardless of their doom 
 The little victims play ; 
 
228 THE COLDEN TREASURY 
 
 No sense have they of ills to (iome 
 
 Nor care beyond to-day : 
 Yet see how all around 'em wait 
 The ministers of human fate 
 And black Misfortune's baleful train! 
 Ah show them where in ambush stand, 
 To seize their prey, the murderous band! 
 
 Ah, tell them they are men ! 
 
 These shall the fury Passions tear, 
 
 The vultures of the mind, 
 Disdainful ^i^ger, pallid Fear, 
 
 And Shame, that sculks behind ; 
 Or pining Love shall waste their youth, 
 Or Jealousy with rankling tooth 
 That inly gnaws the secret heart, 
 And Envy wan, and faded Care, 
 Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, 
 
 And Sorrow's piercing dart. 
 
 Ambition this shall tempt to rise. 
 
 Then whirl the wretch from high, 
 To bitter Scorn a sacrifice 
 
 And grinning Infamy. 
 The stings of Falsehood those shall try 
 And hard Unkindness' alter 'd eye, 
 That mocks the tear it forced to flow ; 
 And keen Remorse, with blood defiled. 
 And moody Madness, laughing wild 
 Amid severest woe. 
 
 Lo, in the vale of years beneath 
 
 A griesly troop are seen. 
 The painful family of Death, 
 
 More hideous than their queen : 
 
THOMAS GRAY 229 
 
 This racks the joints, this fires the veins, 
 That every labouring sinew strains. 
 Those in the deeper vitals rage ; 
 Lo ! Poverty, to fill the band, 
 That numbs the soul with icy hand, 
 And slow-consuming Age. 
 
 To each his sufiPerings: all are men, 
 
 Condemn 'd alike to groan ; 
 The tender for another's pain, 
 
 Th' unfeeling for his owti. 
 Yet, ah ! why should they know their fate, 
 Since sorrow never comes too late, 
 And happiness too swiftly flies? 
 Thought would destroy their paradise. 
 No more ; — where ignorance is bliss, 
 
 'Tis folly to be wise. 
 
 TJiomas Gray 
 
 200* THE SHRUBBERY 
 
 O happy shades ! to me unblest ! 
 
 Friendly to peace, but not to me ! 
 How ill the scene that offers rest. 
 
 And heart that cannot rest, agree ! 
 
 This glassy stream, that spreading pine, 
 Those alders quivering to the breeze, 
 
 Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine, 
 And please, if anything could please. 
 
 But fix'd unalterable Care 
 
 Foregoes not w^hat she feels wdthin. 
 
230 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Shows the same sadness everywhere, 
 And slights the season and the scene. 
 
 For all that pleased in wood or lawn 
 While Peace possess 'd these silent bowers, 
 
 Her animating smile withdrawn, 
 Has lost its beauties and its powers. 
 
 The saint or .moralist should tread 
 This moss-grown alley, musing, slow; 
 
 They seek like me the secret shade. 
 But not, like me, to nourish woe ! 
 
 Me, fruitful scenes and prospects waste 
 Alike admonish not to roam ; 
 
 These tell me of enjoyments past, 
 And those, of sorrows yet to come. 
 William Cowper 
 
 201 HYMN TO ADVERSITY 
 
 Daughter of Jove, relentless power, 
 Thou tamer of the human breast, 
 
 "Whose iron scourge and torturing hour 
 The bad affright, afflict the best ! 
 
 Bound in thy adamantine chain. 
 
 The proud are taught to taste of pain ; 
 
 And purple tyrants vainly groan 
 
 With pangs unfelt before, unpitied nnd alone. 
 
 When first thy Sire to send on earth 
 Virtue, his darling child, design 'd. 
 
 To thee he gave the heavenly birth 
 And bade to form her infant mind. 
 
THOMAS GRAY 231 
 
 Stern, rugged nurse ! thy rigid lore 
 With patience many a year she bore ; 
 What sorrow was thou bad'st her know, 
 And from her own she learn 'd to melt at others' woe. 
 
 Scared at thy frown terrific, fly 
 
 Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, 
 Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, 
 
 And leave us leisure to be good. 
 Light they disperse, and with them go 
 The summer friend, the flattering foe ; 
 By vain Prosperity received, 
 To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. 
 
 Wisdom in sable garb array 'd. 
 
 Immersed in rapturous thought profound. 
 And Melancholy, silent maid, 
 
 With leaden eye that loves the ground. 
 Still on thy solemn steps attend; 
 Warm Charity, the general friend. 
 With Justice, to herself severe. 
 And Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. 
 
 Oh ! gently on thy suppliant 's head 
 
 Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand ! 
 Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 
 
 Not circled with the vengeful band, 
 (As by the impious thou art seen) 
 With thundering voice, and threatening mien. 
 With screaming Horror's funeral cry, 
 Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty :— 
 
 Thy form benign, oh goddess, wear. 
 Thy milder influence impart. 
 
232 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Thy philosophic train be there 
 
 To soften, not to wound, my heart; 
 The generous spark extinct revive, 
 Teach me to love and to forgive, 
 Exact my own defects to scan. 
 What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. 
 
 Thomas Gray 
 
 202* THE SOLITUDE OF ALEXANDER 
 SELKIRK 
 
 I am monarch of all I survey ; 
 My right there is none to dispute ; 
 From the centre all round to the sea 
 I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 
 
 Solitude ! where are the charms 
 That sages have seen in thy face? 
 Better dwell in the midst of alarms, 
 Than reign in this horrible place. 
 
 1 am out of humanity 's reach, 
 I must finish my journey alone, 
 Never hear the sweet music of speech ; 
 I start at the sound of my own. 
 
 The beasts that roam over the plain 
 My form with indifference see, 
 They are so unacquainted with man 
 Their tameness is shocking to me. 
 
 Society, Friendship, and Love, 
 Divinely bestow 'd upon man. 
 Oh, had I the wings of a dove, 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 233 
 
 How soon would I taste you again ! 
 My sorrows I then might assuage 
 In the ways of religion and truth, 
 Might learn from the wisdom of age, 
 And be cheer 'd by the sallies of youth. 
 
 Ye winds that have made me your sport, 
 
 Convey to this desolate shore 
 
 Some cordial, endearing report 
 
 Of a land I shall visit no more: 
 
 My friends, do they now and then send 
 
 A wish or a thought after me? 
 
 O tell me I yet have a friend, 
 
 Though a friend I am never to see. 
 
 How fleet is a glance of the mind ! 
 Compared with the speed of its flight, 
 The tempest itself lags behind, 
 And the swift-winged arrows of light. 
 When I think of my own native land, 
 In a moment I seem to be there ; 
 But alas ! recollection at hand 
 Soon hurries me back to despair. 
 
 But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest. 
 The beast is laid down in his lair ; 
 Even here is a season of rest. 
 And I to my cabin repair. 
 There's mercy in every place. 
 And mercy (encouraging thought!) 
 Gives even affliction a grace 
 And reconciles man to his lot. 
 
 William Cowper 
 
234 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 203 TO MARY UNWIN 
 
 Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings, 
 Such aid from Heaven as some have feign 'd they drew, 
 An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new 
 And undebased by praise of meaner things, 
 That, ere through age or woe I shed my wings, 
 I may record thy worth with honour due, 
 hi verse as musical as thou art true, 
 And that immortalizes whom it sings : — 
 But thou hast little need. There is a Book 
 By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 
 On which the eyes of God not rarely look, 
 A chronicle of actions just and bright — 
 There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine ; 
 And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine. 
 
 William Coivper 
 
 204 TO THE SAME 
 
 The twentieth year is well-nigh past 
 Since first our sky was overcast ; 
 Ah would that this might be the last! 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 
 I see thee daily weaker grow — 
 'Twas my distress that brought thee low. 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Thy needles, once a shining store. 
 For my sake restless heretofore. 
 Now rust disused and shine no more ; 
 My Mary ! 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 235 
 
 For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil 
 The same kind office for me still, 
 Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 
 My Mary! 
 
 But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, 
 And all thy threads with magic art 
 Have wound themselves about this heart. 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Thy indistinct expressions seem 
 Like language utter 'd in a dream; 
 Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 
 Are still more lovely in my sight 
 Than golden beams of orient light, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 For could I view nor them nor thee, 
 What sight worth seeing could I see? 
 The sun would rise in vain for me. 
 My Mary ! • 
 
 Partakers of thy sad decline, 
 Thy hands their little force resign ; 
 Yet, gently prest, press gently mine, 
 My Mary! 
 
 Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st 
 That now at every step thou mov'st 
 Upheld by two; yet still thou lov'st. 
 My Mary! 
 
236 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And still to love, though prest with ill, 
 In wintry age to feel no chill, 
 With me is to be lovely still. 
 My Mary ! 
 
 But ah ! by constant heed I know 
 How oft the sadness that I show 
 Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 And should my future lot be cast 
 With much resemblance of the past, 
 Thy worn-out heart will break at last — 
 My Mary ! 
 
 William Coiuper 
 
 205 THE CASTAWAY 
 
 Obscurest night involved the sky 
 The Atlantic billows roar'd. 
 
 When such a destined wretch as I, 
 Wash 'd headlong from on board, 
 
 Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, 
 
 His floating home for ever left. 
 
 No braver chief could Albion boast 
 Than he with whom he went. 
 
 Nor ever ship left Albion's coast 
 With warmer wishes sent ; 
 
 He loved them both, but both in vain, 
 
 Nor him beheld, nor her again. 
 
 Not long beneath the whelming brine, 
 Expert to swim, he lay ; 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 237 
 
 Nor soon he felt his strength decline, 
 
 Or courage die away; 
 But waged with death a lasting strife, 
 Supported by despair of life. 
 
 He shouted ; nor his friends had fail 'd 
 
 To check the vessel 's course. 
 But so the furious blast prevail'd, 
 
 That, pitiless perforce, 
 They left their outcast mate behind, 
 And scudded still before the wind. 
 
 Some succour yet they could afford ; 
 
 And such as storms allow. 
 The cask, the coop, the floated cord, 
 
 Delay 'cl not to bestow. 
 But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore, 
 Whate'er they gave, should visit moPC. 
 
 Nor, cruel as it seem 'd, could he 
 
 Their haste himself condemn, 
 Aw^are that flight, in such a sea, 
 
 Alone could rescue them; 
 Yet bitter felt it still to die 
 Deserted, and his friends so nigh. 
 
 He long survives who lives an hour 
 
 In ocean, self-upheld; 
 And so long he, with unspent powe?, 
 
 His destiny repell'd; 
 And ever, as the minutes flew. 
 Entreated help, or cried "Adieu!'' 
 
 At length, his transient respite past, 
 His comrades, who before 
 
238 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Had heard his voice in every blast, 
 Could catch the sound no more ; 
 For then, by toil subdued, he drank 
 The stifling wave, and then he sank. 
 
 No poet wept him ; but the page 
 
 Of narrative sincere 
 That tells his name, his worth, his age, 
 
 Is wet with Anson 's tear ; 
 And tears by bards or heroes shed 
 Alike immortalize the dead. 
 
 I therefore purpose not, or dream, 
 
 Descanting on his fate, 
 To give the melancholy theme 
 
 A more enduring date ; 
 But misery still delights to trace 
 Its semblance in another 's case : 
 
 No voice divine the storm allay 'd. 
 No light propitious shone. 
 
 When, snatch 'd from all effectual aid. 
 We perish 'd, each alone; 
 
 But I beneath a rougher sea. 
 
 And whelm 'd in deeper gulfs than he. 
 Williayn Cow per 
 
 206 TOMORROW 
 
 In the doAvnhill of life, when I find I 'm declining, 
 
 May my fate no less fortunate be 
 Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for reclining, 
 
 And a cot that o 'erlooks the wide sea : 
 
JOHN COLLINS 239 
 
 With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, 
 
 While I carol away idle sorrow, 
 And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn 
 
 Look forward with hope for Tomorrow. 
 
 With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too. 
 
 As the sunshine or rain may prevail ; 
 And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too. 
 
 With a barn for the use of the flail ; 
 A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game, 
 
 And a purse when a friend wants to borrow ; 
 I'll envy no Nabob his riches or fame, 
 
 Or what honours may wait him Tomorrow. 
 
 From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely 
 
 Secured by a neighbouring hill ; 
 And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly 
 
 By the sound of a murmuring rill ; 
 And while peace and plenty I find at my board, 
 
 With a heart free from sickness and sorrow. 
 With my friends may I share what Today may afford. 
 
 And let them spread the table Tomorrow. 
 
 And when I at last must throw off this frail cov'ring 
 
 Which I've worn for three-score years and ten, 
 On the brink of the grave I '11 not seek to keep hov 'ring. 
 
 Nor my thread wish to spin o 'er again ; 
 But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey. 
 
 And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow, 
 As this old worn-out stuff, which is threadbare Today, 
 
 May become Everlasting Tomorrow. 
 
 John Collins 
 
240 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 207* 
 
 Life ! I know not what thou art, 
 But know that thou and I must part ; 
 And when, or how, or where we met 
 I own to me's a secret yet. 
 
 Life! we've been long together 
 Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 
 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear — 
 Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear. 
 — Then steal away, give little warning. 
 Choose thine own time; 
 
 Say not Good Night, — but in some brighter clime 
 Bid me Good Morning. 
 
 Anna Laetitia Barhauld 
 
BOOK FOUR 
 
 208* TO THE MUSES 
 
 Whether on Ida's shady brow, 
 Or in the chambers of the East, 
 
 The chambers of the sun, that now 
 From ancient melody have ceased ; 
 
 Whether in Heaven ye wander fair. 
 Or the green corners of the earth, 
 
 Or the blue regions of the air, 
 
 Where the melodious winds have birth ; 
 
 Whether on crystal rocks ye rove 
 Beneath the bosom of the sea, 
 
 Wandering in many a coral grove, — 
 Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry ; 
 
 How have you left the ancient love 
 That bards of old enjoy 'd in you ! 
 
 The languid strings do scarcely move. 
 The sound is forced, the notes are few. 
 William Blake 
 
 209 ODE ON THE POETS 
 
 Bards of Passion and of Mirth 
 Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
 Have ye souls in heaven too. 
 Doable-lived in regions new? 
 
 241 
 
242 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 — Yes, and those of heaven commune 
 With the spheres of sun and moon ; 
 With the noise of fountains wond'rous 
 And the parle of voices thund'rous; 
 With the whisper of heaven 's trees 
 And one another, in soft ease 
 Seated on Elysian lawns 
 Browsed by none but Dian's fawns; 
 Underneath large blue-bells tented, 
 Where the daisies are rose-scented, 
 And the rose herself has got 
 Perfume which on earth is not ; 
 Where the nightingale doth sing 
 Not a senseless, tranced thing. 
 But divine melodious truth, 
 Philosophic numbers smooth. 
 Tales and golden histories 
 Of heaven and its mysteries. 
 
 Thus ye live on high, and then 
 On the earth ye live again ; 
 And the souls ye left behind you 
 Teach us, here, the way to find you 
 Where your other souls are joying, 
 Never slumber 'd, never cloying. 
 Here, your earth-born souls still speak 
 To mortals, of their little week ; 
 Of their sorrows and delights. 
 Of their passions and their spites. 
 Of their glory and their shame. 
 What doth strengthen and what maim :- 
 Thus ye teach us, every day. 
 Wisdom, though fled far away. 
 
JOHN KEATS 243 
 
 Bards of Passion and of Mirth 
 Ye have left your souls on earth ! 
 Ye have souls in heaven too, 
 Double-lived in regions new ! 
 
 John Keats 
 
 210 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S 
 HOMER 
 
 Much have I travell 'd in the realms of gold 
 And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; 
 Round many western islands have I been 
 Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. 
 Oft of one wide expanse had I been told 
 That deep-brow 'd Homer ruled as his demesne ; 
 Yet did I never breathe its pure serene 
 Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold. 
 — Then felt I like some watcher of the skies 
 When a new planet swims into his ken ; 
 Or "like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes 
 He stared at the Pacific — and all his men 
 Look'd at each other with a wild surmise^ 
 Silent, upon a peak in Darien. 
 
 John Keats 
 
 211* LOVE 
 
 All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
 Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
 All are but ministers of Love, 
 And feed his sacred flame. 
 
244 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Oft in my waking dreams do I 
 Live o'er again that happy hour, 
 When mid-way on the mount I lay, 
 Beside the ruin'd tower. 
 
 The moonshine stealing o'er the scene 
 Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
 And she was there, my hope, my joy. 
 My own dear Genevieve ! 
 
 She lean'd against the armed man, 
 The statue of the armed knight ; 
 She stood and listen 'd to my lay. 
 Amid the lingering light. 
 
 Few sorrows hath she of her own. 
 My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ! 
 She loves me best whene'er I sing 
 The songs that make her grieve. 
 
 I play'd a soft and doleful air, 
 I sang an old and moving story — 
 An old rude song, that suited well 
 That ruin wild and hoary. 
 
 She listen 'd with a flitting blush. 
 With downcast eyes and modest grace 
 For well she knew I could not choose 
 But gaze upon her face. 
 
 I told her of the Knight that wore 
 Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
 And that for ten long years he woo'd 
 The Lady of the Land. 
 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 245 
 
 I told her how he pined ; and ah ! 
 The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
 With which I sang another's love 
 Interpreted my own. 
 
 She listen 'd with a flitting blush, 
 With downcast eyes, and modest grace ; 
 And she forgave me that I gazed 
 Too fondly on her face ! 
 
 But when I told the cruel scorn 
 That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, 
 And that he cross 'd the mountain- woods. 
 Nor rested day nor night ; 
 
 That sometimes from the savage den, 
 And sometimes from the darksome shade, 
 And sometimes starting up at once 
 In green and sunny glade, — 
 
 There came and look'd him in the face 
 An angel beautiful and bright ; 
 And that he knew it was a Fiend, 
 This miserable Knight ! 
 
 And that, unknowing what he did. 
 He leap 'd amid a murderous band. 
 And saved from outrage worse than death 
 The Lady of the Land ; — 
 
 And how she wept, and clasp 'd his knees ; 
 And how she tended him in vain — 
 And ever strove to expiate 
 
 The scorn that crazed his brain ; — 
 
246 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And that she nursed him in a cave, 
 And how his madness went away, 
 When on the yellow forest- leaves 
 A dying man he lay ; — 
 
 His dying words — but when I reach 'd 
 That tenderest strain of all the ditty, 
 My faltering voice and pausing harp 
 Disturb 'd her soul with pity ! 
 
 All impulses of soul and sense 
 Had thrill 'd my guileless Genevieve : 
 The music and the doleful tale, 
 The rich and balmy eve. 
 
 And hopes, and fears that kindly hope. 
 An undistinguishable throng, 
 And gentle wishes long subdued, 
 Subdued and cherish 'd long! 
 
 She wept with pity and delight. 
 She blush 'd with love, and virgin shame 
 And like the murmur of a dream, 
 I heard her breathe my name. 
 
 Her bosom heaved — she stepp 'd aside, 
 As conscious of my look she stept — 
 Then suddenly, with timorous eye 
 She fled to me and wept. 
 
 She half inclosed me with her arms. 
 She press 'd me with a meek embrace; 
 And bending back her head, look'd up. 
 And gazed upon my face. 
 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 247 
 
 'Twas partly love, and partly fear, 
 AikI partly 'twas a bashful art 
 That I might rather feel, than see, 
 The swelling of her heart. 
 
 I calm'd her fears, and she was calm. 
 And told her love with virgin pride ; 
 And so I won my Genevieve, 
 
 My bright and beauteous Bride. 
 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge 
 
 212 ALL FOR LOVE 
 
 talk not to me of a name great in story : 
 
 The days of our youth are the days of our glory ; 
 And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty 
 Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. 
 
 What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is 
 
 wrinkled ? 
 'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled ; 
 Then away with all such from the head that is hoary — 
 "What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory ? 
 
 Oh Fame! — if I e'er took delight in thy praises, 
 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases 
 Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover 
 She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. 
 
 There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee ! 
 Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee ; 
 When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, 
 
 1 knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
248 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 213 THE OUTLAW 
 
 Brignall banks are wild and fair, 
 And Greta woods are green, 
 
 And you may gather garlands there 
 
 Would grace a summer-queen. 
 And as I rode by Dalton-Hall 
 
 Beneath the turrets high, 
 A Maiden on the castle-wall 
 
 Was singing merrily: 
 * ' Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green ; 
 I'd rather rove with Edmund there 
 
 Than reign our English queen." 
 
 *'If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me. 
 
 To leave both tower and town, 
 Thou first must guess what life lead we 
 
 That dwell by dale and down. 
 And if thou canst that riddle read. 
 
 As read full well you may, 
 Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed 
 
 As blithe as Queen of May." 
 Yet sung she, "Brignall banks are fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green ; 
 I'd rather rove with Edmund there 
 
 Than reign our English queen. 
 
 ' ' I read you, by your bugle-horn 
 And by your palfrey good, 
 
 1 read you for a ranger sworn 
 
 To keep the king's greenwood." 
 "A Ranger, lady, winds his horn. 
 And 'tis at peep of light ; 
 
SIR WALTER SCOTT 249 
 
 His blast is heard at merry morn, 
 
 And mine at dead of night ' ' 
 Yet sung she, ''Brignall banks are fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are gay ; 
 I would I were with Edmund there 
 
 To reign his Queen of May ! 
 
 ''With burnish 'd brand and musketoon 
 
 So gallantly you come, 
 I read you for a bold Dragoon 
 
 That lists the tuck of dram." 
 ' ' I list no more the tuck of drum, 
 
 No more the trumpet hear ; 
 But when the beetle sounds his hum 
 
 My comrades take the spear. 
 And ! though Brignall banks be fair 
 
 And Greta woods be gay, 
 Yet mickle must the maiden dare 
 
 Would reign my Queen of May ! 
 
 ' ' Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 
 
 A nameless death I '11 die ; 
 The fiend whose lantern lights the mead 
 
 Were better mate than I ! 
 And when I 'm with my comrades met 
 
 Beneath the greenwood bough, — 
 What once we were we all forget, 
 
 Nor think what we are now. ' ' 
 
 CJiorus 
 Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green. 
 And you may gather garlands there 
 Would grace a summer-queen. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott 
 
250 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 214 There be none of Beauty's daughters 
 
 With a magic like Thee ; 
 
 And like music on the waters 
 
 Is thy sweet voice to me : 
 When, as if its sound were causing 
 The charmed ocean's pausing, 
 The waves lie still and gleaming, 
 And the lull'd winds seem dreaming; 
 
 And the midnight moon is weaving 
 Her bright chain o'er the deep, 
 
 Whose breast is gently heaving 
 As an infant 's asleep : 
 
 So the spirit bows before thee 
 
 To listen and adore thee ; 
 
 With a full but soft emotion, 
 
 Like the swell of Summer's ocean. 
 Lord Byron 
 
 215* THE INDIAN SERENADE 
 
 I arise from dreams of Thee 
 In the first sweet sleep of night, 
 AVhen the winds are breathing low 
 And the stars are shining bright ; 
 I arise from dreams of thee, 
 And a spirit in my feet 
 Hath led me — who knows how? 
 To thy chamber- window, Sweet ! 
 
 The wandering airs they faint 
 On the dark, the silent stream — 
 The champak odours fail 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 251 
 
 Like sweet thoughts in a dream ; 
 The nightingale's complaint 
 It dies upon her heart, 
 As I must die on thine, 
 
 beloved as thou art ! 
 
 Oh lift me from the grass ! 
 
 1 die, I faint, I fail ! 
 
 Let thy love in kisses rain 
 On my lips and eyelids pale. 
 My cheek is cold and white, alas ! «' 
 My heart beats loud and fast ; 
 Oh ! press it close to thine again 
 Where it will break at last. 
 
 Percy Bysslic Shelley 
 
 216 She walks in beauty, like the night 
 Of cloudless climes and starry skies, 
 And all that's best of dark and bright 
 Meet in her aspect and her eyes ; 
 Thus mellow 'd to that tender light 
 Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 
 
 One shade the more, one ray the less, 
 Had half impair 'd the nameless grace 
 Which waves in every raven tress 
 Or softly lightens o 'er her face. 
 Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
 How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. 
 
 And on that cheek and o'er that brow 
 
 So soft, so calm, yet eloquent. 
 
 The smiles that win, the tints that glow 
 
252 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 But tell of days in goodness spent, — 
 A mind at peace with all below, 
 A heart whose love is innocent. 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
 217* She was a Phantom of delight 
 
 When first she gleam 'd upon my sight : 
 A lovely Apparition, sent 
 To be a moment's ornament; 
 Hel^ eyes as stars of twilight fair, 
 Like Twilight 's, too, her dusky hair ; 
 But all things else about her drawn 
 From May-time and the cheerful dawn : 
 A dancing shape, an image gay, 
 To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 
 
 I saw her upon nearer view, 
 
 A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! 
 
 Her household motions light and free, 
 
 And steps of virgin-liberty ; 
 
 A countenance in which did meet 
 
 Sweet records, promises as sweet; 
 
 A creature not too bright or good 
 
 For human nature's daily food. 
 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles. 
 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 
 
 And now I see with eye serene 
 
 The very pulse of the machine : 
 
 A being breathing thoughtful breath, 
 
 A traveller between life and death : 
 
 The reason firm, the temperate will, 
 
 Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill ; 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 253 
 
 A perfect Woman, nobly piann'd 
 To warn, to comfort, and command, 
 And yet a Spirit still, and bright 
 With something of an angel-light. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 218* She is not fair to outward view 
 
 As many maidens be; 
 Her loveliness I never knew 
 
 Until she smiled on me. 
 O then I saw her eye was bright, 
 A well of love, a spring of light. 
 
 But now her looks are coy and cold, 
 To mine they ne'er reply, 
 
 And yet I cease not to behold 
 The love-light in her eye : 
 
 Her very frowns are fairer far 
 
 Than smiles of other maidens are. 
 Hartley Coleridge 
 
 219* I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden 
 Thou needest not fear mine : 
 My spirit is too deeply laden 
 Ever to burthen thine. 
 
 I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion ; 
 Thou needest not fear mine : 
 Innocent is the heart's devotion 
 With which I worship thine. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
254 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 220* She dwelt among the untrodden ways 
 Beside the sprmgs of Dove ; 
 A maid whom there w^ere none to praise, 
 And very few to love. 
 
 A violet by a mossy stone 
 Half hidden from the eye ! 
 
 — Fair as a star, when only one 
 Is shining in the sky. 
 
 She lived unknown, and few could know 
 
 When Lucy ceased to be ; 
 But she is in her grave, and, oh, 
 
 The difference to me ! 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 221* I travell'd among unknown men 
 In lands beyond the sea; 
 Nor, England I did I know till then 
 What love I bore to thee. 
 
 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! 
 
 Nor will I quit thy shore 
 A second time ; for still I seem 
 
 To love thee more and more. 
 
 Among thy mountains did I feel 
 
 The joy of my desire ; 
 And she I cherished turn'd her wheel 
 
 Beside an English fire. 
 
 Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd 
 The bowers where Lucy play 'd ; 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 255 
 
 And thine, too, is the hist green field 
 That Lucy's eyes survey 'd. 
 
 William Wordsiuorth 
 
 222 THE EDUCATION OP NATURE 
 
 Three years she grew in sun and shower; 
 Then Nature said, ''A lovelier flower 
 On earth was never sown ; 
 This Child I to myself will take ; 
 She shall be mine, and I will make 
 A lady of my own. 
 
 ''Mj^self will to my darling be 
 
 Both law and impulse ; and with me 
 
 The girl, in rock and plain, 
 
 In earth and heaven, in glade and bower, 
 
 Shall feel an overseeing power 
 
 To kindle or restrain. 
 
 ' ' She shall be sportive as the fawn 
 That wild with glee across the lawn 
 Or up the mountain springs ; 
 And hers shall be the breathing balm. 
 And hers the silence and the calm 
 Of mute insensate things. 
 
 •'The floating clouds their state shall lend 
 
 To her ; for her the willow bend ; 
 
 Nor shall she fail to see 
 
 Ev'n in the motions of the storm 
 
 Grace that shall mould the maiden's form 
 
 By silent sympathy. 
 
256 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ' ' The stars of midnight shall be dear 
 
 To her ; and she shall lean her ear 
 
 In many a secret place 
 
 "Where rivulets dance their wayward round, 
 
 And beauty born of murmuring sound 
 
 Shall pass into her face. 
 
 ' * And vital feelings of delight 
 Shall rear her form to stately height, 
 Her virgin bosom swell : 
 Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
 While she and I together live 
 Here in this happy dell. ' ' 
 
 Thus Nature spake — The work was done — 
 
 How soon my Lucy 's race was run ! 
 
 She died, and left to me 
 
 This heath, this calm and quiet scene, 
 
 The memory of what has been, 
 
 And never more will be. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 223 A slumber did my spirit seal ; 
 
 I had no human fears: 
 She seemed a thing that could not feel 
 The touch of earthly years. 
 
 No motion has she now, no force ; 
 
 She neither hears nor sees ; 
 Roird round in earth's diurnal course 
 
 With rocks, and stones, and trees. 
 William Wordsworth 
 
HENEY FRANCIS LYTE 257 
 
 224* A LOST LOVE 
 
 I meet thy pensive, moonlight face; 
 
 Thy thrilling voice I hear ; 
 And former hours and scenes retrace, 
 
 Too fleeting, and too dear! 
 
 Then sighs and tears flow fast and free, 
 
 Though none is nigh to share ; 
 And life has nought beside for me 
 
 So sweet as this despair. 
 
 There are crush 'd hearts that will not break ; 
 
 And mine, methinks, is one, 
 Or thus I should not weep and wake. 
 
 And thou to slumber gone. 
 
 I little thought it thus could be 
 
 In days more sad and fair — 
 That earth could have a place for me. 
 
 And thou no longer there. 
 
 Yet death cannot our hearts divide, 
 
 Or make thee less my own : 
 'Twere sweeter sleeping at thy side 
 
 Than watching here alone ; 
 
 Yet never, never can we part. 
 
 While Memory holds her reign : 
 Thine, thine is still this wither 'd heart. 
 
 Till we shall meet again. 
 
 Henry Francis Lyte 
 
258 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 225* LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER 
 
 A Chieftain to the Highlands bound 
 Cries ' ' Boatman, do not tarry ! 
 And I'll give thee a silver pound 
 To row us 'er the ferry ! ' ' 
 
 ''Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle, 
 This dark and stormy water ? ' ' 
 ''0 I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, 
 And this, Lord Ullin's daughter. 
 
 ''And fast before her father's men 
 Three days we've fled together, 
 For should he find us in the glen, 
 My blood would stain the heather. 
 
 "His horsemen hard behind us ride — 
 Should they our steps discover. 
 Then who will cheer my bonny bride. 
 When they have slain her lover?" 
 
 Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 
 " I '11 go, my chief, I 'm ready : 
 It is not for your silver bright, 
 But for your winsome lady : — 
 
 ' ' And by my word ! the bonny bird 
 In danger shall not tarry ; 
 So, though the waves are raging white, 
 I'll row you o'er the ferry." 
 
 By this the storm grew loud apace. 
 The water-wraith was shrieking ; 
 
THOMAS CAMPBELL 259 
 
 And in the scowl of Heaven each face 
 Grew dark as they were speaking. 
 
 But still as wilder blew the wind, 
 And as the night grew drearer, 
 Adown the glen rode armed men, 
 Their trampling sounded nearer. 
 
 "O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, 
 ''Though tempests round us gather; 
 I'll meet the raging of the skies, 
 But not an angry father. ' ' 
 
 The boat has left a stormy land, 
 A stormy sea before her, — 
 When, oh ! too strong for human hand 
 The tempest gather 'd o 'er her. 
 
 And still they row'd amidst the roar 
 Of waters fast prevailing: 
 Lord Ullin reach 'd that fatal shore, — 
 His wrath was changed to wailing. 
 
 For, sore dismay 'd, through storm and shade 
 His child he did discover; — 
 One lovely hand she stretch 'd for aid. 
 And one was round her lover. 
 
 ' ' Come back ! come back ! " he cried in grief, 
 ''Across this stormy water: 
 And I '11 forgive your Highland chief. 
 My daughter! — Oh, my daughter!" 
 
 'Twas vain: the loud waves lash'd the shore, 
 Return or aid preventing ; 
 
260 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The waters wild went o'er his child, 
 And he was left lamenting. 
 
 Thomas Campbell 
 
 226 LUCY GRAY 
 
 Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray ; 
 And when I cross 'd the wild, 
 I chanced to see at break of day 
 The solitary child. 
 
 No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; 
 She dwelt on a wide moor, 
 The sweetest thing that ever grew 
 Beside a human door! 
 
 You yet may spy the fawn at play, 
 The hare upon the green ; 
 But the sweet face of Lucy Gray 
 Will never more be seen. 
 
 *' To-night will be a stormy night — 
 You to the town must go; 
 And take a lantern. Child, to light 
 Your mother through the snow." 
 
 ''That, Father! will I gladly do; 
 'Tis scarcely afternoon — 
 The minister-clock has just struck two 
 And yonder is the moon!" 
 
 At this the father raised his hook, 
 And snapp 'd a faggot-band ; 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 261 
 
 He plied his work ; — and Lucy took 
 The lantern in her hand. 
 
 Not blither is the mountain roe ; 
 With many a wanton stroke 
 Her feet disperse the powdery snow, 
 That rises up like smoke. 
 
 The storm came on before its time ; 
 She wander 'd up and down, 
 And many a hill did Lucy climb : 
 But never reach 'd the town. 
 
 The wretched parents all that night 
 Went shouting far and wide; 
 But there was neither sound nor sight 
 To serve them for a guide. 
 
 At day-break on a hill they stood 
 That overlook 'd the moor, 
 And thence they saw the bridge of wood 
 A furlong from their door. 
 
 They wept — and, turning homeward, cried 
 * ' In heaven we all shall meet ! ' ' 
 — When in the snow the mother spied 
 The print of Lucy 's feet. 
 
 Then downward from the steep hill's edge 
 They track 'd the footmarks small ; 
 And through the broken hawthorn hedge, 
 And by the long stone-wall ; 
 
 And then an open field they cross 'd : 
 The marks were still the same ; 
 
262 THE COLDEN TREASURY 
 
 They track 'd them on, nor ever lost: 
 And to the bridge they came. 
 
 They follow 'd from the snowy bank 
 Those footmarks, one by one. 
 Into the middle of the plank ; 
 And further there were none ! 
 
 — Yet some maintain that to this day 
 She is a living child; 
 That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 
 Upon the lonesome wild. 
 
 O'er rough and smooth she trips along, 
 And never looks behind ; 
 And sings a solitary song 
 That whistles in the wind. 
 
 William Wordsworik. 
 
 227 JOCK OP HAZELDEAN 
 
 "Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? 
 
 Why weep ye by the tide? 
 I'll wed ye to my youngest son, 
 
 And ye sail be his bride ; 
 And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 
 
 Sae comely to be seen ' ' — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock of Ilazeldean. 
 
 ''Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 
 And dry that t-lioek so pnh^ : 
 
a 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT 2G3 
 
 Young Frank is chief of Errington 
 
 And lord of Langley-dale 
 His step is first in peaceful \u 
 
 His sword in battle keen" — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa, 
 
 For Jock of Ilazeldean. 
 
 "A chain of gold ye sail not lack, 
 
 Nor braid to bind your hair, 
 Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, 
 
 Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 
 And you the foremost o' them a' 
 
 Shall ride our forest-queen" — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa, 
 
 For Jock of Ilazeldean. 
 
 The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, 
 
 The tapers glimmer 'd fair, 
 The priest and bride-groom wait the bride. 
 
 And dame and knight are there : 
 They sought her baith by bower and ha ' ; 
 
 The ladie was not seen ! 
 She's o'er the Border, and awa' 
 
 Wi ' Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott 
 
 228* LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY 
 
 The fountains mingle with the river, 
 And the rivers with the ocean. 
 The winds of heaven mix for ever 
 With a sweet emotion ; 
 Nothing in the world is single. 
 
264 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 All things by a law divine 
 
 In one another's being mingle — 
 
 Why not I with thine ? 
 
 See, the mountains kiss high heaven, 
 And the waves clasp one another ; 
 No sister-flower would be forgiven 
 If it disdain 'd its brother ; 
 And the sunlight clasps the earth, 
 And the moon-beams kiss the sea — 
 What are all these kissings worth, 
 If thou kiss not me ? 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
 229 ECHOES 
 
 How sweet the answer Echo makes 
 
 To Music at night, 
 
 When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes. 
 
 And far away o'er lawns and lakes 
 
 Goes answering light ! 
 
 Yet Love hath echoes truer far 
 
 And far more sweet 
 
 Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star, 
 
 Of horn or lute or soft guitar 
 
 The songs repeat. 
 
 'Tis when the sigh, — in youth sincere 
 And only then. 
 
 The sigh that's breathed for one to hear — ^ 
 Is by that one, that only Dear 
 Breathed back again. Thomas Moore 
 
Sm WALTER SCOTT 265 
 
 230* A SERENADE 
 
 Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh, 
 
 The sun has left the lea, 
 The orange-flower perfumes the bower, 
 
 The breeze is on the sea. 
 The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day. 
 
 Sits hush'd his partner nigh; 
 Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour — 
 
 But where is County Guy? 
 
 The village maid steals through the shade 
 
 Her shepherd's suit to hear.; 
 To Beauty shy, by lattice high, 
 
 Sings high-born Cavalier. 
 The stars of Love, all stars above. 
 
 Now reigns o 'er earth and sky, 
 And high and low the influence know — 
 
 But where is County Guy? 
 
 >Sf^V Walter Scott 
 
 231* TO THE EVENING STAR 
 
 Gem of the crimson-colour 'd Even, 
 Companion of retiring day, 
 "Why at the closing gates of heaven. 
 Beloved Star, dost thou delay ? 
 
 So fair thy pensile beauty burns 
 When soft the tear of twilight flows 
 So due thy plighted love returns 
 To chambers brighter than the rose; 
 
266 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 To Peace, to Pleasure, and to Love 
 So kind a star thou seem'st to be, — 
 Sure some enamour 'd orb above 
 Descends and burns to meet with thee. 
 
 Thine is the breathing, blushing hour 
 When all unheavenly passions fly. 
 Chased by the soid-subduing power 
 Of Love's delicious witchery. 
 
 ! sacred to the fall of day 
 Queen of propitious stars, appear, 
 And early rise, and long delay. 
 When Caroline herself is here ! 
 
 Shine on her chosen green resort 
 Whose trees the sunward summit crown. 
 And wanton flowers, that well may court 
 An angel 's feet to tread them down ; 
 
 Shine on her sweetly scented road. 
 Thou star of evening's purple dome. 
 That lead'st the nightingale abroad 
 And guid'st the pilgrim to his home; 
 
 Shine where my charmer's sweeter breath 
 Embalms the soft exhaling dew, 
 Where dying winds a sigh bequeath 
 To kiss the cheek of rosy hue : — 
 
 Where, winnow 'd by the gentle air, 
 Her silken tresses darkly flow 
 And fall upon her brow so fair. 
 Like shadows on the mountain snow. 
 
THOMAS CAMPBELL 267 
 
 Thus, ever thus, at day's decline, 
 In converse sweet to wander far — 
 bring with thee my Caroline, 
 And thou shalt be my Ruling Star ! 
 
 Thomas Campljell 
 
 232 TO THE NIGHT 
 
 Swiftly walk over the western wave, 
 
 Spirit of Night ! 
 Out of the misty eastern cave 
 Where, all the long and lone daylight, 
 Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear, 
 Which make thee terrible and dear, — 
 
 Swiftbe thy flight! 
 
 Wrap thy form in a mantle gray. 
 
 Star-inwrought ; 
 Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day, 
 Kiss her until she be wearied out ; 
 Then wander o'er city and sea and land, . 
 Touching all with thine opiate wand — 
 
 Come, long-sought! 
 
 When I arose and saw the dawn, 
 
 I sigh 'd for thee ; 
 When light rode high, and the dew was gone, 
 And noon lay heavy on flower and tree. 
 And the weary Day turn'd to his rest. 
 Lingering like an unloved guest, 
 
 I sigh'd for thee; 
 
268 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Thy brother Death came and cried, 
 
 ''Wouldstthoume?" 
 Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, 
 Murmur 'd like a noon-tide bee : 
 ' ' Shall I nestle near thy side ? 
 Wouldst thou me?" — And I replied, 
 
 ''No, not thee!" 
 
 Death will come when thou art dead, 
 
 Soon, too soon — 
 Sleep will come when thou art fled ; 
 Of neither would I ask the boon 
 I ask of thee, beloved Night — 
 Swift be thine approaching flight, 
 
 Come soon, soon ! 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
 233* TO A DISTANT FRIEND 
 
 Why art thou silent ? Is thy love a plant 
 Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air 
 Of absence withers what w^as once so fair? 
 Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant? 
 Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilant. 
 Bound to thy service with unceasing care — 
 The mind's least generous wish a mendicant 
 For nought but. what thy happiness could spare. 
 Speak! — though this soft warm heart, once free to hold 
 A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine. 
 Be left more desolate, more dreary cold 
 Than a forsaken bird's-nest fill'd with snow 
 'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine — 
 Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know I 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
LORD BYRON 269 
 
 234* When we two parted 
 
 In silence and tears 
 Half broken-hearted, 
 To sever for years, 
 Pale grew thy cheek and cold, 
 Colder thy kiss : 
 Truly that hour foretold 
 Sorrow to this ! 
 
 The dew of the morning 
 Sunk chill on my brow ; 
 It felt like the warning 
 Of what I feel now. 
 Thy vows are all broken, 
 And light is thy fame : 
 I hear thy name spoken 
 And share in its shame. 
 
 They name thee before me, 
 A knell to mine ear ; 
 A shudder comes o'er me — 
 Why wert thou so dear? 
 They know not I knew thee 
 Who knew thee too well : 
 Long, long shall I rue thee, 
 Too deeply to tell. 
 
 In secret we met: 
 
 In silence I grieve 
 
 That thy heart could forget. 
 
 Thy spirit deceive. 
 
 If I should meet thee 
 
 After long years, 
 
270 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 How should I greet thee? — 
 With silence and tears. , 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
 235* HAPPY INSENSIBILITY 
 
 In a drear-nighted December, 
 
 Too happy, happy tree, 
 
 Thy branches ne'er remember 
 
 Their green felicity: 
 
 The north cannot undo them 
 
 With a sleety whistle through them, 
 
 Nor frozen thawings glue them 
 
 From budding at the prime. 
 
 In a drear-nighted December, 
 Too happy, happy brook, 
 Thy bubblings ne'er remember 
 Apollo's summer look; 
 But with a sweet forgetting 
 They stay their crystal fretting, 
 Never, never petting 
 About the frozen time. 
 
 Ah! would 'twere so with many 
 A gentle girl and boy ! 
 But were there ever any 
 Writhed not at passed joy? 
 To know the change and •feel it, 
 When there is none to heal it 
 Nor numbed sense to steal it — 
 Was never said in rhyme. 
 
 John Keats 
 
236 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT 271 
 
 Where shall the lover rest 
 
 Whom the fates sever 
 From his true maiden's breast, 
 
 Parted for ever ? 
 Where, through groves deep and high 
 
 Sounds the far billow, 
 Where early violets die 
 
 Under the willow. 
 Eleu loro 
 
 Soft shall he his pillow. 
 
 There, through the summer day 
 
 Cool streams are laving; 
 There, while the tempests sway, 
 
 Scarce are boughs waving; 
 There thy rest shalt thou take, 
 
 Parted for ever. 
 Never again to wake 
 
 Never, never ! 
 Eleu loro 
 
 Never, never! 
 
 Where shall the traitor rest. 
 
 He, the deceiver. 
 Who could win maiden's breast, 
 
 Ruin, and leave her? 
 In the lost battle, 
 
 Borne down by the flying, 
 Where mingles war's rattle 
 
 With groans of the dying ; 
 Eleu loro 
 
 There shall he he lying. 
 
272 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Her wing shall the eagle flap 
 
 O'er the falsehearted; 
 His warm blood the wolf shall lap 
 
 Ere life be parted ; 
 Shame and dishonour sit 
 
 By his grave ever ; 
 Blessing shall hallow it 
 
 Never, never ! 
 Eleu loro 
 
 Never, never! 
 
 Sir Walter Scott 
 
 237 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI 
 
 '*0 what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, 
 Alone and palely loitering? 
 
 The sedge has wither 'd from the lake 
 And no birds sing. 
 
 *'0 what can ail thee, knight-at-arms! 
 
 So haggard and so woe-begone? 
 The squirrel's granary is full, 
 
 And the harvest's done. 
 
 *^I see a lily on thy brow 
 
 With anguish moist and fever-dew, 
 
 And on thy cheeks a fading rose 
 Fast withereth too." 
 
 *'I met a lady in the meads, 
 Full beautiful — a faery's child, 
 
 Her hair was long, her foot was light. 
 And her eyes were wild. 
 
JOHN KEATS 273 
 
 **I made a garland for her head, 
 
 And bracelets too, and fragrant zone ; 
 
 She look'd at me as she did love, 
 And made sweet moan. 
 
 *^I set her on my pacing steed 
 
 And nothing else saw all day long. 
 
 For sidelong would she bend, and sing 
 A faery's song. 
 
 *'She found me roots of relish sweet. 
 And honey wild and manna-dew, 
 
 And sure in language strange she said 
 *I love thee true.' 
 
 ''She took me to her elfin grot. 
 
 And there she wept and sigh'd full sore^ 
 
 And there I shut her wild, wild eyes 
 With kisses four. 
 
 ''And there she lulled me asleep. 
 
 And there I dream 'd — Ah ! woe betide ! 
 
 The latest dream I ever dream 'd 
 On the cold hill's side. 
 
 "I saw pale kings and princes too, 
 Pale warriors, death-pale were they all ; 
 
 They cried — 'La belle Dame sans Merci 
 Hath thee in thrall ! ' 
 
 "I saw their starved lips in the gloam 
 With horrid warning gaped wide, 
 
 And I awoke and found me here 
 On the cold hill's side. 
 
274 THE (iOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ''And this is wiiy I sojourn liere 
 Alone and palely loitering-, 
 
 Thong'h the sedge is withered from the lake, 
 And no birds sing." 
 
 Jolin Keats 
 
 238* THE ROVER 
 
 ''A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 
 
 A Aveary lot is thine ! 
 To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 
 
 And press the rue for wine. 
 A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 
 
 A feather of the blue, 
 A doublet of the Lincoln green — 
 
 No more of me you knew, 
 My Love ! 
 No more of me you knew. 
 
 ''This morn in merry June, I trow, 
 
 The rose is budding fain ; 
 But she shall bloom in winter snow 
 
 Ere we two meet again." 
 He turn'd his charger as he spake 
 
 Upon the river shore. 
 He gave the bridle-reins a shake, 
 
 Said "Adieu for evermore. 
 My Love ! 
 And adieu for evermore." 
 
 Sir Walter Scott 
 
PERCY ]?YSSiiK siti:llkv 275 
 
 239 THE FLIGHT OF LOVE 
 
 When the lamp is shatter 'd, 
 The light in the dust lies dead ; 
 When the cloud is scatter 'd, 
 The rainbow 's glory is shed ; 
 When the lute is broken, 
 Sweet tones are remember 'd not; 
 When the lips have spoken, 
 Loved accents arc soon forgot. 
 
 As music and splendour 
 
 Survive not the lamp and the lute, 
 
 The heart's echoes render 
 
 No song w^hen the spirit is mute — 
 
 No song but sad dirges. 
 
 Like the wind through a ruin'd cell, 
 
 Or the mournful surges 
 
 That ring the dead seaman's knell. 
 
 When hearts have once mingled, 
 
 Love first leaves the well-built nest ; 
 
 The weak one is singled 
 
 To endure what it once possesst. 
 
 Love ! w^ho bewailest 
 
 The frailty of all things here, 
 
 Why choose you the frailest 
 
 For your cradle, your home, and your bier? 
 
 Its passions will roclv thee, 
 
 As the storms rock the ravens on high; 
 
 Bright reason will mock thee, 
 
276 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Like the sun from a wintry sky. 
 From thy nest every rafter 
 Will rot, and thine eagle home 
 Leave thee naked to laughter, 
 When leaves fall and cool winds come. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
 240 THE MAID OF NEIDPATH 
 
 lovers' eyes are sharp to see, 
 
 And lovers' ears in hearing ; 
 And love, in life 's extremity, 
 
 Can lend an hour of cheering. 
 Disease had been in Mary's bower 
 
 And slow decay from mourning. 
 Though now she sits on Neidpath's toAver 
 
 To watch her Love's returning. 
 
 All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, 
 
 Her form decay 'd by pining, 
 Till through her wasted hand, at night, 
 
 You saw the taper shining. 
 By fits a sultry hectic hue 
 
 Across her cheek was fljdng ; 
 By fits so ashy pale she grew 
 
 Her maidens thought her dying. 
 
 Yet keenest powers to see and hear 
 Seem'd in her frame residing: 
 
 Before the watch-dog prick 'd his ear, 
 She heard her lover's riding ; 
 
 Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd. 
 She knew and Avaved to greet him 
 
SIR WALTER SCOTT 277 
 
 And o'er the battlement did bend 
 As on the wing to meet him. 
 
 He came — he pass 'd — an heedless gaze 
 
 As o 'er some stranger glancing ; 
 Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, 
 
 Lost in his courser's prancing — 
 The castle-arch, whose hollow tone 
 
 Returns each whisper spoken. 
 Could scarcely catch the feeble moan 
 
 Which told her heart was broken. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott 
 
 241* 
 
 Earl March look'd on his dying child. 
 
 And, smit with grief to view her — 
 ''The youth," he cried, ''whom I exiled 
 Shall be restored to woo her.'* 
 
 She's at the windoAv many an hour 
 
 His coming to discover : 
 And he look'd up to Ellen's bower 
 
 And she look'd on her lover — 
 
 But ah ! so pale, he knew her not, 
 
 Though her smile on him was dwelling — 
 
 "And am I then forgot — forgot?" 
 It broke the heart of Ellen. 
 
 In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs. 
 
 Her cheek is cold as ashes; 
 Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes 
 
 To lift their silken lashes. 
 
 Thomas Campbell 
 
278 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 242* 
 
 Bright Star ! would I were steadfast as thou art — 
 Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, 
 And watching, with eternal lids apart. 
 Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite, 
 The moving waters at their priestlike task 
 Of pure ablution round earth's human shores. 
 Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask 
 Of snow, upon the mountains and the moors : — 
 No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, 
 -Pillow 'd upon my fair Love's ripening breast, 
 To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, 
 Awake for ever in a sweet unrest. 
 Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath. 
 And so live ever, — or else swoon to death. 
 
 John Keats 
 
 243 THE TEREOR OF DEATH 
 
 When I have fears that I may cease to be 
 Before my pen has glean 'd my teeming brain. 
 Before high-piled books in charact'ry. 
 Hold, like rich garners, the full-ripen 'd grain; 
 When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, 
 Huge, cloudy symbols of a high romance, 
 And think that I may never live to trace 
 Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance ; 
 And when I feel, fair Creature of an hour ! 
 That I shall never look upon thee more, 
 Never have relish in the faery power 
 Of unreflecting love — then on the shore 
 Of the wide world I stand alone, and think. 
 Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink. 
 
 John Keats 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 279 
 
 244 DESIDERIA 
 
 Surprised by joy — impatient as the wind — 
 
 I tiirn'd to share the transport— Oh ! with Avhom 
 
 But Thee — deep buried in the silent tomb, 
 
 That spot which no vicissitude can find? 
 
 Love, faithful love recall'd thee to my mind — 
 
 But how^ could I forget thee ? Through what power. 
 
 Even for the least division of an hour. 
 
 Have I been so beguiled as to be blind 
 
 To my most grievous loss ! — That thought 's return 
 
 Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore 
 
 Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn, 
 
 Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more; 
 
 That neither present time, nor years unborn 
 
 Could to my sight that heavenly face restore. 
 
 William Wordsworilt 
 
 245* 
 
 At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, 
 
 I fly 
 
 To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in 
 
 thine eye ; 
 And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions 
 
 of air 
 To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to 
 
 me there 
 And tell me our love is remember 'd, even in the sky! 
 
 Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear 
 When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on 
 the ear; 
 
280 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 xVnd as Eclio far oft* tlirough the valo my sad orison 
 rolls, 
 
 I tliiuk, oh my Love ! 'tis thy voice, from the King- 
 dom of Souls 
 
 Fahitly answering still the notes that once were so 
 dear. 
 
 Thomas Moore 
 
 246* ELEGY OX THYRZA 
 
 And thou art dead, as young and fair 
 
 As aught of mortal birth ; 
 And form so soft and charms so rare 
 
 Too soon return 'd to Earth! 
 Though Earth received them in her bed, 
 And o'er the spot the crowd may tread 
 
 Li carelessness or mirth, 
 There is an eye which could not brook 
 A moment on that grave to look. 
 
 I will not ask where thou liest low 
 
 Nor gaze upon the spot : 
 There flowers or weeds at will may grow 
 
 So I behold them not ; 
 It is enough for me to prove 
 That what I loved, and long must love. 
 
 Like common earth can rot ; 
 To me there needs no stone to tell 
 'Tis Nothing, that I loved so well. 
 
 Yet did I love thee to the last, 
 As fervently as thou, 
 
LORD BYRON 281 
 
 Who didst not change through all the past 
 
 And canst not alter now. 
 The love where Death has set his seal 
 Nor age can chill, nor rival steal, 
 
 Nor falsehood disavow; 
 And, what were worse, thou canst not see 
 Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. 
 
 The better days of life were ours ; 
 
 The worst can be but mine : 
 The sun that cheers, the storm that lours. 
 
 Shall never more be thine. 
 The silence of that dreamless sleep 
 I envy noAv too much to weep; 
 
 Nor need I to repine 
 That all those charms have pass'd aAvay 
 I might have watch 'd through long decay. 
 
 The flower in ripen 'd bloom unmatch'd 
 
 Must fall the earliest prey ; 
 Though by no hand untimely snatch 'd, 
 
 The leaves must drop away. 
 And yet it were a greater grief 
 To watch it withering, leaf by leaf. 
 
 Than see it pluck 'd today. 
 Since earthly eye but ill can bear 
 To trace the change to foul from fair. 
 
 I know not if I could have borne 
 
 To see thy beauties fade ; 
 The night that follow 'd such a morn 
 
 Had worn a deeper shade: 
 Thy day without a cloud hath past. 
 
282 '^HE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And tliou wcrt lovely to the last, 
 
 Extinguisli 'd, not decay 'd; 
 As stars that shoot along the sky 
 Shine brighest as they fall from high. 
 
 As once I wept, if I conld weep, 
 
 My tears might well be shed 
 To think I was not near, to keep 
 
 One vigil o'er thy bed: 
 To gaze, how fondly ! on thy face, 
 To fold thee in a faint embrace, 
 
 Uphold thy drooping head. 
 And show that love, however vain. 
 Nor thou nor I can feel again. 
 
 Yet how much less it were to gain, 
 (Though thou hast left me free) 
 The loveliest things that still remain 
 
 Than thus remember thee ! 
 The all of thine that cannot die 
 Through dark and dread Eternity 
 
 Returns again to me. 
 And more thy buried love endears 
 Than aught except its living years. 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
 247 
 
 One word is too often profaned 
 
 For me to profane it; 
 One feeling too falsely disdain 'd 
 
 For thee to disdain it; 
 One hope is too like despair 
 
 For prudence to smother ; 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 283 
 
 And pity from thee more dear 
 Than that from another. 
 
 I can give not what men call love; 
 
 But wilt thou accept not 
 The worship the heart lifts above 
 
 And the Heavens reject not : 
 The desire of the moth for the star, 
 
 Of the night for the morrow, 
 The devotion to something afar 
 
 From the sphere of our sorrow? 
 Percy Bysslie Shelley 
 
 248* GATHERING SONG OP DONALD THE BLACK 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil, 
 Wake thy wild voice anew, 
 
 Summon Clan Conuil. 
 Come away, come away, 
 
 Hark to the summons! 
 Come in your war-array. 
 
 Gentles and commons. 
 
 Come from deep glen, and 
 
 From mountain so rocky ; 
 The war-pipe and pennon 
 
 Are at Tnverlocky. 
 Come every hill-plaid, and 
 
 True heart that wears one, 
 Come QYQ.vy steel blade, and 
 
 Strong hand that bears one. 
 
284 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Leave untended the herd, 
 
 The flock without shelter; 
 Leave the corpse uninterr'd, 
 
 The bride at the altar; 
 Leave the deer, leave the steer, 
 
 Leave nets and barges : 
 Come with your fighting gear, 
 
 Broadswords, and targes. 
 
 Come as the winds come, Avhen 
 
 Forests are rended, 
 Come as the waves come, when 
 
 Navies are stranded : 
 Faster come, faster come. 
 
 Faster and faster. 
 Chief, vassal, page, and groom, 
 
 Tenant and master. 
 
 Fast they come, fast they come ; 
 
 See how they gather ! 
 Wide waves the eagle plume 
 
 Blended with heather. 
 Cast your plaids, draw your blades, 
 
 Forward each man set! 
 Pibroch and Donuil Dhu 
 
 Knell for the onset! 
 
 Sir Walter Scott 
 
 249^ 
 
 A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 
 
 A wind that follows fast 
 And fills the white and rustling sail 
 
 And bends the gallant mast ; 
 
250 
 
 ALLEN CUNNINGHAM 285 
 
 And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 
 
 While, like the eagle free. 
 Away the good ship flies, and leaves 
 
 Old England on the lee. 
 
 *'0 for a soft and gentle wind!" 
 
 I heard a fair one cry : 
 But give to me the snoring breeze 
 
 And white waves heaving high ; 
 And white waves heaving high, my lads, 
 
 The good ship tight and free — 
 The world of waters is our home, . 
 
 And merry men are we. 
 
 There's tempest in yon horned moon, 
 
 And lightning in yon cloud ; 
 But hark the music, mariners! 
 
 The wind is piping loud : 
 The wind is piping loud, my boys, 
 
 The lightning flashes free — 
 While the hollow oak our palace is, 
 
 Our heritage the sea. 
 
 Allen Cunningham 
 
 Ye Mariners of England, 
 
 That guard our native seas ! 
 
 Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, 
 
 The Imttle and the breeze I 
 
 Your glorious standard launch again 
 
 To match another foe; 
 
 And sweep through the deep. 
 
 While the stormy winds do blow; 
 
286 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 While the battle rages loud and long 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 The spirits of your fathers 
 
 Shall start from every wave — 
 
 For the deck it was their field of fame, 
 
 And Ocean w^as their grave ; 
 
 Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 
 
 Your manly hearts shall glow, 
 
 As ye sweep through the deep. 
 
 While the stormy Avinds do blow ; 
 
 While the battle rages loud and long 
 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 Britannia needs no bulwarks, 
 
 No towers along the steep; 
 
 Her march is o'er the mountain-waves. 
 
 Her home is on the deep. 
 
 With thunders from her native oak 
 
 She quells the floods below — 
 
 As they roar on the shore, 
 
 When the stormy winds do blow ; 
 
 When the battle rages loud and long. 
 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 The meteor flag of England 
 Shall yet terrific burn; 
 Till danger's troubled night depart 
 And the star of peace return. 
 Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! 
 Our song and feast shall flow 
 To the fame of your name. 
 When the storm has ceased to blow : 
 
THOMAS CAMPBELL 287 
 
 When the fiery fight is heard no more, 
 And the storm has ceased to blow. 
 
 Thomas Camphell 
 
 251 BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 
 
 Of Nelson and the North 
 
 Sing the glorious day's renown, 
 
 When to battle fierce came forth 
 
 All the might of Denmark's crown. 
 
 And her arms along the deep proudly shone ; 
 
 By each gun the lighted brand 
 
 In a bold determined hand, 
 
 And the Prince of all the land 
 
 Led them on 
 
 Like leviathans afloat 
 
 Lay their bulwarks on the brine, 
 
 While the sign of battle flew 
 
 On the lofty British line. 
 
 It was ten of April morn by the chime. 
 
 As they drifted on their path, 
 
 There was silence deep as death. 
 
 And the boldest held his breath 
 
 For a time. 
 
 But the might of Engand flush 'd 
 To anticipate the scene; 
 And her van the fleeter rush'd 
 O'er the deadly space between. 
 ''Hearts of oak!" our captains cried, when each 
 gun 
 
288 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 From its adamantine lips 
 
 Spread a death-shade round the ships, 
 
 Like the hurricane eclipse 
 
 Of the sun. 
 
 Again! again! again! 
 
 And the havoc did not slack, 
 
 Till a feeble cheer the Dane 
 
 To our cheering sent us back; — 
 
 Their shots along the deep slowly boom; — 
 
 Then ceased — and all is wail, 
 
 As they strike the shatter 'd sail. 
 
 Or in conflagration pale 
 
 Light the gloom. 
 
 Out spoke the victor then 
 
 As he hail'd them o'er the wave, 
 
 **Ye are brothers! ye are men! 
 
 And we conquer but to save: — 
 
 So peace instead of death let us bring; 
 
 But yield, proud foe, thy fleet, 
 
 With the crews, at England's feet, 
 
 And make submission meet 
 
 To our King." 
 
 Then Denmark bless 'd our chief 
 
 That he gave her wounds repose; 
 
 And the sounds of joy and grief 
 
 From her people wildy rose. 
 
 As death withdrew his shades from the day 
 
 While the sun look'd smiling bright 
 
 O'er a wide and woeful sight. 
 
 Where the fires of funeral light 
 
 Died away. 
 
THOMAS CAMPBELL 289 
 
 Now joy, old England, raise ! 
 
 For the tidings of thy might, 
 
 By the festal cities' blaze, 
 
 Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; 
 
 And yet amidst that joy and uproar, 
 
 Let us think of them that sleep 
 
 Full many a fathom deep 
 
 By thy wild and stormy steep, 
 
 Elsinore ! 
 
 Brave hearts ! to Britain 's pride 
 
 Once so faithful and so true. 
 
 On the deck of fame that died. 
 
 With the gallant, good Eiou : 
 
 Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o 'er their grave ! 
 
 While the billow mournful rolls 
 
 And the mermaid's song condoles. 
 
 Singing glory to the souls 
 
 Of the brave ! 
 
 Thomas Campbell 
 
 252 ODE TO DUTY 
 
 Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! 
 Duty ! if that name thou love, 
 Who art a light to guide, a rod 
 To check the erring, and reprove ; 
 Thou who art victory and law 
 When empty terrors overaAve ; 
 From vain temptations dost set free. 
 And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity! 
 
 There are who ask not if thine eye 
 
 Be on them; who, in love and truth 
 
290 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Where no misgiving is, rely 
 Upon the genial sense of youth : 
 Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot, 
 Who do thy work, and know it not: 
 ! if through confidence misplaced 
 They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power ! around them 
 cast. 
 
 Serene will be our days and bright 
 And happy will our nature be. 
 When love is an unerring light. 
 And joy its own security ; 
 And they a blissful course may hold 
 Ev'n now, who, not unwisely bold. 
 Live in the spirit of this creed, 
 Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need. 
 
 I, loving freedom, and untried. 
 No sport of every random gust. 
 Yet being to myself a guide. 
 Too blindly have reposed my trust ; 
 And oft, when in my heart was heard 
 Thy timely mandate, I deferred 
 The task, in smoother walks to stray ; 
 But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. 
 
 Through no disturbance of my soul 
 Or strong compunction in me w^rought, 
 I supplicate for thy controul. 
 But in the quietness of thought : 
 Me this uncharter'd freedom tires; 
 I feel the weight of chance-desires : 
 My hopes no more must change their name ; 
 I long for a repose that ever is the same. 
 
WILLIAIM WORDSWORTH 291 
 
 Stem LaAvgivcr! yet thou dost wear 
 The Godhead's most benignant grace; 
 Nor know we anything so fair 
 As is the smile upon thy face : 
 FloAvers laugh before thee on their beds, 
 And fragrance in thy footing treads ; 
 Thou dost preserve the Stars from wrong; 
 And the most ancient Heavens, through Thee, are fresh 
 and strong. 
 
 To humbler functions, awful Power ! 
 I call thee : I myself commend 
 Unto thy guidance from this hour; 
 Oh let my weakness have an end ! 
 Give unto me, made lowly wise, 
 The spirit of self-sacrifice ; 
 The confidence of reason give; 
 And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live. 
 
 William Wo rds ivorth 
 
 253* ON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON 
 
 Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind ! 
 Brightest in dungeons, Liberty ! thou art, 
 For there thy habitation is the heart — 
 The heart which love of Thee alone can bind ; 
 And when thy sons to fetters are consign 'd, 
 To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom. 
 Their country conquers with their martyrdom, 
 And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 
 Chillon! thy prison is a holy place 
 And thy sad floor an altar, for 'twas trod. 
 
292 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Until his very steps have left a trace 
 Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
 By Bonnivard ! May none those marks efface ! 
 For they appeal from tyranny to God. 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
 254* ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND, 1802 
 
 Two Voices are there : one is of the Sea, 
 
 One of the Mountains ; each a mighty voice : 
 
 In both from age to age thou didst rejoice, 
 
 They were thy chosen music, Liberty! 
 
 There came a tyrant, and with holy glee 
 
 Thou fought 'st against him, — but hast vainly striven: 
 
 Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven, 
 
 Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. 
 
 — Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft; 
 
 Then cleave, cleave to that which still is left — 
 
 For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be 
 
 That Mountain floods should thunder as before, 
 
 And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore, 
 
 And neither awful Voice be heard by Thee ! 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 255* ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN 
 REPUBLIC 
 
 Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee 
 And was the safeguard of the West ; the worth 
 Of Venice did not fall below her birth, 
 Venice, the eldest child of Liberty. 
 She was a maiden city, bright and free ; 
 No guile seduced, no force could violate; 
 And when she took unto herself a mate, 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 293 
 
 She miist espouse the everlasting Sea. 
 
 And what if she had seen those glories fade, 
 
 Those titles vanish, and that strength decay, — 
 
 Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid 
 
 When her long life hath reach 'd its final day: 
 
 Men are we, and must grieve when even the shade 
 
 Of that which once was great is pass'd away. 
 
 William Wordsivorth 
 
 256* LONDON, 1802 
 
 Friend ! I know not which way I must look 
 For comfort, being, as I am, opprest 
 To think that now our life is only drest 
 For show: mean handi-work of craftsman, cook, 
 Or groom! — We must run glittering like a brook 
 In the open sunshine, or we are unblest ; 
 The wealthiest man among us is the best : 
 No grandeur now, in nature or in book. 
 Delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense. 
 This is idolatry ; and these we adore : 
 Plain living and high thinking, are no more; 
 The homely beauty of the good old cause 
 Is gone ; our peace, our fearful innocence. 
 And pure religion breathing household laws. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 257* 
 
 Milton! thoii shouldst be living at this hour: 
 
 England hath need of thee; she is a fen 
 
 Of stagnant waters; altar, sword, and pen, 
 
 Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower. 
 
 Have forfeited their ancient English dower 
 
 Of inward happiness. We are selfish men; 
 
294 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Oh! raise us up, return to us again; 
 
 And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 
 
 Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart ; 
 
 Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea. 
 
 Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free ; 
 
 So didst thou travel on life 's common way 
 
 In cheerful godliness; and yet the heart 
 
 The loAvliest duties on herself did lay. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 258* 
 
 When I have borne in memory what has tamed 
 
 Great nations; how ennobling thoughts depart 
 
 When men change swords for ledgers, and desert 
 
 The student's bower for gold, — some fears unnamed 
 
 I had, my Country! — am I to be blamed? 
 
 Now, when I think of thee, and what thou art. 
 
 Verily, in the bottom of my heart 
 
 Of those unfilial fears I am ashamed. 
 
 For dearly must we prize thee, we who find 
 
 In thee a bulwark for the cause of men; 
 
 And I by my affection was beguiled : 
 
 What wonder if a Poet now and tlien. 
 
 Among the many movements of his mind. 
 
 Felt for thee as a lover or a child ! 
 
 WilliaDi Wordsirorth 
 
 259 HOHENLINDEN 
 
 On Linden, when the sun was low, 
 All bloodless lay the untrodden snow 
 And dark as Avinter was the flow 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
 
THOMAS CAMPBELL 295 
 
 But Linden saw another sight, 
 When tlic drum beat at dead of night, 
 Commanding fires of death to light 
 The darkness of her scenery. 
 
 By torch and trumpet fast array 'd 
 Eacli horseman draAv his battk^-blade. 
 And furious every charger neigh 'd 
 To join the dreadful revelry. 
 
 Then shook the hills with thundre riven ; 
 Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven; 
 And louder than the bolts of Heaven 
 Far Hashed the red artillery. 
 
 But redder yet that light shall glow 
 On Linden's hills of stained snow, 
 And bloodier yet the torrent flow 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
 
 'Tis morn ; but scarce yon level sun 
 Can pierce the war-clouds rolling dun. 
 Where furious Frank and fiery Hun 
 Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 
 
 The combat deepens. On, ye Brave 
 Who rush to glory, or the grave ! 
 Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave, 
 And charge with all thy chivalry ! 
 
 Few, few shall part, where many meet! 
 The snow shall be their winding-sheet, 
 And every turf beneath their feet 
 Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 
 
 Thomas Camphell 
 
296 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 260 AFTER BLENHEIM 
 
 It was a summer evening, 
 
 Old Kaspar's work was done, 
 
 And lie before his cottage door 
 Was sitting in the sun; 
 
 And by him sported on the green 
 
 His little grandchild Wilhelmine. 
 
 She saw her brother Peterkin 
 
 Roll something large and round, 
 
 Which he beside the rivulet 
 In playing there had found; 
 
 He came to ask what he had found 
 
 That was so large and smooth and round. 
 
 Old Kaspar took it from the boy 
 
 Who stood expectant by; 
 And then the old man shook his head. 
 
 And with a natural sigh 
 *' 'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, 
 *'Who fell in the great victory. 
 
 *^I find them in the garden. 
 For there's many here about; 
 
 And often when I go to plough 
 The ploughshare turns them out. 
 
 For many thousand men," said he, 
 
 * ' Were slain in that great victory. ' ' 
 
 ^'Now tell us what 'twas all about," 
 
 Young Peterkin he cries ; 
 And little Wilhelmine looks up 
 
 With wonder-waiting eyes : 
 
ROBERT SOUTHEY 
 
 *'Now tell us all about the war, 
 
 And what they fought each other for." 
 
 ''It was the English," Kaspar cried, 
 ' ' Who put the French to rout ; 
 
 But what they fought each other for 
 I couJd not well make out. 
 
 But everybody said," quoth he, 
 
 ''That 'twas a famous victory. 
 
 "My father lived at Blenheim then, 
 
 Yon little stream hard by; 
 They burnt his dwelling to the ground. 
 
 And he was forced to fly ; 
 So with his wife and child he fled, 
 Nor had he where to rest his head. 
 
 "With fire and sword the country round 
 
 Was wasted far and wide. 
 And many a childing mother then 
 
 And newborn baby died: 
 But things like that, you know, must be 
 At every famous victory. 
 
 "They say it was a shocking sight 
 
 After the field was won ; 
 For many thousand bodies here 
 
 Lay rotting in the sun: 
 But things like that, you know, must be 
 After a famous victory. 
 
 "Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won 
 And our good Prince Eugene ; ' ' 
 
 "Why 'twas a very wicked thing!" 
 Said little Wilhelmine; 
 
 297 
 
298 THE (GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ''Nay . . nay . . my little girl," quotli he, 
 ''It was a famous victory. 
 
 "And everybody praised the Duke 
 Who this great fight did win." 
 
 "But what good came of it at last?" 
 Quoth little Peterkin: — 
 
 "Why that I cannot tell," said he, 
 
 "But 'twas a famous victory." 
 
 Robert Southey 
 
 261 PRO P ATRIA MORI 
 
 When he who adores thee has left but the name 
 
 Of his fault and his sorrows behind. 
 Oh ! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame 
 
 Of a life that for thee was resign 'd ! 
 Yes, weep, and however my foes may condemn. 
 
 Thy tears shall efface their decree; 
 For, Heaven can witness, though guilty to them, 
 
 I have been but too faithful to thee. 
 
 With thee w^ere the dreams of my earliest love; 
 
 Every thought of my reason was thine: 
 In my last humble prayer to the Spirit above 
 
 Thy name shall be mingled with mine ! 
 Oh ! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live 
 
 The days of thy glory to see ; 
 But the next dearest blessing that Heaven can give 
 
 Is the pride of thus dying for thee. 
 
 Tlwmas Moore 
 
CHARLES WOLFE 299 
 
 262^= THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE AT 
 CORUNNA 
 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 
 As his corpse to the rampart we hurried ; 
 
 Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
 O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 
 
 We buried him darkly at dead of night, 
 
 The sods with our bayonets turning, 
 By the struggling moonbeam's misty light 
 
 And the lantern dimly burning. 
 
 No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 
 
 Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him; 
 
 But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
 With his martial cloak around him. 
 
 Few and short were the prayers we said, 
 
 And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
 But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead. 
 
 And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 
 
 We thought, as we hollow 'd his narrow bed 
 
 And smoothed down his lonely pillow. 
 That the foe and the stranger would tread o 'er his head, 
 
 And we far away on the billow ! 
 
 Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone 
 
 And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — 
 But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on 
 
 In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 
 
 But half of our heavy task was done 
 
 When the clock struck the hour for retiring; 
 
300 T'HE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And we heard the distant and random gun 
 That the foe was sullenly firing. 
 
 Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 
 
 From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 
 
 We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, 
 But we left him alone with his glory. 
 
 Charles Wolfe 
 
 263* SIMON LEE THE OLD HUNTSMAN 
 
 In the sweet shire of Cardigan, 
 Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall, 
 An old man dwells, a little man, — 
 'Tis said he once was tall. 
 Full five-and-thirty years he lived 
 A running huntsman merry ; 
 And still the centre of his cheek 
 Is red as a ripe cherry. 
 
 No man like him the horn could sound. 
 
 And hill and valley rang with glee, 
 
 When Echo bandied round and round 
 
 The halloo of Simon Lee. 
 
 In those proud days he little cared 
 
 For husbandry or tillage; 
 
 To blither tasks did Simon rouse 
 
 The sleepers of the village. 
 
 He all the country could outrun, 
 Could leave both man and horse behind; 
 And often, ere the chase was done 
 He reel'd and was stone-blind. 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 301 
 
 And still there's something in the world 
 At which his heart rejoices ; 
 For when the chiming hounds are out, 
 He dearly loves their voices. 
 
 But oh the heavy change ! — bereft 
 
 Of health, strength, friends, and kindred, see! 
 
 Old Simon to the world is left 
 
 In liveried poverty: — 
 
 His master 's dead, and no one now 
 
 Dwells in the Hall of Ivor; 
 
 Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead; 
 
 He is the sole survivor. 
 
 And he is lean and he is sick, 
 
 His body, dwindled and awry. 
 
 Rests upon ankles swoln and thick; 
 
 His legs are thin and dry. 
 
 One prop he has, the only one, — 
 
 His wife, an aged w^oman. 
 
 Lives with him, near the waterfall, 
 
 Upon the village common. 
 
 Beside their moss-growai hut of clay. 
 Not twenty paces from the door, 
 A scrap of land they have, but they 
 Are poorest of the poor. 
 This scrap of land he from the heath 
 Enclosed when he was stronger; 
 But what to him avails the land 
 Which he can till no longer? 
 
 Oft, w^orking by her husband's side, 
 Ruth does what Simon cannot do; 
 
302 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 For she, with scanty cause for pride, 
 
 Is stouter of the two. 
 
 And, though you with your utmost skill 
 
 From labour could not wean them, 
 
 'Tis little, very little, all 
 
 That they can do betAveen them. 
 
 Few months of life has he in store 
 
 As he to you will tell. 
 
 For still, the more he works, the more 
 
 Do his weak ankles swell. 
 
 My gentle Reader, I perceive 
 
 How patiently you've waited 
 
 And now I fear that you expect 
 
 Some tale will be related. 
 
 Reader ! had you in your mind 
 
 Such stores as silent thought can brinj 
 
 gentle Reader ! you would find 
 
 A tale in every thing. 
 
 What more I have to say is short. 
 
 And you must kindly take it; 
 
 It is no tale ; but, should you think. 
 
 Perhaps a tale you'll make it. 
 
 One summer-day I chanced to see 
 This old Man doing all he could 
 To unearth the root of an old tree. 
 A stump of rotten wood. 
 The mattock totter 'd in his hand; 
 So vain was his endeavour 
 That at the root of the old tree 
 He might have Avork'd for ever. 
 
WILLIAIM WORDSWORTH 303 
 
 ''You're overtask 'd, good Simon Lee, 
 
 Give me your tool, ' ' to him I said ; 
 
 And at the word right gladly he 
 
 Received my proffer 'd aid. 
 
 I struck, and with a single blow 
 
 The tangled root I sever 'd 
 
 At which the poor old man so long 
 
 And vainly had endeavour 'd. 
 
 The tears into his eyes were brought, 
 
 And thanks and praises seem'd to run 
 
 So fast out of his heart, I thought 
 
 They never would have done. 
 
 — I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds 
 
 With coldness still returning; 
 
 Alas ! the gratitude of men 
 
 Hath oftener left me mourning. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 264 THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES 
 
 I have had playmates, I have had companions, 
 
 In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days; 
 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 I have been laughing, I have been carousing, 
 Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies; 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 I loved a Love once, fairest among women : 
 
 Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her — 
 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
304 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man; 
 Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly ; 
 Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. 
 
 Ghost-like, I paced round the haunts of my childhood, 
 Earth seem'd a desert I was bound to traverse, 
 Seeking to find the old familiar faces. 
 
 Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, 
 Why wert not thou born in my father 's dwelling ? 
 So might we talk of the old familiar faces. 
 
 How some they have died, and some they have left me, 
 And some are taken from me; all are departed; 
 All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. 
 
 Charles Lmnh 
 
 265* THE JOURNEY ONWARDS 
 
 As slow our ship her foamy track 
 
 Against the wind was cleaving. 
 Her trembling pennant still look'd back 
 
 To that dear isle 'twas leaving. 
 So loth we part from all we love. 
 
 From all the links that bind us; 
 So turn our hearts, as on we rove. 
 
 To those we've left behind us! 
 
 When, round the bowl, of vanished years 
 We talk with joyous seeming — 
 
 With smiles that might as well be tears 
 So faint, so sad their beaming; 
 
THOMAS MOORE 305 
 
 While memory brings us back again 
 
 Each early tie that twined us, 
 Oh, sweet's the cup that circles then 
 
 To those we've left behind us! 
 
 And when, in other climes, we meet 
 
 Some isle or vale enchanting, 
 Where all looks flowery, wild, and sweet. 
 
 And nought but love is wanting ; 
 We think how great had been our bliss 
 
 If Heaven had but assign 'd us 
 To live and die in scenes like this, 
 
 With some we've left behind us! 
 
 As travellers oft look back at eve 
 
 When eastward darkly going, 
 To gaze upon that light they leave 
 
 Still faint behind them glowing, — 
 So, when the close of pleasure's day 
 
 To gloom hath near consign 'd us, 
 We turn to catch one fading ray 
 
 Of joy that's left behind us. 
 
 Thomas Moore 
 
 266* YOUTH AND AGE 
 
 There's not a joy the world can give like that it 
 
 takes away 
 When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's 
 
 dull decay; 
 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, 
 
 which fades so fast. 
 But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth 
 
 itself be past. 
 
306 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of 
 
 happiness 
 Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt, or ocean of excess: 
 The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in 
 
 vain 
 The shore to which their shiver 'd sail shall never 
 
 stretch again. 
 
 Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself 
 
 comes down; 
 It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its 
 
 own; 
 That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our 
 
 tears. 
 And though the e^^e may sparkle still, 'tis where the 
 
 ice appears. 
 
 Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth 
 
 distract the breast. 
 Through midnight hours that yield no more their 
 
 former hope of rest; 
 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe, 
 All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and 
 
 gray beneath. 
 
 Oh could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, 
 Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a 
 
 vanish 'd scene, — 
 As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish 
 
 though they be. 
 So midst the wither 'd waste of life, those tears would 
 
 flow, to me ! 
 
 Lord Bijron 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH oQy 
 
 267 A LESSON 
 
 There is a Flower, the lesser Celandme, 
 That shrmks like many more from cold and rain, 
 And the first moment that the sun may shine. 
 Bright as the sun himself, 'tis out again! 
 
 When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm. 
 Or 'blasts the green field and the trees distrest. 
 Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm 
 In close self-shelter, like a thing at rest. 
 
 But lately, one rough day, this Flower I past. 
 And recognized it, though an alter 'd form, 
 Now standing forth an offering to the blast. 
 And buffeted at will by rain and storm. 
 
 I stopp'd and said, with inly-mutter 'd voice, 
 ''It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold; 
 This neither is its courage nor its choice. 
 But its necessity in being old. 
 
 ''The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew^; 
 It cannot help itself in its decay; 
 Stiff in its members, wither 'd, changed of hue," — • 
 And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was gray. 
 
 To be a prodigal's favourite— then, worse truth, 
 A miser's pensioner — behold our lot! 
 Man ! that from thy fair and shining youth 
 Age might but take the things Youth needed not ! 
 
 William Words worth 
 
308 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 268* PAST AND PRESENT 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 The house where I was born, 
 The little window, where the sun 
 Came peeping in at morn ; 
 He never came a wink too soon 
 Nor brought too long a day; 
 But now, I often wish the night 
 Had borne my breath away. 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 The roses, red and white. 
 
 The violets, and the lily-cups — 
 
 Those flowers made of light! 
 
 The lilacs where the robin built. 
 
 And where my brother set 
 
 The laburnum on his birth-day, — 
 
 The tree is living yet ! 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 
 Where I was used to swing, 
 
 And thought the air must rush as fresh 
 
 To swallows on the wing; 
 
 My spirit flew in feathers then 
 
 That is so heavy now. 
 
 And summer pools could hardly cool 
 
 The fever on my brow. 
 
 I remember, I remember 
 The fir trees dark and high; 
 I used to think their slender tops 
 Were close against the sky: 
 It was a childish ignorance, 
 
THOMAS HOOD 309 
 
 But now 'tis little joy 
 
 To know I 'm farther off from Heaven 
 
 Than when I was a boy. 
 
 Thomas Hood 
 
 269* THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 Oft in the stilly night 
 
 Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 
 Fond Memory brings the light 
 Of other days around me : 
 The smiles, the tears 
 Of boyhood's years. 
 The words of love then spoken ; 
 The eyes that shone, 
 Now'dimm'd and gone. 
 The cheerful hearts now broken! 
 Thus in the stilly night 
 
 Ere slumber's chain has bound me. 
 Sad Memory brings the light 
 Of other days around me. 
 
 When I remember all 
 
 The friends so link'd together 
 I've seen around me fall 
 
 Like leaves in wintry weather, 
 
 I feel like one 
 
 Who treads alone 
 Some banquet-hall deserted. 
 
 Whose lights are fled 
 
 Whose garlands dead, 
 And all but he departed! 
 
310 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Thus in the stilly night 
 
 Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 
 Sad Memory brings the light 
 
 Of other days around me. 
 
 Thomas Moore 
 
 270 STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION NEAR 
 NAPLES 
 
 The sun is warm, the sky is clear. 
 The waves are dancing fast and bright. 
 Blue isles and snowy mountains wear 
 The purple noon's transparent might; 
 The breath of the moist earth is light 
 Around its unexpanded buds ; 
 Like many a voice of one delight — 
 The winds', the birds', the ocean-floods' — 
 The city's voice itself is soft like Solitude's. 
 
 I see the deep's untrampled floor 
 With green and purple sea-Aveeds strown; 
 I see the waves upon the shore 
 Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown: 
 I sit upon the sands alone ; 
 The lightning of the noon-tide ocean 
 Is flashing round me, and a tone 
 Arises from its measured motion — 
 How sweet ! did any heart now share in my emotion. 
 
 Alas ! I have not hope nor health. 
 Nor peace within or calm around, 
 Nor that content, surpassing wealth. 
 The sage in meditation found, 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ^n 
 
 And walk'd with inward glory crown 'd — 
 Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure ; 
 Others I see whom these surround — 
 Smiling they live, and call life pleasure; 
 To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. 
 
 Yet now despair itself is mild 
 Even as the winds and waters are : 
 I could lie down like a tired child, 
 And weep away the life of care 
 Which I have borne, and yet must bear, — 
 Till death, like sleep, might steal on me. 
 And I might feel in the warm air 
 My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea 
 Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony. 
 
 Percy Bijsshe Shelly 
 
 271* THE SCHOLAR 
 
 My days among the Dead are past; 
 
 Around me I behold. 
 
 Where'er tliese casual eyes are cast. 
 
 The mighty minds of old: 
 
 My never-failing friends are they. 
 
 With whom I converse day by day. 
 
 With them I take delight in weal 
 
 And seek relief in woe; 
 
 And while I understand and feel 
 
 How much to them I owe, 
 
 My cheeks have often been bedew 'd 
 
 With tears of thoughtful gratitude. 
 
312 ■ THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 My thoughts are with the Dead; with them 
 
 I live in long-past years, 
 
 Their virtues love, their faults condemn, 
 
 Partake their hopes and fears, 
 
 And from their lessons seek and find 
 
 Instruction with an humble mind. 
 
 My hopes are with the Dead; anon 
 My place with them will be, 
 And I with them shall travel on 
 Through all Futurity; 
 Yet leaving here a name, I trust, 
 That will not perish in the dust. 
 
 Robert Southey 
 
 272 THE MERMAID TAVERN 
 
 Souls of Poets dead and gone, 
 What Elysium have ye known, 
 Happy field or mossy cavern, 
 Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? 
 Have ye tippled drink more fine 
 Than mine host's Canary wine? 
 Or are fruits of Paradise 
 Sweeter than those dainty pies 
 Of venison ? generous food ! 
 Drest as though bold Robin Hood 
 Would, with his Maid Marian, 
 Sup and bowse from horn and can. 
 
 I have hear that on a day 
 Mine host's sign-board flew away 
 Nobody knew whither, till 
 An astrologer's old quill 
 
JOHN KEATS 313 
 
 To a sheepskin gave the story : 
 Said he saw you in your glory, 
 Underneath a new-old sign 
 Sipping beverage divine, 
 And pledging with contented smack 
 The Mermaid in the Zodiac. 
 
 Souls of Poets dead and gone, 
 What Elysium have ye known, 
 Happy field or mossy cavern. 
 Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? 
 
 John Keats 
 
 273* THE PRIDE OF YOUTH 
 
 Proud Maisie is in the wood. 
 
 Walking so early ; 
 Sweet Robin sits on the bush, 
 
 Singing so rarely. 
 
 ''Tell me, thou bonny bird. 
 When shall I marry me?" 
 
 ''When six braw gentlemen 
 Kirkward shall carry ye." 
 
 "Who makes the bridal bed. 
 
 Birdie, say truly?" 
 "The gray-headed sexton 
 
 That delves the grave duly. 
 
 * ' The glowworm 'er grave and etone 
 Shall light thee steady ; 
 
 The owl from the steeple sing 
 Welcome, proud lady." 
 
 Sir Walter Scott 
 
314 THE GC)JJ)EN TKI'ASURY 
 
 274 THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS 
 
 One more Unfortunate, 
 Weary of breath, 
 Rashly importunate, 
 Gone to her death ! 
 Take her up tenderly, 
 Lift her with care. 
 Fashion 'd so slenderly, 
 Young, and so fair ! 
 
 Look at her garments 
 Clinging like cerements, 
 Whilst the wave constantly 
 Drips from her clothing; 
 Take her up instantly. 
 Loving, not loathing. 
 
 Touch her not scornfully, 
 Think of her mournfully. 
 Gently, and humanly; 
 Not of the stains of her — 
 All that remains of her 
 Now is pure womanly. 
 
 Make no deep scrutiny 
 Into her mutiny 
 Rash and undutiful: 
 Past all dishonour. 
 Death has left on her 
 Only the beautiful. 
 
 Still, for all slips of hers, 
 One of Eve's family — 
 
THOMAS HOOD 315 
 
 Wipe those poor lips of hers 
 Oozing so clammily. 
 
 Loop up her tresses 
 Escaped from the comb, 
 Her fair auburn tresses; 
 Whilst wonderment guesses 
 Where was her home? 
 
 Who was her father? 
 Who was her mother? 
 Had she a sister? 
 Had she a brother? 
 Or was there a dearer one 
 Still, and a nearer one 
 Yet, than all other? 
 
 Alas! for the rarity 
 Of Christian charity 
 Under the sun ! 
 Oh ! it was pitiful ! 
 Near a whole city full, 
 Home she had none. 
 
 Sisterl}^, brotherly, 
 Fatherly, motherly 
 Feelings had changed: 
 Love, by harsh evidence. 
 Thrown from its eminence, 
 Even God 's providence 
 Seeming estranged. 
 
 Where the lamps quiver 
 So far in the river, 
 
31g THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 With many a light 
 From window and casement, 
 From garret to basement, 
 She stood with amazement, 
 Houseless by night. 
 
 The bleak wind of March 
 Made her tremble and shiver. 
 But not the dark arch. 
 Or the black flowing river: 
 Mad from life's history. 
 Glad to death's mystery 
 Swift to be hurl'd— 
 Any where, any where 
 Out of the world! 
 
 In she plunged boldly. 
 No matter how coldly 
 The rough river ran, — 
 Over the brink of it ; 
 Picture it — think of it, 
 Dissolute Man! 
 Lave in it, drink of it, 
 Then, if you can ! 
 
 Take her up tenderly. 
 Lift her with care, 
 Fashion 'd so slenderly, 
 Young, and so fair ! 
 
 Ere her limbs frigidly 
 Stiffen too rigidly, 
 Decently, kindly. 
 Smooth and compose them ; 
 
THOMAS HOOD 317 
 
 And her eyes, close them, 
 Staring so blindly ! 
 
 Dreadfully staring 
 Thro' muddy impurity. 
 As when with the daring 
 Last look of despairing 
 Fix'd on futurity. 
 
 Perishing gloomily, 
 Spurr'd by contumely, 
 Cold inhumanity, 
 Burning insanity, 
 Into her rest. 
 
 .< — Cross her hands humbly, 
 As if praying dumbly, 
 Over her breast! 
 
 Owning her weakness. 
 Her evil behaviour. 
 And leaving, with meekness, 
 Her sins to her Saviour. 
 Thomas Hood 
 
 275* ELEGY 
 
 Oh snatch 'd away in beauty's bloom! 
 On thee shall press no ponderous tomb; 
 But on thy turf shall roses rear 
 Their leaves, the earliest of the year, 
 And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom ; 
 
 And oft by yon blue gushing stream 
 Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head. 
 
318 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And feed deep thought with many a dream, 
 And, lingering, pause, and lightly tread: 
 Fond wretch ! as if her step disturb 'd the dead ! 
 
 Away ! we know that tears are vain, 
 That Death nor heeds nor hears distress : 
 Will this unteach us to complain ? 
 Or make one mourner weep the less? 
 And thou, who tell'st me to forget, 
 Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
 276* HESTER 
 
 When maidens such as Hester die, 
 Their place ye may not well supply. 
 Though ye among a thousand try 
 
 With vain endeavour. 
 A month or more hath she been dead, 
 Yet cannot I by force be led 
 To think upon the wormy bed 
 
 And her together. 
 
 A springy motion in her gait, 
 
 A rising step, did indicate 
 
 Of pride and joy no common rate 
 
 That flush 'd her spirit: 
 I know not by what name beside 
 I shall it call : if 'twas not pride, 
 It was a joy to that allied 
 
 She did inherit. 
 
 Her parents held the Quaker rule, 
 Which doth the human feeling cool; 
 
MARY LAMB 
 
 But she was train 'd in Nature's school, 
 
 Nature had blest her. 
 A waking eye, a prying mind, 
 A heart that stirs, is hard to bind ; 
 A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind, — 
 
 Ye could not Hester. 
 
 My sprightly neighbour ! gone before 
 To that unknown and silent shore, 
 Shall we not meet, as heretofore 
 
 Some summer morning — 
 When from thy cheerful eyes a ray 
 Hath struck a bliss upon the day, 
 A bliss that would not go away, 
 
 A sweet fore-warning? 
 
 Charles Lamb 
 
 277* TO MARY 
 
 If I had thought thou couldst have died, 
 
 I might not weep for thee ; 
 But I forgot, when by thy side, 
 
 That thou couldst mortal be ; 
 It never through my mind had past 
 
 The time would e'er be o'er, 
 And I on thee should look my last. 
 
 And thou shouldst smile no more ! 
 
 And still upon that face I look, 
 
 And think 'twill smile again; 
 
 And still the thought I will not brook. 
 That I must look in vain ! 
 
 819 
 
320 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 But when I speak — thou dost not say 
 What thou ne'er left'st unsaid; 
 
 And now I feel, as well I may, 
 Sweet ^lary! thou art dead! 
 
 If thou wouldst stay, e'en as thou art, 
 
 All cold and all serene — 
 I still might press thy silent heart. 
 
 And where thy smiles have been. 
 While e 'en thy chill, bleak corse I have, 
 
 Thou seemest still mine own ; 
 But there I lay thee in thy grave — 
 
 And I am now alone ! 
 
 I do not think, where'er thou art. 
 
 Thou hast forgotten me; 
 And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart, 
 
 In thinking too of thee. 
 Yet there was round thee such a dawn 
 
 Of light ne'er seen before, 
 As fancy never could have dra^Ti, 
 
 And never can restore ! 
 
 Charles Wolfe 
 
 278 CORONACH 
 
 He is gone on the mountain. 
 
 He is lost to the forest, 
 Like a summer-dried fountain. 
 
 When our need was the sorest. 
 The font, reappearing, 
 
 From the raindrops shall borrow, — 
 But to us comes no cheering. 
 
 To Duncan no morrow ! 
 
THOMAS HOOD 321 
 
 The hand of the reaper 
 
 Takes the ears that are hoarj^; 
 But the voice of the weeper 
 
 Wails manhood in glory. 
 The autumn winds rushing 
 
 Waft the leaves that are searest,- 
 But our flower was in flushing 
 
 When blighting was nearest. 
 
 Fleet foot on the correi, 
 
 Sage counsel in cumber, 
 Red hand in the foray, 
 
 How sound is thy slumber! 
 Like the dew on the mountain, 
 
 Like the foam on the river, 
 Like the bubble on the fountain, 
 
 Thou art gone ; and for ever ! 
 
 Sir Walter Scott 
 
 279 THE DEATH BED 
 
 We watch 'd her breathing thro' the night, 
 Her breathing soft and low. 
 
 As in her breast the wave of life 
 Kept heaving to and fro. 
 
 So silently we seem'd to speak. 
 
 So slowly moved about. 
 As we had lent her half our powers 
 
 To eke her living out. 
 
 Our very hopes belied our fears, 
 Our fears our hopes belied — 
 
322 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 We thought her dying when she slept, 
 And sleeping when she died. 
 
 For when the morn came dim and sad 
 And chill with early showers, 
 
 Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 
 Another morn than ours. 
 
 Thomas Hood 
 
 280* AGNES 
 
 I saw her in childhood — 
 
 A bright, gentle thing, 
 Like the dawn of the morn, 
 
 Or the dews of the spring ; 
 The daisies and hare-bells 
 
 Her playmates all day; 
 Herself as light-hearted 
 
 And artless as they. 
 
 I saw her again — 
 
 A fair girl of eighteen, 
 Fresh glittering with graces 
 
 Of mind and of mien. 
 Her speech was all music; 
 
 Like moonlight she shone; 
 The envy of many, 
 
 The glory of one. 
 
 Years, years fleeted over — 
 I stood at her foot : 
 
 The bud had grown blossom. 
 The blossom was fruit. 
 
HENRY FRANCIS LYTE 323 
 
 A dignified mother, 
 
 Her infant she bore; 
 And look'd, I thought, fairer 
 
 Than ever before. 
 
 I saw her once more — 
 
 'Twas the day that she died; 
 Heaven's light was around her, 
 
 And God at her side; 
 No wants to distress her, 
 
 No fear to appal — 
 then, I felt, then 
 
 She was fairest of all! 
 
 Henry Francis Lyte 
 
 281 ROSABELLB 
 
 listen, listen, ladies gay ! 
 
 No haughty feat of arms I tell ; 
 Soft is the note, and sad the lay 
 
 That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. 
 
 ''Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! 
 
 And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! 
 Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, 
 
 Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. 
 
 * ' The blackening wave is edged with white ; 
 
 To inch and rock the sea-mews fly; 
 The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, 
 
 Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. 
 
 *'Last night the gifted Seer did view 
 A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay; 
 
;24 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Then stay thee. Fair, in Ravensheuch ; 
 Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ? ' ' 
 
 *' 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 
 To-night at Roslin leads the ball ; 
 
 But that my ladye-mother there 
 Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 
 
 '' 'Tis not because the ring they ride, 
 And Lindesay at the ring rides well ; 
 
 But that my sire the wine will chide 
 If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle." 
 
 — O'er Roslin all that dreary night 
 A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 
 
 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, 
 And redder than the bright moonbeam. 
 
 It glared on Roslin 's castled rock, 
 It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 
 
 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak. 
 And seen from cavern 'd Hawthornden. 
 
 Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud 
 Where Roslin 's chiefs uncoffin 'd lie, 
 
 Each Baron, for a sable shroud. 
 Sheathed in his iron panoply. 
 
 Seem'd all on fire within, around, 
 Deep sacristy and altar's pale; 
 
 Shone every pillar foliage-bound. 
 
 And glimmer 'd all the dead men's mail. 
 
 Blazed battlement and pinnet high, 
 
 Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — 
 
SIR WALTER SCOTT 325 
 
 So still tliey blaze, when fate is nigh 
 The lordly line of high Saint Clair. 
 
 There are twenty of Roslin 's barons bold, 
 Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; 
 
 Each one the holy vault doth hold — 
 But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle. 
 
 And each Saint Clair was buried there, 
 With candle, with book, and with knell ; 
 
 But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung 
 The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott 
 
 282* 
 
 ON AN INFANT DYING AS SOON AS BORN 
 
 I saw where in the shroud did lurk 
 
 A curious frame of Nature's work; 
 
 A flow 'ret crushed in the bud, 
 
 A nameless piece of Babyhood, 
 
 Was in her cradle-coffin lying ; 
 
 Extinct, with scarce the sense of dying: 
 
 So soon to exchange the imprisoning womb 
 
 For darker closets of the tomb ! 
 
 She did but ope an eye, and put 
 
 A clear beam forth, then straight up shut 
 
 For the long dark ; ne 'er more to see 
 
 Through glasses of mortality. 
 
 Riddle of destiny, who can show 
 
 What thy short visit meant, or know 
 
 What thy errand here below? 
 
 Shall we say, that Nature blind 
 
326 
 
 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Check 'd her hand, and changed her mind 
 
 Just when she had exactly wrought 
 
 A finished pattern, without fault? 
 
 Could she flag, or could she tire, 
 
 Or lack'd she the Promethean fire 
 
 (With her nine moons' long workings sicken 'd) 
 
 That should thy little limbs have quicken 'd ? 
 
 Limbs so firm, they seem 'd to assure 
 
 Life of health, and days mature: 
 
 Woman 's self in miniature ! 
 
 Limbs so fair, they might supply 
 
 (Themselves now but cold imagery) 
 
 The sculptor to make Beauty by. 
 
 Or did the stern-eyed Fate descry 
 
 That babe or mother, one must die ; 
 
 So in mercy left the stock 
 
 And cut the branch ; to save the shock 
 
 Of young years widow 'd, and the pain 
 
 When Single State comes back again 
 
 To the lone man who, reft of wife, 
 
 Thenceforward drags a maimed life? 
 
 The economy of Heaven is dark. 
 
 And wisest clerks have miss'd the mark 
 
 Why human buds, like this, should fall, 
 
 More brief than fly ephemeral 
 
 That has his day, while shrivell'd crones 
 
 Stiffen with age to stocks and stones. 
 
 And crabbed use the conscience sears 
 
 In sinners of an hundred years. 
 
 — Mother's prattle, mother's kiss, 
 
 Baby fond, thou ne'er wilt miss: 
 
 Rites, which custom does impose, 
 
 Silver bells, and baby clothes ; 
 
 Coral redder than those lips 
 
CHARLES LAMB 327 
 
 Which pale death did late eclipse ; 
 
 Music framed for infants' glee, 
 
 Whistle never tuned for thee; 
 
 Though thou want 'st not, thou shalt have them. 
 
 Loving hearts were they which gave them. 
 
 Let not one be missing; nurse. 
 
 See them laid upon the hearse 
 
 Of infant slain by doom perverse. 
 
 Why should kings and nobles have 
 
 Pictured trophies to their grave, 
 
 And we, churls, to thee deny 
 
 Thy pretty toys with thee to lie — 
 
 A more harmless vanity? 
 
 Charles Lamb 
 
 !83* IN MEMORIAM 
 
 A child's a plaything for an hour; 
 
 Its pretty tricks we try 
 For that or for a longer space, — 
 
 Then tire, and lay it by. 
 
 But I knew one that to itself 
 
 All seasons could control ; 
 That would have mock'd the sense of pain 
 
 Out of a grieved soul. 
 
 Thou straggler into loving arms. 
 
 Young climber up of knees. 
 When I forget thy thousand ways 
 
 Then life and all shall cease! 
 
 Mary Lamb 
 
328 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 284* THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET 
 
 Where art thou, my beloved Son, 
 
 Where art thou, worse to me than dead? 
 
 Oh find me, prosperous or undone ! 
 
 Or if the grave be now thy bed. 
 
 Why am I ignorant of the same. 
 
 That I may rest ; and neither blame 
 
 Nor sorrow may attend thy name? 
 
 Seven years, alas ! to have received 
 No tidings of an only child — 
 To have despair 'd, have hoped, believed, 
 And been for ever more beguiled, — 
 Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss ! 
 I catch at them, and then I miss : 
 Was ever darkness like to this ? 
 
 He was among the prime in worth, 
 
 An object beauteous to behold: 
 
 Well born, well bred ; I sent him forth 
 
 Ingenuous, innocent, and bold ; 
 
 If things ensued that wanted grace 
 
 As hath been said, they were not base ; 
 
 And never blush was on my face. 
 
 Ah ! little doth the young-one dream, 
 When full of play and childish cares, 
 What power is in his wildest scream 
 Heard by his mother unawares! 
 He knows it not, he cannot guess; 
 Years to a mother bring distress, 
 But do not make her love the less. 
 
^^^LLIAM WORDSWORTH 329 
 
 Neglect me! no, I suffer 'd long 
 From that ill thought; and being blind 
 Said ' ' Pride shall help me in my wrong : 
 Kind mother have I been, as kind 
 As ever breathed : ' ' and that is true ; 
 I've wet my path with tears like dew, 
 Weeping for him when no one knew. 
 
 My Son, if thou be humbled, poor, 
 Hopeless of honour and of gain, 
 Oh ! do not dread thy mother 's door ; 
 Think not of me with grief and pain : 
 I now can see with better eyes ; 
 And worldly grandeur I despise 
 And fortune, with her gifts and lies. 
 
 Alas ! the fowls of heaven have wings, 
 And blasts of heaven will aid their flight ; 
 They mount — how short a voyage brings 
 The wanderers back to their delight ! 
 Chains tie us down by land and sea ; 
 And wishes, vain as mine, may be 
 All that is left to comfort thee. 
 
 Perhaps some dungeon hears thee groan 
 Maim 'd, mangled by inhuman men ; 
 Or thou upon a desert thrown 
 Inheritest the lion 's den ; 
 Or hast been summon 'd to the deep 
 Thou, thou, and all thy mates to keep 
 An incommunicable sleep. 
 
 I look for ghosts : but none will force 
 Their way to me ; 'tis falsely said 
 
330 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 That there was ever intercourse 
 Between the living and the dead, 
 For surely then I should have sight 
 Of him I wait for day and night 
 With love and longings infinite. 
 
 My apprehensions come in crowds ; 
 I dread the rustling of the grass ; 
 The very shadows of the clouds 
 Have power to shake me as they pass ; 
 I question things, and do not find 
 One that will answer to my mind; 
 And all the world appears unkind. 
 
 Beyond participation lie 
 My troubles, and beyond relief : 
 If any chance to heave a sigh, 
 They pity me, and not my grief. 
 Then come to me, my Son, or send 
 Some tidings that my woes may end! 
 I have no other earthly friend. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 285* HUNTING SONG 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
 
 On the mountain dawns the day ; 
 
 All the jolly chase is here. 
 
 With hawk and horse and hunting-spear 
 
 Hounds are in their couples yelling, 
 
 Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling, 
 
 Merrily merrily mingle they: 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay. 
 
SIR WALTER SCOTT 331 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
 The mist has left the mountain gray, 
 Springlets in the dawn are steaming. 
 Diamonds on the brake are gleaming. 
 And foresters have busy been 
 To track the buck in thicket green ; 
 Now we come to chant our lay : 
 "Waken, lords and ladies gay." 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay, 
 
 To the greenwood haste away ; 
 
 We can show you where he lies, 
 
 Fleet of foot and tall of size ; 
 
 We can show the marks he made 
 
 When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd; 
 
 You shall see him brought to bay — 
 
 "Waken, lords and ladies gay." 
 
 Louder, louder chant the lay 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay! 
 
 Tell them youth and mirth and glee 
 
 Run a course as well as we ; 
 
 Time, stern huntsman ! who can baulk, 
 
 Stanch as hound and fleet as hawk ; 
 
 Think of this, and rise with day. 
 
 Gentle lords and ladies gay ! 
 
 Sir Walter Scott 
 
 286 TO THE SKYLARK 
 
 Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! 
 Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? 
 Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye 
 Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? 
 
332 'I'^iJ^ aOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, 
 Those quivering wings composed, that music still! 
 
 To the last point of vision, and beyond 
 
 Mount, daring warbler! — that love-prompted strain 
 
 — 'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond — 
 
 Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain ; 
 
 Yet might 'st thou seem, proud privilege ! to sing 
 
 All independent of the leafy Spring. 
 
 Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; 
 A privacy of glorious light is thine, 
 "Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood 
 Of harmony, with instinct more divine ; 
 Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam — 
 True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 287 TO A SKYLARK 
 
 Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! 
 
 Bird thou never wert, 
 That from heaven, or near it, 
 Pourest thy full heart 
 In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 
 
 Higher still and higher 
 
 From the earth thou springest ; 
 Like a cloud of fire. 
 
 The blue deep thou wingest, 
 And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 
 
 In the golden lightning 
 Of the sunken sun, 
 
PERCY BYS8HE SHELLEY 333 
 
 O'er which clouds are brightening, 
 Thou dost float and run, 
 Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 
 
 The pale purple even 
 
 Melts around thy flight; 
 Like a star of heaven 
 
 In the broad daylight. 
 Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight: 
 
 Keen as are the arrows 
 
 Of that silver sphere. 
 Whose intense lamp narrows 
 
 In the white dawn clear. 
 Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 
 
 All the earth and air 
 
 With thy voice is loud, 
 As, when night is bare, 
 
 From one lonely cloud 
 The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflow 'd. 
 
 What thou art we know not : 
 
 What is most like thee? 
 From rainbow clouds there flow not 
 Drops so bright to see 
 As from thy presence showers a rain of melody: — 
 
 Like a poet hidden 
 
 In the light of thought, 
 Singing hymns unbidden, 
 Till the world is wrought 
 Tc sympathy ;yith I:r»r)Ps ay:^ f^ars if heeded not; 
 
334 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Like a high-born maiden 
 
 In a palace tower, 
 Soothing her love-laden 
 
 Soul in secret hour 
 With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower ; 
 
 Like a glow-worm golden 
 
 In a dell of dew. 
 Scattering unbeholden 
 Its aerial hue 
 Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the 
 view; 
 
 Like a rose embow^er'd 
 
 In its own green leaves. 
 By warm winds deflower 'd, 
 Till the scent it gives 
 Makes faint with too much sweet those heavy-winged 
 thieves. 
 
 Sound of vernal showers 
 
 On the twinkling grass, 
 Rain-awaken 'd flowers, 
 
 All that ever was 
 Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 
 
 Teach us, sprite or bird, 
 
 "What sweet thoughts are thine ; 
 I have never heard 
 Praise of love or wine 
 That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 
 
 Chorus hymeneal 
 
 Or triumphal chaunt. 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 335 
 
 Matched with thine, would be all 
 But an empty vaunt — 
 A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 
 
 What objects are the fountains 
 
 Of thy happy strain ? 
 What fields, or waves, or mountains ? 
 What shapes of sky or plain ? 
 What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? 
 
 With thy clear keen joyance 
 
 Langour cannot be; 
 Shadow of annoyance 
 
 Never came near thee ; 
 Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 
 
 Waking or asleep, 
 
 Thou of death must deem 
 Things more true and deep 
 
 Than we mortals dream. 
 Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? 
 
 We look before and after. 
 
 And pine for what is not ; 
 Our sincerest laughter 
 
 With some pain is fraught ; 
 Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. 
 
 Yet if we could scorn 
 
 Hate and pride and fear; 
 If we were things born 
 
 Not to shed a tear, 
 I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 
 
336 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Better than all measures 
 
 Of delightful sound, 
 Better than all treasures 
 
 That in books are found 
 Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! 
 
 Teach me half the gladness 
 
 That thy brain must know. 
 Such harmonious madness 
 From my lips would flow 
 The world should listen then, as I am listening now ! 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
 288* THE GREEN LINNET 
 
 Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed 
 Their snow-white blossoms on my head. 
 With brightest sunshine round me spread 
 Of Spring's unclouded w^eather, 
 In this sequester 'd nook how sweet 
 To sit upon my orchard-seat! 
 And flowers and birds once more to greet, 
 My last year's friends together. 
 
 One have I mark'd, the happiest guest 
 In all this covert of the blest : 
 Hail to Thee, far above the rest 
 In joy of voice and pinion ! 
 Thou, Linet ! in thy green array, 
 Presiding Spirit here to-day, 
 Dost lead the revels of the May; 
 And this is thy dominion. 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 337 
 
 While birds and butterflies and flowers 
 Make all one band of paramours, 
 Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, 
 Art sole in thy employment : 
 A Life, a Presence like the air, 
 Scattering thy gladness without care. 
 Too blest with any one to pair; 
 Thyself thy own enjoyment. 
 
 Amid yon tuft of hazel trees 
 That twinkle to the gusty breeze 
 Behold him perch 'd in ecstasies, 
 Yet seeming still to hover ; 
 There ! where the flutter of his wings 
 Upon his back and body flings 
 Shadows and sunny glimmerings, 
 That cover him all over. 
 
 My dazzled sight he oft deceives — 
 A brother of the dancing leaves ; 
 Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves 
 Pours forth his song in gushes ; 
 As if by that exulting strain 
 He mock'd and treated with disdain 
 The voiceless Form he chose to feign. 
 While fluttering in the bushes. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 289* TO THE CUCKOO 
 
 blithe new-comer ! I have heard, 
 
 1 hear thee and rejoice : 
 
 O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, 
 Or but a wandering Voice? 
 
338 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 While I am lying on the grass 
 Thy twofold shout I hear ; 
 From hill to hill it seems to pass, 
 At once far off and near. 
 
 Though babbling only to the vale 
 Of sunshine and of flowers, 
 Thou bringest unto me a tale 
 Of visionary hours. 
 
 Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! 
 
 Even yet thou art to me 
 
 No bird, but an invisible thing, 
 
 A voice, a mystery; 
 
 The same whom in my school-boy days 
 I listen 'd to ; that Cry 
 Which made me look a thousand ways 
 In bush and tree and sky. 
 
 To seek thee did I often rove 
 Through woods and on the green ; 
 And thou wert still a hope, a love ; 
 Still long 'd for, never seen ! 
 
 And I can listen to thee yet ; 
 Can lie upon the plain 
 And listen, till I do beget 
 That golden time again. 
 
 • blessed Bird! the earth we pace 
 Again appears to be 
 An unsubstantial faery place. 
 That is fit home for Thee! 
 
 William Wordsivorth 
 
JOHN KEATS 339 
 
 290 ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE 
 
 ]\Iy heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 
 My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, 
 Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 
 
 One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk : 
 'Tis not though envy of thy happy lot. 
 But being too happy in thine happiness, — 
 That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, 
 In some melodious plot 
 Of beechen green and shadows numberless, 
 Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 
 
 0, for a draught of vintage ! that hath been 
 
 Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, 
 Tasting of Flora and the country green, 
 
 Dance, and Provengal song, and sunburnt mirth! 
 for a beaker full of the warm South, 
 Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 
 With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, 
 And purple-stained mouth; 
 That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, 
 And with thee fade away into the forest dim : 
 
 Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 
 
 What thou among the leaves hast never known : 
 The weariness, the fever, and the fret 
 
 Here, where men sit and hear each other groan ; 
 Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, 
 
 Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies, 
 Where but to think is to be full of sorrow 
 And leaden-eyed despairs ; 
 Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, 
 Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 
 
340 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Away ! away ! for I will fly to thee, 
 
 Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, 
 But on the viewless wings of Poesy, 
 
 Though the dull brain perplexes and retards : 
 Already with thee ! tender is the night, 
 And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne. 
 Cluster 'd round by all her starry Fays ; 
 But here there is no light. 
 Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown 
 Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 
 
 I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, 
 
 Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, 
 But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet 
 
 Wherewith the seasonable month endows 
 The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild: 
 White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; 
 Fast fading violets cover 'd up in leaves; 
 And mid-May's eldest child, 
 The coming musk-rose, full of dew^y wine, 
 
 The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 
 
 Darkling I listen ; and for many a time 
 
 I have been half in love with easeful Death, 
 Call 'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, 
 
 To take into the air my quiet breath ; 
 Now more than ever seems it rich to die. 
 To cease upon the midnight with no pain, 
 
 While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad 
 In such an ecstasy ! 
 Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — 
 To thy high requiem become a sod. 
 
 Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird ! 
 No hungry generations tread thee down; 
 
JOHN KEATS 341 
 
 The voice I hear this passing night was heard 
 
 In ancient days by emperor and clown: 
 Perhaps the self -same song that found a path 
 
 Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home. 
 She stood in tears amid the alien corn ; 
 The same that oft-times hath 
 Charm 'd magic casements, opening on the foam 
 Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 
 
 Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell 
 
 To toll me back from thee to my sole self ! 
 Adieu ! the fancy cannot cheat so well 
 As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 
 Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades 
 Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 
 Up the hill-side ; and now 'tis buried deep 
 In the next valley-glades: 
 Was it a vision, or a waking dream ? 
 
 Fled is that music : — Do I wake or sleep ? 
 
 John Keats 
 
 291* 
 
 UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE, SEPT. 3, 1802 
 Earth has not anything to show more fair : 
 Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
 A sight so touching in its majesty : 
 This City now doth like a garment wear 
 The beauty of the morning : silent, bare, 
 Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 
 Open unto the fields, and to the sky, — 
 All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 
 Never did sun more beautifully steep 
 In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill ; 
 Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep ! 
 
342 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The river glideth at its own sweet will : 
 Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ; 
 And all that mighty heart is lying still ! 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 292* 
 
 To one who has been long in city pent, 
 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair 
 And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer 
 Full in the smile of the blue firmament. 
 Who is more happy, when, wdth heart's content. 
 Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair • 
 Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair 
 And gentle tale of love and languishment ? 
 Returning home at evening, with an ear 
 Catching the notes of Philomel, — an eye 
 Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, 
 He mourns that day so soon has glided by : 
 E 'en like the passage of an angel 's tear 
 That falls through the clear ether silently. 
 
 John Keats 
 
 293 OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT 
 
 I met a traveller from an antique land 
 Who said : Two vast and trunkless legs of stone 
 Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand. 
 Half sunk, a shatter 'd visage lies, w^hose frown 
 And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command 
 Tell that its sculptor well those passions read 
 Which 3^et survive, stamp 'd on these lifeless things. 
 The hand that mock 'd them and the heart that fed ; 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 343 
 
 And on the pedestal these words appear: 
 ''My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: 
 Look on my work, ye Mighty, and despair!" 
 Nothing beside remains. Round the decay 
 Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, 
 The lone and level sands stretch far away. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
 294* 
 
 COMPOSED AT NEIDPATH CASTLE, THE PROP- 
 ERTY OF LORD QUEENSBERRY, 1803 
 
 Degenerate Douglas ! oh, the unworthy lord ! 
 Whom mere despite of heart could so far please 
 And love of havoc, (for with such disease 
 Fame taxes him,) that he could send forth word 
 To level with the dust a noble horde, 
 A brotherhood of venerable trees. 
 Leaving an ancient dome and towers like these 
 Beggar 'd and outraged! — Many hearts deplored 
 The fate of those old trees ; and oft with pain 
 The traveller at this day will stop and gaze 
 On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed : 
 For shelter 'd places, bosoms, nooks, and bays, 
 And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed, 
 And the green silent pastures yet remain. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 295* THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION 
 
 leave this barren spot to me ! 
 
 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! 
 
 Though bush or floweret never grow 
 
344 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 My dark unwarming shade below ; 
 
 Nor summer bud perfume the dew 
 
 Of rosy blush, or yellow hue ; 
 
 Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born, 
 
 My green and glossy leaves adorn ; 
 
 Nor murmuring tribes from me derive 
 
 Th ' ambrosial amber of the hive : 
 
 Yet leave this barren spot to me : 
 
 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree! 
 
 Thrice twenty summers I have seen 
 The sky grow bright, the forest green ; 
 And many a wintry wind have stood 
 In bloomless, fruitless solitude, 
 Since childhood in my pleasant bower 
 First spent its sweet and sportive hour ; 
 Since youthful lovers in my shade 
 Their vows of truth and rapture made, 
 And on my trunk's surviving frame 
 Carved many a long-forgotten name. 
 Oh ! by the sighs of gentle sound, 
 First breathed upon this sacred ground ; 
 By all that Love has whisper 'd here, 
 Or Beauty heard with ravish 'd ear ; 
 As Love 's own altar honour me ; 
 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen tree ! 
 Thomas Campbell 
 
 296* ADMONITION TO A TRAVELLER 
 
 Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye ! 
 
 — The lovely Cottage in the guardian nook 
 
 Hath stirr'd thee deeply, with its own dear brook, 
 
WILLIAIM WORDSWORTH 345 
 
 Its own small pasture, almost its own sky ! 
 
 But covet not the abode ; forbear to sigh 
 
 As many do, repining while they look ; 
 
 Intruders — who would tear from Nature's book 
 
 This precious leaf with harsh impiety. 
 
 — Think what the home must be if it were thine, 
 
 Even thine, though few thy wants ! — Roof, window, door, 
 
 The very flowers are sacred to the Poor, 
 
 The roses to the porch which they entwine : 
 
 Yea, all that now enchants thee, from the day 
 
 On which it should be touch 'd, would melt away ! 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 297 TO THE HIGHLAND GIRL OF 
 
 INVERSNEYDE 
 
 Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 
 
 Of beauty is thy earthly dower ! 
 
 Twice seven consenting years have shed 
 
 Their utmost bounty on thy head ; 
 
 And these gray rocks, that household lawn. 
 
 Those trees — a veil just half withdrawn, 
 
 This fall of water that doth make 
 
 A murmur near the silent lake. 
 
 This little bay, a quiet road 
 
 That holds in shelter thy abode ; 
 
 In truth together ye do seem 
 
 Like something fashion 'd in a dream. 
 
 Such forms as from their covert peep 
 
 When earthly cares are laid asleep ! 
 
 But O fair Creature ! in the light 
 
 Of common day so heavenly bright, 
 
 I bless Thee, Vision as thou art, 
 
346 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 I bless tliee with a human heart : 
 God shield thee to thy latest years ! 
 Thee neither know I nor thy peers, 
 And yet my eyes are fill'd with tears. 
 
 With earnest feeling I shall pray 
 For thee when I am far away ; 
 For never saw I mien or face 
 In which more plainl}^ I could trace 
 Benignity and home-bred sense 
 Ripening in perfect innocence. 
 Here scatter 'd, like a random seed, 
 Remote from men, Thou dost not need 
 The embarrass 'd look of shy distress, 
 And maidenly shamefacedness : 
 Thou wear'st upon thy forehead clear 
 The freedom of a Mountaineer: 
 A face with gladness overspread ; 
 Soft smiles, by human kindness bred; 
 And seemliness complete, that sways 
 Thy courtesies, about thee plays ; 
 With no restraint, but such as springs 
 From quick and eager visitings 
 Of thoughts that lie beyond the reach 
 Of thy few words of English speech : 
 A bondage sweetly brook 'd, a strife 
 That gives thy gestures grace and life! 
 So have I, not unmoved in mind, 
 Seen birds of tempest-loving kind — 
 Thus beating up against the wind. 
 
 What hand but would a garland cull 
 For thee who art so beautiful ? 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 347 
 
 happy pleasure ! here to dwell 
 Beside thee in some heathy dell ; 
 Adopt your homely ways and dress, 
 A shepherd, thou a shepherdess! 
 But I could frame a wish for thee 
 More like a grave reality : 
 
 Thou art to me but as a wave 
 Of the wild sea ; and I would have 
 Some claim upon thee, if I could. 
 Though but of common neighborhood. 
 What joy to hear thee, and to see ! 
 Thy elder brother I would be. 
 Thy father — anything to thee. 
 
 Now thanks to Heaven ! that of its grace 
 Hath led me to this lonely place : 
 Joy have I had ; and, going hence, 
 
 1 bear away my recompence. 
 In spots like these it is we prize 
 Our Memory, feel that she hath eyes : 
 Then why should I be loth to stir ? 
 
 I feel this place was made for her ; 
 
 To give new pleasure like the past. 
 
 Continued long as life shall last. 
 
 Nor am I loth, though pleased at heart. 
 
 Sweet Highland Girl ! from thee to part ; 
 
 For I, methinks, till I grow old 
 
 As fair before me shall behold 
 
 As I do now, the cabin small, 
 
 The lake, the bay, the waterfall ; 
 
 And Thee, the Spirit of them all ! 
 
 Williayn Wordsworth 
 
348 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 298* THE REAPER 
 
 Behold her, single in the field, 
 Yon solitary Highland Lass ! 
 Reaping and singing by herself; 
 Stop here, or gently pass ! 
 Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 
 And sings a melancholy strain ; 
 
 listen ! for the vale profound 
 Is overflowing with the sound. 
 
 No nightingale did ever chaunt 
 More welcome notes to weary bands 
 Of travellers in some shady haunt 
 Among Arabian sands : 
 A voice so thrilling ne 'er was heard 
 In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, 
 Breaking the silence of the seas 
 Among the farthest Hebrides. 
 
 Will no one tell me what she sings ? 
 Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
 For old, unhappy, far-off things, 
 And battles long ago ; 
 Or is it some more humble lay. 
 Familiar matter of to-day ? 
 Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, 
 That has been, and may be again ! 
 
 Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 
 As if her song could have no ending ; 
 
 1 saw her singing at her work, 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 349 
 
 And o'er the sickle bending; — 
 I listened, motionless and still; 
 And, as I mounted up the hill, 
 The music in my heart I bore 
 Long after it was heard no more. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 299* TPIE REVEEIE OF POOR SUSAN 
 
 At the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears. 
 Hangs a Thrush that sings loud; it has sung for throe 
 
 years ; 
 Poor Susan has pass 'd by the spot, and has heard 
 In the silence of morning the song of the bird. 
 
 'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees 
 A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; 
 Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, 
 And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. 
 
 Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale 
 Down which she so often has tripp 'd with her pail ; 
 And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's. 
 The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. 
 
 She looks, and her heart is in heaven : but they fade, 
 The mist and the river, the hill and the shade ; 
 The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise. 
 And the colours have all pass 'd away from her eyes ! 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
350 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 300 TO A LADY, WITH A GUITAR 
 
 Ariel to Miranda: — Take 
 
 This slave of music, for the sake 
 
 Of him who is the slave of thee ; 
 
 And teach it all the harmony 
 
 In which thou canst, and only thou, 
 
 Make the delighted spirit glow. 
 
 Till joy denies itself again 
 
 And, too intense, is turn'd to pain. 
 
 For by permission and command 
 
 Of thine OAvn Prince Ferdinand, 
 
 Poor Ariel sends this silent token 
 
 Of more than ever can be spoken : 
 
 Your guardian spirit, Ariel, who 
 
 From life to life must still pursue 
 
 Your happiness, for thus alone 
 
 Can Ariel ever find his own. 
 
 From Prospero's enchanted cell, 
 
 As the mighty verses tell, 
 
 To the throne of Naples he 
 
 Lit you o'er the trackless sea. 
 
 Flitting on, your prow before. 
 
 Like a living meteor. 
 
 When you die, the silent Moon 
 
 In her interlunar swoon 
 
 Is not sadder in her cell 
 
 Than deserted Ariel: — 
 
 When you live again on earth, 
 
 Like an unseen Star of birth 
 
 Ariel guides you o'er the sea 
 
 Of life from your nativity: — 
 
 Many changes have been run 
 
 Since Ferdinand and you begun 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 351 
 
 Your course of love, and Ariel still 
 
 Has track 'd your steps and served your will. 
 
 Now in humbler, happier lot, 
 
 This is all remembered not ; 
 
 And now, alas ! the poor Sprite is 
 
 Imprison 'd for some fault of his 
 
 In a body like a grave — 
 
 From you he only dares to crave, 
 
 For his service and his sorrow 
 
 A smile to-day, a song to-morrow. 
 
 The artist who this idol wrought 
 
 To echo all harmonious thought, 
 
 Fell'd a tree, while on the steep 
 
 The woods were in their winter sleep, 
 
 Rock'd in that repose divine 
 
 On the wind-swept Apennine; 
 
 And dreaming, some of Autumn past, 
 
 And some of Spring approaching fast. 
 
 And some of April buds and showers, 
 
 And some of songs in July bowers, 
 
 And all of love : and so this tree, — 
 
 Oh that such our death may be ! — 
 
 Died in sleep, and felt no pain, 
 
 To live in happier form again ; 
 
 From w^hich, beneath heaven's fairest star. 
 
 The artist wrought this loved Guitar, 
 
 And taught it justly to reply 
 
 To all who question skilfully 
 
 In language gentle as thine own; 
 
 Whispering in enamour 'd tone 
 
 Sweet oracles of woods and dells. 
 
 And summer winds in sylvan cells : 
 
 — For it hsd learnt all harmonies' 
 
352 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Of the plains and of the skies, 
 Of the forests and the mountains, 
 And the many-voiced fountains; 
 The clearest echoes of the hills, 
 The softest notes of falling rills. 
 The melodies of birds and bees, 
 The murmuring of summer seas. 
 And pattering rain, and breathing dew, 
 And airs of evening ; and it knew 
 That seldom-heard mysterious sound 
 Which, driven on its diurnal round. 
 As it floats through boundless day. 
 Our world enkindles on its way. 
 — All this it knows, but will not tell 
 To those who cannot question well 
 The Spirit that inhabits it ; 
 It talks according to the wit 
 Of its companions; and no more 
 Is heard than has been felt before 
 By those who tempt it to betray 
 These secrets of an elder day. 
 But, sweetly as its answers will 
 Flatter hands of perfect skill. 
 It keeps its highest, holiest tone 
 For our beloved Jane alone. 
 
 Percy Bysslie Shelley 
 
 301* THE DAFFODILS 
 
 I wander 'd lonely as a cloud 
 
 That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
 
 When all at once I saw a crowd, 
 
 A host of golden daffodils. 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 353 
 
 Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 
 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 
 
 Continuous as the stars that shine 
 And twinkle on the milky way, 
 They stretch 'd in never-ending line 
 Along the margin of a bay : 
 Ten thousand saw I at a glance 
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 
 
 The waves beside them danced, but they 
 
 Outdid the sparkling waves in glee : — 
 
 A Poet could not but be gay 
 
 In such a jocund company! 
 
 I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 
 
 What wealth the show to me had brought ; 
 
 For oft, when on my couch I lie 
 In vacant or in pensive mood. 
 They flash upon that inward eye, 
 Which is the bliss of solitude ; 
 And then my heart with pleasure fills. 
 And dances with the daffodils. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 302 TO THE DAISY 
 
 With little here to do or see 
 
 Of things that in the great world lie. 
 
 Sweet Daisy ! oft I talk to thee 
 
 For thou art worthy, 
 Thou unassuming Common-place 
 Of Nature, with that homely face. 
 
354 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And yet with something of a grace 
 Which Love makes for thee ! 
 
 Oft on the dappled turf at ease 
 
 I sit and play with similes, 
 
 Loose tj^pes of things through all degrees, 
 
 Thoughts of thy raising ; 
 And many a fond and idle name 
 I give to thee, for praise or blame 
 As is the humour of the game, 
 
 While I am gazing. 
 
 A nun demure, of lowly port ; 
 
 Or sprightly maiden of Love's court, 
 
 In thy simplicity the sport 
 
 Of all temptations ; 
 A queen in crown of rubies drest ; 
 A starveling in a scanty vest : 
 Are all, as seems to suit thee best, 
 
 Thy appellations. 
 
 A little Cyclops, with one eye 
 Staring to threaten and defy, 
 That thought comes next — and instantly 
 
 The freak is over, 
 The shape will vanish, and behold ! 
 A silver shield with boss of gold 
 That spreads itself, some faery bold 
 
 In fight to cover. 
 
 I see thee glittering from afar — 
 And then thou are a pretty star, 
 Not quite so fair as many are 
 In heaven above thee ! 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 355 
 
 Yet like a star, with glittering crest, 
 Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest; — 
 May peace come never to his nest 
 Who shall reprove thee! 
 
 Sweet Flower ! for by that name at last 
 When all my reveries are past 
 I call thee, and to that cleave fast, 
 
 Sweet silent Creature! 
 That breath 'st with me in sun and air, 
 Do thou, as thou art wont, repair 
 My heart with gladness, and a share 
 
 Of thy meek nature ! 
 
 M^illiam Wordsworth 
 
 303* ODE TO AUTUMN 
 
 Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 
 
 Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; 
 
 Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
 
 With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run ; 
 
 To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, 
 
 And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; 
 
 To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 
 
 With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, 
 
 And still more, later flowers for the bees. 
 
 Until they think warm days will never cease. 
 
 For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. 
 
 Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? 
 Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find 
 Thee sitting careless on a granary floor. 
 Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; 
 
356 THE GOLDEX TREASURY 
 
 Or on a half-reap 'd furrow sound asleep, 
 
 Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook 
 
 Spares the next swath and all its twined tiowers ; 
 
 And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 
 
 Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 
 
 Or by a eider-press, with patient look. 
 
 Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. 
 
 "Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? 
 
 Think not of them ; thou hast thy music too. — 
 
 AVhile barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day 
 
 And touch the stubble-plains Avith ros^^ hue ; 
 
 Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 
 
 Among the river-sallows, borne aloft 
 
 Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; 
 
 And full-groAATi lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; 
 
 Hedge-crickets sing ; and now with treble soft 
 
 The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft ; 
 
 And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. 
 
 John Keats, 
 
 304* ODE TO AYIXTER 
 
 Germany. December, 1800 
 
 AYhen first the fiery-mantled Sun 
 His heavenly race began to run. 
 Round the earth and ocean blue 
 His children four, the Seasons, flew. 
 
 First, in green apparel dancing. 
 The young Spring smiled with angel-grace 
 
 Rosy Summer next advancing, 
 Rush 'd into her sire 's embrace — 
 
THOMAS CA^NIPBELL 357 
 
 Her bright-hair 'd sire, who bade her keep 
 
 For ever nearest to his smiles, 
 On Cali^e 's olive-shaded steep 
 
 Or India's citron-cover 'd isles; 
 More remote, and buxom-brown. 
 
 The Queen of vintage bow 'd before his throne ; 
 A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown, 
 
 A ripe sheaf bound her zone. 
 
 But howling Winter fled afar 
 To hills that prop the polar star ; 
 And loves on deer-borne car to ride 
 With barren darkness by his side, 
 Round the shore where loud Lofoden 
 
 Whirls to death the roaring whale, 
 Round the hall where Runic Odin 
 
 Howls his war-song to the gale; 
 Save when adown the ravaged globe 
 
 He travels on hLs native storm, 
 Deflowering Nature 's grassy robe 
 
 And trampling on her faded form : — 
 Till light's returning Lord assume 
 
 The shaft that drives him to his polar field. 
 Of power to pierce his raven plume 
 
 And crystal-cover 'd shield. 
 
 Oh, sire of storms! whose savage ear 
 The Lapland drum delights to hear. 
 When Frenzy with her blood-shot eye 
 Implores thy dreadful deity — 
 Archangel ! Power of desolation ! 
 
 Fast descending as thou art. 
 Say, hath mortal invocation 
 
 Spells to touch thy stormy heart? 
 
358 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Then, sullou Wintor! hoar my prayer, 
 
 And gvntly rule the ruin'd year; 
 Nor ehill the wanderer's bosom bare 
 
 Nor freeze the wreteh's falling tear; 
 To shudderinii AVant's nnmantUnl bed 
 
 Thy horror-breathinii: agnes eease to lend, 
 And gently on the orphan head 
 
 or Tnnoeenee deseend. 
 
 Rut ehietly spare, O king of elouds ! 
 The sailor on his airy shrouds. 
 When wreeks and beaeons strew the steep, 
 And spectres walk along the deep. 
 ]Milder yet thy snowy breezes 
 
 Pour on yonder tented shores, 
 Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes 
 
 Or the dark-brown Danube roars. 
 Oh. winds of Winter! list ye there 
 
 To many a deep and dying groan? 
 Or start, ye demons of the midnight air. 
 
 At shrieks and thundi^rs louder than your own 
 Alas! ev'n your unhalloAv'd breath 
 
 May spare the victim fallen low ; 
 But ]\Ian will ask no truce to death, — 
 
 No bounds to human woe. 
 
 Thomas Caw ph ell 
 
 305 YARROW rXVlSITED— 1803 
 
 From Stirling Castle we had seen 
 The mazy Forth unravell'd, 
 Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay 
 And with the Tweed had travell'd; 
 And when we came to Clovenford, 
 
WILLIAM WOUnSW'OKTIi 359 
 
 Then said my "winsome Marrow," 
 "Whate'er betide, W(.''ll turn aside, 
 And see the Braes of Yarrow." 
 
 ''Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town, 
 Who have been buying, selling, 
 Go baek to Yarrow, 'tis their own. 
 Each maiden to her dwelling ! 
 On Yarrow's banks let herons feed. 
 Hares couch, and rabbits burrow,- 
 But we wall downward with the Tweed 
 Nor turn aside to Yarrow. 
 
 "There's Gala Water, Leader Ilaughs, 
 Both lying right before us ; 
 And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed 
 The lintwhites sing in chorus; 
 There's pleasant Tiviot-dale, a land 
 ]\Iade blithe with plough and harrow : 
 Why throw away a needful day 
 To go in search of Yarrow? 
 
 "What's Yarrow but a river bare 
 
 That glides the dark hills under? 
 
 There are a thousand such elsewhere 
 
 As worthy of your wonder. ' ' 
 
 — Strange words they seem'd of slight and scorn 
 
 My True-love sigh'd for sorrow, 
 
 And look 'd me in the face, to think 
 
 I thus could speak of Yarrow ! 
 
 "O green," said I, "are Yarrow's holms. 
 And sweet is Yarrow flowing ! 
 Fair hangs the apple frae the rock. 
 
360 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 But we will leave it growing. 
 O 'er hilly path and open strath 
 We '11 wander Scotland thorough ; 
 But, though so near, we will not turn 
 Into the dale of Yarrow. 
 
 ''Let beeves and home-bred kine partake 
 The sweets of Burn-mill meadow ; 
 The swan on still Saint Mary 's Lake 
 Float double, swan and shadow ! 
 We will not see them ; will not go 
 To-day, nor yet to-morrow ; 
 Enough if in our hearts we know 
 There's such a place as Yarrow. 
 
 *'Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown! 
 It must, or we shall rue it : 
 We have a vision of our own, 
 Ah ! why should we undo it ? 
 The treasured dreams of times long past, 
 We '11 keep them, winsome Marrow ! 
 For when Ave 're there, although 'tis fair, 
 'Twill be another Yarrow ! 
 
 "If Care with freezing years should come 
 
 And wandering seem but folly, — 
 
 Should we be loth to stir from home, 
 
 And yet be melancholy ; 
 
 Should life be dull, and spirits low, — 
 
 'Twill sooth us in our sorrow 
 
 That earth has something yet to show, 
 
 The bonny holms of Yarrow ! ' ' 
 
 William Wordsivorth 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 361 
 
 306* YARROW VISITED 
 
 September, 1814 
 
 And is this — Yarrow? — This the stream 
 
 Of which my fancy cherish 'd 
 
 So faithfully a waking dream, 
 
 An image that hath perish 'd? 
 
 that some minstrel's harp were near 
 
 To utter notes of gladness 
 
 And chase this silence from the air, 
 
 That fills my heart with sadness ! 
 
 Yet why ? — a silvery current flows 
 
 With uncontroll'd meanderings; 
 
 Nor have these eyes by greener hills 
 
 Been soothed, in all my wanderings. 
 
 And, through her depths, Saint Mary's Lake 
 
 Is visibly delighted, 
 
 For not a feature of those hills 
 
 Is in the mirror slighted. 
 
 A blue sky bends o 'er Yarrow Vale, 
 
 Save where that pearly w^hiteness 
 
 Is round the rising sun diffused, 
 
 A tender hazy brightness ; 
 
 Mild dawn of promise ! that excludes 
 
 All profitless dejection. 
 
 Though not unwilling here to admit 
 
 A pensive recollection. 
 
 Where was it that the famous Flower 
 Of Yarrow Vale lay bleeding ? 
 His bed perchance was yon smooth mound 
 On which the herd is feeding ; 
 
362 THE GOLDEX TREASURY 
 
 And haply from this crystal pool, 
 Now peaceful as the morniug, 
 The Water-wraith ascended thrice 
 And gave his doleful warning. 
 
 Delicious is the lay that sings 
 
 The haimts of happy lovers, 
 
 The path that leads them to the grove, 
 
 The leafy grove that covers ; 
 
 And pity sanctifies the verse 
 
 That paints, by strength of sorrow, 
 
 The imconquerable strength of love; 
 
 Bear witness, rueful Yarrow ! 
 
 But thou that didst appear so fair 
 
 To fond imagination, 
 
 Dost rival in the light of day 
 
 Her delicate creation: 
 
 Meek loveliness is round thee spread, 
 
 A softness still and holy; 
 
 The grace of forest charms decay 'd 
 
 And pastoral melancholy. 
 
 That region left, the vale unfolds 
 
 Rich groves of lofty stature. 
 
 With Yarrow winding through the pomp 
 
 Of cultivated nature ; 
 
 And rising from those lofty groves 
 
 Behold a ruin hoary, 
 
 The shatter 'd front of Newark 's towers, 
 
 Renown 'd in Border story. 
 
 Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, 
 For sportive youth to stray in, 
 
^nLLIAM WORDS^YORTH 353 
 
 For manhood to enjoy his strength, 
 
 And age to wear awa}^ in ! 
 
 Yon cottage seenis a bower of bliss, 
 
 A covert for protection 
 
 Of tender thoughts that nestle there — 
 
 The brood of chaste affection. 
 
 How sweet on this autumnal day 
 
 The wild-wood fruits to gather. 
 
 And on my True-love's forehead plant 
 
 A crest of blooming heather ! 
 
 And what if I enwreathed my own? 
 
 'Twere no offence to reason : 
 
 The sol)er hills thus deck their brows 
 
 To meet the wintry season. 
 
 I see — but not by sight alone. 
 
 Loved Yarrow, have I won thee ; 
 
 A ray of Fancy still survives — 
 
 Her sunshine plays upon thee ! 
 
 Thy ever-youthful waters keep 
 
 A course of lively pleasure. 
 
 And gladsome notes my lips can breathe 
 
 Accordant to the measure. 
 
 The vapours linger round the heights, 
 They melt, and soon must vanish ; 
 One hour is theirs, nor more is mine — 
 Sad thought ! which I would banish, 
 But that I know, where 'er I go. 
 Thy genuine image, Yarrow ! 
 Will dwell with me, to heighten joy, 
 And cheer my mind in sorrow. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
364 I'HE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 307 THE INVITATION 
 
 Best and brightest, come away, — 
 
 Fairer far than this fair Day, 
 
 Which, like thee, to those in sorrow 
 
 Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow 
 
 To the rough year, just awake 
 
 In its cradle on the brake. 
 
 The brightest hour of unborn Spring, 
 
 Through the winter wandering. 
 
 Found, it seems, the halcyon morn 
 
 To hoar February born ; 
 
 Bending from heaven, in azure mirth, 
 
 It kiss'd the forehead of the earth. 
 
 And smiled upon the silent sea. 
 
 And bade the frozen streams be free. 
 
 And waked to music all their fountains. 
 
 And breathed upon the frozen mountains. 
 
 And, like a prophetess of May, 
 
 Strew 'd flowers upon the barren way. 
 
 Making the wintry world appear 
 
 Like one on whom thou smilest, dear. 
 
 Away, away, from men and towns. 
 To the wild wood and the downs — 
 To the silent wilderness, 
 Where the soul need not repress 
 Its music, lest it should not find 
 An echo in another's mind. 
 While the touch of Nature's art 
 Harmonizes heart to heart. 
 
 Radiant Sister of the Day, 
 Awake ! arise ! and come away ! 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 355 
 
 To the wild woods and the plains, 
 To the pools where winter rains 
 Image all their roof of leaves, 
 Where the pine its garland weaves 
 Of sapless green and ivy dun 
 Round stems that never kiss the sun; 
 Where the lawns and pastures be 
 And the sandhills of the sea ; 
 Where the melting hoar-frost wets 
 The daisy-star that never sets; 
 And wind-flowers and violets, 
 Which yet join not scent to hue, 
 Crown the pale year weak and new ; 
 When the night is left behind 
 In the deep east, dim and blind, 
 And the blue noon is over us, 
 And the multitudinous 
 Billows murmur at our feet, 
 Where the earth and ocean meet. 
 And all things seem only one 
 In the universal Sun. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
 308* THE RECOLLECTION 
 
 Now the last day of many days. 
 All beautiful and bright as thou, 
 The loveliest and the last, is dead : 
 Rise, Memory, and write its praise ! 
 Up — to thy wonted work ! come, trace 
 The epitaph of glory fled, 
 For now the earth has changed its face, 
 A frown is on the heaven's brow. 
 
366 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 We wander 'd to the Pine Forest 
 
 That skirts the Ocean 's foam ; 
 The lightest wind was in its nest, 
 
 The tempest in its home. 
 The whispering waves were half asleep, 
 
 The clouds were gone to play, 
 And on the bosom of the deep 
 
 The smile of heaven lay ; 
 It seem 'd as if the hour were one 
 
 Sent from be\^ond the skies, 
 Which scatter 'd from above the sun 
 
 A light of Paradise ! 
 
 We paused amid the pines that stood 
 
 The giants of the waste, 
 Tortured by storms to shapes as rude 
 
 As serpents interlaced. 
 And soothed by every azure breath 
 
 That under heaven is blown. 
 To harmonies and hues beneath, 
 
 As tender as its own ; 
 Now all the tree-tops lay asleep 
 
 Like green waves on the sea, 
 As still as in the silent deep 
 
 The ocean-woods may be. 
 
 How calm it was ! — The silence there 
 
 By such a chain was bound 
 That even the busy woodpecker 
 
 ]\Iade stiller with her sound 
 The inviolable quietness; 
 
 The breath of peace we drew 
 With its soft motion made not less 
 
 The calm that round us grew. 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 3Q7 
 
 There seem'd, from the remotest seat 
 
 Of the white mountain waste 
 To the soft flower beneath our feet, 
 
 A magic circle traced, — 
 A spirit interfused around, 
 
 A thrilling silent life ; 
 To momentary peace it bound 
 
 Our mortal nature 's strife ; — 
 And still I felt the centre of 
 
 The magic circle there 
 Was one fair form, that fill 'd with love 
 
 The lifeless atmosphere. 
 
 We paused beside the pools that lie 
 
 Under the forest bough ; 
 Each seem'd as 'twere a little sky 
 
 Gulf 'd in a world below: 
 A firmament of purple light 
 
 Which in the dark earth lay, 
 More boundless than the depth of night 
 
 And purer than the day — 
 In which the lovely forest grew 
 
 As in the upper air, 
 More perfect, both in shape and hue. 
 
 Than any spreading there. 
 There lay the glade and neighbouring lawn, 
 
 And through the dark green wood 
 The white sun twinkling like the dawn 
 
 Out of a speckled cloud. 
 Sweet views which in our world above 
 
 Can never well be seen 
 Were imaged by the water's love 
 
 Of that fair forest green ; 
 
368 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And all was interfused beneath 
 
 With an Elysian glow, 
 An atmosphere without a breath, 
 
 A softer day below. 
 Like one beloved, the scene had lent 
 
 To the dark water 's breast 
 Its every leaf and lineament 
 
 With more than truth exprest, 
 Until an envious wind crept by, 
 
 Like an unwelcome thought 
 Which from the mind's too faithful eye 
 
 Blots one dear image out. 
 — Though thou art ever fair and kind, 
 
 The forests ever green, 
 Less oft is peace in Shelly 's mind 
 
 Than calm in waters seen ! 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
 309 BY THE SEA 
 
 It is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; 
 
 The holy time is quiet as a Nun 
 
 Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun 
 
 Is sinking down in its tranquillity ; 
 
 The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea : 
 
 Listen ! the mighty Being is awake. 
 
 And doth with his eternal motion make 
 
 A sound like thunder — everlastingly. 
 
 Dear child ! dear girl ! that walkest with me here, 
 
 If thou appear untouched by solemn thought. 
 
 Thy nature is not therefore less divine : 
 
 Thou liest in Abraham 's bosom all the year, 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 369 
 
 And worshipp'st at the Temple's inner shrine, 
 God being with thee when we know it not. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 310* SONG TO THE EVENING STAR 
 
 Star that bringest home the bee 
 And sett'st the weary labourer free! 
 If any star shed peace, 'tis Thou 
 
 That send'st it from above. 
 Appearing when Heaven 's breath and brow 
 
 Are sweet as hers we love. 
 
 Come to the luxuriant skies, 
 "Whilst the landscape's odours rise. 
 Whilst far-off lowing herds are heard 
 
 And songs when toil is done, 
 From cottages whose smoke unstirr 'd 
 
 Curls yellow in the sun. 
 
 Star of love's soft interviews, 
 Parted lovers on thee muse ; 
 Their remembrancer in Heaven 
 
 Of thrilling vows thou art. 
 Too delicious to be riven 
 
 By absence from the heart. 
 
 Thomas Campbell 
 
 311* DATITR HORA QUIETI 
 
 The sun upon the lake is low. 
 The wild birds hush their song. 
 
 The hills have evening's deepest glow, 
 Yet Leonard tarries long. 
 
370 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Now all whom varied toil and care 
 From home and love divide, 
 
 In the calm sunset may repair 
 Each to the loved one's side. 
 
 The noble dame, on turret high, 
 
 Who waits her gallant knight, 
 Looks to the western beam to spy 
 
 The flash of armour bright. 
 The village maid, with hand on brow 
 
 The level ray to shade, 
 Upon the footpath watches now 
 
 For Colin 's darkening plaid. 
 
 Now to their mates the wild swans row, 
 
 By day they swam apart; 
 And to the thicket wanders slow 
 
 The hind beside the hart. 
 The woodlark at his partner 's side 
 
 Twitters his closing song — 
 All meet whom day and care divide. 
 
 But Leonard tarries long ! 
 
 Sir Walter Scott 
 
 312* TO THE MOON 
 
 Art thou pale for weariness 
 Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth. 
 
 Wandering companionless 
 Among the stars that have a different birth, — 
 And ever-changing, like a joyless eye 
 That finds no object worth its constancy? 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 37I 
 
 313 TO SLEEP 
 
 A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 
 
 One after one ; the sound of rain, and bees 
 
 Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds and seas, 
 
 Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and pure sky: 
 
 I've thought of all by turns, and yet do lie 
 
 Sleepless; and soon the small birds' melodies 
 
 IMust hear, first utter 'd from my orchard trees, 
 
 And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. 
 
 Even thus last night, and two nights more I lay, 
 
 And could not win thee, Sleep ! by any stealth : 
 
 So do not let me wear to-night away : 
 
 Without Thee what is all the morning's wealth? 
 
 Come, blessed barrier betAveen day and day, 
 
 Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous health ! 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 314* THE SOLDIER'S DREAM 
 
 Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower 'd. 
 And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; 
 
 And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower 'd, 
 The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 
 
 When reposing that night on my pallet of straw 
 By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, 
 
 At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw. 
 And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. 
 
 Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array 
 P^ar, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track; 
 
 'Twas Autumn, — and sunshine arose on the way 
 To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 
 
372 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft 
 
 In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; 
 
 I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft. 
 
 And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. 
 
 Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore 
 From my home and my weeping friends never to part ; 
 
 My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er. 
 And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. 
 
 ''Stay — stay with us! — rest! — thou are weary and 
 worn ! ' ' — 
 And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; — 
 But sorrow return 'd with the dawning of morn, 
 And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 
 
 TJiomas Campbell 
 
 315* A DREAM OF THE UNKNOWN 
 
 1 dream 'd that as I wander 'd by the way, 
 
 Bare Winter suddenly was changed to Spring, 
 
 And gentle odours led my steps astray, 
 Mix'd w^ith a sound of waters murmuring, 
 
 Along a shelving bank of turf, which lay 
 Under a copse, and hardly dared to fling 
 
 Its green arms round the bosom of the stream, 
 
 But kiss'd it and then fled, as Thou mightest in dream. 
 
 There grew pied wind-flowers and violets, 
 Daisies, those pearl'd Arcturi of the earth. 
 
 The constellated flower that never sets ; 
 
 Faint oxlips ; tender blue-bells, at whose birth 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 373 
 
 The sod scarce heaved ; and that tall flower that wets 
 Its mother's face with heaven-collected tears, 
 When the low wind, its playmate 's voice, it hears. 
 
 And in the warm hedge grew lush eglantine, 
 Green cow-bind and the moonlight-colour 'd may, 
 
 And cherry-blossoms, and white cups, whose wine 
 Was the bright dew yet drain 'd not by the day ; 
 
 And wild roses, and ivy serpentine, 
 
 With its dark buds and leaves, wandering astray ; 
 
 And flowers azure, black, and streak 'd with gold. 
 
 Fairer than any awaken 'd eyes behold. 
 
 And nearer to the river 's trembling edge 
 
 There grew broad flag-flowers, purple prank 'd with 
 white. 
 And starry river-buds among the sedge, 
 
 And floating w^ater-lilies, broad and bright, 
 Which lit the oak that overhung the hedge 
 
 With moonlight beams of their own watery light ; 
 And bulrushes, and reeds of such deep green 
 As soothed the dazzled eye with sober sheen. 
 
 Methought that of these visionary flowers 
 
 I made a nosegay, bound in such a way 
 That the same hues, which in their natural bowers 
 
 Were mingled or opposed, the like array 
 Kept these imprison 'd. children of the Hours 
 
 Within my hand, — and then, elate and gay, 
 I hastened to the spot whence I had come 
 That I might there present it — ! to Whom ? 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
374 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 316 KUBLA KAHN 
 
 In Xanadu did Kubla Kahn 
 A stately pleasure-dome decree : 
 Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
 Through caverns measureless to man 
 
 Down to a sunless sea ; 
 So twice five miles of fertile ground 
 "With walls and tow^ers w^ere girdled round ; 
 And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills 
 Where blossom 'd many an incense-bearing tree ; 
 And here w^ere forests ancient as the hills, 
 Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 
 
 But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted 
 Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover ! 
 A savage place ! as holy and enchanted 
 As e 'er beneath a waning moon was haunted 
 By w^oman w^ailing for her demon-lover ! 
 And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, 
 As if this earth in fast thick pants w^re breathing, 
 A mighty fountain momently w^as forced; 
 Amid w^hose swift half-intermitted burst 
 Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, 
 Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher 's flail : 
 And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever 
 It flung up momently the sacred river. 
 Five miles meandering wdth a ninzy motion 
 Through w^ood and dale the sacred river ran, 
 Then reach 'd the caverns measureless to man, 
 And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean ; 
 And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far 
 Ancestral voices prophesying war ! 
 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 375 
 
 The shadow of the dome of pleasure 
 
 Floated midway on the waves ; 
 
 Where was heard the mingled measure 
 
 From the fountain and the caves. 
 It was a miracle of rare device, 
 A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ! 
 
 A damsel with a dulcimer 
 
 In a vision once I saw : 
 
 It was an Abyssinian maid, 
 
 And on her dulcimer she play'd, 
 
 Singing of Mount Abora. 
 
 Could I revive within me 
 
 Her symphony and song. 
 To such a deep delight 'twould win me 
 That, with music loud and long, 
 I would build that dome in air, 
 That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! 
 And all who heard should see them there, 
 And all should cry, "Beware! Beware! 
 His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! 
 Weave a circle round him thrice. 
 And close your eyes w^ith holy dread, 
 For he on honey-clew hath fed, 
 And drunk the milk of Paradise." 
 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge 
 
 317 THE INNER VISION 
 
 Most sweet it is with un-uplifted eyes 
 To pace the ground, if path be there or none, 
 While a fair region round the traveller lies 
 Which he forbears again to look upon ; 
 Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene. 
 
376 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 The work of Fancy, or some happy tone 
 
 Of meditation, slipping in between 
 
 The beauty coming and the beauty gone. 
 
 — If Thought and Love desert us, from that day 
 
 Let us break off all commerce with the Muse : 
 
 With Thought and Love companions of our way— 
 
 Whate 'er the senses take or may refuse, — 
 
 The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews 
 
 Of inspiration on the humblest lay. 
 
 William Wordsivorth 
 
 318* THE REALM OF FANCY 
 
 Ever let the Fancy roam ; 
 
 Pleasure never is at home : 
 
 At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, 
 
 Like to bubbles when rain pelteth; 
 
 Then let winged Fancy wander 
 
 Through the thought still spread beyond her 
 
 Open wide the mind's cage-door, 
 
 She '11 dart forth, and cloudward soar. 
 
 sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; 
 
 Summer 's joys are spoilt by use, 
 
 And the enjoying of the Spring 
 
 Fades as does its blossoming ; 
 
 Autumn 's red-lipp 'd fruitage, too. 
 
 Blushing through the mist and dew, 
 
 Cloys with tasting : "What do then ? 
 
 Sit thee by the ingle, when 
 
 The sear faggot blazes bright. 
 
 Spirit of a winter's night; 
 
 When the soundless earth is muffled, 
 
 And the caked snow is shuffled 
 
JOHN KEATS 377 
 
 From the ploughboy's heavy shoon; 
 
 When the Night doth meet the Noon 
 
 In a dark conspiracy 
 
 To banish Even from her sky. 
 
 Sit thee there, and send abroad, 
 
 With a mind self-overaw'd. 
 
 Fancy, high-commission 'd: — send her! 
 
 She has vassals to attend her: 
 
 She will bring, in spite of frost. 
 
 Beauties that the earth hath lost ; 
 
 She will bring thee, all together. 
 
 All delights of summer weather ; 
 
 All the buds and bells of May, 
 
 From dewy sward or thorny spray; 
 
 All the heaped Autumn 's wealth. 
 
 With a still, mysterious stealth: 
 
 She will mix these pleasures up 
 
 Like three fit wines in a cup. 
 
 And thou shalt quaff it : — thou shalt hear 
 
 Distant harvest-carols clear; 
 
 Rustle of the reaped corn ; 
 
 Sweet birds antheming the morn; 
 
 And, in the same moment — hark! 
 
 'Tis the early April lark, 
 
 Or the rooks, with busy caw. 
 
 Foraging for sticks and straw. 
 
 Thou shalt, at one glance, behold 
 
 The daisy and the marigold ; 
 
 White-plumed lilies, and the first 
 
 Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst; 
 
 Shaded hyacinth, alway 
 
 Sapphire queen of the mid-May ; 
 
 And every leaf, and every flower 
 
 Pearled with the self-same shower. 
 
378 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep 
 INIeagre from its celled sleep ; 
 And the snake, all winter-thin, 
 Cast on sunny bank its skin ; 
 Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see 
 Hatching in the hawthorn-tree. 
 When the hen-bird 's wing doth rest 
 Quiet on her mossy nest ; 
 Then the hurry and alarm 
 When the bee-hive casts its swarm; 
 Acorns ripe down-pattering. 
 While the autumn breezes sing. 
 
 Oh, sweet Fancy ! let her loose ; 
 Everything is spoilt by use : 
 Where's the cheek that doth not fade. 
 Too much gazed at ? Where 's the maid 
 Whose lip mature is ever new ? 
 Where 's the eye, however blue. 
 Doth not weary ? Where 's the face 
 One would meet in every place ? 
 Where 's the voice, however soft, 
 One would hear so very oft ? 
 At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, 
 Like to bubbles when rain pelteth. 
 Let then winged Fancy find 
 Thee a mistress to thy mind : 
 Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter. 
 Ere the God of Torment taught her 
 How to frown and how to chide ; 
 With a waist and with a side 
 White as Hebe's, when her zone 
 Slipt its golden clasp, and down 
 Fell her kirtle to her feet. 
 
JOHN KEATS 379 
 
 While she held the goblet sweet, 
 
 And Jove grew languid. — Break the mesh 
 
 Of the Fancy's silken leash; 
 
 Quickly break her prison-string, 
 
 And such joys as these she'll bring. 
 
 — Let the winged Fancy roam, 
 
 Pleasure never is at home. 
 
 John Keats 
 
 319* WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING 
 
 I heard a thousand blended notes, 
 While in a grove I sate reclined, 
 In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts 
 Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 
 
 To her fair works did Nature link 
 The human soul that through me ran ; 
 And much it grieved my heart to think 
 What Man has made of Man. 
 
 Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, 
 The periwinkle trail 'd its wreaths ; 
 And 'tis my faith that every flower 
 Enjoys the air it breathes. 
 
 The birds around me hopp 'd and play 'd, 
 Their thoughts I cannot measure, — 
 But the least motion which they made 
 It seem'd a thrill of pleasure. 
 
 The budding twigs spread out their fan 
 To catch the breezy air ; 
 
380 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 And I must think, do all I can, 
 That there was pleasure there. 
 
 If this belief from heaven be sent, 
 If such be Nature 's holy plan. 
 Have I not reason to lament 
 What Man has made of Man ? 
 
 William Wo7^dsivotih 
 
 320* RUTH: OR THE INFLUENCES OF 
 NATURE 
 
 When Ruth was left half desolate. 
 Her father took another mate; 
 And Ruth, not seven years old, 
 A slighted child, at her own will 
 Went wandering over dale and hill, 
 In thoughtless freedom, bold. 
 
 And she had made a pipe of straw. 
 And music from that pipe could draw 
 Like sounds of winds and floods; 
 Had built a bower upon the green. 
 As if she from her birth had been 
 An infant of the woods. 
 
 Beneath her father's roof, alone 
 
 She seem 'd to live ; her thoughts her own ; 
 
 Herself her own delight : 
 
 Pleased with herself, nor sad nor gay ; 
 
 And passing thus the live-long day, 
 
 She grew to woman's height. 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 381 
 
 There came a youth from Georgia's shore — 
 
 A military casque he wore 
 
 With splendid feathers drest ; 
 
 He brought them from the Cherokees ; 
 
 The feathers nodded in the breeze 
 
 And made a gallant crest. 
 
 From Indian blood you deem him sprung : 
 But no ! he spake the English tongue 
 And bore a soldier's name; 
 And, when America was free 
 From battle and from jeopardy, 
 He 'cross the ocean came. 
 
 With hues of genius on his cheek, 
 
 In finest tones the youth could speak : 
 
 — While he was yet a boy 
 
 The moon, the glory of the sun, 
 
 The streams that murmur as they run 
 
 Had been his dearest joy. 
 
 He was a lovely youth ! I guess 
 
 The panther in the wilderness 
 
 Was not so fair as he ; 
 
 And when he chose to sport and play, 
 
 No dolphin ever was so gay 
 
 Upon the tropic sea. 
 
 Among the Indians he had fought ; 
 And with him many tales he brought 
 Of pleasure and of fear; 
 Such tales as, told to any maid 
 By such a youth, in the green shade, 
 Were perilous to hear. 
 
3g2 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 He told of girls, a happy rout ! 
 
 AVho quit their fold with dance and shout, 
 
 Their pleasant Indian town, 
 
 To gather strawberries all day long, 
 
 Returning with a choral song 
 
 "When daylight is gone down. 
 
 He spake of plants that hourly change 
 Their blossoms, through a boundless range 
 Of intermingling hues ; 
 With budding, fading, faded flowers. 
 They stand the wonder of the bowers 
 From morn to evening dews. 
 
 He told of the magnolia, spread 
 High as a cloud, high over head! 
 The cypress and her spire ; 
 — Of flowers that with one scarlet gleam 
 Cover a hundred leagues, and seem 
 To set the hills on fire. 
 
 The youth of green savannahs spake. 
 And many an endless, endless lake 
 With all its fairy crowds 
 Of islands, that together lie 
 As quietly as spots of sky 
 Among the evening clouds. 
 
 "How pleasant," then he said, ''it were 
 
 A fisher or a hunter there. 
 
 In sunshine or in shade 
 
 To wander with an easy mind, 
 
 And build a housfihold fire, and find 
 
 A home in every glade ! 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 333 
 
 ''What days and what bright years ! Ah, me ! 
 
 Our life were life indeed, with thee 
 
 So pass 'd in quiet bliss ; 
 
 And all the while," said he, ''to know 
 
 That we were in a world of woe, 
 
 On such an earth as this ! ' ' 
 
 And then he sometimes interwove 
 Fond thoughts about a father 's love ; 
 "For there," said he, "are spun 
 Around the heart such tender ties. 
 That our own children to our eyes 
 Are dearer than the sun. 
 
 "Sweet Ruth ! and could you go with me 
 
 My helpmate in the woods to be, 
 
 Our shed at night to rear, 
 
 Or run, my own adopted bride, 
 
 A sylvan huntress at my side, 
 
 And drive the flying deer ! 
 
 "Beloved Ruth!"— No more he said. 
 The wakeful Ruth at midnight shed 
 A solitary tear : 
 
 She thought again — and did agree 
 With him to sail across the sea. 
 And drive the flying deer. 
 
 "And now, as fitting is and right, 
 
 We in the church our faith will plight, 
 
 A husband and a wife." 
 
 Even so they did ; and I may say 
 
 That to sweet Ruth that happy day 
 
 Was more than human life. 
 
384 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Through dream and vision did she sink, 
 Delighted all the while to think 
 That, on those lonesome floods 
 And green savannahs, she should share 
 His board with lawful joy, and bear 
 His name in the wild woods. 
 
 But, as you have before been told. 
 This Stripling, sportive, gay, and bold. 
 And with his dancing crest 
 So beautiful, through savage lands 
 Had roam'd about, with vagrant bands 
 Of Indians in the West. 
 
 The wind, the tempest roaring high. 
 
 The tumult of a tropic sky 
 
 Might well be dangerous food 
 
 For him, a youth to whom was given 
 
 So much of earth — so much of heaven, 
 
 And such impetuous blood. 
 
 Whatever in those climes he found 
 Irregular in sight or sound 
 Did to his mind impart 
 A kindred impulse, seem'd allied 
 To his own powers, and justified 
 - The workings of his heart. 
 
 Nor less, to feed voluptuous thought, 
 The beauteous forms of Nature wrought. 
 Fair trees and gorgeous flowers ; 
 The breezes their own languor lent ; 
 The stars had feelings, which they sent 
 Into those favour 'd bowers. 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 335 
 
 Yet, in his worst pursuits, I ween ' ' 
 
 That sometimes there did intervene 
 
 Pure hopes of high intent ; 
 
 For passions link'd to forms so fair 
 
 And stately, needs must have their share 
 
 Of noble sentiment. 
 
 But ill he lived, much evil saw, 
 With men to whom no better law 
 Nor better life was known ; 
 Deliberately and undeceived, 
 Those wdlcl men's vices he received, 
 And gave them back his own. 
 
 His genius and his moral frame 
 Were thus impair 'd, and he became 
 The slave of low desires : 
 A man who without self-control 
 Would seek what the degraded soul 
 Unworthily admires. 
 
 And yet he with no feign 'd delight 
 Had woo'd the maiden, day and night 
 Had loved her, night and morn: 
 What could he less than love a maid 
 Whose heart with so much nature play'd — 
 So kind and so forlorn ? 
 
 Sometimes most earnestly he said, 
 
 '^0 Ruth! I have been worse than dead; 
 
 False thoughts, thoughts bold and vain 
 
 Encompass 'd me on every side 
 
 When I, in confidence and pride, 
 
 Had cross 'd the Atlantic main. 
 
386 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ''Before me shone a glorious world 
 Fresh as a banner bright, unfurl 'd 
 To music suddenly : 
 I look'd upon those hills and plains, 
 And seem 'd as if let loose from chains 
 To live at liberty ! 
 
 ''No more of this — for now, by thee, 
 Dear Ruth, more happily set free. 
 With nobler zeal I burn ; 
 My soul from darkness is released. 
 Like the whole sky when to the east 
 The morning doth return." 
 
 Full soon that better mind was gone ; 
 No hope, no wish remain 'd, not one, — 
 They stirr 'd him now no more ; 
 New objects did not pleasure give. 
 And once again he wish'd to live 
 As lawless as before. 
 
 Meanwhile, as thus with him it fared. 
 They for the voyage were prepared. 
 And went to the sea-shore ; 
 But, when they thither came, the youth 
 Deserted his poor bride, and Ruth 
 Could never find him more. 
 
 God help thee, Ruth ! — Such pains she had 
 
 That she in half a year was mad 
 
 And in a prison housed; 
 
 And there, with many a doleful song 
 
 Made of wild words, her cup of wrong 
 
 She fearfully caroused. 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 337 
 
 Yet sometimes milder hours she knew, 
 
 Nor wanted sun, nor rain, nor dew, 
 
 Nor pastimes of the May, ' 
 
 — They all were with her in her cell; 
 
 And a clear brook with cheerful knell 
 
 Did 'er the pebbles play. 
 
 When Ruth three seasons thus had lain, 
 There came a respite to her pain; 
 She from her prison fled ; 
 But of the Vagrant none took thought; 
 And where it liked her best she sought 
 Her shelter and her bread. 
 
 Among the fields she breathed again; 
 The master-current of her brain 
 Ran permanent and free ; 
 And, coming to the banks of Tone, 
 There did she rest; and dwell alone 
 Under the greenwood tree. 
 
 The engines of her pain, the tools 
 
 That shaped her sorrow, rocks and pools. 
 
 And airs that gently stir 
 
 The vernal leaves — she loved them still, 
 
 Nor ever taxed them with the ill 
 
 Which had been done to her. 
 
 A barn her Winter bed supplies ; 
 
 But, till the warmth of Summer skies 
 
 And Summer days is gone, 
 
 (And all do in this tale agree) 
 
 She sleeps beneath the greenwood tree, 
 
 And other home hath none. 
 
388 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 An innocent life, yet far astray ! 
 
 And Ruth will, long before her day, 
 
 Be broken down and old. 
 
 Sore aches she needs must have ! but less 
 
 Of mind, than body's wretchedness, 
 
 From damp, and rain, and cold. 
 
 If she is prest by want of food, 
 She from her dwelling in the wood 
 Repairs to a road-side ; 
 And there she begs at one steep place, 
 AYhere up and down with easy pace 
 The horsemen-travellers ride. 
 
 That oaten pipe of hers is mute 
 Or thrown away ; but with a flute 
 Her loneliness she cheers ; 
 This flute, made of a hemlock stalk. 
 At evening in his homeward walk 
 The Quantock woodman hears. 
 
 I, too, have pass'd her on the hills 
 
 Setting her little water-mills 
 
 By spouts and fountains wild — 
 
 Such small machinery as she turn'd 
 
 Ere she had wept, ere she had mourn 'd, — 
 
 A young and happy child ! 
 
 Farewell ! and when th}" days are told, 
 
 Ill-fated Ruth ! in hallow 'd mould 
 
 Thy corpse shall buried be ; 
 
 For thee a funeral bell shall ring, 
 
 And all the congregation sing 
 
 A Christian psalm for thee. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 339 
 
 321* 
 
 WRITTEN AMONG THE EUGANEAN HILLS 
 
 Many a green isle needs must be 
 In the deep, wide sea of Misery, 
 Or the mariner, worn and wan, 
 Never thus could voyage on, 
 Day and night, and night and day. 
 Drifting on his dreary way. 
 With the solid darkness black 
 Closing round his vessel's track; 
 Whilst above, the sunless sky 
 Big with clouds, hangs heavily, 
 And behind the tempest fleet 
 Hurries on with lightning feet, 
 Riving sail, and cord, and plank, 
 Till the ship has almost drank 
 Death from the 'er-brimming deep ; 
 And sinks down, down, like that sleep 
 When the dreamer seems to be 
 Weltering through eternity ; 
 And the dim, low line before 
 Of a dark and distant shore 
 Still recedes, as ever still 
 Longing with divided will. 
 But no power to seek or shun, 
 He is ever drifted on 
 O'er the unreposing wave, 
 To the haven of the grave. 
 
 Ah, many flowering islands lie 
 In the waters of wide Agony : 
 To such a one this morn was led 
 My bark, by soft winds piloted. 
 
390 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 — 'Mid the mountains Euganean 
 
 I stood listening to the paean 
 
 With which the legion 'd rooks did hail 
 
 The Sun 's uprise majestical : 
 
 Gathering round with wings all hoar, 
 
 Through the dewy mist they soar 
 
 Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven 
 
 Bursts ; and then, — as clouds of even 
 
 Fleck 'd with fire and azure, lie 
 
 In the unfathomable sky, — 
 
 So their plumes of purple grain, 
 
 Starr 'd with drops of golden rain, 
 
 Gleam above the sunlight woods. 
 
 As in silent multitudes 
 
 On the morning's fitful gale 
 
 Through the broken mist they sail ; 
 
 And the vapours cloven and gleaming 
 
 Follow down the dark steep streaming. 
 
 Till all is bright, and clear, and still 
 
 Round the solitary hill. 
 
 Beneath is spread like a green sea 
 The waveless plain of Lombardy, 
 Bounded by the vaporous air, 
 Islanded by cities fair ; 
 Underneath Day's azure eyes, 
 Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, — 
 A peopled labyrinth of walls, 
 Amphitrite 's destined halls. 
 Which her hoary sire now paves 
 With his blue and beaming waves. 
 Lo ! the sun upsprings behind, 
 Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined 
 On the level quivering line 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 39I 
 
 Of the waters crystalline ; 
 
 And before that chasm of light, 
 
 As within a furnace bright, 
 
 Column, tower, and dome, and spire, 
 
 Shine like obelisks of fire, 
 
 Pointing with inconstant motion 
 
 From the altar of dark ocean 
 
 To the sapphire-tinted skies. 
 
 As the flames of sacrifice 
 
 From the marble shrines did rise, 
 
 As to pierce the dome of gold 
 
 Where Apollo spoke of old. 
 
 Sun-girt City ! thou hast been 
 Ocean 's child, and then his queen ; 
 Now is come a darker day. 
 And thou soon must be his prey, 
 If the power that raised thee here 
 Hallow so thy watery bier. 
 A less drear ruin then than now. 
 With thy conquest-branded brow 
 Stooping to the slave of slaves 
 From thy throne among the waves 
 Wilt thou be, — when the sea-mew 
 Flies, as once before it flew. 
 O'er thine isles depopulate. 
 And all is in its ancient state. 
 Save where many a palace-gate 
 With green sea-flowers overgrown. 
 Like a rock of ocean's own, 
 Topples 'er the abandon 'd sea 
 As the tides change sullenly. 
 The fisher on his watery way 
 Wandering at the close of day, 
 
392 THE GOLDEN TKEAISURY 
 
 Will spread his sail and seize his oar 
 Till he pass the gloomy shore, 
 Lest thy dead should, from this sleep, 
 Bursting o'er the starlight deep, 
 Lead a rapid masque of death 
 'er the waters of his path. 
 
 Noon descends around me now: 
 'Tis the noon of autumn's glow, 
 When a soft and purple mist 
 Like a vaporous amethyst, 
 Or an air-dissolved star 
 ]\Iingling light and fragrance, far 
 From the curved horizon's bound 
 To the point of heaven's profound, 
 Fills the overflowing sky 
 And the plains that silent lie 
 Underneath ; the leaves unsodden 
 Where the infant Frost has trodden 
 With his morning-winged feet 
 Whose bright print is gleaming yet; 
 And the red and golden vines 
 Piercing with their trellised lines 
 The rough, dark-skirted wilderness; 
 The dun and bladed grass no less. 
 Pointed from this hoary tower 
 In the windless air ; the flower 
 Glimmering at my feet ; the line 
 Of the olive-sandall 'd Appennine 
 In the south dimly islanded ; 
 And the Alps, whose snows are spread 
 High between the clouds and sun ; 
 And of living things each one ; 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY . 393 
 
 And my spirit, which so long 
 
 Darken 'd this swift stream of song, — 
 
 Interpenetrated lie 
 
 By the glory of the sky ; 
 
 Be it love, light, harmony, 
 
 Odour, or the soul of all 
 
 Which from heaven like dew doth fall, 
 
 Or the mind which feeds this verse. 
 
 Peopling the lone universe. 
 
 Noon descends, and after noon 
 Autumn's evening meets me soon, 
 Leading the infantine moon 
 And that one star, which to her 
 Almost seems to minister 
 Half the crimson light she brings 
 From the sunset 's radiant springs : 
 And the soft dreams of the morn 
 (Which like winged winds had borne 
 To that silent isle, which lies 
 'Mid remember 'd agonies. 
 The frail bark of this lone being), 
 Pass, to other sufferers fleeing, 
 And its ancient pilot. Pain, 
 Sits beside the helm again. 
 
 Other flowering isles must be 
 In the sea of Life and Agony ; 
 Other spirits float and flee 
 O'er that gulf; Ev'n now, perhaps. 
 On some rock the wild wave wraps 
 With folded wings they waiting sit 
 For my bark, to pilot it 
 
394 . THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 To some calm and blooming cove; 
 
 Where for me, and those I love, 
 
 May a windless bower be built, 
 
 Far from passion, pain, and guilt. 
 
 In a dell 'mid lawny hills 
 
 Which the wild sea-murmur fills, 
 
 And soft sunshine, and the sound 
 
 Of old forests echoing round. 
 
 And the light and smell divine 
 
 Of all flowers that breathe and shine. 
 
 — We may live so happy there 
 
 That the Spirits of the Air 
 
 Envying us, may ev'n entice 
 
 To our healing paradise 
 
 The polluting multitude : 
 
 But their rage would be subdued 
 
 By that clime divine and calm. 
 
 And the winds whose wings rain balm 
 
 On the uplifted soul, and leaves 
 
 Under which the bright sea heaves; 
 
 While each breathless interval 
 
 In their whisperings musical 
 
 The inspired soul supplies 
 
 With its own deep melodies ; 
 
 And the Love which heals all strife, 
 
 Circling, like the breath of life, 
 
 All things in that sweet abode 
 
 With its own mild brotherhood : — 
 
 They, not it, would change ; and soon 
 
 Every sprite beneath the moon 
 
 Would repent its envy vain. 
 
 And the Earth grow young again. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 395 
 
 322 ODE TO THE WEST WIND 
 
 Wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being, 
 Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead 
 Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing. 
 Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red. 
 Pestilence-stricken multitudes ! thou 
 Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed 
 The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low, 
 Each like a corpse within its grave, until 
 Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow 
 Her clarion o'er the dreaming earth, and fill 
 (Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air) 
 With living hues and odours plain and hill : 
 Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere; 
 Destroyer and Preserver : Hear, oh hear ! 
 
 Thou on whose stream, 'mid the steep sky's com- 
 motion, 
 Loose clouds like earth's decaying leaves are shed, 
 Shook from the tangled boughs of heaven and ocean, 
 Angels of rain and lightning ! there are spread 
 On the blue surface of thine airy surge, 
 Like the bright hair uplifted from the head 
 Of some fierce Maenad, ev 'n from the dim verge 
 Of the horizon to the zenith's height — 
 The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge 
 Of the dying year, to which this closing night 
 Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre, 
 Vaulted with all thy congregated might 
 Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere 
 Black rain, and fire, and hail, will burst : Oh hear ! 
 
 Thou who didst waken from his summer-dreams 
 The blue Mediterranean, where he lay. 
 
396 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams, 
 Beside a pumice -isle in Baiae's bay, 
 And saw in sleep old palaces and towers 
 Quivering within the wave 's intenser day, 
 All overgrown with azure moss, and flowers 
 So sweet, the sense faints picturing them ! Thou 
 For whose path the Atlantic 's level powers 
 Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below 
 The sea-blooms and the oozy woods, which wear 
 The sapless foliage of the ocean, know 
 Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear 
 And tremble and despoil themselves : Oh hear ! 
 
 If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear; 
 If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee ; 
 A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share 
 The impuse of thy strength, only less free 
 Than Thou, uncontrollable ! If even 
 I were as in my boyhood, and could be 
 The comrade of thy wanderings over heaven. 
 As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed 
 Scarce seem'd a vision, — I would ne'er have striven 
 As thus with thee in prayer, in my sore need. 
 Oh ! lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud ! 
 I fall upon the thorns of life ! I bleed ! 
 A heavy weight of hours has chain 'd and bow 'd 
 One too like thee — tameless, and swift, and proud. 
 
 Make me thy lyre, ev 'n as the forest is : 
 "What if my leaves are falling like its own ! 
 The tumult of thy mighty harmonies 
 Will take from both a deep autumnal tone, 
 Sweet though in sadness. Be thou. Spirit fierce, 
 My spirit ! be thou me, impetuous one ! 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 397 
 
 Drive 1113^ dead thoughts over the universe, 
 Like wither 'd leaves, to quicken a new birth ; 
 And, by the incantation of this verse, 
 Scatter, as from an unextinguish 'd hearth 
 Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind ! 
 Be through my lips, to unawaken 'd earth. 
 The trumpet of a prophecy ! O Wind, 
 If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind ? 
 
 Percy Bysshc Shelley 
 
 323 NATURE AND THE POET 
 
 Suggested by a Picture of Peele Castle in a Storm, 
 painted by Sir George Beaumont 
 
 I was thy neighbour once, thou rugged Pile ! 
 Four summer weeks I dwelt in sight of thee : 
 I saw thee every day ; and all the while 
 Thy Form was sleeping on a glassy sea. 
 
 So pure the sl^, so quiet was the air! 
 So like, so very like, was day to day ! 
 Whene 'er T look 'd, thy image still was there ; 
 It trembled, but it never pass'd away. 
 
 How perfect was the calm! It seem'd no sleep, 
 No mood, which season takes away, or brings: 
 I could have fancied that the mighty Deep 
 Was even the gentlest of all gentle things. 
 
 Ah! then — if mine had been the painter's hand 
 To express what then I saw ; and add the gleam, 
 The light that never was on sea or land, 
 The consecration, and the Poet's dream, — 
 
398 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 I would have planted tliee, thou hoary pile, 
 Amid a world how different from this ! 
 Beside a sea that coald not cease to smile, 
 On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss. 
 
 Thou shouldst have seem'd a treasure-house divine 
 Of peaceful years ; a chronicle of heaven ; — 
 Of all the sunbeams that did ever shine 
 The very sweetest had to thee been given. 
 
 A picture had it been of lasting ease, 
 Elysian quiet, Avithout toil or strife: 
 No motion but the moving tide, a breeze ; 
 Or merely silent Nature 's breathing life. 
 
 Such, in the fond illusion of my heart, 
 
 Such picture would I at that time have made ; 
 
 And seen the soul of truth in every part, 
 
 A steadfast peace that might not be betray 'd. 
 
 So once it would have been, — 'tis so no more; 
 I have submitted to a new control : 
 A power is gone which nothing can restore ; 
 A deep distress hath humanized my soul. 
 
 Not for a moment could I now behold 
 A smiling sea, and be what I have been : 
 The feeling of my loss will ne 'er be old ; 
 This, which I know, I speak with mind serene. 
 
 Then, Beaumont, Friend ! who would have been the friend 
 If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore. 
 This work of thine I blame not, but commend: 
 This sea in anger, and that dismal shore. 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 399 
 
 'tis a passionate work ! — yet wise and well, 
 Well chosen is the spirit that is here ; 
 
 That hulk which labours in the deadly swell, 
 This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear ! 
 
 And this huge Castle, standing here sublime, 
 
 1 love to see the look with which it braves, 
 
 — Cased in the unfeeling armour of old time — 
 
 The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves. 
 
 — Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone, 
 Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind ! 
 Such happiness, wherever it be known. 
 Is to be pitied, for 'tis surely blind. 
 
 But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer, 
 And frequent sights of what is to be borne ! 
 Such sights, or worse, as are before me here : — 
 Not without hope we suffer and we mourn. 
 
 William Wo7xIs worth 
 
 324* THE POET'S DREAM 
 
 On a Poet's lips I slept, 
 
 Dreaming like a love-adept 
 
 In the sound his breathing kept ; 
 
 Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses. 
 
 But feeds on the aerial kisses 
 
 Of shapes that haunt Thought's wildernesses. 
 
 He will watch from dawn to gloom 
 
 The lake-reflected sun illume 
 
 The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom, 
 
 Nor heed nor see what things they be — 
 
400 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 But from these create he can 
 Forms more real than living Man, 
 Nurslings of Immortality ! 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
 325* GLEN-ALMAIN, THE NARROW GLEN 
 
 In this still place, remote from men, 
 
 Sleeps Ossian, in the Narrow Glen ; 
 
 In this still place, where murmurs on 
 
 But one meek streamlet, only one. 
 
 He sang of battles, and the breath 
 
 Of stormy war, and violent death ; 
 
 And should, methinks, when all was past, 
 
 Have rightfully been laid at last 
 
 Where rocks were rudely heap 'd and rent 
 
 As by a spirit turbulent ; 
 
 Where sights w^ere rough, and sounds were wild, 
 
 And everything unreconciled ; 
 
 In some complaining, dim retreat, 
 
 For fear and melancholy meet ; 
 
 But this is calm ; there cannot be 
 
 A more entire tranquility. 
 
 Does then the Bard sleep here indeed ? 
 Or is it but a groundless creed ? 
 What matters it ? — I blame them not 
 Whose fancy in this lonely spot 
 Was moved ; and in such way express 'd 
 Their notion of its perfect rest. 
 A convent, even a hermit's cell. 
 Would break the silence of this Dell : 
 It is not quiet, is not ease; 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 401 
 
 But something deeper far than these : 
 The separation that is here 
 Is of the grave ; and of austere 
 Yet happy feelings of the dead : 
 And, therefore, was it rightly said 
 That Ossian, last of all his race ! 
 Lies buried in this lonely place. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 326* 
 
 The World is too much with us; late and soon, 
 Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers ; 
 Little we see in Nature that is ours ; 
 We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon ! 
 This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon, 
 The winds that will be howling at all hours 
 And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers, 
 For this, for every thing, we are out of tune ; 
 It moves us not, — Great God ! I 'd rather be 
 A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn, — 
 So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 
 Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn ; 
 Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea ; 
 Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 327 WITHIN KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, 
 CAMBRIDGE 
 
 Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense, 
 With ill-match 'd aims, the Architect who plann'd 
 (Albeit labouring for a scanty band 
 Of white-robed Scholars only) this immense 
 
402 THE GOLDEX TREASURY 
 
 And glorious work of fine intelligence ! 
 
 — Give all thou canst ; high Heaven rejects the lore 
 
 Of nicelj'-calculated less or more : — 
 
 So deem'd the man who fashion 'd for the sense 
 
 These loft}^ pillars, spread that branching roof, 
 
 Self-poised and scoop 'd into ten thousand cells 
 
 Where light and shade repose, where music dwells 
 
 Lingering — and wandering on as loth to die ; 
 
 Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof 
 
 That they were born for immortality. 
 
 William ^yonIsworth. 
 
 328 ODE ON A GRECIAN URN 
 
 Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, 
 
 Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, 
 Sjdvan historian, who canst thus express 
 
 A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme : 
 What leaf-fringed legend haunts about thy shape 
 
 Of deities or mortals, or of both. 
 In Tempe or the dales of Arcadyf 
 What men or gods are these ? What maidens loth ? 
 
 What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape? 
 What pipes and timbrels ? What wild ecstasy 
 
 Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
 Are sweeter ; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on : 
 
 Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear 'd, 
 Pipe, to the spirit, ditties of no tone. 
 
 Fair youth beneath the trees, thou canst not leave 
 Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare ; 
 Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, 
 
JOHN KEATS 403 
 
 Though Avinnmg near the goal — yet, do not grieve : 
 She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, 
 For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair ! 
 
 Ah, happy, happy boughs ! that cannot shed 
 
 Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu ; 
 And, happy melodist, unwearied, 
 
 For ever piping songs for ever new ; 
 ]\[ore happy love ! more happy, happy love ! 
 
 For ever warm and still to be enjoy 'd. 
 For ever panting, and for ever j^oung ; 
 All breathing human passion far above. 
 
 That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and eloy'd, 
 A burning forehead, and a parching tongue. 
 
 Who are these coming to the sacrifice ? 
 
 To what green altar, O mysterious priest, 
 Lead 'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies. 
 
 And all her silken flanks with garlands drest ? 
 What little town by river or sea shore, 
 
 Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, 
 Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn ? 
 And, little town, thy streets for evermore 
 
 Will silent be ; and not a soul, to teir 
 Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. 
 
 O Attic shape ! Fair attitude ! with brede 
 Of marble men and maidens overwrought, 
 
 With forest branches and the trodden weed ; 
 Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought 
 
 As doth eternity. Cold Pastoral ! 
 
 When old age shall this generation waste, 
 Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe 
 
404 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, 
 ''Beauty is truth, truth beauty, — that is all 
 Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. ' ' 
 
 John Keats 
 
 329 YOUTH AND AGE 
 
 Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, 
 Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee — 
 Both were mine ! Life went a-maying 
 With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, 
 When I was young ! 
 When I was young ? — Ah, woful when! 
 Ah ! for the change 'twixt Now and Then. 
 This breathing house not built with hands, 
 This body that does me grievous wrong, 
 O'er aery cliffs and glittering sands 
 How lightly then it flash 'd along: 
 Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, 
 On winding lakes and rivers wide. 
 That ask no aid of sail or oar. 
 That fear no spite of wind or tide ! 
 Nought cared this body for wind or weather 
 When Youth and I lived in't together. 
 
 Flowers are lovely ; Love is flower-like ; 
 Friendship is a sheltering tree; 
 ! the joys, that came down shower-like, 
 Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, 
 
 Ere I was old ! 
 Ere I was old? Ah woful Ere, 
 Which tells me Youth's no longer here! 
 Youth ! for years so many and sweet 
 
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 495 
 
 'Tis known that Thou and I were one, 
 I'll think it but a fond conceit — 
 It cannot be that Thou art gone! 
 Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll 'd : — 
 And thou wert aye a masker bold ! 
 What strange disguise hast now put on 
 To make believe that Thou art gone? 
 I see these locks in silvery slips, 
 This drooping gait, this alter 'd size : 
 But Springtide blossoms on thy lips, 
 And tears take sunshine from thine eyes ! 
 Life is but Thought : so think I will 
 That Youth and I are house-mates still. 
 
 Dew-drops are the gems of morning, 
 But the tears of mournful eve ! 
 Where no hope is, life's a warning 
 That only serves to make us grieve 
 
 When we are old : 
 — That only serves to make us grieve 
 With oft and tedious taking-leave, 
 Like some poor nigh-related guest 
 That may not rudely be dismist. 
 Yet hath out-stay 'd his welcome while, 
 And tells the jest without the smile. 
 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge 
 
 330 THE TWO APRIL MORNINGS 
 
 We w^alk'd along, while bright and red 
 Uprose the morning sun ; 
 And Matthew stopp'd, he look'd, and said 
 ''The will of God be done!" 
 
406 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 A village schoolmaster was he, 
 With hair of glittering gray ; 
 As blithe a man as you could see 
 On a spring holiday. 
 
 And on that morning, through the grass 
 And by the steaming rills 
 We traveird merrily, to pass 
 A day among the hills. 
 
 * ' Our work, ' ' said I, ' ' was well begun ; 
 Then, from thy breast what thought, 
 Beneath so beautiful a sun, 
 So sad a sigh has brought ? ' ' 
 
 A second time did Matthew stop ; 
 And fixing still his eye 
 Upon the eastern mountain-top. 
 To me he made reply : 
 
 ''Yon cloud with that long purple cleft 
 Brings fresh into my mind 
 A day like this, which I have left 
 Full thirty years behind. 
 
 ''And just above yon slope of corn 
 Such colours, and no other, 
 Were in the sky that April morn, 
 Of this the very brother. 
 
 ' ' With rod and line I sued the sport 
 Which that sweet season gave. 
 And, to the church-yard come, sto])]^ 'd short 
 Beside my daughter's grave. 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 407 
 
 ''Nine summers had she scarcely seen, 
 The pride of all the vale ; 
 And then she sang, — she would have been 
 A very nightingale. 
 
 ''Six feet in earth my Emma lay; 
 And yet I loved her more — 
 For so it seem 'd, — than till that day 
 I e 'er had loved before. 
 
 "And turning from her grave, I met, 
 Beside the churchyard yew, 
 A blooming Girl, whose hair was wet 
 With points of morning dew. 
 
 ' ' A basket on her head she bare ; 
 Iler brow was smooth and white : 
 To see a child so very fair 
 It was a pure delight ! 
 
 "No fountain from its rocky cave 
 E 'er tripp 'd with foot so free ; 
 She seem'd as happy as a wave 
 That dances on the sea. 
 
 "There came from me a sigh of pain, 
 Which I could ill confine ; 
 I look'd at her, and look 'd again : — 
 And did not wish her mine ! ' ' 
 
 — Matthew is in his grave, yet now 
 Methinks I see him stand 
 As at that moment, with a bough 
 Of wilding in his hand. 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
408 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 331* THE FOUNTAIN 
 
 A Conversation 
 
 We talked with open heart, and tongue 
 Affectionate and true, 
 A pair of friends, though I was young 
 And Matthew seventy-two. 
 
 We lay beneath a spreading oak, 
 Beside a mossy seat ; 
 And from the turf a fountain broke 
 And gurgled at our feet. 
 
 ''Now, Matthew!" said I, ''let us match 
 This water 's pleasant tune 
 With some old border-song or catch 
 That suits a summer's noon; 
 
 " Or of the church-clock and the chimes 
 Sing here beneath the shade. 
 That half-mad thing of witty rhymes 
 Which you last April made!" 
 
 In silence Matthew lay, and eyed 
 The spring beneath the tree ; 
 And thus the dear old man replied 
 The gray-hair 'd man of glee : 
 
 "No check, no stay this Streamlet fears. 
 How merrily it goes ! 
 'Twill murmur on a thousand years 
 And flow as now it flows. 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 409 
 
 *'And here, on this delightful day, 
 I cannot choose but think 
 How oft, a vigorous man, I lay 
 Beside this fountain's brink. 
 
 ^'My eyes are dim with childish tears, 
 My heart is idly stirr 'd, 
 For the same sound is in my ears 
 Which in those days I heard. 
 
 * ' Thus fares it still in our decay : 
 And yet the wiser mind 
 Mourns less for what Age takes away, 
 Than what it leaves behind. 
 
 * ' The blackbird amid leafy trees. 
 
 The lark above the hill. 
 
 Let loose their carols when they please, 
 
 Are quiet when they will. 
 
 ''With Nature never do they wage 
 A foolish strife; they see 
 A happy youth, and their old age 
 Is beautiful and free : 
 
 ''But we are press 'd by heavy laws; 
 And often, glad no more, 
 We wear a face of joy, because 
 We have been glad of yore. 
 
 "If there be one who need bemoan 
 His kindred laid in earth. 
 The household hearts that were his own, — 
 It is the man of mirth. 
 
410 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ''My days, my friend, are almost gone, 
 My life has been approved, 
 And many love me; bnt by none 
 Am I enough beloved." 
 
 ''Now both himself and me he wrongs, 
 The man who thus complains ! 
 I live and sing my idle songs 
 Upon these happy plains : 
 
 "And Matthew, for thy children dead 
 I'll be a son to thee!" 
 At this he grasp 'd my hand and said, 
 "Alas! that cannot be." 
 
 — We rose up from the fountain-side; 
 And down the smooth descent 
 Of the green sheep-track did we glide ; 
 And through the wood we went ; 
 
 And ere we came to Leonard's rock 
 He sang those witty rhymes 
 About the crazy old church-clock 
 And the bewilder 'd chimes. 
 
 William Words worth 
 
 332* THE RIVER OF LIFE 
 
 The more we live, more brief appear 
 Our life's succeeding stages: 
 
 A day to childhood seems a year, 
 And years like passing ages. 
 
THOMAS CAMPBELL 411 
 
 The gladsome current of our youth, 
 
 Ere passion yet disorders, 
 Steals lingering like a river smooth 
 
 Along its grassy borders. 
 
 But as the care-worn cheek grows wan, 
 
 And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, 
 Ye Stars that measure life to man. 
 
 Why seem your courses quicker ? 
 
 When joys have lost their bloom and breath 
 
 And life itself is vapid, 
 Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, 
 
 Feel we its tide more rapid ? 
 
 It may be strange — yet who would change 
 
 Time's course to slower speeding, 
 When one by one our friends have gone 
 
 And left our bosoms bleeding ? 
 
 Heaven gives our years of fading strength 
 
 Indemnifying fleetness ; 
 And those of youth, a seeming length. 
 
 Proportion 'd to their sweetness. 
 
 TJiomas Camphell 
 
 333* THE HUMAN SEASONS 
 
 Four Seasons fill the measure of the year ; 
 There are four seasons in the mind of man 
 He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear 
 Takes in all beauty with an easy span ; 
 He has his Summer, when luxuriously 
 
412 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Spring's honey 'd cud of youthful thought he loves 
 
 To ruminate, and by such dreaming high 
 
 Is nearest unto heaven. Quiet coves 
 
 His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings 
 
 He furleth close ; contented so to look 
 
 On mists in idleness — to let fair things 
 
 Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. 
 
 He has his Winter too of pale misfeature. 
 
 Or else he would forego his mortal nature. 
 
 John Keats 
 
 334 A DIRGE 
 
 Rough wind, that moanest loud 
 
 Grief too sad for song : 
 Wild wind, when sullen cloud 
 
 Knells all the night long ; 
 Sad storm whose tears are vain. 
 Bare woods whose branches strain. 
 Deep caves and dreary main, — 
 Wail for the world's wrong! 
 
 Percij Bysshe Shelley 
 
 335 THRENOS 
 
 0. World ! Life ! Time ! 
 On whose last steps I climb. 
 
 Trembling at that where I had stood before ; 
 When will return the glory of your prime ? 
 No more — Oh, never more! 
 
 Out of the day and night 
 A joy has taken flight : 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 4]^3 
 
 Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar 
 Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight 
 No more — Oh, never more ! 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
 336 THE TROSACHS 
 
 There 's not a nook within this solemn Pass, 
 
 But were an apt confessional for One 
 
 Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, 
 
 That Life is but a tale of morning grass 
 
 Wither 'd at eve. From scenes of art which chase 
 
 That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes 
 
 Feed it 'mid Nature 's old felicities : 
 
 Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass 
 
 Untouch 'd, unbreathed upon: — Thrice happy quest. 
 
 If from a golden perch of aspen spray 
 
 (October's workmanship to rival May), 
 
 The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast 
 
 That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay. 
 
 Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest ! 
 
 William Wordsworth 
 
 337* 
 
 My heart leaps up when I behold 
 
 A rainbow in the sky : 
 So was it when my life began, 
 So is it now I am a man, 
 So be it when I shall grow old, 
 
 Or let me die ! 
 The Child is father of the Man : 
 And I could wish my days to be 
 Bound each to -each by natural piety. 
 William Wordsworth 
 
414 THE GOLDEN TKEASURY 
 
 338 ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY, 
 
 FEOM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY 
 
 CHILDHOOD 
 
 There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, 
 The earth, and every common sight 
 To me did seem 
 Appareird in celestial light, 
 The glory and the freshness of a dream. 
 It is not now as it hath been of yore ; — 
 Turn wheresoe 'er I may. 
 By night or day. 
 The things which I have seen I noAV can see no more. 
 
 The rainbow comes and goes ; 
 
 And lovely is the rose; 
 
 The moon doth with delight 
 Look round her when the heavens are bare ; 
 
 Waters on a starry night 
 
 Are beautiful and fair; 
 The sunshine is a glorious birth ; 
 But yet I know, where'er I go. 
 That there hath past away a glory from the earth. 
 
 Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song, 
 And while the young lambs bound 
 
 As to the tabor's sound, 
 To me alone there came a thought of grief ; 
 A timely utterance gave that thought relief, 
 
 And I again am strong. 
 The cataracts. blow their trumpets from the steep; — 
 No more shall grief of mine the season wrong : 
 I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, 
 The winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 
 
WILLIA:\I WORDSWORTH 415 
 
 And all the earth is gay ; 
 Land and sea 
 Give themselves up to jollity, 
 
 And with the heart of May 
 Doth every beast keep holiday ; — 
 Thou child of joy, 
 Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy 
 Shepherd-boy ! 
 
 Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call 
 
 Ye to each other make ; I see 
 The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee ; 
 IMy heart is at your festival, 
 ]\Iy head hath its coronal, 
 The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all. 
 Oh evil day ! if I were sullen 
 While Earth herself is adorning 
 
 This sweet May-morning ; 
 And the children are culling 
 
 On every side. 
 In a thousand valleys far and wide, 
 Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm 
 And the babe leaps up on his mother 's arm — 
 I hear, I hear, with joy I hear ! 
 — But there's a tree, of many, one, 
 A single field which I have look'cl upon, 
 Both of them speak of something that is gone ; 
 The pansy at my feet 
 Doth the same tale repeat : 
 Whither is fled the visionary gleam? 
 Where it is now, the glory and the dream? 
 
 Our ])irth is but a sleep and a forgetting; 
 The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, 
 
416 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Hath had elsewhere its setting 
 
 And cometh from afar; 
 Not in entire forgetfulness, 
 And not in utter nakedness, 
 But trailing clouds of glory d@ we come 
 
 From God, who is our home. 
 Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! 
 Shades of the prison-house begin to close 
 
 Upon the growing Boy, 
 But he beholds the light and whence it flows, 
 
 He sees it in his joy ; 
 The Youth, who daily farther from the east 
 Must travel, still is Nature 's priest, 
 And by the vision splendid 
 Is on his way attended ; 
 At length the Man perceives it die away 
 And fade into the light of common day. 
 
 Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; 
 Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind; 
 And, even with something of a mother's mind 
 
 And no unworthy aim, 
 The homely nurse, doth all she can 
 To make her foster-child, her inmate, Man, 
 
 Forget the glories he hath Imown 
 And that imperial palace whence he came. 
 
 Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, 
 
 A six years ' darling of a pigmy size ! 
 
 See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies, 
 
 Fretted by sallies of his mother's kisses. 
 
 With light upon him from his father's eyes! 
 
 See at his feet some little plan or chart, 
 
 Some fragment from his dream of human life. 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 417 
 
 Shaped by himself with newly-learned art : 
 
 A wedding or a fastival, 
 
 A mourning or a funeral ; 
 
 And this hath now his heart, 
 
 And unto this he frames his song. 
 Then will he fit his tongue 
 To dialogues of business, love, or strife ; 
 
 But it will not be long 
 
 Ere this be thrown aside, 
 
 And with new joy and pride 
 The little actor cons another part; 
 Filling from time to time his ''humorous stage'' 
 With all the persons, down to palsied Age, 
 That life brings with her in her equipage, — 
 
 As if his whole vocation 
 
 Were endless imitation. 
 
 Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie 
 
 Thy soul 's immensity ; 
 Thou blest philosopher, who yet dost keep 
 Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind. 
 That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, 
 Haunted for ever by the eternal Mind, — 
 
 IMighty Prophet! Seer blest! 
 
 On whom those truths do rest 
 Which we are toiling all our lives to find, 
 In darkness lost, the darkness of the grave ; 
 Thou, over whom thy Immortality 
 Broods like the day, a master 'er a slave, 
 A Presence which is not to be put by ; 
 Thou little child, yet glorious in the might 
 Of heaven-born freedom on thy being's height. 
 Why with such earnest pains dost thou provoke 
 The years to bring the inevitable yoke, 
 
418 TIIK aOLDKN TREASURY 
 
 Thus bliiuUy with thy hh^ssodncss at strife? 
 Pull soon thy soul shall have her earthly fnught, 
 And custom lie upon thee with a weiiiiit 
 Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! 
 
 O joy! that in our iMubers 
 Is somethiuii' that doth livt\ 
 That Nature yet remembers 
 What was so fut}:itive ! 
 The thouiilit o[' our past years in me tlotli breinl 
 l^erpetual benediction — not indeed 
 For that which is most worthy to be blest : 
 l)eliti:ht and liberty, the simple cnwl 
 Of Childhood, whether busy oi- at ri>st, 
 AVith uew-Hed»»:ed hoi)e still lluttei-inj;' in liis breast 
 — Not for these I rais(» 
 The song of thanks and praise ; 
 But for those obstinate (piestiouiu^xs 
 Of sense and outward things. 
 Fallings from ns, vanishings, 
 Blank misgivings of a creature 
 proving about in worlds not realizinl, 
 High instincts, before which our mortal nature 
 Did tremble like a guilty thing surpriscnl ; 
 But for those first affections, 
 Those shadowy recollections, 
 
 "Which, be they what they may, 
 Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, 
 Are yet a master-light of all our seeing. 
 
 Uphold us, cherish, aiul have power to make 
 Our noisy years seem moments in tlie being 
 Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake, 
 
 To perish n(>ver ; 
 Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, 
 
WTLLIA,M WORDSWORTH 4^9 
 
 Nor man nor boy, 
 \or all that is at enmity with joy, 
 Call utterly abolish or destroy! 
 
 Hence, in a season of calm weather 
 Thought inland far we be, 
 Our souls have sighf of that immortal sea 
 Which brought us hither ; 
 Can in a moment travel thither — 
 And see the children sport upon the shore, 
 Ati<\ \i('/dr the r/jighty waters rolling evermore. 
 
 Then, sing ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! 
 
 And let the young lambs bound 
 
 As to the tabor's sound ! 
 We, in thought, will join your throng 
 
 Ye that pipe and ye that play, 
 
 Ye that through your hearts to-day 
 
 Feel the gladness of the :\Iay ! 
 What though the radiance which was once so bright 
 I^e now for ever taken from my sight, 
 
 Thou'-di nothing can bring back the hour 
 Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; 
 
 We will grieve not, rather find 
 
 Strength in what remains behind: 
 
 In the primal sympathy 
 
 Wljich, having been, must ever be; 
 
 In the soothing thoughts that spring 
 
 Out of human suffering; 
 
 In the faith that looks througli death; 
 In years tliat bring the philosophic mind. 
 
 And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, 
 Ffjrbode not any s-vering of our loves! 
 Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might ; 
 
420 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 I only have relinquish 'd one delight 
 
 To live beneath your more habitual sway : 
 
 I love the brooks which down their channels fret 
 
 Even more than when I tripp'd lightly as they; 
 
 The innocent brightness of a new-born day 
 
 Is lovely yet ; 
 The clouds that gather round the setting sun 
 Do take a sober colouring from an eye 
 That hath kept watch o 'er man 's mortality ; 
 Another race hath been, and other palms are won. 
 Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
 Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, 
 To me the meanest flower that blows can give 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 339^ 
 
 Music, when soft voices die, 
 Vibrates in the memory — 
 Odours, when sweet violets sicken, 
 Live within the sense they quicken. 
 
 Kose leaves, when the rose is dead. 
 Are heap 'd for the beloved 's bed ; 
 And so thy thoughts, when Thou art gone, 
 Love itself shall slumber on. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
NOTES 
 
 BOOK ONE 
 
 1 
 
 The noteworthy qualities in this spring song are the 
 frequent repetitions of the rhyming sounds, the gaiety 
 of the movement, and the large number of pictures 
 flashed upon the canvas. Let your mind fill in the de- 
 tails of these pictures and try to catch the joyful mood 
 of the poet. 
 
 Read in a sprightly manner, stressing the rhyme- 
 words and endeavoring to suggest the birds' song in the 
 last verse. 
 
 2 
 
 This song is sung by the fairy Ariel in ' ' The Tempest. ' ' 
 He is about to be liberated from service to a magician; 
 he sings this snatch of song in joyful prospect of deliver- 
 ance. Notice the frequency with which the ''i "-sound 
 occurs in the rhyme. Notice also the alliteration in lines 
 3 and 7. This all makes for lightness of sound and 
 movement. Notice the change of movement at the begin- 
 ning of the sixth line : the trochaic metre is changed to 
 the dactyllic. Both are gay movements, but the latter 
 is more lively. 
 
 Read lightly and rapidly, trying to express the joy of 
 the fairy. 
 
 3 
 
 Another song from ''The Tempest." Ariel is drawing 
 Prince Ferdinand along by magic music. The last part 
 
 421 
 
422 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 of the song is nioaiit to be somewhat iionsetisieal. The 
 barking of the clog and the crowing of the cock were 
 probably intended to eome from back of the stage, thus 
 confusing Ferdinand and suggesting supernatural 
 agencies. 
 
 Notice how tlie movement of the lines suggest the wild, 
 irregular dancing of fairies. The first line movers swiftly 
 and rhythmically, the accent falling on every other 
 syllable : 
 
 Come' un-to' these yel'-low sands'. 
 But in the next line the movement is slow and stately, 
 as if the dnnccM's wei'e almost walking: 
 
 And then take hands. 
 The third line is rapid again, the fourth slow. Then the 
 tempo grows more rapid and irn^gulai", as if tlie dnncers 
 were whirling through some intricate measure. Notice 
 also the alliteration, w^hich makes the stressed syllables 
 yet more emphatic and suggests the strict tempo of dance 
 nuisic : 
 
 Ourtsicd when you have and /.issed 
 
 The i/'ild craves //"hist 
 
 i^oot it /eatly 
 
 The burthen ?>ear 
 
 The .9/rain of .s/rutting chanticleer 
 Line 4 probably means 'Mvissed the waves into silence." 
 
 4 
 
 This poem is divided into four sections: sunnnons to 
 the sun ; statement of what this ^lay ineans to the ]^nct ; 
 invocation to the sun (''Fair King"), to Mora, and 
 the winds; the poet's exj^cM'tation oC his misti'css. 
 
 Observer the irregularity in length of line and the com- 
 plicated rliyme-scheme. Observer how the meaning is 
 
NOTES 423 
 
 cnrricd over Ffoiii vci'sc lo verse juhI liow lon^ some of 
 tlie seiiteiiees iwv. Observe also the l)eaulirul, highly- 
 colored pietures. 
 
 Tn readiiii^' aloud try to <>xpress the grace and dignity 
 of tlie poem. ]jet the voice linger on the strong, pic- 
 tures(jne phrases, and run rapidly over the nnemi)hatic 
 ones. Read the ideas as sentences, not as lines; and let 
 the long, flowing sentences rise at the end to a climax. 
 Read in a tone that is somewhat loud and deep and sus- 
 tained, occasionally varying this as the meaning and 
 movement suggest. P'or example : the third section be- 
 gins rather low and works up to a climax in the line 
 ''Did once thy h(iart surprise." From this on to the 
 end of the section the tone is level and smooth ; and 
 when the fourth section begins, it is yery soft and sub- 
 dued. The lyric, when well read, is full of pomp, yet 
 full of beautiful nmsical effects as the sound rises and 
 falls and the movement Mows and ebbs. 
 
 This ])oem contains several references to mythology, 
 which must be looked up l)efore the student attempts to 
 read aloud. 
 
 5 
 
 Shakespeare's sonnets are remarkable for their intel- 
 lectual content, their emotional intensity, and their 
 felicity of phrasing. In studying them it is well, first 
 of all, to get the meaning. 
 
 The main thought of this sonnet is easy to grasp : it 
 is, that since tim(? changes everything, it will take his 
 love (his friend) away, sometime: former, store: quan- 
 tity, state: condition, confounded: ruined. Eternal 
 modifies ''brass." The third line of the second quatrain 
 means, that the firm soil wins land from the ocean. The 
 antecedent of which, in line 13, is "thought." 
 
424 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Examine the phraseology and see how picturesque and 
 forcible it is: "Time's fell hand;" "rich proud cost" 
 ("rich" is almost an adverb here, modifying "proud") ; 
 "outworn, buried age;" "hungry ocean;" "kingdom of 
 the shore." 
 
 Now read the poem aloud. Remember that the thought 
 is not finished until the end of the twelfth line, though 
 of course you will make a brief pause after each clause. 
 Work up to a climax and put much stress on ' ' Love ' ' in 
 line 13. Bring out the contrasts in the second quatrain 
 and in the first two lines of the third quatrain. En- 
 deavor to make the whole thought as well as the details 
 intelligible. 
 
 But we are not through with our study yet. Shake- 
 speare must have emploj^ed all his artistic skill in polish- 
 ing these sonnets of his, and we will do well to study 
 after him. Read the first line, for example, and observe 
 the beautiful combinations of sounds. Notice how "I" 
 and "time", "have" and "hand", "/ell" and "de- 
 /aced" pair off and echo each other. Notice also the 
 fainter vowel echoes in "when" and "fell", and the 
 consonant echoes in "seen", "Time's", and "defaced." 
 Read the whole line again and listen to the musical flow 
 of the sounds. Now read the poem through, a line at a 
 time, lingering over those that fall pleasantly on the ear. 
 Almost every line will reveal some beauty of phrase. 
 When you have done this, read the sonnet as a whole, 
 endeavoring to express the beauty of every line and the 
 majesty of the complete thought. 
 
 6 
 Same theme as in the preceding. Here the thoughts 
 are expressed in rhetorical questions. The couplet, as 
 
NOTES 425 
 
 usual, adds a new idea. Notice in how many ways the 
 same idea is expressed in these two sonnets. 
 
 The first line is elliptical ; it means ' ' Since there is 
 no brass", etc. hut, line 2: but that, mortality: death. 
 rage: poAver — that is, death. Line 12 means "Who can 
 keep Time from destroying Beauty, from taking spoils 
 from it." The miracle referred to in line 13 is explained 
 in the next line: that the poet's love shines bright in 
 black ink — a sort of pun. 
 
 Visualize the figures of speech. In the second quatrain 
 reconstruct the picture of the siege of a walled town. 
 *' Battering da3^s" is a splendid figure. '^ Summer's 
 honey breath" refers, of course, to the life of his friend. 
 
 IMurmur over the poem line by line to get the beauty 
 of the sounds; then read the whole sonnet,' trying to 
 bring out clearly and musically the central idea and all 
 the details. Stress the contrasted words: "beauty" in 
 line 3, contrasted with "brass", "stone", etc., in line 
 1; "hand", and "foot" in line 11; "black", and 
 "bright" in line 14. 
 
 7 
 
 This pastoral lyric is very simple in subject matter 
 and in form ; simplicity should therefore mark the read- 
 ing. The student should enter into the spirit of the 
 selection, should visualize the pictures vividly, and 
 should endeavor to give adequate expression to the 
 simple, dainty, musical notes. 
 
 Notice the alliteration throughout, and the pleasant 
 combinations of vowels and consonants. Notice the 
 liquids in the second and other stanzas, and the feminine 
 rhymes in the third. All this is to produce the soft, 
 melodious undertone for which the poem is noted. 
 
426 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Stanza six probably did nut belong in the original. 
 The imagery is not like that in the other stanzas. 
 
 8 
 
 A gay, fanciful poem, capricious in metrical construc- 
 tion. The rhyme-scheme is somewhat complicated; the 
 verses vary in length ; there are several feminine rhymes ; 
 and the metre changes easily from trochaic to iambic. 
 Read it lightly, carrying the movement on from line to 
 line as the meaning dictates, stressing the short, emphatic 
 lines. 
 
 fond; foolish, fancying; loving, house; abiding place, 
 referring to the person of the poet's mistress. 
 
 9 
 Perhaps this lyric expresses the sentiment of a young 
 shepherdess trying to decide between an aged suitor and 
 a young one. It is a series of contrasts, ending with the 
 scornful banishment of age and the passionate invita- 
 tion to youth. We can imagine that the young singer 
 is extemporizing: the irregularity of the rhyme-scheme 
 and other characteristics bear out that impression. A 
 student once remarked that after the line "Age, I do 
 abhor thee," the maiden turns from her aged suitor and 
 speaks out of a full heart to her absent sweetheart : 
 Youth, I do adore thee: 
 Oh my Love, my Love is young, 
 then turning her head, she calls out to the old man, who 
 is just taking his leave : 
 
 Age, I do defy thee, 
 and again calls out to her sweetheart. 
 hrave is the antonym of 'M3are." 
 Read the poem with much spirit, bringing out the con- 
 
NOTES 427 
 
 trasts sharply. The last part should be read with force 
 and fervor. 
 
 10 
 
 From ''As You Like It." A certain duke and his 
 followers have been banished from court and are living 
 in a forest. One of the company sings this song in 
 praise of the life they are now leading. There is an 
 implied contrast between the care-free existence in the 
 country and the striving, ambitious life at court. 
 
 Read gayly and buoyantly, expressing the joyous- 
 ness of the singer. 
 
 11 
 
 From the same play. Two light-hearted pages sing 
 this to a clown and his sweetheart, who are about to be 
 married. The lyric touches upon the brevity of life, 
 but the spirit is joyous. 
 
 Read with an appreciation of the circumstances under 
 which the song was first sung. Make it joyful, blithe, 
 and airy. As the clown says after the pages have 
 finished: ''Though there was no great matter in the 
 ditty, yet the note was very initunable." 
 
 12 
 
 An extremely artificial poem. It gives one the im- 
 pression that the poet is trying to be clever rather than 
 sincere, that he is more interested in his rather affected 
 manner of expression than in the matter to be expressed. 
 It is "brain-poetry," as some one has said; not "heart- 
 poetry." 
 
 On account of the paradoxes and subtleties of expres- 
 sion in the poem, the student will have to study the 
 language closely. The general thought is suggested by 
 the title. Such quality refers to "truest mettle" in the 
 
428 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 preceding stanza, affection's ground: an abiding place 
 for love, close: secret. 
 
 The metre is as intricate as the meaning. The varia- 
 tion in verse length, the frequent double rhymes, the 
 complicated rhyme-scheme — all, together with the fanci- 
 ful nature of the subject matter, suggest that the read- 
 ing should be characterized by lightness, almost flip- 
 pancy. But care is required to bring out the subtleties 
 of thought. 
 
 13 
 
 A beautiful sonnet but somewhat difficult to under- 
 stand. The student must bear in mind that the poet is 
 throughout addressing the actual highroad by which he 
 is traveling to Stella, his mistress. He professes grati- 
 tude to the road because it is his chief Parnassus (look 
 up allusion) ; because his Muse, his source of poetic in- 
 spiration, sings more often to the accompaniment of his 
 horse 's feet on the road than to the sound of a ' ' chamber 
 melody"; and because the road is bearing him to Stella. 
 As a token of his gratitude, he wishes that the road may 
 be maintained and honored, that it may not be en- 
 croached upon, that no deed of violence may be done 
 upon it, and that, as the highest possible bliss, it may 
 be honored by Stella's walking upon it for ''hundreds 
 of years." 
 
 Notice the beautiful soft combinations of consonants 
 and vowels and the alliteration and repetitions. Observe 
 that many of the rhyme-words have the long-' ' e " sound 
 — certainly a very musical vowel. 
 
 Though the expression is somewhat exaggerated, the 
 poem rings true. It should be read in such a way as to 
 bring out all the grace and sincerity, the mingled fanci- 
 fulness and earnestness that must have been in the poet's 
 heart. 
 
NOTES 429 
 
 14 
 
 Addressed to his absent friend. The language may 
 seem hyperbolic and insincere as spoken by one man to 
 another. This is explained in part by the fact — for it 
 seems established as a fact — that the person addressed 
 in these sonnets was a young nobleman, and in part by 
 the fact that this affected style was fashionable in those 
 times and was usual in sonnets. A contemporary writer 
 speaks of Shakespeare's "sugared sonnets." Perhaps a 
 few of them are too sweet for modern taste; but the 
 student must ignore this fine speaking and enjoy the 
 wonderful workmanship and rare beauty of thought and 
 sound. 
 
 tnie: constant. In your ivill modifies ''do", in the 
 next line. 
 
 Study and read this according to the suggestions given 
 under No. 5. 
 
 15 
 
 The same theme as in the preceding sonnet ; but as it 
 is Shakespeare that has been absent this time, the im- 
 agery is different. His absence has been during the 
 summer and autumn, yet it has seemed more like bare 
 winter, since he has been absent from his friend. 
 
 hope of orphans: the fruit of autumn rouses the kind 
 of feeling in the poet that arises in a mother as she looks 
 forward to the birth of her fatherless son. near: 
 nearness. 
 
 Remember that you have failed to read a sonnet like 
 this well if you do not read musically. To do this you 
 must appreciate to the full the beauty of the rich images 
 and the delightful tones and movements of the language. 
 For example, murmur over and over the first line of 
 the second quatrain, letting the ''m's" linger on the 
 
430 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 lips until the sounds have become as pleasant as a soft 
 strain of music. 
 
 16 
 
 To his friend. One of the most beautiful of Shake- 
 speare's sonnets. It is sincere and reflects a genuine and 
 a universal feeling. Shakespeare, endowed with match- 
 less gifts of emotion, thought, wisdom, and expression, 
 here pictures himself in deep despondency, envying the 
 prospects, the features, the popularity of some of his 
 f4'iends, even coveting the artistic power and wide-em- 
 bracing intellect of certain others. Then his mind falls 
 upon his dearest friend, and the thought of his friend- 
 ship lifts him from gloom to happiness. No better ex- 
 pression of this theme can be found in literature. The 
 sonnet just preceding this one in the series represents 
 the poet at night, so perhaps we may conclude that this 
 was conceived at night. This lends peculiar significance 
 to the picture of the lark rising at break of day. 
 
 Him, line 6, is a demonstrative, equivalent to "that 
 person." 
 
 Notice the dull, muffled sounds in the first two quat- 
 rains — the thin, obscure vowels (''u", among others) 
 and the heavy consonants; and observe how the words 
 drag along — for example, in the third line of the first 
 quatrain. All this suggests the gloom of the poet's 
 mood. But observe that in the third quatrain and the 
 couplet the melody has become bright and happy — long 
 and broad vowels, rapid-running words, a feminine 
 rhyme (rather rare in Shakespeare's sonnets) — in fact, 
 all the vivacity and joyousness of a morning song. 
 
 It is easy to perceive how the sonnet should be read, 
 but to read it in such a way as to bring out all its beauty 
 is difficult. It will require and reward much study and 
 intelligent practice. The student must be sure, at least, 
 
NOTES 43]^ 
 
 to read the first eight lines and the hist six lines in dif- 
 ferent keys. 
 
 17 
 
 To his friend, on the same theme as No. 15. His friend 
 has evidently accused him of having changed. 
 
 qualify: modify, just to the time, etc.: punctual to 
 the appointed time and not changed by absence. The 
 couplet explains the word ''nothing" in the preceding 
 line. ''Bringing water for his stain" apparently means 
 that his returning on time and his being unchanged 
 washes away the "stain" of absence. To call his friend 
 a rose seems to us affected, but neither Shakespeare nor 
 his friend apparently thought of the language as affected. 
 
 Read with earnestness and sincerity. 
 
 18 
 
 Compare this sonnet with Nos. 5 and 6, which are on 
 the same theme : the effect of time on beauty. 
 
 steal from his figure: move stealthily away from its 
 figure on the face of the clock." Shakespeare rarely 
 uses "its", as the form was not then in common usage. 
 age unbred: age unborn, future age. 
 
 The music and imagery of this sonnet are in Shake- 
 speare's best manner. In reading be sure to emphasize 
 the word "three", which is repeated deliberately to ex- 
 press more forcibly the length of time that has passed. 
 Notice that in the third quatrain a new thought is 
 introduced. The poet has been saying that his friend 
 has not changed in three years, but now he fears that 
 he may be deceived. Lest he may be, he records for 
 future readers his conviction that his friend is more 
 beautiful than any one else can ever be. Eead the first 
 two quatrains confidently, read the next as if somewhat 
 in doubt, read the couplet boldly. 
 
432 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 19 
 
 Perhaps you will not care for the extravagance shown 
 in this famous lyric. But it is a beautiful poem — grace- 
 ful, musical, full of delicate fancies. The description 
 of Rosaline is as pure as a Greek statue. The lines begin 
 ning "Heigh ho" are full of beauty and emotion. They 
 give the impression that the poet is so affected by the 
 beauty of his mistress that he must interrupt his descrip- 
 tion to utter this fervent ejaculation. The last line of 
 the poem is surcharged with feeling. It falls upon the 
 ear like a long-drawn sigh. 
 
 The clear: clearness. Look up the word in a good 
 dictionary. Since for a fair, etc. : if you speak of fairness, 
 there is none fairer ; if you speak of virtue, none is so 
 divinely virtuous. 
 
 The chief characteristic of this poem, when read aloud, 
 is the soft melod}^ The sounds are unusually musical: 
 the vowels open and broad, the consonants smooth, and 
 the combinations very pretty — in fact, there is not a 
 discordant phrase in the poem. Read in such a way as 
 to bring out this characteristic. Read in strict tempo, 
 but lightly and smoothly. The voice should probably be 
 a little raised. Read the verses beginning ''Heigh ho" 
 much more slowly, and as if with a sigh. Pronounce 
 ' ' heigh ", " high ' ', in order to make the first vowel of the 
 line the same as the last. 
 
 21 
 
 A fanciful little lyric. Observe that all the rhymes 
 are feminine, that the rhyme-scheme is rather compli- 
 cated, that the verses are of irregular length. 
 
 "Love" is, of course, Cupid. The poet believes that 
 Cupid willnot have won a true conqueror's glory until 
 
NOTES 
 
 433 
 
 he has subdued the poet's mistress. Line 6 means "De- 
 liver me from grief and thyself from fear" — fear be- 
 cause the poet feigns that his mistress may conquer 
 Cupid. 
 Kead rapidly and lightly. 
 
 22 
 
 The thought of this lyric is hard to grasp. It is a 
 serenade, sung by the poet to his sleeping mistress. He 
 weeps, perhaps because he has offended her; but he 
 hopes for a reconciliation on the morrow. 
 
 Foimtains, line 1 : his eyes, what: why. Sun is the 
 subject of ''doth waste" and "mountains" is the object. 
 My sun, line 5 : his mistress. The antecedent of "your," 
 line 6, is " fountains " ; of " that ' ', line 7, is " sun ' ' in line 
 5. In the second stanza, line 2, "rest" is the subject of 
 "begets" and "peace" is its object. 
 
 With a thorough understanding of the meaning, turn 
 now to the reading. You will need to exercise care in 
 emphasizing certain words, in order to express the 
 thought. For example : "sun", line 5, is contrasted with 
 "sun", line 4; "heavenly" is set off against "heaven". 
 Practice the reading until you can express the thought, 
 then turn your attention to the musical qualities. This 
 is a serenade, but it has almost the music of a lullaby. 
 Notice how prominent are the soft consonants: "s", "i", 
 "ng". Kead the whole poem with the word "sleeping" 
 in mind, and with the thought that this is a "song for 
 music. ' ' 
 
 23 
 
 To his friend. The poet begins by asking if he should 
 compare his friend to a summer day. He answers this 
 
434 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 in the first two quatrains. The third quatrain records 
 the conviction of the poet that his friend's beauty shall 
 not fade, but that it shall live in these sonnets. 
 
 Vntrimmed is a participle modifying the first ''fair" 
 in the preceding line; it is probably a nautical term, 
 meaning stripped of sails, that fair thou owest, the 
 fairness, the beauty, thou ownest. This, in the last line, 
 refers to the sonnets in which Shakespeare is immortaliz- 
 ing his friend. 
 
 Read the first line as a question, the second line as a 
 negative answer, and the rest of the first two quatrains 
 as an explanation or elaboration of this answer. Em- 
 phasize ''thy" and "eternal" at the beginning of the 
 third quatrain, to contrast with the last line of the first 
 quatrain. Read the couplet confidently. 
 
 24 
 
 When, in old stories and poems, the poet reads de- 
 scriptions of lovely knights and dead ladies, he thinks 
 that the old writers must have been trying to describe 
 beauty like that of his friend. But since they looked 
 but with prophetic eyes, they could not sing his real 
 worth. As for himself and contemporary poets, they 
 look upon his friend with tvondering eyes, but have not 
 the skill of the old masters to sing his praise. 
 
 Go through the poem line by line, noting the assonance 
 and alliteration and the striking phrases. Follow the 
 suggestions previously given for reading Shakespeare's 
 sonnets. Be sure to emphasize "we" in the last line, to 
 contrast with "they" in the preceding line. 
 
 25 
 
 Basia: kisses. This is one of the capricious lyrics so 
 popular in Elizabethan times. It aims to be clear in 
 
NOTES 435 
 
 phrasing, artistically irregular in line length and in 
 rhyme-scheme, and musical in expression. The feminine 
 rhymes and the short, ''run-on" lines produce a gay, 
 dancing movement, in close keeping with the half-playful 
 mood of the poet. 
 
 Notice how ingeniously the figure of harvesting is car- 
 ried throughout the second stanza. 
 
 26 
 
 Direct and straightforward, but not altogether serious. 
 The poem has a definite outline. The first two lines 
 form the introduction, the last two lines the conclusion. 
 The first stanza discusses jealousy, the second apparent 
 inconstancy, the third attention to business affairs. 
 
 Read in a rather formal, matter-of-fact manner, but 
 with just a suspicion of humor in a line or two — for 
 example, in the line ''And not ever sit and talk." 
 
 27 
 
 A sort of allegory. "Love" is an amorous young 
 man; the blossom, a beautiful young lady. Dumaine, 
 who sings this song in "Love's Labours Lost," has sworn 
 not to love for three years ; but the beauty of Katherine 
 compels him to forswear himself. 
 
 A dainty little poem, but perhaps over-sentimental. 
 The short lines and trochaic movement suggest spright- 
 liness, but this must be somewhat restrained by the 
 sentimentality of the language. 
 
 28 
 
 Rather labored and somewhat artificial, though still 
 earnest and sincere. It is addressed to the poet's ob- 
 durate mistress. 
 
 Great assays, in the third stanza, refers to the poet's 
 
436 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 great deeds to win his mistress' love. The next line re- 
 fers to her attitude, and the next to his patience. Mind, 
 in 'the fourth stanza, seems to mean "devotion." In 
 the fifth stanza, fJiinc own approved means the poet 
 himself, since he has proved himself to be hers. 
 
 Be sure that you comprehend the meaning of all the 
 phrases, then read in an earnest, serious, rather stately 
 manner, stressing the last verse of each stanza. You 
 will perhaps have some difficulty in getting variety into 
 the reading; probably the poet intended it to be all in 
 the one key. 
 
 29 
 
 This sonnet is somewhat in the manner of Shakespeare, 
 but it lacks his consummate beauty of phrase and melody. 
 It should be read with dignity and thoughtfulness. 
 
 prejudge thy hJiss: spoil thy bliss by false, premature 
 judgment, world of loving wonders: a great number of 
 miracles of love, referring to the half paradoxical state- 
 ments that follow. 
 
 30 
 
 Another poem that reveals thought more than feeling. 
 It is, however, both ingenious and musical. 
 
 The first two stanzas praise the beauty of the lady 
 weeping ; the last stanza urges the lady to cease grieving, 
 since her beauty in joy is greater than her beauty in 
 tears. 
 
 leep, line 3 of St. 1 : abide, parfs.- qualities, passion, 
 St. 2 : suffering, leave off in time to grieve: cease grieving 
 soon, or before it is too late. 
 
 When you read, be sure you show that the third stanza 
 expresses a different thought from that in the other two. 
 It is addressed directly to the lady, and should be read 
 with a touch of pleading. Emphasize the word ' ' joyful. ' ' 
 
NOTES 437 
 
 Make the most of such musical lines as ''She made her 
 sighs to sing.'* 
 
 31 
 
 A noble expression of truth, made beautiful and strik- 
 ing with Shakespeare's highest art. Each quatrain 
 completes one phase of the thought and the couplet con- 
 cludes and emphasizes. 
 
 Shakespeare probably uses the word impediment be- 
 cause the marriage ceremony contains the phrase ''cause 
 or just impediment" why the contracting parties should 
 not marry, hends with the remover to remove: suffers 
 motion, or change, when some change takes place in the 
 loved person. Ever-fixed mark is apparently some great 
 cliff along the sea, which serves as a landmark for vessels. 
 The antecedent of whose, in line 8, is "star." The line 
 seems to mean: "whose astrological influence is not 
 known, although his (that is, "its") astronomical height 
 has been calculated." The antecedent of his, in line 11, 
 is "Time." 
 
 Shakespeare's fondness for contrasts and antitheses 
 makes his sonnets difficult reading, but gives force when 
 the reading is good. Practice reading lines 3 and 4 until 
 you can satisfy yourself that you have expressed the 
 meaning intelligently. Read with intense earnestness. 
 
 32 
 
 This lyric is just what the title implies : a brief, simple, 
 melodious song. One might call it a poet's valentine. 
 Though fanciful, it is nevertheless sincere and graceful. 
 
 Read in a joyful, direct manner, bringing out the 
 contrasts and stressing the "key-line", "My true-love 
 hath my heart and I have his." The poem, when well 
 read, has a pretty melody. 
 
438 '^HE COLDEN TREASURY 
 
 33 
 
 Again, as often, the title gives iis the clue to the inter- 
 pretation. The poem is a simple, almost naive expression 
 of a universal sentiment. It is graceful and delicate in 
 thought and form. Read simply and naturally, expres- 
 sing all the quaint music that is in the irregular move- 
 ment and pretty sounds. 
 
 wonder: probably, admiration. 
 
 34 
 
 A perfect sonnet in plan. Each part is so distinct 
 that it can be detached from the poem, yet each develops 
 the main theme. It is impossible not to feel that the 
 poet was writing from his heart — the language is candid 
 and genuine and expresses firm devotion. The only word 
 one could wish changed is ''swain", line 3, and that is 
 out of place now only because the fashion in words 
 has changed, hase, line 1 : low. It is the antonym of 
 ''high", with no suggestion of moral baseness. 
 
 Read the poem silently until you have been impressed 
 with the spirit of true devotion, then read it aloud. Read 
 with firm, full tones, making your voice as musical as 
 possible. The couplet sums up the thought: see that 
 you make that clear in your reading. 
 
 35 
 
 Carpe Diem, "Seize the Day." It is a clown's song 
 in "Twelfth Night," sung to two jolly tipplers who 
 demand a love-song. This is one of the songs in gayer 
 mood that Shakespeare wrote to entertain the audiences 
 that flocked to hear his plays. Read it lightly and 
 hvighily. 
 
 Stveet-and-twenty : a vocative, meaning sweet maid of 
 twenty years. 
 
NOTES 439 
 
 36 
 
 The song of a peddler. In Shakespeare's "The Win- 
 ter's Tale" one of the characters is Autolycus, a thieving 
 rogue, who at one time plays the part of a peddler and 
 swindles the country folk. The title of this poem, then, 
 is intended to convey the meaning that this peddler is 
 an honest one, in contrast to Autolycus. His language 
 is rather ambiguous: the reader hardly knows whether 
 he is using the language of a peddler to make love or 
 using the language of love to sell his wares. 
 
 good pennyworths: good bargains; but, as the peddler 
 says, money cannot buy them: he keeps his wares but 
 for the ladies to view. Possibly the inference is that he 
 gives them away. look for gifts again: expect gifts in 
 return, orient'st: purest. 
 
 In reading be sure to bring out the contrasts : ' ' wares ' ' 
 and "heart;" "trash" and "true" in line 5 of St. 1; 
 "great gifts" in line 1 of St. 2, and "trifles" in line 2; 
 etc. Notice the frequent alliteration. 
 
 The line, "It is a precious jewel to be plain" would 
 be a good motto to adopt in your reading of this poem. 
 Read it simply, with just a hint in the first line or two 
 that you are calling out wares. 
 
 37 
 
 This poem is a series of winter pictures, of vivid, 
 realistic pictures. It is from "Love's Labours Lost," 
 where it is opposed to a poem containing a series of 
 summer pictures. 
 
 doth heel the pot: cools the pot, perhaps cools a pot of 
 cooking pottage by stirring it. saiv: sayings, sermon. 
 crahs: crab apples. 
 
 Let your mind fill in the details of the pictures. Be 
 able to see Dick blowing on his hands to keep them 
 
440 THE CJOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 warm, while he is driving his sheep home. Have you 
 ever been in a country church in winter when everyone 
 has a cold and ''coughing drowns the parson's saw"? 
 
 After you have visualized the pictures, read the poem 
 naturally, pausing a little after each detail and endeavor- 
 ing to express the ideas vividly but simply. Do not try 
 to imitate the owl's cry, try merely to suggest it. 
 
 38 
 
 An apt title for this would be: ''The sear and yellow 
 leaf." (See Macbeth, V, 3, 23.) The three quatrains 
 present three beautiful, clear pictures, painted with un- 
 usually picturesque phrases. The couplet summarizes 
 the thought and draws a sort of conclusion. 
 
 Choirs is here used as the place where the bird-chorus 
 has been singing, hy and hy: immediately, liis, line 10: 
 its. leave: take leave of. 
 
 This is one of the poems that should be repeated over 
 and over. It is one of the most graphic and melodious 
 of Shakespeare 's sonnets. Get the pictures clearly before 
 your eye and let the music reach your ear, then read 
 earnestly and clearly. 
 
 39 
 
 This sonnet contains a number of legal and commercial 
 phrases, which are here transmuted into the gold of 
 poetry. It is noted for its beautiful phrases: "sessions 
 of sweet, silent thought," "death's dateless night," 
 "love's long:since-cancelled woe." It has a good deal 
 of alliteration and several contrasts. The first three 
 quatrains have a heavy, sombre music, which changes to 
 a glad melody in the couplet. 
 
 Your reading should bring out the emphatic words 
 and contrasts, and express the deep, heart-felt emotion 
 
NOTES 441 
 
 of the poet. Shakespeare doubtless had in mind some 
 ''precious friends hid in death's dateless night." As we 
 read his poem, we should let our memories run back to 
 our dead friends and pay a tribute to them "as if not 
 paid before." Whenever we can translate poetry into 
 terms of our own experience, we shall be able to experi- 
 ence the emotion and should be able to read with more 
 expression and sincerity. 
 
 40 
 
 The Elizabethans had a good deal to say in praise of 
 sleep — perhaps, as some one has suggested, their strenu- 
 ous, nervous life made them poor sleepers. 
 
 The first quatrain contains a number of metaphors for 
 sleep, knot of peace — Shakespeare in ''Macbeth," II, 2, 
 37, speaks of sleep that "knits up the raveled sleave of 
 care." "Sleave" means a coarse, soft silk; and the 
 passage seems to suggest that sleep and rest knits up the 
 sleave of care which has been unraveled during the day. 
 Probably Sidney means about the same thing in this pas- 
 sage. C. f. "bond of peace," Eph. 3 :4. halting -place of 
 ivit: the place of refreshment for the mind, indifferent: 
 impartial. In the next quatrain the poet calls upon sleep 
 to shield him from despair — that is, come to him, so 
 that he may sleep and forget. The poet promises fo 
 pay good tribute to Sleep if he will do this, shield of 
 proof: shield that has been proved, strong shield.' prease; 
 press, crowd, civil tears, because the poet is suffering 
 "internal conflicts." The first three lines of the next 
 quatrain enumerate the gifts that are to be given Sleep 
 as tribute — all of them being gifts that are appropriate 
 to sleep, rosy garland: garland of roses, the rose being 
 the flower of silence. C. f. Latin siih rosa. The last three 
 lines of the poem make up the final thought. The poet 
 
442 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 says that if the gifts just mentioned will not persuade 
 Sleep to eonie — since in reality they all belong to Sleep by 
 right, he will as a favor permit him to see in the poet's 
 dreams a better picture of Stella than he can find else- 
 where, heavy grace — it is almost as if Sleep were ad- 
 dressed as "Your Grace," the adjective "heavy" being 
 prefixed as descriptive. Perhaps it means "your slow, 
 reluctant favor. ' ' 
 
 The chief literary qualities in this poem are the in- 
 genuity of the figurative language, the picturesqueness 
 of the phrases, and the melody. Keep in mind, as you 
 read, that the poet is addressing Sleep as a real person, 
 giving him the attributes and qualities that would be- 
 long to him. After you see the meaning of the phrases 
 and the different parts of the outline, read naturally — 
 "naturally," in this instance, meaning "earnestl3^" In 
 your reading set apart by pauses the different metaphors 
 in the first quatrain and the gifts in the third quatrain. 
 Read the last three lines rather more rapidly, letting the 
 voice rise gradually to the last three Avords, then fall 
 abruptly. 
 
 41 
 
 Three quatrains in which the changes of time are 
 described in three figures, then a couplet in which the 
 poet states an opposing thought : that his verses in praise 
 of his friend shall resist time. 
 
 The second quatrain is difficult. It compares man to 
 a star which, starting in the full radiance of heaven, 
 reaches a brief climax, then is eclipsed by opposing stars. 
 confound: ruin, delves the parallels in beauty's brow: 
 makes furrows in the forehead. (One may see in this 
 paraphrase how inferior any language is to the poet's.) 
 nature's truth: the genuine creations of nature, times in 
 hope: time to come. 
 
NOTES 443 
 
 After you have mastered these difficulties, you will see 
 that the poem is both beautiful and true. Read natur- 
 ally, paying due attention to the pauses and to the rise 
 and fall of the movements. Show by your reading that 
 the couplet is opposed to the preceding part of the poem ; 
 to do this emphasize ''and yet" and "my verse." The 
 poet has stated that "nothing stands;" now he says '^nuj 
 verse shall stand." Bring out contrasts of this sort: it 
 is one of the principles of intelligent reading. 
 
 42 
 
 Another sonnet in which Shakespeare expresses his 
 thought by means of a figure drawn from legal procedure. 
 It may be paraphrased thus: ''You gave me a charter 
 of affection ; but since the property conveyed has proved 
 to be too valuable and since it was granted by you on 
 an error ("upon misprision growing"), it reverts to 
 you." 
 
 The figure is ingeniously carried out dovv^n to the 
 couplet: that is out of keeping. The sonnet lacks the 
 sincerity of Shakespeare's best work, and the feminine 
 rhymes detract from the dignity that one usually finds 
 in his sonnets. 
 
 In your reading concentrate upon making the thought 
 clear and the expression musical. The feminine rhymes 
 are certainly very pretty in sound. 
 
 43 
 
 The thought of the first two quatrains is clear : Those 
 that repress their passions are blessed of heaven. The 
 first two lines of the third quatrain seem to mean that 
 even though such persons are selfish in not giving them- 
 selves more freely, yet their good qualities do never- 
 theless bless the world. The flower is here taken as the 
 
444 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 emblem of those that move others but are themselves 
 not moved. The last four lines add the thought that if 
 such persons become base, they are doubly hateful. 
 
 This sonnet lacks the close unity, the happy phrasing, 
 and the beauty of sound which are associated with 
 Shakespeare's best work. 
 
 shoiv: appear. 
 
 Follow directions already given for reading Shake- 
 speare's sonnets. 
 
 44 
 This lyric, though perhaps it may not appeal as 
 strongly as some of the others, has nevertheless an affect- 
 ing simplicity and earnestness. The use of the refrain 
 is very skilful. Notice how many monosyllables are 
 used and how simple is the phrasing. Notice, too, the 
 short lines, suggesting simplicity and directness. Read 
 with sincerity and with vigor. 
 
 45 
 
 The nightingale's plaintive notes have been the theme 
 of much poetry. If you do not know the myth of 
 Philomela, the nightingale, consult an encyclopedia. 
 Pandion was Philomela's father. The poet is the more 
 affected by her song because he also is sad. 
 
 Only the first part of the original has been reprinted 
 by Palgrave. 
 
 It is a pretty poem, but it does not betray deep feel- 
 ing. Read rhythmically and somewhat rapidly. 
 
 46 
 A heavy, mournful ''night-piece". It has a certain 
 sullen note that exactly fits the solemnity of thought. 
 Notice the frequent alliteration: of ''s" in the first line, 
 
NOTES 445 
 
 ^^b" and ^^d" in the second, "1" and '^re" in the third, 
 etc. 
 
 Restore the light: i. e., by bringing the peaceful forget- 
 fulness of sleep. The fourth line of the first quatrain is 
 obscure. ''Return" is an imperative, as "relieve" and 
 ''restore" in the preceding line. The sentence would 
 then mean: "Return and bring with you forgetfulness 
 of my care, passions: sufferings, approve: prove. The 
 antecedent of you, in the same line, is "dreams." 
 
 How accurate is the phrase "the images of day- 
 desires," to describe dreams! 
 
 Study the poem until you feel the gloom and weariness 
 of the poet, then read slowly and in a solemn tone. 
 
 47 
 
 Same theme as No. 45. In that poem the nightingale 
 is the theme, in this the poet is the theme, the nightingale 
 being used only as introduction and analogy. In No. 45 
 the emotion is faint; in this it is keen. In No. 45 the 
 expression is simple; in this it is more elaborate and 
 more musical. 
 
 The first stanza mentions only the nightingale. 
 springeth: comes forth into spring, a thorn her song- 
 hook staking: making a thorn (i. e., a grief, a wound) 
 the theme of her song. The refrain-stanza is addressed 
 directly to the bird; it institutes the contrast between 
 the nightingale, Philomela, and the poet. Here, line 2 : 
 in my bosom, thy thorn without, etc. : thy grief is ex- 
 ternal and superficial, mine is internal and deep. In 
 the second stanza the first four lines are descriptive of 
 the nightingale, the last four of the poet, cannot have 
 to content me: cannot have the means to content myself. 
 
 The rhyme-sounds are extremely beautiful. Notice 
 that the rhymes are all feminine and that the last 
 
446 'i'H^ DOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 syllable is very soft and musical — ''eth*' and "ing" 
 predominating. You will discover, however, that some 
 of the words are difficult to pronounce. 
 
 In reading strive especially to bring out clearly the 
 contrast between. Philomela and the poet and to give ade- 
 quate expression to the music of the lyric — which is a 
 delightful melody in a minor key. The poem is worth 
 reading aloud many times. 
 
 48 
 
 From ''Measure for IMeasure." It is sung to IMariana, 
 who has been deserted by her lover. As she says, it is 
 sung to "please her woe." The song represents the 
 lady as appealing to her lover. His eyes are called the 
 ''break of day" because they are bright; but it is a false 
 dawn, since it is not followed by the day — that is, by 
 happiness, love. 
 
 Notice the alliteration and the repetition. Read softly 
 and musically, trying to express the pathos of the theme. 
 The repetitions have here a sad, solemn note ; as Shake- 
 speare himself says of a strain of music, they have a 
 "dying fall." 
 
 49 
 
 The first two quatrains state one thought, the third 
 quatrain and the couplet an opposing thought. The 
 figure in the last six verses, of Love dying and Faith 
 and Innocence performing the last sad rites is pretty 
 and touching. 
 
 cleanly: completely, latest: last, recover: restore. 
 
 It is a strong, sincere expression of emotion. Notice 
 how many short, simple words are used in the first eight 
 lines, and how direct and literal is the language. Read 
 that part of the sonnet in a simple, firm, emphatic, some- 
 what conversational manner. Notice that the words in 
 
NOTES 447 
 
 the last six lines are longer and that the language is 
 figurative. Read these verses more slowly, more music- 
 ally, and with more tenderness. This sonnet has been 
 called a "wonderful sob of supplication." This applies, 
 of course, more closely to the last six lines, but the 
 contrast between the first part of the poem and the last 
 makes the supplicating note more appealing. Be sure 
 to stress "thou" in the last line, to make the contrast 
 with "all" in the preceding line. 
 
 50 
 
 The -title means "jMan walketh in a vain show:" 
 Psalms 39, 6. The poem is a sort of allegory. The sun 
 is a beautiful noble lady, the shadow is a lowly and de- 
 spised suitor; it is to him that the poet speaks. The 
 figure is, for the most part, ingeniously sustained. 
 
 proved: approved. 
 
 The lyric has the charm that always accompanies 
 beauty half concealed; it is more attractive because of 
 the fact that the literal meaning eludes the reader, while 
 the figure itself is beautiful and suggestive. The allitera- 
 tion, the assonance, and the repetitions given additional 
 charm. The long lines enclosing the shorter ones, the 
 long lines ending in feminine rhymes and the short ones 
 in masculine rhymes — this form is unusual and effective. 
 The first two stanzas are particularly fine. 
 
 The poem is difficult to read. The allegorical signifi- 
 cance should be kept in mind, to give point to the literal 
 language. Perhaps the reading is more effective if the 
 first line of each stanza is read in a distinct, somewhat 
 commanding voice, then the next line in a lower tone, 
 which gradually rises to the middle of the last line, then 
 abruptly falls. This plan fits almost every stanza and 
 it seems to be the natural way in which to read. But 
 
448 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 do not allow yourself to be forced into any plan that 
 does not seem fitting. 
 
 51 
 
 Addressed to the mysterious "dark lady", who, if we 
 may trust the evident meaning of the sonnets, exercised 
 an unholy fascination upon the poet. The lady is either 
 not beautiful or she is not good; but the poet's love has 
 blinded him so that he does not perceive her true ap- 
 pearance or nature. 
 
 correspondence with: similarity to. censure: judge. 
 denote: show, watching: waking. 
 
 Read the first two quatrains in such a manner as to 
 express the poet's doubt whether Ms eyes, or ''all men's" 
 judge correctly. Read the last word of the second 
 quatrain and all the third emphatically, since the poet 
 has now decided that his own eyes are deceived. There 
 is more emotion and more certainty in this quatrain. 
 Voice the ''No", the last word of the second quatrain, 
 strongly. Its position shows it is emphatic. The couplet 
 is an accusation against either Love or his mistress; in 
 either case read it with a touch of bitterness. 
 
 52 
 
 The thought is easy to grasp and the emotion easy 
 to express. Read it softly, as if fearful of awakening the 
 sleeper; read it slowly and reflectively. Make a dis- 
 tinct pause after the first stanza. The lyric has a smooth, 
 subdued music that precisely suits the sentiment. 
 
 53 
 
 There is a certain admirable simplicity and direct- 
 ness in this poem. This quality, the careless but ac- 
 curate tripping of the feet, and the half-lamenting, half- 
 
NOTES 449 
 
 contemptuous language make the lyric very unusual. 
 The refrain, with its rhymes and repetitions and its 
 graceful amphibrachs, is exceedingly beautiful. 
 
 late forgot: forgotten of late. The poet doubtless 
 means this for an uncomplimentary reference to him- 
 self, passing: surpassingly. 
 
 In reading express all the sincerity and emotion of 
 the deserted shepherd. Some lines are scornful. Read 
 the refrain almost as if you were singing it. 
 
 54 
 
 Age speaking to a young lover. The old man pro- 
 fesses to have experienced love and now tries to dis- 
 suade his young friend from loving. 
 
 self -proof: your own experience, lovers martyr, etc.: 
 he who sacrifices himself to love, confesses grief, as soon 
 as the love has cooled. Look up the reference to 
 Cassandra. 
 
 Notice that the second and third stanzas are closely 
 connected. 
 
 Read in a direct, somewhat dry manner, as of an old 
 man giving advice. In the third line of the first stanza 
 make an abrupt pause after ^'stars'', to render the next 
 thought more forcible. The first two lines of the second 
 stanza are scornful; but in the next two the old man 
 grows almost sentimental — perhaps as he thinks of some 
 experience of his own. 
 
 55 
 
 The poet pretends to scorn his mistress and to confess 
 that he does not want her love ; but, as the last two lines 
 show, he is trying by scorn to beguile her into affection. 
 The poem is ingenious and spirited, and the surprise in 
 the last two stanzas is of the nature of true wit. 
 
450 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 mere delight: nothing but delight, more divine: more 
 divine than it is. woman right: a true woman. 
 
 Read with spirit, scorn, and firmness until you come 
 to the last two lines. Now make a complete pause, then 
 in a lower tone and with a smile, read the remainder. 
 
 56 
 
 Another song from ^'As You Like It." See note to 
 No. 10. The winter wind and the bitter weather that 
 the exiles in the forest have to endure are preferable 
 to ingratitude. The sentiment is cynical, but the jollity 
 of the refrain shows that the cynicism is only skin-deep. 
 
 Read the first six lines of each stanza in a direct, 
 energetic manner. Read the refrain more rapidly, more 
 joyfully. 
 
 57 
 
 A betrayed and deserted mother singing to her child. 
 The simplicity and artlessness is wonderfully fine. 
 
 St. 1, silly: simple, doubt: fear, chief: chiefly. 
 St. 3, what can I more: what more can I do to sooth you. 
 Lines 3 and 4 are obscure. Perhaps they mean: ''If 
 any one scorn your, misfortune, it may propitiate the 
 fates to know that it was I that sinned." St. 7, rascal: 
 This word formerly meant an animal whose flesh was so 
 poor that he was not worth hunting. The next line 
 shows that ' ' rascal ' ' has here something of the old mean- 
 ing. St. 8, God bless my babe, etc. : God save my babe 
 from inheriting his father's disposition. 
 
 The general tone is simple melancholy, yet there are 
 flashes of pride and of other emotions, and throughout 
 there is a sincere love and tenderness for the baby. In 
 reading keep in mind the spirit of the whole composi- 
 tion, and read each stanza with its appropriate emotion. 
 
NOTES 451 
 
 58 
 
 Somewhat fanciful but exceedingly beautiful. The 
 lover fancies that he sees in the slow movement of the 
 moon, its wan face, and '^ languished grace", a resem- 
 blance to himself, so concludes that the moon must be 
 in love. 
 
 of fellowship: because of fellowship — because we are 
 in the same situation, tlicre, 11. 11 and 14: in heavenly 
 places. That, 1. 13, is used merely to strengthen 
 "whom." Do they call, etc.: in heavenly places do they 
 call ungratefulness a virtue? 
 
 Observe the slow, heavy movement and the rich 
 sounds of the first line. Picture the disappointed lover 
 gazing up at the moon and comparing his state with its 
 state — somewhat fancifully, as befits a lover, but with 
 true emotion. There is a trace of bitterness in some of 
 the lines. Graceful, reflective melancholy marks this 
 poem, as simple, unadorned melancholy marks the previ- 
 ous one. Read with all this in mind. 
 
 59 
 
 Cruclclis Amor, ''0 Cruel Love." This lyric, like 
 No. 52 by the same author, is almost like a sonnet in 
 restraint and unity of thought and expression. It has, 
 too, an admirable dignity and solemnity. The picture 
 in the "shades of underground" is of the Greek Hades. 
 Notice the assonance of "thou" and "ground", in the 
 first line; of "arrived" and "admired", in the second; 
 of "white", "lope", and "blithe", in the fourth; of 
 "smooth", "music", "move", in the sixth. Notice also 
 the skilful alliteration. 
 
 Read slowly and distinctly, with dignity and repres- 
 sion, with a sombre note in the voice. Express the 
 somewhat bitter emotion in the last line. 
 
452 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 
 
 60 
 
 On the same theme as No. 57, except that in this the 
 father seems to have been compelled to leave the mother 
 and babe rather than to have deserted them. 
 
 wanton wag: lively, playful child, a term of endear- 
 ment. St. 2, hij course: in turn, one after another. 
 
 The long lines at the beginning of each stanza seem 
 to be spoken reflectively. The short lines are addressed 
 to the child. In their strict tempo, brevity of line and 
 phrase, simplicity, and literalness, they suggest the 
 nursery rhyme — suggest, no more than suggest. Read 
 the long lines slowly, the short lines rapidly but seri- 
 ously. The last two lines of the poem should be read 
 softly and tenderly, as if the mother has now sung her 
 babe to sleep. 
 
 61 
 
 The poet, mourning for a dead friend, calls for death ; 
 but that ''grim grinning king", having taken the rose, 
 his friend, disdains to crop him, a weed. The capricious 
 rhyme-scheme and the uneven length of line, together 
 with the brevity of the poem, suggest a spontaneous out- 
 burst of grief. Notice how prominent are the explosive 
 consonants: ''p", ''d", ''t", ''c" C'k"). 
 
 and with lamenting cries, etc.: often, with lamenting 
 cries, I call Death to bring peace to my mind, grim: 
 almost an adverb, ''grimly", modif3dng "grinning." 
 
 In your reading give the impression of violent, un- 
 controlled grief. Enunciate vigorously the explosive 
 sounds. Let the voice rise gradually in the last three 
 lines up to the middle of the last line, then fall suddenly 
 and sadly. 
 
 62 
 
 From ' ' Twelfth Night ' ', where it is sung to the melan- 
 choly, sentimental duke. The duke says: ''It is silly 
 
NOTES 453 
 
 and dallies with the innocence of love." It is pretty 
 and graceful, though it has a touch of sentimentality — ■ 
 which Shakespeare certainly intended. When set to ap- 
 propriate music, it is an effective song. 
 
 cypres: a kind of cloth, here to be used for a shroud. 
 
 The rhythm is capricious. Do not attempt to read in 
 measured accent, but stress the important words regard- 
 less of musical beat. After you have read it thus a few 
 times, you will see that the movement, though irregular, 
 is quaint and beautiful. 
 
 63 
 
 The poet's mistress being dead, he commands his lute, 
 whose music had formerly pleased her, to be as silent as 
 it was before its wood was made into a lute. The thought 
 is fanciful but the poem is graceful in sentiment and 
 artistic in melody. 
 
 immelodious: either ' ' immelodious " or *' noiseless." 
 to tune those spheres: a reference to the old fancy that 
 the heavenly spheres made harmonious music as they 
 turned, each stroke a sigh: each stroke drawls forth a 
 sigh. ^^ir^Ze.- turtle-dove. 
 
 It is natural that the sound of the instrument which 
 has pleased his dead mistress should be displeasing to 
 him and that he should resolve to play it no more. That 
 thought is the basis of the poem. Notice how soft and 
 melodious the sounds are: the long-''o" and the sound 
 of ''o" in ''move", both within the lines and in the 
 rhyme-words; and the softer consonants, such as: ''m", 
 *'s", ''r", ''v", "w". Make your voice reproduce all 
 the melody in this melodious lyric. 
 
 64 
 From ' ' Cymbeline. " Sung over the grave of Fidele 
 by her foster-brothers. One of the most beautiful dirges 
 
454 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ever written. It is simple, as befits the theme and the 
 singers, yet it expresses one of the fundamental truths 
 and emotions of life. 
 
 golden: a very expressive epithet, meaning "bright", 
 ''rich", "fortunate", and much more. Physic: repre- 
 sents the medical profession, as "scepter" represents 
 "ruler." consign to thee: come to thy condition. 
 
 Read with simplicity, dignity, and pathos. Do not 
 "mouth" this lyric. 
 
 65 
 
 From "The Tempest", following No. 5. (See notes 
 on No. 5.) Sung by the fairies to Ferdinand, whose 
 father is supposed to have been drowned. 
 
 Eead simply and solemnly. Let your reading of the 
 last line suggest the tolling of a bell. 
 
 66 
 
 A funeral song from "The White Devil." It is sung 
 as women are wrapping the dead body in the shroud. 
 gay tomhs: in contrast to the "hillocks." 
 Read slowly and very simply. Put much energy into 
 the last two lines. 
 
 67 
 
 The poet, in sombre mood, anticipates his death and 
 writes his own epitaph. There is much natural pathos 
 in this sonnet. 
 
 l)y fortune: by chance. The pathos of this phrase is 
 intensified when we remember that Shakespeare did not 
 print his sonnets at first, but gave them to his friends 
 in manuscript. His friend might be expected, then, to 
 read the sonnets often. The "by chance" shows in what 
 a melancholy mood the poet is. 
 
 Read with simplicity, in a minor key. 
 
NOTES 455 
 
 68 
 
 On the same theme as the preceding, but expressing 
 the opposite wish. It is superior to the other in emo- 
 tional power, in phrasal power, and in musical power. 
 Note the phrase, ''surly, sullen bell"— how suggestive 
 the sounds are of the tolling of a bell. 
 
 Read with deep sincerity, trying to express the love 
 the poet felt — a love so great that he asks to be for- 
 gotten that his friend may be happier. 
 
 69 
 
 From ''The ]\Ierchant of Venice." In the play the 
 song has especial significance because it gives Bassanio 
 a clue as to the right casket to choose. The chief thought 
 is that Fancy (i. e.. Young Love) is nourished by seeing, 
 and therefore soon dies. 
 
 Read lightly and musically. 
 
 70 
 
 This song gives an excellent example of the fanciful 
 conception that is called a "conceit." It is, however, 
 very ingenious and musical. One can forgive the ex- 
 aggerated language for the sake of the delicacy and 
 grace of expression. Notice the alliteration, the as- 
 sonance, the musical feminine rhymes. It will aid in 
 getting the rhythm to observe that the first four lines 
 have each five feet, while the last two have each six. 
 The last line scans: 
 Wheth'-er the ros'-es be your lips' or' your lips' the 
 
 ros'-es 
 
 Read lightly and rhythmically. 
 
 71 
 Fanciful and somewhat too sentimental for modern 
 taste. "Love" is, of course, the little winged Cupid. 
 
456 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ivhist: be silent. Notice that the third stanza is con- 
 nected closely with the second — ''Be silent, else I will 
 whip you." Notice that the last line of the last stanza 
 rhymes with the last line of the third. 
 
 The lyric has lively fancy and a gay, light music. Read 
 it lightly and rapidly, as if half in jest and half in 
 earnest. Enjoy the brightness and liveliness and let 
 your reading reveal your enjoyment. 
 
 72 
 
 Another conceit. Sung by Apelles, in ''Campaspe." 
 He is in love with Campaspe. 
 
 His mother's doves: Venus' car was drawn by doves. 
 set: wagered. 
 
 For reading, follow the suggestions concerning the 
 preceding poem. Put animation into the last two lines. 
 
 73 
 
 A fresh, spirited, out-of-door song. Notice the pleas- 
 ant internal rhyme in the alternate lines, the rapid 
 flowing rhythm, the repetitions of lines, and the fre- 
 quency of the '' orrow "-sound. Alliteration and asso- 
 nance are also prominent. 
 
 stare: starling. 
 
 Eead gayly and joyfully. This is a morning song. 
 Catch the freshness and breeziness of the day and the 
 poet's joyful expectation of his mistress, and let your 
 voice express it. 
 
 74 
 
 Prothalamion : "A marriage song." Spenser wrote it 
 in honor of two noble ladies, Somerset by name, here 
 spoken of as two swans. 
 
NOTES 457 
 
 Observe how intricate the form of the stanza is. The 
 normal rhyme-scheme is abbaa, cdcdd, eefeff, gg. But 
 Spenser varies this sometimes, carrying one rhyme-sound 
 for several lines, as "ay" in the first stanza and ''e" 
 in the third ; and in some stanzas he uses the same or a 
 similar vowel sound in several rhyme-words, though the 
 words themselves do not rhyme, as "o" and ''ou" in 
 the first part of the 7th stanza and ' ' e " in the last part. 
 Observe also that all the lines are iambic pentameter 
 except the fifth, tenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth, which 
 are iambic trimeter. Observe further the refrain. The 
 last line is invariable, but the next to the last is slightly 
 modified to fit in well with the preceding idea. All told, 
 it is a complex metrical plan ; and when we reflect that 
 this is carried out so consistently and artistically through 
 ten eighteen-line stanzas, we get some conception of 
 Spenser's ''acomplishment of verse." 
 
 The sounds are extremely melodious. Notice that the 
 rhyme words contain broad, open vowels, rarely short, 
 flat ones. Notice how prominent are the smooth, liquid 
 
 <£„ J J 
 
 s representing ''z", as well as smooth combinations of 
 consonant sounds. Notice the frequent alliteration, 
 which sometimes extends over from one line to the 
 next, as ''f" in St. 2, lines 8 and 9. Notice the un- 
 usually pretty assonances, as in the first line of St. 1, 
 day", and ''air," and in the last 
 Thames" and ''end." Soft, 
 melodious sounds, then, and melodious combinations of 
 sounds are striking characteristics of this poem. 
 
 The movement is, in general, graceful and majestic. 
 The pauses are skilfully varied. The phrase does not 
 usually coincide with the line, but runs on into the sue- 
 
458 '^HE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ceeding line, sometimes stopping within the line. The 
 fifth and tenth lines often mark the end of a sentence 
 or clause. 
 
 The language is intentionally archaic. St. 1, delay: 
 allay, assuage. St. 2, grccnisli: sea-colored. St. 3, seemed 
 foul to them: seemed foul compared to their whiteness. 
 St. 4, hi^ed of summer's heat: a punning allusion to the 
 ladies' name, Somerset, that her undersong: her refrain. 
 St. 9, a nohle peer: the Earl of Essex, who had lately 
 captured Cadiz, near w^hich are the Pillars of Hercules. 
 Thine oivn name, etc.: The Earl's name was Devereux, 
 which, the poet thinks, comes from the words "ever" 
 and "heureux," a French word meaning ''happy" or 
 "fortunate." Elisa: Queen Elizabeth. St. 10, Twins of 
 Jove: Castor and Pollux. Look up all the unfamiliar 
 words and the classical allusions. 
 
 To read Spenser well requires much intelligent prac- 
 tice. In fact, one recites Spenser, rather than reads 
 him. ]\Iany of the sentences are so long that they cannot 
 possibly be read in one breath. Students sometimes 
 spoil their reading of Spenser by reading until they 
 are out of breath, then halting perforce at the wrong 
 place. Avoid that. Read in a voice more sonorous and 
 perhaps a little higher than your natural voice. Read 
 the last line of each stanza slowly and melodiously. 
 Most of the short lines should be read very slowly, 
 especially such lines as (St. 7) "Making his stream run 
 slow." In nearly every stanza it is almost as if the 
 movement swells along proudly and pompously until it 
 reaches these short lines, then slows down for a moment, 
 to begin again in the next verse. Emphasize the noble 
 movement, but do not neglect the soft musical phrases. 
 Linger over them and bring them out clearly and music- 
 
NOTES 459 
 
 ally. Remember that the primary characteristic of this 
 poem is the melody of movement and sound. 
 
 75 
 
 A lively lyric on a pleasant theme. The intricate 
 rhyme-scheme, the variation in rhythm and length of 
 line, the repetitions and alliterations, the lively refrain, 
 all call for spirited, yet careful reading. Emphasize 
 the important words regardless of rhythm ; you will find 
 that the rhythm takes care of itself. Scan the next to 
 the last line : 
 
 Hon'-est la'-bour bears a love'-ly face'. 
 
 76 
 
 Sic Transit, ''Thus it Passes." A night song, serious 
 and melancholy. The poet wishes for day, though he 
 realizes that each new day consumes a part of his life. 
 In the second stanza he regrets that night deprives him 
 of time in which to live. 
 
 part of my life, St. 2, line 5, is addressed to day — 
 See line 1 of St. 1. 
 
 Read gravely and heavily. Make music out of the 
 refrain line. 
 
 77 
 An artistic little lyric. The comparison of life to a 
 bubble is well carried out. Notice how the irregularity 
 of the first few lines suggests the play of the children. 
 Notice the contemptuous effect of the ''b's" and ''p's" 
 in line 2 and 3, and the suggestive spondee in line 7 : 
 ''fixed there." Notice the repetition of the "ou "-sound 
 in the last two lines. The "t's" in the last line give the 
 suggestion of scorn. 
 
460 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 78 
 
 The poet addresses his soul. He accuses it of taking 
 too much thought for the body and advises the soul to 
 feed itself. In ''Love's Labours Lost" is a line that 
 expresses the thought of this sonnet : ' ' The mind shall 
 banquet, though the body pine." Notice the legal and 
 commercial phrases. Observe the synonyms for the body : 
 ' ' sinful earth, " ' ' rebel powers, " ' ' outward walls, " ' ' fad- 
 ing mansion," ''thy charge," ''thy servant." 
 
 foiled hy — these words have been substituted for the 
 senseless words in the original, a typographical error. 
 array: means both adorn, and beset, probably a sort of 
 pun. this excess: the large cost which the soul spends 
 upon the body, let that pine, etc. : let the body dwindle 
 to increase the soul's possessions, buy terms divine, etc. : 
 buy eternal periods of time for the soul by disposing of 
 the worthless hours formerly devoted to the body. 
 
 The thought is difficult to grasp ; but once that is done, 
 the reading is easy. In 3^our reading be sure to empha- 
 size the contrasts that occur so frequently. Read the 
 first two quatrains with a suggestion of contemptuous 
 pity; read the third quatrain with a suggestion of 
 entreaty and advice ; read the couplet w^ith fervor. 
 
 79 
 
 A simple theme demands simple treatment. This 
 lyric lacks some of the poetical qualities of others we 
 have studied, but it has dignity, simplicity, and earnest- 
 ness. In form and in sentiment it is not unlike a hymn. 
 
 Observe that the first sentence includes the first three 
 stanzas and that the last sentence includes the last two 
 stanzas. 
 
 Read simply, clearly, naturall}^, and with conviction. 
 
NOTES 461 
 
 80 
 
 Another poem that carries a comparison throughout. 
 The ''Lessons of Nature" are lessons not only from 
 inanimate nature, but from society and history. The 
 ''volume" is a manuscript book of medieval times, with 
 colored vellum, gold edges and margins, colored ribbons 
 attached as book-marks, and pictures on the margin — 
 all of which means, in the figure, the obvious and beau- 
 tiful aspects of nature. 
 
 of Mm, 1. 3 ; modifies "art and wisdom," 1. 4. in every 
 'page, 1. 8; modifies "find out." no period of the same: 
 no end to the same — that is, to God's power, providence, 
 and justice. 
 
 Read with simplicity and seriousness. 
 
 81 
 
 A strong protest against the apparent injustice in 
 the world. The vicious are most fortunate, the virtuous 
 most miserable. 
 
 Notice the abruptness with which the poem starts. 
 those souls, etc. : blind fortune proves most a friend to 
 those souls that are most blinded by vice's evil, change- 
 able mists. 
 
 The sonnet is strong and impressive. Notice that the 
 first and third quatrains are made up of questions. 
 Read forcibly and in a somewhat indignant tone. Make 
 the couplet an urgent appeal. 
 
 82 
 
 A catalog of the world's injustices. In the first line 
 
 the poet states that he is tired with "all these", the list 
 
 of wrongs mentioned in the sonnet. In the couplet he 
 
 repeats the thought of the first line and declares that 
 
462 '^^lil^ COLUEN TREASURY 
 
 he would wish to die but that he must then leave his 
 friend. 
 
 Pronounce the last word in line 8 "disable-ed." 
 doctor-lil'e: like a learned person, simplicity: affected 
 artlessness. 
 
 Doubtless Shakespeare had in mind specific examples 
 of 'Hhe world's way." The poem will make a stronger 
 appeal to us if we fit the lines to persons that we know 
 or know of. As you read, you will observe the monotony 
 of the lines. This was intended ; make it emphatic by 
 reading the lines in the same level tone, with scorn and 
 contempt throughout. ]\Iake a pause before the couplet ; 
 then read the first line emphatically and the last line 
 in a lower, softer tone. 
 
 83 
 
 The city dweller's desire to live in the country. A 
 simple little poem, artless but not inartistic. 
 
 unhaunted: uninhabited. Supply ''who" after ''he" 
 in the first line. 
 
 Read in a meditative and quiet, yet earnest, tone. 
 Express the wistfulness of the poet's utterance — wist- 
 fulness because the poet feels that his wish is not to be 
 gratified. Put this expression especially into the reading 
 of the last line. 
 
 84 
 
 A character sketch. It has vigor and picturesqueness. 
 The poet follows closely the description given in IMatthew 
 and Mark. 
 
 parched hody, etc. : his parched body and hollow eyes 
 made him appear some uncouth thing exiled from civ- 
 ilization long before, relent: the echoes lived in rocky 
 caves and are thought of as being themselves obdurate. 
 
 This is the only religious lyric in Book One. Read 
 
NOTES 463 
 
 the first two quatrains in a strong, earnest manner. The 
 exhortation of John should be in a loud, ejaculatory 
 voice. Read the last three lines more quietly, with 
 something of melancholy in the tones. The last two 
 w^ords, being an echo, should be very faint. 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 85 
 
 Read the poem through first, to get the general impres- 
 sion and to study the main thoughts. You wall observe 
 that the first four stanzas, which are in a metre different 
 from the rest of the poem, form the introduction. The 
 first two stanzas of the hymn describe the season, the 
 next three tell of the peace that existed on earth at the 
 time of Christ 's birth ; etc. Follow the broad divisions 
 of thought in this w^ay. 
 
 The poem is, as the title suggests, a hymn expressing 
 certain ideas and sentiments appropriate to the nativity 
 of Christ. Milton was the great Puritan poet : his nature 
 was essentially religious, and he was a diligent student 
 of the Bible. He had been meditating on this subject 
 for some time, and began to w^rite the poem on a Christ- 
 mas morning. All this is to be taken into account in 
 interpreting the Hymn. In spite of the classical learn- 
 ing displayed, in spite of the exaggerations and con- 
 ceits, it is a sincere emanation of the poet's nature. The 
 religious mood, the meditation, the quiet and profound 
 thought, and the occasional burst of ecstasy, are all 
 characteristics of the poet. The language is lofty, dig- 
 nified, musical, full of classical and biblical imagery 
 and allusions. The words are somewhat bookish, and 
 many of them are used in their literal, rather than in 
 
464 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 the popular significance. If you will study the diction 
 from the standpoint of etymology, you will discover that 
 ]\Iilton never errs in his use of words. 
 
 But you must examine the words carefully before you 
 can get the full meaning from Milton. Only the most 
 baffling difficulties will be explained here ; consult a good 
 dictionary for the others. St. Ill, heavenly muse: There 
 were but nine muses, but Milton here invokes a tenth 
 one (as he does in the first lines of Paradise Lost), 
 which is to inspire him to sing of heavenly things. St. 
 IV, prevent: go before. touched probably modifies 
 ''voice" — See Isaiah 6, 6-7. St. 1, gaudy: holiday. St. 
 3, turning sphere: a reference to the old Ptolemaic astron- 
 omy, according to which the sun, the moon, and each of 
 the planets was imbedded in a separate transparent 
 sphere, which revolved around the earth. St. 4, awful: 
 awe-struck. St. 5, tvhist: hushed, a participle, birds of 
 calm: halcyons — Consult a classical dictionary. St. 7, as: 
 as if. St. 8, laum: grassy plain. Simply: innocently. 
 Pan: the Greek god of all-nature; here it represents 
 Christ, kindly: as a kinsman, silly: simple. St. 9, 
 took: bewitched, close: end of a strain of music. St. 11, 
 unexpressive: inexpressible. St. 12, So7is of Morning: 
 See Job. 38, 7. St. 13, consort: harmonious accompani- 
 ment. St. 14, speckled: spotted, leprous. St. 17, The old 
 Dragon: See Rev. 20, 2. St. 22, twice-hatter'd god: See 
 Sam. 5, 3. St. 24, unshoivered grass: referring to the Nile 
 country, which is watered by overflowing of the river. 
 
 The metre of the four introductory stanzas is iambic 
 pentameter, except for the last line of the stanza, which 
 is iambic hexameter — an alexandrine. The metre of the 
 Hymn is iambic trimeter in the 1st, 2nd, 4th, and 5th 
 lines ; iambic pentameter in the 3rd and 6th lines, iambic 
 tetrameter in the 7th, and iambic hexameter in the 8th. 
 
NOTES 465 
 
 The trimeters are paired off by position and by rhyme- 
 words; the pentameters rhyme, enclosing a pair of tri- 
 meters ; the tetrameter rhymes with the hexameter. The 
 iambs are varied with trochees and spondees. Notice 
 that the short lines lead up to the longer ones. Alto- 
 gether, the form, although fixed and definite, allows 
 free play of thought and emotion and fits admirably the 
 skifting music of the poem. The stanza usually con- 
 tains three clauses or ideas : the first one includes the 
 first three lines; the second, the next three; the third, 
 the last two— the clauses usually ending with long lines. 
 This produces certain movements— ''waves", they might 
 be called, the third one being longer and more swelling. 
 Observe the strength and majesty and melody of the 
 last line. 
 
 As for the sounds, they vary as the emotion varies. 
 In some stanzas the notes are soft and subdued, as St. 2 ; 
 in others, melodious, as St. 5; in others, melancholy, 
 minor, as St. 20 ; in others, animated, as St. 13 ; in others, 
 discordant, as St. 17. Milton makes abundant use of 
 alliteration and assonance. You should analyze a few 
 stanzas in order to discover the sources of the musical 
 
 effects. 
 
 After you have outlined the poem and have mastered 
 the details and studied the harmony and movement, read 
 the poem aloud. Determine the predominant idea and 
 mood of each stanza before you read ; then bring it out 
 clearly. The sound echoes the sense so perfectly that 
 you should be able, after some practice, to do this 
 very well. Keep in mind that the shorter lines lead up 
 to the long ones: the tones should increase in power. 
 Imagine waves surging up on the sea-shore. Keep in 
 mind also that this is a sincerely religious poem: en- 
 deavor to express the religious emotion that permeates 
 
466 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 it. And if you find that you do not care for the poem 
 after all this study, keep on reading and studying it, 
 for it is one of the literary masterpieces of the world. 
 
 86 
 
 This ode was written to be sung to music. Since the 
 occasion was the celebration of St. Cecilia, patron saint 
 of music and supposed inventor of the organ, the power 
 of music to arouse the different emotions is, appropri- 
 ately, the theme. 
 
 St. 2, Jiihal: See Gen. 4, 21. chorded shell: a shell, 
 with chords or wires stretched across, passion: intense 
 emotion of any kind. St. 3, mortal alarms: calls to 
 deadly strife. St. 8, tJiis crumbling pageant: the earth, 
 the ''universal frame." 
 
 The first stanza expresses the thought that the uni- 
 verse was shaped by the power of music ; the second in- 
 troduces the thought of the various passions excited by 
 music, and this is developed in the next four stanzas. 
 The trumpet and drum represent war ; the flute and lute, 
 "the woes of hapless lovers"; the violins, their jealousy, 
 indignation; the organ, religious feeling. The seventh 
 stanza continues the theme of the sixth and praises 
 Cecilia. The Grand Chorus restates the idea of the 
 first stanza and adds the thought that music shall 
 unshape the universe, even as it shaped it. If the song 
 were set to modern vocal and orchestral music, the dif- 
 ferent instruments would doubtless be made prominent 
 in the stanzas descriptive of them, and perhaps they 
 would all join in the chorus. Keep this idea in mind as 
 you read. 
 
 Dryden shows wonderful power in suggesting the 
 varying emotions by the sounds. Notice in the first 
 four lines of the 3rd stanza, the harsh consonants and 
 
NOTES 4(37 
 
 broad, sonorous vowels ; and observe how martially regu- 
 lar is the movement. Observe the shifting of the accent 
 at the beginning of the fifth line and the use of con- 
 cussive consonants and heavy vowels. In the last two 
 lines the irregularity of accent suggests the excitement 
 and confusion of the battle. The 4th stanza plainly 
 suggests the music of the flute and lute. Notice the soft, 
 liquid consonants: ''f", ''1", ''m", ''s "-sonant; and the 
 soft, pretty vowels, especially "u" and "o". Violins 
 are next suggested. The prominent vowel is ''a" and 
 '^a"; the prominent consonants are the explosive conso- 
 nants; *'p" and ''d". The 6th stanza represents the 
 soft, sustained notes of the organ. All these suggestions 
 are so vivid that they come close to imitation. 
 
 This poem lends itself readily to purely ''elocution- 
 ary" effects. Avoid that. Make the reading give hints 
 as to the different instruments and express the changing 
 emotions; but exercise restraint. It is w^orth while to 
 commit the four stanzas just discussed, as illustrations 
 of what sounds can do in suggesting emotions. 
 
 87 
 
 Based on the massacre of the Vaudois, the Protestant 
 subjects of the Catholic Duke of Savoy in Piedmont. 
 The act aroused hot resentment among the Puritans in 
 England. Milton, then Cromwell's secretary, wrote the 
 state papers protesting against the deed. Shortly after- 
 ward he wrote this sonnet. His sympathy and fierce 
 earnestness are evident. It is a cry for vengeance and 
 a prayer that God will make ''the blood of the martyrs 
 the seed of the church." 
 
 stocks and stories: alluding to the use of images by 
 Catholics, triple Tyrant: the Pope, with his tiara or 
 triple crown. Babylonian ivoe: Milton, like other Puri- 
 
468 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 t:ms, considered Papacy the Babylon mentioned in Reve- 
 lations 17 and 18. 
 
 Wordsworth says, in his sonnet on the Sonnet, that 
 in ]Milton's hands the sonnet ''became a trumpet, whence 
 he blew soul-animating strains." There is something of 
 the trumpet note in this sonnet. Read it boldly, as a 
 cry for vengeance. Read by sentences, not lines. 
 
 89 
 
 A pastoral elegy. ''Lycidas" is the fanciful name 
 given by -^lilton to his dead friend and schoolmate, 
 Edward King, who was drowned in the Irish Channel. 
 The poem is called a pastoral because Milton speaks of 
 himself and his friend as shepherds and employs pas- 
 toral images to clothe his ideas. It may seem somewhat 
 artificial, but the poetry resulting from the plan is so 
 beautiful that we may easily forgive the artificiality. 
 
 The outline is plain : the first lines of each section 
 reveal the theme of the section. Two of the sections, 
 6 and 8, are digressions in "higher mood." 
 
 Sec. 1 Yet once more: referring to the fact that Mil- 
 ton had written no poetry for about three years. Ap- 
 parently he had not expected to write until he was more 
 mature, but the occasion compelled him. laurels, myr- 
 tles, and ivy: representing King's poetry, beauty, and 
 learning, harsh and crude: bitter and unripe, refer- 
 ring not to King, but by a transference of thought, to 
 Milton himself and his immaturity. Sec. 2 Sisters of 
 the sacred well: the muses, some gentle muse: some 
 muse-inspired poet. Sec. 3 For tve ivere nursed, etc.: 
 referring to their companionship in the same college at 
 Cambridge, rural ditties: referrmg to their writing of 
 poetry. Damoetas: a pastoral name, here given to some 
 
NOTES 469 
 
 elderly friend, or teacher, of the two young men. Sec. 
 5 the muse herself: Calliope, muse of epic poetry, mother 
 of Orpheus. Read the legend of Orpheus in a classical 
 dictionary. ro\it: a disorderly crowd, referring to the 
 Bacchanalian women, as does also ''the hideous roar.'* 
 Sec. 6 to tend the shepherd's trade: to cultivate poetry 
 and the other fine arts. Amaryllis and Neaera: names 
 of shepherdesses. Milton is here alluding to the gay 
 and, in his eyes, trifling poets of his times, clear: noble, 
 serene. ''Clear spirit" is the object of "doth raise." 
 the blind Fury: Atropos, one of the three fates, who cuts 
 the thread of life. Phoehus: god of music, poetry, and 
 the fine arts, here interrupts the poet's gloomy words. 
 foil: an object used to set off another object by contrast. 
 Perhaps the figure is that of a stone set in a ring, the 
 latter acting as a foil. Sec. 7 Arethuse and 3Iincius: 
 representing the pastoral poetry of Theocritus and Vir- 
 gil. Milton here almost apologizes to the two earlier 
 poets for departing from the rules of pastoral poetry 
 and introducing a "higher mood", but he tells them 
 that now he will continue the pastoral theme — the ' ' oat ' ' 
 representing Milton's pastoral muse, in Neptune's plea: 
 on behalf of Neptune, god of the ocean. Hippotades: 
 Aeolus, ruler of the winds, son of Hippotes. Sec. 8 
 Camus: the river Cam, representing Cambridge Univer- 
 sity. The Cam is a sluggish stream, sanguine: bloody. 
 The flower is the hyacinth : see the legend. Pilot of the 
 Galilean lake: Peter, here standing for the church in 
 general, not the Catholic church. King had intended 
 to enter the clergy. The golden key represents Mercy ; 
 the iron, Justice. The passage is a stern indictment of 
 the clefgy of the established church, displaying Milton's 
 Puritanism in all its grim vigor, blind mouths: By a 
 
4Y0 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 bold metonymy the poet describes in two words the 
 false ministers and their prevailing characteristics : igno- 
 rance and greed, are sped: are provided for. flashy: 
 insipid, the grim wolf: the Catholic church. Milton 
 accuses the clergy of the Anglican church of allowing 
 the priests to make inroads on their flocks, tivo-handed 
 engine: perhaps the ax, representing the instrument of 
 vengeance and destruction. See Matt. 3, 10. Some stu- 
 dents see in this a reference to the headsman's ax and 
 a prophecy that Laud, the Archbishop of the Church of 
 England, would be beheaded. Probably Milton did not 
 wish to be very clear. Sec. 9 Alpheus: another stream 
 connected with Greek pastoral poetry. Sicilian muse: 
 the muse that inspired Theocritus. After this second 
 unpastoral outburst, IMilton again resumes the pastoral 
 strain. tise: dwell. of shades modifies ''valleys." 
 swart star: the Dog-star, sparely: seldom, let our frail 
 thoughts, etc. : Milton has just been speaking of strew- 
 ing Lycidas' hearse with flowers; now it occurs to him 
 that this is a "false surmise," since the body has been 
 lost at sea. monstrous icorld: world of monsters, the 
 ocean, moist voivs: tearful prayers, fahle of Bellerus 
 old: Bellerium is a promontory in Lands-end, named 
 apparently from Bellerus, a giant. Near this is a pro- 
 jection of rock called St. Michael's Mount. St. Michael 
 was said to have been seen here, seated on a crag, hence 
 called St. Michael's Chair. This part of England faces 
 Spain: Namancos and Bayona. Milton thinks of St. 
 Michael as still seated in this chair, ''guarded mount," 
 looking out across the sea; and the poet invokes him to 
 turn his look toward England, and, melting with pity, 
 discover Lycidas' body and send it home. Sec. 10 
 Genius: guardian spirit. Sec. 11 uncouth swain: un- 
 known shepherd; Miltcm himself. Boric lay: Sicilian, 
 
NOTES 471 
 
 • pastoral song. Look up all other allusions and un- 
 familiar words. 
 
 The metre chosen for ^'Lycidas" is iambic tetrameter, 
 interspersed with iambic trimeter. Trochees are com- 
 mon and spondees frequent. The rhyme scheme is irreg- 
 ular: sometimes the rhymes are in couplets, sometimes 
 in alternate lines; sometimes two rhyme sounds are 
 found, sometimes more; a good many lines are not 
 rhymed at all. The sections are of different lengths. 
 This flexibility of metrical plan is partially respon- 
 sible for the ease and spontaneity of the movement. The 
 short lines are nearly always strong and retard the 
 movement. The sentences run over from line to line. 
 
 Of the verbal beauties there is not time to speak. 
 Almost every line will reveal graces of thought and 
 phrase. Accuracy in diction, force, picturesquen^ss, sin- 
 cerity, expressive figures of speech — these are some of 
 the qualities of the language. Words are brought to- 
 gether in happy combinations, and the coincidence of 
 sound and sense is perfect. The lines beginning ''Fame 
 is the spur" are worth memorizing. The pastoral idea 
 is well sustained, and adds beauty and sweetness to the 
 thought and expression. 
 
 In your reading try to express the varying emotions 
 of the poet. The predominant emotion is, of course, 
 grief; but there are various modifications of this. Some 
 stanzas are pathetic, some indignant, some resigned, 
 some hopeful. Do not try to force strict rhythm into 
 your reading: merely follow the natural emphasis, and 
 the rhythm will show itself flexible and graceful. Linger 
 over the strong, expressive lines and such onomatopoeic 
 sentences as: "But oh! the heavy change, now thou art 
 gone," and "Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched 
 straw." Bring out the noble thought and exquisite 
 
472 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 music of stanza 10. Read the choice passages over and 
 over — '^Lycidas" is one of those poems that become 
 more beautiful the longer you live with them. 
 
 90 
 
 Many of England's monarehs are buried in Westmin- 
 ster Abbey. As the poet gazes on their tombs, he medi- 
 tates on the impotence of earthly power. The poem is 
 suggestive of an epitaph, both in theme and in style. 
 The employment of ''here is," ''here lie" to introduce 
 sentences is in true epitaph manner, and the short lines 
 rhyming in couplets carry out the same idea. The poem 
 is remarkable for dignity, pathos, and for its forcible 
 statement of a great truth. A touch of scorn for human 
 greatness is discernible. 
 
 acre: a cemetery is sometimes called God's Acre. The 
 word "acre" formerly meant "field", which explains 
 the next line. Once dead hy fate: as soon as fate has 
 overtalten them. 
 
 Read with dignity, solemnity, and pathos. A hint of 
 scorn should creep into the expression in such sentences 
 as "Here's an acre," etc. The conception of the tombs 
 as pulpits from which the dead preach is striking. In 
 Taylor's "Holy Dying" the author uses some ideas from 
 this poem: "There is an acre sown with royal seed, 
 the copy of the greatest change, from rich to naked, 
 from ceiled roofs to arched coffins, from living like gods 
 to die like men." 
 
 92 
 
 Death is here well called "The Leveler", for that is 
 the thought of the poem. Kingly power is the theme in 
 the first stanza; martial glory, in the second; in the 
 third the poet makes a personal application, using the 
 second person instead of the third. The poem is noted 
 
NOTES 473 
 
 for directness and nobility. Some of the phrases are 
 very expressive: ''icy hand," ''poor, crooked scythe," 
 "pale captives," "creep to death," "victor-victim." 
 The first two and the last two lines of the poem are 
 true and forcible, and they serve well as introduction 
 and conclusion. The figure of the actions of the just 
 smelling sweet and blossoming is appropriate and strik- 
 ing. The line, "And must give up their murmuring 
 breath" is onomatopoeic. 
 
 Read with simple earnestness. The pairs of short 
 lines form sentences in themselves : read them slowly and 
 with intensity. Bring out the contrasts, such as ' ' They 
 tame but one another still" with "They stoop to fate." 
 The entire poem is worth committing to memory. 
 
 93 
 
 Milton wrote this when London, where he was then liv- 
 ing, was threatened by an assault by the royal army. In 
 the original title the sonnet is spoken of as "written on 
 his, Milton's, door." IMilton had been a pronounced 
 opponent of the royalists. His sonnet is a dignified 
 appeal for mercy. It is more simple and direct than 
 much of the poet's w^ork. 
 
 Colonel: a trisyllable. Emathimi conqueror: Alex- 
 ander the Great, who, when he destroyed Thebes, spared 
 the house of Pindar the poet, repeated air: recited air 
 or chorus. Athens is said to have been saved from 
 destruction by the Spartan Confederacy because at the 
 council of the conquerors a poet sang some verses from 
 Euripides' drama "Electra." This so affected the 
 hearers that they declared that the home city of so great 
 a poet ought not to be destroyed. Both these allusions 
 are appropriate. 
 
 This sonnet does not blow the trumpet, as the theme 
 
474 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 and the circumstances do not fit that sound. Read 
 quietly and earnestly. 
 
 94 
 
 IMilton became blind when he was but forty-four. lie 
 still acted as Cromwell's secretary; but he felt that his 
 one talent, power to write poetry, was being hidden ''in 
 a napkin", and, Puritan-like, he regrets that he cannot 
 ''serve his Maker." The sonnet is sincere, earnest, de- 
 vout. The last line is a beautiful expression of truth. 
 
 is spent: is used up. DotJi God exact, etc. : Does God 
 expect me to do work that can be performed only in the 
 daytime, when he denies me light? Notice that the first 
 sentence takes up the first seven lines and a part of the 
 eighth. The outline of the sentence is: "When I con- 
 sider, etc., I fondly (foolishly) ask, 'Does God exact,' 
 etc." 
 
 Read by ideas, not lines ; for, as you will observe, the 
 ideas usually end within the line. Remember that the 
 poet is speaking from his heart. Read the poem ear- 
 nestly, suggesting the despondency of the first seven 
 lines, and the triumphant answer to that despondency 
 in the last seven. Read the last line with conviction and 
 exaltation. 
 
 97 
 The thought of this poem is fanciful, buc graceful and 
 pretty. The stanza structure is good. Short lines, 
 rhyming with each other, begin and end the stanza, and 
 enclose the three longer lines. The closing of the stanza 
 is strong and effective. Herbert's title for the poem was 
 "The Pulley", which better states the theme: though 
 man have all the blessings that God pours out on him, 
 yet they do not bring him peace. Peace is the pulley 
 that draws man to God. 
 
NOTES 475 
 
 The word "rest" means peace, in the second stanza; 
 in the third, it is a verb, meaning ''remain satisfied;" 
 in the fourth, it means "remainder of the blessings." 
 
 In your reading aim primarily at making the thought 
 clear. Before you begin a sentence, look through it to 
 see the relation of the parts, and in your reading reveal 
 this relation. Bring out the contrasts sharply. 
 
 The general thought of this poem is, that the child 
 faintly remembers the glories and beauty of his life in 
 heaven before he was born on earth, that mortal life 
 and age sully his purity, and that the poet would fain 
 return or "retreat" to childhood. It is a very pretty 
 idea. Wordsworth uses part of it in his "Intimations of 
 Immortality. ' ' 
 
 a several sin,' eta.: a separate sin to every one of the 
 senses and emotions, bright shoots, etc.: strong sugges- 
 tions of immortality, of a previous existence, glorious 
 train: company of angels. 
 
 The simple form of the poem, the directness of expres- 
 sion, and the theme, all call for simplicity in reading. 
 Earnestness and a sort of wistfulness should also char- 
 acterize the reading. Be watchful to avoid the monotony 
 that is likely to mar the oral rendering of this poem. 
 Carry the thought over from line to line, not pausing 
 at the end of a line unless the phrase clearly ends there. 
 
 99 
 Mr. Lawrence was the son of Henry Lawrence, a mem- 
 ber of Cromwell's council. Of the son little is known. 
 If we may .judge from this sonnet, he and ]\Iilton were 
 in the habit of passing an occasional social hour together. 
 The sonnet is a poetical invitation to Mr. Lawrence to 
 
476 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 set a tinio and phu o for siu-h a meeting'. The tinu» of 
 the poem is probably late winter. 
 
 gaiiting: modities "we". "AVhat may be won" is tlie 
 objeet of ''i-ainin^-. " the lib/ and the rose, etc.: Milton 
 introduces these tlowers and the fact that they live with- 
 out hibor as fitting his invitation to relaxation and free- 
 dom from labor, he who of fhese delights, etc.: he that 
 appreciates these social delights and yet does not resort 
 to them too frequently, is wise. 
 
 The sonnet is somewhat conversational in tone. Read 
 it brightly, voicing the lightness of the poet's mood and 
 the nuisical grace of the language. 
 
 100 
 
 On a theme similar to the preceding. Cyriack Skinner, 
 a former pupil of Milton, was interested in mathematics 
 and politics. Ilis grandfather was Sir Edward Coke, 
 chief- justice of England and the author of many law 
 books. 
 
 Swede and French: The Swede is Charles Augustus, 
 who was at this time waging war with Poland, while the 
 French were warring Avith Spain, for other tilings: 
 other than mathematics and politics. 
 
 Read in the same spirit as the preceding. ^lilton is 
 usually sombre ; when we chance upon him in one of his 
 gayer hours, let us make the most oi' him. 
 
 103 
 Fanciful and ingenious. The underlying thought is 
 sincere, but the form and language is studied. The first 
 five stanzas, which form one sentence, introduce the 
 poet's wishes for the imaginary mistress. The next 
 eleven enumerate the wishes: beauty, St. 6-9; conversa- 
 tional power, St. 10; happiness, St. ll-l-t; such a life 
 
XOTKS 477 
 
 that dares face death, St. 15. All the wishes mentioned 
 are the ohject of the verb "wish", stanza 0. In stanza 
 IG the poet wishes that his mistress may kave so much 
 that she will have no wishes. In the remainder of the 
 poem Crashaw asks Time to produce such a parawm as 
 he has described, declaring that she will be his ideal 
 (embody his random wishes and end them in kisses j. 
 
 St. 2, leaves of destiny: book of fate, that ripe birth, 
 (tic : that mature product of ordained Fate shall hiypasLV 
 — referrinj^ to the' maiden. St. JO, Sidneian shovjers: 
 language as sweet and pretty as Sir J-*hi]ip Sidney ases 
 in his "Arcadia." St. 11, give down to the wings of 
 night: make repose .sound and peaceful, "down" being 
 here a noun. St. 13, frrrespent: wasted. The wish in 
 this stanza is that the maiden's days may be joyful with- 
 out a preceding night of sorrow to serve as a foil. St. 19, 
 I unclothe and clear, etc. : I clear away the vagueness of 
 my wishes and declare that I mean such a one as the 
 maiden mentioned in the two preceding .stanzas. St. 21, 
 let her full glory, etc. : may her real nature excel my 
 desires. ^lay my wishes, though addressed to an imag- 
 inary mistress, prove to be a true description of a real 
 person. 
 
 Observe the peculiar metrical scheme: a dimeter, a 
 trimeter, and a tetrameter, all rhyming. Observe the 
 alliteration, sometimes double, as, ".s-fudied /'ate .s-fand 
 /orth" and "rampant /eather or rich /an," Observe 
 the occasional feminine rhyme. 
 
 The poem, though artificial, has grace, delicacy, and a 
 cameo-like finish. It has music, too, of a quaint, staccato 
 kind ; but unless the reader is careful, he will fall into 
 a monotony of expression, for the one musical note is 
 repeated over and over. Read simply and directly, striv- 
 ing to make the thoughts clear and the feeling evident. 
 
478 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 105 
 
 Full of clever, beautiful fancies. The mood is both 
 tender and playful. The poet is gazing upon a picture 
 of a little girl lying in a field of flowers and playing with 
 roses. He looks into her future and sees her excelling 
 Cupid in power to inspire love. In the third stanza he 
 prays that she will not try her power on him. In the 
 fourth stanza he asks her, since she is playing with 
 flowers, to reform certain errors that spring has com- 
 mitted in creating flowers. In the fifth he advises her 
 not to pluck the buds, lest Flora, goddess of vegetation, 
 '^make the example hers" — that is, pluck her, while she 
 is yet a bud. Observe how much the poet makes out of 
 the fact that the child is among the flowers. The met- 
 rical plan is whimsical and artificial : the poet is playing 
 with his thoughts. 
 
 St. 3, compound: make peace. The imagery of the 
 stanza is martial. St. 5, ere ive see, etc. : lest Flora nip 
 thee and all our hopes of thee in the bud, before we have 
 really seen thee and them. 
 
 Read in a half-playful, half-serious manner, as if ad- 
 dressing a child. The fancies are finely humorous ; bring 
 them out clearly and musicall3^ It is a charming little 
 poem if you can get into the proper mood and can read 
 it in the proper spirit. 
 
 106 
 This somewhat resembles the preceding lyric; but in 
 this the poet is speaking to a young lady instead of to a 
 little girl, and is looking back to her childhood instead 
 of forward to her maidenhood. It sounds more earnest 
 and sincere than the preceding one; yet we feel that 
 it is but the flattering homage an old beau pays to a 
 
NOTES 479 
 
 young belle. The contrast between the infancy and the 
 maturity of the maiden, and the partnership of Cupid 
 and Venus, the one to make a lover of the poet and the 
 other to make a beauty of the maiden — all this is ex- 
 pressed with delicate skill. 
 
 Read in a semi-regretful, semi-humorous style, suggest- 
 ing the pretended sighs and courtly grace of a gallant 
 of the old school. The reading should be light and 
 dainty, like some old air played on the harpsichord. 
 
 109 
 
 A lyric gem, a perfect specimen of sincerity speaking 
 in the courtly style of the period. IMark the simplicity 
 of the words and images. Not a word is wasted : the poet 
 in a few sentences gives a lifelike picture of a noble 
 cavalier parting from his mistress. An entire poem lies 
 in the word ''nunnery". The last stanza — indeed, the 
 whole poem — has been much admired and quoted. 
 
 Read simply and earnestly, bringing out the pictures 
 and the contrasts. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Even Milton tries his skill at the prevailing style. His 
 tribute, however, is sincere and unaffected. Most of the 
 sonnet is taken up with a description of Lady Margaret 's 
 father, who was Earl of IMarlborough, Lord High Treas- 
 urer, and President of the Council of James I. Milton 
 says the breaking of the third parliament of Charles 
 "broke him": at least, he died four days afterwards. 
 
 dislionest victory: Isocrates, a Greek orator, here called 
 "old man eloquent", died four days after hearing the 
 report of Philip the Great's victory over the Athenians 
 at Chaeronea. 
 
 Read with simplicity and sincerity. 
 
480 THE GOLDEN TREASUEY 
 
 113 
 
 An exquisite little piece in Herrick's characteristic 
 style and on one of his favorite themes. Though direct 
 and forceful, it is dainty and musical. 
 
 ivJienas: when, considering the fact that. 
 
 The poet is not scornful: he is only complimenting 
 Dianeme and affectionately chiding her. Read to bring 
 out the central thought and the poet's mood. 
 
 115 
 
 The poet sends a rose to his ''fair, disdainful dame", 
 telling it to bear her a message. He has formerly com- 
 pared her to a rose; now she is to see the resemblance. 
 Both are sweet and fair, but neither is of value unless 
 seen of men. Then the rose is to die, that the maiden 
 may realize how fleeting are sweetness and beauty. It 
 is a pretty fancy, and it is worked out ingeniously and 
 artistically. The movement is the capricious one, so 
 popular during this period and the preceding. 
 
 In your reading suggest meditation, animation, and 
 tenderness. The lyric sounds a pretty strain of music, 
 which lies in the soft, gliding movement and in the sub- 
 dued notes. You have not read this well until you have 
 read it musically. 
 
 117 
 
 ** Cherry ripe" was the cry of the street vendors of 
 cherries. Here, of course, the cherries are the lady's 
 lips, and ''cherry ripe" is the signal she is to give that 
 she is in the mood to love and be kissed. Perhaps the 
 author is Thomas Campion : it is a favorite stanza form 
 of his. The poem may be a trifle too luscious for our 
 taste, but we cannot deny its delicacy and prettiness. 
 The refrain is well employed. 
 
NOTES 481 
 
 The mood is of admiration ratlier than love. Read 
 lightly and musically. 
 
 118 
 
 One of the gayest, most graceful, and most musical of 
 the Golden Treasury lyrics. The theme, the mood of 
 the poet, and the form and language of the poem are in 
 exact accord. The poem is based on the custom of rising 
 early on the first of Llay, to fetch flowers and boughs 
 from the field and decorate doors and windows. The 
 poet is to be tHought of as standing outside his mis- 
 tress' house, awaiting her, that they may set off together. 
 
 St. 1, god unshorn: Apollo, sometimes called imberbis, 
 or beardless, Apollo. He is always represented as beard- 
 less. He was god of the sun. Aurora, the morning, 
 ushers in Apollo, the sun. how'd toward the east: as 
 the Mohammedans in prayer. The flowers and the birds 
 have said their prayers, foliage: dress, here used as sug- 
 gesting the spring-time. St. 2, against yon come: in 
 anticipation of your coming, dew-lochs of the night: 
 a word coined by Herrick. It seems to mean "dewy 
 locks", the hair of night wet with dew. heads: prayers. 
 St. 3, each field turns a street: because so tlironged with 
 people, each street a park: because so adorned with 
 branches, to bring in may: bring blossoms of hawthorn. 
 St. 4, many a green goivn, etc.: many a one has been 
 tumbled in the grass. Love's firmament: the established 
 home of Love. 
 
 Be sure that you feel and express the gayety, the high 
 spirits of the poet. He is impatient to be off, and he 
 hurries the tardy Corinna along with lively descriptions 
 of the joys they are missing. The last stanza is a fine 
 expression of the philosophy: ''Eat, drink, and be 
 merry, for tomorrow we grow old." Whoever does not 
 enjoy this ebullition of spirits, needs a tonic. 
 
482 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 119 
 
 Most of the poets of this period took delight in blowing 
 poetry bubbles. Here is one of the lightest and flimsiest 
 of them. Let us not expect strength, nobility, or pro- 
 fundity; let us look for the qualities that belong to a 
 bubble. 
 
 I leant onness: careless grace, distraction: disorder. 
 erring: straying loose, therehy: beside it. tvild civil- 
 ity: unconventional style. (This last is a poor para- 
 phrase, but the idea can hardly be expressed in other 
 words than the poet's. It is a figure of speech called 
 oxymoron.) II liquefaction: referring to the rustling, 
 liquid sound of the silk, taketh: bewitcheth. 
 
 The poet is, of course, toying with his theme. Observe 
 the humorous exaggeration of the language. Read with 
 assumed seriousness, betrayed by just a twinkle of fun. 
 
 123 
 
 Perhaps this is one of Quarles' mystical-religious 
 poems, the ''Best-Beloved" being Christ. Somewhat 
 formal and artificial, but direct and sincere. The refrain 
 is well used. 
 
 counter to my coin: a worthless piece of money com- 
 pared to my wealth. A counter was a bit of cheap metal, 
 used only for reckoning. 
 
 Read simply and earnestly. 
 
 125 
 The first four lines are apparently serious; but the 
 last six lines, with the capricious metre and the sugges- 
 tion of affectionate teasing, are to be read lightly. 
 
 127 
 The poet has been cast into prison through his loyalty 
 to Charles I. But he is not really imprisoned, since his 
 
NOTES 483 
 
 tlionglits are free, and lie can think of Althea, perhaps 
 l3c visited hy her (St. 1) ; have the jovial companionship 
 of his fellows (St. 2), and can praise his king (St. 3). 
 It is a sincere and manly expression of resignation, high- 
 spirited and noble, where one might expect a puling 
 sentimentality. The last stanza is particularly beautiful 
 and eloquent. The refrain is effective, serving, as it 
 does, to conclude each thought and bind them all to- 
 gether, as well as to strike the key-note of the lyric. 
 
 tvHh no allaying Thames: undiluted with water, com- 
 mitted: imprisoned, caged, sliriller tliroat :i\mi is, shriller 
 than linnets, enlarged: unconfined. 
 
 It is a man's song, and voices the undaunted spirit of 
 the gallant soldier, rejoicing in his spiritual liberty, 
 though suffering bodily confinement. Read brightly and 
 
 boldly. 
 
 128 
 
 The title explains the situation. The poem is some- 
 what metaphysical, and does not ring as bold and direct 
 as others of Lovelace's, though it shows his high-spirited 
 nature. 
 
 Uue-god: Neptune, god of ocean, faith and troth: 
 subject of "controls", the two subjects being considered 
 as one idea, highest sphere: the crystalline sphere of 
 the Ptolemaic astronomy. 
 
 Observe the variety in length of line, and the frequent 
 alliteration. There is a pretty, unusual strain of music 
 in this lyric: let it be sounded in your reading. Each 
 stanza is composed of but one sentence, which should 
 be read as one idea. Read brightly, energetically, and 
 musically. 
 
 131 
 
 A striking contrast to some of the over-sentimental 
 love ditties of the period : perhaps it was disgust at some 
 
484 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 of them that moved the poet to utter this blasphemy. 
 Sir Walter Raleigh had written a poem much in the 
 same vein. Perhaps Wither had seen that, though most 
 of Wither 's work is characterized by the qualities we 
 find in this selection. Observe that the theme of the 
 first stanza is beauty ; of the second, kindness ; of the 
 third, goodness ; of the fourth, greatness ; and that these 
 qualities are restated in the last line of each stanza 
 and summed up in reverse order in the first line of the 
 last stanza. 
 
 pelican: often alluded to as a type of kindness, because 
 it was said to permit its offspring to feed on its blood. 
 shall I play the fool: perhaps with a reminiscence of 
 Macbeth 's words, ''Why should I play the Roman fool 
 and die?" if not outward helps, etc. : if she does not see 
 in her suitor ''outward helps", such as rank and riches, 
 she reflects that a man who dares to woo her without 
 such advantages would be able to accomplish almost 
 anything if he had them. 
 
 Read boldly and energetically, with scorn and pride. 
 The first four lines of the last stanza are tender and 
 earnest, but the poem ends in the original key. 
 
 133 
 
 An old Scottish folk-song. The author is unknown. 
 Probably the central idea was expressed by some one 
 poetically gifted; then, as it was handed down by oral 
 rendering, it was changed and improved ; fhially it was 
 finished by some folk-artist. Its charm lies in its deep 
 sincerity, its intense emotion, its directness and artless- 
 ness. Pay especial attention to the images from nature, 
 used not only to give the setting, but also as symbols 
 of feeling. Notice also the skilful musical alliteration, 
 the occasional internal rhyme, and the frequent use of 
 
NOTES 
 
 485 
 
 ''e" as a rhyming vowel. The song is sung by a deceived 
 and deserted Scotch maiden. Observe the naive and 
 apparently inconsequent mention of the clothing the 
 couple wore when they "came in by Glascow town". 
 It is a natural, pathetic touch. 
 
 tt^aZ?/.' an exclamation of woe. The ''a" is broad, aik: 
 oak. syne: a:8ter. lichtly me: treat me lightly, deceit- 
 fully, hnsk: adorn. Arthur-seat and Saint Anton's 
 u'dl: places near Edinburgh. Marti'mas: St. Martin's 
 Feast is November 11. fell: fierce. 
 
 This is the heartbroken lament of a forsaken girl. 
 Eeconstruct by your imagination the whole picture, then 
 read it with all the simple pathos you can express. Read 
 rhythmically, even though you have to shift the accent 
 from the syllable that would naturally receive it. Slightly 
 stress the alliterative syllables. 
 
 134 
 
 A simple, rather plaintive lullaby, full of genuine 
 maternal love. The refrain is soft and melodious. 
 
 I grieve that duty, etc. : I am sorry that what I am 
 able to do falls short of what I would wish to do. 
 
 Read softly and simply and rhythmically. 
 
 135 
 
 One of the few poems in the Golden Treasury which 
 suggest a story. The poet is with his sweetheart when 
 his foe, perhaps his rival, shoots at him from ambush 
 across the river. Helen throws herself in front of her 
 lover and is killed. He pursues his foe and slays him. 
 The story is told in four stanzas, 2-5 ; the rest of the 
 poem is lyric — in truth, it is all more lyrical than narra- 
 tive. The poem is wonderful in its simplicity, its irre- 
 sistible pathos, its artful artlessness. Observe the repe- 
 
486 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 titions, especially of the idea of the first stanza, the repe- 
 tition of the musical name, Kirconnell lea. Observe the 
 use of the ^'e" sound to close each stanza. Observe the 
 effect of repeating the line, *'I hacked him in pieces 
 sma' ": it is as if the speaker relates this part of the 
 story with peculiar zest. 
 
 hurd: maiden, a sort of title. 
 
 In your reading express as much of the pathos of the 
 story as possible. There is but one word that is out of 
 place; ''succour"; every other word has all the terrible 
 sincerity of bereavement, and bereavement imder un- 
 usually affecting circumstances. A certain grim ferocity 
 is in the fourth and fifth stanzas. Do not try to ''elo- 
 cute"; but put yourself into the mood and read nat- 
 urally. 
 
 136 
 
 One of ''life's little ironies". As the preceding poem 
 might be called tenderly pathetic, this is horribly or 
 gruesomely pathetic. This effect is produced largely by 
 having the two corbies reveal the situation, as their 
 callous language makes the pathos more poignant. Per- 
 haps the knight was killed by the man that afterward 
 married the lady. 
 
 corhies: crows, fail: turf, liause-banc: neck-bone. 
 goivden: golden, theelc: thatch. 
 
 Read simply. If a touch of scorn creeps into the lan- 
 guage of the corbies, it will the better reveal the situa- 
 tion and the emotion. But try merely to set forth the 
 situation and let the emotion go home of its own force. 
 The rhythm sliould be pronounced and the alliteration 
 should strcngtlien it. 
 
 138 
 
 If the third and fourth stanzas, which are somewhat 
 affected and turgid, were as perfect as the other stanzas, 
 
NOTES 487 
 
 this poem would be extremely beautiful. It has a cer- 
 tain solemnity of mood and expression ; and the implied 
 comparison between the deserted bird's nest and the 
 body is appropriate and suggestive. The alliteration and 
 assonance are very apparent — too apparent in some 
 places. 
 
 dotJi Irarnple on: is superior to, overpowers, mark: 
 boundary. 
 
 Read with dignity and solemnity. 
 
 139 
 
 A delicate, graceful little poem. ]\Iany of Herrick's 
 choicest lyrics contain some reference to beauty and joy 
 fading and dying. Observe the irregularity in length 
 of line. Observe the musical sounds. The first lines of 
 each stanza rhyme, which cements the stanzas closely. 
 
 pledges: offspring, brave: showy. 
 
 Pretty fancy and dainty music are the characteristics 
 of this lyric. Notice how the movement seems to descend 
 from the fourth line to the end of each stanza. Let the 
 voice gradually soften until it is almost a whisper. 
 
 142 
 
 A series of quiet, meditative thoughts in a flower- 
 vegetable-fruit-garden. The emotion is slight; but the 
 language, though often abstruse and stilted, is, for the 
 most part, rich and suggestive. The expletive ''do" 
 weakens some passages. The somewhat monotonous 
 versification fits the theme and the mood. 
 
 St. 1, amaze: perplex, jmlm, oak, hays: crowns from 
 these trees signify honors in war, statesmanship, litera- 
 ture, single het^h, etc.: in contrast to the many trees 
 the poet has. whose short and narroiv-verged shade, etc.: 
 whose shade is so scanty compared with the labor they 
 
488 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 have exerted to win honors that it upbraids, or re- 
 proaches, them. St. 2, your sacred plants, etc.: the flow- 
 ers of Quiet and Innocence, if they will grow at all on 
 earth, will grow only in a garden like this, society is all 
 hut rude: almost the only society is that of wild nature. 
 St. 3, amorous: here apparently, love-inspiriag. St. 5, 
 curious: delicate, exquisite. St. 6. This stanza may be 
 paraphrased as follows : Meanwhile the mind does not 
 remain stupefied with its own happiness as much as it 
 would with other kinds of pleasure. The mind is usually 
 an ocean where ^ch nature finds its like; but here it 
 creates far different worlds and then annihilates them, 
 makes them dwindle to the dimensions of the garden. 
 St. 7, body's vest: this vesture, the body, tvhets: preens. 
 waves, etc. : waves its wings to bring out the varied lights 
 on its plumes. St. 8, ivliat other help, etc. : what pleasure 
 could be suitably added to solitude. St. 9, this dial: 
 referring to a sort of clock of flowers, which open at 
 different hours of the day. 
 
 This poem needs careful study. In reading it, let 
 your attention be concentrated on making the thoughts 
 clear. Bring out clearly the suggestive ideas. Enjoy 
 the mild enthusiasm of the poet, and let your rea-ding 
 express it. 
 
 144 and 145 
 
 ''L 'Allegro," the cheerful man; "II Penseroso," the 
 pensive, or grave man. In the former Milton presents 
 a picture of the cheerful man's pleasures through the 
 day ; in the latter, the pensive man 's. Both deal much 
 with out of door scenes, so have been called lyrics of the 
 landscape. The best way to study them is to compare 
 them. 
 
 First, outline them. In *'L'Allegro" the first 10 lines 
 are devoted to the parentage and birth of ]\Ielancholy 
 
NOTES 489 
 
 and its banishment; in ''II Penseroso" the first 10 lines 
 are devoted to the banishment of idle Joys. Lines 11-24 
 in "L 'Allegro" give two possible genealogies of Mirth; 
 lines 11-30 in ''II Penseroso" describe the garments and 
 give the genealogy of Melancholy. Lines 25-36 in 
 "L 'Allegro" enumerate the companions Mirth is to bring 
 with her; lines 31-44 in "II Penseroso" describe Melan- 
 choly's appearance, and lines 45-60 enumerate her com- 
 panions. You should make a complete outline of both 
 poems, comparing and contrasting. Notice that a pleas- 
 ure in one poem is set off against a pleasure in another ; 
 or that when the pleasures are of the same general kind, 
 as music, they differ ■ in important respects. Observe 
 that the Cheerful Man's day begins in the morning; the 
 Pensive Man's, at night. There is more brislmess in 
 the former, more of the joys of companionship, more 
 sounds. 
 
 144. L. 5, uncouth: unknown. L. 9, ragged: irreg- 
 ular. L. 24, huxom: gladsome, lively. L. 34, fantastic toe:- 
 the epithet "fantastic" or lively, is here transferred 
 from the dance to the foot. L. 45, to come: same con- 
 struction as "to hear", in line 41. m spite of sorrow, 
 etc. : to come to my window in spite of my sorrow that 
 the dawn has risen and the lark has ceased singing. L. 
 53, lisftening: modifies "I" understood, not unseen: in 
 II Penseroso the man ^'5 unseen. The cheerful man de- 
 sires witnesses of his pleasure. L. 67, tells his tale: counts 
 his sheep. L. 83, Corijdon, Thyrsis, Phillis, Thestylis: 
 names of shepherds and shepherdesses. L. 91, secure: 
 free from care. L. 102, Faery Mah: the fairy who sends 
 dreams. L. 103, she: a certain maiden; here almost a 
 demonstrative pronoun, as is "he" in the next line. 
 Friar's lantern: jack 0' lantern. L. 105, drudging Goh- 
 lin: some of these fairies would labor hard all night if 
 
490 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 a bowl of cream were set out for them, tower' d cities, 
 etc. : perhaps Milton means that he here bej^^ins to read, 
 not that he goes in person to the city. L. 132, Jonson's 
 learned sock: the sock was the shoe worn by the Greek 
 comedians. Jonson's plays were full of learning. L. 
 133. Fancy's child: child of Imagination. L. 134^ ivarhle, 
 etc. : Shakespeare is here contrasted with Jonson. He is 
 thought of as having written without pains, as singing 
 extempore. L. 139, houts: folds. L. 141, ivanton heed 
 and giddy cunning: oxymorons, meaning that the mel- 
 ody, though gay and spontaneous, is, nevertheless, art- 
 fully constructed. 
 
 145. L. 18, Prince Memnon's sister: Hemera. Mem- 
 non was the handsomest of warriors, and Llilton credits 
 his sister with the same degree of beauty. L, 19, 
 Ethiope queen: Cassiope. L. 36, decent: graceful. L. 46, 
 spare: lean. Because of his fasting he has visions. L. 
 53, fiery-wheeled throne: see Ez. 10, 2. Contemplation 
 is thought of as taking a long flight, carrying the in- 
 tellectual and emotional powers along. L. 55, hist: to 
 bring along silently. L. 59, dragon yoke: Night's chariot 
 Avas fabled to be drawn by dragons. L. 60, accustomed 
 oak: the oak where the nightingale is accustomed to sing. 
 L. 78, removed: remote. L. 87, outwatch the Bear: the 
 constellation, the Great Bear. As it never sets, the poet 
 intends to stay up all night to read Hermes and Plato. 
 L. 88, unsphere the spirit of Plato: bring him back from 
 his station in the other world by reading his books. L. 
 95, consent: sympathy. The demons are thought of as 
 having power over the planets and the elements. L. 99, 
 Thehes: several Greek tragedies make Thebes the scene 
 of the action. Pelops' line: referring to tragedies by 
 Aeschylus about Agamemnon, a descendant of Pelops. 
 L. 100, tale of Troy: not Homer, but tragedies on Troy. 
 
NOTES 491 
 
 L. 102, husJiincd stage: tragic stage, the buskin being a 
 boot worn by Greek tragic actors. L. 109, that left 
 half-told: Chaucer, who did not finish his Squire's Tale. 
 L. 116, if aught else: perhaps referring to Spenser's 
 Faery Queen. L. 124, the Attic Boy: Cephalus, who was 
 beloved of Eos, the Dawn. L. 130, minute drops: drops 
 falling at short intervals. L. 139, close: secret. L. 148, 
 ivave at, etc. : let some mysterious dream come floating 
 or waving near Sleep's wings, in an airy stream of im- 
 aginative imagery, which gently falls on my eyes. L. 
 170, sj^fcll: stndy closely. 
 
 The tone of both these poems is quiet and meditative. 
 The Cheerful Man sees the brighter aspects of nature 
 and life; the Pensive Man, the more serious aspects — 
 that is about all the difference. The Cheerful ]\Ian is 
 not frivolous, nor the Pensive Man gloomy and melan- 
 choly: they merely emphasize different pleasures. The 
 metre is the same in both : the lines are pentameter ; and 
 the feet are sometimes iambic, sometimes trochaic. Per- 
 haps it is best to regard the movement as iambic and 
 to consider the lines that begin with an accent merely 
 as iambic lines hicldng the unaccented syllable of the 
 first foot. Both poems have a brisk movement, which 
 is more pronounced in the first than in the second. The 
 poet has shifted his accents artfully, thus preventing 
 the monotony so frequent in tetrameter verse in couplets. 
 Alliteration, assonance, onomatopoeic effects, exquisite 
 and picturesque phraseology, figures of speech — these 
 are some of the characteristics of the language. The 
 diction is unusually rich— so rich that the student shouhl 
 study the words very carefully in order to extract the 
 full meaning and suggestiveness. 
 
 The sentences are often long and involved and the 
 meaning obscure. In your rondinir. strive for clearness, 
 
492 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 adequate expression of the ' ' concentrated ' ' diction, grace 
 and lightness, and rhythm. Allow your voice to follow 
 the natural emphasis, so that your reading will not be 
 monotonous. Observe the onomatopoeic effects, and ex- 
 press them vividly. 
 
 146 
 
 Supposed to be sung by the Puritan refugees, who 
 fled from England during the reign of Charles I to 
 escape Archbishop Laud's persecutions (^'prelate's 
 rage'''). The poet is more interested, however, in set- 
 ting forth the blessings of the exiles than in expounding 
 political or religious ideas. The mood is cheerful, as in 
 ''L 'Allegro" — that is, mildly cheerful, not gay and 
 sprightly : the exiles sing a ' ' holy and a cheerful note. ' ' 
 In mood, movement, even in phraseology, the po^n re- 
 sembles the two of Milton just studied. 
 
 apples: pineapples. The plant bears only one fruit. 
 proclaim: reveal, throw up. of wJiich ive rather hoast, 
 etc. : we rather boast of the gospel pearl than of the 
 costly ambergris. 
 
 Read rhythmically and with restrained enthusiasm. 
 
 147 
 
 Milton was very fond of music. Here he represents 
 himself as listening to a choir singing solemn, sacred 
 music. In imagination he hears the music of the angels, 
 and he wishes that mortals could hear that music, as they 
 did before sin came into the world. It is a beautiful 
 poem, as solemn and melodious as the music that forms 
 the theme. 
 
 pledges: offspring, sphere-horn: born of the music 
 of the spheres, sense: sensations, phantasy: imagina- 
 
NOTES 493 
 
 tion. concert: harmony, saintly shout and solemn 
 jubilee: splendid oxymorons, disproportion' d: misshapen, 
 
 ugly. 
 
 This lyric is almost a chant. Only broad, sonorous 
 tones are employed, and the movement is swelling and 
 majestic. Read in a deep, solemn tone, rather rhythmic- 
 ally, yet slowly and majestically. The undertone of 
 some lyrics resembles the liquid notes of a flute ; others, 
 the blare of a trumpet; the undertone of this lyric is 
 the fulP, deep, sustained music of a pipe organ. 
 
 151 
 
 This, like No. 86, was written in honor of St. Cecilia's 
 Day. The theme is the same : the power of music to 
 raise the different emotions. In this poem the theme is 
 developed by showing the effect on Alexander the Great 
 of the music of Timotl:^us, a distinguistied musician of 
 Thebes. The first stanza reveals the situation; the 
 second introduces the musician and his prelude, which 
 is in honor of Jove, whom Alexander claims as his 
 father; the third is in praise of wine; the fourth is a 
 dirge for Darius, in order to che^k Alexander's pride, 
 raised by the preceding strain ; the fifth is in honor of 
 love ; the sixth is a call to battle and vengeance, so com- 
 pelling that it breaks up the banquet and sends the 
 ban(|ueters out to burn the residences and temples of 
 the Persians. The final stanza summarizes, and com- 
 pares Timotheus with his flute and lyre to Cecilia with 
 her organ. 
 
 St. 2, a dragon's fiery form, etc. : Jove took the form 
 of a serpent to gain access to Olympia, mother of Alex- 
 ander, radiant spires: glittering coils, a present deity: 
 a god is here, said in flattery of Alexander, assumes 
 
494 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 the god: pretends to be a god. St. 3, honest: handsome. 
 St. 4, the master: Timotheus. he, 1. 6, refers to Alex- 
 ander, his hand: Timotheus'. his iwide: Alexander's. 
 St. 5, love was in the next degree: Alexander had been 
 feeling pity ; now he is to feel love, which is akin to pity. 
 the fair: the fair one, Thais, the celebrated Greek beauty, 
 who accompanied Alexander on his Asiatic expedition. 
 St. 6, the Furies: the avenging deities, who had snakes,- 
 twined in their hair, unhuried: an unl^uried body was 
 thought to be dishonored, like another Helen, etc.: re- 
 ferring to the destruction of Troy by Helen. The de- 
 struction of Persepolis by Alexander at the request of 
 Thais is told by Plutarch. St. 7, added length to solemn 
 sounds: the organ made long, sustained musical notes 
 possible, he raised a mortal, etc. : Timotheus made a god 
 of Alexander ; Cecilia, so the legend runs, drew an angel 
 down from heaven to listen to her music. 
 
 The repetitions, the irregularity in metre, in line 
 length, in stanza length, and in rhyme plan, all suggest 
 that the poem is for music. The suggestions of the dif- 
 ferent kinds of music are not so distinct as to be imi- 
 tative, as in Dry den's other song on the subject. The 
 rollicking drinking song in stanza 3 ; the soft, pretty love 
 song in stanza 5, with its liquid sounds and musical 
 feminine rhymes ; and the harsh battle cry in stanza 6 — 
 all are splendid examples of onomatopoeia. In reading, 
 modulate your voice to express the different moods. 
 IMost of the poem is to be recited, rather than read — 
 that is, it should be higher or lower, softer or stronger, 
 than the speaking voice. Read the stanzas over and over 
 until you have trained your voice to bring out the vary- 
 ing emotions. 
 
NOTES 495 
 
 BOOK THREE 
 
 152 
 
 It is a morning in April. All nature rejoices in the 
 spring, forgetting the hardships of winter. But man, 
 having the power to look back to the past and look 
 forward to the future, obtains a keen pleasure from the 
 contrasts, and even in sorrow can rejoice through mem- 
 ory or hope. 
 
 This lyric, like most of Gray's poetry, is filled with 
 subdued emotion and characterized by careful finish. 
 You must read the poem closely and reflectively, ob- 
 serving the exquisite phrases, visualizing the sepia- 
 tinted pictures, and listenuig to the soft, liquid measures 
 of the music. 
 
 St. 2, his: the antecedent is "April". St. 3, sullen 
 year: winter, forward and reverted eyes: eyes that look 
 both forward and backward. St. 4, deepest shades, etc. : 
 the object of ''gilds", the subject of ''gilds" being 
 "hope". St. 5, vieiv: imperative mood, like "see". 
 chastised: chastened, softened. Mended, form, etc. : 
 when they are blended with skilful contrast, they form 
 the strength and harmony of life. 
 
 The poem was not finished, which accounts for the 
 abrupt conclusion. 
 
 Observe the unusually pretty notes, and examine a 
 stanza or two to see how carefully Gray has chosen his 
 words. Notice the "o's" in the first line of the first 
 stanza; the alliteration of "w" in the second, third and 
 fourth lines; the "a's" in the fifth line; the alliteration 
 of "lightly" and "living" in the seventh line; the "e's" 
 in the last line. Notice that the first two lines of each 
 stanza begin with the accented syllable, thus giving a 
 
496 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 trochaic impetus to the line ; notice that the third line 
 is short, somewhat checking the movement. 
 
 Read quietly and rhythmically, and put all the music 
 into your voice that you can. Emphasize the contrasts. 
 
 153 
 
 The title is somewhat misleading. Collins means 
 sincerity, rather than verbal simplicity. As a matter of 
 fact, his language is anything but simple, as this poem 
 will show. His ode is in praise of genuine, sincere, and 
 natural emotion as expressed in poetry. 
 
 The poem has a definite outline. The first two stanzas 
 are an invocation to Simplicity. The next three con- 
 tinue the invocation by calling to witness certain favorite 
 objects and scenes of poetic Simplicity. Stanzas six and 
 seven state that Simplicity has left Rome and has now 
 no abiding place. The last two stanzas bring out the 
 idea that though taste and genius are desirable, Sim- 
 plicity is indispensable, and it is Simplicity that the 
 poet seeks. 
 
 St. 1, numbers: verses, who first, etc. : who first 
 nursed the powers of song in Imagination, loveliest 
 child, either thy babe or Pleasure's. St. 2, trailing pall: 
 the long garment worn by Grecian tragic actors, decent: 
 becomingly dressed. St. 3, Eyhla's thymy shore: a 
 mountain in Greece noted for its thyme, which attracted 
 the bees. This part of Greece was the home of pastoral 
 poetry, which makes Collins' mention of it appropriate. 
 he4\ the nightingale, a favorite bird of Sophocles, "sad 
 Electra's poet." St. 4, Cephisus: a river near Athens, 
 here referred to as a stream frequented by Simplicity. 
 enamelled: covered with flowers, when holy Freedom 
 died, etc. : when Freedom died in Greece, no other spot 
 allured thy feet to roam in future times. St. 6. one 
 
NOTES 
 
 497 
 
 distinguished throne: the throne of Augustus, whose 
 reign was the golden age of Latin literature. St. 7, the 
 Passions: the emotions of poetry. Collins here refers 
 to the love poetry of Italy. ''Italy" is the antecedent 
 of ''her." St. 8, tvhat each, etc.: what each gift of 
 genius can furnish, what all such gifts can furnish, may 
 charm the eye, but only thou, Simplicity canst raise the 
 soul, the soul which rises to meet thee. St. 9, of these: 
 taste, genius. 
 
 The predominant characteristics of this poem are 
 melody, a wealth of beautiful images expressed in well- 
 chosen phrases, dignity, and high seriousness. It is very 
 beautiful music: read over some of the most melodious 
 lines and listen to the pleasant murmur. Observe the 
 metrical scheme: the two short lines followed by a long 
 one, which makes a constant rise and fall in the move- 
 ment. The clauses end on the long lines. Observe that 
 the sentences sometimes extend from stanza to stanza. 
 
 Read quietly, clearly, and simply. Endeavor to bring 
 out the involved meaning and to make the whole poem 
 musical. 
 
 156 
 
 A mock-heroic poem. A favorite cat of Horace Wal- 
 pole's, a friend of Gray, had been drowned in a tub of 
 gold-fishes. Gray treats the affair as of great importance 
 and lavishes poetic and conventional ideas upon it, only 
 occasionally revealing the smile on his face by adding 
 a burlesque touch. 
 
 St. 2, conscious: sympathetic — here used humorously 
 to signify that the tail shares the cat's emotions. St. 3, 
 had she gazed: would she have gazed. Genii: guardian 
 spirits, here referring to the gold-fishes. St. 4, Nymph: 
 here used for the cat. It is in using such poetic terms 
 for commonplace ideas that Gray's nonsense is at its 
 
498 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 best. St. 6, eight times: because, of course, a cat has nine 
 lives. 
 
 The mock-heroic conception is fundamental in this 
 poem. In addition to the passages pointed out, notice: 
 ^'She purred applause" ; the sudden descent to matter- 
 of-fact in the line, "What cat's averse to fish?"; the 
 ridiculous idea of the cat mewing 'Ho every watery 
 God"; the mixture of the Dolphins and Nereid with 
 the hired man and the chambermaid ; the pretended 
 seriousness of the moral in the line, ''A favorite has 
 no friend", and in the last stanza. 
 
 You cannot read this poem well unless you catch the 
 mood of the poet. Read very seriously and solemnly 
 and pompously until you come to the passages where the 
 poet is unable to hold in any longer and reveals his 
 humorous attitude; then make a sudden change to the 
 dry, prosaic, matter-of-fact tone. IMake your reading a 
 mingling of pathos and bathos. It is a delightful poem 
 when w^ell read. 
 
 157 
 
 A pretty, delicate little lyric, addressed to a small 
 girl. Observe the gay, dancing movement, wdiich exactly 
 fits the theme and the mood. The short lines rhyming 
 in couplets, a detail being added in almost every line, 
 the spontaneous tripping of the verses — all this makes 
 the poem graceful. Observe that the last two lines are 
 in a different metre, as if added in a more sober, re- 
 flective tone. 
 
 timely: early, yet, line 13, means "as yet", with the 
 thought of the difference when the child is grown. 
 
 Read gayly, rhythmically. Read the last two lines 
 more seriously. 
 
NOTES 499 
 
 159 
 
 This poem is based on a tradition that Edward the 
 First dnring his conquest of Wales had all the Welsh 
 poets slain to prevent their stirring up the people. As 
 the King and his army are marching though a narrow 
 pass in Wales, an aged poet appears on an overhanging 
 promontory and pronounces woe on the royal house and 
 foretells the future ; then leaps from the rock. The poem 
 is difficult to understand ; but after the language is un- 
 ravelled and the allusions mastered, the poem stands 
 out as one of the most striking and imaginative odes in 
 the language. 
 
 St. 1, Camhria: Wales. St. 2, vocal: resounding. IIocl 
 and Llewellyn: Cadicallo, JJrien, Modred, noted Welsh 
 bards. These were all much earlier than the time of 
 Edward, but the bard in the poem speaks of them as 
 contemporaries. St. 3, / see them sit: in imagination the 
 bard sees his companions sitting on a nearby cliff, from 
 which they join with him in his poetic prophecy- 
 stanzas 4, 5, 6, and part of 7. This song and prophecy 
 is spoken of as "w-oven". St. 4, characters: figures, 
 marks, letters, when Severn, etc.: a reference to the 
 murder of Edward the Second in Berkley Castle. She- 
 wolf of France: Isabel of France, wdfe of Edward the 
 Second, from thee he horn, etc.: from thee (Isabel), be 
 born the one who is to be the scourge of heaven, Edward 
 the Third. The following lines refer to his conquests. 
 St. 5, tJie sahlc warrior: Edward, the Black Prince. He 
 died before his father, the rising morn: Edward the 
 Second. The following lines describe the luxury and 
 magnificence of his reign, and his death by starvation. 
 St. 6, long years of havock: the Civil wars of the Roses. 
 kindred squadrons: Englishmen against Englishmen. 
 
500 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 ye towers of Julius: part of the Tower of London was 
 supposed to have been built by Julius Caesar. London^ s 
 lasting shame: because so many kings and princes were 
 murdered there, his consort's faith: the steadfastness 
 of Margaret, wife of Henry the Sixth, the ''meek 
 usurper." Margaret tried to save him from death, his 
 father's fame: fame of Henry Fifth, the rose of snow, 
 etc. : referring to the Wars of the Roses, ive spread: on the 
 loom. The bards are tveaving their prophecy, bristled 
 hoar: the silver boar was the emblem of Richard the 
 Third, in infamt goi^: referring to the murder of the 
 two young princes by Richard. St. 7, half of thy heart: 
 thy wife. Eleanor, wife of Edward the First died 
 shortly after the conquest of Wales. Stay, oh stay: 
 here the ghostly bards fmish their prophecy, leaving the 
 one bard alone. But oh! tvJiat solemn scenes, etc.: the 
 bard now sees a vision of England's ''genuine kings." 
 long-lost Arthur: The Welsh believed that King Arthur 
 would return to rule England. St. 8, a form divine: 
 Elizabeth. She was descended from the Welsh, strings 
 symphonious: referring to the poetry of Elizabethan 
 times. Talicssin: a noted Welsh poet. St. 9, fierce ivar, 
 etc. : a reference to Spenser, whose ' ' Faery Queen ' ' 
 treats of "Fierce wars and faithful loves." truth severe, 
 etc. : referring to the moral truths in the allegory of -the 
 /'Faery Queen." husJdned measures: the plays of 
 Shakespeare, a voice as of the chcruh-choir: Milton. 
 distant tvarhlings: the lesser poets after Milton. 
 
 It will aid to the understanding of this difficult poem 
 if you know its structure. It is a Pindaric ode. The 
 first and second stanza are composed of 14 lines each, the 
 third of 20 lines; the fourth and fifth of 14 each, the 
 sixth of 20 ; the seventh and eighth of 14 lines each, the 
 
NOTES 501 
 
 ninth of 20. The stanzas that have the same number of 
 lines have the same rhyme-plan. It is a very compli- 
 cated metrical plan: Gray's careful art is very evident. 
 
 The poem should be studied closely many times be- 
 fore it can be fully appreciated. It is full of verbal 
 beauties, and the perfection of form and finish make it 
 a masterpiece. The language is lofty, picturesque, and 
 musical. 
 
 Read throughout in a strong, resonant tone. Make the 
 prophecy of the bards especially strong and majestic ; 
 parts of it should be almost chanted. 
 
 162 
 
 This ballad was published anonymously, and for a 
 time it passed as one of the old ^'popular" ballads, just 
 discovered. It has a good many of the qualities of the 
 old ballads: simplicity, sincerity, pathos, and sympathy 
 with common life. This is partly due to the fact that the 
 author wrote but few poems and was deeply versed in the 
 old ballads. 
 
 The battle of Flodden Field was fought in 1513. The 
 Scotch were defeated, the Scotch king and many of his 
 nobles killed. The poem, however, is a lament for the 
 common soldiers. 
 
 St. 1, loaning: a lane between fields of grain, ivede 
 away: vanished. The suggestion is of flowers pulled up 
 like weeds. St. 2, ~buglits: sheepfolds. scorning: joking. 
 dowie: dreary, daffin': jesting, gahhiu': scoffing, leg- 
 lin: milk-pail. St. 3, liar^st: harvest, handsters: sheaf- 
 binders, lyart: grizzled. runJded: wrinkled. Heecliing: 
 teasing. St. 4, hogle: ghost. St. 5, dool: woe. 
 
 The ballad is very musical. Observe the frequent 
 alliteration, the internal rhyme and assonance, and the 
 many broad vowels. The internal rhyme is feminine. 
 
502 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 which gives an additional note of music. The metre is 
 anapestic, but trochees and iambs usually begin the lines. 
 The variations assist in creating the impres:^ion of 
 spontaneity, and break up the monotony of the move- 
 ment. The refrain and the repetition of the idea of the 
 first stanza serve to fix the leading idea. 
 
 The point of view is that of a Scotch w^oman lament- 
 ing the death of the Scotch youths. The emphasis is 
 kept upon the feeling of the Scotch maidens. 
 
 Eead with a sense of the situation : with deep sym- 
 pathy and simple sincerity. The graceful music seems 
 to add a touch of poignancy to the poem; read music- 
 ally. In the middle of the first and third lines of each 
 stanza a caesura occurs: make a slight pause here; but 
 keep the tempo rather strict throughout. 
 
 165 
 
 The naked simplicity of this lyric has often been ad- 
 mired. Without employing many of the usual arts of 
 the poet, using the simplest, most prosaic diction, 
 Cowper has created a poem of great force and dignity, 
 with a sombre, yet martial music. 
 
 The "Eoyal George" sank in Portsmouth harbor. The 
 vessel had been injured slightly, so that it was neces- 
 sary to lay her a little on her side. While the repairing 
 was going on, Admiral Kempenfeldt was writing in his 
 cabin. The carpenters keeled the vessel too far over, 
 a land-breeze struck her, and she went down almost 
 instantly, drowning the Admiral and about a thousand 
 persons, including visitors and sailors. 
 
 Read simply and earnestly. Read rhythmically, but 
 do not allow the feeling for rhythm to compel you to 
 phrase incorrectly. Stress the strong words. 
 
NOTES 503 
 
 169 
 
 Tliis poem reminds one of some of those in the second 
 book. The poet desires to win his mistress' love and is 
 willing to do anything to please her. The first and third 
 stanzas are martial, the second courtly, the whole poem 
 gallant and chivalric. 
 
 troiv me: believe, hut if fond love, etc.: if love can 
 win you, I can truly say that I have never loved any 
 but you, that I have never broken a vow, and that no 
 maiden owes her ruin to me. ride the ring: referring to 
 the old sport of riding at full speed under a suspended 
 ring and catching it on the point of a lance, the blue: 
 the color of Scotland. 
 
 Read earnestly, simply, and rhythmically. Eead the 
 more martial lines with vigor and determination. In- 
 sert the refrain in the second stanza, and read the re- 
 frain each time musically and sincerely. 
 
 170 
 
 A very musical little lyric. The central idea is the 
 similarity between the maiden and a pure stream of 
 water, and this idea is carried throughout gracefully 
 and prettily. Notice the exceedingly soft, musical 
 sounds of both vowels and consonants. 
 
 Read simply and musically. If you utter a harsh 
 sound, you have not read the poem as it deserves. Per- 
 haps the voice should be pitched lower than usual. 
 
 173 
 
 The central idea of this poem is: As the merchant, 
 sending a valuable cargo, puts a false label on it that 
 it may go the more safely, so I profess love to Euphelia, 
 that I may make love to the modest Cloe. In the last 
 
504 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 stanza the trick is discovered, and Venus remarks to the 
 cupids that the three are at last revealing their feelings. 
 It is a fanciful, graceful little poem, half-playful, half- 
 serious. When well read, it is delicately musical. In 
 your reading bring out the contrasting ideas: the pre- 
 tended love to Euphelia, the true love to Cloe. 
 
 174 
 
 It is difficult to interpret Blake's poems. They are 
 so gauze-like that any handling tears the delicate fabric. 
 The main thought of this poem is that love should not 
 be told, that it, like the wind, should move silently, in- 
 visibly. The poet told his mistress all his love, and in 
 fear she left him. Soon afterward another, a mere casual 
 acquaintance, took her by merely sighing out his love. 
 Or, perhaps the ''traveller" is Death. 
 
 The metre is simple and not strictly regular. If you 
 read well, you will feel a vague, indefinable charm and 
 hear a sweet, plaintive music. 
 
 176 
 
 One of the most beautiful of all Burns ' beautiful songs. 
 A Scotch girl, deceived and deserted, visits the banks 
 and braes of the Boon river, where she had met her 
 lover. The gladness of nature appeals to her as cruel. 
 The bird singing so happily reminds her of her former 
 joy. She remembers the occasion when she pulled a rose 
 from a bush : in that, too, she sees a symbol of her life. 
 
 Feel the deep pathos of the situation, let your im- 
 agination reconstruct the story and enter into the 
 maiden 's emotions ; then read simply, mournfully, music- 
 ally. A touch of reproach should come into the voice 
 
NOTES 
 
 505 
 
 in the expression of the thought that the flowers and 
 birds are unsympathetic. 
 
 177 
 
 In this ode Gray gives a poetic description and his- 
 tory of poetry. The ode bears the impress of careful 
 and studious workmanship. It is structurally perfect, 
 and the details are perfectly finished and fitted into the 
 general plan. Gray's love of poetry, his admiration of 
 the Pindaric ode, his habit of working for a long time, 
 polishing and improving, his taste in the use of words, 
 his power to paint graphic pictures with few words, and 
 his keen ear for the melodies of tone-combinations — all 
 this makes the ode one of the choicest productions of 
 its kind in the language. 
 
 The poem has three sections, three stanzas making up 
 a section. The first two stanzas of each section contain 
 twelve lines each, the third stanza, seventeen. The 
 rhyme scheme is the same for the first two stanzas of the 
 sections, and a different rhyme scheme is employed for 
 the third stanza of each section. All the stanzas are 
 elaborate in metre. 
 
 The first section is a general description of the power 
 of poetry, especially of lyric poetry. The first stanza 
 draws a comparison between poetry and a stream ; the 
 second speaks of the power of poetry to calm the pas- 
 sions, even of the gods ; the third stanza speaks of the 
 power of poetry to inspire joy and gayety. The second 
 section treats of the strength and universality of the 
 power of poetry. The fourth stanza discusses the power of 
 poetry to dispel the sorrows of mankind ; the fifth stanza 
 develops the thought that the influence of poetry is felt 
 in both the frigid and torrid climes. The sixth stanza 
 
506 THE UOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 speaks of poetry in Greece, of its departure from Greece, 
 then from Italy, finally its arrival in England. The 
 third section treats of certain great English poets. 
 Shakespeare is the theme of stanza 7 ; Milton and Dry- 
 den, of stanza 8 ; Mason and Gray himself of stanza 9. 
 
 St. 1, Aeolian lyre: Pindar calls his poetry ''Aeolian" 
 songs. The Greeks called lyric poetry Aeolian because 
 two of their greatest lyric poets lived in Aeolia. Helicon's 
 harmonious springs: Helicon is a mountain range in 
 Greece. Two springs came down from it. The region 
 was sacred to the Muses. St. 2, icilling soul: the soul 
 that submits to thy rule, enchanting shell: the lyre. 
 Here, as elsewhere. Gray speaks of lyric poetry as 
 identical with music, feathered king: the eagle, emblem 
 of Jove. St. 3, tempered: attuned, suhlime: uplifted. 
 St. 4, gives to range: allows to wander freely over. 
 Hyperion: the sun. St. 5, shaggy forms: polar bears. 
 laid: a participle modifying "Muse." repeat: sing 
 verses to. loose numbers: spontaneous, irregular verses. 
 generous Shame: the feeling of mortification that comes 
 when one falls short of an ideal. St. 6, Delphi, etc. : the 
 names in this stanza are names of places in Greece noted 
 for some connection with Greek literature. Albion: 
 England. St. 7, thy: Poetry's. Nature's darling: 
 Shakespeare, whom Gray calls Nature's favorite child 
 because he was taught by Nature rather than in schools. 
 tchat time: when. St. 8, Extasy: inspiration, he passed, 
 etc.: referring to Milton's "Paradise Lost," wherein 
 Milton describes heaven and hell, blasted with excess of 
 light: a beautiful allusion to Milton's blindness, two 
 coursers: referring to the heroic couplet. "Coursers" 
 is the subject of "bear"; "car" is the object. St. 9, 
 his hands: this probably refers to Gray's friend. Mason, 
 whose poetry Gray much admired, tvhat daring spirit: 
 
NOTES 507 
 
 referring to Gray himself, as does the remainder of the 
 stanza. Thehan eagle: Pindar, orient hues, etc.: colors 
 as bright as those of the rising snn, but not of the sun 
 because they are imaginative, divine, vulgar: common, 
 usual. 
 
 There is so much to admire in this ode that it is not 
 possible to do justice to it in a few words. You must 
 read and read and re-read the poem, carefully and lov- 
 ingly. Among the beautiful passages in the ode ma}^ be 
 mentioned the metaphor in the first stanza, the gay, 
 sprightly music of the first part of the third stanza, 
 modulating to a graceful, stately measure in the last 
 part of the stanza; the striking characterizations of 
 Shakespeare, Milton, and Dryden in the seventh and 
 eighth stanzas ; the majestic alexandrines that close each 
 stanza; the delightful alliteration and rich assonances 
 throughout the poem. 
 
 Gray has succeeded admirably in adapting the music 
 to the varying ideas. The tones are light and airy or 
 full and sonorous, as the thought is light or majestic ; 
 the movement is accelerated or retarded, as the theme 
 suggests. In your reading strive to bring out the dif- 
 ferent tones and movements. In some places you should 
 almost sing; in some places the rhythm should be very 
 pronounced; in others, you should linger over the ex- 
 pressive, musical phrases. Read the last line of each 
 stanza with force and majesty. 
 
 178 
 This ode suggests the two St. Cecilia odes by Dryden 
 in the preceding book. Collins personifies the different 
 Passions or Emotions, and has each of them try his own 
 power of expression on Music's instruments. The first 
 stanza introduces the theme, the last is an invitation to 
 
508 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 IMusic to return to man, the intervening stanzas are de- 
 voted to the Emotions, as one by one they try their 
 skill. 
 
 St. 1, apart: singly. St. 3, owned: confessed. St. 5, 
 lovely scenes at distance: because Hope looks to the 
 future, close: end of a strain. St. 6, had she sung: 
 would she have sung, tvar-denouncing : war-proclaiming. 
 doubling: echoing. St. 8, diffusing: a participle modify- 
 ing ''measures." "Calm", ''love", and "musing" are 
 the objects of "diffusing." St. 9, oak-croivncd Sisters: 
 the nymphs in the train of Diana. St. 10, Tempers 
 vale: a valley in Greece. St. 11, mimic soid: soul that 
 can recall and imitate. Recording Sister: Clio, the Muse 
 of History, sister to Euterpe, Muse of Music, reed: 
 musical pipe, e'en all at once, etc. : even when heard all 
 at once as in organ music. 
 
 The most noticeable characteristic of this lyric is the 
 onomatopoeic effects. The first stanza and the last are 
 in easy-flowing, simple tetrameter couplets; but the 
 stanzas descriptive of the Passions are highly suggestive 
 of the different strains of music evoked by the Passions. 
 The metrical scheme in some of these stanzas is wild and 
 irregular ; in others, simple and definite. The words are 
 chosen partly for their sounds, and are combined in such 
 a way that they represent the veering moods. 
 
 Each stanza has its appropriate key. Read a stanza 
 silently until you feel the emotion and discern the under- 
 lying musical motive, then try to voice that emotion 
 with fitting tones and rhythm. This is one of the poems 
 that lends itself to recitation, but you should be careful 
 not to let your reading be too dramatic and "elocu- 
 tionary." If you succeed in suggesting clearly and 
 musically the prevailing emotion, you have read well. 
 
NOTES 509 
 
 180 
 
 Perhaps it will help us to make the thought in this 
 lyric more concrete if we think of Infant Joy as a young 
 child, though perhaps Blake meant merely to personify 
 new-born Joy. 
 
 Observe the happy, graceful, delicate music, and the 
 spontaneous rhythm. Read musically and softly. This 
 is one of the songs that takes up lodgment in your mem- 
 ory by the mere beauty and vague magic of the words. 
 
 181 
 
 Another lyric gem. Observe the beautiful rhyme- 
 sounds, "e" and "T" predominating. Observe the 
 liquid sounds throughout. Observe the alliteration and 
 the assonance, which is often carried over from one line 
 to the next. 
 
 Read softly, tenderly, and musically. The last two 
 lines of the poem are in a different key, expressing as 
 they do a different emotion: sad realization that the 
 child will some day experience the sorrows of life. 
 
 184 
 
 While out plowing, Burns turned up a field-mouse's 
 nest. The incident led to a train of reflection, which 
 ended in the composition of this well-known poem. Per- 
 haps the most noteworthy feature of the lyric is the 
 sympathy displayed for the little animal, and the com- 
 parison drawn in the last two stanzas between the fate 
 of the mouse and of the poet. 
 
 St. 1, sleekit: sleek, hichering hrattle: hurrying con- 
 fusion, laitli: loth, paitle: stick used to scrape the soil 
 from the plough-share. St. 3, ivhiles: sometimes, a 
 daimen-icker in a thrave: a small amount of grain from 
 
510 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 an entire shock. Pll get a blessing tvi' the lave: because 
 I have been kind to you I will get a blessing with the 
 remainder of the grain. St. 4, silly: weak, big: build. 
 foggage: late grass, snell: sharp. St. 5, coulter: that 
 part of the plough-share that is perpendicular to the 
 point. St. 6, hut: without, hald: dwelling, thole: en- 
 dure, cranreuch: frost. St. 7, thy lane: alone, gang aft 
 agley: go often awry. 
 
 This is a sincere expression of deep sympathy and 
 kinship with the helpless creature. Remember that the 
 poet is speaking to the mouse, and that his voice is kind 
 and tender. Express the same feeling in your reading. 
 Read the last two stanzas in a more reflective, sober 
 tone, bringing out the strong contrast between the mouse 
 and the man. Stress the word "men" in stanza seven. 
 
 186 
 
 One of the most charming of the meditative poems 
 in the Golden Treasury. One sees the poet reclining on 
 a mossy bank as evening draws on, and feels with him 
 the quiet, subdued emotions called up by the twilight. 
 
 Notice that the first five stanzas make up the first sen- 
 tence. ''If aught, etc.," is the subordinate clause, ''now 
 teach me, etc.," stanza four, the principal clause. St. 1, 
 oaten stop: shepherd's pipe. St. 6, folding star: the 
 evening star, so called because at this time the sheep are 
 seeking their fold. St. 11, breathing: fragrant. St. 13, 
 Fancy: Imagination. Science: knowledge. The person- 
 ification of abstractions in this stanza has been often 
 criticized. But the four abstractions are appropriately 
 spoken of in connection with evening. 
 
 The most peculiar feature of this lyric is that it is 
 in un-rhymed verse. Many a person has read the poem 
 entirely through without noticing this, so well has Col- 
 
NOTES 511 
 
 • 
 lins compensated for the absence of rhyme by the use 
 of other qualities. Observe that almost every line ends 
 with a strong word, usually a verb or a noun, and that 
 it is usually a musical word. Observe that the stanzas 
 run into each other, so that the impression is often that 
 of blank verse. Observe also that the lack of rhyme is 
 made up for by condensed thought, plentiful allitera- 
 tion, and happy combinations of musical words. Very 
 often a certain sound wull occur throughout an entire 
 stanza, as ''o" and ''s" in the first stanza, "e", ''b" 
 iud ''w" in the second stanza, the thin vowels and 'Vs" 
 end ''b" in the third stanza, etc. The sound of "1" is 
 prominent throughout. All this so fully satisfies the ear 
 that the rhyme is not missed, i^nd the absence of 
 jingling rhyme-sounds helps give the soft, solemn, sub- 
 dued note that characterizes the lyric. All told, it is a 
 masterly poetic feat. 
 
 The key of the selection is pensivencss. It is like a 
 painting by Corot. Or it is like an evening hymn on 
 the organ. Read quietly, reflectively, bringing out dis- 
 tinctly and musically the slight variations from the 
 dominant key. 
 
 187 
 
 Perhaps the best known of Gray 's poems and the best 
 known of the so-called ''graveyard" poems. Perhaps 
 the popularity of the Elegy is due largely to the fact 
 that it expresses in beautiful, striking, and permanent 
 form the emotions common to all mankind. 
 
 Like all of Gray's poems, the Elegy is a carefully fin- 
 ished work. Nine years are said to have elapsed between 
 the first conception of the poem and its publication. 
 The ideas are, of course, beautifully phrased: there is 
 not an empty line in it. The graveyard on which the 
 poem is based is in Stoke Pogis, where Gray himself 
 
512 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 was later buried. The description given in the Elegy 
 still fits the cemetery. 
 
 St. 1, par ling: departing. St. 2, air: object of 
 ''holds", "stillness" being its subject. St. 6, ply her 
 evening care: no definite picture is conjured up in the 
 mind by these words. Perhaps they mean, preparing the 
 evening meal. St. 9, awaits: the subject is "hour" — 
 "boast", "pomp", etc., being the object. St. 10, ivJiere 
 throngli, etc. : many of the upper classes were buried 
 within the church, fretted: ornamented with narrow 
 strips intersecting. St. 11, storied urn: a monument, or 
 more likely, a tablet, containing an inscription concern- 
 ing the dead, animated bust: statue so life-like that it 
 seems alive, provoke: call forth. St. 12, rich ivith the 
 spoils of time: the knowledge gained through all time. 
 rage: inspiration, genial: cheerful and vigorous. St. 14, 
 gem: object of "bear", "caves" being the subject. St. 
 15, village-Hampden: some villager as strong and pa- 
 triotic in his narrow sphere as Hampden was in his 
 wider one. some mute Milton: some one endowed with 
 Milton's genius, but with his talent undeveloped. Crom- 
 well: some one that could have been as great as Cromwell 
 but who would not have been, like Cromwell, guilty of his 
 country's blood. St. 16, to command: depends upon 
 "forbad", in the first line of the next stanza. St. 17, 
 nor circumscribed , etc. : their lot not only circumscribed 
 their virtues, it also circumscribed their crimes. St. 18, 
 to hide: depends upon "forbad", third line of preced- 
 ing stanza. The line seems to mean, to conceal and 
 repress the struggles of truth of which they are con- 
 scious, heap the shrine, etc. : referring to the degrada- 
 tion of poetry in Gray's time. Poets often courted the 
 rich and great and dedicated their poems to them with 
 fulsome flattery. St. 19, madding: raging. St. 20, un- 
 
NOTES 513 
 
 couth rhymes: referring to the fact that in the cemetery 
 there are some grave-stones containing inscriptions writ- 
 ten by rustic poets, some of the words being even mis- 
 spelled. St. 22, for ivho, etc. : for who ever resigned this 
 pleasing anxious being (life) to become a prey to 
 forgetfulness, who ever left the warm region of life, 
 without casting a look behind? St. 23, e'en in our ashes, 
 etc.: even in the dead body exist the emotions of the 
 living being — i. e., our bodies cry out to be remembered. 
 St. 24, thee: Gray himself, chance: perchance. St. 28, 
 another: another morning. St. 29, for thou canst read: 
 implying that the "swain" cannot read. St. 30, science: 
 knowledge, frowned not on: was not disdainful to him 
 because of his humble birth. St. 31, a friend: perhaps 
 referring to Horace Walpole, perhaps to Richard West, 
 both of whom were friends of Gray. St. 32, dread abode: 
 that is, the bosom of God. 
 
 The spirit of this poem is much like that of the pre- 
 ceding. It is, however, more sombre and melancholy. 
 In your reading keep in mind the meditative, reflective 
 nature of the poem. Read slowly and solemnly, linger- 
 ing over the beautiful details and the musical sounds. 
 You will have difficulty in making the meaning clear in 
 some places. A few stanzas are grammatically connected 
 with succeeding and preceding stanzas; these must be 
 connected in the reading. Almost every stanza contains 
 onomatopoeic effects. Notice, for example, the suggest- 
 ive sounds in the second line of the first stanza : you can 
 fairly feel the scene. Then observe the effect of the 
 next line : the plodding movement is admirably sug- 
 gested by the sounds and accents. Endeavor to bring 
 out all these "echoes" in your reading. It is a poem 
 that one can read hundreds of times without exhausting 
 the charm. 
 
514 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 190 
 One of Burns' perfect songs. It is hardly fair to 
 call it a poem: it almost sings. There is a sincerity and 
 simplicity, and a lyric limpidness difficult to match. Read 
 earnestly and musically. Observe your reading care- 
 fully, and if you detect a discordant sound, you may 
 be sure you have not read the poem perfectly. 
 
 192 
 
 The simple pathos of this ballad is beyond praise. 
 The story is told with consummate artistic restraint: no 
 words are wasted, yet the whole situation is portrayed 
 in such a fashion that it is unforgettable. The poet 
 has increased the natural sadness in the story by having 
 the heroine voice her own emotions, in a restrained, yet 
 artless style. The irregularity of the metre, the remi- 
 niscences of the old balhids, the little touches of nature 
 — all contribute to the beauty of the poem. Observe 
 how skilfully the situation is drawn in the first stanza, 
 before the story is begun. Observe, too, how the story is 
 interrupted now and then by an exclamation of sorrow. 
 
 a week hut only twa: only two wrecks — an idiom com- 
 mon in the old ballads. 
 
 Read the poem silently until you feel the pathos, then 
 read aloud, simply, naturally, musically. JMake the 
 rhythm decided. You will notice that the prevailing 
 metre is anapestic ; but some of the feet have only two 
 syllables, while others have four. Read by accented 
 w^ords, letting the unaccented syllables take care of 
 themselves, as you do in all quantitative verse. Or, 
 better yet, strive merely to stress the words that nat- 
 urally deserve emphasis : in every case you will hit upon 
 the right accent and preserve the swing of the movement. 
 Bring out the alliteration. 
 
NOTES 515 
 
 193 
 
 A delightful contrast to the preceding. In a gay, 
 rollicking measure it tells how Duncan Gray wooed 
 IMaggie, how she flouted him, how he, resenting her treat- 
 ment of him, forswore her, how she wished him back, 
 and how he relented — and they lived happy ever after. 
 The fun a,nd high spirits are thoroughly enjoyable. 
 
 wooing oH: the wooing of it, the wooing, fou: gay 
 with tippling, asklent: aslant, unco sh-cigh: very skit- 
 tish, gart: made. St. 2, f.eechcd: coaxed. Ailsa Craig: 
 an island in the Firth of Clyde, low pin oiuer a linn: 
 leaping over a cliff. St. 3, sair to hide: hard to endure. 
 St. 5, sriwored: smothered, crouse and canty haitli: both 
 of them gay and jolly. 
 
 Read with vigor and liveliness. Make your reading 
 reflect the merry mood of the poet. A little pretended 
 seriousness in a few places will increase the humor. 
 Insert the refrain lines in all the stanzas. 
 
 194 
 
 The sailor's wife has just heard that her husband's 
 ship has returned. In a flutter of delight, she prepares 
 to receive him. It is a lively picture of a woman, full 
 of touches of nature. 
 
 St. 2, higonct: little cap. St. 4, tliraw: twist. St. 5, 
 caller: fresh. 
 
 Let your reading suggest the eagerness and joy of the 
 speaker. Read with energy and decision, but change 
 to a calmer, Cjuieter tone in the last two stanzas. Per- 
 haps here we may imagine the wife speaking to herself. 
 
 195 
 
 An artistic, permanent expression of a fundamental 
 emotion. Perhaps it seems easy to write such a simple 
 
516 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 little poem; but the fact that we fmd so few perfect 
 ones proves how difficult it is. Study the first line. No- 
 tice that the first three words are accented, suggesting 
 weary reflection. Notice also the pretty assonance in 
 the phrase, "happy days." In the third line, notice 
 the alliteration of 'T' and the assonance in "what 
 lands. ' ' In the first line of the second stanza, notice the 
 broad, solemn vowels, the alliteration of "h", and the 
 slowness of the movement. In the second line notice 
 the heavy falling of the " w 's ". In the next line notice 
 the rapid movement, the stress resting on but one word, 
 "glinted", and that a very picturesque word. Observe 
 the pretty sound of the rhyme-word. It is a wonderful 
 bit of simple art. 
 
 eerie: fearful, glinted: flashed. 
 
 Read simply, sincerely, musically. 
 
 197 
 
 A theme not often used in poetry: the love of an old 
 wife for her husband. In tenderness, in simplicity, and 
 music, the song is a gem. The figure in the second stanza 
 is beautiful and suggestive. 
 
 jo: sweetheart, 'brent: straight, smooth. Burns ap- 
 parently uses it as an antonym to "bald", poiv: head; 
 a colloquial, intimate word, suggesting tenderness. 
 
 Try to feel the tenderness of the words. Read simply, 
 rhythmically. Stress the alliterated words. Bring out 
 the contrasts. The first four lines of each stanza deal 
 with youth, the last four with old age. 
 
 199 
 
 The ode is based on a distant view of Eton College. 
 
 As the poet looks at the distant towers, he reflects upon 
 
 his youth spent here and upon the present and future 
 
 of those now in school. It is not so highly finished, and 
 
NOTES 517 
 
 not so serious as many of Gray's poems: but the poet's 
 heart is by no means gay, as he looks into the future and 
 sees the ills awaiting the college boys. 
 
 St. 1, Science: knowledge. Henry: Henry VI, founder 
 of the college. St. 2, fields beloved in vai^: because 
 Gray had no friend to share his pleasure in the scenes. 
 The poem was written a short time after the death of 
 the last of his intimate friends, to breathe a second 
 spying: the sight takes the poet back to his boyhood. 
 St. 3, the captive linnet, etc. : which ones catch the linnet 
 and cage it? rolling circle: foot-ball. St. 4, 'gainst 
 graver hours, etc. : in preparation for class room work. 
 St. 5, buxom: lively, they are men: therefore subject 
 to the common fate of men. St. 7, these: certain ones, 
 object of the verb "tear." St. 8, this: this person. 
 those: others. St. 9, painftd family: pain-inflicting min- 
 isters of death, such as Labor, Poverty, Old Age, all that 
 affect the body. 
 
 Study carefully until you have mastered the intel- 
 lectual details. The key-note of the poem is solemn 
 melancholy, which changes in the third, fourth, and 
 fifth stanzas to a decorous sprightliness. Keep the key- 
 note in mind as you read, but depart from it as the, 
 music modulates. The movement is regular — so regular 
 that you will have to make an effort to avoid monotony. 
 Bring out the effective combinations of words and the 
 musical sounds. 
 
 201 
 
 A splendid lyric — splendid in phrasal power, in im- 
 agery, in thought, in music. Its emotional plane is 
 higher than most of Gray 's poems. Observe how Gray 's 
 mind turns naturally to the graver, darker aspects of 
 life. 
 
 St. 2, birth: child. St. 5, thy suppliant: Gray himself. 
 
518 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 St. 6, thij form bcniijn: in contrast to the appearance of 
 Adversity as descriljcd in the preceding stanza, philo- 
 sophic train: contrasting with ''the vengeful band" in 
 the preceding stanza. Gray seems to mean, the band of 
 attendants that would teach him how to bear philosoph- 
 ically the ills of life, generous spark ejctinct: dead 
 friendship. Gray had recently quarreled with his friend 
 Walpole. 
 
 The Hymn is worth careful study and many readings 
 Observe how Gray carries a certain sound throughout 
 a stanza: as "p", "b", "t", in the first stanza. The 
 Rounds seem to suggest the stern, "relentless power" of 
 Adversity. Observe the solemn, majestic sound of the 
 long line that ends each stanza. It seems to add weight 
 and finality to the thought. Read carefully, deliber- 
 ately, musically. The intellectual content is important : 
 bring it out distinctl.y. Read the last two stanzas with 
 earnest feeling. 
 
 203 
 
 A gracious, grateful, and eloquent sonnet. Cowper 
 lived with the Unwins for many years, and he here and 
 in the next poem records his love and gratitude to IMrs. 
 Unwin. 
 
 eloquence: object- of "want." I shed my wings: 1 
 cease writing, the wings representing his inspiration. 
 a Book: see Rev. 20, 12. 
 
 Observe that the first eight lines develop one thought, 
 the last six lines, another. Observe how naturally and 
 easily the poet states his thought : he apparently writes 
 without effort. It is one of those rare poems in which 
 the thought and expression seem to have existed for- 
 ever and to have been found by the lucky poet. 
 
 Read simply, musically, earnestly. The poet feels 
 every word he writes : give his feeling adequate expres- 
 
NOTKS 519 
 
 sioii. Read hy ick'cis, not linos. Do not force the rhythm: 
 read as the natnral emphasis of the ideas seems to 
 demand. 
 
 204 
 
 One of the tenderest, most personal and pathetic lyrics 
 in the langnage. Snrely it goes as far as speech can 
 go in expressing love and gratitude. Cowper had suf- 
 fered from an attack of melancholia twenty years before 
 this, and was apprehensive of another. He sees his 
 friend growing weaker, which he attributes to her 
 r.nxiety and care for him. She died three years later. It 
 is said that the poet Tennyson could never read this poem 
 without tears. 
 
 Read the poem silently until you feel the mood, then 
 read aloud with simplicity, tenderness, and pathos. 
 Vary the line, "My IMary" to fit the sentiment of the 
 stanzas. The poem is worth committing to memory, both 
 for its own sake and as a specimen of what simple words 
 can do in revealing emotion. 
 
 205 
 
 The incident on which Covrper bases this poem is 
 found in Anson's ''Vo.yage." One of the seamen was 
 washed overboard in a storm. He swam for some time, 
 ])ut he could not be rescued in the storm. The poet here 
 paints a vivid picture of the scene in all its pathetic 
 details ; but in reality he is painting a picture of his own 
 struggles. The third line of the first stanza suggests 
 this, and the reader keeps it in mind until the ''sem- 
 blance" is explicitly stated in the last stanza. 
 
 The pathos and horror of the story is the more affect- 
 ing because Cowper tells the story so simply and directly. 
 A less judicious poet would have filled the story with 
 lamentations and adorned it with figures of speech. 
 
520 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Cowper's restraint seems pitiless, but we see the unfor- 
 tunate man struggling in the ocean and we feel his 
 anguish and despair. 
 
 Visualize the pictures clearly. Read with simplicity, 
 directness. Read the last stanza in a more reflective 
 and more gloomy tone, for here the thought is personal. 
 
 206 
 
 A pleasant contrast to the gloom of Cowper. The 
 middle-aged man looks forward to Tomorrow and pic- 
 tures such a life as he would like to live in old age. 
 It is a group of pretty pictures. The movement is 
 rapid and joyful, the feminine rhymes adding to the 
 sprightliness. The recurrence of the ^ ' orrow "-sound 
 falls pleasantly on the ear. 
 
 pad-pony: easy-ambling pony. Everlasting: a sort of 
 pun on eternity and a cloth called everlasting. 
 
 Read rhythmically and brightly. The movement halts 
 in the second line of the last stanza ; but elsewhere it 
 moves along as smoothly as a ''pad-pony." Stress the 
 alliterative words. Make the poem "carol away idle 
 sorrow. ' ' 
 
 BOOK IV 
 
 209 
 
 Keats had a high conception of the poet. Here he 
 gives him a double immortality : in heaven, 11. 5-22 ; and 
 on earth, 11. 23-26. Keats wrote this ode on a blank 
 page in a copy of Beaumont & Fletcher's tragi-comedy, 
 ''The Fair Llaid of the Inn," which may account for 
 his calling poets, "bards of Passion (suffering) and of 
 Mirth.'' 
 
 L. 5, those: the souls, commune: speak, sing — refer- 
 
NOTES 521 
 
 ring to the music of the spheres, tented: resting under 
 tents made by large bluebells, hanging down inverted 
 almost to the ground, tranced tiling: music sung in a 
 trance, or emotional ecstasy, where your other soids, 
 etc. : in the place where, etc. 
 
 The metre is tetrameter, with a trochaic swing; but a 
 few lines have an extra syllable at the beginning, while 
 others have an extra syllable at the end. Keats has 
 shifted the pauses and accents so skilfully that the 
 metre is flexible and spontaneous. 
 
 Visualize the pictures, master the details, observe and 
 admire the striking phraseology and the light, delicate 
 music — then read, brightl^^, fluently. Keep the rhythm, 
 but do not let the pull of the rhythm force you to stress 
 an insignificant preposition or conjunction or to ignore 
 a strong noun or adjective. Keep the movement in your 
 mind, but feel free to depart from it at any time. In 
 this way you will avoid the monotony with which this 
 poem is often read. 
 
 210 
 
 Keats began reading Chapman's translation of Homer 
 one evening at the house of a friend, and became so 
 interested that he read all night. The next morning his 
 friend found this beautiful appreciation written in a 
 fly-leaf of the volume. 
 
 Observe that in the octave Keats speaks of his pre- 
 vious reading under the figure of traveling, western 
 islands: referring to the poets of England, in fealty to 
 Apollo: subject to the authority of Apollo, god of music 
 and poetr3^ demesne: land held by a chief under a king, 
 here Apollo, serene: bright, clear atmosphere. In the 
 sestet Keats develops a new idea : that when he started 
 to read Chapman's Homer he felt like an astronomer 
 discovering a new star, or like Cortez (Keats meant 
 
522 'J^'HJ^ (GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 T>;ill)()a) wlieii he discovered the Pacifie. T]i()ii<]^h he 
 writes only three lines, how grapliieally the poet paints 
 til is discovery! 
 
 Read with clearness, force, and dignity. There is a 
 strong, vigorous music in the verses, w^hich you will bring 
 out only by feeling the emotion and expressing it nat- 
 urall}^ Try to express by your reading the awe and as- 
 tonishment of Balboa and his men, as they gaze upon 
 the Pacific. The poem is worth reading until it is com- 
 mitted to memory. 
 
 212 
 
 A very simple, sincere, and musical l.yric. In the 
 first two stanzas Byron contrasts the love of youth with 
 the glory of old age. In the next two stanzas he develops 
 the thought that glory is desirable only because it affects 
 love. 
 
 myrtle and ivy: emblems of youthful joy, contrasted 
 with the laurels, emblems of victory, floircr with May- 
 dew hcsprinlded: the dew of IMay was thought to have 
 power to restore beauty. Here Byron speaks ironically 
 of the belief, discover: reveal, there, 1. 13 : in his 
 mistress' eyes. 
 
 The metre is anapestic, with feminine endings. It is 
 a quick, lively-stepping movement. Read gayly, rapidly, 
 joyfully, and above all, rhythmically. Do not let the 
 movement halt for an instant. 
 
 213 
 
 This poem is found in ''Rokeby," one of Scott's longer 
 poems. It is sung by Edmund, one of a band of outlaws 
 living in Greta woods. He belongs to a worthy famil.y, 
 but has become a fugitive. Some time after he has 
 taken up this life, he rides back toward his home. His 
 former sweetheart sees him from Dalton-Hall, and, in 
 
NOTES 523 
 
 i} song, expresses lier willingness to go with him. lie 
 asks her to guess what manner of life he is leading. 
 She first guesses that he is one of the king's forest- 
 rangers, then that he is a soklier. At last he informs 
 her that he is an outlaw. Apparently she does not follow 
 him, though the thought of living with him in Greta 
 wood still attracts her. 
 
 St. 5, fiend whose lantern lights the mead: Will o' the 
 Wisp. 
 
 Fill in the details of the story until you feel that you 
 know the entire situation. If you will read a part of 
 *'Rokeby", you will understand better what kind of 
 person Edmund is: begin with stanza 15 of the third 
 canto. In your reading suggest the different speakers 
 in the dialog, but do not try to imitate them. Bring 
 out the story clearly. Read spiritedly and rhythmically, 
 voicing the simple music. 
 
 214 
 
 A lyric of pure music, and, like music, it brings before 
 the mind beautiful pictures. In order to see how mu- 
 sical the words are try to replace the word ''be" in 
 the first line, with "are". You would have the unpleas- 
 ant combination "there are", and you would miss the 
 alliteration of "be" and "Beauty's". Moreover, the 
 use of the archaic form, "be", suggests tenderness and 
 intimacy. Observe the soft, subdued sounds throughout 
 the poem, especially in the rhyming words. There is 
 not a harsh note in the lyric. The movement is graceful 
 and flowing, suggesting "the swell of Summer's ocean." 
 Observe the delicate music of the feminine rhymes. 
 
 Read lightly, musically. The second and fourth lines 
 of each stanza contain 1)ut two accents : let the move- 
 ment be retarded here. 
 
524 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 216 
 
 Another of Byron's exquisite lyrics. Pure, simple, 
 earnest and musical — no one but a poet and a musician 
 could have written it. 
 
 all that's best of dark and light: referring to the 
 darkness of the night and the light of the stars, had 
 half impaired: would have half impaired. 
 
 Read tenderly, clearly, musically. 
 
 222 
 
 This well-known poem is well called ''the education 
 of Nature," for that is the central thought. Words- 
 worth believed devoutly in the power of Nature to 
 influence personality and conduct. Here he shows 
 Nature actually at work. Observe the simplicity of the 
 language and the depth of thought. 
 
 St. 2, law and impidse: I, Nature, will teach Lucy 
 obedience to the laws of Nature and yet will give her 
 inspiration. St. 3, sportive as the fawn: she shall learn 
 gayety from the fawn, hers shall he the breathing halm: 
 she shall be disciplined to gravity and sweetness by the 
 odor-breathing balm, the silence and the calm of inani- 
 mate nature. St. 4, state: condition of stateliness, grace- 
 fulness. This whole stanza tells how Lucy is to be made 
 graceful through the influence of graceful objects in 
 nature. St. 5, beauty horn of murmuring sound, etc. : 
 the sound of the rivulets shall so impress her that her 
 very expression shall be affected. 
 
 In addition to the striking thought, the poem has 
 beauty of phrase and melody. Wordsworth's power to 
 express his ideas — vague and unusual as they are to 
 most of us — in striking and rememberable phrase is evi- 
 dent when we try to paraphrase his language. There 
 are several very effective combinations of words in this 
 
NOTES 525 
 
 poem. Observe the alliteration and the assonance. Ob- 
 serve that the third and sixth lines of each stanza are 
 shorter than the others, serving to give variety and to 
 check the movement for a moment before another idea 
 is taken up. There are some onomatopoeic effects, not- 
 ably in the latter part of the fifth stanza. 
 
 Read to make the ideas clear and musical. Observe 
 that the clauses often end within the lines and that the 
 meaning runs over from one line to another. Read, then, 
 by ideas, not lines. Let the rhythm take care of itself, 
 you being careful merely to phrase in such a way as to 
 bring out the meaning. Tenderness and love should be 
 expressed in every line. Bring out the deep, yet 
 restrained grief of the last stanza. 
 
 223 
 
 A dirge, but so repressed and restrained that the 
 reader needs to use all his imaginative power to feel 
 the poet's grief. The first stanza expresses a common 
 human intuition : that a loved one is secure against 
 death. This sense of false security Wordsworth speaks 
 of as slumber that sealed his spirit. The second stanza 
 draws the contrast, now that the loved one is dead: she 
 has lost all personality, is rolled round in the whirling 
 earth, like all inanimate things. 
 
 Read simply, musically, tenderly, mournfully. The 
 poet does not think of denying the immortality of the 
 soul: he is merely intent on the contrast between the 
 life and the death of the body. 
 
 226 
 This poem is founded on a real incident. Like the 
 preceding poem, it is more narrative than lyric. One 
 phase of Wordsworth's poetry is seen at its best here: 
 
526 'i^ilJ' (;OLDJ]N TKI^A.SLKV 
 
 the simple, unadorned treatment of a theme. It has few 
 of the qualities we usually associate with poetic Ian- 
 gauge ; yet in its simplicity and baldness of diction, it is 
 one of the most affecting poems in the Golden Treasury. 
 It disdains the "wealth of art," but it has all the :^rce 
 of artlessness. 
 
 The first three stanzas introduce the chief character, 
 tlie third setting forth the tlieme and preparing tb.e 
 reader for what is to follow. With the fourth stanza 
 Ave start directly into the story. The last two stanz^is 
 form the conclusion, stating the fact that Lucy is not 
 really dead. The story itself is told only in part; the 
 imagination has to supply the details. 
 
 Read simply. Occasionally the voice should take a 
 sombre note to bring out some pathetic detail ; but you 
 should follow Wordsworth in his desire to let the sad- 
 ness of the story go home by its own force, rather than 
 by forcing it by rhetoric and elocution. It is really a 
 very difficult poem to read well, for all it seems so easy. 
 
 227 
 In this lyric, as in many of Scott's, a story is sug- 
 gested. The "ladie" sits weeping, looking across the 
 sea. Her lover, Jock of Hazeldean, has been gone for 
 some time. As she sits watching for his return, she is 
 approached by the father of Frank, lord of Langley- 
 dale. He wishes her to marry Frank, but slie remains 
 true to Jock. Perhaps it is her own father that re- 
 proaches her in the second stanza, and Frank who 
 pleads with her in the third; or perhaps it is Frank's 
 father speaking to her throughout. At any rate, slu^ 
 at last gives in, and the wedding day is fixed. But on 
 the night before the wedding Jock suddenly returns, 
 and she flees with him over the border. 
 
NOTES 527 
 
 Tlie pooni is full of spirited music. The refrain lines 
 are pretty and eft'eetive. Read to bring out the entire 
 story and to express the music of the verse. Suggest 
 the different speakers, making a decided pause after 
 their words before speaking the refrain. A decided 
 pause should also come after the third stanza. Bring 
 out the surprise in the last stanza, especially in the 
 last two lines. 
 
 229 
 
 The thought in this pretty lyric is slight, but the music 
 is wonderfully sweet. The first stanza speaks of the 
 natural echo ; the second, of the echo of love ; the third, 
 explains this echo. Observe the onomatopoeic effect of 
 the movement : the second line seems to echo the first ; 
 the last line echoes the third and fourth. Observe how 
 beautiful these last lines are. Observe, too, the asso- 
 nances throughout. In the first line of the first stanza, 
 you hear a similar sound in '^answer" and ''makes." 
 The ''m" of "makes" is echoed in ''Music" in the 
 second line. Observe the "a's" in the fourth line, and 
 the alliteration of "1". The fifth line repeats the "a" 
 in "answering" and the "1" in "light." Soft, musical 
 consonants and vowels are used throughout the stanza. 
 
 In reading let your first thought be on the music. It 
 should be soft and liquid, and it should suggest the echo- 
 motive that is the basis of the poem. The climax should 
 be at the end of the third line ; from that one to the end 
 of the stanza the voice should be fainter and fainter until 
 it is barely audible. 
 
 232 
 
 It is difficult to find words to discuss this exquisite 
 lyric. The only way to enjoy it to its full is to read it 
 over and over, enjoying the beautiful, soft-tinted pic- 
 
528 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 tures and the dreamy music. To Shelley, Night is not 
 a personified abstraction, but a real person, with appro- 
 priate garment, appearance, and attributes, so that the 
 pictures, though shadowy, may easily be discerned with 
 the eye of the imagination. 
 
 Observe the frequent alliteration and assonance, some- 
 times so indistinct as to be scarcely audible, sometimes 
 so plainly heard as to color an entire passage. Observe 
 the use of ''i" in ''swiftly", first line; in "spirit", sec- 
 ond line ; in ' ' misty ' ', in the third ; then down in the 
 last lines of the stanza, so far away that the ear can 
 scarcely catch the similarity of sound, the vowel is 
 repeated in ' ' which ' ' and ' ' swift. ' ' Take a more obvious 
 example: In the first line the ''1" of ''swiftly" is 
 repeated in "walk"; the "s" and "t" in "swiftly" is 
 heard later in "western"; the "f" in "swiftly" is 
 hinted at in the "v" in "over" and "wave"; the "w" 
 of "swiftly" is heard again in "walk", "western", and 
 "wave"; the "a" in "walk" is repeated in "wave", 
 the assonance being the stronger because the words are 
 both monosyllables. The poem is full of such complex 
 musical effects. 
 
 Not less remarkable is the movement. The second and 
 seventh lines have but two accents, the others four. 
 The short lines are all full of meaning, and compel the 
 voice to pause over them; and the' phrase ends with the 
 end of these short lines. The general movement, then, 
 is of a long, majestic line, suddenly checked by a shorter 
 one ; then four long, full, rich lines coming to a climax 
 of thought and movement in a short, strong line. It is 
 wonderfully effective. The metre is irregular in that 
 it is difficult to scan. But in its flexibility and variety, 
 its sudden bursts of speed and heavy spondees, it is as 
 
NOTES 529 
 
 rhythmic, as gracefully flowing as almost any lyric in 
 this book. 
 
 Read and re-read until you have visualized all the 
 images, and until you have caught something of the 
 haunting, mysterious charm of the pictures and music. 
 Read, for the most part, slowly and deliberately, as if 
 lingering over the musical sounds, and make your voice 
 as soft and melodious as possible. Read to bring out 
 the meaning and you will catch the rhythm — that is, do 
 not force the accent. A particular foot or line may seem 
 unrhythmic, but it is merely flowing so as to fill in every 
 crevice of the meaning — so to speak. Read, and read, 
 and read again : the poem is more beautiful after the 
 hundredth reading. 
 
 236 
 This lyric is sung in "jMarmion," stanzas 10-11. The 
 song is especially appropriate, as it is sung to a company 
 of soldiers, whose fate it often is to die far from home 
 and sweetheart. The first two stanzas deal with the 
 grave of the true lover, the second two with the death and 
 grave of the false lover. These last stanzas apply espe- 
 cially to ]\Iarmion, who has betrayed a girl who trusted 
 him. The metre is unusiial : the first and alter- 
 nate lines contain each two dactyls ; the second and alter- 
 nate lines, a dactyl and a trochee. This metre is fol- 
 lowed rather strictly, but it is such a wild, unnatural 
 measure that it seems irregular. The metre is particu- 
 larly effective in the third and fourth stanzas, where 
 the theme and movement agree admirably. The last 
 four lines of the third stanza seem to depart from the 
 established metre, but really the movements simply 
 march right on regardless of line-endings. The feminine 
 
530 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 rhymes add a pretty musical note. The pictures are 
 graphic. 
 
 clcu loro: evidently an exclamation of sorrow. 
 
 Read the first two stanzas softly and musically, and 
 the last two stanzas as with vigor and boldness. Keep 
 the rhythm flowing along in strict tempo, but depart 
 from it whenever the sense seems to demand it. 
 
 237 
 
 "La belle dame sans merci" means the beautiful lady 
 without pity, or the beautiful, heartless lady. Keats got 
 the title from an old French poem, but his poem is en- 
 tirely original. The story is vague and mysterious, and 
 arouses certain cpiestions to which no complete answer 
 can be made. It is best, no doubt, to enjoy the charm 
 of the suggestive, haunting story and not to pry too 
 closely into the meaning. It has been said that perhaps 
 Keats meant the lady to symbolize Poetry, or Beauty, 
 and the knight to represent himself. Perhaps — but the 
 poem is all the more beautiful if we accept the lady as 
 some fair witch, some Lorelei, who takes delight in 
 luring men to their destruction. 
 
 The first three stanzas reveal the situation by means 
 of questions asked by the poet or by the knight of him- 
 self. The rest of the poem tells the story, the last stanza 
 summing it up by answering definitely the question in 
 the first stanza. Observe the exquisite musical effects 
 throughout : the half-concealed alliteration and asso- 
 nances, some of which extend over three or four lines. 
 Observe, too, that the last line has but two feet, while 
 the others have four. This last line is always strong 
 and significant, and the sudden slowing up of the move- 
 ment at this point gives a sort of sombre, solemn effect, 
 a note of finality that fits the idea. Observe the sim- 
 
NOTES 531 
 
 plieity of the langTiage tlirouglioul, and the rich pictures. 
 
 palely: an adverb coined by Keats — partly because he 
 wanted to use the aciditional '4" and partly because it 
 is much more suggestive than would be the adjective 
 ''pale" modifying "knight", ivitli hisses four: Keats 
 explains this, in a jocular manner, in a letter. As lie 
 says, he could have said "score" as far as tlic rhyme 
 was concerned. "I was obliged to choose an even num- 
 ber," he says, "that both eyea might have fiir play, 
 and, to speak truly, I think two apiece quite enough" — 
 all of which means, perhaps, that the poet wishes the 
 knight to show that his love for the lady was tender and 
 respectful, rather than passionate. 
 
 Read slowly, simply, and with a touch of solemnity. 
 Linger over the musical phrases, as if reluctant to leave 
 them. The words of the last line of each stanza are 
 full and heavy, spondee"> are frequent, and the stanza 
 comes to a climax; for these reasons the last line should 
 be read in a measured, deliberate, sombre tone. This 
 is another of the poems that grows more beautiful the 
 more it is read. It has a charm that never vanishes. 
 
 239 
 
 This lyric of Shelley's is easy to appreciate: its music 
 and grace and suggestive figurative language make it 
 beautiful. But some parts are obscure in details. 
 
 St. 3, Love first leaves, etc. : love leaves the stronger 
 of the two hearts, the weaker one being left alone to 
 endure the loss of what it once possessed, flie frailest: 
 the frailest thing, the heart. St. 4, its: the heart's. 
 thee: the person left desolate by the departure of love. 
 thine eagle home, etc.: thy elevated home will, by decay- 
 ing, leave thee naked to the laughter of the world. 
 
 The metre is unusual but musical : the first and alter- 
 
532 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 nate lines contain two feet, the second and alternate 
 lines contain three feet. The foot is either iambic or 
 anapestic, no regularity being observed ; but for all that, 
 the rhythm is graceful and flowing. It is particularly 
 effective in the first stanza, where the shorter line is 
 used for the subordinate idea, and the long line for 
 the principal idea ; and this general plan prevails 
 throughout. The feminine rhymes add grace and melody. 
 The music is somewhat sad and plaintive. Bring out 
 this note in your reading. Make the meaning as clear 
 as possible, but especially stress the music. You will 
 need to read several times before you catch the charm 
 of the quaint melody. 
 
 240 
 
 Founded on a tradition. The unaffected yet restrained 
 pathos, the simplicity of thought and language, and the 
 pretty music make the poem a favorite. Observe that 
 the first four lines give a sort of summary of the story : 
 that the maiden could distinguish her lover while he 
 was still a great way off, and that her love gave her an 
 hour of happiness even though she was near death. The 
 lover's failure to recognize his mistress, however, is 
 unprepared for, and it is told so briefly and bruskly that 
 it comes as a distinct shock. 
 
 Read with simplicity, sincerity, and sympathy. Bring 
 out the pathos of the last stanza by earnest, yet un- 
 affected reading. 
 
 243 
 
 A noble sonnet — Shakespearean in its richness of 
 images and music, yet thoroughly like Keats in thought 
 and mood. Keats knew that he possessed a weak consti- 
 tution, but his ambition to be a great poet often made 
 
NOTES 533 
 
 him careless of his health. He died three years later 
 at the age of twenty-five, so that the poem is almost a 
 prophecy. Observe the wonderful phrases: ''my teem- 
 ing brain", "high-piled books", ''rich garners", 
 "night's starred face", "high romance", etc. As you 
 murmur over the lines, observe the rich, full music. 
 
 cliaract'ry: written or printed symbols, high romance: 
 majestic stories suggested by the heavens, to trace their 
 shadows, etc. : to write these stories with a hand directed 
 by the happy accident of inspiration. 
 
 244 
 
 This sonnet is addressed to the poet's daughter, who 
 had died many years before at the age of three. The 
 poet feels a sudden joy, and, impatient as the wind, he 
 turns to share his joy with his daughter, when he remem- 
 bers that she is dead. He wonders how he could forget 
 her for a moment, and says that his momentary forget- 
 fulness of her is the deepest grief he has experienced 
 except the grief he felt when she died. The sonnet 
 sounds so sincere, so full of deep, poignant grief that 
 we feel the poet is giving us a glance into his very heart. 
 
 Observe the sudden changes in thought, showing the 
 poet's excited mood. Read earnestly and musically. 
 Follow the rapid turns of thought, giving the impres- 
 sion of the quick succession of ideas. There is a solem- 
 nity in the last four lines, with their broad "o" of the 
 rhyming vowels and the heaviness of the sounds through- 
 out the lines. Read this part slowly and solemnly. 
 
 247 
 A very graceful, pretty poem, exquisitely phrased and 
 exceedingly musical. It is, however, somewhat obscure 
 in places, because the poet dees not wish to i^.se the names 
 
534 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 for the feelings, since, as lie bints, the names are often 
 misused. 
 
 one ivord: love, one feeling: the pleasure in being 
 loved, one liope, etc. : the hope of winning your love is 
 so slight that prudence does not take the trou])le to 
 destroy it. pity from, thee, etc. : the tender pity you 
 give me in my disappointed love is dearer than love 
 itself from some one else, ivilt thou accept not, etc. : wilt 
 thou not accept the worship that the heai't raises. 
 
 The simplicity, the earnestness and tenderness, the 
 grace, delicacy, and dignity of expression, and the beauty 
 of the language — all combine to make this poem a true 
 lyric. Read simply, earnestly, musically. 
 
 250 
 
 A spirited sea-song, or chantey. Its patriotic ardor, 
 its simplicity and directness, its buoyancy, its stirring, 
 spontaneous, rhythmic swing — put this among the 
 choicest chanteys in literature. Observe- that the first, 
 third, fifth, seventh, and ninth lines are unrhymed, the 
 absence of rhyme being compensated for by making the 
 lines longer and stronger, by emphatic alliteration and 
 assonance, and, in the seventh lines, by using internal 
 rhyme and shortening the line. Observe the effective 
 repetitions and the strong, musical refrain, the latter 
 being slightly varied in the third stanza and much varied 
 in the fourth. 
 
 Read with great energy and enthusiasm. Keep the 
 rhythm regular. There is an occasional variation of the 
 iambic measure, but the rhythm should march straight 
 ahead. 
 
 251 
 
 This lyric is based on the famous naval battle of the 
 Baltic fSea, off Copenhagen. The English, under Nelscm, 
 
NOTES 535 
 
 came in from the open sea and attaeked the Danes, who 
 fought in ships and floating batteries along the land- 
 ward side and were protected by land batteries. The 
 English shattered the Danish fleet, but were unable to 
 seize the vessels on account of the Danish land batteries. 
 Nelson then sent a flag of truce ashore asking permis- 
 sion to take possession of the disabled ships, for the 
 sake of the wounded sailors. 
 
 The metre is peculiar. The first line of each stanza 
 has two accents, the next three have three accents each, 
 the fifth has five, the next three have three each, and tlie 
 last has one. The movement suggests the sudden onset, 
 the fierce, rapid fighting, which culminates in the long 
 line, then diminishes to the solitary cannon-shot in the 
 last line. The feet are mingled iambuses and anapests. 
 The general movement is rapid. The strong words used 
 as rhymes and the succession of the same rhyme-sound 
 in the sixth, seventh, and eighth stanzas is striking. All 
 told, the sound is a wonderful echo of the meaning. 
 
 St. 1, Prince: the Crown Prince of Denmark. The 
 first two stanzas concentrate the attention on the Danes. 
 hurricane eclipse: the eclipse of the sun by a sudden 
 hurricane. St. 7, in light: in the banquets held in honor 
 of the battle. Eiou: an English captain killed in the 
 battle. St. 8, mermaid: everyone wishes that the poet 
 had left the mermaid out of the poem. It strikes a note 
 entirely out of tune. 
 
 Read throughout with great spirit, except the last part 
 of the seventh stanza and all of the eighth, where the 
 voice should be deep and solemn. Read rhythmically. 
 Let your reading of each stanza suggest the swelling 
 and sinking of the tumult of battle. The last line should 
 be strong, full, and heavy. It is a strongly dramatic 
 poem Avhen well read. 
 
536 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 252 
 
 This lyric is not only a great poem but a bit of sound 
 philosophy as well. Stanza one gives a poetic description 
 of duty. Stanzas two and three develop the thought 
 that there are some persons that do not need to be 
 guided and restrained by the sense of duty, as their 
 hearts lead them to do what is right, that the world will 
 be better when we can all rely upon the suggestions of 
 love rather than the commands of Duty, and that even 
 now we can obey the spirit of love, supplementing it 
 with a sense of duty. Stanza four is personal : the poet, 
 not having wished to subject himself to the limitations 
 of his freedom, confesses that he has often deferred 
 doing what he should in order to follow his own desires, 
 but now he wishes to be guided more by Duty. Stanza 
 five tells why the poet has changed his mind: it was no 
 spiritual disturbance or remorse that changed him, but 
 merely the longing for a steadfast guide, so that he 
 would not be at the mercy of his changeable desires. 
 Stanza six adds more description of Duty, the emphasis 
 being placed upon the pleasant and important func- 
 tions of Duty. The seventh stanza states that the poet 
 wishes Duty to serve humbler functions than those men- 
 tioned in the preceding stanza: to give him the spirit of 
 self-sacrifice and the steadfastness based on reason rather 
 than the fickleness of chance desires. 
 
 St. 1, Daughter of the Voice: perhaps, the echo. When 
 God's voice is heard, it starts echoes in the heart which 
 suggest duty. St. 4, untried: inexperienced, untested. 
 St. 5, unchartered freedom: freedom not limited by a 
 definite statement of privileges and duties. St. 6, low- 
 ers laugh before thee, etc. : the flowers and stars owe 
 their existence to their obedience to the laws of Duty, 
 since the flowers return in their season and the stars 
 
NOTES 537 
 
 remain in their station by obedience to physical laws. 
 St. 7, the light of truth, etc.: let me live in recognition 
 of the great laws that control the universe, in the reali- 
 zation of the fact that everything must be subject to 
 definite rules of behavior. 
 
 The poem is remarkable for the beautiful, suggestive 
 language in which the abstract truths are clothed. Not 
 often is bare ethics or philosophy robed in a garment 
 of such beauty. IMor cover, the language is musical : it 
 has a majesty and dignity and grandeur that accords 
 with the theme. Observe the assonance in many of the 
 beautiful lines; observe the hexameter that ends the 
 stanza, which adds a solemn, deliberate note of finality 
 to the stanza. 
 
 In your reading, let your primary aim be to bring 
 out the meaning. Study the language closely until you 
 have seen the significance of every phrase, then try to 
 make it all clear. Your reading should be slow, dignified, 
 meditative, rich and sonorous. 
 
 259 
 
 Most battle-poems paint the glory of warfare; but 
 this poem presents the awful aspect. The battle cele- 
 brated here was fought in the dead of winter. It began 
 in the early morning, before day. The French defeated 
 the Austrians with great slaughter. 
 
 Frank and Htm: French and Austrian. Munich: 
 cavalry from IMunich, capital of one of the Austrian 
 states. 
 
 The dark, gloomy *' atmosphere" of this lyric is re- 
 markable. This is produced both by the pictures and 
 the heavy, solemn, sullen sounds. The undertone is sad. 
 There is none of the ''glorious circumstance of war" in 
 the poem. Observe the broad, rich rhyming sounds. 
 
538 THE COLDEN TREASURY 
 
 which are made more emphatic by the fact that the 
 rhymes are in triplets. The last line of each stmza 
 has the same rhyme sound, a very musical sound. 
 
 The reading should be somewhat slow, and very deep, 
 sonorous, and solemn. Parts of the poem should suggest 
 a funeral knell. It is easy to make the meaning clear: 
 concentrate, then, on making the tones musically 
 effective. 
 
 260 
 
 One of the most effective sermons against war ever 
 preached. The children, with their usual inquisitive- 
 ness, ask most probing Cjuestions, which the old man 
 can answer only with the catch-w^ord, ''It was a famous 
 victory" — as if that settled the w^hole matter. It is, 
 in a sense, a satire, in which the two children and the 
 old man deliver an unconscious judgment on war and 
 its horrors. The effectiveness of it all is increased by the 
 naturalness and simplicity of thought and language. 
 
 The battle of Blenheim was fought by the Austrians 
 under Prince Eugene and the English under the Duke 
 of Llarlborough, against the French. The former won 
 after a hard-fought battle. 
 
 St. 7, yon little stream, etc. : close by yonder little 
 stream, the Nebel. 
 
 Read simply and naturally. Remember that Old 
 Kaspar is thoroughly sincere in all he says: do not try 
 to make his language sarcastic. You can bring out the 
 fundamental idea of the poem best by reading it directly 
 and naively. 
 
 261 
 
 The title is taken from a Latin sentence that means 
 ''It is sweet to die for one's native land." The words 
 are supposed to be spoken by Robert Emmett, an Irish 
 patriot, who was executed for his part in v.w uprising. 
 
NOTES 539 
 
 He is supposed to be speakinji' to Ireland. The "foes" 
 are the English. 
 
 The metre is graceful — too graceful for the theme. 
 Read simply and musically, with all the sincerity 
 possible. 
 
 264 
 
 The grace, pathos, simplicity, sincerity, and lyric 
 melody of this famous poem are beyond praise. Observe 
 that the language is not at all what we usually term 
 "poetic"; indeed, in some places, it is colloquial. 
 Observe also that there is no rhyme and no definite 
 rhythm, yet it is a charming poem. To any one who 
 knows Charles Lamb the poem is doubly beautiful, for 
 it breathes Charles Lamb in every liiie. 
 
 The friend that the poet left "like an ingrate" was 
 Charles Lloyd; the "friend of my bosom" was the poet 
 Coleridge. 
 
 Read with the utmost simplicity and sincerity and 
 pathos. Do not try to scan the lines: the poem is to 
 read, not analyze. Read the refrain line, with its beau- 
 tiful, haunting suggestiveness, softly, sadly, musically. 
 
 267 
 
 In this poem Wordsworth discovers a parallel between 
 a flower and man. When the lesser celandine is young, 
 it has the power of closing up against the cold and 
 •storms; but when it grows older, it loses this power and 
 is unprotected. So with man. He is first the favorite 
 . of the spendthrift Youth, then is the dependant of the 
 miser Age. Man would be happy if he could have in 
 his old age some of the qualities and powers of youth. 
 
 and in my spleen, etc. : in my ill-humor I said that it 
 was getting old and "gray" — like an old man. 
 
 Read to bring out the central idea : the difference be- 
 
540 - THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 tween the youth and age of the flower, and the compari- 
 son of the flower with man. Read simply and rhythmic- 
 ally. Read the last stanza with earnestness. 
 
 270 
 
 The poet describes the beautiful Italian landscape at 
 noon (stanzas one and two). He speaks of his deep 
 dejection (last line of stanza two and all of stanza 
 three) ; then tells how his dejection is softened by the 
 mildness of the scene. It is a genuine transcript from 
 Shelley's life: his love for nature's charms, his sensitive- 
 ness to all influences from nature, and his proneness to 
 sudden fits of dejection, are characteristics of the poet. 
 When one remembers that Shelley was drowned, the last 
 stanza has a unique interest: it is almost a prophecy. 
 
 Is it within the powder of words to paint a more beau- 
 tiful landscape than this? The ''atmosphere" of the 
 poem is mild, calm, and balmy: the quiet beauty of the 
 scene is felt by the reader as it was by the poet. Observe 
 the soft; melodious combinations of sounds, the half- 
 concealed alliteration and assonance, the rich, sonorous 
 rhyme-words. Observe, too, the steady, quiet flow of 
 the metre, which is varied only in the last line of each 
 stanza to make a strong, full close to the thought and 
 melody. 
 
 St. 1, like many a voice, etc.: the city's voice is soft 
 like Solitude's, like many another voice that brings to 
 the hearer the same delight: voices like the winds', etc. 
 St. 2, liglitning: the flashes of sunlight reflected from 
 the surface of the ocean. St. 3, the sage: perhaps not 
 referring to any particular wise man — at least, the de- 
 scription would apply to many. 
 
 Read slowly, quietly, meditatively, and, above all, 
 
NOTES 541 
 
 musically. Linger over the soft touches of melody. Some 
 of the sentences are long: if you read them well, they 
 suggest the slow, sustained breathing of the sea. Read 
 the last line slowly and with all the vibrant richness 
 your voice can command. The last line of the third 
 stanza is irregular in accent: it should be read 
 To me' that cup' has been dealt' in an-oth'-er meas'-ure. 
 Stress ''me" strongly and make a decided pause after 
 ''dealt", and, though you can connt only five accents, 
 you can feel six. Read simply : observe how simple the 
 words and ideas are. Read rhythmically, but follow 
 the natural phrasing rather than the monotonous pull 
 of the rhythm. 
 
 272 
 
 An exquisite bit of humor and fancy, couched in a 
 graceful, delicate verse. 
 
 Mermaid Tavern: an inn in London, where Shake- 
 speare, Ben Jonson, and other poets and wits were V\'ont 
 to gather, hoivse: "boose", an astrologer's old quill, etc. : 
 an astrologer wrote down the explanation on a bit of 
 parchment with his old pen. netv-old sign: the sign of 
 the Mermaid Tavern, which had blown away. It was 
 old because long used on earth; and new, because just 
 lately used in the Zodiac. If you will consult a dic- 
 tionary, you will observe that the points of the zodiac 
 are represented by certain figures. One of these is a 
 maiden. Doubtless it was this sign that the astrologer 
 thought to be the sign of the Mermaid, or sea-maiden. 
 
 The metre is the rapid-flowing trochaic tetrameter. 
 Read brightly, lightly, rhythmically. Enjoy the spirit 
 of fun, the gay fancy, and the graceful-tripping rhythm, 
 and make your enjoyment felt. 
 
542 'J^^ilJ^ COLDEN TREASURY 
 
 274 
 
 The most remarkable feature of this lyric is the metre. 
 It is dactyllic dimeter: only two feet to the line, those 
 feet the difficult dactylls, and most of the rhymes dac- 
 tyllic — that is, with two unaccented syllables after the 
 accented syllable. An occasional variation from this 
 serves to emphasize the prevailing movement. It is a 
 very difficult and unusual metre. The poet has done 
 extremely well with it, and has managed to convey, by 
 the lightness and fragility of the form, some impression 
 of the fragility of the life of the '' Unfortunate." It is 
 questionable, however, whether the choppiness of the 
 verse makes it a fit poetic form' of the theme. The rhyme- 
 plan and stanza-length are irregular, to suit the thought. 
 The earnestness, sincerity, and delicacy, the thorough 
 understanding and sympathy with the dead woman are 
 fine and noble. 
 
 Read the poem until you feel the pathos of the situa- 
 tion and can clearly visualize the pictures. Then read 
 aloud, tend3rly, sympathetically, musically. The strict 
 rhythm will tempt you to read too rapidly and trip- 
 pingly : counteract this tendency by reading deliberately 
 and lingeringly, as if to let the ideas sink home to the 
 mind. 
 
 278 
 
 From ''The Lady of the Lake." It is the funeral song 
 over the dead body of a Scottish chief, who died in 
 middle age. The metre is anapestic, varied with iambs, 
 and there is an extra syllable at the end of every line, 
 making the rhymes feminine. Observe the numerous 
 simple but suggestive figures of speech, all drawn from 
 natural surroundings. 
 
 font: fountain, spring, the hand of the reaper, etc.: 
 it is expected that death will take the aged; but men 
 
NOTES 
 
 543 
 
 weep over manhood snatched away in its prime. The 
 same idea is expressed in tlie next four lines. HusJi'nu): 
 full vigor. 
 
 There is something peculiarly wild and vigorous in 
 this lyric. It is the funeral song of a half-barbarous 
 chief: naturally, one would not expect to find the soft, 
 gentle, mourning note of the refined. Read vigorously, 
 rhythmically, yet sincerely and passionately, in the full 
 realization of the feeling of the mourners. 
 
 279 
 
 The grace, delicacy, tenderness, the softness and sweet- 
 ness of the music, the simple yet effective use of contrast 
 — all this* makes Hood's lyric a striking contrast to 
 Scott's, though they are both on the same general 
 theme. 
 
 Read simply, softly, tenderly, musically. The pictures 
 are vivid : endeavor to see them clearly and express them 
 clearly. Do not let a harsh sound mar the perfect beauty 
 of melody. 
 
 281 
 
 A story told by means of hints. The first stanza is 
 the poet's introduction. In the second, third, and fourth 
 stanzas Rosabelle's friends are trying to persuade her 
 not to attempt to cross the stormy inlet of the sea, not 
 only because it is a dangerous crossing but because cer- 
 tain inauspicious omens have been heard and seen. In 
 the fifth and sixth stanzas Rosabelle announces her in- 
 tention of crossing. A ball is to be given at her home in 
 Roslin castle, and her lover,- Lindesay, is to be there — 
 though Rosabelle protests that her desire to go home is 
 not so much to see him as to please her father and 
 mother. The remainder of the ballad tells the sequel : 
 all that night a mysterious light blazes over Roslin 
 
544 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Castle and in Roslin Chapel, a light that always fore- 
 tells a death in the family; and Rosabelle is drowned 
 in the firth. That is the bare outline of the story, but 
 it does not reveal the rich suggestiveness of detail, the 
 half-told, half concealed situations and incidents. The 
 demand made on the imagination is great; but the re- 
 ward is great. Just sufficient is told to pique our imagi- 
 nation and set our minds constructing the whole story, 
 and there the poet stops, allowing us to feel the pathos 
 of the situation. Scott is a master at this kind of work, 
 and this is one of his best poems in that respect. 
 
 St. 1, ladies gay: addressed to ladies, rather than to 
 gentlemen because the story appeals to women. St. 3, 
 inch: island. St. 4, tvet shroud: foretelling death by 
 drowning. St. 10, pale: enclosure, foliage-hound: orna- 
 mented with foliage, either bound on the pillars or cut 
 into the pillar. St. 13 candle, hook^ and knell: referring 
 to the ceremonies used at funerals. 
 
 Read until you have seen all the pictures in your 
 mind's eye and have come under the spell of the story; 
 then read simply, clearly, aud musically. Bring out 
 the story : suggest the speakers by your manner of read- 
 ing; show the importance of such lines as "But the sea 
 holds lovely Rosabelle, ' ' by your tone and the emphasis. 
 The general undertone is solemnity and mystery. Make 
 your voice as flexible as you can to bring out all the emo- 
 tional and musical effects. It is a wonderful poem when 
 well read: thrilling and dramatic, and restrained and 
 artistic. 
 
 286 
 
 This poem, the next, and No. 290 are characteristic 
 of the three poets. Wordsworth's "To the Skylark" 
 is musical, sweet, temperate, and restrained, with less of 
 ecstasy and lofty imagination; Shelley's "To a Sky- 
 
NOTES 545 
 
 lark" is gay, spontaneous, highly fanciful, full of "fine 
 frenzy", adorned with poetic beauties; Keats' "Ode to 
 a Nightingale" is sustained, personal, replete with sug- 
 gestive and unusual ideas and phrases, very imaginative. 
 Wordsworth's calm, contented nature, Shelley's sensi- 
 tive, emotional temperament, and Keats' aspiring, 
 beauty-loving spirit are all suggested by these poems. 
 
 St. 1, canst drop into at ivill: it is said that the sky- 
 lark can descend from a great height in a single dip 
 and literally "drop into" her nest. St. 2, twixt thee 
 and thine, etc. : the song is a never-failing bond because, 
 though the bird is out of sight, the music can still be 
 heard. St. 3, privacy of glorious light: a suggestive 
 oxymoron. It suggests Emerson's phrase, "the tumul- 
 tuous privacy of storm." The "privacy" here is the 
 privacy of the bird when out of sight, instinct more 
 divine: because of the idea stated in the following lines. 
 
 Read musically, clearly, simply. A certain mild hap- 
 piness should be expressed in the tones and expression. 
 
 287 
 
 Read the poem through first to discoTer the broad divi- 
 sions of the lyric. Perhaps Shelley did not write from 
 an outline, but the stanzas fall into groups. St. 1 is an 
 invocation to the bird ; stanzas 2-6 are a general descrip- 
 tion of the bird and its song; stanzas 7-12 contain at- 
 tempts to find an apt comparison to the skylark ; stanzas 
 13-21 develop a comparison between the bird and man, 
 with a more personal reference to the poet himself in 
 the last stanza. 
 
 The metre is unusual. The first and third lines are 
 trochaic trimeter, the second and fourth lines are the 
 same except that they lack the unaccented syllable at 
 the end of the line; the fifth line is iambic hexameter. 
 
54G THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 Irregularities are allowed throughout, for variety. The 
 trochaic movement gives lightness and gayety, the femi- 
 nine rhymes add a pretty musical touch, the long- iambic 
 line provides a full, impressive, and melodious close to 
 the stanza. The ''profuse strains of unpremeditated 
 art" of the skylark are clearly suggested in the move- 
 ment of the verse. 
 
 Shelley has lavished upon the poem a wealth of beauty 
 — beauty of thought, of fancy, of phrase, of sound. 
 These the student should discover and appreciate for 
 himself. 
 
 St. 1, profuse: Recent on both syllables. St. 3, an 
 nnhodied joy: a spirit just freed from the body. St. 5, 
 silver sphere: the moon, or the star mentioned in pre- 
 ceding stanza, narrows: grows dim, St. 8, in the light 
 of thought: as the skylark is hidden in the sunlight. St. 
 15, fountains: sources, inspiration. St. 16, languor: ap- 
 parently, lack or loss of enthusiasm. St. 17, deem: 
 think, ''of death" modifies "things." St. 19, if: even 
 if. 
 
 Alliteration and beautiful assonance characterize 
 almost every stanza. Bright, clear, joyful music should 
 be heard in the reading. Do not make the rhythm too 
 strict: phrase according to the sense rather than the 
 demands of strict scansion. Accelerate or retard the 
 movement at any point to bring out the musical phras- 
 ing. The last line of each stanza should be rich, sus- 
 tained, and expressive. 
 
 290 
 
 Surely the words of this poem come as near to the 
 
 expression of an emotion, of a mood, as mere words can 
 
 come. Keats, sensitive and impressionable, was moved 
 
 more than most men by beauty; and, more than most 
 
NOTES 547 
 
 men, he had the power to express his feelings. As the 
 i-jong of the nightingale moved Keats, so his poem should 
 move us : we should give ourselves up to the deep, sensu- 
 ous, impassioned mood of the poet, and follow his emo- 
 tion as called forth by the beauty of the bird 's song and 
 the thoughts of his own life. 
 
 We must not fail to remember that Keats is in thor- 
 ough earnest in all he says. His life was, for the most 
 part, full of gloom. He knew himself to be a great poet, 
 yet his poetry w^as caustically criticized; he longed for 
 strength and life that he migl.t realize the fullness of 
 his powers, yet he was always frail and knew that he 
 could not live long; he was deeply in love, yet had no 
 hope of every marrying. Moreover, his brother had 
 recently died. The tender, delicate, sensitive spirit 
 could not but sink occasionally into depths of dejection ; 
 his dejection, as here described, is natural and sincere, 
 not a mere passing cloud. Yet his joy in the bird's song 
 is just as deep and true. Beauty of any kind really 
 put Keats in a sort of trance. Let us keep this in mind 
 as we read. 
 
 In stanza 1 the effect of the bird's song is described 
 as having the same effect upon the poet as an opiate. 
 Stanzas 2-3 express a wish for some drink that will 
 enable him to forget his sorrows and flee with the night- 
 ingale. In stanzas 4-5 the poet imagines he has fled with 
 the bird on the "wings of poesy." Stanza 6 develops 
 the thought that, since the poet has wished many times 
 to die, he doubly desires it now, while the nightingale 
 is pouring forth such music. Stanza 7 speaks of the 
 immortality of the bird, as contrasted with the poet's 
 mortality. In stanza 8 Keats is brought back to a 
 realization of his ovrn desolation, from which he has been 
 enticed by the train of thoughts. 
 
548 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 St. 1, drains: dregs. Lethe-wards: towards forgetfnl- 
 ness. St. 2, Proveugal song: the music of Provence was 
 gay and lively, hliishfid: blushing. Hippocrene: a 
 fountain in Mount Helicon, the haunt of the Muses. 
 Keats fancies that the w^ater would look and taste like 
 wine, so animating would it be. mouth: of the beaker, 
 or goblet. St. 3, new love pine at them, etc.: (this 
 v/orld) where fickle love cannot pine at the loss of the 
 beauty of his mistress more than one day, but seeks 
 another mistress. St. 4, not charioted hy Bacchus and 
 his pards: not carried to .you by wine-drinking. Bacchus 
 was god of w^ine. He once drove a team of tigers round 
 the world in his chariot, save what from heaven, etc.: 
 except the faint light that comes in when the wind blows 
 the leaves and branches aside. St. 5, pastoral eglantine: 
 the eglantine was a rose often mentioned in pastoral 
 poetry. St. 6, for many a time: because many a time. 
 to thy high requiem, etc. : become as insensible as the 
 ground to thy noble funeral song. St. 7, thou: in con- 
 trast to the poet, clown: peasant, alien' corn: see 
 ''Ruth," chap. 2. magic casements, etc.: these words 
 are full of suggestiveness, but perhaps no two persons 
 get the same picture. Perhaps the image is of a lady 
 imprisoned by an enchanter in a castle near a sea. She 
 opens the window to hear the nightingale's song. St. 8, 
 the fancy cannot cheat so ivell, etc.: I have been alloAV- 
 ing myself to imagine that I have been caught up with 
 the nightingale and have been thinking of Ruth and 
 fairy-land; but now I find that imagination, though a 
 deceitful spirit, cannot deceive me as completely as it is 
 said to do. 
 
 The poem is full of beautiful pictures, rich fancy, 
 melodious music. The soft, liquid sounds, the onomato- 
 poeic effects, tne assonances, the broad, open, clear- 
 

 NOTES 549 
 
 ringing vowels — all this contributes to the wonderful 
 music for which the poem is noted. The movement is 
 slow, somewhat grave and stately. The metre and the 
 rhyme-scheme are regular, and the lines are all of the 
 same length except the eighth line, which has but three 
 accents. This regularity of movement helps produce 
 the quiet, meditative, dream-like impression. The short 
 line near the end of the stanza produces a slight retarda- 
 tion of the movement just before the full, rich, swelling 
 movement of the last two lines. 
 
 The key-tone of the lyric is gloom softened by the love 
 of beauty. The voice should be low-pitched and vibrant ; 
 the reading should be slow and graceful, rich and mu- 
 sical. Put yourself in subjection to the mood of the 
 poet and let your voice follow the changes and modu- 
 lations of the mood. If you feel deeply, you will prob- 
 ably read well. Do not try to read too rhythmically. 
 Read and re-read, letting your voice linger on the 
 melodious lines and passages, and inhaling the full fra- 
 grance of this flower of poesy. 
 
 293 
 
 A picture, and a lesson. The picture is painted with 
 vigor and vividness, and the lesson is drawn with admir- 
 able restraint. The contrast between Ozymandias' arro- 
 gant assurance of being remembered and our total igno- 
 rance and carelessness of who Ozymandias was, the con- 
 trast between the boastful inscription of the monument 
 and the decay and desolation of the scene — is powerful, 
 all the more powerful because Shelley merely states the 
 facts and allows the reader to draw conclusions. Observe 
 the specific, picturesque words. Observe the onomato- 
 poeic effect of the last three lines. 
 
 the hand that mocked them, etc. : the hand of the 
 
550 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 sculptor that copied the sneer, lip, and frown, and the 
 heart of Ozymandias that nourished them, ''hand" and 
 ''heart" are the object of "survive." 
 
 Read the first nine lines in a rather conversational 
 tone, trying only to make the ideas clear and forceful. 
 Read the inscription pompously, arrogantly. Make a 
 pause after these words, then read the last three lines 
 slowly, solemnly, musically, almost like a chant. Let 
 the voice grow fainter toward the end until it becomes 
 almost inaudible. Give the effect of the vastness of the 
 desert and the pathos of the situation. 
 
 297 
 
 "When Wordsworth was traveling through the High- 
 lands of Scotland, he saw the Scotch girl here described 
 and immortalized. He did not know her, of course ; and 
 never saw her again. But the scene and the picture of 
 the maiden remained with him all his life, flashing at 
 intervals upon his "inward eye." Wordsworth was 
 very sensitive to such scenes as this — scenes in which 
 nature and humanity mingle ; so that he is able to feel 
 and express an emotion far more keenly than most of us. 
 The simplicity, both of idea and phrase ; the quiet beauty 
 of the sound and movement ; the accurate and suggestive 
 pictures ; the wealth of pure, natural feeling — this makes 
 the poem worth our reading and appreciation. 
 
 Observe that there are four sections, each of which 
 ends with three lines rhyming, the other lines rhyming 
 in couplets. Examine the sections for the outline, and 
 read the lines closely for the admirably descriptive 
 words. 
 
 Read quietly, yet sincerely and earnestly. The regular 
 recurrence of the accent and rhyme should help pro- 
 duce the atmosphere of calm and tranquil pleasure; l)ut 
 
NOTES 551 
 
 you should take heed that your reading be not monot- 
 onous. The sounds are soft and melodious: make your 
 voice a true musical instrument. 
 
 300 
 
 Ariel is a spirit in Shakespeare's ''Tempest, "a serv- 
 ant to Prospero the magician. Prospero's daughter 
 Miranda and Prince Ferdinand were going to Naples 
 to be married, and Prospero commissioned Ariel to guard 
 the ship that carried them. This is Shakespeare's idea. 
 But Shelley carried the idea farther : Miranda has been 
 re-incarnated from that time on, and Ariel is still guard- 
 ing her. Now she lives in the person of Shelley 's friend, 
 Jane Williams. Shelley sends her a guitar, in which 
 Ariel is imprisoned and from which he speaks to her. 
 It is a pretty fancy — pretty in conception and fine and 
 delicate in its details. Perhaps the germ of the idea is 
 the facts that the front of this guitar was made of pine 
 and that Ariel had been imprisoned in a cloven pine tree. 
 
 The poem is divided into two sections : the first devel- 
 oping the history of Ariel and Miranda ; the second, the 
 creation and nature of the guitar. Observe the light, 
 delicate maisic of the octosyllabics, which exactly accords 
 with the gay fancy. Observe the onomatopoeic effects 
 throughout, especially in lines 65-75. 
 
 The poem will need close study in places, for the fan- 
 cies are fine and close-inwrought. Get these difficulties 
 out of the way before you attempt to read aloud. Read 
 lightly and brightly. Remember that it is a spirit 
 speaking: endeavor to give your rendering of the poem 
 a delicate, ethereal, fairy-like tone. Read rhythmically 
 and trippingly, enunciating clearly and musically. Fol- 
 low the phrasing : do not end the ideas at the end of the 
 lines unless the sense suggests it. Some one has said the 
 
552 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 musical note of the poem resembles the tone of the 
 guitar: see if you can hear that tone and suggest it in 
 your reading. 
 
 302 
 
 A poem in the lighter vein. Wordsworth is sporting 
 with his fancy, playing with similes. It reminds one of 
 part of Shelley's "To a Skylark," though in that poem 
 the series of similes is more dignified and elaborate. But 
 "Wordsworth's poem is not all lightness; every now and 
 then, as in the last stanza, he displays his tenderness 
 and sympathy with the flower. His attitude is much 
 like that of one teasing a beloved child, calling it all 
 sorts of pretty names in the exuberance of his fancy 
 and affection. Observe the light, graceful, capricious 
 metre. Observe the yielding, flexible feminine rhymes, 
 falling upon the ear with a pleasant jingle. 
 
 St. 1, types: typificatiOns, symbols. 
 
 In your reading show clearly that the poet and you are 
 merely playing a pretty game. Eead lightly, gayly. 
 Here and there a note of pretended seriousness should 
 be heard, as in the first part of stanza four. When the 
 poet gives up his play-idea and shows his deeper emo- 
 tion, follow him. The last two lines of stanza five and 
 all of stanza six are sincere and earnest : make that man- 
 ifest by your reading. 
 
 305 
 This poem is based on an incident of the Words- 
 M^orths' tour through the Highlands. The poet and his 
 sister Dorothy had walked down the Tweed river to 
 Clovenford. From here it was but a short walk to a 
 ridge overlooking the Yarrow valley. Dorothy, ("my 
 winsome marrow") wished to turn aside to Yarrow^ but 
 her brother over-persuaded her, perhaps with arguments 
 
NOTES 553 
 
 similar to these in the poem: that their time can be 
 spent to better advantage in viewing other seenes, and 
 that the picture they have in their minds of Yarrow is 
 more beautiful than the real Yarrow could be. 
 
 The spirit in which the poem is conceived and exe- 
 cuted is half-playful, half-serious. The movement is 
 vigorous and rhythmic ; the diction somewhat conversa- 
 tional; the images intentionally rather prosaic. The 
 poet is assuming a half-contemptuous tone in order to 
 persuade his sister to agree to his plans. Observe the 
 playful, almost humorous effect of the feminine rhymes. 
 
 Be sure that you catch the spirit of the poem and the 
 mood of the poet before you attempt to read aloud. 
 Kead lightly, brightly, gayly. Keep up. the regular flow 
 of the rhythm, and give a graceful, dancing swing to 
 the verses. 
 
 307 
 
 Addressed to Jane Williams. The title suggests the 
 leading thought of the poem : an invitation to Mrs. Wil- 
 liams to join the poet in a walk. The poem excels in 
 vivid and vigorous description of the Italian winter 
 and landscape. The movement is bright, the tones 
 staccato. 
 
 The pools where tvinter rams, etc. : the pools filled 
 with winter rains, the pools reflecting the leaves of the 
 trees above, stems that never kiss the sun: because 
 covered with the twining ivy and the "sapless green." 
 the daisy-star that never sets: the daisy is called a star 
 because of its shape, and it is spoken of as never setting 
 because it blooms almost through the year, yet join not 
 scent to hue: the early flowers have as yet no scent. 
 
 The spirit of the season, the mood of the poet, and 
 the images and movement all suggest that the reading 
 should be energetic, gay, sprightly, rhythmic. However, 
 
554 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 the rliytlim should be interrupted whenever foUowing 
 the strict rhythm would garble the meaning. Such in- 
 terruptions are not blemishes : they give variety ; they 
 throw emphasis upon important words ; they really make 
 the swing more pronounced by calling attention to it 
 through departing from it for the moment. 
 
 309 
 
 Written on the beach at Dover. The calm grandeur 
 of nature made a powerful appeal to Wordsworth's 
 serene personality. Notice that the first eight lines of 
 the sonnet develop one thought : the tranquility of the 
 scene ; while the last six lines take up a related thought : 
 the effect of the scene upon the poet's companion. Ob- 
 serve the many onomatopoeic effects, both of sound and 
 movement. Observe the soft consonants and pretty 
 vowels of the first two lines ; observe how the idea of 
 "breathless adoration" is intensified by the trochee at 
 the beginning of line three and by the huddling together 
 of the syllables of the first three words; observe the 
 strong spondee in the last foot of the third line, which, 
 by its very sound, emphasizes the idea; observe the 
 liquids in the fourth line and the way in which the 
 sounds and movement suggest the sinking of the sun; 
 observe, in the eighth line, the suggestion of the insistent 
 beating of the waves on the shore. The first eight lines 
 are full of musical assonances. 
 
 thou liest in Abraham's bosom, etc.: thou art blessed 
 with divine favors all the time, so do not appear touched 
 by such a scene as this ; but we are given such moments 
 of joy but seldom. The person addressed is the poet's 
 sister Dorothy. 
 
 Read quietly, meditatively, earnestly, musically. Try 
 to express the undertone : quiet, serene joy ; and try to 
 
NOTES 555 
 
 bring out the various onomatopoeic effects. Stand with 
 the poet on the shore of the ocean and try to feel with 
 him the benign power of the scene ; then endeavor to give 
 your emotion adequate utterance. 
 
 313 
 
 The most noteworthy features of this lyric are the 
 onomatopoeic effects, the artful breaking of the rhythm 
 by pauses, the delightful pictures, and the skilful phras- 
 ing. Observe the soft, murmuring sounds of the first 
 quatrain and the melancholy note of the last line in the 
 second quatrain. Notice the decided pause within lines 
 two, four, and six. 
 
 stealth: the poet has been trying to win Sleep by 
 stealth by thinking of sights and sounds that would 
 induce sleep. 
 
 Read the first quatrain softly, musically, trying to 
 suggest the drowsiness of the sounds. Begin the next 
 quatrain in a simple, quiet, natural key; but in the last 
 part suggest the notes of the small birds and the cuckoo. 
 Read the last six lines with more earnestness. The last 
 two lines should be a sincere exhortation. 
 
 316 
 Coleridge dreamed this poem. Pie had been reading 
 an account of how Kubla Khan had erected a palace and 
 laid out grounds. While the poet was asleep, he dreamed 
 that he had composed two or three hundred lines — 
 though it wa's not composing in the ordinary sense of 
 the word, since '^the images rose up before him as 
 things, with a parallel production of the correspondent 
 expressions, without any sensation or consciousness of 
 effort." When he awoke, he wrote down, "instantly 
 and eagerly" the first part of his dream-poem. He was 
 
556 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 interrupted; and afterwards he found it impossible to 
 recollect the remainder. The strange origin and com- 
 position of the poem doubtless account in part for its 
 highly imaginative nature, the weird images, the dream- 
 like fabric, and the irregular, spontaneous music. 
 
 English literature has few poems as magical as this 
 one. From the very first line we are caught up into 
 a strange, new country, beautiful but vague and 
 shadowy; weird, uncanny suggestions agitate us; mel- 
 odies, sweet yet solemn, fall upon our ears. Surely the 
 way to enjoy the poem is to imitate Coleridge: as he 
 composed not in words but in ideas, let us read by ideas, 
 by images. There is a kind of poetry that requires close 
 and constant study, and there is a kind that requires 
 sympathetic insight, free yielding to the spell of the 
 poet. "Kubla Khan" belongs to the latter class. 
 Coleridge once spoke of ''that willing suspension of dis- 
 belief which constitutes poetic faith." We need pre- 
 cisely that attitude in reading this lyric. 
 
 If any one cares to analyze the poem, he will dis- 
 cover some of the reasons for its charm. The frequent 
 alliteration and assonance; the onomatopoeic effects of 
 sound and movement. (Could any line be more music- 
 ally suggestive than "Five miles meandering wdth a 
 mazy motion"? Repeat the line a few times and see 
 how it haunts you) ; the eerie images, the irregular 
 metre, which coincides precisely with the shade of 
 thought ; the happily-found phrases — all this can be 
 discovered and analyzed. But the charm- of the poem 
 defies analysis : it yields its highest pleasure to the one 
 that permits himself to be caught up with the poet in 
 his wonderful dream. 
 
 No specific suggestions can be given for the reading. 
 
NOTES 557 
 
 The poem should be read musically, of course ; and it 
 should be read expressively — slowly at times, rapidly at 
 others; rhythmically, but with changes in movement 
 whenever the phrase or thought demand it. The student 
 should read the poem over and over ; then if he has any 
 power of expression, he will read well. 
 
 317 
 
 A poet here gives his conception of the nature and 
 equipment of the poet. The thought of the first two 
 quatrains is that the poet gets his ideas from within, 
 through the "inner vision." He enjoys Nature, but 
 having once looked upon a scene, he prefers to create a 
 scene of his own or to meditate upon what has been 
 suggested to him. The last six lines state that thought- 
 fulness, meditation, imagination, and love supply the 
 equipment of the poet. If they are absent, there can be 
 no poetry. The senses may perceive well or ill, may 
 or may not bring to the poet hints and inspiration ; if 
 Thought and Love are endowments of the poet, the poet 
 will be inspired. This is a poor paraphrase: Words- 
 worth has expressed the matter both clearly and beauti- 
 fully ; and once w^e perceive his thought, we should adopt 
 his own language. 
 
 Read quietly, meditatively, earnestly. Bring out the 
 thought clearly. 
 
 322 
 
 One hardly knows where to begin in analyzing this 
 great lyric. Let us take first the main divisions of 
 thought. The first stanza takes up the wind as a scat- 
 terer of the leaves and wind ; the second stanza, as a 
 driver of the clouds ; the third, as a mover of the ocean 
 storms. The fourth stanza begins the personal applica- 
 
558 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 tion : ''If I were a dead leaf or a cloud or a wave, or 
 if I were even as hopeful and enthusiastic as I was when 
 I was a boy, then I would not have to call upon you to 
 listen to my prayer." The fifth stanza makes a figura- 
 tive and personal application of the thought of the first 
 stanza. The poet desires to be animated with the spirit 
 of the Avest wind, that his thoughts may be driven like 
 leaves over the earth to arouse the emotions of others. 
 
 Notice, next, the wealth of figurative language. The 
 poem is a chain of figures. Scarcely is one finished when 
 another succeeds, yet each one is appropriate and each 
 one thought-provoking. In the first stanza, the wind is 
 the breath of Autumn's being, the leaves flee before the 
 Avind like gltosts from an enchanter, the leaves are hectic 
 red, 'pestilence-stricken, the wind is a charioteer, the 
 seeds lie like corpses, the spring wind is the sister of the 
 West Wind, the blowing of the spring wind is a clarion, 
 the winter-bound earth is dreaming, the spring wind 
 calling out the buds is driving the buds like flocks to feed 
 on air. The poet thinks in figures. Observe the splendid 
 figures in the last stanza. Indeed, this poem would have 
 neither force, beauty, or truth, if it were divested of its 
 figures of speech. And the rapid succession of figures 
 assists in creating the impression of the impassioned 
 mood of the poet. 
 
 The musical (jualities of the lyric are as remarkable as 
 the intellectual and emotional qualities. The full, rich, 
 sustained music is one of the first characteristics. The 
 metre is, normally, iambic pentameter, but hardly a line 
 is regular. Trochees and spondees occur frequently. 
 The iambuses are skilfully varied. The clauses often 
 end within the line. Several feminine rhymes are used. 
 The metre, then, is irregular — but artistically irregular. 
 
NOTES 559 
 
 It is rapid and vehement, or slow and solemn, as befits 
 the thought in the particular line ; the shifting of the 
 accent throws emphasis upon strong words and allows 
 onomatopoeic effects of movement. Through the whole 
 poem there sounds a rich, full, sustained note, both 
 splendid and melancholy. The poet has made the poem 
 musical also by the sounds. Notice the frecjuent allitera- 
 tion and delightful assonance. Study, for example, the 
 third stanza : observe the liquids in the third line and 
 others; the "s's" and "b's" in line four, and the "s's" 
 and ''a's" and "I's" in line five; the solemn ''o's" in 
 the last four lines of the stanza. It is wonderful music. 
 
 St. 2, angels: messengers, are spread: the subject is 
 ^'the locks." L. 10, ivhich: the antecedent is "dirge." 
 St. 4, only less free, etc. : freer than anything else but 
 you. vision: visionary, impossible. St. 5, both: both the 
 forest and myself, prophecy: namely, that a better day 
 is dawning, that the gloomy winter will be followed by 
 the bright spring. 
 
 The lyric is sincere, impassioned, and personal. Let 
 your reading reflect this. Passionate intensity should 
 be manifest throughout, especially in the last two stanzas. 
 Strive to make the meaning absolutely clear: some of 
 the long, involved sentences will require close attention 
 in this respect. You should shovv^ the outline of thought : 
 do this emphasizing the different ideas as you take them 
 up. Do not try to make the poem rhythmic : follow the 
 thought, hastening or retarding the movement to fit the 
 natural turn of thought. Endeavor to make both move- 
 ment and sound form a sort of echo to the meaning. 
 Dwell on the rich, beautiful lines and passages and 
 listen to the musical undertone. This is one of the great 
 poems of literature: the oftener you read it, the more 
 
560 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 will you appreciate it and the more perfectly will you 
 be able to express the thought, the feeling, and the 
 music. 
 
 323 
 
 The poet gives us a clue to the interpretation of the 
 poem. It was suggested by a picture of Peele Castle in 
 a storm, the Castle being on a small island. Words- 
 worth states that he had lived for a month in sight of 
 the Castle, but had seen it only in calm weather. If 
 he had then painted the Castle, he would have made it 
 a scene of quiet beauty. But now he is possessed by a 
 different feeling. His brother John has recently been 
 drowned in a storm at sea. The poet can not now 
 paint a quiet sea, for the grief at his brother's death has 
 colored his feeling for the sea. The poet then commends 
 the picture for its spirit and fidelity to nature, then 
 closes with the thought that the heart that does not 
 suffer with human emotions is to be pitied, that one 
 should not always expect to see the ocean in a calm or 
 to live free from sorrow. 
 
 The simplicity, the sincerity, and the wonderful 
 phrasal power are obvious. The poem has deep feeling 
 and expresses very beautifully an eternal truth. A 
 quiet, sweet music sounds throughout. There is little 
 adornment or elaboration : the thought is stated with 
 such consummate skill that it needs no rhetorical em- 
 phasis. 
 
 Eead quietly, musically, sincerely, simply. See to it 
 that your reading makes clear the thought upon which 
 the feeling is based. 
 
 327 
 
 This sonnet, especially the first eight lines, has a Mil- 
 tonic ring. The ''royal Saint" who founded the college 
 
NOTES 561 
 
 was Henry VI. It was originally designed for only a 
 '^scanty band" of students called ''scholars" and ''fel- 
 lows." They were, and are now, the "members of the 
 foundation." They may wear white gowns at chapel 
 services. Students that pay tuition are comparatively 
 modern, and they are yet strictly distinguished from the 
 scholars and fellows. They are not allowed to wear 
 white. 
 
 The first eight lines develop the thought that we should 
 not blame the founder and the architect for planning 
 and executing such a splendid building for such a small 
 band. We must give all we have to give: Heaven does 
 not want us to measure our deeds by the rules of arith- 
 metic. The last six lines give a description of the in- 
 terior of the Chapel, the ceiling of which is very in- 
 tricately fashioned. 
 
 with ill-matched aims: designs too pretentious for the 
 purpose of the building. Supply "tax not" in this 
 line, sense: the sensuous nature. 
 
 Read the first eight lines simply, but earnestly and 
 energetically. Read the last six lines musically. The 
 last line should be read diminuendo, the movement be- 
 coming slower and the voice softer until it almost dies 
 away — like the music that forms the theme. 
 
 328 
 Whether Keats had seen or had not seen such an urn 
 as he describes in this poem is not material. It is enough 
 that he has here given us a beautiful description of an 
 urn and some fancies and thoughts as beautiful as the 
 object that inspired them. In quaint modern fancies 
 and in thoroughly Greek love of beauty, the poem is 
 unique. 
 
562 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 of quietness: almost equivalent to "quiet," referring 
 to the fact that the urn tells its story without words. 
 The same idea is expressed in the next line, with the ad- 
 ditional thought of the lapse of time since the urn was 
 created. Sylvan historian: because it tells a sylvan 
 story of life long past, leaf-fringed legend, etc., what 
 story is hinted by the border of leaves around the figures 
 on the urn ? St. 2, heard melodies are sweet, etc. : music 
 heard by the ear is not so sweet as that heard by the 
 spirit. The music suggested by the figures of pipe- 
 players on the urn is more melodious than real music. St. 
 3, human passion far above: far above human passion, 
 which, etc. St. 4, What are these coming, etc. : the fig- 
 ures on the urn are here described, as in the first stanza, 
 by questions, thy streets for evermore will silent be: 
 because all the inhabitants are here on the urn and can- 
 not return to their homes. St. 5, dost tease us out of 
 thought, etc. : the attempt to express our feelings about 
 the urn is as baffling, as teasing as to express our feel- 
 ings about eternity. 
 
 In order to read the poem well, we must, of course, 
 catch the spirit of the poet. No modern poet has felt 
 more strongly or expressed more perfectly the spirit of 
 ancient Greece than has Keats. Even their principle 
 of art, that beauty is truth and truth is beauty, was one 
 of his working principles. This poem, then, is perfectly 
 sincere. The permanence of sound art and the transi- 
 toriness of human passions is also an article in Keats' 
 creed, so is expressed strongly. Yet throughout the poem 
 there is a brilliant lightness that helps create the im- 
 pression of the intense joy the poet took in the work of 
 his fellow-craftsman, the artist who created the urn. 
 Read sincerely, then, but not heavily or gloomily. Read 
 
NOTES 563 
 
 with intensity. The poem is very musical — full of pleas- 
 ant notes and with a natural, easy flow. The last 
 stanza should be read with more earnestness. 
 
 329 
 
 The contrast between youth and age is a favorite theme 
 with poets. The old man looking back upon his youth 
 is inspired with tenderness for it and feels the pathos 
 of the changes that have come with age — which emotion 
 lends itself readily to poetic treatment. Coleridge was 
 advanced in years w^hen he wrote this lyric. The delicacy 
 and grace and lightness of the verse intensify the pathos 
 of the theme. 
 
 St. 1, both ivere mine: both Hope and the power to 
 WTite poetry. Coleridge composed little poetry in his 
 later years. tJiis body that does me grievous wrong: 
 Coleridge was in w^eak health most of his life, trim 
 sl-iffs: steamers. St. 2, Fll think it hut a fond conceit: 
 I'll believe that the thought that j^outh is gone is but 
 a foolish fancy, masker: masquerader. slij^s: strips, 
 wisps, tears take sunsliine from thine eyes: sorrow 
 catches gladness from the brightness of your eyes. Life 
 is hut Thought, etc. : a poetical statement of the familiar 
 dictum that a person is only as old as he feels. St. 3, 
 the tears of mournful eve: tears are the gems of evening 
 or old age, as dew-drops are the gems of morning, or 
 youth, tells the jest without the smile: tells a sup- 
 posedly humorous story without exciting any laughter — 
 an unusually suggestive simile. 
 
 Read simply and naturally. The movement is grace- 
 ful and rhythmic, but the reading should not be rapid 
 and tripping. It is almost as if an old man were taking 
 a pathetic idea lightly, adorning a sad thought with all 
 
564 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 the graces and beauties of poetry. The reading should 
 produce this impression. You have not read well if 
 the music is not both sad and sweet. 
 
 330 
 
 Wordsworth's remarkable power to tell a story of 
 common life with restraint and artistic simplicity is here 
 well illustrated. As he and Matthew, the schoolmaster, 
 are going out among the hills for a holiday one bright, 
 beautiful summer morning, Matthew suddenly utters 
 the words ''The will of God be done." The poet natur- 
 ally asks him why, when the day is so beautiful and they 
 have so well started their tramp, he should voice such 
 a sentiment. Then Matthew tells him of another morn- 
 ing, thirty years before, so much like this morning that 
 the memory of it comes forcibly to his mind. On that 
 former April morning he had been fishing. On his way 
 he stopped at the cemetery w^here his daughter was 
 buried; and as he stood by her grave, his love for her 
 was stronger, it seemed, than it ever had been before. 
 As he turned away, he met a girl, beautiful and happy. 
 She made him think of his daughter and what she would 
 have been; but in spite of the young stranger's beauty 
 and grace, he did not wish her for his daughter — he 
 wished for his own daughter alive again. Now on this 
 morning, thirty years afterward, the memory of that 
 morning comes to him and causes him to sigh and say 
 ''The will of God be done." 
 
 Wordsworth states that this story is not an absolute 
 fact, but it is certainly a real human document, told with 
 absolute fidelity to the laws of life. Read simply, di- 
 rectly, earnestly. Try merely to present the story as 
 the poet has done — with simple dignity ; you may be 
 sure the pathos will go home of itself, 
 
NOTES 565 
 
 334 
 
 Full of deep, heartfelt emotion and sweet, minor 
 music. The poet attributes to nature the emotions he 
 himself feels — his own grief being so great that he im- 
 agines all nature mourns with him. 
 
 knells: that is, with thunder. 
 
 Read slowly, gravely, musically. The voice should 
 naturally take a lower pitch and be vibrant and sombre. 
 Read the poem aloud a few times until you feel the 
 strange charm : the poem will haunt you with its music 
 and emotion. 
 
 335 
 
 ''Threnos" means a dirge. The poem is a lament for 
 lost youth and the joys of youth. The lyric is so vague 
 and general that it does not lend itself readily to close 
 study. Perhaps the poet felt that vague dissatisfaction 
 with the world that we all feel sometimes, and wished 
 to give musical expression to the feeling without analyz- 
 ing it. Observe that the first two lines and the last one 
 of each stanza consist of but three accents, while the two 
 internal lines have five accents — all but the third line 
 of the second stanza, which has only four. The effect 
 is of ascending to the summit of the thought, then wear- 
 ily turning back with the beautiful, mournful refrain of 
 *'No more — Oh, never more!" Observe that only two 
 vowels are used for the rhymes: long-''i" and ''o"- 
 before-^'r" — both very musical sounds. 
 
 tremUing at that, etc. : perhaps the figure is of an old 
 man looking with fear upon a high precipice where he 
 had stood in youth unafraid, c. 1. Ecclesiastes : 12, 5, 
 first clause. His thought is that the old man has lost 
 his courage, his zest and enthusiasm, his hopes and con- 
 fidence. 
 
 Read slowly and mournfully. The longer lines should 
 
566 'l'"'^'^ (JOLDKN^ TREASURY 
 
 move more rapidly. The I'eadiii^LH' ol' the last line should 
 be solemn, deep and low, the voice descending in pitch 
 and decreasing in power to the very end. This poem, 
 like the preceding, is pure music: read musically. 
 
 336 
 
 Hrimming over with thought. The Trosachs are a 
 numntain pass in Scotland, noted for their solemn maj- 
 esty. The poet thinks that every nook within the Pass 
 would call forth from an aged person thoughts and emo- 
 tions of the transitoriness of life. He counsels those 
 that drive such feelings away by art, to return to nature 
 and nourish these feelings by gazing on the wonders 
 and beauties of nature, which are permanent. Such 
 a journey and experience Avould be thrice happy if one 
 heard the robin sweeten the solemn thought with a song 
 taught him by heaven. But any attempt to paraphrase 
 the beautiful phraseology of the poem is defective: the 
 reader must study the sonnet until he sees the meaning, 
 then accept Wordsworth's language as the final and per- 
 manent expression of the idea. 
 
 Observe that the ideas of the first and second quatrain 
 extend over into the following lines. Read by ideas, not 
 by lines: the thought is clearer and the music finer. 
 Read to make the thought clear, forcible, and musical. 
 Every word in the sonnet is needed. Read slowly, then, 
 and reflectively. Wordsworth's acquiescence in the laws 
 of nature contrasts sharply with the discontent felt by 
 other poets. The reading should bring out the resigna- 
 tion and submission of the poet, his philosophic content- 
 ment, and his love for nature. 
 
 338 
 One of the sublimest odes in the literature of the 
 world. Once understood, it is one of the most signifi- 
 
NOTES 567 
 
 cant uttcranc'C's oi' the poi't Wordsworth and one of the 
 most thought-evoking poems ever written. But it is 
 difficult to understand — partly because the poet is deal- 
 ing with a thought that is hard to phrase, hard to turn 
 into poetic language, and partly because the poet is 
 dealing with experiences which most of us have never 
 had. 
 
 The poet begins his theme by stating that when he was 
 a child the whole earth was clothed in heavenl}^ light, 
 but that now this light has faded. (Stanza I.) The 
 rainbow, the rose, the moon, the waters are still beauti- 
 ful ; but a glory has passed from the earth. (Stanza 
 II.) Now, while all nature is rejoicing on this happy 
 spring day, the thought of what he has lost comes to 
 him. But a '' timely utterance" — namely, the thought 
 of this poem — gives him relief. Now he is resolved that 
 the happiness of nature shall no longer mnke him grieve 
 for the lost joy of childhood. The poet then rejoices in 
 the beauty and jollity of nature and children. (Stanza 
 III.) The poet continues to express his satisfaction in 
 the happiness around him; but a tree or a field brings 
 back to him the remembrance of the ecstasy he felt 
 when a child, and the poet asks himself where the former 
 joy has gone. (Stanza IV.) Then he sets himself to 
 answer his question, and he develops the main theme of 
 the poem. The infant comes from another and a happier 
 country when he is born into this world, and he comes 
 ''trailing clouds of glory" with him. This it is that 
 accounts for the fact that ''heaven lies about us in our 
 infancy." Shades of the prison-house, this life, begin 
 to close around the growing boy, but he still beholds the 
 light and knows whence it comes. The young man 
 loses more of the vision but still perceives a part of it. 
 The grown man sees it die away and merge "into the 
 
568 THE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 light of common day." (Stanza V.) Earth does her 
 best to compensate the individual for the glories he has 
 known in a previous existence. (Stanza VI.) More- 
 over, the child, through his instinct for imitation, soon 
 learns to fit himself to this life, forgetting the world 
 from w^hich he has come. (Stanza VII.) The poet 
 praises the child for his power to discern intuitively 
 those truths which mature men and women toil all their 
 lives to find, and grieves that the child should wish to 
 become a man, since in that state his vision will be 
 dimmed and his freedom fettered. (Stanza VIII.) The 
 poet then passes to another phase of his theme. He 
 rejoices that he has retained so much of the glory and 
 brightness of his boyhood's vision. The thought of his 
 boyhood brings to him great joy — not for that which is 
 perhaps most worthy, namely, delight and liberty, the 
 simple faith of children, their hope, etc. ; but rather for 
 those instincts, those ''shadowy recollections" of a for- 
 mer life. These shadowy recollections, whatever they 
 may be, are nevertheless the foundation and inspiration 
 of w^hat is best in us during all our lives. In reflective 
 moods the man can travel back to his childhood and feel 
 again, in part at least, the emotions he felt as a child. 
 (Stanza IX.) The poet, after tracing the changes in 
 the individual, returns to his former theme. He wishes 
 all nature to be gay; for though the radiance of child- 
 hood is gone, though nothing can bring back the time 
 when all nature was apparelled in celestial light, yet he 
 will not grieve but wdll find strength in what is left: in 
 the youthful feeling of kinship with the universe, which, 
 having once been, can never entirely disappear; in the 
 resignation to human suffering; in the faith that looks 
 through death to immortality beyond ; in years that bring 
 
NOTES 569 
 
 the philosophic mind — in other words, the poet, though 
 he has lost the intuitive faith of childhood, has attained 
 the intellectual and spiritual faith of philosophy. 
 ( Stanza X. ) The poet then professes his love for nature, 
 saying that he has but relinquished one delight — ^that 
 of unconscious, spontaneous love for nature — to live 
 more completely under nature's influence. Moreover, 
 the beauty of nature is more appealing now than for- 
 merly because he brings to his love a ripened apprecia- 
 tion ; now, because of his human sympathy, the poorest 
 flower can bring thoughts that were deeper than any he 
 had when he was a child. 
 
 Note that Wordsworth does not profess to believe that 
 the intuitions, the visions, those mysterious experiences 
 of childhood are proofs of a previous existence and there- 
 fore of a future existence; he adduces them only as 
 intimations, as hints. As he himself says, '^It is far too 
 shadowy a notion to be recommended to faith as more 
 than an element in our instincts of immortality." 
 Wordsworth was unusually sensitive in youth to the 
 influences of nature. He seems to have felt the imma- 
 nence of God more than most children do. He says 
 further: ''Nothing was more difficult for me in child- 
 hood than to admit the notion of death as a state applic- 
 able to my own being. * * * i used to brood over 
 the stories of Enoch and Elijah and almost persuade 
 myself that, whatever might become of others, I should 
 be translated in something of the same way to heaven. 
 With a feeling congenial to this, I was often unable to 
 think of external things as having external existence, 
 and I communed with all that I saw as something not 
 apart from, but inherent in, my own immaterial nature. 
 Many times, while going to school have I grasped at a 
 
570 ^i^HE GOLDEN TREASURY 
 
 wall or tree to recall myself from this abyss of idealism 
 to the reality. * ^' * To that dream-like vividness 
 and splendour, which invests objects of sight in child- 
 hood, every one, I believe, if he would look back, could 
 bear testimony." Now most of us either did not have 
 those impressions, or did not have them so strong, or have 
 forgotten them; and for this reason most of these ''inti- 
 mations" do not bring as definite, thoughts. We can, 
 how^ever, trust the evidence of Wordsworth and others 
 peculiarly sensitive in childhood, and we can accept their 
 experience, as did Wordsworth, as an article of our 
 ''poetic faith", if not of our religious creed. And we 
 can appreciate the splendid structure of poetry and phi- 
 losophy which Wordsworth has raised upon this slender 
 foundation. To condense abstractions to simple, definite 
 statements was one of Wordsworth 's talents, and to make 
 those statements beautiful, poetic, memorable, was an- 
 other. Many of the phrases in this ode have entered 
 into the common speech of mankind and pass current 
 as sterling symbols of thought. 
 
 The metre is irregular. The verse turns and winds 
 according to the ''lay of the ideas" — if the thought can 
 be so expressed. The feet are, normally, iambic, but 
 trochees and anapests are very frequent. There are 
 occasional lines and passages that are abrupt, even pro- 
 saic, but they serve merely to set off the more majestic, 
 rhythmic passages. To the irregularity of metre is due 
 much of the music of the ode and much of the impres- 
 sion of passionate emotion and spontaneous, forcible 
 utterance. 
 
 None but very general suggestions can be given for 
 reading aloud. You should read and study the poem 
 until the theme is mastered and all the details grasped ; 
 
NOTES 571 
 
 then you should read to make the ideas and emotions 
 clear, powerful, and attractive. Read by ideas. Follow 
 the natural rhythm of the lines. Try to catch the poet 's 
 varying moods, and feel, after him, the emotions that 
 the conceptions kindle in him. The poem deepens and 
 widens in significance and beauty the more it is read. 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Chieftain to the Highlands bound 258 
 
 A child's a plaything for an hour 327 
 
 A flock of sheep that leisurely pass by 371 
 
 A slumber did my spirit seal 256 
 
 A sweet disorder in the dress 118 
 
 A weary lot is thine, fair maid 274 
 
 A wet sheet and a flowing sea 284 
 
 Absence, hear thou this protestation 22 
 
 Ah, Chloris ! could I now but sit . . . . . . . . 109 
 
 Ah, County Guy, the hour is nigh 265 
 
 All in the Downs the fleet was moor'd 183 
 
 All thoughts, all passions, all delights 243 
 
 And are ye sure tlie news is true 221 
 
 And is this — Yarrow?— This the Stream 361 
 
 And thou art dead, as young and fair 280 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus . 41 
 
 Ariel to Miranda: — Take 350 
 
 Art tliou pale for weariness 370 
 
 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers .... 66 
 
 As it fell upon a day 41 
 
 As I was walking all alane 132 
 
 As slow our ship her foamy track 304 
 
 At tlie corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears . . 349 
 
 At the mid hour of night, when the stars are weeping, I fly 279 
 
 Avenge, O Lord! Thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones . . 83 
 
 Awake, ^olian lyre, awake 193 
 
 Awake, awake, my Lyre 125 
 
 Bards of Passion and of Mirth 241 
 
 Behold her, single in the field 348 
 
 Being your slave, what should I do but tend 24 
 
 Beneath these fruit-tree boughs that shed 336 
 
 Best and brightest, come away 364 
 
 573 
 
574 INDEX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bid me to live, and I will live 120 
 
 Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy 154 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind 49 
 
 Bright star! would I Avere steadfast as thou art . . . 278 
 
 Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren 56 
 
 Calm was the day, and through the trembling air ... 61 
 
 Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms 96 
 
 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the Sable Night 42 
 
 Come away, come away. Death 54 
 
 Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me 67 
 
 Come, little babe, come silly soul 50 
 
 Come- live with me and be my Love 19 
 
 Come, Sleep : Sleep ! the certain knot of peace .... 39 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands 16 
 
 Crabbed Age and Youth 20 
 
 Cupid and my Campaspe play'd 59 
 
 Cyriack, whose grandsire, on the royal bench .... 101 
 
 Daugliter of Jove, relentless power 230 
 
 Daughter to that good Earl, once President 112 
 
 Degenerate Douglas! oh, the unworthy lord 343 
 
 Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move ... 70 
 
 Down in yon garden sweet and gay 180 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes 114 
 
 Duncan Gray cam liere to woo 220 
 
 Earl March look'd on his dying child 277 
 
 Earth has not anything to show more fair 341 
 
 E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks 120 
 
 Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind 291 
 
 Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky 331 
 
 Ever let the Fancy roam 376 
 
 Fain would I change that note 20 
 
 Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 137 
 
 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree 136 
 
 Farewell ! thou are too dear for my possessing .... 40 
 
 Fear no more the heat o' the sun 55 
 
INDEX 575 
 
 PAUE 
 
 Fine knacks for ladies, cheap, choice, brave and new . . 36 
 
 Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow 45 
 
 For ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove 190 
 
 Forget not yet the tried intent 32 
 
 Four Seasons fill the measure of the year 411 
 
 From Harmony, from heavenly Harmony 81 
 
 From Stirling Castle we had seen 358 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies 56 
 
 Gather ye rose-buds while ye may 110 
 
 Gem of the crimson-color'd Even 265 
 
 Get up, get up, for shame! The blooming morn . . . . 116 
 
 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 187 
 
 Go, lovely Rose 114 
 
 Hail thou most sacred venerable thing 157 
 
 Hail to thee, blithe Spirit .332 
 
 Happy the man, whose wish and care 166 
 
 Happy those early days, when I 100 
 
 Happy were he could finish forth his fate 71 
 
 He that loves a rosy cheek 112 
 
 He is gone on the mountain 320 
 
 Hence, all you vain delights 128 
 
 Hence, loathed Melancholy 142 
 
 Hence, vain deluding Joj's 147 
 
 He sang of God, the mighty source 201 
 
 High-way, since you my chief Parnassus be 23 
 
 How happy is he born and taught 07 
 
 How like a winter hath my absence been 24 
 
 How sleep the brave who sink to rest . 176 
 
 How sweet the answer Echo makes 264 
 
 How vainly men themselves amaze 139 
 
 I am monarch of all I survey 232 
 
 I arise from dreams of Thee 250 
 
 I cannot change, as others do 109 
 
 I dream'd that as I wander'd by the way 372 
 
 I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden 253 
 
 I have had playmates, I have had campanions .... 303 
 
576 
 
 INDEX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I have no name 201 
 
 I heard a thousand blended notes 379 
 
 I meet thy pensive, moonlight face 257 
 
 I met a traveller from an antique land 342 
 
 I remember, I remember 308 
 
 I saw Eternity the other night 157 
 
 I saw her in childhood 322 
 
 I saw my lady weep 33 
 
 I saw where in the shroud did lurk 325 
 
 I travell'd among unknown men 254 
 
 I wander'd lonely as a cloud 352 
 
 I was thy neighbor once, thou rugged Pile 397 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies 131 
 
 If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song 208 
 
 If doughty deeds my lady please 187 
 
 If I had thought thou couldst have died 319 
 
 If Thou survive my well-contented day 56 
 
 If to be absent were to be 124 
 
 Im wearing awa', Jean 225 
 
 In a drear-nighted December 270 
 
 In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining . . . 238 
 
 In the sweet shire of Cardigan 300 
 
 In this still place, remote from men 400 
 
 In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 374 
 
 It is a beauteous evening, calm and free 368 
 
 It is not growing like a tree 98 
 
 It was a dismal and a fearful night 133 
 
 It was a lover and his lass 22 
 
 It was a summer evening 296 
 
 I've heard them lilting at our ewe-milking 178 
 
 Jack and Joan, they think no ill 141 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John 224 
 
 Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting 58 
 
 Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son 101 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds 34 
 
 Life! I know not what thou art 240 
 
INDEX 57Y 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore ... 39 
 
 Like to the clear in highest sphere 26 
 
 Love in my bosom, like a bee 58 
 
 Love in thy youth, fair Maid, be wise 113 
 
 Love not me for comely grace 121 
 
 Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours 203 
 
 Many a green isle needs must be 389 
 
 INIary! I want a lyre with other strings 234 
 
 Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour .... 203 
 
 IMine be a cot beside the hill 207 
 
 Mortality, behold and fear 94 
 
 Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes 375 
 
 ]\Iuch have I travell'd in the realms of gold 243 
 
 Music, when soft voices die 420 
 
 ]\Iy days among the Dead are past 311 
 
 My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains .... 339 
 
 My heart leaps up when I behold 413 
 
 My Love in her attire doth shew her wit 119 
 
 My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow .... 54 
 
 My thoughts hold mortal strife 53 
 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his .... 35 
 
 Never love unless you can 31 
 
 Never seek to tell thy love 191 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead 57 
 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note 299 
 
 Not, Celia, that I juster am 122 
 
 Now the golden Morn aloft 163 
 
 Now the last day of many days . 365 
 
 blithe new-comer! I have heard 337 
 
 O Brignall banks are wild and fair 248 
 
 O Friend! I know not which way I must look .... 293 
 
 O happy shades ! to me unblest 229 
 
 O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm .... 33 
 
 O leave this barren spot to me 343 
 
 O listen, listen, ladies gay 323 
 
578 INDEX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 O lovers' eyes are sharp to see 276 
 
 O Mary, at thy window be 214 
 
 O me! what eyes hath love put in my head 45 
 
 Mistress mine, where are you roaming 36 
 
 my Luve's like a red, red rose .216 
 
 never say that I was false of heart ....,,. 25 
 
 O saw ye bonnie Lesley 215 
 
 O cay, what is that thing call'd Light 167 
 
 talk not to me of a name great in story 247 
 
 O Thou, by Nature taught 164 
 
 waly waly up the bank ........... 128 
 
 O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms . 272 
 
 O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn's being . . 395 
 
 World! O Life! Time 412 
 
 Obscurest night involved the sky 236 
 
 Of all the girls that are so smart 185 
 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw . . . . . . . 223 
 
 Of Nelson and the North 287 
 
 Of Neptune's empire let us sing 102 
 
 Of this fair volume which we World do name .... 69 
 
 Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray 260 
 
 Oft in the stilly night 309 
 
 Oh snatch'd away in beauty's bloom 317 
 
 On a day, alack the day 31 
 
 On a Poet's lips I slept 399 
 
 Once did She hold the gorgeous East in fee 292 
 
 One more Unfortunate " 314 
 
 One word is too often profaned . . . • 282 
 
 On Linden, when the sun was low 294 
 
 Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd . .371 
 
 Over the mountains 106 
 
 Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day 60 
 
 Phoebus, arise 16 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu . 283 
 
 Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth 68 
 
 Proud Maisie is in the wood 313 
 
 Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair 103 
 
INDEX 579 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Rough Wind, that meanest loud 412 
 
 Ruin seize thee, ruthless King 172 
 
 Season of mist and mellow fruitfulness 355 
 
 See with what simplicity 107 
 
 Shall I compare thee to a summer's day 29 
 
 Shall I, wasting in despair . . . 126 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden ways 254 
 
 She is not fair to outward view ........ 253 
 
 She walks in beauty, like the night 251 
 
 She was a Phantom of delight 252 
 
 Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea . . 18 
 
 Since there's no help, come let us kiss and part .... 44 
 
 Sleep, angry beautj^, sleep and fear not me ' . . ... 46 
 
 Sleep on, and dream of Heaven awhile . . ' . . . . 189 
 
 Sleep, sleep, beauty bright 202 
 
 Souls of Poets dead and gone . , 312 
 
 Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king . . 15 
 
 Star that bringest home the bee 369 
 
 Stern Daughter of the Voice of God 289 
 
 Surprised by joy — impatient as the wind 279 
 
 Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes ...... 113 
 
 Sweet Highland Girl, a very shower 345 
 
 Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory .... 28 
 
 Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade .... 189 
 
 Swiftly walk over the western wave . 267 
 
 Take, O take those -lips away 44 
 
 Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense 401 
 
 Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind . . Ill 
 
 Tell me where is Fancy bred 57 
 
 That time of year thou may'st in me behold 38 
 
 That which her slender waist confined 119 
 
 The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day . . . . . 210 
 
 The forward youth that would appear 84 
 
 The fountains mingle with the river 263 
 
 The glories of our blood and state 96 
 
 The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King ... 72 
 
 The lovely lass o' Inverness . . . 177 
 
580 
 
 INDEX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The man of life upright . 68 
 
 The merchant, to secure his treasure 190 
 
 The more we live, more brief appear 410 
 
 The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth 43 
 
 The poplars are fell'd; farewell to the shade .... 204 
 
 There be none of Beauty's daughters 250 
 
 There is a Flower, the lesser Celandine 307 
 
 There is a garden in her face 115 
 
 There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away 305 
 
 There's not a nook within this solemn Pass 413 
 
 There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream . . . 414 
 
 The sea hath many thousand sands 48 
 
 The sun is warm, the sky is clear 310 
 
 The sun upon the lake is low 369 
 
 The twentieth year is well-nigh past 234 
 
 The world is too much with us; late and soon .... 401 
 
 They are all gone into the world of light 135 
 
 They that have power to hurt, and will do none ... 40 
 
 This is the month, and this the happy morn 73 
 
 This Life, which seems so fair 68 
 
 Though others may her brow adore 35 
 
 Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white 48 
 
 Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness . . . . . . 402 
 
 Three years she grew in sun and shower 255 
 
 Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream 179 
 
 Timely blossom, Infant fair 170 
 
 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry 71 
 
 Toll for the Brave 182 
 
 To me, fair Friend, you never can be old 26 
 
 To one who has been long in city pent 342 
 
 Turn back, you wanton flyer 30 
 
 'Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 158 
 
 'Twas on a lofty vase's side 168 
 
 Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea 292 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 21 
 
 Upon my lap my sovereign sits 130 
 
 Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying 404 
 
 Victorious men of earth, no more 95 
 
INDEX 5gl 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay 330 
 
 Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie 205 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee 52 
 
 Weep you no more, sad fountains 28 
 
 Were I as base as is the lowly plain 35 
 
 We talk'd with open heart, and tongue 408 
 
 We walk'd along, while bright and red 405 
 
 We watch'd her breathing thro' the night 321 
 
 When as in silks my Julia goes 119 
 
 When Britain first at Heaven's command 171 
 
 When first the fiery-mantled Sun 356 
 
 When God at first made Man 99 
 
 When he who adores thee has left but the name . . 298 
 
 When icicles hang by the wall 37 
 
 When I consider how my light is spent 97 
 
 When I have borne in memory what has tamed .... 294 
 
 When I have fears that I may cease to be 278 
 
 When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced .... 18 
 
 When I survey the bright 155 
 
 When I think on the happy days 223 
 
 When in .disgrace with fortune and men's eyes .... 25 
 
 When in the chronicle of wasted time 29 
 
 When lovely woman stoops to folly 191 
 
 When Love with unconfined wings 122 
 
 When maidens such as Hester die 318 
 
 When Music, heavenly maid, was young 197 
 
 When Ruth was left half desolate 380 
 
 When the lamp is shatter'd 275 
 
 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame . . 218 
 
 When thou must home to shades of underground ... 52 
 
 Wlien to the sessions of sweet silent thought .... 38 
 
 When we two parted 2f69 
 
 Where art thou, my beloved Son 328 
 
 Where shall the lover rest 271 
 
 W^here the bee sucks, there suck I 15 
 
 Where the remote Bermudas ride 153 
 
 Whether on Ida's shady brow 241 
 
 While that the sun with his beams hot 46 
 
 Whoe'er she be 103 
 
582 INDEX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Why are thou silent? Is thy love a plant 268 
 
 Why so pale and wan, fond lover 124 
 
 Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ' . . . 262 
 
 With Jiow sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies . . 51 
 
 With little here to do or see 353 
 
 With sweetest milk and sugar first 137 
 
 Ye banks and braes and streams around 217 
 
 Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 192 
 
 Ye distant spires, ye antique towers 226 
 
 Ye Mariners of England 285 
 
 Yes, there is holy pleasure in thine eye . . . . . . 344 
 
 Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more 88 
 
 You meaner beauties of the night Ill 
 
INDEX OF WRITERS WITH DATES OF BIRTH 
 AND DEATH 
 
 Alexander, William (1580-1640). page 
 
 To Aurora 33 
 
 Barbauld, Anna Lsetitia (1743-1825). 
 
 To Life 240 
 
 Barnefield, Richard (16th century). 
 
 The Nightingale 41 
 
 Beaumont, Francis (1586-1616). 
 
 On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey 94 
 
 Blake, William (1757-1827). 
 
 Love's Secret 191 
 
 Infant joy 201 
 
 A Cradle Song ' . . 202 
 
 To the Muses 241 
 
 Burns, Robert (1759-1796). 
 
 Lament for Culloden . . . 177 
 
 A Farewell 187 
 
 Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon 192 
 
 To a mouse 205 
 
 Mary Morison 214 
 
 Bonnie Lesley 215 
 
 my Luve's like a red, red rose 216 
 
 Highland Mary .217 
 
 Duncan Gray 220 
 
 Jean 223 
 
 John Anderson 224 
 
 Byron, George Gordon Noel (1788-1824). 
 
 All for Love 247 
 
 There be none of Beauty's daughters 250 
 
 She walks in beauty, like the night 251 
 
 When we two parted 269 
 
 Elegy on Thyrza 280 
 
 On the Castle of Chillon 291 
 
 Youth and Age 305 
 
 Elegy 317 
 
 583 
 
584 INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 Campbell, Thomas (1777-1844). page 
 
 Lord Ullin's Daughter 258 
 
 To the Evening Star 265 
 
 Earl March look'd on his dying child 277 
 
 Ye Mariners of England 285 
 
 Battle of the Baltic 287 
 
 Hohenlinden 294 
 
 The Beech Tree's Petition 343 
 
 Ode to Winter 356 
 
 Song to the Evening Star 369 
 
 The Soldier's Dream 371 
 
 The River of Life 410 
 
 Campion, Thomas (c. 1567-1620). 
 
 Basia 30 
 
 Advice to a Girl 31 
 
 In Imagine Per Transit Homo 45 
 
 Sleep, angry beauty, sleep 46 
 
 A Renunciation 48 
 
 O Crudelis Amor . 52 
 
 Sic Transit 67 
 
 The man of life upright 68 
 
 A Hymn in Praise of Neptune 102 
 
 Fortunati Nimium 141 
 
 Carew, Thomas (1589-1639). 
 
 The I'rue Beauty 112 
 
 Carey, Henry ( 1743). 
 
 Sally in our Alley 18.5 
 
 CiBBER, Colley (1671-1757). 
 
 The Blind Boy 167 
 
 Coleridge, Hartley (1796-1849). 
 
 She is not fair to outward view 253 
 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772-1834). 
 
 Love (Genevieve) 243 
 
 Kubla Khan 374 
 
 Youth and Age 404 
 
 Collins, John (18th century). 
 
 Tomorrow 238 
 
 Collins, William (1720-1756). 
 
 Ode to Simplicity 164 
 
 Ode written in 1746 176 
 
 The Passions 197 
 
 Ode to Evening 208 
 
 Cowley, Abraham (1618-1667). 
 
 A Supplication 125 
 
 On the Death of Mr. William Hervey 133 
 
INDEX OF WRITERS 585 
 
 CowPER, William (1731-1800). page 
 
 Loss of the Royal George 182 
 
 To a Young Lady 189 
 
 The Poplar Field 204 
 
 The Shrubery 229 
 
 The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk 232 
 
 To Mary Unwin 234 
 
 To the Same 234 
 
 The Castaway 236 
 
 Crashaw, Richard (1615?-1652). 
 
 Wishes for the Supposed Mistress 103 
 
 Cunningham, Allen (1784-1842). 
 
 A wet sheet and a flowing sea 284 
 
 Daniel, Samuel (1562-1619). 
 
 Care-Charmer Sleep 42 
 
 Dekker, Thomas ( 1638?). 
 
 The Happy Heart 66 
 
 Devereux, Robert (Earl of Essex) (1567-1601). 
 
 A Wish 71 
 
 Donne, John (1573-1631). 
 
 Present in Absence 22 
 
 Drayton, Michael (1563-1631). 
 
 Love's Farewell 44 
 
 Drummond, William (1585-1649). 
 
 Summons to Love 16 
 
 A Lament 53 
 
 To his Lute 54 
 
 This Life, which seems so fair ........ 68 
 
 The Lessons of Nature 69 
 
 Doth then the world go thus? 70 
 
 Saint John Baptist 72 
 
 Dryden, John (1631-1700). 
 
 Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687 81 
 
 Alexander's Feast 158 
 
 Elliott, Jane (18th century). 
 
 The Flowers of the Forest (Flodden) 178 
 
 Fletcher, John (1576-1625). 
 
 Melancholy 128 
 
 Gay, John (1685-1732). 
 
 Black-eyed Susan 183 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliver (1728-1774). 
 
 When lovely woman stoops to folly 191 
 
586 INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 Graham, Robert (1735-1797). page 
 
 If doughty deeds my lady please 187 
 
 Gray, Thomas (1716-1771). 
 
 Ode on the Pleasure arising from Vicissitude . . . 163 
 
 On a Favorite Cat 168 
 
 The Bard 172 
 
 The Progress of Poesy 193 
 
 Ode on the Spring 203 
 
 Elegy written in a Country Churchyard 210 
 
 Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College .... 226 
 
 Hymn to Adversity 230 
 
 Greene, Robert ( 1561 ?-1592) . 
 
 Sephestia's Song to her Child 52 
 
 Habington, William (1605-1645). 
 
 Nox Nocti Indicat Scientiam . 155 
 
 Herbert, George (1503-1632). 
 
 The Gifts of God 99 
 
 Herrick, Robert (1591-1,674?). 
 
 Counsel to Girls 110 
 
 To Dianeme 113 
 
 Corinna's Maying 116 
 
 The Poetrv of Dress, I 118- 
 
 " "^ " " II 119 
 
 To Anthea 120 
 
 To Blossoms 136 
 
 To Daffodils 137 
 
 Heywood, Ihomas ( 1649?) 
 
 Give my Love good-morrow 60 
 
 Hood, Thomas (1798-1845). 
 
 Past and Present 308 
 
 The Bridge of Sighs 314 
 
 The Death Bed 321 
 
 JoNSON, Ben (1574-1637). 
 
 The Noble Nature 98 
 
 Hymn to Diana 103 
 
 To Celia 114 
 
 Keats, John (1795-1821). 
 
 Ode on the Poets 241 
 
 On first looking into Chapman's Homer . . . . . 243 
 
 Happy Insensibility 270 
 
 La Belle Dame sans Merci 272 
 
 Bright Star! 278 
 
 The Terror of Death 278 
 
INDEX OF WRITERS 587 
 
 Keats, John (1795-1821). page 
 
 The Mermaid Tavern 312 
 
 Ode to a Nightingale 339 
 
 To one who has been long in city pent 342 
 
 Ode to Autumn 355 
 
 The Realm of Fancy 376 
 
 Ode on a Grecian Urn 402 
 
 The Human Seasons 411 
 
 Lamb, Mary (1764-1847). 
 
 In Memorian 327 
 
 Lamb, Charles (1775-1835). 
 
 The Old Familiar Faces 303 
 
 Hester 318 
 
 On an Infant dying as soon as born 325 
 
 LiNSDAY, Anne (1750-1825). 
 
 Auld Robin Gray 218 
 
 Lodge, Thomas (1556-1625). 
 
 Rosaline 26 
 
 Rosalynd's Madrigal 58 
 
 Logan, John (1748-1788). 
 
 The Braes of Yarrow 179 
 
 Lovelace, Richard (1618-1658). 
 
 To Lucasta, on going to the Wars HI 
 
 To Althea from Prison 122 
 
 To Lucasta, going beyond the Seas 124 
 
 Lylye, John (1554-1600). 
 
 Cupid and Campaspe 59 
 
 Lyte, Henry Francis (1793-1847). 
 
 A Lost Love 257 
 
 Agnes 322 
 
 Marlowe, Christopher (1562-1593). 
 
 The Passionate Shepherd to his Love 19 
 
 Marvell,, Andrew (1620-1678). 
 
 Horatian Ode, upon Cromwell's return from Ireland . 84 
 
 The Picture of Little T. C 107 
 
 The Girl describes her Fawn 137 
 
 Thoughts in a Garden 139 
 
 Song of the Emigrants in Bermuda 153 
 
 Mickle, W^illiam Julius (1734-1788). 
 
 The Sailor's W^ife 221 
 
 Milton, John (1608-1674). 
 
 Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity 73 
 
 On the late Massacre in Piedmont 83 
 
 Lycidas ^^ 
 
588 INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 Milton, John (1608-1674). page 
 
 When the Assault was intended to the City .... 96 
 
 On his Blindness 97 
 
 To Mr, Lawrence 101 
 
 To Cyriack Skinner 101 
 
 To the Lady Margaret Ley 112 
 
 L'AIlegro 142 
 
 II Penseroso 147 
 
 At a Solemn Music 154 
 
 Moore, Thomas (1780-1852). 
 
 Echoes 264 
 
 At the mid hour of night 279 
 
 Pro Patria Mori 298 
 
 The Journey Onwards 304 
 
 The Light of other Days 309 
 
 Nairn, Carolina (1766-1845). 
 
 The Land o' the Leal 225 
 
 Nash, Thomas (1567-1601?). 
 
 Spring , . . 15 
 
 NoRRis, John (1657-1711). 
 
 Hymn to Darkness 157 
 
 Philips, Ambrose (1671-1749). 
 
 To Charlotte Pulteney 170 
 
 Pope, Alexander (1688-1744). 
 
 Solitude 166 
 
 Prior, Matthew (1662-1721). 
 
 The merchant, to secure his treasure 190 
 
 QuARLES, Francis (1592-1644). 
 
 A Mystical Ecstasy 120 
 
 Rogers, Samuel (1762-1855). 
 
 The Sleeping Beauty 189 
 
 A Wish 207 
 
 Scott, Walter (1771-1832). 
 
 The Outlaw 248 
 
 Jock o' Hazeldeun 262 
 
 A Serenade 265 
 
 Where shall the Lover rest? 271 
 
 The Rover 274 
 
 The Maid of Neidpath 276 
 
 Gathering Song of Donald the Black 283 
 
 The Pride of Youth 313 
 
 Coronach 320 
 
 Rosabelle 323 
 
INDEX OF WRITERS 589 
 
 Scott, Walter (1771-1832). page 
 
 Hunting Song 330 
 
 Datiir Hora Quieti 369 
 
 Sedley, Charles (1639-1701). 
 
 Child and Maiden 109 
 
 Not, Celia, that I juster am 122 
 
 Shakespeare, William (1564-1616). 
 
 The Fairly Life, I 15 
 
 "II 16 
 
 Sonnet-Time and Love, I 18 
 
 " " II 18 
 
 A Madrigal 20 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 21 
 
 It was a lover and his lass 22 
 
 Sonnet — Absence 24 
 
 « " 24 
 
 " A Consolation 25 
 
 " The Unchangeable ; . 25 
 
 26 
 
 " To his Love 29 
 
 « « " « 29 
 
 Love's Perjuries 31 
 
 Sonnet — True Love 34 
 
 Carpe Diem 36 
 
 Winter 37 
 
 Sonnet — That time of year 38 
 
 " Memory 38 
 
 Revolutions 39 
 
 Farewell! 40 
 
 " The Life without Passion 40 
 
 Frustra — Take, O take those lips away 44 
 
 Sonnet — Blind Love 45 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind 49 
 
 Dirge of Love 54 
 
 Fidele — Fear no more the heat 55 
 
 A Sea Dirge 56 
 
 Sonnet — Post Mortem 56 
 
 The Triumph of Death 57 
 
 Young Love 57 
 
 Sonnet — Soul and Body 68 
 
 The World's Way 71 
 
 Shelly, Percy Bysshe (1792-1822). 
 
 The Indian Serenade 250 
 
 I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden 253 
 
 Love's Philosophy 263 
 
590 INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 Shelly, Percy Bysslie (1702-1822). page 
 
 To the Night 267 
 
 The Flight of Love 275 
 
 One word is too often profaned . . 282 
 
 Stanzas written in Dejection near Naples .... 310 
 
 To a Skylark 332 
 
 0. ymandias of Egypt 342 
 
 To a Lady, with a Guitar 350 
 
 The Invitation 364 
 
 The Recollection 365 
 
 To the Moon 370 
 
 A Dream of the Unknown 372 
 
 Written among the Euganean Hills 389 
 
 Ode to the West Wind 395 
 
 The Poet's Dream 399 
 
 A Dirge 412 
 
 Threnos 412 
 
 Music, when soft voices die 420 
 
 Shirley, James (1596-1666). 
 
 The Last Conqueror 95 
 
 Death the Leveller 96 
 
 Sidney, Philip (1554-1586). 
 
 Via Amoris 23 
 
 A Ditty 35 
 
 Sleep 39 
 
 The Nightingale 43 
 
 The Moon 51 
 
 Smart, Christopher (1722-1770). 
 
 The Song of David 201 
 
 SouTHEY, Robert (1774-1843). 
 
 After Blenheim 296 
 
 The Scholar 311 
 
 Spenser, Edmund (1553-1598-9). 
 
 Prothalamion 61 
 
 Suckling, John (1608-9-1641). 
 
 Encouragement to a Lover 124 
 
 Sylvester, Joshua (1563-1618). 
 
 Love's Omnipresence 35 
 
 Thomson, James (1700-1748). 
 
 Rule Britannia 171 
 
 For ever. Fortune, wilt thou prove 190 
 
 Vaughan, Henry (1621-1695). 
 
 The Retreat 100 
 
 Friends in Paradise 135 
 
 ,A Vision 157 
 
INDEX OF WRITERS 591 
 
 Verstegan, Richard (c. 1635). pagE 
 
 Upon my lap my sovereign sits 130 
 
 Waller, Edmund ( 1605-1687 ) . 
 
 Go, lovely Rose 114 
 
 On a Girdle 119 
 
 Webster, John ( 1638 ?). 
 
 A Land Dirge • 56 
 
 WiLMOT, John (1647-1680). 
 
 Constancy 1^9 
 
 Wither, George (1588-1667). 
 
 The Manly Heart 126 
 
 Wolfe, Charles (1791-1823). 
 
 The Burial of Sir John Moore 299 
 
 To Mary 319 
 
 Wordsworth, William (1770-1850). 
 
 She was a phantom of delight 252 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden ways 254 
 
 I travell'd among unknown men 254 
 
 The Education of Nature 255 
 
 A slumber did my spirit seal 256 
 
 Lucy Gray 260 
 
 To a distant Friend 268 
 
 Desideria 279 
 
 Ode to Duty 289 
 
 England and Switzerland, 1802 292 
 
 On the extinction of the Venetian Republic .... 292 
 
 London, 1802 293 
 
 293 
 
 Wlien I have borne in memory . . ... . . .294 
 
 Simon Lee ^^^ 
 
 A Lesson ^^'^ 
 
 The Affliction of Margaret 328 
 
 To the Skylark 331 
 
 The Green Linnet 336 
 
 To the Cuckoo .337 
 
 Upon Westminster Bridge 341 
 
 Composed at Neidpath Castle 343 
 
 Admonition to a Traveller 344 
 
 To the Highland Girl of Inversneyde 345 
 
 The Reaper 348 
 
 . The Reverie of poor Susan 349 
 
 The Daffodils 352 
 
 To the Daisy 353 
 
 Yarrow Unvisited, 1803 3oS 
 
 Yarrow Visited, 1814 . 361 
 
592 INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 Wordsworth, William (1770-1850). page 
 
 By the Sea 368 
 
 To Sleep 371 
 
 The Inner Vision 375 
 
 Written in Early Spring 379 
 
 Ruth, or the Influences of Nature 380 
 
 Nature and the Poet 397 
 
 Glen-Almain, the Narrow Glen 400 
 
 The World is too much with us 401 
 
 Within King's College Chapel, Cambridge .... 401 
 
 The Two April Mornings 405 
 
 The Fountain 408 
 
 The Trossachs 413 
 
 My heart leaps up 413 
 
 Ode on intimations of Immortality 414 
 
 WOTTON, Henry (1568-1639). 
 
 Character of a Happy Life 97 
 
 Elizabeth of Bohemia Ill 
 
 Wyatt, Thomas (1503-1542). 
 
 A Supplication 32 
 
 The Lover's Appeal . 41 
 
 Unknown. 
 
 Omnia Vincit 20 
 
 A Picture 28 
 
 A Song for Music 28 
 
 In Lacrimas 33 
 
 Love's Insight 35 
 
 An honest Autolycus 36 
 
 The Unfaithful Shepherdess 46 
 
 Advice to a Lover 48 
 
 A sweet Lullaby 50 
 
 A Dilemma 58 
 
 The Great Adventurer 106 
 
 Love in thy youth, fair Maid 113 
 
 Cherry Ripe 115 
 
 My Love in her attire 119 
 
 Love not me for comely grace 121 
 
 Forsaken 128 
 
 Upon my lap my Sovereign sits 130 
 
 Fair Helen 131 
 
 The Twa Corbies 132 
 
 Willie Drowned in Yarrow 180 
 
 Absence 223