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THE CHILDREN'S TREASURY 
 
 OF 
 
 ENGLISH SONG. 
 
—This is an art 
 Which does mend nature, — change it rather : but 
 The art itself is nature. — 
 
 Sha.kespeare : Winters Tale 
 
THE 
 
 CHILDREN'S TREASURY 
 
 ENGLISH SONG 
 
 SELECTED AND ARRANGED WITH NOTES BY 
 
 FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE 
 
 ^ V 
 
 LATE FELLOW OF EXETER COLLEGE, OXFORD ; 
 EDITOR OF THE 'GOLDEN TREASURY' 
 
 gcb gorki 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 1875 
 
fix 
 
 The Publishers owe their thanks to Mr. William 
 Ciillen Bryant for the use of his tivo poems " To a 
 Waterfowl,'' and " The Death of the Flcwers "/ also 
 to Messrs. James R. Osgood (5r= Co. for permission 
 to print Professor Longfellow' s " The Wreck of the 
 Hesperus" fro7n their copyright edition of his works. 
 
 48 655 5 
 
 AUG I 9 1942 
 
PREFACE 
 
 This selection is planned for children between 
 nine or ten, and fifteen or sixteen years of age ; 
 the pleasure and advantage of the older students 
 n Elementary, and the younger in Grammar and 
 PubUc Schools, being especially kept in view. 
 As it is meant for their own possession and 
 study, not less than for use as a class-book in. 
 the teacher's hand, sufficient notes (it is thought) 
 have been added to render the volume by itself 
 fairly comprehensible to children of average in- 
 teUigence : and the editor hopes that this object 
 may be his excuse with those who may consider 
 the annotations too numerous. 
 
 The scheme of choice followed has produced a 
 selection different from any known to the editor. 
 Suitability to childhood is, of course, the common 
 principle of all. But, this quality secured (so far 
 as individual judgment can), nothing has been 
 here admitted which does not reach a high rank 
 in poetical merit ; and the available stores of 
 English poetry have been carefully reviewed for 
 the purpose. The editor's wish has been to collect 
 all songs, narratives, descriptions, or reflective 
 pieces of a lyrical quality, fit to give pleasure, 
 --high, pure, manly, (and therefore lasting)— 
 to children in the stage between early childhood 
 and early youth ; and no pieces which are not of 
 this character. Poetry, for poetry's sake, is what 
 
vi Prg/ace 
 
 he offers. To illustrate the history of our litera- 
 ture, to furnish specimens of leading or of less- 
 known poets, to give useful lessons for this or 
 the other life, to encourage a patriotic temper — 
 each an aim tit to form the guiding principle of 
 a selection — have here only an indirect and sub- 
 sidiary recognition. It is, however, believed that, 
 so far as the scope of the book coincides with 
 such other aims, they may be more effectually 
 served through the powerful operation of really 
 good poetry, than when made the main object of 
 a collection. 
 
 The standard of ' merit as poetry ' (so far as the 
 editor, aided by some friends distinguished by good 
 judgment and scholarship, may have been success- 
 ful in preserving it), has excluded a certain number 
 of popular favourites. But the standard of 'suita- 
 bility to childhood,' as here understood, has ex- 
 cluded many more pieces : pictures of life as it seems 
 to middle-age— poems coloured by sentimentalism 
 or morbid melancholy, however attractive to readers 
 no longer children— love as personal passion or 
 regret (not love as the groundwork of action) — 
 artificial or highly allusive language — have, as a 
 rule, been held unfit. The aim has been to shun 
 scenes and sentiments alien from the temper ot 
 average healthy childhood, and hence of greater 
 intrinsical difficulty than poems containing un- 
 usual words. Hence, although the rules of choice 
 have given this book, as compared with many of 
 its predecessors, an unfamiliar air, yet it is believed 
 that the contents will in fact prove ultimately at 
 least as comprehensible to children between the 
 ages specified. 
 
Preface vii 
 
 Poems suitable for readers in the latter half of 
 these years are marked with a star in the index. 
 Some pieces will be found admitted as examples 
 leading up to the poetry appropriate to later educa- 
 tion and the experience of life ; but, looking to the 
 small size of the collection, it has not been thought 
 desirable to attempt ranging the contents in order 
 of composition or of relative difficulty. 
 
 A few omissions have been made in order to 
 render a poem more suitable for childhood, or 
 to escape encroachment on the field of distinctly 
 devotional verse ; others, more copiously, when 
 the poem could be thus strengthened in a vivid 
 effectiveness. The North-country Ballads have thus 
 been greatly shortened ; a child (in th|^ editor's judg- 
 ment), especially one unfamiliar with dialect, being 
 more likely to appreciate afterwards their charming 
 antique garrulity, and the repetitions of phrase 
 proper to orally-published poetry, if presented first 
 with a tale in our more condensed modern manner. 
 When, as here, poetry for poetry's sake is concerned, 
 extracts in general appear wholly unsatisfactory to 
 the editor ; they are like fragments barbarously 
 broken from statues. Such only have, therefore, 
 been included which form in themselves complete 
 works of art. 
 
 For some pieces, the editor has to thank the 
 liberality of the copyright owners ; regretting the 
 refusal by which the present publisher of Mr. 
 Alfred Tennyson's poems has deprived this book 
 of a few briUiant pages, and its readers of an intro- 
 duction to the writings of our greatest living poet. 
 
 The rule that no piece should be admitted, unless 
 reaching a high rank in poetical merit, if carried 
 
viii Preface 
 
 out successfully, will have rendered this book fit 
 also for older readers. Such will know that the 
 treasures here collected are but a few drops from 
 an ocean, unequalled in wealth and variety by 
 any existing literature ; that many illustrious names 
 are, necessarily, altogether absent ; that many 
 others receive but a meagre and imperfect repre- 
 sentation. Among the five (surviving) Imperial 
 poets of the Western world, England ^claims 
 two ; but how faintly does a selection, limited 
 as this, present the splendour of Shakespeare and 
 Milton ! Descending onew or two steps, if Words- 
 worth and Scott, within this century, are fairly 
 shown in a single region of their power, Keats, 
 Shelley, Byr-on, Crabbe, on different grounds, 
 must be nearly or wholly undisplayed. But, in 
 truth, no selection should be planned or accepted 
 as able to do more than open a glimpse into the 
 ' Elysian fields ' of song. Pleasant as has been 
 the task of forming this book, in the hope that it 
 may, in itself, prove a pleasure and a gain to the 
 dear English and English-speaking children, all the 
 world over,— yet the editor will hold his work but 
 half fulfilled, unless they are tempted by it to go 
 on and wander, in whatever direction their fancy 
 may lead them, through the roads and winding 
 ways of this great and glorious world of English 
 poetry. He aims only at showing them the path, 
 and giving them a little foretaste of our treasures: — 
 To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. 
 
 F. T. P. 
 May: 1875 
 
FIRST PART 
 
 * I * 
 
 A LA UGHING SONG 
 
 When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, 
 And the dimpHng stream runs laughing by ; 
 When the air does laugh with our merry wit, 
 And the green hill laughs with the noise of it ; 
 
 When the meadows laugh with lively green, 
 And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene ; 
 When Mary, and Susan, and Emily, 
 With their sweet round mouths sing, ' Ha, ha, he ! ' 
 
 When the painted birds laugh in the shade. 
 Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread : 
 Come live, and be merry, and join with me 
 To sing the sweet chorus of ' Ha, ha, he ! ' 
 
 W. Blake 
 
 * 2 * 
 THE PET LAMB 
 
 Thf dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink ; 
 I heard a voice ; it said, ' Drink, pretty creature, 
 
 drink ! ' 
 And looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied 
 A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at its 
 
 side. 
 
2 The Childreiis Treasury 
 
 Nor sheep, nor kine were near ; the lamb was all 
 
 alone, 
 And by a slender cord was tether'd to a stone ; 
 With one knee on the grass did the little maiden 
 
 kneel, 
 While to that mountain lamb she gave its evening 
 
 meal. 
 
 The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper 
 
 took, 
 Seem'd to feast with head and ears ; and his tail 
 
 with pleasure shook : 
 'Drink, pretty creature, drink!' she said in such a tone 
 That I almost received her heart into my own. 
 
 'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty 
 
 rare ! 
 I watch'd them with delight, they were a lovely pair ; 
 Now with her empty can the maiden turn'd away ; 
 But ere ten yards were gone, her footsteps did she 
 
 stay. 
 
 Right towards the lamb she look'd ; and from that 
 
 shady place 
 I unobserved could see the workings of her face ; 
 If nature to her tongue could measured numbers 
 
 bring. 
 Thus, thought I, to her Iamb that little maid might 
 
 sing : 
 
 ' What ails thee. Young one ? what ? Why pull so 
 
 at thy cord ? 
 'Is it not well Avith thee? well both for bed and 
 
 board ? 
 ' Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ; 
 ' Rest, little Young one, rest ; what is 't that aileth 
 
 thee ? 
 
 ig If she could write verse 
 
of English Song 3 
 
 ' What is it thou wouldst seek ? What is wanting to 
 
 thy heart ? 
 ' Thy hmbs are they not strong ? and beautiful thou 
 
 art ! 
 ' This grass is tender grass ; these flowers they have 
 
 no peers ; 
 ' And that green corn all day is rusthng in thy ears. 
 
 ' If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy 
 
 woollen chain ; 
 ' This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst 
 
 gain ; 
 ' For rain and mountain-storms !— the like thou 
 
 need'st not fear, 
 ' The rain and storm are things that scarcely can 
 
 come here. 
 
 ' Rest, little Young one, rest ; thou hast forgot the 
 
 day 
 'When my father found thee first in places far 
 
 away ; 
 ' Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert own'd 
 
 by none, 
 ' And thy mother from thy side for evermore was 
 
 gone. 
 
 ' He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee 
 
 home : 
 ' A blessed day for thee ! — then whither wouldst thou 
 
 roam ? 
 ' A faithful nurse thou hast ; the dam that did thee 
 
 yean 
 ' Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have 
 
 been. 
 
 27 peers, equals 
 
 B 2 
 
4 The Childrai^s Treasury 
 
 ' Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee 
 
 in this can 
 ' Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran ; 
 'And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with 
 
 dew, 
 ' I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is anc' 
 
 new. 
 
 ' Thy limbs \\\\\ shortly be twice as stout as they arc 
 
 now, 
 ' Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the 
 
 plough ! 
 ' My playmate thou shalt be ; and when the wind i; 
 
 cold 
 ' Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be 
 
 thy fold. 
 
 ' It will not, will not rest ! — Poor creature, can it be 
 'That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in 
 
 thee ? 
 ' Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear, 
 'And dreams of things which thou canst neither see 
 
 nor hear. 
 
 'Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair! 
 ' I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come 
 
 there ; 
 'The httle brooks that seem all pastime and all 
 
 play, 
 ' When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey. 
 
 ' Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky ; 
 ' Night and day thou art safe. — our cottage is 
 
 hard by. 
 'Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy 
 
 chain ? 
 ' Sleep — and at break of day I will come to thee 
 
 again I ' 
 
 51 belike, probably 
 
of English Song c 
 
 — As homeward through the lane I went with lazy 
 
 feet, 
 This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat ; 
 And it seem'd, as 1 retraced the ballad line by line, 
 
 Again, and once again, did I repeat the song ; 
 
 ' Nay,' said I, ' more than half to the damsel must 
 
 belong ! — 
 ' For she look'd with such a look, and she spake 
 
 with such a tone, 
 ' That I almost received her heart into my own,' 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 THE LAMB 
 
 Little Lamb, who made thee ? 
 Dost thou know who made thee ? 
 Gave thee life, and bade thee feed 
 By the stream and o'er the mead ; 
 Gave thee clothing of delight. 
 Softest clothing, woolly, bright ; 
 Gave thee such a tender voice, 
 Making all the vales rejoice : 
 
 Little Lamb, who made thee ? 
 
 Dost thou know who made thee ? 
 
 Little Lamb, I'll tell thee ! 
 Little Lamb, I'll tell thee. 
 He is called by thy name, 
 For He calls Himself a Lamb 
 
 63 retraced, repeated 
 
The Children s Treasmy 
 
 He is meek, and He is mild ; 
 He became a little child : 
 I, a child, and thou, a lamb, 
 We are called by His name. 
 
 Little Lamb, God bless thee ; 
 
 Little Lamb, God bless thee. 
 
 W. Blah 
 
 EPITAPH ON A HARE 
 
 Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue. 
 Nor swifter greyhound follow, 
 
 Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, 
 Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo ! 
 
 Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, 
 Who, nursed with tender care, 
 
 And to domestic bounds confined. 
 Was still a wild Jack-hare. 
 
 Though duly from my hand he took 
 
 His pittance every night. 
 He did it with a jealous look, 
 
 And, when he could, would bite. 
 
 His diet was of wheaten bread. 
 And milk, and oats, and straw ; 
 
 Thistles, or lettuces instead. 
 With sand to scour his maw. 
 
 On twigs of hawthorn he regaled. 
 
 On pippin's russet peel ; 
 And when his juicy salads fail'd 
 
 Sliced carrot pleased him well. 
 
 3 tainted, scented lo pittance, portion i6 to make his food digest 
 1 8 rjisset, brown-red 
 
of English Song 
 
 A Turkey carpet was his lawn, 
 
 Whereon he loved to bound, 
 To skip and gambol like a fawn, 
 
 And swing his rump around. 
 
 His frisking was at evening hours, 
 
 For then he lost his fear ; 
 But most before approaching showers, 
 
 Or when a storm drew bean 
 
 Eight years and five round-rolling moons 
 
 He thus saw steal away, 
 Dozing out all his idle noons. 
 
 And every night at play. 
 
 I kept him for his humour's sake, 
 
 For he would oft beguile 
 My heart of thoughts that made it ache, 
 
 And force me to a smile. 
 
 But now, beneath this walnut shade, 
 
 He finds his long last home, 
 And waits, in snug concealment laid, 
 
 Till gentler Puss shall come. 
 
 He, still more aged, feels the shocks 
 From which no care can save : — 
 
 And, partner once of Tiney's box. 
 Must soon partake his grave. 
 
 W. Cowper 
 
 * s * 
 
 THE IVOUNDED HARE 
 
 Inhuman man ! curse on thy barbarous art, 
 And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; 
 May never pity soothe thee with a sigh. 
 
 Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 
 
 29 moons, months 34 beguile, cheat 
 I inhuman, cruel ; barbarous art, sliooting for sport's 
 
 sake 
 
8 The Children's T7'easu7'y 
 
 — Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, 
 The bitter little that of life remains ; 
 No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains 
 
 To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 
 
 Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, 
 No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! 
 The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, 
 
 The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 
 
 Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait 
 The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
 I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, 
 
 And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy haples- 
 fate. /v*. Bitrns 
 
 TO A SPANIEL ON HIS KILLING A VOUNG BIRD 
 
 A SPANIEL, Beau, that fares like you, 
 
 Well fed, and at his ease, 
 Should wiser be than to pursue 
 
 Each trifle that he sees. 
 
 But you have kill'd a tiny bird, 
 
 Which flew not till to-day. 
 Against my orders, whom you heard 
 
 Forbidding you the prey. 
 
 Nor did you kill that you might eat, 
 
 And ease a doggish pain, 
 For him, though chased with furious heat, 
 
 You left where he was slain. 
 
 9 7i>outcd, where he had been before 13 Nith, river in Ayrshire 
 7 ihkkemng, growing leafier 
 
of English Song 
 
 Nor was he of the thievish sort, 
 Or one whom blood allures, 
 
 But innocent was all his sport 
 Whom you have torn for yours. 
 
 My dog ! what remedy remains, 
 Since, teach you all I can, 
 
 I see you after all my pains 
 So much resemble man ? 
 
 Beau's Reply 
 
 Sir, when I flew to seize the bird 
 
 In spite of your command, 
 A louder voice than yours I heard. 
 
 And harder to withstand. 
 
 You cried — forbear ! — but in my breast 
 
 A mightier cried — proceed ! 
 'Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest 
 
 Impell'd me to the deed. 
 
 Yet, much as Nature I respect, 
 
 I ventured once to break 
 (As you, perhaps, may recollect) 
 
 Her precept for your sake ; 
 
 And when your linnet, on a day. 
 
 Passing his prison door, 
 Had flutter'd all his strength away. 
 
 And, panting, press'd the floor ; 
 
 Well knowing him a sacred thing. 
 
 Not destined to my tooth, 
 I only kiss'd his ruffled wing, 
 
 And lick'd the feathers smooth. 
 
 14 nliin-cs, tempts 17 remedy, cure 27 heJiest, command 
 
 28 impeird, drove 32 precept, cider 38 destined, meant for 
 
o The Childre7i's Ti'easiny 
 
 Let my obedience then excuse 11 
 
 My disobedience now, 
 Nor some reproof yourself refuse 
 
 From your aggrieved Bow-wow ; 
 
 If killing birds be such a crime 
 
 (Which I can hardly see), 
 What think you, Sir, oi killing time, 
 
 With verse address'd to me ? 
 
 W. Cowper 
 
 * 'J * 
 THE BLIND BOY 
 
 SAY what is that thing call'd Light, 
 
 Which I must ne'er enjoy ; J 
 
 What are the blessings of the Sight : \ 
 
 O 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 
 
 Whene'er I sleep or play ; 
 And could I ever keep awake 
 
 With me 'twere always day. 
 
 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. 
 
 C. Cihher 
 
 44 nggi'ieved, vexed 47 killing, wasting 14 hapless, unhappy 
 
of English Song 
 * 8* 
 
 ALICE FELL 
 
 The post-boy drove with fierce career, 
 For threatening clouds the moon had drown 'd 
 When, as we hurried on, my ear 
 Was smitten with a startling sound. 
 
 As if the wind blew many ways, 
 I heard the sound, — and more and more ; 
 It seem'd to follow with the chaise, 
 And still I heard it as before. 
 
 • 
 At length I to the boy call'd out ; 
 He stopp'd his horses at the word. 
 But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout, 
 Nor aught else like it, could be heard. 
 
 The boy then smack'd his whip, and fast 
 The horses scamper'd through the rain ; 
 But hearing soon upon the blast 
 The cry, 1 bade him halt again. 
 
 Forthwith alighting on the ground, 
 
 ' Whence comes,' said I, * this piteous moan ?' 
 
 And there a httle girl I found. 
 
 Sitting behind the chaise alone. 
 
 ' My cloak ! ' no other word she spake. 
 But loud and bitterly she wept. 
 As if her innocent heart would break ; 
 And down from off her seat she leapt. 
 
 'What ails you, child?'— she sobb'd, 'Look 
 
 here ! ' 
 I saw it in the wheel entangled, 
 A weather-beaten rag as e'er 
 From any garden scarecrow dangled. 
 
The Chihh'en^s Treasury 
 
 There, twisted between nave and spoke, 
 It hung, nor could at once be freed ; 
 But our joint pains unloosed the cloak, 
 A miserable rag indeed ! 
 
 ' And whither are you going, child, 
 ' To-night, along these lonesome ways ? ' 
 ' To Durham,' answtr d she, half wild — 
 ' Then come with me into the chaise' 
 
 Insensible to all relief 
 Sat the poor girl, and forth did send 
 Sob after sob, as if her grief 
 Could never, never have an end. 
 
 ' My child, in Durham do you dwell?' 
 She check'd herself in her distress, 
 And said, ' My name is Ahce Fell ; 
 ' I'm fatherless and motherless. 
 
 'And I to Durham, Sir, belong.' 
 Again, as if the thought would choke 
 Her very heart, her grief grew strong ; 
 And all was for her tatter'd cloak. 
 
 The chaise drove on ; our journey's end 
 Was nigh ; and, sitting by my side. 
 As if she had lost her only friend. 
 She Avept, nor would be pacified. 
 
 Up to the tavern-door we post : 
 Of Alice and her grief I told. 
 And I gave money to the host. 
 To buy a new cloak for the old. 
 
 ' And let it be of duffil gray, 
 ' As warm a cloak as man can sell ! ' 
 — Proud creature was she the next day, 
 The little orphan, Alice Fell ! 
 
 W. Wordsxvorth 
 
 52 pacified, quieted 57 duffil, strong shaggy cloth 
 
of English Song 1 3 
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL LOST 
 
 In the southern dime, 
 Where the summer's prime 
 Never fades away, 
 Lovely Lye a lay. 
 
 Seven summers old 
 Lovely Lyca told ; 
 She had wander'd long, 
 Hearing wild-birds' song. 
 
 ' Sweet sleep, come to me 
 ' Underneath this tree ! 
 ' Do father, mother, weep ? 
 ' Where can Lyca sleep ? 
 
 ' Lost in desert wild 
 ' Is your little child ! 
 ' How can Lyca sleep 
 ' If her mother weep .-^ 
 
 ' If her heart does ache 
 '■ Then let Lyca wake : — 
 ' If my mother sleep, 
 ' Lyca shall not weep. 
 
 * Frowning, frowning, night 
 ' O'er this desert bright, 
 
 * Let thy moon arise 
 
 ' While I close my eyes ! ' 
 
 Sleeping Lyca lay : 
 While the beasts of prey 
 Come from caverns deep, 
 View'd the maid asleep. 
 
 The kingly lion stood, 
 And the virgin view'd : 
 Then he gamboll'd round 
 O'er the hallow'd ground. 
 
14 The Children's Treasury 
 
 Leopards, tigers, play- 
 Round her as she lay ; 
 While the lion old 
 Bow'd his mane of gold, 
 
 And [did] her bosom lick ; 
 And upon her neck 
 From his eyes of flame 
 Ruby tears there came : 
 
 While the lioness 
 Loosed her slender dress ; 
 And naked they convey'd 
 To caves the sleeping maid. 
 
 THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND 
 
 All the night in woe 
 Lyca's parents go, 
 Over valleys deep. 
 While the deserts weep. 
 
 Tired and woe-begone, 
 Hoarse with making moan, 
 Arm-in-arm seven days 
 They traced the desert ways. 
 
 Seven nights they sleep 
 Among shadows deep, 
 And dream they see their child 
 Starved in desert wild. 
 
 Pale through pathless ways 
 The fancied image strays, 
 Famish'd, weeping, weak. 
 With hollow piteous shriek 
 
of English Song i 5 
 
 Rising from unrest 
 The trembling woman press'd 
 With feet of weary woe : 
 She could no further go. 
 
 In his arms he bore 
 
 Her, arm'd with sorrow sore ; 
 
 Till before their way 
 
 A couching lion lay. 
 
 Turning back was vain : 
 Soon his heavy mane 
 Bore them to the ground ; 
 Then he stalk"d around 
 
 Smelling to his prey ; 
 But their fears allay, 
 When he licks their hands, 
 And silent by them stands. 
 
 They look upon his eyes, 
 Fill'd with deep surprise ; 
 And wondering behold 
 A spirit arm'd in gold. 
 
 On his head a crown : 
 On his shoulders down 
 Flow'd his golden hair ! 
 Gone was all their care. 
 
 ' Follow me,' he said ; 
 ' Weep not for the maid ; 
 ' In my palace deep 
 ' Lyca lies asleep.' 
 
 Then they followed 
 Where the vision led, 
 And saw their sleeping child 
 Among tigers wild. 
 
The Children's Treasuty 
 
 To this day they dwell 
 In a lonely dell ; 
 Nor fear the wolvish howl, 
 Nor the lions' growl. 
 
 || 
 
 IV. Blah 
 
 * lO * 
 
 JOHN GILPIN 
 
 John Gilpin was a citizen 
 
 Of credit and renown, 
 A train-band captain eke was he 
 
 Of famous London Town. 
 
 John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, 
 ' Though wedded we have been 
 
 ' These twice ten tedious years, yet we 
 ' No holiday have seen. 
 
 • To-morrow is our wedding-day, 
 
 ' And we will then repair 
 ' Unto the Bell at Edmonton, 
 
 ' All in a chaise and pair. 
 
 ' My sister and my sister's child, 
 ' Myself, and children three, 
 
 ^ Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride 
 ' On horseback after we.' 
 
 He soon replied, ' I do admire 
 
 ' Of Avomankind but one, 
 '' And you are she, my dearest dear, 
 
 ' Therefore it shall be done. 
 
 3 travi-band, militia 
 
of English Song. 1 7 
 
 ' I am a linendraper bold, 
 
 ' As all the world doth know, 
 '■ And my good friend, the Calender, 
 
 ' Will lend his horse to go.' 
 
 Quoth Mistress Gilpin, ' That's well said ; 
 
 ' And, for that wine is dear, 
 * We will be furnish'd with our own. 
 
 Which is both bright and clear. 
 
 John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife ; 
 
 O'erjoy'd was he to find 
 That, though on pleasure she was bent, 
 
 She had a frugal mind. 
 
 The morning came, the chaise was brought, 
 
 But yet was not allow'd 
 To drive up to the door, lest all 
 
 Should say that she was proud. 
 
 So three doors off the chaise w^as stay'd, 
 
 Where they did all get in, 
 Six precious souls, and all agog 
 
 To dash through thick and thin. 
 
 Smack went the whip, round went the wheels ; 
 
 Were never folks so glad : 
 The stones did rattle underneath. 
 
 As if Cheapside w ere mad. 
 
 John Gilpin, at his horse's side. 
 
 Seized fast the flowing mane. 
 And up he got, in haste to ride, 
 
 But soon came dow-n again ; 
 
 For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he, 
 
 His journey to begin, 
 When, turning round his head, he saw 
 
 Three customers come in. 
 
 23 Calender, cloth-clre=ser 44 a street in London 
 49 saddle-tree, bow of the saddle 
 
\ TJie Children's Treasiny 
 
 So down he came ; for loss of time 
 
 Although it grieved him sore, 
 Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, 
 
 Would trouble. him much more. 
 
 'Twas long before the customers 
 
 Were suited to their mind, 
 When Betty, screaming, came downstairs, 
 
 ' The wine is left behind ! ' 
 
 ' Good lack ! ' quoth he, ' yet bring it me, 
 
 ' My leathern belt likewise, 
 '■ In which I bear my trusty sword 
 
 ' When I do exercise.' 
 
 Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul !) 
 
 Had two stone-bottles found, 
 To hold the liquor that she loved, 
 
 And keep it safe and sound. 
 
 Each bottle had a curling ear, 
 Through which the belt he drew, 
 
 And hung a bottle on each side, 
 To make his balance true. 
 
 Then over all, that he might be 
 
 Equipp'd from top to toe. 
 His long red cloak, well-brush'd and neat., 
 
 He manfully did throvv. 
 
 Now see him mounted once again 
 
 Upon his nimble steed, 
 Full slowly pacing o'er the stones. 
 
 With caution and good heed. 
 
 But finding soon a smoother road 
 
 Beneath his well-shod feet. 
 The snorting beast began to trot, 
 
 Which gall'd him in his seat. 
 
 64 as a soldier 74 eqin/>/>\i, dressed out 
 
of English Song 19 
 
 So, ' Fair and softly ! ' John he cried, 
 
 But John he cried in vain ; 
 That trot became a gallop soon, 
 
 In spite of curb and rein. 
 
 So stooping down, as needs he must 
 
 Who cannot sit upright. 
 He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, 
 
 And eke with all his might. 
 
 His horse, who never in that sort 
 
 Had handled been before. 
 What thing upon his back had got 
 
 Did wonder more and more. 
 
 Away went Gilpin, neck or nought ; 
 
 Avvay went hat and wig ; 
 He little dreamt, when he set out. 
 
 Of running such a rig. 
 
 The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, 
 
 Like streamer long and gay, 
 Till loop and button failing both. 
 
 At last it flew away. 
 
 Then might all people well discern 
 
 The bottles he had slung ; 
 A bottle swinging at each side, 
 
 As hath been said or sung. 
 
 The dogs did bark, the children scream'd, 
 
 Up flew the windows all ; 
 And every soul cried out — ' Well done ! ' 
 
 As loud as he could bawl. 
 
 Away went Gilpin — who but he? 
 
 His fame soon spread around, 
 ' He carries weight ; he rides a race ! 
 
 "Tis for a thousand pound !' 
 
 92 eke, also 
 
20 TJie Children's Treasury 
 
 And still as fast as he drew near, 
 
 'Twas wonderful to view 
 How in a trice the turnpike men 
 
 Their gates wide open threw. 
 
 And now, as he \vent bowing down 
 
 His reeking head full low, 
 The bottles twain behind his back 
 
 Were shatter'd at a blow. 
 
 Down ran the wine into the roa'd. 
 
 Most piteous to be seen, 
 Which made his horse's flanks to smoke 
 
 As they had basted been. 
 
 But still he seem'd to carry weight, 
 
 With leathern girdle braced ; 
 For all might see the bottle-necks 
 
 Still dangling at his waist. 
 
 Thus all through merry Islington 
 
 These gambols he did play, 
 Until he came unto the Wash 
 
 Of Edmonton so gay ; 
 
 And there he threw the Wash about 
 
 On"both sides of the way, 
 Just like unto a trundling mop. 
 
 Or a wild goose at play. 
 
 At Edmonton his loving wife 
 
 From the balcony spied 
 Her tender husband, wondering much 
 
 To see how he did ride. 
 
 'Stop, stop, John Gilpin ! — Here's the house'— 
 
 They all at once did cry ; 
 ' The dinner waits, and we are tired ; ' 
 
 Said Gilpin, * So am I ! ' 
 
 119 trice, moment 122 reeking, steaming 128 with gravy 
 
of English Song 21 
 
 But yet his horse was not a whit 
 
 Inchned to tarry there ; 
 For why ? his owner had a house 
 
 Full ten miles off, at Ware. 
 
 So like an arrow swift he flew, 
 
 Shot by an archer strong ; 
 So did he fly — which brings me to 
 
 The middle of my song. 
 
 Away went Gilpin, out of breath. 
 
 And sore against his will, 
 Till at his friend the Calender's 
 
 His horse at last stood still. 
 
 The Calendar, amazed to see 
 
 His neighbour in such trim, 
 Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, 
 
 And thus accosted him. 
 
 'What news ? what news ? your tidings tell ! 
 
 ' Tell me you must and shall — 
 ' Say, why bare-headed you are come, 
 
 ' Or why you come at all.'*' 
 
 Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, 
 
 And loved a timely joke ; 
 And thus unto the Calender 
 
 In merry guise he spoke : 
 
 ' I came, because your horse would come ; 
 
 ' And, if I well forbode, 
 'My hat and wig will soon be here, 
 
 ' They are upon the road.' 
 
 The Calender, right glad to find 
 
 His friend in merry pin, 
 Return'd him not a singly word, 
 
 But to the house went in ; 
 
 149 whit, bit 164 accosted, spoke to ^•j\ forbode, prophecy 
 178 pin, humour 
 
22 The Child felt's Treasury 
 
 Whence straight he came, 
 
 A wig that flow'd behind ; 
 A hat not much the worse for wear ; 
 
 Each comely in its kind. 
 
 He held them up, and in his turn 
 Thus show'd his ready wit : 
 
 ' My head is twice as big as yours, 
 ' They therefore needs must tit. 
 
 ' But let me scrape the dirt away, 
 ' That hangs upon your face ; 
 
 * And stop and eat, for well you may 
 
 ' Be in a hungry case.' 
 
 Said John, ' It is my wedding-day, 
 '■ And all the world would stare, 
 
 * If wife should dine at Edmonton, 
 
 'And I should dine at Ware !' 
 
 So, turning to his horse, he said, 
 
 ' I am in haste to dine ; 
 "Twas for your pleasure you came here, 
 
 'You shall go back for mine.' 
 
 Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast ! 
 
 For which he paid full dear; 
 For, while he spake, a braying ass 
 
 Did sing most loud and clear ; 
 
 Whereat his horse did snort, as he 
 
 Had heard a lion roar, 
 And gallop'd off with all his might, 
 
 As he had done before. 
 
 Away went Gilpin, and away 
 
 Went Gilpin's hat and v^Vg ; 
 He lost them sooner than at first. 
 
 For why.? — they were too big. 
 
 20I bootless, vain 
 
of English Song 23 
 
 Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw 
 
 Her husband posting down 
 Into the country far away, . 
 
 She puU'd out he\lf-a-crown ; 
 
 And thus unto the youth she said, 
 
 That drove them to the Bell, 
 ' This shall be yours, when you bring back 
 
 ' My husband safe and well.' 
 
 The youth did ride, and soon did meet 
 
 John coming back amain ; 
 Whom in a trice he tried to stop, 
 
 By catching at his rein ; 
 
 But not performing what he meant, 
 
 And gladly would have done. 
 The frighten'd steed he frighten'd more, 
 
 And made him faster run. 
 
 Away went Gilpin, and away 
 
 Went postboy at his heels. 
 The postboy's horse right glad to miss 
 
 The lumbering of the wheels. 
 
 Six gentlemen upon the road 
 
 Thus seeing Gilpin fly, 
 With postboy scampering in the rear, 
 
 They raised the hue and cry: — 
 
 ' Stop thief !— stop thief !— a highwayman !' 
 
 Not one of them was mute ; 
 And all and each that pass'd that way 
 
 Did join in the pursuit. 
 
 And now the turnpike gates again 
 
 Flew open in short space: 
 The toll-men thinking as before 
 
 That Gilpin rode a race. 
 
The Children's Treasury 
 
 And so he did, and won it too ! 
 
 For he got first to town ; 
 Nor stopp'd, till where he had got up 
 
 He did again get down. 
 
 — Now let us sing, Long live the King, 
 
 And Gilpin, long live he ; 
 And, when he next doth ride abroad, 
 
 May I be there to see ! 
 
 W. Cowper 
 
 * TI * 
 
 WILLIAM AND MARGARET 
 
 'TWAS at the silent, solemn hour 
 When night and morning meet ; 
 
 In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, 
 And stood at William's feet. 
 
 Her face was like an April morn, 
 
 Clad in a wintry cloud ; 
 And clay-cold was her lily hand. 
 
 That' held her sable shroud. 
 
 So shall the fairest face appear 
 When youth and years are flown : 
 
 Such is the robe that kings must wear, 
 When death has reft their crown. 
 
 Her bloom was like the springing flower. 
 
 That sips the silver dew ; 
 The rose was budded in her cheek, 
 
 Just opening to the view. 
 
 But love had, like the canker worm, 
 
 Consumed her early prime: 
 The rose grew pale, and left her cheek ; 
 
 She died before her time. 
 
 12 reft, taken 
 
of English Song 25 
 
 ' Awake 1 ' she cried, ' thy true Love calls, 
 ' Come from her midnight grave ; 
 
 '- Now let thy pity hear the maid, 
 ' Thy love refused to save ! 
 
 'This is the dumb and dreary hour, 
 
 ' When injured ghosts complain ; 
 ' When yawning graves give up their dead, 
 
 ' To haunt the faithless swain. 
 ' Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, 
 
 ' Thy pledge and broken oath ! 
 ' And give me back my maiden- vow, 
 
 ' And give me back my troth. 
 
 ' Why did you promise love to me, 
 
 ' And not that promise keep? 
 ' Why did you swear my eyes were bright , 
 
 ' Yet leave those eyes to weep ? 
 
 ' How could you say my face was fair, 
 
 ' And yet that face forsake ? 
 ' How could you win my virgin heart, 
 
 ' Yet leave that heart to break ? 
 
 ' Why did you say my lip was sweet, 
 
 ' And made the scarlet pale ? 
 ' And why did T, young witless maid I 
 
 ' Believe the flattering tale ? 
 
 '- That face, alas ! no more is fair, 
 
 ' Those lips no longer red : 
 ' Dark are my eyes, now closed in death, 
 
 * And every charm is fled. 
 
 ' The hungry worm my sister is ; 
 
 ' This winding-sheet I wear : 
 ' And cold and weary lasts our night, 
 
 ' Till that last morn appear. 
 
 28 sxmm, lover 32 troth, promise 48 charm, beauty 
 
26 The Children's Treasury 
 
 ' But, hark ! the cock has warn'd me hence ; 
 
 ' A long and late adieu ! 
 ' Come see, false man, how low she lies 
 
 ' Who died for love of you I ' 
 
 The lark sung loud ; the morning smiled 
 
 With beams of rosy red : 
 Pale William quaked in every limb, 
 
 And raving left his bed. 
 
 He hied him to the fatal place 
 
 Where Margaret's body lay ; 
 And stretch'd him on the green-grass turf 
 
 That wrapp'd her breathless clay. 
 
 And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, 
 
 And thrice he wept full sore ; 
 Then laid his cheek to her cold grave, 
 
 And word spake never more ! 
 
 D. Mallet 
 
 * 12 * 
 THE TRUE SWEETHEART 
 
 A FAIR maid sat at her bovver-door, 
 
 Wringing her lily hands ; 
 And by it came a sprightly youth 
 
 Fast tripping o'er the strands. 
 
 ' Where gang ye, young John,' she says, 
 
 ' Sae early in the day ? 
 ' It gars me think, by your fast trip, 
 
 'Your journey's far away.' 
 
 He turn'd about with surly look. 
 And said, ' What's that to thee ? 
 
 * I'm gaen' to see a lovely maid 
 * Mair fairer far than ye.' 
 
 54 adieu, good-bye 5 gn'iff, go 7 ^ars, makes 12 viair, more 
 
of Enolish Song 27 
 
 — ' False Love, and hast thou play'd me this 
 ' In summer among the flowers ? 
 
 * I will repay thee back again 
 
 ' In winter among the showers. 
 
 ' Unless again, again, my Love, 
 
 ' Unless you turn again ; 
 'As you with other maidens rove, 
 
 ' ril smile on other men.' 
 
 — ' O make your choice of whom you please, 
 
 'For I my choice will have ; 
 ' I've chosen a maid mair fair than thee, 
 
 ' I never will deceive.' 
 
 She kilted up her clothing fine, 
 
 And after him gaed she ; 
 But aye he said; ' Turn back, turn back, 
 
 ' No further gang with me !' 
 
 ' — But again, dear Love, and again, dear Love, 
 ' Will ye ne'er love me again ? 
 
 * Alas for loving you sae weel, 
 
 'And you nae me again ! ' 
 
 The firstan town that they came till. 
 He bought her brooch and ring ; 
 
 But aye he bade her turn again, 
 And no farther gang with him. 
 
 * But again, dear Love, and again, dear Love, 
 
 ' Will ye ne'er love me again ? 
 ' Alas ! for loving you sae weel, 
 ' And you nae me again ! ' 
 
 The second town that they came till. 
 
 His heart it grew more fain ; 
 Ajid he was as deep in love with her 
 
 As she with him again. 
 
 25 kilted, tucked 31 sae -weel, so well 337frj/rt:«, first ; till, to 
 
28 The Children's Treasury 
 
 The neistan town that they came till, 
 
 He bought her wedding-gown ; 
 And made her lady of halls and bowers, 
 
 In bonny Berwick town. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 * 13 * 
 
 THE GA V GOSH A WK 
 
 '■ O WELL is me, my gay goshawk, 
 ' That you can speak and flee ; 
 
 ' For you can carry a love-letter 
 ' To my true Love from me,' 
 
 — ^ O how can I carry a letter to her ? 
 
 ' Or how should I her know ? 
 ' 1 bear a tongue ne'er with her spake, 
 
 ' And eyes that ne'er her saw.' 
 
 — ' O well shall ye my true Love ken 
 
 ' So soon as ye her see : 
 * For of all the flowers of fair England, 
 
 ' The fairest flower is she. ^ 
 
 ' And when she goes into the house, 
 
 ' Sit ye upon the whin ; 
 ' And sit you there and sing our loves 
 
 ' As she goes out and in.' 
 
 Lord William has written a love-letter. 
 
 Put it under his pinion gray : 
 And he's awa' to Southern land 
 
 As fast as wings can gae. 
 
 And first he sang a low, low, note. 
 
 And then he sang a clear ; 
 And aye the o'erword of the sang 
 
 Was ' Your Love can no win here.' 
 
 45 neistan, next i goshaivk, large hawk 14 -mJi'ih, furze-bush 
 23 oe7"word, burden 24 710 win, not come 
 
of English Song 29 
 
 ' Feast on, feast on, my maidens all, 
 
 ' The wine flows you amang ; 
 ' While I gang to my shot-window 
 
 ' And hear yon bonnie bird's sang.' 
 
 O, first he sang a merry sang, 
 
 And then he sang a grave : 
 And then he peck'd his feathers gray ; 
 
 To her the letter gave. 
 
 ' Have there a letter from Lord William : 
 
 ' He says, he Stnt ye three ; 
 ' He can not wait your love longer, 
 
 ' But for your sake hell die.' 
 
 — ' I send him the rings from my white fingers, 
 
 ' The garlands of my hair ; 
 ' I send him the heart that's in my breast ; 
 
 ' What would my Love have mair ? 
 'And at Mary's kirk in fair Scotland, 
 
 ' Ye'll bid him wait for me there.' 
 
 She hied her to her father dear 
 
 As fast as go could she : 
 ' An asking, an asking, my father dear, 
 
 ' An asking grant you me ! 
 ' That if I die in fair England, 
 
 ' In Scotland bury me, 
 
 'At the first kirk of fair Scotland, 
 
 ' You cause the bells be rung ; 
 'At the second kirk of fair Scotland, 
 
 ' You cause the mass be sung ; 
 
 ' And when ye come to Saint Mary's kirk, 
 
 'Ye'll tarry there till night.' 
 And so her father pledged his word. 
 
 And so his promise plight. 
 
 27 shof-wiudoyK, window with shutter 41 kirk, church 
 52 7iinss, service 56 plight, gave 
 
30 The Children's Tfeasiny 
 
 The lady's gone to her chamber 
 
 As fast as she could fare ; 
 And she has drunk a sleepy draught 
 
 That she had mix'd with care. 
 
 And pale, pale, grew her rosy cheek. 
 And pale and cold was she : — 
 
 She seem'd to be as surely dead 
 As any corpse could be. 
 
 Then spake her cruel stepminnie, 
 
 ' Take ye the burning'lead, 
 'And drop a drop on her bosom, 
 
 ' To try if she be dead.' 
 
 They dropp'd the hot lead on her cheek, 
 
 They dropp'd it on her chin, 
 They dropp'd it on her bosom white ; 
 
 But she spake none again. 
 
 Then up arose her seven brethren. 
 
 And hew'd to her a bier ; 
 They hew'd it from the solid oak ; 
 
 Laid it o'er with silver clear. 
 
 The first Scots kirk that they came to 
 
 They gart the bells be rung ; 
 The next Scots kirk that they came to 
 
 They gart the mass be sung. 
 
 But when they came to Saint Mar>'s kirk. 
 There stood spearmen in a row ; 
 
 And up and started Lord William, 
 The chieftain among them a'. 
 
 He rent the sheet upon her face 
 
 A little above her chin : 
 With rosy cheek, and ruby lip, 
 
 She look'd and laugh'd to him. 
 
 58 fare, go 65 ininm'e, mother 78 c'^r/, made 84 n\ all 
 
of English Song 3 1 
 
 — ' A morsel of your bread, my lord I 
 
 'And one glass of your wine ! 
 ' For I have fasted these three long days 
 
 'All for your sake and mine !' 
 
 Unknown 
 
 * 14* 
 
 THE MARINERS OF ENGLAND 
 
 Ye Mariners of England 
 
 That guard our native seas ! 
 
 Whose flag has braved, a thousand years. 
 
 The battle and the breeze ! 
 
 Your glorious standard launch again 
 
 To match another foe : 
 
 And sweep through the deep, 
 
 While the stormy winds do blow ; 
 
 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 was their grave : 
 Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell 
 Your manly hearts shall glow, 
 As ye sweep through the deep. 
 While the stormy winds 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 — 
 
 5 standard, flag of England 15 Blake, admiral under the Com- 
 monwealth 21 Our island needs no coast fortifications 
 
32 The Childreii^s Ti-casiiry 
 
 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. 
 
 'i he 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 ; 
 
 When the fiery fight is heard no more, 
 
 And the storm has ceased to blow. 
 
 T. Canipbdl 
 
 BEFORE BATTLE 
 
 The signal to engage shall be 
 
 A whistle and a hollo ; 
 Be one and all but firm, like me. 
 And conquest soon will follow ! 
 You, Gunnel, keep the helm in hand — 
 
 Thus, thus, boys ! steady, steady 
 Till right a-head you see th,e land, — 
 Then soon as we are ready, 
 
 — The signal to engage shall be 
 
 A whistle and a hollo ; 
 Be one and all but firm, like me, 
 And conquest soon will follow ! 
 
 Keep, boys, a good look out. d'ye hear? 
 
 'Tis for Old England's honour ; 
 Just as you brought your lower tier 
 
 Broad-side to bear upon her, 
 
 31 meteor-JJag, streaming like a flyin.e star 15 tier, a row of cannon 
 16 bear npoji, be pointed towards 
 
of English Song. 33 
 
 — The signal to engage shall be 
 
 A whistle and a hollo ; 
 Be one and all but firm, like me, 
 
 And conquest soon will follow ! 
 
 All hands then, lads, the ship to dear ; 
 
 Load all your guns and mortars ; 
 Silent as death th' attack prepare ; 
 And, when you're all at quarters, 
 — The signal to engage shall be 
 
 A whistle and a hollo ; 
 Be one and all but firm, like me, 
 And conquest soon will follow ! 
 
 C. Dibdin 
 
 CASABIANCA 
 A True Stojy 
 
 The boy stood on the burning deck, 
 
 Whence all but he had fled ; 
 The flame that lit the battle's wreck, 
 
 Shone round him o'er the dead ; 
 Yet beautiful and bright he stood 
 
 As born to rule the storm ! 
 A creature of heroic blood, 
 
 A proud, though child-like form ! 
 
 The flames roU'd on — he would not go 
 
 Without his Father's word ; 
 That Father, faint in death below, 
 
 His voice no longer heard. 
 He call'd aloud : ' Say, father, say 
 
 ' If yet my task is done ! ' 
 He knew not that the chieftain lay 
 
 Unconscious of his son. 
 
 ttiortars, guns to shoot bombs 7 heroic, noble 15 chieftain, 
 admiral in command 
 
34 '^he Childre7i's Treasu7'y 
 
 ' Speak, father ! ' once again he cried, 
 
 ' If I may yet be gone ! ' 
 And but the booming shots repUed, 
 
 And fast the flames rolFd on. 
 Upon his brow he felt their breath, 
 
 And in his waving hair ; 
 And look'd from that lone post of death 
 
 In still, yet brave despair ; 
 
 And shouted but once more aloud, 
 
 ' My father ! must I stay ? ' 
 While o'er him fast through sail and shroud, 
 
 The vvreathing fires made way. 
 They wrapt the ship in splendour wild, 
 
 They caught the flag on high. 
 And stream'd above the gallant child 
 
 Like banners in the sky. 
 
 There came a burst of thunder-sound — 
 
 The boy — O ! where was he ? 
 — Ask of the winds that far around 
 
 With fragments strew'd the sea. 
 With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, 
 
 That well had borne their part ; 
 But the noblest thing which perish^ there 
 
 Was that young faithful heart ! 
 
 F. He mans 
 
 * 17 * 
 
 THE LOSS OF THE BIRKENHEAD: 
 
 Supposed to b • told by a Soldier 7vho survived 
 
 Right on our flank the crimson sun went down ; 
 The deep sea roU'd around in dark repose ; 
 When, like the wild shriek from some captured 
 town, 
 A cry of women rose. 
 
 19 ^wA only: hooiititisc. deep soundin? yj feiinon, small flag 
 1 Jiank, s-ide 3 cn/turect, taker, in war 
 
of Eui^lish Song. 35 
 
 The stout ship Birkenhead lay hard and fast, 
 Caught without hope upon a hidden rock ; 
 Her timbers thriU'd as nerves, when through them 
 pass'd 
 The spirit of that shock. 
 
 And ever h'ke base cowards, who leave their ranks 
 In danger's hour, before the rush of steely 
 Drifted away disorderly the planks 
 From underneath her keel. 
 
 So calm the air, so calm and still the flood, 
 That low down in its blue translucent glass 
 We saw the great fierce fish, that thirst for blood, 
 Pass slowly, then repass. 
 
 They.ta'ried, the waves tarried, for their prey ! 
 The sea turn d one clear smile ! Like things asleep 
 Those dark shapes in the azure silence lay. 
 As quiet as the deep. 
 
 Then amidst oath, and prayer, and rush, and wreck. 
 Faint screams, faint questions waiting no reply, 
 Our Colonel gave the word, and on the deck 
 Form'd us in line to die. 
 
 To die ! — 'twas hard, whilst the sleek ocean glow'd 25 
 Beneath a sky as fair as summer flowers^ : — 
 All to the boats ! cried one : — he was, thank God, 
 No officer of ours ! 
 
 Our English hearts beat true :~we would not stir : 
 That base appeal we heard, but heeded not : 
 On land, on sea, we had our Colours, Sir, 
 To keep without a spot ! 
 
 They shall not say in England, that we fought 
 With shameful strength, unhonour'd life to seek ; 
 Into mean safety, mean deserters, brought 
 By trampling down the weak. 
 
 lo rush 0/ steel, battle 14 translucent, transparent isJls/i, sharks 
 
 D 2 
 
36 The ChildreJi's Treasury 
 
 So we made women with their children go, 
 The oars ply back again, and yet again ; 
 Whilst, inch by inch, the drowning ship sank low, 
 Still under steadfast men. 
 
 — What follows, why recall ? — The brave who died, 
 Died without flinching in the bloody surf, 
 They sleep as well, beneath that purple tide, 
 As others under turf : — 
 
 They sleep as well ! and, roused from their wild 
 
 grave, 
 Wearing their wounds like stars, shall rise again, 
 Joint-heirs with Christ, because they bled to save 
 His weak ones, not in vain. 
 
 Sir F. H. Doyle 
 
 THE ' NOR THERN STAR' 
 
 A Tynemouth Ship 
 
 The 'Northern Star' 
 Sail'd over the bar 
 Bound to the Baltic Sea ; 
 In the morning gray 
 She stretch'd away : — 
 'Twas a weary day to me ! 
 
 For many an hour 
 
 In sleet and shower 
 By the lighthouse rock I stray ; 
 
 And watch till dark 
 
 For the winged bark 
 Of him that is far away. 
 
 The castle's bound 
 I wander round, 
 Amidst the grassy graves : 
 
 •winged, with sails 15 Tynemouth Castle, used as a graveyard 
 
of English Song. 37 
 
 But all I hear 
 Is the north-wind drear, 
 And all L see are the waves. 
 
 The ' Northern Siar' 
 
 Is set afar ! 
 Set in the Baltic Sea : 
 
 And the waves have spread 
 
 The sandy bed 
 That holds my Love from me. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 *i9* 
 
 THE ADMIRAL'S GRAVE 
 
 There is in the lone, lone sea 
 
 A spot unmark'd but holy ; 
 For there the gallant and the free 
 
 In his ocean-bed lies lowly. 
 
 Down, down, beneath the deep 
 
 That oft in triumph bore him, 
 He sleeps a sound and peaceful sleep 
 
 With the wild waves dashing o'er him. 
 
 He sleeps ! — he sleeps ! serene and safe 
 
 From tempest and from billow, 
 Where storms that high above him chafe 
 
 Scarce rock his peaceful pillow. 
 
 The sea and him in death 
 
 They did not dare to sever : 
 It was his home when he had breath : 
 
 'Tis now his home for ever I 
 
 Sleep on, sleep on, thou mighty dead ! 
 
 A glorious tomb they've found thee ; 
 The broad blue sky above thee spread ; 
 
 The boundless ocean round thee. 
 
 Unknown 
 
38 The Children's Treasury 
 
 * 20 * 
 
 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. 
 
 His sv/ord was in its sheath^ 
 His fingers 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. 
 
 7 heel, lean over 9 s/wouds, mast ropes 19 sprang, opened 
 25 "weigh, lift 27 cnp, rejoicing 
 
of English Song. 39 
 
 Her timbers yet are sound, 
 
 And she may float again 
 
 Full charged with England's thunder, 
 
 And plough the distant main : 
 
 But Kempenfeit is gone, 
 His victories are o'er ; 
 And he and his eight hundred 
 Shall plough the wave no more. 
 
 W. Cowper 
 
 *2I * 
 
 THE SAILOR'S WIFE 
 
 And are ye sure the news is true ? 
 
 And are ye sure he's weel ? 
 Is this a 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'll 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 bailie's wife 
 
 That Colin's in the town. 
 My Turkey slippers maun gae on, 
 
 My stockin's pearly blue ; 
 It's a' to pleasure our gudeman, 
 
 For he's baith leal and true. 
 
 31 thmider, cannon 2 weel, well 4 jades, girls 10 at a\ at all 
 
 \-2 gudeman, master of the house 13 big-onet, little cap 15 maioi, 
 
 must : bailie, magistrate 20 leal, faithful 
 
40 The Childre)i!s Treasury 
 
 Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, 
 
 Put on the muckle pot ; 
 Gie little Kate her button gown 
 
 And Jock his Sunday coat ; 
 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 ; 
 Mak 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'm like to greet. 
 
 22 vjucMe, big 25 slaes, sloes 31 thraw, twist 34 gat, make : 
 
 ilka, every : braw, smart 38 caller, fresh 44 greet, cry 47 gin, if 
 
 48 aiooti the lave, beyond every one else 
 
of English Song. ^l 
 
 For there's nae luck al30ut the house, 
 
 There's nae luck at a' ; 
 There's little pleasure in the house 
 
 When our gudeman's awa'. 
 
 W. J. Mickle 
 
 * 22 * 
 
 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. 
 
 W. Shakespeare 
 
 * 23 * 
 
 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 .Tien. 
 
 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. 
 
 y. lFe/?s/er 
 
 I Full five fathoms under water 7 sra-nyiiiphs, fairies 8 gay, 
 splendid 5 dole, feast 
 
42 The Children's T?'easu?y 
 
 *24* 
 
 TflE 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 
 Then 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, 
 O had I the wings of a dove 
 
 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 Imd 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 ! 
 
 6 sag^^s, wise people 9 hianmiity, human creatures 21 assuage, heal 
 24 sallis, lively talk 27 report, news 
 
of English Song. 43 
 
 How fleet is a glance of ihc 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 seafovvl 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. 
 
 IV. Ccnvper 
 
 * 25 * 
 AT SEA 
 
 A WET sheet and a flowing sea, 
 
 A wind that follows fast 
 And fills the white and rustling sail 
 
 And bends the gallant mast ; 
 And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 
 
 While like the eagle free 
 Away the good ship flies, and leaves 
 
 Old England on the lee. 
 
 O for a soft and gentle wind ! 
 
 I heard a fair one cry ; 
 Rut give to me the snoring breeze 
 
 And white waves heaving high ; 
 
 1 glance, thought 42 lair, den 44 repair, go 48 makes us con- 
 tent with life I sheet, sail-ropes 8 lee, behind 
 
44 The Children's Treasury 
 
 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 Avind is piping loud, my boys. 
 
 The lightning flashes free — 
 While the hollow oak our palace is, 
 
 Our heritage the sea. 
 
 A. Cunningham 
 
 * 26 * 
 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 ! 
 
 T. Nash 
 
 17 horned, new 23 oak, ship 24 heritage, proper home 
 
of English Song. 45 
 
 COUNTRY SCENES IN OLD DAYS 
 Day-break 
 
 See the day begins to break, 
 And the Hght shoots hke a streak 
 Of subtle fire ; the wind blows cold 
 While the morning doth unfold ; 
 Now the birds begin to rouse, 
 And the squirrel from the boughs 
 Leaps, to get him nuts and fruit ; 
 The early lark, that erst was mute, 
 Carols to the rising day 
 Many a rrote and many a lay. 
 
 Uiifolding the Flocks 
 
 Shepherds, rise, and shake off sleep — 
 See the blushing morn doth peep 
 Through the windows, while the sun 
 To the mountain-tops is run, 
 Gilding all the vales below 
 With his rising flames, which grow 
 Greater by his climbing still. — 
 Up ! ye lazy swains ! and fill 
 Bag and bottle for the field ; 
 Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield 
 To the bitter north-east wind. 
 Call the maidens up, and find 
 Who lies longest, that she may 
 Be chidden for untimed delay. 
 Feed your faithful dogs, and pray 
 Heaven to keep you from decay ; 
 So unfold, and then away. 
 
 Folding the Flocks 
 
 Shepherds all, and maidens fair, 
 Fold your flocks up ; for the air 
 'Gins to thicken, and the sun 
 Already his great course hath run. 
 
 ; subtle, piercing 8 erst, before lo lay, song 26 decay, harm 
 30 'gins, begins 
 
46 The Children's Treasury 
 
 See the dew-drops how they kiss 
 
 Every little flower that is ; 
 
 Hanging on their velvet heads, 
 
 Like a rope of crystal beads. 
 
 See the heavy clouds low falling, 
 
 And bright Hesperus down calling 
 
 The dead Night from underground ; 
 
 At whose rising, mists unsound, 
 
 Damps and vapours, fly apace. 
 
 Hovering o'er the wanton face 
 
 Of these pastures, where they come 
 
 Striking dead both bud and bloom : 
 
 Therefore from such dangei'^'lock 
 
 Every one his loved flock ; 
 
 And let your dogs lie loose without, 
 
 Lest the wolf come as a scout 
 
 From the mountain, and ere day 
 
 Bear a lamb or kid away ; 
 
 Or the crafty, thievish fox 
 
 Break upon your simple flocks. 
 
 To secure yourself from these 
 
 Be not too secure in ease ; 
 
 So shall you good shepherds prove, 
 
 And deserve your master's love. 
 
 Now, good night ! may sweetest slumbers 
 
 And soft silence fall in numbers 
 
 On your eye-lids ! so farewell ; 
 
 — Thus I end my evening's knell. 
 
 ^. Fletcher 
 
 * 28 * 
 THE COUNTRY LIFE 
 
 Sweet country life, to such unknown 
 Whose lives are others', not their own, 
 But, servi-ng courts and cities, be 
 Less happy, less enjoying thee : — 
 
 7 Ih'sperus, the evening star 39 unsound, unhealthy 47 scout, 
 spy 53 secure, careless 57 in numbers, musically, softly 
 
of English Song. 47 
 
 — Thou never plough'st the ocean's foam 
 
 To seek and bring rough pepper home ; 
 
 Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove 
 
 To bring from thence the scorched clove ; 
 
 Nor, with the loss of thy loved rest, 
 
 Bring'st home the ingot from the west : 
 
 No ! thy ambition's masterpiece 
 
 Flies no thou:2[ht higher than a fleece ; 
 
 Or how to pay thy hinds, and clear 
 
 All scores, and so to end the year : 
 
 But walk'st about thine own dear bounds. 
 
 Not envying others' larger grounds ; 
 
 For well thou know'st 'tis not the extent 
 
 Of land makes life, but sweet content. 
 
 When now the cock, the ploughman's horn, 
 
 Calls forth the lily-wristed morn, 
 
 Then to thy cornfields thou dost go, 
 
 Which though well soil'd, yet thou dost know 
 
 That the best compost for the lands 
 
 Is the wise master's feet and hands : 
 
 There at the plough thou find'st thy team, 
 
 With a hind whistling there to them ; 
 
 And cheer'st them up, by singing how 
 
 The kingdom's portion is the plough : 
 
 This done, then to th' enamell'd meads 
 
 Thou go'st, and as thy foot there treads, 
 
 Thou seest a present God-like power 
 
 Imprinted in each herb and flower ; 
 
 And smell'st the breath of great-eyed kine 
 
 Sweet as the blossoms of the vine : 
 
 Here thou behold'st thy large sleek neat 
 
 Unto the dew-laps up in meat ; 
 
 And as thou look'st, the wanton steer, 
 
 SThe heifer, cow, and ox draw near, 
 
 To make a pleasing pastime there :— 
 
 lo ingot, gold or silver bars ii thy highest wish 17 exfcnf, size 
 20 lily, white 23 coinpost, manure 29 enmneird, brightly-coloured 
 
48 The Children's T?'easiny 
 
 These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks 
 Of sheep, safe from the wolf and fox, 
 And find'st their belHes there as full 
 Of short sweet grass, as backs with wool ; 
 And leav'st them, as they feed and fill, 
 A shepherd piping on a hill. 
 For sports, for pageantry and plays, 
 Thou hast thy eves and holydays ; 
 On which the young men and maids meet 
 To exercise their dancing feet, 
 Tripping the comely country round. 
 With daffodils and daisies crown'd. 
 Thy wakes, thy quintels, here thou hast. 
 Thy May-poles too with garlands graced, 
 Thy morris-dance, thy Whitsun-ale, 
 Thy shearing-feast, which never fail, 
 Thy harvest home, thy wassail bowl. 
 That's toss'd up after Fox'i'th'hole, 
 Thy mummeries, thy twelfth-tide kings 
 And queens, thy Christmas revellings, — 
 Thy nut-brown mirth, thy russet wit. 
 And no man pays too dear for it : — 
 To these, thou hast thy times to go 
 And trace the hare i'th'treacherous snow ; 
 Thy witty wiles to draw, and get 
 The lark into the trammel net ; 
 Thou hast thy cockrood and thy glade 
 To take the precious pheasant made ; 
 Thy lime-twigs, snares, and pitfalls then 
 To catch the pilfering birds, not men. 
 
 O happy life ! if that their good 
 The husbandmen but understood ; 
 
 A,(i pageantry^ shows 52 quintels, a game in which poles were run 
 at a post 54 vtOT^is, mumming 56 wassail-bmvl, cup of old ale 
 
 57 Fox, a game in which boys hopped and flogged each other 
 60 russett homely 62 Besides 64 luitty, clever 65 trammel, 
 fowling 66 cockrood, see end 
 
of English Song 49 
 
 Who all the day themselves do please 
 And younglings, with such sports as these ; 
 Andj lying down, have nought t'affright 
 Sweet sleep, that makes more short the night. 
 
 R. Herrick 
 
 * 29 * 
 
 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, 
 Fair 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. 
 
 8 madrigals, short songs ii kirtle, jacket 
 
 E 
 
50 The Children's Treasury 
 
 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. 
 
 C. Marl(ni\ 
 
 *30* 
 
 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 : 
 No sweeter voice wa,s ever 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. 
 And o'er the sickle bending ; 
 
 25 theme, subject of her song 
 
of English Song 5 1 
 
 I listen'd till I had my fill ; 
 And as I mounted up the hill 
 The music in my heart I bore 
 Long after it was heard no more. 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 NEW AND OLD 
 
 Glad sight, wherever new with old 
 
 Is join'd through some dear homeborn tie ; 
 
 The life of all that we behold 
 
 Depends upon that mystery. 
 
 Vain is the glory of the sky, 
 
 The beauty vain of field and grove, 
 
 Unless, while with admiring eye 
 
 We gaze, we also learn to love. 
 
 W. IVordsrvorth 
 
 A UTUMN 
 A Dirge 
 
 The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, 
 The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are 
 dying ; 
 
 And the year 
 On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves 
 dead. 
 
 Is lying. 
 Come, Months, come away. 
 From November to May, 
 In your saddest array, — 
 Follow the bier 
 Of the dead cold year. 
 And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. 
 
 8 array, dress ii sepulchre, tomb 
 
 E 2 
 
$2 The Children's Treasury 
 
 The chill rain is falling, the nipt worm is crawling, 
 The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling, 
 
 For the year ; 
 The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each 
 gone 
 
 To his dwelhng. 
 Come, Months, come away ; 
 Put on white, black, and gray ; 
 Let your light sisters play ; 
 Ye, follow the bier 
 Of the dead cold year, 
 And make her grave green with tear on tear. 
 
 P. B. Shelley 
 THE COUNTRYMAN 
 
 What pleasures have great princes 
 
 More dainty to their choice, 
 Than herdmen wild, who careless 
 
 In quiet life rejoice ; 
 And fortune's favours scorning. 
 Sing sweet in summer morning. 
 
 All day their flocks each tendeth ; 
 
 At night they take their rest ; 
 More quiet than who sendeth 
 
 His ship into the east, 
 Where gold and pearl are plenty. 
 But getting very dainty. 
 
 For lawyers and their pleading. 
 They 'steem it not a straw : — 
 
 They think that honest meaning 
 Is of itself a law : 
 
 Where conscience judgeth plainly, 
 
 They spend no money vainly. 
 
 ig the summer months 
 12 daiiily, difficult 14 'steevi, value 
 
of English Sojig 53 
 
 O happy who thus liveth, 
 
 Not caring much for' gold ; 
 With clothing, which sutficeth 
 
 To keep him from the cold : — 
 Though poor and plain his diet, 
 Yet merry it is and quiet. 
 
 Uiikncnon 
 
 TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY 
 
 Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower> 
 Thou's met me in an evil hour ; 
 For I maun crush amang the stour 
 
 Thy slender stem ; 
 To spare thee now is past my power, 
 
 Thou bonnie gem. 
 Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
 The bonnie lark, companion meet ! 
 Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet 
 
 Wi' spreckled breast, 
 When upward springing, blythe, to greet 
 
 The purpling east. 
 Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
 Upon thy early, humble, birth ; 
 Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 
 
 Amid the storm ; 
 Scarce rear'd above the parent earth 
 
 Thy tender form. 
 The flaunting flowers our gardens yield 
 High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield, 
 But thou beneath the random bield 
 
 O' clod or stane 
 Adorns the histie stibble-field, 
 
 Unseen, alane. 
 
 3 7}iauii, must : sfonr, dust 7 7io, not : neebor, neighbour 
 
 •8 meet, fit 9 weet, wet 10 spreckled, speckled 
 
 i-i pur filing, at dawn 15; glinted, glanced 
 
 20 %vas, walls 21 bield, shelter 23 histie, dry: stibble, stubble 
 
54 The C}iild7'en^s Treasury 
 
 There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
 Thy snawy bosom sunward spread, 
 Thou lifts thy unassuming head 
 
 In humble guise ; 
 But now the share uptears thy bed, 
 
 And low thou lies ! 
 
 R. Burns 
 
 *35* 
 
 THE WHIRL-BLAST 
 
 A WHIRL-BLAST from behind the hill 
 
 Rush'd o'er the wood with startling sound ; 
 
 Then^ — all at once the air was still, 
 
 And showers of hailstones patter'd round. 
 
 Where leafless oaks tower'd high above, 
 
 I sat within an undergrove 
 
 Of tallest hollies, tall and green ; 
 
 A fairer bower was never seen. 
 
 From year to year the spacious floor 
 
 With wither'd leaves is cover'd o'er, 
 
 And all the year the bower is green ; 
 But see ! where'er the hailstones drop 
 The wither'd leaves all skip and hop ; 
 There's not a breeze — no breath of air- 
 Yet here, and there, and every where 
 Along the floor, beneath the shade 
 By those embowering hollies made. 
 The leaves in myriads jump and spring. 
 As if with pipes and music rare 
 Some Robin Goodfellow were there. 
 And all those leaves, in festive glee. 
 Were dancing to the minstrelsy. 
 
 IV. Wordsworth 
 
 ■2-j unass7i)}tifig, modest 28 guise, manner 
 
 20 Robin Goodfellow, a fairy 22 minstrelsy, r/iusic 
 
of English Song t;5 
 
 .36 
 
 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 
 Tuvvhoo ! 
 
 Tuwhit ! tuwhoo ! A merry note i 
 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 When all around 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 
 Tuwhoo ! 
 
 Tuwhit ! tuwhoo ! A merry note ! 
 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot 
 
 W. Shakespeare 
 
 *37* 
 
 JOCK OF 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 Hazeldean. 
 
 9 keel, skim n saw, speech . 14 crabs, wild apples 
 7 loot, let : fa' fall 
 
56 The Children's Treasury 
 
 ' Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 
 
 ' And dry that cheek so pale ; 
 '■ Young Frank is chief of Errington, 
 
 ' And lord of Langley-dale ; 
 ' His step is first in peaceful ha', 
 
 ' His sword in battle keen ' — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 ' 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' 
 
 ' Sail ride our forest-queen '• — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 For Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, 
 
 The tapers glimmer'd fair ; 
 The priest and bridegroom 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 W. Sroll 
 
 .38. 
 
 THE OUTLAW 
 
 O Brignall banks are wild and fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green, 
 And you may gather garlands there 
 
 Would grace a summer-queen. 
 
 13 ha', hall, for house ig mettled, spirited : maiir.ged, trained 
 25 kirk, church 29 botver, lady's own rown 
 
 Oiitlaiu, man driven out to live by himself, a robber 
 
of English Sons; 57 
 
 And as I rode by Dalton-Hall 
 
 beneath the turrets high, 
 A Maiden on the castle-wall 
 
 Was singing merrily : 
 ' O 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 would st wend with me, 
 
 ' To leave both tower and town, 
 ' Thou first must guess what life lead we 
 
 ' Tha.t 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, 
 ' I read you for a ranger sworn 
 
 ' To keep the king's greenwood.' 
 — ' A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, 
 
 ' And 'tis at peep of light ; 
 ' His blast is heard at merry moin, 
 
 ' 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 ! 
 
 13 ivend, go 25 7-ead, declare 26 palfrey, pmy 
 
 27 7-nttger, forest-keeper i8 kce/>, guard 2(j winds, blows 
 
58 The Children's Treasury 
 
 ' With burnish'd brand and musketoon 
 
 ' So gallantly you come. 
 ' I read you for a bold Dragoon 
 
 ' That lists the tuck of drum.' 
 — ' I hst no more the tuck of drum, 
 
 ' No more the trumpet hear ; 
 ' But when the beetle sounds his hum 
 
 ' My comrades take the spear. 
 ' And O ! 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'll 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.' 
 
 Chorus 
 Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair. 
 
 And Greta woods are green, 
 And you may gather garlands there 
 Would grace a summer-queen. 
 
 Sir W. Scott 
 
 * 39 * 
 
 EDWIN AND ANGELINA 
 
 'Turn, gentle Hermit of the dale, 
 
 ' And guide my lonely way 
 ' To where yon taper cheers the vale 
 
 ' With hospitable ray. 
 
 37 brafid, sword : inuskeioo?i, blunderbuss 40 tuck, beat 
 
 47 mickle, much 51 Will o' the Wisp 
 
of English Song 59 
 
 * For here forlorn and lost I tread, 
 
 ' With fainting steps and slow, 
 
 * Where wilds, immeasurably spread, 
 
 ' Seem lengthening as I go.' 
 
 — ' Forbear, my son,' the Hermit cries, 
 ' To tempt the dangerous gloom, 
 
 ' For yonder faithless phantom flies 
 ' To lure thee to thy doom. 
 
 Here to the houseless child of want 
 * My door is open still ; 
 ' And though my portion is but scant 
 ' I give it with goodwill. 
 
 ' Then turn to-night, and freely share 
 ' Whate'er my cell bestows ; 
 
 * My rushy couch and frugal fare, 
 
 ' My blessing and repose. 
 
 * No flocks that range the valley free 
 
 ' To slaughter I condemn ; 
 ' Taught by that Power that pities me, 
 ' I learn to pity them : 
 
 ' But from the mountain's grassy side 
 
 ' A guiltless feast I bring : 
 'A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, 
 
 ' And water from the spring. 
 
 ' Then, pilgrim ! turn ; thy cares forego; 
 
 ^ All earth-born cares are wrong: 
 ' Man wants but little here below, 
 
 ' Nor wants that little long.' 
 
 7 iirmeastcrably, without end lo teinpt, try 
 
 II the Will-o'-the-Wisp 12 hij-e, tempt 
 
 19 bed of rushes 22 kill 
 
 27 scrip, little bag 2g /orego\ lay by 
 
6o 1 he Childreji^s Treasury 
 
 Soft as the dew from heaven descends 
 
 His gende accents fell : 
 The modest stranger lowly bends, 
 
 And follows to the cell. 
 
 Far in a wilderness obscure 
 
 The lonely mansion lay, 
 A refuge to the neighbouring poor. 
 
 And strangers led astray. 
 
 No stores beneath its humble thatch 
 
 Required a master's care, 
 The wicket, opening with a latch. 
 
 Received the- harmless pair. 
 
 And now, when busy crowds retire 
 
 To take their evening rest, 
 The hermit trimm'd his little fire, 
 
 And cheer'd his pensive guest: 
 
 And spread his vegetable store, 
 And gaily press'd and smiled ; 
 
 And skill'd in legendary lore, 
 The lingering hours beguiled. 
 
 Around, in sympathetic mirth. 
 
 Its tricks the kitten tries ; 
 The cricket chirrups on the hearth, 
 
 The crackling fagot flies. 
 
 But nothing could a charm impart 
 To soothe the stranger's woe ; 
 
 For grief was heavy at his heart, 
 And tears began to flow. 
 
 His rising cares the Hermit spied, 
 With answering care oppress'd : 
 
 And ' Whence, unhappy youth,' he cried, 
 ' The sorrows of thy breast ? 
 
 j,\ accents, voice /^^ pensh^e, thoughtful 
 
 51 legendary /ore, ancient stories 53 cheerful like the Hermit 
 
 57 ii}ipa7-t, give 62 similar sadness 
 
of English Song 6i 
 
 ' From better habitations spurn'd 
 
 ' Reluctant dost thou rove ? 
 ' Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, 
 
 ' Or unregarded love ? 
 
 ' Alas ! the joys that fortune brings 
 
 ' Are trifling, and decay ; 
 ' And those who prize the paltry things, 
 
 ' More trifling still than they. 
 
 'And what is friendship but a name, 
 
 ' A charm that lulls to sleep ; 
 ' A shade that follows wealth or fame, 
 
 ' But leaves the wretch to weep ? 
 
 ' And love is still an emptier sound, 
 
 ' The modern fair-one's jest ; 
 ' On earth unseen, or only found 
 
 ' To warm the turtle's nest. 
 
 ' For shame, fond youth ! thy sorrows hush ; 
 
 ' And spurn the sex,' he said ; 
 But while he spoke, a rising blush 
 
 His love-lorn guest betray 'd ! 
 
 Surprised he sees new beauties rise, 
 
 Swift mantling to the view ; 
 Like colours o'er the morning skies, 
 
 As bright, as transient too. 
 
 The bashful look, the rising breast, 
 
 Alternate spread alarms: 
 The lovely stranger stands confess'd, 
 
 A maid in all her charms. 
 
 And ' Ah ! forgive a stranger rude, — 
 
 * A wretch forlorn,' she cried ; 
 ' Whose feet, unhallow'd, thus intrude 
 
 ' Where Heaven and you reside ! 
 
 65 spitni'd, driven 66 rehtctatit, unwilling 69 /orimie, wealth 
 
 82 the sex, women 86 viantling, spreading 
 
 88 (ranstefit, soon passing 91 cotifcssd, revealed 95 intritde, push in 
 
62 The Children's Treasury 
 
 ' But let a maid thy pity share, 
 Whom love has taught to stray; 
 
 ' Who seeks for rest, but finds despair 
 ' Companion of her way. 
 
 ' My father lived beside the Tyne, 
 
 ' A wealthy lord was he ; 
 'And all his wealth was mark'd as mine, 
 
 ' He had but only me. 
 
 ' To win me from his tender arms 
 ' Unnumber'd suitors came, 
 
 ' Who praised me for imputed charms, 
 ' And felt or feign'd a flame. 
 
 ' Each hour a mercenary crowd 
 ' With richest proffers strove : 
 
 'Amongst the rest, young Edwin bow'd, 
 ' But never talk'd of love. 
 
 ' In humble, simple habit clad, 
 ' No wealth nor power had he : 
 
 ' Wisdom and worth were all he had, 
 ' But these were all to me. 
 
 ' And when, beside me in the dale, 
 
 ' He caroird lays of love, 
 ' His breath lent fragrance to the gale, 
 
 ' And music to the grove, 
 
 ' The blossom opening to the day, 
 ' The dews of heaven refined, 
 
 ' Could nought of purity display 
 ' To emulate his mind. 
 
 ' The dew, the blossom on the tree, 
 'With charms inconstant shine: 
 
 ' Their charms were his ; but, woe to me I 
 ' Their constancy was mine. 
 
 107 iJiiputed, which they said they saw \oZ flame, love 
 
 log mercenary, greedy of money wo proffers, offers 
 
 124 emulate, rival 126 changeable beauties 
 
of English Song 63 
 
 ' For still I tried each fickle art, 
 
 ' Importunate and vain ; 
 ' And, while his passion touch'd my heart, 
 
 ' I triumph'd in his pain : 
 
 '■ Till, quite dejected with my scorn, 
 ' He left me to my pride ; 
 
 < And sought a solitude forlorn, 
 
 ' In secret'; where he died. 
 
 < But mine the sorrow, mine the fault ! 
 
 ^ And well my life shall pay ; 
 * I'll seek the solitude he sought, 
 ' And stretch me where he lay. 
 
 ' And there, forlorn, despairing, hid, 
 
 ' I'll lay me down and die ; 
 ' 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, 
 
 'And so for him will I.' 
 
 — ' Forbid it, Heaven ! ' the Hermit cried, 145 
 
 And clasp'd her to his breast : 
 The wondering fair one turn'd to chide— 
 
 'Twas Edwin's self that press'd ! 
 
 ' Turn, Angelina, ever dear, 
 
 ' My charmer, turn to see 
 ' Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, 
 
 ' Restored to love and thee. 
 
 ' Thus let me hold thee to my heart, 
 
 ' And every care resign : 
 ' And shall we never, never part, 
 
 ' My life— my all that's mine ? 
 
 ' No, never from this hour to part, 
 
 ' We'll live and love so true : 
 ' The sigh that rends thy constant heart 
 
 ' Shall break thy Edwin's too.' 
 
 0. Goldsmith 
 
 132 triumph'd, rejoiced i33 dejected, grieved 
 
64 The Children's Tt^easury 
 
 * 40 * 
 
 T//£ LASS OF LOCHROYAN 
 
 ' O WHO will shoe my bonny foot, 
 ' And who will glove my hand ? 
 And who will lace my middle jimp 
 ' Wi' a long, long, linen band ? 
 
 ' Or who will kaim my yellow hair 
 ' Wi' a new-made silver kaim ? 
 
 ' O who will father my young son 
 ' Till Lord Gregory comes hame ? 
 
 ' O if I had a bonny ship, 
 
 * And men to sail wi' me, 
 'It's I would gang to my true Love, 
 
 'Since he winna come to me I ' 
 
 Then she's gar'd build a bonny boat, 
 
 To sail the salt, salt sea : 
 The sails were of the light-green silk. 
 
 And the ropes of taffetie. 
 
 She had not been on the sea sailing 
 
 About a month or more, 
 Till landed has she her bonny ship 
 
 Near to her true Love's door. 
 
 She's ta'en her young son in her arms 
 
 And to the door she's gane ; 
 And long she knock'd, and sair she call'd. 
 
 But answer got she nane. 
 
 ' O open the door. Lord Gregory ! 
 
 ' O open, and let me in ! 
 ' For the wind blows through my yellow hair, 
 
 ' And the rain drops o'er my chin,' 
 
 3 middle jiinp, slender waist 5 kaim, comS 12 tvinna, will not 
 1^ gar'd, made 16 taffetie, thin silk 23 sair, sorely 
 
oj Knglisk ^o}ig 65 
 
 Long stood she at Lord Gregory's door, 
 
 And long she tirl'd the pin ; 
 At length up gat his false mother, 
 
 Says, ' Who's that would be in ?' 
 
 — ' O it's Annie of Lochroyan, 
 ' Your Love, come o'er the sea, 
 
 * But and yom* young son in her arms ; 
 
 ' So open the door to me.' 
 
 — ' Away, away, ye ill woman ! 
 
 ' You're not come here for gude ; 
 ' You're but a witch, or a vile warlock, 
 
 ' Or a mermaid o' the flood.' 
 
 — ' I'm no a witch, nor vile warlock, 
 ' Nor mermaiden,' said she ; 
 
 * But I am Annie of Lochroyan, — 
 
 ^ O open the door to me ! ' 
 
 — ' If thou be Annie of Lochroyan 
 
 ' (As I trow ye binna she), 
 ^ Now tell me some of the love-tokens 
 
 ' That pass'd 'tween me and thee.' 
 
 — ' O dinna ye mind. Lord Gregory, 
 ' As we sat at the wine, 
 
 * How we changed the rings from our fingers, 
 
 ' And I can show thee thine .-^ 
 
 ^ O yours was good, and good enough, 
 
 ' But not so good as mine ; 
 ' For yours was o' the good red gold, 
 
 ' But mine of the diamond fine. 
 
 ^ So open the door, Love Gregory, 
 
 'And open it with speed ; 
 ^ Or your young son that's in my arms, 
 
 '■ For cold will soon be dead.' 
 
 30 tirl'd, twisted the latch 
 35 But aucf, and also 39 -wnrlock, wizard 
 
 46 binna, be not 49 dinna, do not 
 
 F 
 
66 The Childretts Treasury 
 
 — ' Away, away, ye ill woman ! 
 
 ' Go from my door for shame ! 
 ' For I have gotten another Love, 
 
 ' So you may hie you hame.' 
 
 Fair Annie turn'd her round about ; 
 
 ' Well ! since that it be sae, 
 ' May never a woman, that has borne a son, 
 
 ' Have a heart so full of wae ! 
 
 ' Take down, take down, the mast of gold, 
 
 ' Set up the mast o' tree ; 
 ' It ill becomes a forsaken lady 
 
 ' To sail so gallantlie.' 
 
 Lord Gregory started from his sleep. 
 
 And to his mother did say, 
 ' I dreamt a dream, this night, mother, 
 
 ' That makes my heart right wae. 
 
 ' I dreamt that Annie of Lochroyan, 
 
 * The flower of all her kin, 
 ' E'en now was standing at my door, 
 
 ' But none would let her in.' 
 
 — ' O there was a woman stood at the door. 
 
 'With a bairn intill her arm ; 
 * But I could not let her come within, 
 
 ' For fear she had done you harm.' 
 
 — ' O wae betide ye, ill woman ! " 
 
 ' An ill death may ye dee ! 
 ' That w^adna open the door to her. 
 
 Nor yet would waken me ! ' 
 
 O, he's gone down to yon shore side 
 
 As fast as he could fare ; 
 He saw fair Annie in the boat, 
 But the wind it toss'd her sair. 
 
 6S zvae, woe 70 tree, wood 76 ivae, sad 
 
 82 ifitill, in 87 luadiia, would not 
 
of EngUsli :So)ig 67 
 
 • 
 And ' hey, Annie ! ' and ' how, Annie !' 
 
 ' O Annie, winna ye bide ?' 
 But aye the inair he cried ' Annie,' 
 The broader grew the tide. 
 
 And ' hey, Annie ! ' and ' how, Annie ! ' 
 
 ' O Annie, speak to me ! ' 
 But aye the louder he cried ' Annie,' 
 
 The louder roar'd the sea. 
 
 The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough, 
 And the ship was rent in twain : 
 
 And soon he saw his fair Annie 
 Come floating o'er the maih. 
 
 He saw his young son in her arms, 
 
 Bot^h toss'd above the tide ; 
 He wrang his hands, and fast he ran 
 
 And plunged in the sea sae wide. 
 
 He catch'd her by the yellow hair, 
 
 And drew her up on the sand ; 
 But cold and stiff was every limb 
 
 Before he reach'd the land. 
 
 And then he kiss'd her on the cheek, 
 
 And kiss'd her on the chin ; 
 And sair he kiss'd her on the lips ; 
 
 But there was no breath within. 
 
 ' O vvae betide my cruel mother ! 
 
 ' An ill death may she dee ! 
 ' She turn'd fair Annie from my door, 
 
 * Wha died for love of me ! ' 
 
 Unknown 
 
 94 bide, wait 
 
 F 2 
 
I Tlie Childrens Treasury 
 
 *4i * 
 
 CUMNOR HALL 
 
 The dews of summer night did fall ; 
 
 The moon, sweet Regent of the sky, 
 Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall, 
 
 And many an oak that grew thereby. 
 
 Now nought was heard beneath the skies ; 
 
 The sounds of busy life were still. 
 Save an unhappy lady's sighs 
 
 That issued from that lonely pile. 
 
 ' Leicester ! ' she cried, ' is this thy love 
 
 * That thou' so oft hast sworn to me, 
 ' To leave me in this lonely grove, 
 
 * Immured in shameful privity ? 
 
 ' No more thou com'st with lover's speed 
 
 '■ Thy once-beloved bride to see ; 
 ' But, be she alive, or be she dead, 
 
 ' I fear, stern Earl, 's the same to thee. 
 
 ' Not so the usage I received 
 
 ' When happy in my father's hall : 
 ' No faithless husband then me grieved ; 
 
 * No chilling fears did me appal. 
 
 ' I rose up with the cheerful morn, 
 
 * No lark more blithe, no flower more gay : 
 ' And like the bird that haunts the thorn, 
 
 ' So merrily sung the live-long day. 
 
 ' If that my beauty is but small, 
 '■ Among court-ladies all despised ; 
 
 ' Why didst thou rend it from that hall 
 ' Where, scornful Earl ! it well was prized ? 
 
 2 regent, ruler 8 issued, came forth : pile, building 
 
 12 ifn7iiured, buried : />ri7<ity, solitude 
 I usage, treatment 20 nppal, frighten 27 rend^ take away 
 
of English Song 69 
 
 ' But, Leicester, (or I much am wrong), 
 ' Or His not beauty lures thy vows ; 
 
 ' Rather, ambition's gilded crown 
 ' Makes thee forget thy humble spouse. 
 
 ' Then, Leicester, why, — again I plead, 
 
 ' The injured surely may repine, — 
 * Why didst thou wed a country maid, 
 
 ' When some fair Princess might be thine ? 
 
 ' Wliy didst thou praise my humble charms, 
 ' And O ! then leave them to decay? 
 
 ' Why didst thou win me to thy arms, 
 ' Then leave to mourn the live-long day ? 
 
 ' The village maidens of the plain 
 
 ' Salute me lowly as they go : 
 ' Envious they mark my silken train, 
 
 ' Nor think a Countess can have woe. 
 
 ' How far less blest am 1 than them ! 
 . ' Daily to pine and waste with care, 
 ' Like the poor plant, that, from its stem 
 ' Divided, feels the chilling air. 
 
 ' My spirits flag ; my hopes decay ; 
 
 ' Still that dread death-bell sniites my ear : 50 
 ' And many a boding seems fo say 
 
 ' Countess, prepare ! thy end is near I ' 
 
 Thus sore and sad the Lady grieved 
 In Cumnor Hall so ]one and drear ; 
 
 And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved. 
 And let fall many a bitter tear. 
 
 And ere the dawn of day appear'd, 
 In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear, 
 
 Full many a piercing scream was heard, 
 And many a cry of mortal fear. 
 
 30 hires, tempts thy wishes 32 spouse, wife 
 
 34 repine, murmur 37 charms, beauties 42 bow to me 
 
 43 train, dress \9 flns> sink 51 boding, sign 
 
yo The Child?-efi^s Tj-easitry 
 
 The death-bell thrice was heard to ring ; 
 
 An aerial voice was heard to call ; 
 And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing 
 
 Around the towers of Cumnor Hall. 
 
 The mastiff howl'd at village door ; 
 
 The oaks were shatt^ r'd on the green ;. 
 Woe vvas the hour ! for never more 
 
 That hapless Countess e'er was seen. 
 
 And in that manor now no more 
 Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball : 
 
 For ever since that dreary hour 
 
 Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall. 
 
 The village maids, with fearful glance. 
 Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall, 
 
 Nor ever lead the merry dance 
 
 Among the groves of Cumnor Hall. 
 
 Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd, 
 And pensive wept the Countess' fall, 
 
 As wandering onwards they've espied 
 The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall. 
 
 W. J. Miclde 
 
 THE TRUE AND THE FALSE 
 
 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 be his pillow. 
 
 62 aerial, iu the air 78 pensiz'e, thoughtful 
 
of English Song 7 1 
 
 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, O never ! 
 Eleii loro 
 
 Never, O never f 
 
 —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 ; 
 Elen loro 
 
 There shall he be lying. 
 
 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, O never ! 
 Eleji loro 
 
 Never, O never ! 
 
 Sir IV. Scolt 
 
']! The Childreifs Ti'easury 
 
 . 43 * . 
 
 A ULD ROBIN GRA Y 
 
 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at 
 
 hame, 
 And a' the warld to rest are gane, 
 The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, 
 While my gudeman hes 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' ; 
 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, O, 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, W^ae's me 1 
 
 X faiild, fold: kye, cattle 37^') f^H 7 gned, went 
 
 9 aiua , away a fortnight lo stoiU7i, stolen 
 
 13 couldna, could not 19 dee, die 
 
of Enodsli Song 73 
 
 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.' 
 
 — O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say 5 
 We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away : 
 I 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'll do my best a gude wife aye to be, 
 For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. 
 
 Lady A. Lindsay 
 
 WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW 
 
 Down in yon garden sweet and gay 
 
 W^here 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. 
 
 21 urgit, pressed 24 gudevia7i, husband 27 zuraiih, ghost 
 29 sair, sorely : greei, cry : vinckle, much 31 iike, likely 
 
 34 daurna, dare not 7 hecht, promised 8 gin, if: ony, any 
 
74 Ihe Children's Treasuiy 
 
 ' O gentle wind, that blovveth south, 
 ' From where my Love repaireth, 
 
 ' Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth 
 ' And tell me how he fareth ! 
 
 ' O 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. 
 
 ' O Leader-haughs are wide and braid 
 ' And Yarrow-haughs are bonny ; 
 
 ' There Willie hecht to marry me 
 ' If e'er he married ony. 
 
 ' But W^illie's gone, whom I thought on, 
 ' And does not hear me weeping ; 
 
 * Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e 
 ' When other maids are sleeping. . 
 
 ' O came ye by yon water-side ? 
 
 ' Pou'd you the rose or lily ? 
 ' Or came you by yon meadow green, 
 
 ' Or saw you my sweet Willie ? ' 
 
 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 ! 
 
 lo repnircth, is going 14 mavis, thrush 15 ilka, everj' 
 
 17 lav'rock, lark 19 e7iench, enough 20 luuighs, water-meadow.' 
 21 braid, broad 30 pond, pulled 
 
 34 througli plain and valley 35 sync, then : craig, rock 
 
of E)iglish Song 75 
 
 ■ MS * 
 
 LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER 
 
 A Chieftain to the Highlands b 
 Cries ' Boatman, do not tarry ! 
 ' And rU give thee a silver pound 
 ' n}» row us o'er the ferry ! ' 
 
 — ' Now, who be ye, would cross Lochgyle 
 ' This dark and stormy water ? ' 
 — ' O 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'll 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 ; 
 And in the scowl of heaven each face 
 Grew dark as they were speaking. 
 
 2G iiHxter-ivraith. spirit of the lake 27 scoivl, storminess 
 
76 The Childreji's Treasiay 
 
 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, O ! 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 I ' he cried in grief 
 ' Across this stormy water : 
 ' And I'll forgive your Highland chief :^ 
 ' My daughter ! — O my daughter !' 
 
 Twas vain : the loud waves lash'd the shore. 
 
 Return or aid preventing : 
 
 The waters wild went o'er his child, 
 
 And he was left lamenting. 
 
 T. Campbell 
 
of English Song yj 
 
 * 46 * 
 
 THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB 
 
 The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, 
 And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and 
 
 gold, 
 And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the 
 
 sea. 
 When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 
 
 Like the leaves of the forest when summer is 
 
 green, 
 That host with tlieir banners at sunset were seen ; 
 Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath 
 
 blown, 
 That host on the morrow lay wither'd and strown. 
 
 For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the 
 
 blast, 
 And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; 10 
 And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill. 
 And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew 
 
 still. 
 
 And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, 
 But through it there roll'd not the breath of his 
 
 pride : 
 And the foam of his gasping lay white on the 
 
 turf, 
 And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 
 
 And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, 
 
 With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his 
 
 mail ; 
 And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, 
 The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 
 
 2 cohorts, regiments 3 sheen, shining 11 luax'd, grew 
 
 13 sieed, vvarhorse 16 sicr/, waves 
 
 X rt'/j/(7 •/<?«', twisted in death 18 wr?//, armour 
 
78 The Children's Treasury 
 
 And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, 
 And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal, 
 And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the 
 
 sword, 
 Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
 *47* 
 
 THE SPANISH ARMADA 
 
 Attend all ye who list to hear our noble England's 
 
 praise, 
 I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in 
 
 ancient days. 
 When that great fleet invincible against her bore in 
 
 vain 
 The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts 
 
 of Spain. 
 
 It was about the lovely close of a warm summer 
 
 day. 
 There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to 
 
 Plymouth Bay ; 
 Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet beyond 
 
 Aurigny's isle, 
 At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many 
 
 a mile ; 
 At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial 
 
 grace ; 
 And the tall Pinfa, till the noon, had held her close 
 
 in chase. 
 Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along 
 
 the wall ; 
 The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's 
 
 lofty hall ; 
 
 21 .4 j/i«r, Assyria i /wi", desire 7 /jA", Alderney 
 
 9 -lan, foremost ships 
 
of English Song 79 
 
 Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the 
 
 coast ; 
 And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland 
 
 many a post. 
 With his white hair unbonnet'd the stout old 
 
 sheriff comes ; 
 Behind him march the halberdiers, before him 
 
 sound the drums ; 
 His yeomen, round the market-cross, make clear 
 
 an ample space, 
 For there behoves him to set up the standard of 
 
 her Grace. 
 And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance 
 
 the bells, 
 As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon 
 
 swells. 
 Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient 
 
 crown, 
 And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay 
 
 Lilies down. 
 So stalk'd he when he turn'd to flight on that 
 
 famed Picard field 
 Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Caesar's 
 
 eagle shield : 
 So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turn'd 
 
 to bay. 
 And crush'd and torn beneath his claws the princely 
 
 hunters lay. 
 Ho ! strike the flag-staff deep, Sir Knight ; ho ! 
 
 scatter flowers, fair maids : 
 Ho ! gunners, fire a loud salute : ho ! gallants, draw 
 
 your blades ; 
 
 14 post, messenger i6 halberdiers, guards \vith axes 
 
 17 yeomen, stout followers 
 
 i8 standard, great flag : her Grace, Queen Elizabeth 
 
 20 Idazon, arms of England 22 lilies, old arms of France 
 
 23 /ield, Cressy 28 salute, volley : blades, swords 
 
8o The Children's Treasury 
 
 Thou sun, shine on her joyously — ye breezes waft 
 
 her wide ; 
 Our glorious SEMPER EADEM— the banner of 
 
 our pride. 
 The freshening breeze of eve unfurl'd that ban- 
 ner's massive fold, 
 The parting gleam of sunshine kiss'd that haughty 
 
 scroll of gold ; 
 Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the 
 
 purple sea, — 
 Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er 
 
 again shall be ! 
 From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to J 
 
 Milford Bay, 
 That time of slumber was as bright and busy as 
 
 the day ; 
 For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly ^ 
 
 war-flame spread ; 
 High on Saint Michael's Mount it shone— it shone 
 
 on Beachy Head. , 
 
 Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each 
 
 southern shire, 
 Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twink- 
 ling points of fire ; 
 The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering 
 
 weaves, 
 The rugged miners pour'd to war fromi Mendip's 
 
 sunless caves. 1 
 
 O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the 
 
 fiery herald flew ; 1 
 
 He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers 
 
 of Beaulieu. 
 Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out 
 
 from Bristol town. 
 And ere the day three hundred horse had met on 
 
 Clifton down ; 
 
 30 Semper Eadem, ' always the same ' : banner, flag 32 scroU, flag I 
 
of English Song 8 r 
 
 The sentinel on Whitehall-gate look'd forth into 
 
 the night, 
 And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill, the streak of 
 
 blood-red light. 
 Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like 
 
 silence broke, 
 And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city 
 
 woke. 
 At once on all her stately gates arose the answering 
 
 fires ; 
 At once the wild alarum clash'd from all her reel- 
 ing spires ; 
 From all the batteries of the Tower peal'd loud the 
 
 voice of fear ; 
 And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back 
 
 a louder cheer : 
 And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of 
 
 hurrying feet. 
 And the broad streams of pikes and flags rush'd 
 
 down each roaring street : 
 And broader still became the blaze, and louder 
 
 still the din. 
 As fast from every village round the horse came 
 
 spurring in : 
 And eastward straight, from wild Blackheath, the 
 
 warlike errand went. 
 And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant 
 
 squires of Kent. 
 Southward, from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those 
 
 bright couriers forth ; 
 High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they 
 
 stared for the North ; 
 And on, and on, without a pause, untired they 
 
 bounded still, 
 
 50 ciiy, London 52 reeling, trembling under the sound 
 
 55 Tt/rtra'j, divisions of the city 56 //^^j, spears 58 /z<7r^^, soldiers 
 59 erjnnd, the beacon-fires to rouse England : so 
 6i couriers 62 swarthy, dark 6^ paiise, stay 
 
 G 
 
82 The Childreji's Treasury 
 
 All night from tower to tower they sprang ; they 
 
 sprang from hiil to hill : 
 Till the proud Peak unfurl'd the flag o'er Darwin's 
 
 rocky dales, 
 Till like volcanoes flared to Heaven the stormy hills 
 
 of Wales ; 
 Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's 
 
 lonely height, 
 Till stream'd in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's 
 
 crest of light, 
 Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's 
 
 stately fane, 
 And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the 
 
 boundless plain ; 
 Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, 
 And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale 
 
 of Trent ; 
 Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burn'd on Gaunt's 
 
 embattled pile, 
 And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers 
 
 of Carlisle. 
 
 Lord Ufa aulay 
 
 *48 * 
 
 HOHENLINDEH 
 
 On Linden, when the sun was low, 
 All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; 
 And dark as winter was the flow 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
 
 But Linden saw another sight. 
 When the drum beat at dead of night 
 Commanding fires of death to light 
 The darkness of her scenery. 
 
 6g/ane, cathedral 72 s/>ed, sent quickly 
 
 74 burghers, citizens 
 
of English Song 83 
 
 By torch and trumpet fast array'd 
 Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 
 And furious every charger neigh'd 
 To join thedrtadful revelry. 
 
 Then shook the hills with thunder riven ; 
 Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven ; 
 And louder than the bolts of Heaven 
 Far flash'd 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 I 
 The snow shall be their winding-sheet, 
 And every turf beneath their feet 
 Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. 
 
 T. Canipbeil 
 * 49 * 
 
 THE LAST CHARGE OF THE FRENCH AT 
 IVA TERLOO 
 
 On came the whirlwind — like the last 
 But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast — 
 On came the whirlwind— steel-gleams broke 
 Like lightning through the rolling smoke ; 
 
 9 array'd, dressed ii charger, war-horse 15 than thunder 
 16 artillery, cannon 22 dim, gloomy 
 
 24 sulfihurous canopy, overhanging smoke froin guns 
 28 chivalry, horsemen 32 sepulchre, grave 
 
 G 2 
 
84 Tliti Childreiis Treasury 
 
 The war was waked anew, 
 Three hundred cannon-mouths roar'd loud, 
 And from their throats, with flash and cloud, 
 
 Their showers of iron threw. 
 Beneath their fire, in full career, 
 Rush'd on the ponderous cuirassier, 
 The lancer couch'd his ruthless spear, 
 And hurrying as to havoc near, 
 
 The cohorts' eagles flew. 
 In one dark torrent, broad and strong, 
 The advancing onset roU'd along, 
 Forth harbinger'd by fierce acclaim, 
 That, from the shroud of smoke and flame, 
 Peal'd wildly the imperial name ! 
 
 But on the British heart were lost 
 The terrors of the charging host ; 
 For not an eye the storm that view'd 
 Changed its proud glance of fortitude ; 
 Nor was one forward footstep sta>'d, 
 As dropp'd the dying and the dead. 
 Fast as their ranks the thunders tear, 
 Fast they renew'd each serried square ; 
 And on the wounded and the slain 
 Closed their diminish'd files again, 
 Till from their hne scarce spears' lengths three, 
 Emerging from the smoke they see 
 Helmet, and plume, and panoply,— 
 Then waked their fire at once ! 
 Each musketeer's revolving knell, 
 As fast, as regularly fell, 
 As when they practise to display 
 Their discipline on festal day. 
 
 lo cuirassier, heavily armed horseman 
 IT, cohort, body of men i6 harbitizer d, preceded 
 
 17 shroud, covering 18 name. Napoleon Buonaparte 
 
 22 fortitude, bravery 26 serried, closely drawn 
 
 31 panoply, armour 33 firing in turn 
 
of English Song 85 
 
 Then down went helm and lance, 
 Down were the eagle-banners sent, 
 
 Down reeling steeds and riders went, 
 Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent ; 
 
 And to augment the fray, 
 Wheerd full against their staggering flanks, 
 The English horsemen's foaming ranks 
 
 Forced their resistless way. 
 Then to the musket-knell succeeds 
 The clash of swords — the neigh of steeds — 
 As plies the smith his clanging trade, 
 Against the cuirass rang the blade; 
 And while amid their close array 
 The well-served cannon rent their way, 
 And while amid their scatter'd band 
 Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand, 
 Recoil'd in common rout and fear 
 Lancer and guard and cuirassier. 
 Horsemen and foot, — a mingled host ! 
 Their leaders fall'n, — their standards lost. 
 
 Sir IV. Scott 
 
 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 \ dreamt it again. 
 
 ci8 the Eagle was borne by the French 
 40 corslet, bodi'-armour 41 augment, increase 
 
 I truce, peace for the time : lower'd, descended 
 5 pallet, couch 6 fire lighted to keep the wolves away 
 
86 TJie Children's T^'easury 
 
 Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array 
 Far, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track : 
 
 'Tvvas Autumn,— and sunshine arose on the way 
 To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me 
 back. 
 
 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 art 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. 
 
 T. Campbell 
 
 *5I * 
 BLIND BELISARIUS 
 
 Heaven's gifts are unequal in this world awarded, 
 
 As the wise page of history to us has recorded ; 
 
 Since the learn'd, great, and good, of its frowns 
 seldom scape any : — 
 
 Witness brave Belisarius, who begg'd for a half- 
 penny :— 
 
 ''Date obolum^ Dateobohim^ Date oboliim, Belisario^ 
 
 17 we drank healths i awarded, given 
 
 5 Give a half-penny to Belisarius 
 
of EnglisJi Song ^ Sy 
 
 He whose fame from his valour and victories arose, 
 
 sir, 
 Of his country the shield, and the scourge of her 
 
 foes, sir : 
 By his poor faithful dog, blind and aged, was led 
 With one foot in the grave, thus to beg for his bread. 
 
 When a young Roman knight, in the street passing 
 
 The veteran survey'd with a heart-rending sigh : 
 His purse in his helmet he dropp'd with a tear, 
 While the soldier^s sad tale thus attracted his ear. 
 
 ' I have fought, I have bled, I have conquer'd for 
 
 Rome ; 
 ' I have crown'd her with laurels, which for ages shall 
 
 bloom ; 
 I've enrich'd her with wealth, swell'd her pride and 
 
 her power : 
 
 * I espoused her for life,— and disgrace is my dower ! 
 
 ' Yet blood 1 ne'er wantonly wasted at random, 
 
 * Losing thousands their lives by a ni/ desperandiim : 
 ' But each conquest I gain'd, I made friend and foe 
 
 know 
 
 * That my soul's only aim was pro publico bono. 
 
 *■ Nor yet for my friends, for my kindred, or self, 
 ' Has my glory been tarnish'd by base views of pelf : 
 ' For such sordid designs I've so far been from 
 carving, 
 
 * Old and blind, I've no choice, but of begging or 
 
 starving. 
 
 ' Now if soldier or statesman, of what age or nation 
 ' He hereafter may be, should hear this relation, 
 < And of eyesight bereft, should like me grope his way, 
 ' The bright sun-beams of virtue will turn night to 
 day! 
 
 IT veteran, old soldier 19 rash courage 21 for the public good 
 
 23 pelf, making money 24 canntig, contriving 27 relation, tale 
 
88 The Childre?is Treasury 
 
 ' But if wanting that light, at the close of life's 
 
 spark, 
 ^ He at length comes to take the great leap in the 
 
 dark, 
 ' He may wish, while his friends wring their hands 
 
 round his bed, 
 ' That, like poor Belisarius, he'd begg'd for his 
 
 bread. 
 ' But I to distress and to darkness inured, 
 ' In this vile crust of clay when no longer im- 
 mured, 
 ' At death's welcome stroke my bright course shall 
 
 begin, sir, 
 ' And enjoy endless day from the sunshine within, 
 
 sir : — 
 ' Date odo/um, Date o bo I urn, Date obohun, BelisarioJ 
 
 J. Collins 
 
 * 52 * 
 T//£ FAIRV LIFE 
 
 I 
 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck I : 
 
 In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 
 
 There I couch, when owls do cry : 
 
 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. 
 
 II 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands, 
 
 And then take hands : 
 Courtsied when you have and kiss'd 
 
 The wild waves whist, 
 
 31 to die 34 imired, accustomed 35 crust, his body : 
 
 immured, built up 
 
of English Song 89 
 
 Foot it featly here and there ; 
 And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. 
 Hark, hark ! 
 
 Bow-wow. 
 The watch-dog's bark : 
 Bow-wow\ 
 Hark, hark ! I hear 
 The strain of strutting chanticleer 
 Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow ! 
 
 W. Shakespeare 
 
 ^53 * 
 
 THE FAIRIES 
 
 Up the airy mountain, 
 
 Down the rushy glen, 
 We daren't go a-hunting 
 
 For fear of little men ; 
 Wee folk, good folk, 
 
 Trooping all together ; 
 Green jacket, red cap, 
 
 And white owl's feather ! 
 
 Down along the rocky shore 
 
 Some make their home : 
 They live on crispy pancakes 
 
 Of yellow tide-foam ; 
 Some in the reeds 
 
 Of the black mountain lake, 
 With frogs for their watch -dogs, 
 
 All night awake. 
 
 High on the hill-top 
 
 The old King sits ; 
 He is now so old and gray. 
 
 He's nigh lost his wits. 
 With a bridge of white mist 
 
 Columbkill he crosses, 
 
 S featly, neatly 6 s/>yiles,Jixx\Q'i 
 
93 The Children's Treasury 
 
 On his stately journeys 
 
 From Slieveleague to Rosses : — 
 Or going up with music 
 
 On cold starry nights, 
 To sup with the queen 
 
 Of the gay Northern Lights. 
 
 They stole little Bridget 
 
 For seven years long ; 
 When she came down again, 
 
 Her friends were all gone. 
 
 They took her lightly back, 
 
 Between the night and morrow ; 
 They thought that she w^as fast asleep, 
 
 But she was dead with sorrow. 
 They have kept her ever since 
 
 Deep within the lakes, 
 On a bed of flag-leaves, 
 
 Watching till she wakes. 
 
 By the craggy hill-side. 
 
 Through the mosses bare, 
 They have planted thorn-trees 
 
 For pleasure here and there. 
 Is any man so daring 
 
 As dig them up in spite, 
 He shall find their sharpest thorns 
 
 In his bed at night. 
 
 Up the airy mountain, 
 
 Down the rushy glen. 
 We daren't go a-hunting 
 
 For fear of little men ; 
 Wee folk, good folk, 
 
 Trooping all together \ 
 Green jacket, red cap, 
 
 And white owl's feather ! 
 
 W. Allin^ham 
 
 , 28 Lights, the Aurora 
 
of English Song 91 
 
 *54* 
 
 THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELl^ 
 
 There lived a wife at Usher's Well, 
 
 And a wealthy wife was she : 
 She had three stout and stalwart sons, 
 
 And sent them o'er the sea. 
 
 They had not been a week from her, 
 
 A week but barely ane, 
 When word came to the carline wife 
 
 That her three sons were gane. 
 
 They had not been a week from her, 
 
 A week but barely three, 
 When word came to the carline wife 
 • That her sons she'd never see. 
 
 ' I wish the wind may never cease, 
 
 ' N or fishes in the flood, 
 * Till my three sons come hame to me, 
 
 ' In earthly flesh and blood ! ' 
 
 It fell about the Martinmas, 
 When nights are lang and mirk, 
 
 The carline wife's three sons came home, 
 And their h^ts were of the birk. 
 
 It neither grew in syke nor ditch, 
 
 Nor yet in ony sheugh ; 
 But at the gates of Paradise 
 
 That birk grew fair eneugh. 
 
 . * Blow up the fire, my maidens ! 
 ' Bring water from the well ! 
 ' For all my house shall feast this night, 
 ' Since my three sons are well ! ' 
 
 7 car/ine, old peasant-woman 18 /;«>/&, murky 
 
 20 dir/c, birch 21 sykr, marsh 22 skeu^/t, trench 
 
92 The Childi'en^s Treasiay 
 
 And she has made to them a bed, 
 
 She's made it large and wide ; 
 And she's taen her mantle her about ; 
 
 Sat down at the bed-side. 
 
 Up then crew the red, red cock, 
 
 And up and crew the gray : 
 The eldest to the youngest said, 
 
 ' 'Tis time we were away ! 
 
 ' The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, 
 ' The channerin' worm doth chide : 
 
 ' If we be miss'd out of our place, 
 ' A sore pain we must bide. 
 
 ' Fare ye well, my mother dear I 
 
 ' Farewell to barn and byre ! 
 ^And fare ye well, the bonny lass, 
 
 ' That kindles my mother's fire ! ' 
 
 Unknotvn 
 
 *55 * 
 
 ALICE BRAND 
 
 Merry it is in the good greenw^ood. 
 
 When the mavis and merle are singing, 
 When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in 
 cry, 
 
 And the hunter's horn is ringing. 
 
 ' O Alice Brand, my native land 
 
 ' Is lost for love of you ; 
 ' And we must hold by wood and wold, 
 
 ' As outlaws wont to do ! 
 
 37 daiu, dawn 38 chatmerin, scolding : probablj' here, impatient 
 
 42 byre, cattle-house 2 tnavis, thrush : merle, blackbird 
 
 7 hold, live 8 oiitln-MS, persons driven into wild places 
 
of English Song- 93 
 
 * O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright, 
 
 ' And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue, 
 ' That on the night of our luckless flight, 
 
 ' Thy brother bold I slew. 
 
 ' Now must I teach to hew the beech, 
 
 ' The hand that held the glaive, 
 ' For leaves to spread our lowly bed, 
 
 ' And stakes to fence our cave. 
 
 ' And for vest of pall, thy fingers small, 
 
 ' That wont on harp to stray, 
 ' A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer, 
 
 ' To keep the cold away.'^ — 
 
 — ' O Richard ! if my brother died, 
 
 ' 'Twas but a fatal chance : 
 ' For darkling was the battle tried, 
 
 ' And fortune sped the lance. 
 
 ' If pall and vair no more I wear, 
 
 ' Nor thou the crimson sheen, 
 ' As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray ; 
 
 ' As gay the forest-green. 
 
 ' And, Richard, if our lot be hard, 
 
 ' And lost thy native land, 
 ' Still Alice has her own Richard, 
 
 ' And he his Alice Brand.' 
 
 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood. 
 So blithe Lady Alice is singing ; 
 
 On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, 
 Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 
 
 14 glaive, broad-sword i6 pall, fine cloth 
 
 24 sped, directed 25 vai7\ fur 35 the lofty beech 
 
94 ^li^ Childrois lycasiiry 
 
 Up spoke the moody Elfin King, 
 
 Who wonn'd within the hill. — 
 Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church, 
 
 His voice was ghostly shrill. 
 
 ' Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, 
 
 ' Our moonlight circle's screen ? 
 ' Or who comes here to chase the deer, 
 
 ' Beloved of our Elfin Queen ? 
 'Or who may dare on wold to wear 
 
 ' The fairies' fatal green ? 
 
 ' Up, Urgan, up ! to yon. mortal hie, 
 
 ' For thou wert christen'd man : 
 ' For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, 
 
 * For mutter'd word or ban. 
 
 ' Lay on him the curse of the withered heart, 
 
 ' The curse of the sleepless eye ; 
 * Till he wish and pray that his life would part, 
 
 ' Nor yet find leave to die ! ' 
 
 III 
 
 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, 
 Though the birds have still'd their singing ; 
 
 The evening blaze doth Alice raise. 
 And Richard is fagots bringing. 
 
 Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf. 
 
 Before Lord Richard stands, 
 And as he cross'd and bless'd himself, 
 ' I fear not sign,' quoth the grisly elf, 
 
 * That is made with bloody hands.' 
 
 But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 
 
 That woman void of fear, — 
 ' And if there's blood upon his hand, 
 
 ' 'Tis but the blood of deer.' 
 
 37 Elfin, fa^ry 38 ivonn'd, dwelt 47 mortal, man 50 ban, curse 
 
of English Song 95 
 
 — ' Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood I 
 
 ' It cleaves unto his hand, 
 ' The stain of thine own kindly blood, 
 
 ' The blood of Ethert Brand.' 
 
 Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand, 
 
 And made the holy sign, — 
 ' And if there's blood on Richard's hand, 
 
 ' A spotless hand is mine. 
 
 ^ And I conjure thee. Demon elf, 
 
 ' By Him whom Demons fear, 
 'To show us whence thou art thyself, • 
 
 ' And what thine errand here ? ' 
 
 IV 
 
 — ' 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land, 
 
 ' When fairy birds are singing, 
 ' When the court doth ride by their monarch's side, 
 
 ' With bit and bridle ringing : 
 
 'And gaily shines the Fairy land — 
 
 ' But all is glistening show, 
 ' Like the idle gleam that December's beam 
 
 ' Can dart on ice and snow. 
 
 ' And fading, like that varied gleam, 
 
 ' Is our inconstant shape, 
 ' Who now like knight and lady seem, 
 
 ' And now like dwarf and ape. 
 
 ' It was between the night and day, 
 
 ' When the Fairy King has power, 
 ' That I sunk down in a sinful fray, 
 'And 'twixt life and death, was snatch'd away 
 
 ' To the joyless Elfin bower. 
 
 76 conjure, order 8g inconstant, changeable 94 /ray, quarrel 
 
96 The CJiildreiCs Treasttry 
 
 ' But wist I of a woman bold, 
 
 ' Who thrice my brow durst sign, 
 ' I might regain my mortal mould, 
 
 ' As fair a form as thine.' 
 
 She cross'd him once — she cross'd him twice — 
 
 That lady was so brave ; 
 The fouler grew his goblin hue, 
 
 The darker grew the cave. 
 
 She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold ! 
 
 — He rose beneath her hand 
 The fairest knight on Scottish mould. 
 
 Her brother, Ethert Brand ! 
 
 — Merry it is in good greenwood. 
 
 When the mavis and merle are singing ; 
 
 But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray 
 When all the bells were ringing. 
 
 Sir IV. Scott 
 
 * 56* 
 
 KUBLA KHAN 
 
 A Vision in a Dream 
 
 In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
 A stately pleasure-dome decree : 
 Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
 Through caverns measureless to man 
 
 Do'.vn to a sunless sea. 
 So twice five miles of fertile ground 
 With walls and towers were girdled round : 
 And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills 
 Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree ; 
 And here were forests ancient as the hills, 
 Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 
 
 97 ivist, knew 2 decree, order to be built 
 
 8 shi7t07ts, winding 
 
of English Song 97 
 
 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 
 
 Bj' woman wailing for her demon-lover ! 
 
 And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil 
 
 seething, 
 As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, 
 A mighty fountain momently was forced : 
 Amid whose 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 with a mazy motion 
 Through wood 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 ! 
 
 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, 
 
 12 cJinsut, sharp hollow 
 13 cedarn, of cedars 19 momently, every moment 
 
 20 tntermiited, stopping 25 meande-n'jtg; winding 
 
 30 voices of his forefathers 33 7neasu}-e, soug 
 
 37 diUciincr, guitar 43 symphoity, accompaniment 
 
 H 
 
98 The Children's Treasury 
 
 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 with holy dread, 
 For he on honey-dew hath fed. 
 And drunk the milk of Paradise ! 
 
 . ^S". T. Coleridp-e 
 
 *5;. 
 THE ECHOING GREEN 
 
 The sun does arise 
 
 And make happy the skies ; 
 
 The merry bells ring 
 
 To welcome the spring ; 
 
 The skylark and thrush, 
 
 The birds of the bush. 
 
 Sing louder around 
 
 To the bells' cheerful sound ; 
 
 While our sports shall be seen 
 
 On the echoing green. 
 
 Old John, with white hair. 
 Does laugh away care. 
 Sitting under the oak. 
 Among the old folk. 
 They laugh at our play, 
 And soon they all say, 
 ' Such, such were the joys 
 * When we all— girls and boys- 
 ' In our youth-time were seen 
 ' On the echoing green.' 
 
of English Sojii/ 99 
 
 Till the litlle ones, weary, 
 No more can be merry ; 
 The sun does descend, 
 And our sports have an end. 
 Round the laps of their mothers 
 Many sisters and brothers, 
 Like birds in their nest, 
 Are ready for rest, 
 And sport no more seen 
 On the darkening green. 
 
 W. Blake 
 
 *58* 
 
 A CRADLE SONG 
 
 Sleep, sleep, beauty bright, 
 Dreaming in the joys of night ; 
 Sleep, sleep ; in thy sleep 
 Little sorrows sit and weep. 
 
 Sweet 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. 
 
 IV. Blake 
 
 ivi'lc'S, tricks 16 ^>-/tr, knowledge of life with its dangers 
 
 and sufferings. 
 
 H 2 
 
loo The Children's Tfeasury 
 
 * 59* 
 
 THE ORPHAN CHILDREN 
 
 I REACH'd the village on the plain, 
 
 Just when the setting sun's last ray- 
 Shone blazing on the golden vane 
 Of the old church across the way. 
 
 Across the way alone I sped, 
 
 And climb'd the stile, and sat me there, 
 To think in silence on the dead 
 
 Who in the churchyard sleeping were. 
 
 There many a long, low grave I view'd 
 Where toil and want in quiet lie ; 
 
 And costly slabs amongst them stood 
 That bore the names of rich and high. 
 
 One new made mound I saw close by, 
 O'er which the grasses hardly crept, 
 
 Where, looking forth with listless eye. 
 Two ragged children sat and wept. 
 
 A piece of bread between them lay. 
 Which neither seem'd as it could take ; 
 
 And yet so worn and white were they 
 With want, it made my bosom ache. 
 
 I look'd a while, and said at last, 
 ' Why in such sorrow sit you here ? 
 
 ' And why the'iP^od you leave and waste 
 
 ' Which your own hunger well \night cheer?' 
 
 The boy rose instant to his feet, 
 And said with gentle, eager haste, 
 
 ' Lady, we've not enough to eat : 
 ' O if we had, we should not waste ! 
 
 ' But sister Mary's naughty grown, 
 ''And will not eat, whate'er I say ; 
 
 ' Though sure I am the bread 's her own, 
 ' For she has tasted none to-day ! ' 
 
of English Song loi 
 
 ' Indeed,' the poor starved Mary said, 
 ' Till Henry eats, I'll eat no more ; 
 
 ' For yesterday I had some bread ; 
 ' He's had none since the day before.' 
 
 My heart with pity swell'd so high 
 
 I could not speak a single word : 
 Yet the boy straightway made reply, 
 
 As if my inward wish he leard. 
 
 ' Before our father went away, 
 
 ' By bad men tempted o'er the sea, 
 
 ' Sister and I did nought but play ;— 
 ' We lived beside yon great ash-tree. 
 
 ' But then poor mother did so cry, 
 
 ' And look'd so changed, I cannot tell ! 
 
 ' She told us that she soon should die, 
 ' And bade us love each other well. 
 
 ' She said that when the war was o'er, 
 ' Perhaps our father we might see : 
 
 * But if we never saw him more, 
 
 ' That God would then our father be. 
 
 ' She kiss'd us both, and then she died, 
 ' And then they put her in the ^rave : 
 
 ' There many a day we've sat and cried 
 ' That we no more a mother have. 
 
 ' But when our father came not here, 
 ' I thought if we could find the sea 
 
 ' We should be sure to meet him there, 
 ' And once again might happy be. 
 
 ' So hand-in-hand for many a mile, 
 
 ' And many a long, long day we went : 
 
 * Some sigh'd to see, some turn'd to smile, 
 
 ' And fed us when cur stock was spent. 
 
I02 The Children's Treasury 
 
 ' But when we reach'd the sea, and found 
 ' 'Twas one great flood before us spread, 
 
 ' We thought that father must be drown'd, 
 ' And cried, and wish'd we too were dead. 
 
 ' So we came back to mother's grave, 
 
 ' And only long with her to be : 
 ' For Goody, when this bread she gave, 
 
 ' Said father died beyond the sea. 
 
 ' So, since no parent we have here, 
 
 ' We'll go and search for God around : — 
 
 ' Pray, Lady, can you tell us where 
 
 ' That God, our Father, may be found ? 
 
 ' He lives in heaven, mother said : 
 
 ' And Goody says that mother 's there : 
 
 ' But though we've walk'd, and search'd, and pray'd, 
 ' We cannot find them anywhere ! ' 
 
 I clasp'd the prattlers in my arms, 
 
 I cried, ' Come, both, and live with me ! 
 
 * I'll clothe and feed you, safe from harms — 
 ' Your second mother I will be. 
 
 ' Till you to your own mother's side 
 ' He in his own good time may call, 
 
 ' With Him for ever to abide 
 ' Who is the Father of us all !' 
 
 Unkrioum 
 
 * 60 * 
 
 THE CHILD A.VD THE MOWERS 
 
 Dorset Dialect 
 
 O, AYE ! they had woone chile bezide, 
 An' a finer your eyes never met ; 
 • 'Twer a dear little fellow that died 
 
 In the zummer that come wi' such het ; 
 
 I ivoonc, one 3 ^Tzver, It was 4 het, heat 
 
of English Song 103 
 
 By the mowers, too thoughtless in fun, 
 He wer then a-zent off vrom our eyes, 
 
 Vrom the hght ov the dew-dryen zun, — 
 
 Aye ! vrom days under blue-hollow'd skies. 
 
 He went out to the mowers in mead, 
 
 When the zun wer a-rose to his height, 
 An' the men wer a-swingen the snead, 
 
 Wi' their earms in white sleeves, left an' right : — 
 An' out there, as they rested at noon, 
 
 O I they drench'd en wi' eale-horns too deep, 
 Till his thoughts wer a-drown'd in a swoon ; 
 
 Aye ! his life wer a-smother'd in sleep. 
 
 Then they laid en there-right on the ground, 
 
 On a grass-heap, a-zweltren wi' het, 
 Wi' his heair all a-wetted around 
 
 His young feace, wi' the big drops o' zweat ; 
 In his little left palm he'd a-zet 
 
 Wi' his right hand, his vore-vinger's tip. 
 As for zome'hat he woulden forget, — 
 
 Aye ! zome thought that he woulden let slip. 
 
 Then they took en in hwome to his bed, 
 
 An' he rose vrom his pillow noo mwore, 
 Vor the curls on his sleek little head 
 
 To be blown by the wind out o' door. 
 Vor he died while the hay russled gray 
 
 On the staddle so leately begun, 
 Lik' the mown- grass a-dried by the day, — 
 
 Aye 1 the zwath-flow'r's a-kill'd by the zun. 
 
 IV. Barnrs 
 
 6 a-zent, sent 7 dryen, drying 9 in 7nend, in the meadow 
 II snead, handle of scythe 14 en, him: eale-horns, full of ale 
 
 18 a-zzveltren, sweltering 21 a-zet, put 
 
 23 zome'hat, something : ivonlden, would not 
 
 26 noo inworc, no more 
 
 30 staddle, platform on which the rick stands 
 
 32 z-ivath-JJ.>-iVcr, cut down with the swath 
 
104 The Children's Treasury 
 
 ELLEN BRINE OF ALLEN-BURN 
 
 Dorset dialect 
 
 Noo soul did hear her hps complain, 
 An' she's a-gone yrom all her pain, 
 An' others' loss to her is gain 
 For she do live in heaven's love ; 
 Vull many a longsome day an' week 
 She bore her ailen, still, an' meek ; 
 A-worken while her strangth held on, 
 An' guiden housework, when 'twer gone. 
 
 Vor Ellen Brine of Allenburn 
 
 Oh ! there be souls to murn. 
 
 The last time I'd a-cast my zight 
 Upon her feace, a-feaded white, 
 Wer in a zummer's mornen light 
 In hall avore t^je smwold'ren vire. 
 The while the childern beat the vloor 
 In play, wi' tiny shoes they wore, 
 An' call'd their mother's eyts to view 
 The feats their httle limbs could do. 
 
 Oh ! Ellen Brine of Allenburn, 
 
 They childern now mus' murn. 
 
 Then woone, a-stoppen vrom his reace, 
 Went up, an' on her knee did pleace 
 His hand, a-looken in her feace. 
 An' wi' a smilen mouth so small, 
 He zaid, ' You promised us to goo 
 ' To Shroton feair, an' teake us two ! ' 
 
 2 an\ and : vroin, from : v u«ed fory in Dorset 
 
 6 aileti, illness 7 a-ivorken, working 10 mum, mourn 
 
 i-ijeadcd, faded 14 rtz'^r^, before : sviwold'reii, smouldering 
 
 21 -iuoojie, one : rence, runnmg 
 
of English Song 105 
 
 She heard it wi' her two white ears, 
 
 An' in her eyes there sprung two tears : — 
 
 Vor Ellen Brine of AUenburn 
 
 Did veel that they mus' murn. 
 
 September come, wi' Shroton feair, 
 But Ellen Brine wer never there ! 
 A heavy heart wer on the meare 
 Their father rod his hwomeward road. 
 'Tis true he brought some fearens back, 
 Vor them two childern all in black ; 
 But they had now, wi' playthings new, 
 Noo mother vor to show em to : — 
 
 Vor Ellen Brine of AUenburn 
 
 Would never mwore return. 
 
 IV. Barnes 
 
 * 62 * 
 
 HELVELLYN 
 
 I CLIMB'd the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, 
 Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty 
 and wide ; 
 All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, 
 
 And starting around me the echoes replied. 
 On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was 
 
 bending, 
 And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, 
 One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending. 
 When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer 
 had died. 
 
 Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain 
 heather, 
 Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd in 
 decay, 
 
 33 meare, mare 35 /edrens, fairings 
 
 I brow, mountain-side 3 by Jits, now and then 
 
 6 verge, edge : tie/ending, sheltering 
 10 Pilgriui, wanderer who admired the natural landscape 
 
1 06 The CJiildreii's Treasury 
 
 Like the corpse of an outcast abandon'd to weather 
 Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay. 
 Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, 
 For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, 
 The much-loved remains of her master defended, 
 And chased the hill- fox and the raven away. 
 
 How long didst thou think that his silence was 
 slumber ? 
 When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst 
 thou start ? 
 How many long days and long weeks didst thou 
 number. 
 Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy 
 heart ? 
 And, oh! was it meet, that— no requiem read o'er 
 
 him — 
 No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, 
 And thou, little guardiaft, alone stretch'd before 
 him — 
 Unhonourd the Pilgrim from life should depart ? 
 
 When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has 
 yielded, 
 The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted 
 hall ; . 
 With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded. 
 And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : 
 Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches 
 
 are gleaming ; 
 In the proudiy-arch'd chapel the banners are beam- 
 ing ; 
 Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, 
 Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall. 
 
 12 tenantless clay, body without soul 13 extended, stretched out 
 
 14 mutefavojirife, speechless dog 
 21 vteei, fit : reqnievi, funeral service 25 has died 
 
 26 tapestry, rich hangings on walls 27 scutcheons, shields 
 
 28 pages, servants : canopied, covered 
 
of English Song 107 
 
 But mceler for thee, gentle lover of nature, 
 
 To lay down thy head like the meek mountain 
 lamb, 
 When, wilder'd, he drops from some cliff huge in 
 stature, 
 And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 
 And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, 
 Thy obsequies sung by the gray plov,er flying. 
 With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, 
 In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. 
 
 Sir IV. Scotl 
 
 .63. 
 
 A REVERIE 
 
 When, musing on companions gone, 
 We doubly feel ourselves alone. 
 Something, my Friend, we yet may gain ; 
 There is a pleasure in this pain : 
 It soothes the love of lonely rest. 
 Deep in each gentler heart impress'd. 
 'Tis silent amid worldly toils, 
 - And stifled soon by mental broils ; 
 But, in a bosom thus prepared, 
 Its still small voice is often heard. 
 Whispering a mingled sentiment, 
 'Twixt resignation and content. 
 
 Oft in my mind such thoughts awake. 
 
 By lone Saint Mary's silent lake ; 
 
 Thou know'st it well,— nor fen, nor sedge, 
 
 Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; 
 
 Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink 
 
 At once upon the level brink ; 
 
 And just a trace of silver sand 
 
 Marks where the water meets the land. 
 
 33 meeter, fitter 38 obseqjiies, funeral service 40 surrounded by 
 I inusmg, thinking 6 imp7-essed, stamped 8 by troubles of 
 
 the mind 16 pollute, spoil 17 going straight up 
 
io8 The Childreji^s Treasury 
 
 Far in the mirror, bright and blue, 
 
 Each hill's huge outline you may view ; 
 
 Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare, 
 
 Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there, 
 
 Save where, of land, yon slender line 
 
 Bears thwart the lake the scatter'd pine. 
 
 Yet even this nakeoness has power, 
 
 And aids the feeling of the hour : 
 
 Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy, 
 
 Where living thing conceal'd might lie ; 
 
 Nor point, retiring, hides a dell. 
 
 Where swain, or woodman lone, might dwell ; 
 
 There's nothing left to fancy's guess, 
 
 You see that all is loneliness : 
 
 And silence aids — though the steep hills 
 
 Send to the lake a thousand rills ; 
 
 In summer-tide, so soft they weep, 
 
 The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; 
 
 Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude. 
 
 So stilly is the solitude. 
 
 Sir W. Scott 
 
 * 64 * 
 SUCH IS LIFE 
 Like to the falling of a star. 
 Or as the flights of eagles are, 
 Or hke the fresh Spring's gaudy hue, 
 Or silver drops of morning dew ; 
 Or like a wind that chafes the flood. 
 Or bubbles which on water stood ; — 
 E'en such is man, whose borrow'd light 
 Is straight call'd in and paid to-night. 
 The wind blows out, the bubble dies. 
 The Spring entomb'd in Autumn lies ; 
 The dew dries up, the star is shot. 
 The flight is past ; — and Man forgot. 
 
 Bishop King 
 
 26 thwart, crossing 36 7-ills, little streams 10 entomb'd. buried 
 
of English Song 109 
 
 * 65 * 
 
 JOHN ANDERSON 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John, 
 When we were first acquent 
 Your locks were hke 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 R. Burns 
 
 A LESSON 
 
 There is a flower, the Lesser Celandine, 
 That shrinks 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, hke a ihing at rest. 
 
 I JO, love 
 
 2 acqjteut, acquainted 
 
 4 brent, smooth 
 
 7 pojv, head 
 
 10 thegither, together 
 13 ma7iH, must 
 
 II canty, cheerful 
 
no The Children's Treasujy 
 
 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 ! 
 O Man ! that from thy fair and shining youth 
 Age might but take the things Youth needed not ! 
 
 W . Wordsivorth 
 
 * 6y * 
 
 TRUE GROWTH 
 
 It is not growing like a tree 
 In bulk, doth make Man better be ; 
 Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
 To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : 
 A hly 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. 
 
 B. ybnson 
 
 21 a prodigal' s favourite, wasting the many gifts of Youth 
 
 22 a miser's peiiiioner, getting the little we can from Age 
 
 9 just, true 
 
oj English Sons; 1 1 : 
 
 FLOWERS WITHOUT FRUIT 
 
 Prune thou thy words ; the thoughts control 
 That o'er thee swell and throng : — 
 
 They will condense within thy soul, 
 And change to purpose strong. 
 
 But he who lets his feelings run 
 
 In soft luxurious flow, 
 Shrinks when hard service must be done. 
 
 And faints at every woe. 
 
 Faith's meanest deed more favour bears, 
 Where hearts and wills are weigh'd, 
 
 Than brightest transports, choicest prayers, 
 "Which bloom their hour, and fade. 
 
 J. H. Newman 
 
 * 69 * 
 
 CONTENTMENT 
 
 My mind to me a kingdom is ; 
 
 Such perfec- joy therein I find. 
 As far exceeds all ea/thly bliss 
 
 That world affords, or grows by kind : 
 Though much I want what most men have. 
 Yet doth my mind forbid me crave. 
 
 Content I live — this is my stay ; 
 
 I seek no more than may suffice : 
 I press to bear no haughty sway ; 
 
 Look — what I lack, my mind supplies ! 
 Lo ! thus I triumph like a king. 
 Content with that my mind doth bring. 
 
 3 condense, grow close and strong 
 
 4 by kind, naturally 6 crave, desire 
 
 7 stay, support 8 siiffice^ be enough 9 press, strive 
 
112 The Children's Treasiuy 
 
 I see how plenty surfeits oft, 
 And hasty climbers soonest fall ; 
 
 I see how those that sit aloft 
 
 Mishap doth threaten most of all ; 
 
 These get with toil, and keep with fear : 
 
 Such cares my mind could never bear. 
 
 I laugh not at another's loss ; 
 
 I grudge not at another's gain ; 
 No worldly wave my mind can toss ; 
 
 I brook that is another's pain. 
 I fear no foe : I scorn no friend : 
 I dread no death : I fear no end. 
 
 Some have too much, yet still they crave ; 
 
 I little have, yet seek no more : 
 They are but poor, though much they have, 
 
 And I am rich, with little store. 
 They poor, I rich : they beg, I give : 
 They lack, I lend : they pine, I live. 
 
 I wish but what I have at will : 
 
 I wander not to seek for more : 
 I like the plain ; I climb no hill : 
 
 In greatest storm I sit on shore. 
 And laugh at those that toil in vain, 
 To get what must be lost again. 
 — This is my choice ; for why.? — I find 
 No wealth is like a quiet mind, 
 
 Unkno%vn 
 
 * 70 * 
 THE SEARCH FOR PEACE 
 
 Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell ? I humbly 
 crave, 
 
 Let me once know. 
 I sought thee in a secret cave, 
 And ask'd, if Peace were there ? 
 
 13 surfeits, sickens 22 hrook that, bear easily what 
 
 31 at ivill, at command i crave, beg to know 
 
of English Song 1 1 3 
 
 A hollow wind did seem to answer, ' No : — 
 ' Go seek elsewhere.' 
 
 I did ; and going did a rainbow note : 
 Surely, thought I, 
 This is the lace of Peace's coat : 
 I will search out the matter. 
 But while I look'd, the clouds immediately 
 Did break and scatter. 
 
 Then went I to a garden, and did spy 
 A gallant flower, 
 The Crown Imperial : Sure, said I, 
 Peace at the root must dwell. 
 But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devour 
 What show'd so well. 
 
 At length I met a reverend good old man : 
 Whom when for Peace 
 I did demand, he thus began : 
 ' There was a Prince of old 
 ' At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase 
 ' Of flock and fold. 
 
 ' He sweetly lived ; yet sweetness did not save 
 ' His life from foes. 
 ' But after death, out of his grave 
 
 ' There sprang twelve stalks of wheat : 
 ' Which many wondering at, got some of those 
 ' To plant and set. 
 
 ' It prosper'd strangely, and did soon disperse 
 ' Through all the earth : 
 ' For they that taste it do rehearse, 
 ' That virtue lies therein ; 
 'A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth 
 ' By flight of sin. 
 
 31 zV, the Gospel 33 rehearse, =ay 35 virtue, power 
 
 I 
 
114 The Children's Treasury 
 
 Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, 
 ' And grows for you ; 
 ^ Make bread of it : — and that repose 
 ' And peace, which everywhere 
 With so much earnestness you do pursue, 
 ' Is only there.' 
 
 G. Herbert 
 
 * yi* 
 
 THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES. 
 
 That way look, my Infant, lo ! 
 What a pretty baby-show ! 
 See the Kitten on the wall, 
 Sporting with the leaves that fall, 
 Wither'd leaves — one — two — and three — 
 From the lofty elder-tree ! 
 Through the calm and frosty air 
 Of this morning bright and fair. 
 Eddying round and round they sink 
 Softly, slowly : one might think, 
 From the motions that are made. 
 Every little leaf convey'd 
 Sylph or Faery hither tending, — 
 To this lower world descending, 
 Each invisible and mute, 
 In his wavering parachute. 
 
 But the Kitten, how she starts, 
 
 Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts ! 
 First at one, and then its fellow 
 Just as light and just as yellow ; 
 Thers are many now — now one — 
 Now they stop, and there are none : 
 What intenseness of desire 
 In her upward eye of fire ! 
 
 9 eddying, turning 13 Sylph, learned name for fairy 
 
 16 parachute, machine to float slowly down in the air 
 
 23 intenseness, strength 
 
of E fig lis h So?ig- 115 
 
 With a tiger-leap half way 
 
 Now she meets the coming prey, 
 
 Lets it go as fast, and then 
 
 Has it in her power again : 
 
 Now she works with three or four, 
 
 Like an Indian conjuror ; 
 
 Quick as he in feats of art, 
 
 Far beyond in joy of heart. 
 
 Were her antics play'd in th' eye 
 
 Of a thousand standers-by, 
 
 Clapping hands with shout and stare. 
 
 What would little Tabby care 
 
 For the plaudits of the crowd ? 
 
 Over happy to be proud, 
 
 Over wealthy in the treasure 
 
 Of her own exceeding pleasure ! 
 
 'Tis a pretty baby- treat ; 
 Nor, I deem, for me unmeet ; 
 Here, for neither Babe nor me, 
 Other play-mate can I see. 
 Of the countless living things, 
 That with stir of feet and wings 
 (In the sun or under shade. 
 Upon bough or grassy blade) 
 And with busy revellings, 
 Chirp and song, and murmurings. 
 Made this orchard's narrow space 
 And this vale so blithe a place, — 
 Multitudes are swept away 
 Never more to breathe the day : 
 Some are sleeping : some in bands 
 Travell'd into distant lands ; 
 Others slunk to moor and \\'Dod, 
 Far from human neighbourhood ; 
 And, among the Kinds that keep 
 With us closer fellowship, 
 
 31 feats, tricks 37 /•laudits, shoutt. 42 icniiiect^ unfit 
 
 1 2 
 
n6 llie Children's Tj'easury 
 
 With us openly abide, 
 
 All have laid their mirth aside. 
 
 Where is he that giddy Sprite, 
 Blue-cap, with his colours bright, 
 Who was blest as bird could be, 
 Feeding in the apple-tree ; 
 Made such wanton spoil and rout. 
 Turning blossoms inside out ; 
 Hung— head pointing towards the ground- 
 Flutter'd, perch'd, into a round 
 Bound himself, and then unbound ; 
 Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin ! 
 Prettiest Tumbler ever seen ! 
 Light of heart and light of limb ; 
 What is now become of Him ? 
 Lambs, that through the mountains went 
 Frisking, bleating merriment. 
 When the year was in its prime. 
 They are sober'd by this time. 
 If you look to vale or hill. 
 If you listen, all is still. 
 Save a little neighbouring rill. 
 That from out the rocky ground 
 Strikes a solitary sound. 
 Vainly glitter hill and plain. 
 And the air is calm in vain ; 
 Vainly Morning spreads the lure 
 Of a sky serene and pure ; 
 Creature none can she decoy 
 Into open. sign of joy : 
 Is it that they have a fear 
 Of the dreary season near ? 
 Or that other pleasures be 
 Sweeter e'en than gaiety ? 
 
 Yet, what e'er enjoyments dwell 
 
 87 Morning in vain tempts 89 decoy, tempt 
 
of English Song ii7 
 
 In the impenetrable cell 
 
 Of the silent heart which Nature 
 
 Furnishes to every creature ; 
 
 Whatsoe'er we feel and know 
 
 Too sedate for outward show, 
 
 Such a light of gladness breaks, 
 
 Pretty Kitten ! from thy freaks,- - 
 
 Spreads with such a living grace 
 
 O'er my little Dora's face ; 
 
 Yes, the sight so stirs and charms 
 
 Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms. 
 
 That almost I could repine 
 
 That your transports are not mine, 
 
 That I do not wholly fare 
 
 Even as ye do, thoughtless pair ! 
 
 And I will have my careless season. 
 
 Spite of melancholy reason ; 
 
 Will walk through life in such a way 
 
 That, when time brings on decay, 
 
 Now and then I may possess 
 
 Hours of perfect gladsomeness. 
 
 — Pleased by any random toy ; 
 
 By a kitten's busy joy, 
 
 Or an infant's laughing eye 
 
 Sharing in the ecstasy ; 
 
 I would fare like that or this, 
 
 Find my wisdom in my bliss ; 
 
 Keep the sprightly soul awake ; 
 
 And have faculties to take, 
 
 Even from things by sorrow wrought, 
 
 Matter for a jocund thought ; 
 
 Spite of care, and spite of grief. 
 
 To gambol with Life's falling Leaf. 
 
 IV. Wordszvorth 
 
 6, q-j We cannot look into the hearts of living creatures 
 ICO sedate, saddening 107 rephie, regret 
 
 108 transports, A&X\^i?, \2^ faculties, powers 
 
! The Children's Treasury 
 
 A SONG OF PRAISE 
 
 To God, ye choir above, begin 
 
 A hymn so loud and strong 
 That all the universe may hear 
 
 And join the grateful song. 
 
 Praise Him, thou sun, Who dwells unseen 
 
 Amidst transcendent light, 
 Where thy refulgent orb would seem 
 
 A spot, as dark as night. 
 
 Thou silver moon, ye host of stars. 
 
 The universal song 
 Through the serene and silent night 
 
 To listening worlds prolong. 
 
 Sing Him, ye distant worlds and suns, 
 From whence no travelling ray 
 
 Hath yet to us, through ages past, 
 Had time to make its way. 
 
 Assist, ye raging storms, and bear 
 
 On rapid wings His praise. 
 From north to south, from east to west, 
 
 Through heaven, and earth, and seas. 
 
 Exert your voice, ye furious fires 
 
 That rend the watery cloud, 
 And thunder to this nether world 
 
 Your Maker's words aloud. 
 
 Ye works of God, that dwell unknown 
 
 Beneath the rolling main ; 
 Ye birds, that sing among the groves, 
 
 And sweep the azure plain ; 
 
 I cJioir, all Nature 6 transcendent, surpassingly bright 
 
 7 refuls^ent, shining ii serene, clear 
 
 13 stars so distant that their light has not yet reached us 
 
 21 fires, lightnings 23 nether, lower 28 the sky 
 
of English Song ii9 
 
 Ye stately hills, that rear your heads, 
 
 And towering pierce the sky ; 
 Ye clouds, that with an awful pace 
 
 Majestic roll on high ; 
 
 Ye insects small, to which one leaf 
 
 Within its narrow sides 
 A vast extended world displays, 
 
 And spacious realms provides ; 
 
 Ye race, still less than these, with which 
 
 The stagnant water teems, 
 To which one drop, however small, 
 
 A boundless ocean seems ; 
 
 Whate'er ye are, w^here'er ye dwell, 
 
 Ye creatures great or small, 
 Adore the wisdom, praise the power, 
 
 That made and governs all. 
 
 P. Skelton 
 
 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 enterprize 
 
 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 secresy remains in bliss, 
 
 And wisdom hides her skill. 
 
 7 spheres, stars 9 champaign, level country 
 
 lo abyss, space 
 
The Children's Treasuiy 
 
 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, ' O Lord, THOU ART.' 
 
 C. Smart 
 
 74 
 
 THE TRAVELLER 
 
 How are thy servants blest, O Lord ! 
 
 How sure is their defence ! 
 Eternal wisdom is their guide. 
 
 Their help, Omnipotence. 
 
 In foreign realms, and lands remote, 
 
 Supported by Thy care, 
 Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt, 
 
 And breathed in tainted air. 
 
 Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil, 
 
 Made every region please ; 
 The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd, 
 
 And smoothed the Tyrrhene seas. 
 
 Think, O my soul, devoutly think, 
 How, with affrighted eyes, 
 
 Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep- 
 In all its horrors rise. 
 
 Confusiqn dwelt in every face, 
 
 And fear. in everv heart ; 
 When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs, 
 
 O'ercame the pilot's art. 
 
 4 Om7iipate7ice, all powerful ness 5 realms, kingdoms 
 
 II Switzerland t2 North western coast of Italy 
 
 17 No one knew what to do 
 
of EiigUsli Song 1 2 1 
 
 Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord, 
 
 Thy mercy set me free ; 
 Whilst, in the confidence of prayer. 
 
 My soul took hold on Thee. 
 
 For though in dreadful whirls we hung 
 
 High on the broken wave, 
 I knew Thou wart not slow to hear, 
 
 Nor impotent to save. 
 
 -The storm was laid ; the winds retired, 
 
 Obedient to Thy will ; 
 The sea that roar'd at Thy command, 
 
 At Thy command was still. 
 
 y. Addison 
 
 *75* 
 
 WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. 
 
 I HEARD a thousand blended notes 
 While in a grove I sat 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. 
 
 28 impote7it. unable 29 laid, stilled 
 
 I blended, mixed together 2 reclined, resting 
 
 3 vipod, humour n faith, belief 
 
122 TJie Childre?i^s Treasury 
 
 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 ; 
 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 ? 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 THE RAINBOJF 
 
 Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky 
 When storms prepare to part, 
 
 I ask not proud Philosophy 
 To teach me what thou art. 
 
 Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, 
 
 A midway station given, 
 For happy spirits to alight, 
 
 Betwixt the earth and heaven. 
 
 Can all that optics teach, unfold 
 
 Thy form to please me so, 
 As when I dreamt of gems and gold 
 
 Hid in thy radiant bow 1 
 
 When science from creation's face 
 Enchantment's veil withdraws, 
 
 What lovely visions yield their place 
 To cold material laws ! 
 
 I arch in remembrance of victory 2 ^nrf, clear off 
 
 9 optics, laws of sight : unfold, explain 
 14 cnchantinent, the poetry of youth 16 laws of matter 
 
of English Song 123 
 
 And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, 
 
 But words of the Most High, 
 Have told why first thy robe of beams 
 
 Was woven in the sky. 
 
 When o'er the green undeluged earth 
 Heaven's covenant thou didst shine. 
 
 How came the world's gray fathers forth 
 To watch thy sacred sign ! 
 
 And when its yellow lustre smiled 
 
 O'er mountains yet untrod, 
 Each mother held aloft her child 
 
 To bless the bow of God. 
 
 The earth to thee her incense yields. 
 
 The lark thy welcome sings, 
 When, glittering- in the freshen'd fields, 
 
 The snowy mushroom springs. 
 
 How glorious is thy girdle, cast 
 O'er mountain, tower, and town, 
 
 Or mirrord in the ocean vast 
 A thousand fathoms down ! 
 
 As fresh in yon horizon dark. 
 
 As young thy beauties seem. 
 As when the eagle from the ark 
 
 First sported in thy beam. 
 
 For, faithful to its sacred page. 
 
 Heaven still rebuilds thy span ; 
 
 Nor lets the type grow pale with age 
 
 That first spoke peace to man. 
 
 T. Campbell 
 
 22 covenant, sign of peace 23 gray fathers, Noah and his famiV 
 25 lustre, light 29 ince7ise, sweeness 
 
 32 the mushroom springs up after rain 33 girdle, arch, bow^ 
 35 mirror'd, reflected 4^ ■''M", aich 43 O'A. sign 
 
124 I^Ji^ Children's T?'eas?i)y 
 
 *77* 
 
 TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove ! 
 
 Thou messenger of spring I 
 Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, 
 
 And woods thy welcome sing. 
 
 What time the daisy decks the green, 
 
 Thy certain voice we hear ; 
 Hast thou a star to guide thy path, 
 
 Or mark the rolling year ? 
 
 Delightful visitant, with thee 
 
 I hail the time of flowers, 
 And hear the sound of music sweet 
 
 From birds among the bovvers. 
 
 The schoolboy wandering through the wood 
 
 To pull the primrose gay, 
 Starts the new voice of spring to hear. 
 
 And imita.es thy lay. 
 
 What time the pea puts on the bloom 
 
 Thou fliest thy vocal vale, 
 An annual guest in other lands, 
 
 Another spring to hail. 
 Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green. 
 
 Thy sky is ever clear ; 
 Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 
 
 No winter in thy year ! 
 
 O could I fly, I'd fly with thee ! 
 
 We'd make, with joyful wing. 
 Our annual visit o'er the globe. 
 
 Companions of the spring. 
 
 y. Logan 
 
 3 the trees are in leaf 6 certain, sure to come i6 lay, song 
 
 i8 vocal vale, valley where you have sung 
 
 19 a guest who comes every year 
 
of English Song 125 
 
 .78. 
 
 TO THE CUCKOO 
 
 O BLITHE new-comer ! I have heard, 
 
 I hear thee and rejoice : 
 O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird, 
 
 Or but a wandering Voice ? 
 
 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 schoolboy 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 hsten, till I do beget 
 
 That golden time again. 
 
 27, 28 till, until I fancy myself young again 
 
126 The Children's Treasiny 
 
 O blessed bird I the earth we pace 
 
 Again appears to be 
 An unsubstantial fairy place 
 
 That is tit home for Thee ! 
 
 IV. [Voidsivorlh 
 
 *79* 
 TO A WATERFX)IVL 
 
 Whither, 'midst falling dew, 
 While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, 
 Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue 
 
 Thy solitary way? 
 
 Vainly the fowler's eye 
 Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, 
 As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, 
 
 Thy figure floats along. 
 
 Seek'st thou the plashy brink 
 Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide. 
 Or where the rocking billows rise and sink 
 
 On the chafed ocean side? 
 
 There is a Power whose care 
 Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — 
 The desert and illimitable air,— 
 
 Lone wandering, but not lost. 
 
 All day thy wings have fann'd, 
 At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere ; 
 Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land. 
 
 Though the dark night is near. 
 
 And soon that toil shall end ; 
 Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest 
 And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend 
 
 Soon o'er thy shelter'd nest. 
 
 3 pursue, follow 5 to shoot thee 10 wargc, edge 
 
 15 illimitable, without bounds 18 atinosphere, air 
 
of English Song 1 2 7 
 
 Thou'rt gone — the abyss of heaven 
 Hath swallow'd up thy form — yet on my heart 
 Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, 
 
 And shall not soon depart. 
 
 He, who from zone to zone 
 Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 
 In the long way that I must tread alone, 
 
 Will lead my steps aright, 
 
 IV. C. Bryant 
 
 * 80* 
 
 SIGNS OF EVENING 
 
 The sun upon the lake is low, 
 
 The wild birds hush their song ; 
 The hills have evening's deepest glow, 
 
 Yet Leonard tarries long. 
 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. 
 
 25 abyss, depths 29 zone, region of the world 31 through life 
 
 9 turret, little tower 14 level, setting 
 
128 TJlc Childrciis Ti'casury 
 
 The woodlark at his partner's side 
 
 Twitters his closing song — 
 All meet whom day and care divide, — 
 
 But Leonard tarries long ! 
 
 Sir W. Scott 
 
 ARE THUS A 
 
 Arethusa arose 
 
 From her couch of snows 
 In the Acroceraunian mountains, — 
 
 From cloud and from crag 
 
 With many a jag. 
 Shepherding her bright fountains. 
 
 She leapt down the rocks 
 
 With her rainbow locks 
 Streaming among the streams ; — 
 
 Her steps paved with green 
 
 The downward ravine 
 Which slopes to the western gleams : 
 
 And gliding and springing, 
 
 She went, ever singing, 
 In murmurs as soft as sleep ; 
 
 The Earth seem'd to love her, 
 
 And Heaven smiled above her. 
 As she lingerd towards the deep. 
 
 Then Alpheus bold, 
 
 On his glacier cold. 
 With his trident the mountains strook ; 
 
 And open'd a chasm 
 
 In the rocks ; with the spasm 
 All Erymanthus shook. 
 
 3 Acroceraunian, see end 6 shepherding, leading 
 
 8 little rainbows appear in the spray 
 
 n ravine, mountain- valley 21 trident, fork with three prongs 
 
 22 chasm, rent 23 s*;^asni, shock 
 
of English ^ong 129 
 
 And the black south wind 
 
 It conceal'd behind 
 The urns of the silent snoAv, 
 
 And earthquake and thunder 
 
 Did rend in sunder 
 The bars of the springs below : 
 
 The beard and the hair 
 
 Of the river God were 
 Seen through the torrent's sweep, 
 
 As he foUow'd the light 
 
 Of the fleet nymph's flight 
 To the brink of the Dorian deep, 
 
 ' Oh, save me I Oh, guide me ! 
 
 ^ And bid the deep hide me, 
 * For he grasps me now by the hair 1 ' 
 
 The loud Ocean heard, 
 
 To its blue depth stirr'd, 
 And divided at her prayer ; 
 
 And under the water 
 
 The Earth's white daughter 
 Fled like a sunny beam ; 
 
 Behind her descended 
 
 Her billows, unblended 
 With the brackish Dorian stream : 
 
 Like a gloomy stain 
 
 On the emerald main 
 Alphdus rush'd behind, — 
 
 As an eagle pursuing 
 
 A dove to its ruin 
 Down the streams of the cloudy wind. 
 
 Under the bowers 
 Where the Ocean Powers 
 Sit on their pearled thrones : 
 
 35 nymph, girl-?oddess 44 Arethusa 47 imbicnded, not mixed 
 48 brackish, saltish 50 evte^-ald, ear green 56 Powers, gods 
 
 K 
 
130 The Children's Treasury 
 
 Through the coral woods 
 
 Of the weltering floods, 
 Over heaps of unvalued stones ; 
 
 Through the dim beams 
 
 Which amid the streams 
 Weave a net- work of colour'd light ; 
 
 And under the caves, 
 
 Where the shadowy waves 
 Are as green as the forest's night : — 
 
 Outspeeding the shark 
 
 And the sword-fish dark, 
 Under the ocean foam. 
 
 And up through the rifts 
 
 Of the mountain clifts ; 
 They passed to their Dorian home. 
 
 And now from their fountains 
 
 In Enna's mountains, 
 Down one vale where the morning basks, 
 
 Like friends once parted 
 
 Grown single-hearted, 
 They ply their watery tasks. 
 
 At sunrise they leap 
 
 From their cradles steep 
 In the cave of the shelving hill ; 
 
 At noon-tide they flow 
 
 Through the woods below 
 And the meadows of Asphodel ; 
 
 And at night they sleep 
 
 In the rocking deep 
 Beneath the Ortygian shore ; — 
 
 Like spirits that lie 
 
 In the azure sky 
 When they love but live no more. 
 
 P. B. Shelley 
 
 58 zvooJs, coral grows like a tree beneath the water 
 
 59 luelterivg, rolling 72 Dorian, in Sicily 
 
 84 Asphodel, probably meadow-narcissus 
 
of EiiglisJi Song 131 
 
 L'ALLEGRO 
 
 Hence, loathed Melancholy, 
 
 Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight bom 
 In Stygian cave forlorn 
 
 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights 
 unholy ! 
 Find out some uncouth cell 
 
 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 sii-ter 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 wash'd in dew 
 Fiird her with thee, a dau:2:hter fair. 
 So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 
 
 Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee 
 Jefet, and youthful jollity. 
 Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, 
 
 L' Allegro, the Cheerful man ; pronounce Alayg7-o 
 2 Cerberus, the fabled Dog of the dead 3 Stygian, gloomy 
 
 8 ebon, black 10 Cinimeria7i, Northern, gloomy 
 
 12 yclept, called 24 debonair, handsome 
 
 25 iVj/w/A, maiden 27 smart and odd turns of speech 
 
 K 2 
 
132 The ChildroCs Treasury 
 
 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 ; 
 And if I give thee honour due 
 Mirth, admit me 9f 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 
 
 29 Hehe, Youth 36 see end 40 iiiireprcn>ed, innocent 
 
 45 eglantine, do.sf-rose 52 tfantes, hens 
 
 54 seem to waken the day 60 sfnti', progress 
 
of English Song 133 
 
 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 ; 
 
 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 ri\ers 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 Philhs 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, 
 
 62 dight, dressed 67 tells his tale, counts his flock 
 
 71 latvns, open grass or moorside 75 pied, vai legated 
 
 80 Cynosure, Pole-star, to which every one looks up 
 
 83 Corydon, <5^<;.. poetical names for countrj^-people 
 
 90 taiuid, turned brown 91 secure, free from care 
 
134 The Children's Treasury 
 
 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 holy-day, 
 
 Till the live -long daylight 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 pull'd, she said ; 
 
 And he, by friar's lantern led ; 
 
 Tells how the 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. 
 In 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, 
 
 94 rebecks, small fiddles 102 jmikcts, milk-dainties 
 
 104 friar's lantern. Will o' the wisp 105 Goblin , Robin Goodfellow 
 no lubber, lubberly 120 iiieeds, dress : trinniphs, splendid en- 
 
 tertainments 125 Hymen, fabled God of Marriage 
 
of English Song 135 
 
 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 Shakspeare, 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 
 In notes, with many a winding bout 
 Of linked sweetness long drawn out ; 
 With wanton heed and giddy cunning, 
 The meltmg voice through mazes vunning. 
 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 beap'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. 
 
 J. Mil on 
 
 *83* 
 
 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 ! 
 
 [28 mask, sort of play 132 sock, Ben Jonson's comedies 
 
 [36 Lydian, light and festive 139 ho7it, turn or strain 
 
 [45 Orpheus, see end II Penseroso, the Pensive or Thoughtful man 
 3 bestead, avail 4 toys, trifles 
 
136 The Children's Treasiny 
 
 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 Morpheus' train. 
 
 But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, 
 Hail, divinest Melancholy ! 
 "Whose saintly visage is too bright 
 To hit the sense of human sight, 
 And therefore to our weaker view 
 O'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 brigbt-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, steadf^ist, and demure. 
 All in a robe of darkest grain 
 Flowing with majestic train, 
 And sable stole of cypres lawn 
 Over thy decent shoulders drawn : 
 
 6 Jbnd, foolish: possess, fill 9 h'kfsi, most like 
 
 xopensiotwrs, followers ; Mcrphei<s, sleep 14 to be visible 
 
 16 staid, sober 18 an African prince 19 Queen, Cassiope'a 
 
 31 nim, person retired from the world 33 grain, dyed stuff 
 35 cypres, crape 
 
of Eiio;lish Son^ 1 37 
 
 Come, but keep thy wonted state, 
 
 With even step, and musing gait, 
 
 And looks commercing with the skies, 
 
 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, 
 
 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, 
 
 38 musing g-a it, thoughtful fjace 39 f^ww^rc/w^, holding speech 
 
 40 rafit, tranced 41 passion, ecstasy 46 see end 
 
 55 hist, 00 quietly 56 'less, unless : PJtiloiiiel, nightingale 
 
 57 fiiigitt, state 58 softening the gloom 
 
 59 Cynthia, Moon ; Milton fencies her in a chariot drawn by two 
 dragons 63 chauntress, singer 64 ivoo, walk and look for 
 
138 The Children's Treaswy 
 
 Like one that had Toeen 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 curfeu 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 glowin j embers through the room 
 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 fleshly 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 ; 
 
 74 cur/eii, evening bell 80 serve to show the darkness 
 
 87 sit up all night 88-9, Hermes, Plato, ancient philo- 
 
 sophers : iinsphere, bring down upon earth 92 nook, the bndy 
 
 95 consent, agreement 96 with the stars and the forces of Nature 
 q8 see end 
 
of English So/ig 139 
 
 Or what (though rare) of later age 
 Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. 
 
 But, O sad Virgin, that thy power 
 Might raise iMusaeus 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 
 The story of Cambuscan bold, 
 Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 
 And who had Canace to wife 
 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 
 
 104 Miisnens, a fabled poet 109 hzjJt, Chancer, in his unfinished 
 Squire's Tale 118 //<r«^_r.r, solemn fights : trophies, 
 
 armour and weapons of defeated enemies 121 career, course 
 
 122 a'vil-snifed, peacefully dressed it.-^, frounced, curled 
 
 124 Boy, Cephalus, supposed'husband to the Dawning 
 
 125 kercheft, hoode 1 127 ushered, led in 
 
140 The Children's Tj'easury 
 
 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 concert as they keep 
 
 Entice the dewy-feather'd Sleep ; 
 
 And let some strange mysterious dream 
 
 Wave at his wings in aery 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, 
 
 134 Syb>a7i. fabled God of the woods 137 nymphs, wood-fairies 
 
 141 garish, staring 154 Genius, Spirit 
 
 156 pole, enclosure 157 Gothic vaulting 
 
 158 /nassy, massive 159 diohf, adorned 
 
of English Song 1 4 1 
 
 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 show, 
 And every herb that sips the dew ; 
 Till old experience do attain 
 To something like prophetic strain. 
 
 These pleasures, Melancholy, give. 
 And I with thee will choose to live. 
 
 y. Milton 
 
 A HAPPY OLD AGE 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Utiknown 
 
 170 spell, study i A" could, he who cculd end his life 
 
 2 U7ihaunted, unpeopled : ohsmre, hidden 
 
 8 merry, cheer him up 
 
 ^jtir of iirst |art 
 
SECOND PART 
 
 * I * 
 
 THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT 
 
 Agincourt, Agincourt ! know ye not Agincourt ? 
 Where the English slew and hurt 
 
 All the French foemen. 
 With our guns and bills brown, 
 O ! the French were beat down, 
 Morris-pikes and bowmen I 
 • T. Heyuwod 
 
 Fair stood the wind for France 
 When we our sails advance. 
 Nor now to prove our chance 
 
 Longer will tarry ; 
 But putting to the main, 
 At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, 
 With all his martial train, 
 
 Landed King Harry. 
 
 And taking many a fort, 
 Furnish'd in warlike sort, 
 Marcheth towards Agincourt 
 In happy hour ; 
 
 4 bills, pikes 6 7I/^^r/V-pikes, large-sized 
 
 3 prove, try 5 sailing forth 7 viariial, warlike 
 
 g/ori, castle 10 supplied for war 
 
144 The CJiildren^s Trcasmy 
 
 Skirmishing day by day 
 With those that stopp'd his way, 
 Where the French general lay 
 With all his power. 
 
 Which in his height of pride, 
 King Henry to deride, 
 His ransom to provide 
 
 To the King sending ; 
 Which he neglects the while, 
 As from a nation vile, 
 Yet with an angry smile, 
 
 Their fall portending. 
 
 And turning to his men. 
 Quoth our brave Henry then, 
 ' Though they to one be ten, 
 
 'Be not amazed ! 
 ' Yet have well begun, 
 ' Battles so bravely won 
 ' Have ever to the sun • 
 
 ' By fame been raised. 
 
 'And for myself,' quoth he, 
 ' This my full rest shall be ; 
 ' England, ne'er mourn for me, 
 
 ' Nor more esteem me : — 
 ' Victor I will remain, 
 ' Or on this earth lie slain ; 
 ' Never shall she sustain 
 
 ' Loss to redeem me. 
 
 ' Poictiers and Cressy tell, 
 ' When most their pride did swell, 
 ' Under our swords they fell: — 
 ' No less our skill is 
 
 13 ski7-}n''shin^^, irregular fighting 17 7iis, the French general's 
 
 21 which, insult : he, Henry 24 portrndi)ig, prophesying 
 
 26 quoth, spoke 36 if I am beaten 
 
 37 vicioi^, conqueror 40 pay ransom for 
 
of English Song 14? 
 
 ' Than when our grandsirc great, 
 ' Claiming the regal seat, 
 ' By many a warlike feat 
 ' Lopp'd the French lilies/ 
 
 The Duke of York so dread, 
 The eager vaward led; 
 With the main Henry sped, 
 
 Amongst his henchmen. 
 Exgter had the rear, 
 A braver man not there ; 
 Heavens ! how hot they were 
 
 On the false Frenchmen ! 
 
 They now to fight are gone : 
 Armour on armour shone. 
 Drum now to drum did groan ; 
 
 To hear was wonder ; 
 That with the cries they make 
 The very earth did shake ; 
 Trumpet to trumpet spake ; 
 
 Thunder to thunder. 
 
 Well it thine age became, 
 O noble Erpingham, 
 Which did the signal aim 
 
 To our hid forces ; 
 When from a meadow by, 
 Like a storm suddenly. 
 The English archery 
 
 Stuck the French horses. 
 
 With Spanish yew so strong, 
 Arrows a cloth-yard long, 
 That like to serpents stung, 
 Piercing the weather ; 
 
 A,-j feat, deed 48 see end 50 vaward, foremost mea 
 
 52 /^^«(^/^;«r«, attendants 71 archeiy, bowmen 
 
 73 yew, used for bows 76 %ueather, air 
 
 1- 
 
146 The Children's Treasury 
 
 None from his fellow starts, 
 But playing manly parts, 
 And like true English hearts, 
 Stuck close together. 
 
 When down their bows they threw, 
 And forth their bilbows drew, 
 And on the French they flew ; 
 
 Not one was tardy ; 
 Arms were from shoulders sent ; ' 
 Scalps to the teeth were rent, 
 Down the French peasants went ; 
 
 Our men were hardy. 
 
 This while our noble King, 
 His broad sword brandishing, 
 Down the French host did ding, 
 
 As to o'erwhelm it; 
 And many a deep- wound lent 
 His arms with blood besprent ; 
 And many a cruel dent 
 
 Bruised his helmet. 
 
 Gloucester, that duke so good, 
 Next of the royal blood, 
 For famous England stood, 
 
 With his brave brother, 
 Clarence, in steel so bright, 
 Though but a maiden knight. 
 Yet in that furious fight 
 
 Scarce such another. 
 
 Warwick in blood did wade, 
 Oxford the foe invade. 
 And cruel slaughter made, 
 Still as they ran up ; 
 
 P2 bilbows, swords 91 ding, cut down violently 
 
 94 besprent, sprinkled 102 maiden, untried 
 
of English So7ig 1 47 
 
 Suffolk his axe did ply, 
 Beaumont and Willoughby 
 Bare them right doughtily — 
 Ferrers and Fanhope. 
 
 Upon Saint Crispin's day 
 Fought was this noble fray, 
 Which fame did not delay 
 
 To England to carry. 
 O when shall Englishmen 
 With such acts fill a pen, 
 Or England breed again 
 
 Such a King Harry ! 
 
 M. Drayton 
 
 * 2 * 
 AFTER BLENHEIM 
 
 It was a summer evening ; 
 
 Old Kaspar's work was done, 
 And he 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.' 
 
 in doughtily, bravely 113 October 25 
 
 115 fame, report ii8 give writers such a fine subject 
 
 L 2 
 
148 The Children's Treasury 
 
 * 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 ; 
 
 * Now tell us all aboyt the war, 
 
 ' And Avhat 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 could not well make out. 
 
 ' But everybody said,' quoth he, 
 ' That 'twas a famous victory. 
 
 * My father lived at Blenheim then, 
 
 * Yort little stream hard by ; 
 
 ' They burnt his dweUing 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 : 
 
of EnglisJi So7ig 149 
 
 ' 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 httle Wilhehiiine ; 
 'Nay . . nay . . my hitle girl,' quoth 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.' 
 
 R. Soutkcy 
 
 *3* 
 
 LUCY GRAY 
 
 Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray : 
 And, when I ctoss'd the wild, 
 
 I chanced to see at break of day 
 The sohtary 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.' 
 
50 The Children's Treasiny 
 
 ' That, Father, will I gladly do : 
 
 ' 'Tis scarcely afternoon — 
 ' The minster-clock has just struck two, 
 
 ' And yonder is the moon ! ' 
 
 At this the father raised his hook, 
 
 And snapp'd a faggot band ; 
 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 tip 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 daybreak 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 downwards from the steep hill's edge 
 They track'd the footmarks small ; 
 
 And through the broken hawthorn' hedge, 
 And by the long stone-wall : 
 
of English So Jig 1 5 J 
 
 And then an open field they cross'd : 
 
 The marks were still the same ; 
 They track'd them on, nor ever lost ; 
 
 And to the bridge they came. 
 
 They follovv'd from the snowy bank 
 
 Those footmarks, one by one, 
 I-nto 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. 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 NURSE'S SONG 
 
 When the voices of children are heard on the green, 
 
 And laughing is heard on the hill. 
 My heart is at rest within my breast, 
 
 And everything else is still. 
 Then come home, my children, the sun is gone 
 down. 
 
 And the dews of night arise ; 
 Come, come, leave off play, and let us away 
 
 Till the morning appears in the skies. 
 
 ' No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, 
 
 ' And we cannot go to sleep ; 
 ' Besides in the sky the little birds fly, 
 
 ' And the hills are all cover d with sheep.' 
 
152 
 
 The Children's Trcasicry 
 
 — Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, 
 
 And then go home to bed. 
 
 The little ones leap'd, and shouted, and laugh'd ; 
 
 And all the hills echoed. 
 
 IV. Blake 
 
 5 
 
 INFANT JOY, 
 
 OK, THE B\BY 
 
 ' I HAVE no name; 
 ' I am but two days old.' 
 — ' What shall I call thee ? ' 
 
 — ' I happy am ; 
 
 ' Joy is my name.' 
 — Sweet joy befall thee ! 
 
 Pretty joy ! 
 Sweet joy, but two days old. 
 Sweet joy 1 call thee : 
 
 Thou dost smile : 
 
 I sing the while, 
 Sweet joy befall thee ! 
 
 W. Blake 
 
 THE BLIND LASSIE 
 
 O HARK to the Strain that sae sweetly is ringin', 
 
 And echoing clearly o'er lake and o'er lea, 
 Like some fairy bird in the wilderness singin' ; 
 
 It thrills to my heart, yet nae minsfrel I see. 
 Round yonder rock knittin', a dear child is sittin' 
 
 Sae toilin' her pitifu' pittance is won, 
 Hersel' tho' we see nae, 'tis mitherless Jeanie, — 
 
 The bonnie blind lassie that sits i' the sun. 
 
 I sfrain, music 
 
 () pitifu fiittntice, small livelihood 
 
 4 7ni)ist7'('l, singer 
 7 mither, mother 
 
of English Song 153 
 
 Five years syne come autumn she cam' wi' her 
 mither, 
 A sodger's puir widow, sair wasted an' gane ; 
 As brown fell the leaves, sae wi' them did she 
 wither, 
 And left the sweet child on the wide world her 
 lane. 
 She left Jeanie weepin', in His holy keepin' 
 
 Wha shelters the lamb frae the cauld wintry win' ; 
 We had little siller, yet a' were good till her, 
 The bonnie blind lassie that sits i' the sun. 
 
 An' blythe now an' cheerfu', fi^ae mornin' to e'enin 
 She sits thro' the simmer, an' gladdens ilk ear, 
 Baith auld and young daut her, sae gentle and 
 winnin' ; 
 To a' the folks round the wee lassie is dear. 
 Braw leddies caress her, wi' bounties would press 
 her ; 
 The modest bit darlin' their notice would shun ; 
 For though she has naething, proud-hearted this 
 wee thing, 
 The bonnie blind lassie that sits i' the sun. 
 
 T. C. Lalto 
 
 *7* 
 
 NIGHT 
 
 The sun descending in the west, 
 
 The evening star does shine ; 
 The birds are silent in their nest. 
 And I must seek for mine. 
 The moon, hke a flower 
 In heaven's high bower, 
 With silent delight 
 Sits and smiles on the night. 
 
 9 syne, since lo sair, sorely 12 her lane, alone 
 
 15 siller, money : ////, to 18 simmer, summer: ilk, every 
 
 19 dant^ dote on 20 a\ all 21 braw leddies, fine ladies 
 
 22 bit, little • 
 
154 T^h^ Children's Treasury 
 
 Farewell, green fields and happy groves, 
 
 Where flocks have ta'en delight ; 
 Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves 
 The feet of angels bright ; 
 Unseen, they pour blessing, 
 And joy without ceasing, 
 On each bud and blossom, 
 And each sleeping bosom. 
 
 They look in every thoughtless nest. 
 
 Where birds are cover'd warm, 
 They visit caves of every beast, 
 To keep them all from harm : — 
 If they see any weeping 
 That should have been sleeping, 
 They pour sleep on their head, 
 And sit down by their bed. 
 
 W. Blake 
 
 *8* 
 
 SIMON LEE THE OLD HUNTSMAN 
 
 In the sweet shire of Cardigan, 
 Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall, 
 An old man dwells, a httle man, 
 I've heard 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. 
 
 II bandied, sent 
 
of English Song 1 5 5 
 
 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. 
 
 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 O 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. 
 
 He has no son, he has no child ; 
 
 His wife, an aged woman, 
 
 Lives with him, near the waterfall, 
 
 Upon the village common. 
 
 Beside their moss-grown 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 avails the land to them 
 Which he can till no longer t 
 
 25 bereft, cut off from 28 io a huntsman's dress 
 
 32 only one left alive 47 what use is 
 
56 The Childreti's Treasury 
 
 Oft, working by her husband's side, 
 
 Ruth does what Simon cannot do ; 
 
 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 between 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. 
 
 O reader ! had you in your mind 
 
 Such stores as silent thought can biing, 
 
 O gentle reader ! you would find 
 
 A tale in everything. 
 
 What more 1 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 work'd for ever. 
 
 64 related, told 
 
of English Song 157 
 
 'You're overtask'd, good Simon Lee, 
 
 ' Give me your tool/ to him I said ; 
 
 And at the word right gladl}^ 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 
 Has oftener left me mourning. 
 
 IV. IVordstvorlh 
 
 LULLABY FOR TITANIA 
 First Fairy 
 
 You spotted snakes with double tongue. 
 
 Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ; 
 Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong ; 
 
 Come not near our Fairy Queen. 
 
 CJiorus 
 
 Philomel with melody 
 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
 Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, luUa, lullaby 
 Never harm, nor spell, nor charm, 
 
 Come our lovely lady nigh ! 
 
 So good-night, with lullaby. 
 
 84 pyofferd, ofifered 
 4 Queen, Titania 5 Philomel, nightin.'^ale 
 
158 The Children's Treasury 
 
 Second Fairy 
 
 Weaving spiders, come not here ; 
 
 Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence 
 Beedes black, approach not near ; 
 
 Worm, nor snail, do no offence. 
 
 Chorus 
 
 Philomel with melody 
 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
 Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby I 
 Never harm, nor spell, nor charm, 
 
 Come our lovely lady nigh ! 
 
 So good-night, with lullaby. 
 
 W. Shaktspenre 
 
 * 10 * 
 
 ROBIN GOODFELLOW 
 
 From Oberon, in fairy land, 
 
 The king of ghosts and shadows there. 
 
 Mad Robin I, at his command, 
 
 Am sent to view the night-sports here. 
 
 What revel rout 
 
 Is kept about, 
 In every corner where I go, 
 
 I will o'ersee, 
 
 And merry be. 
 And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 More swift than lightning can I fly 
 About this airy welkin soon. 
 And, in a minute's space, descry 
 Each thing that's done below the moon. 
 
 5, 6 whatever sport goes on 12 welkin, sky 
 
 13 descry, see 
 
of English Song 159 
 
 There's not a hag 
 
 Or ghost shall wag, 
 Or cry 'ware goblins ! where I go : 
 
 But, Robin, I 
 
 Their feats will spy, 
 And send them home with ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 Whene'er such wanderers I meet. 
 
 As from their night-sports they trudge home, 
 
 With counterfeiting voice I greet, 
 
 And call them on with me to roam ; 
 
 Through woods, through lakes, 
 
 Through bogs, through brakes, 
 Or else, unseen, with them I go, 
 
 All in the nick 
 
 To play some trick. 
 And frolic it, with ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 Sometimes I meet them like a man, 
 Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound ; 
 And to a horse I turn me can. 
 To trip and trot about them round. 
 
 But if to ride, 
 
 My back they stride. 
 More swift than wind away I go. 
 
 O'er hedge and lands, 
 
 Through pools and ponds, 
 I hurry, laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 By wells and rills, in meadows green, 
 We nightly dance our heyday guise ; 
 And to our fairy King and Queen, 
 We chant our moonlight minstrelsies. 
 
 TO ^vaz, stir 17 'ivare, beware of \()/cais, doings 
 
 23 co7CHierfezting, mimicking 28 /« the nick, at the right moment 
 
 42 heyday guise, froHcsome game 44 minstrelsies, songs 
 
i6o The Children's Treasnry 
 
 When larks 'gin sing, 
 
 Away we fling ; 
 And babes new born steal as we go ; 
 
 And elf in bed, 
 
 We leave instead, 
 And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 From hag-bred Merlin's time have I 
 Thus nightly revell'd to and fro ; 
 And for my p-ranks men call me by 
 The name of Robin Good-fellow. 
 
 Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, 
 Who haunt the nights, 
 The hags and goblins do me know ; 
 And beldames old 
 My feats have told, 
 So vale, vale f ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 Unknown 
 
 * II * 
 
 THE FA [R V PRINCE 
 
 It was intill a pleasant time, 
 
 Upon a summer's day. 
 The noble Earl Mar's daughter 
 
 Went forth to sport and play. 
 
 And as she play'd and sported 
 
 Below a green oak tree, 
 There she saw a sprightly doo 
 
 Set on a branch so hie. 
 
 ' O Coo-my-doo, my Love so true, 
 
 ' If ye'll come down to me, 
 ' Ye'll have a cage of good red gold 
 
 ' Instead of simple tree.' 
 
 50 7veud, go 51 hag-bred, witch-bo'n : Merlin, a magiciai 
 
 Co 7'aU, farewell i intill, in 7 d^o, dove 8 hie, high 
 
 12 tree, wood 
 
of English Song i6i 
 
 And she had not these words well spoke, 
 
 Nor yet these words well said, 
 Till Coo-my-doo flew from the branch, 
 
 And lighted on her head. 
 
 Then she has brought this pretty bird 
 
 Home to her bower and hall, 
 And made him shine as fair a bird 
 
 As any of them all. 
 
 When day was gone and night was come. 
 
 About the evening-tide, 
 This lady spied a sprightly youth 
 
 Stand straight up by her side. 
 
 ' O who are ye, young man ? ' she said, 
 
 'What country come ye frae?' 
 — * I flew across the sea,' he said, 
 
 ' 'Twas but this very day. 
 
 * My mother is a queen,' he says, 
 
 ' Likewise of magic skill ; 
 
 * 'Twas she that turn'd me in a doo, 
 
 ' To fly where'er I will. 
 
 * And it was but this very day 
 
 ' That I came o'er the sea : 
 ^ I loved you at a single look ; 
 ' With you I'll live and dee/ 
 
 — ' O Coo-my-doo, my Love so true, 
 
 ' No more from me ye'll gae.' 
 — ' That's never my intent, my Love ; 
 
 ' As ye said, it shall be sae.' 
 
 Thus he has stay'd in bower with her 
 
 For twenty years and three ; 
 Till there came a lord of high renown 
 
 To court this fair ladye. 
 
 31 ui, to 38 gac, go 
 
 M 
 
1 62 The Children's Treasury 
 
 But still his proffer she refused, 
 
 And all his presents too ; 
 Says, ' I'm content to live alone 
 
 ' With my bird Coo-my-doo.' 
 
 Her father sware a solemn oath, 
 
 Among the nobles all, 
 ' To-morrow, ere I eat or drink, 
 
 ' That bird I'll surely kill' 
 
 The bird was sitting in his cage. 
 And heard what he did say ; 
 
 He jump'd upon the window-sill : 
 "Tis time I was away.' 
 
 Then Coo-my-doo took flight and flew 
 
 Beyond the raging sea. 
 And lighted at his mother's castle, 
 
 On a tower of gold so hie. 
 
 The Queen his mother was walking out, 
 
 To see what she could see. 
 And there she saw her darling son 
 
 Set on the tower so hie. 
 
 * Get dancers here to dance,' she said, 
 
 * And minstrels for to play ; 
 ' For here's my dear son Florentine 
 ' Come back with me to stay.' 
 
 — * Instead of dancers to dance, mother, 
 ' Or minstrels for to play, 
 
 * Turn four-and-twenty well-wight men 
 
 ' Like storks, in feathers gray ; 
 
 ' My seven sons in seven swans, 
 'Above their heads to flee ; 
 
 ' And I myself a gay goshawk, 
 ' A bird of high degree.' 
 
 45 P'^'off^r, offer -t well-wight , stalwart 
 
 75 goshawk, large hawk 
 
of English Song 1 63 
 
 This flock of birds took flight and flew 
 
 Beyond the raging sea ; 
 They landed near the Earl Mar's castle, 
 
 Took shelter in every tree. 
 
 These birds flew up from bush and tree, 
 
 And lighted on the hall ; 
 And when the wedding-train came forth 
 
 Flew down among them all. 
 
 The storks they sieized the boldest men, 
 That they could not fight or flee ; 
 
 The swans they bound the bridegroom fast 
 Unto a green oak tree. 
 
 They flew around the bride-maidens, 
 
 Then on the bride's own head ; 
 
 And with the twinkhng of an eye. 
 
 The bride and they were fled ! 
 
 Unknoivn 
 
 THE ANCIENT MARINER 
 PART I 
 
 It is an ancient Mariner, 
 
 And he stoppeth one of three. 
 
 — ' By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, 
 
 ' Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ? 
 
 ' The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide, 
 ' And I am next of kin ; 
 *■ The guests are met, the feast is set : 
 ' May'st hear the merry din 
 
 t' 
 
 He holds him with his skinny hand, 
 
 ' There was a ship,' quoth he. 
 
 — ' Hold off ! unhand me, gray-beard loon ! ' 
 
 Eftsoons his hand dropt he. 
 
 [2 eftsooiis, at once 
 
 M 2 
 
1 64 The Children's Treasury 
 
 He holds him with his glittering eye : — 
 The wedding-guest stood still, 
 And listens like a three years' child : 
 The Mariner htith his will. 
 
 The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone : 
 He cannot choose but hear ; 
 And thus spake on that ancient man, 
 The bright-eyed Mariner: — 
 
 ' The ship was cheerd, the harbour clear'd ; 
 
 ' Merrily did Ave drop 
 
 '■ Below the kirk, below the hill, 
 
 ' Below the light -house top. 
 
 ' The sun came up upon the left, 
 
 ' Out of the sea came he ! 
 
 ' And he shone bright, and on the right 
 
 ' Went down into the sea. 
 
 ' Higher and higher every day, 
 
 ' Till over the mast at noon ' — 
 
 The W^edding-Guest here beat his breast, 
 
 For he heard the loud bassoon. 
 
 The bride hath paced into the hall. 
 Red as rose is she ; 
 Nodding their heads before her goes 
 The merry minstrelsy. 
 
 The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast, 
 Yet he cannot choose but hear ; 
 And thus spake on that ancient man, 
 The bright-eyed Mariner : — 
 
 ' And now the storm-blast came, and he 
 Was tyrannous and strong : 
 He struck with his o'ertaking wings. 
 And chased us South along. 
 
 23 kirk, church 25 left. East, as they were going South 
 
 32 bassoon, wind-instrument 36 viinstrelsy, musicians 
 
of English Song 165 
 
 With sloping masts and dipping prow, 
 As who pursued with yell and blow 
 Still treads the shadow of his foe, 
 And forward bends his head, 
 The ship drove fast, loud roar'd the blast. 
 And southward aye we fled. 
 
 And now there came both mist and snow. 
 And it grew wondrous cold : 
 And ice, maet-high, came floating by, 
 As green as emerald. 
 
 And through the drifts the snowy clifts 
 Did send a dismal sheen : 
 Nor shapes of men nor beasts \nq. ken — 
 The ice was all between. 
 
 The ice was here, the ice was there, 
 
 The ice was all around : 
 
 It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd, 
 
 Like noises in a swound ! 
 
 At length did cross an Albatross, 
 Thorough the fog it came ; 
 As if it had been a Christian soul, 
 We hail'd it in God's name. 
 
 It ate the food it ne'er had ate. 
 And round and round it flew : — 
 The ice did split with a thunder-fit ; 
 The helmsman steer'd us through ! 
 
 And a good south wind sprung up behind ; 
 
 The Albatross did follow, 
 
 And every day, for food or play. 
 
 Came to the mariners' hollo ! 
 
 53 glaciers 56 sheen, shining: 57 ken, see 
 
 62 sivound, swoon 63 Albatross, great sea-bird 
 
1 66 The CJiildren's Treasury 
 
 In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, 
 
 It perch'd for vespers nine; 
 
 Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, 
 
 Glimmered the white moon-shine. 
 
 ' God save thee, ancient Mariner ! 
 ' From the fiends, that plague thee thus ! — 
 ' Why look'st thou so ?' — 'With my cross-bow 
 I shot the Albatross.' 
 
 PART II 
 
 ' The sun now rose upon the right : 
 Out of the sea came he 
 Still hid in mist, — and on the left 
 Went down into the sea. 
 
 And the good south wind still blew behind, 
 But no sweet bird did follow. 
 Nor any day for food or play 
 Came to the mariners' hollo ! 
 
 And I had done a hellish thing, 
 
 And it would work 'em woe : 
 
 For all averr'd, I had kill'd the bird 
 
 That made the breeze to blow\ 
 
 Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to slay, 
 
 That made the breeze to blow ! 
 
 Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, 
 The glorious Sun uprist : 
 Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the bird 
 That brought the fog and mist : — 
 'Twas right, said they, sucli birds to slay. 
 That bringr the fog- and mist. 
 
 75 shrovJ, rigging 76 vespers, evenings 
 
 93 averr'd, declared 
 
of English Song 1 67 
 
 The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, 
 
 The furrow folio w'd free ; 
 
 We were the first that ever burst 
 
 Into that silent sea. 
 
 Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 
 'Twas sad as sad could be ; 
 And we did speak only to break 
 The silence of the sea ! 
 
 All in a hot and copper sky, 
 The bloody Sun, at noon, 
 Right up above the mast did stand. 
 No bigger than the Moon. 
 
 Day after day, day after day, 
 We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; 
 As idle as a painted ship 
 Upon a painted ocean. 
 
 Water, water, everywhere. 
 And all the boards did shrink ; 
 Water, water, everywhere, 
 Nor any drop to drink. 
 
 The very deep did rot : O Heaven ! 
 That ever this should be ! 
 Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs 
 Upon the slimy sea. 
 
 About, about, in reel and rout 
 The death-fires danced at night ; 
 The water, like a witch's oils, 
 Burnt green, and blue, and white. 
 
 And some in dreams assured were 
 Of the spirit that plagued us so ; 
 Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us 
 From the land of mist and snow. 
 
1 68 The Children's Treasury 
 
 And every tongue, through utter drought, 
 Was wither'd at the root \ 
 We could not speak, no more than if 
 We had been choked with soot. 
 
 Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looks 
 Had I from old and young ! 
 Instead of the cross, the Albatross 
 About my neck was hung. 
 
 PART III 
 
 ' There pass'd a weary time. Each throat 
 
 Was parch'd, and glazed each eye. 
 
 A weary time ! a weary time ! 
 
 How glazed each weary eye ! 
 
 When looking westward, I beheld 
 
 A something in the sky. 
 
 At first it seem'd a little speck, 
 
 And then it seem'd a, mist ; 
 
 It moved and moved, and took at last 
 
 A certain shape, I wist. 
 
 A speck, a mist, a shape, I v^ist ! 
 
 And still it near'd and near'd : 
 
 As if it dodged a water-sprite, 
 
 It plunged and tack'd and veer'd. 
 
 With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, 
 
 We could nor laugh nor wail ; 
 
 Through utter drought all dumb we stood ! 
 
 I bit my arm, I suck'd the blood, 
 
 And cried, A sail — a sail ! 
 
 With throats unslaked, with black lips baked. 
 Agape they heard me call : 
 Gramercy ! they for joy did grin, 
 And all at once their breath drew in. 
 As they were drinking all. 
 
 152 luist, perceived 
 
of Eiii^lish ^ono; 1 69 
 
 See ! see ! (I cried) she tacks no more ! 
 Hither to work us. weal ; 
 Without a breeze, without a tide, 
 She steadies with upright keel ! 
 
 The western wave was all a-flame, 
 
 The day was wellnigh done ! 
 
 Almost upon the western wave 
 
 Rested the broad bright Sun ; 
 
 When that strange shape drove suddenly 
 
 Betwixt us and the Sun. 
 
 And straight the Sun was fleck'd with bars, 
 (Heaven's Mother send us grace !) 
 As if through a dungeon-grate he peer'd 
 With broad and burning face. 
 
 Alas ! (thought I, and m.y heart beat loud) 
 How fast she nears andnears ! 
 Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, 
 Like restless gossameres ? 
 
 Are those her ribs through which the Sun 
 Did peer, as through a grate ? 
 And is that woman all her crew 1 
 Is that a Death ? and are there two ? 
 Is Death that woman's mate 1 
 
 Her lips were red, her looks were free, 
 Her locks were yellow as gold : 
 Her skin was as white as leprosy, 
 The Night-mare Life-in-Death was she, 
 Who thicks man's blood with cold. 
 
 The naked hulk alongside came, 
 
 And the twain were casting dice ; 
 
 * The game is done ! I've . . . I've won ! ' 
 
 Quoth she, and whistles thrice. 
 
 168 do us good 19s Juilk, body of the ship 
 
lyo The Children'' s Treasujy 
 
 The Sun's rim dips ; the stars rush out : 
 At one stride comes the dark ; 
 With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea. 
 Off shot the spectre-bark. 
 
 We listened and look'd sideways up ! 
 
 Fear at my heart, as at a cup, 
 
 My Hfe-blood seem'd to sip ! 
 
 The stars were dim, and thick the night ; 
 
 The steersman's face by his lamp gleam'd white 
 
 From the sails the d'cvv did drip — 
 
 Till clomb above the eastern bar 
 
 The horned Moon, with one bright star 
 
 Within the nether tip. 
 
 One after one, by the star-dogg'd Moon, 
 Too quick for groan or sigh, 
 Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang. 
 And cursed me with his eye. 
 
 Four times fifty living men, 
 (And I heard nor sigh nor groan,) 
 With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, 
 They dropt down one by one. 
 
 The souls did from their bodies fly, — 
 They fled to bliss or woe ! 
 And every soul, it pass'd me by 
 Like the whizz of my cross-bow.' 
 
 PART 17. 
 
 ' I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! 
 
 ' I fear thy skinny hand ! 
 
 ' And thou art long, and lank, and brown, 
 
 * As is the ribb'd sea-sand. 
 
 200 Near the Equator there is hardly any twilight 
 212 dog^'d, followed closely by 
 
of English Song 1 7 1 
 
 ' I fear thee and thy ghttering eye, 
 
 ' And thy skinny hand, so brown.' 
 
 — 'Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest ! 
 
 This body dropt not down. 
 
 Alone, alone ; all, all alone, 
 Alone on a wide, wide sea ! 
 And never a saint took pity on 
 My soul in agony. 
 
 The many men, so beautiful ! 
 
 And they all dead did lie : 
 
 And a thousand thousand slimy things 
 
 Lived on ; and so did I. 
 
 I look'd upon the rotting sea. 
 
 And drew my eyes away ; 
 
 I look'd upon the rotting deck. 
 
 And there the dead men lay. 
 
 I look'd to heaven, and tried to pray ; 
 But or ever a prayer had gusht, 
 A wicked whisper came, and made 
 My heart as dry as dust. 
 
 I closed my lids, and kept them close, 
 
 And the balls like pulses beat ; 
 
 For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky 
 
 Lay like a load on my weary eye, 
 
 And the dead were at my feet. 
 
 The cold sweat melted from their limbs, 
 Nor rot nor reek did they : 
 The look with which they look'd on me 
 Had never pass'd away. 
 
 An orphan's curse would drag to hell 
 
 A spirit from on high ; 
 
 But, oh ! more horrible than that 
 
 Is the curse in a dead man's eye I 
 
 Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, 
 
 And yet I could not die. 
 
172 The ChildrejCs Treasury 
 
 The moving Moon went up the sky, 
 And nowhere did abide : 
 Softly she was going up, 
 And a star or two beside : 
 
 Her beams bemock'd the sultry main, 
 
 Like April hoar-frost spread ; 
 
 But where the ship's huge shadow lay, 
 
 The charmed water burnt alway 
 
 A still and awful red. 
 
 Beyond the shadow of the ship, 
 
 I watch'd the water snakes : 
 
 They moved in tracks of shining white, 
 
 And when they rear'd, the elfish light 
 
 Fell off in hoary flakes. 
 
 Within the shadow of the ship 
 
 I watch'd their rich attire : 
 
 Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, 
 
 They coil'd and swam ; and every track 
 
 Was a flash of golden fire. 
 
 O happy living things ! no tongue 
 
 Their beauty might declare : 
 
 A spring of love gush'd from my heart, 
 
 And I bless'd them unaware : 
 
 Sure my kind saint took pity on me, 
 
 And I bless'd them unaware. 
 
 The self-same moment I could pray ; 
 And from my neck so free 
 The Albatross fell off, and sank 
 Like lead into the sea. 
 
 PART V 
 
 ' O sleep ! it is a gentle thing, 
 Beloved from pole to pole ! 
 To Mary Queen the praise be given ! 
 She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven 
 That slid into my soul. 
 
of English Song 1 73 
 
 The silly buckets on the deck 
 
 That had so long remain'd, 
 
 I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew ; 
 
 And when I awoke, it rain'd. 
 
 My lips were wet, my tliroat was cold, 
 
 My garments all were dank : 
 
 Sure I had drunken in my dreams. 
 
 And still my body drank. 
 
 I moved, and could not feel my limbs : 
 
 I was so light ; almost 
 
 1 thought that I had died in sleep 
 
 And was a blessed ghost. 
 
 And soon I heard a roaring wind ; 
 
 It did not come anear ; 
 
 But with its sound it shook the sails. 
 
 That were so thin and sere. 
 
 The upper air burst into life ! 
 
 And a hundred fire-flags sheen, 
 
 To and fro, they were hurried about ! 
 
 And to and fro, and in and out. 
 
 The wan stars danced between. 
 
 And the coming wind did roar more loud. 
 
 And the sails did sigh like sedge ; 
 
 And the rain pour'd down from one black 
 
 cloud ; 
 The Moon was at its edge. 
 The thick black cloud was cleft, and still 
 The Moon was at its side : 
 Like waters shot from some high crag. 
 The lightning fell wdth never a jag, 
 A river steep and wide. 
 The loud wind never reach'd the ship. 
 Yet now the ship moved on !• 
 Beneath the lightning and the Moon 
 The dead men gave a groan. 
 
 312 sere, withered and dry 317 waji, pale 
 
174 ■^^^''^ Children's Treasury 
 
 They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose, 
 Mor spake, nor moved their eyes ; 
 It had been strange, e'en in a dream. 
 To have seen those dead men rise. 
 
 The helmsman steer'd ; the ship moved on ; 
 
 Yet never a breeze up blew ; 
 
 The mariners all ^gan work the ropes 
 
 Where they were wont to do ; 
 
 They raised their limbs like lifeless tools — 
 
 We were a ghastly crew ! 
 
 The body of my brother's son 
 Stood by me, knee to knee : 
 The body and I pull'd at one rope, 
 But he said nought to me.' 
 
 * — I fear thee, ancient mariner !' 
 ' — Be calm, thou Wedding Guest ! 
 'Twas not those souls that fled in pain, 
 Which to their corses came again, 
 But a troop of spirits blest — 
 
 For when it dawn'd they dropp'd their arms, 
 And cluster'd round the mast ; 
 Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, 
 And from their bodies pass'd. 
 
 Around, around, flew each sweet sound. 
 Then darted to the Sun : 
 Slowly the sounds came back again, 
 Now mix'd, now one by one. 
 
 Sometimes a-dropping from the sky 
 I heard the skylark sing ; 
 Sometimes all little birds that are, 
 How they seem'd to fill the sea and air 
 With their sweet jargoning ! 
 
 348 corses, dead bodies 361 jargoning, ch.Tttering 
 
of English Song 
 
 And now 'twas like all instruments. 
 
 Now like a lonely flute ; 
 
 And now it is an angel's song, 
 
 That makes the heavens be mute. 
 
 It ceased ; yet still the sails made on 
 
 A pleasant noise till noon, 
 
 A noise like of a hidden brook 
 
 In the leafy month of June, 
 
 That to the sleeping woods all night 
 
 Singeth a quiet tune. 
 
 Till noon we quietly sail'd on. 
 
 Yet never a breeze did breathe : 
 
 Slowly and smoothly went the ship. 
 
 Moved onward from beneath. 
 
 Under the keel nine fathom deep, 
 
 From the land of mist and snow. 
 
 The spirit slid ; and it was he 
 
 That made the ship to go. 
 
 The sails at noon left off their tune, 
 
 And the ship stood still also. 
 
 The sun, right up above the mast. 
 
 Had fix'd her to the ocean : 
 
 But in a minute she 'gan stir, 
 
 With a Short uneasy motion — 
 
 Backwards and forwards half her length, 
 
 With a short uneasy motion. 
 
 Then like a pawing horse let go. 
 
 She made a sudden bound : 
 
 It flung the blood into my head. 
 
 And I fell down in a s wound. 
 
 How long in that same flt I lay, 
 
 I have not to declare ; 
 
 But ere my living life return'd, 
 
 I heard, and in my soul discern'd 
 
 Two voices in the air. 
 
 396 discerned, heard 
 
176 77/<f Children's Trcasmy 
 
 ' Is it he ? ' quoth one, ' is this the man ? 
 
 * By Him who died on cross, 
 
 ' With his cruel bow he laid full low 
 
 * The harmless albatross. 
 
 ' The spirit who bideth by himself 
 ' In the land of mist and snow, 
 '■ He" loved the bird that loved the man 
 ' Who shot him with his bow.' 
 
 As soft as honey-dew : 
 
 Quoth he, ' The man hath penance done, 
 
 ' And penance more will do.' 
 
 PART VI 
 First Voice 
 
 ' But tell me, tell me ! speak again, 
 ' Thy soft response renewing — 
 ' What makes that ship drive on so fast } 
 ' What is the ocean doing ? ' 
 
 Secoiid Voice 
 
 ' Still as a slave before his lord, 
 
 ' The ocean hath no blast ! 
 
 ' His great bright eye most silently 
 
 ' Up to the Moon is cast — 
 
 ' If he may know which way to go : 
 
 ' For she guides him smooth or grim : 
 
 ' See, brother, see ! how graciously 
 
 ' She looketh down on him ! ' 
 
 First Voice 
 
 ' But why drives on that ship so fast, 
 ' \\'ithout or wave or wind V 
 
 Second Voice 
 
 ' The air is cut away before, 
 * And closes from behind. 
 
 408 petiance, punishment to do away sin 41 1 response, answer 
 
of Ejiglish Song 177 
 
 ' Fly, brothei-j fly ! more high, more high ! 
 
 * Or we shall be belated : 
 
 * For slow and slow that ship will go, 
 
 ' When the Mariner's trance is abated.' 
 
 I woke; and we were sailing on 
 As in a gentle weather : 
 
 'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high ; 
 The dead men stood together- 
 All stood together on the deck, 
 For a charnel-dungeon fitter : 
 All fix'd on me their stony eyes, 
 That in the moon did glitter. 
 
 The pang, the curse with w^hich they died, 
 Had never pass'd away : — 
 I could not draw my eyes from theirs, 
 Nor turn them up to pray. 
 
 And now this spell was snapt once more : — 
 
 I view'd the ocean green, 
 
 And look'd far forth, yet little saw 
 
 Of what had else been seen : — 
 
 Like one, that on a lonesome road 
 Doth walk in fear and dread. 
 And having once turn'd round, walks on, 
 And turns no more his head ; 
 Because he knows a frightful fiiend 
 Doth close behind him tread. 
 
 But soon there breathed a wind on me, 
 Nor sound nor motion made : 
 Its path was not upon the sea. 
 In ripple or in shade. 
 
 427 belated, too late 429 abated, over 
 
 N 
 
178 The Childrefi^s Treasury 
 
 It raised my hair, it fann'd Q.iy cheek 
 Like a meadow-gale of spring : — 
 It mingled strangely with my fears, — 
 Yet it felt like a welcoming. 
 
 Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, 
 Yet she sail'd softly, too ; 
 Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — 
 On me alone it blew. 
 
 Oh ! dream of joy ! is this indeed 
 The light-house top I see? 
 Is this the hill ? is this the kirk? 
 Is this mine own coimtree? 
 
 We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, 
 And I with sobs did pray — 
 
 let me be awake, my Cxod ! 
 Or let me sleep alway. 
 
 The harbour-bay was clear as glasS; 
 So smoothly it was strewn : 
 And on the bay the moonlight lay, 
 Aud the shado.v of the moon. 
 
 The rock shone bright, the kirk no less 
 That stands above the rock : 
 The moonlight steep'd in silentness 
 The steady weather-cock. 
 
 And the bay was white with silent light 
 Till, rising from the same, 
 Full many shapes, that shadows were, 
 In crimson colours came. 
 
 A little distance from the prow 
 Those crimson shadows were : 
 
 1 turn'd my eyes upon the deck — 
 Oh, Heaven ! -what saw I there ! 
 
of English Song 179 
 
 Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, 
 And, by the holy rood ! 
 A man all light, a seraph-man. 
 On every corse there stood. 
 
 This seraph-band, each waved his hand: 
 It was a heavenly sight ! 
 They stood as signals to the land, 
 Each one a lovely light. 
 
 This seraph-band, each waved his hand, 
 No voice did they impart — 
 No voice ; but oh ! the silence sank 
 Like music on my heart. 
 
 But soon I heard the dash of oars ; 
 I heard the pilot's cheer ; 
 My head was turn'd perforce away, 
 And I saw a boat appear. 
 
 The Pilot and the Pilot's boy, 
 
 I heard them coming fast : 
 
 Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy 
 
 The dead men could not blast. 
 
 I saw a third — I heard his voice : 
 
 It is the Hermit good ! 
 
 He singeth loud his godly hymns 
 
 That he makes in the wood. 
 
 He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away 
 
 The Albatross's blood. 
 
 PART VII 
 
 'This Hermit good lives in that wood 
 Which slopes down to the sea : — 
 How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! 
 He loves to talk with marineres 
 That come from a far countree. 
 
 497 impart, utter 507 blast, spoil 512 shrieve, cleanse from sin 
 
 N 2 
 
i8o The Children's Treasury 
 
 He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve — 
 
 He hath a cushion plump : 
 
 It is the moss that wholly hides 
 
 The rotted old oak-stump. 
 
 The skiff-boat near'd : I heard them talk, 
 
 ' Why, this is strange, I trow ! 
 
 'Where are those lights so many and fair, 
 
 * That signal made but now ? ' 
 
 ' Strange, by my faith,' the Hermit said — 
 ' And they answer'd not our cheer ! 
 ' The planks look'd warp'd ! and see those sails, 
 ' How thin they are and sere ! 
 
 * I never saw aught like to them, 
 ' Unless perchance it were 
 
 * Brown skeletons of leaves that lag 
 ' My forest-brook along ; 
 
 ' When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, 
 '■ And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, 
 
 * That eats the she-wolfs young.' 
 
 ' Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look ' 
 (The Pilot made reply) 
 ' I am a-fear'd.' ' Push on, push on ! ' 
 Said the Hermit cheerily. 
 
 The boat came closer to the ship, 
 But I nor spake nor stirr'd ; 
 The boat came close beneath the ship, 
 And straight a sound was heard : — 
 
 Under the water it rumbled on. 
 Still louder and more dread : 
 It reach'd the ship, it split the bay ; 
 The ship went down like lead. 
 
 524 troiv, think 530 sere, withered 535 tod, bush 
 
of English Song i : 
 
 Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound, 
 
 Which sky and ocean smote. 
 
 Like one that hath been seven days drown'd 
 
 My body lay afloat ; 
 
 But swift as dreams, myself I found 
 
 Within the Pilot's boat 
 
 Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, 
 The boat spun round and round ; 
 And all was still, save that the hill 
 Was teUing of the sound. 
 
 I moved my lips — the Pilot shrick'd 
 And fell down in a fit : 
 The holy Hermit raised his eyes, 
 And pray'd where he did sit. 
 
 And now, all in my own countree, 
 
 I stood on the firm land ! 
 
 The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat, 
 
 And scarcely he could stand. 
 
 ' O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man ! ' 
 
 The Hermit cross'd his brow, 
 
 ' Say quick,' quoth he, ' I bid thee say — 
 
 ' What manner of man art thou ? ' 
 
 Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd 
 
 With a woful agony, 
 
 Which forced me to begin my tale ; 
 
 And then it left me free. 
 
 Since then, at an uncertain hour. 
 That agony returns : 
 And till my ghastly tale is told. 
 This heart within me burns. 
 
 I pass, like night, from land to land ; 
 I have strange power of speech ; 
 That moment that his face I see, 
 I know the man that must hear me : 
 To him my tale I teach. 
 
1 82 The Children's Tirasmy 
 
 — What loud uproar bursts from thi t door ! 
 
 The wedding guests are there : 
 
 But in the garden-bower the bride 
 
 And bridemaids singing are : 
 
 And hark the little vesper bell, 
 
 Which biddeth me to prayer ! 
 
 O wedding-guest ! this soul hath been 
 
 Alone on a wide, wide sea : 
 
 So lonely 'twas, that God Himself 
 
 Scarce seemed there to be. 
 
 O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 
 
 'Tis sweeter far to me. 
 
 To walk together to the kirk 
 
 With a goodly company ! 
 
 To walk together to the kirk, 
 
 And all together pray. 
 
 While each to his Great Father bends. 
 
 Old men, and babes, and loving friends. 
 
 And youths and maidens gay ! 
 
 — Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell 
 
 To thee, thou Wedding-guest ! 
 
 He prayeth well who loveth well 
 
 Both man and bird and beast. 
 
 He prayeth best who loveth best 
 
 All things both great and small ; 
 
 For the dear God who loveth us, 
 
 He made and loveth all.' 
 
 — The Mariner, whose eye is bright. 
 
 Whose beard with age is hoar. 
 
 Is gone : and now the wedding-guest 
 
 Turn'd from the bridegroom's door. 
 
 He went like one that hath been stunn'd, 
 
 And is of sense forlorn : — 
 
 A sadder and a wiser man. 
 
 He rose the morrow morn. 
 
 ^■. T. Colt'iicio^i 
 589 vesper, evening 
 
of English Song 183 
 
 THE FEARFUL STORY 
 
 ' O WHERE have ye been, my long-lost lover, 
 ' This long seven years and mair ? ' 
 
 ' — O, I'm come again to seek your love, 
 ' And the vows that ye did swear.' 
 
 * Now haud your tongue of my love and vows, 
 
 ' For they can breed but strife ; 
 ' Now haud your tongue of my former vows, 
 ' For I am another man's wife.' 
 
 ' — Had I kenn'd that ere I came here, 
 
 ' I ne'er had come to thee ; 
 ' For I might ha'e married the king's daughter, 
 
 ' Were it not for the love of thee. 
 
 ' I despised the crown of gold, 
 
 ' And the fair ladye also ; 
 ' And I am come back to my own true Love, 
 
 ' But with me she'll not go. 
 
 ' Ye may leave your husband to himself, 
 
 ' And your little son also, 
 ' And sail with me across the sea 
 
 ' Where the stormy winds do blow.' 
 
 ' — O, what have you to keep me with, 
 ' If I with you should go — 
 
 * If I should forsake my good husband, 
 
 ' My little young son also .^' 
 
 ' — See ye not yon seven pretty ships — 
 
 ' The eighth brought me to land — 
 ^ With merchandise and mariners, 
 
 ^ And wealth in every hand .-" 
 
 7 hand, hold 
 
1 84 The Children's T?-easury 
 
 She turn'd her round upon the shore, 
 
 Her Love's ships to behold ; 
 Their mainyards and their topmasts high 
 
 Were cover'd o'er with gold. 
 
 And she has gone to her httle young son, 
 
 Kiss'd him both cheek and chin : 
 ' O fare ye well, my little son ! 
 
 * For I'll never see you again.' 
 
 She has drawn the slippers on her feet, 
 Well wrought with threads o' gold, 
 
 And he's wrapt her round with the soft velvet 
 To hold her from the cold. 
 
 She had not sail'd a league from land, 
 
 A league but barely three. 
 Till she minded on her dear husband, 
 
 And her little young son tee. 
 
 ' O if I were on shore again, 
 
 ' On shore where I would be, 
 ' No living man should flatter me 
 
 'To sail upon the sea I' 
 
 — ' O haud your tongue of weeping,' says he, 
 ' Let all your mourning be ; 
 ' I'll show ye how the lilies grow 
 
 ' On the banks of Italic.' 
 
 * — O, what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, 
 
 * That the sun shines sweetly on ?' 
 
 ' — O, yon are the hills o' Heaven,' he said, 
 ' Where you will never win.' 
 
 ' — O, whatna mountain is yon,' she said, 
 
 * Sae dreary with frost and snow ?' 
 
 ' — 0,*yon is the mountain of Hell,' he cried, 
 ' Where you and I must go ! ' 
 
 43 minded on, remembered 44 tee, too 
 
of English Song 185 
 
 And a^^e when she turn'd her round about, 
 
 Aye taller he seeni'd for to be : 
 Until that the tops of that gallant ship 
 
 No taller were than he ! 
 
 He strack the mainmast with his hand, 
 
 The foremast with his knee : 
 
 The gallant ship was broken in twain, 
 
 And sank into the sea ! 
 
 Unkncnvn 
 
 * 14* 
 THE IVRECK OF THE HESPERUS 
 
 It was the schooner Hesperus, 
 
 That sail'd the wintry sea ; 
 And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 
 
 To bear him company. 
 
 Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, 
 
 Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 
 And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
 
 That ope in the month of May. 
 
 The skipper he stood beside the helm, 
 
 With his pipe in his mouth, 
 And watch'd how the veering flaw did blow 
 
 The smoke now West, now South. 
 
 Then up and spake an old Sailor, 
 
 Had sail'd the Spanish Main, 
 ' I pray thee, put into yonder port, 
 
 ' For I fear a hurricane. 
 
 ' Last night, the moon had a golden ring, 
 
 ' And to-night no moon we see ! ' 
 The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, 
 
 And a scornful laugh laugh'd he. 
 
 3 skipper, captain it veerm^JJazv, changeable gusts of wind 
 16 hurricaut', sudden storm 17 ring, halo 
 
1 86 The Children's Tj-eastny 
 
 Colder and louder blew the wind, 
 
 A gale from the North-east ; 
 The snow fell hissing in the brine, 
 
 And the billows froth'd like yeast. 
 
 Down came the storm, and smote amain 
 
 The vessel in its strength ; 
 She shudder'd and paused, like a frighted steed. 
 
 Then leap'd her cable's length. 
 
 * Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, 
 
 ' And do not tremble so ! 
 ' For I can weather the roughest gale, 
 ' That ever wind did blow.' 
 
 He wrapp'd her warm in his seaman's coat 
 
 Against the stinging blast ; 
 He cut a rope from a broken spar. 
 
 And bound her to the mast. 
 
 ' O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 
 
 ' O say, what may it be ? ' 
 ' — 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast !' — 
 
 And he steer'd for the open sea. 
 
 ' O father ! I hear the sound of guns, 
 ' O say, what may it be ? ' 
 
 * — Some ship in distress that cannot live 
 
 * In such an angry sea !' 
 
 ' O father ! I see a gleaming light, 
 
 * O say what may it be ? ' 
 
 But the father answer'd never a word, — 
 A frozen corpse was he. 
 
 Lash'd to the helm, all stiff and stark. 
 
 With his face to the skies, 
 The lantern gleam'd through the gleaming snow 
 
 On his fix'd and glassy eyes. 
 
 y) fog-bell, rung in thick weather to warn ships 
 
of English Song 187 
 
 Then the maiden clasp'd her hands and pray'd 
 
 That saved ,she might be ; 
 And she thought of Christ, who still'd the waves 
 
 On the Lake of Gahlee. 
 
 And fast through the midnight dark and drear, 
 Through the whisthng sleet and snow, 
 
 Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
 Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 
 
 And ever the fitful gusts between 
 
 A sound came from the land ; 
 It was the sound of the trampling surf, 
 
 On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 
 
 The breakers were right beneath her bows. 
 
 She drifted a dreary wreck, 
 And a whooping billow swept the crew 
 
 Like icicles froir. her deck. 
 
 She struck where the white and fleecy waves 
 
 Look'd soft as carded wool. 
 But the cruel rocks they gored her sides 
 
 Like the horns of an angry bull. 
 
 Her rattling shrouds all sheathed in ice. 
 With the masts went by the board ; 
 
 Like a vessel of glass she stove and sank, 
 Ho ! ho ! the breakers roar'd. 
 
 At day-break on the bleak sea-beach 
 
 A fisherman stood aghast. 
 To see the form of a maiden fair 
 
 Lash'd close to a drifting mast. 
 
 60 reef, bank of half-covered rock 6i fitful, rising and falling 
 
 65 l>ofvs, forepart 70 carded, combed fine 
 
 73 shrouds, mast-ropes 74 went clean over the deck 
 
 75 stove, was broken in 78 aghast, horrified 
 
38 The ChildrefCs Treasury 
 
 The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 
 
 The salt tears in her eyes ; 
 And he saw her hair hke the brown sea-weed 
 
 On the billows fall and rise. 
 
 11. W. Longfellow 
 
 * 15 * 
 ROSABELLE 
 
 O LISTEN, listen, ladies gay ! 
 
 No haughty feat of armsl tell; 
 Soft is the note, and sad the lay 
 
 That mourns the lovely Rosabclle. 
 
 * Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew, 
 
 ' And, gentle lady, 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 lady gay ; 
 
 * 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 lady-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 fiU'd by Rosabelle.' 
 
 2 feat, deed 6 deign, be kind enough 
 
 8 firth, strait 10 inch, island 13 seer, prophet 
 
 ■22 ring, a game in which riders drove through a ring 
 
of English Song 189 
 
 O'er Roslin all that weary 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 — 
 
 So still they 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 W. Sco'i 
 
 36 panoply, complete coat of armour 
 
 38 sacristy, vestr^^ : pale, space round altar 
 
 39 foliage-boimd, carved with leaves 40 mail, chain-armour 
 41 pijinct, pinnacle i,j,fate, death 
 
 50 with the old funeral service 52 dirge, funeral chant 
 
190 The Children's Treasury 
 
 * 16* 
 
 GLENCOE 
 
 ' O TELL me, Harper, wherefore flow 
 Thy wayward notes of wail and woe 
 Far down the desert of Glencoe, 
 
 Where none may hst their melody ? 
 Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly, 
 Or to the dun-deer glancing by, 
 Or to the eagle that from high 
 
 Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy?' 
 
 — ' No, not to these, for they have rest : — 
 The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest, 
 The stag his lair, the erne her nest. 
 
 Abode of lone security. 
 But those for whom I pour the lay, 
 Not wild-wood deep, nor mountain gray, 
 Not this deep dell, that shrouds from day, 
 
 Could screen from treach'rous cruelty. 
 
 ' Their flag was furl'd, and mute their drum : 
 The very household dogs Avere dumb, 
 Unwont to bay at guests that come 
 
 In guise of hospitality. 
 His bhthest notes the piper plied, 
 Her gayest snood the maiden tied, 
 The dame her distaff flung aside. 
 
 To tend her kindly housewifery. 
 
 ' The hand that mingled in the meal, 
 At midnight drew the felon steel. 
 And gave the host's kind breast to feel 
 Meed, for his hospitality ! 
 
 3 see end 8 screams in answer 11 erne, eagle 
 
 15 shrouds, hides 17 mute, silent 19 itfiivont, not accustomed 
 20 guise, look 22 snood, hair-ribbon worn by girls 
 
 id felon, base, treacherous 28 7need, reward 
 
of English Song i q i 
 
 The friendly hearth which warin'd that hand, 
 At midnight arm'd it with the brand, 
 That bade destruction's flames expand 
 Their red and fearful blazonry. 
 
 * Then woman's shriek was heard in vain, — 
 Nor infancy's unpitied plain 
 
 More than the warrior's groan, could gain 
 
 Respite from ruthless butchery ! 
 The winter wind that whistled shrill. 
 The snows that night that cloked the hill, 
 Though wild and pitiless, had still 
 
 Far more than Southron clemency. 
 
 * Long have my harp's best notes been gone, 
 Few are its strings, and faint their tone ; 
 They can but sound in desert lone 
 
 Their gray-hair'd master's misery. 
 
 Were each gray hair a minstrel string. 
 
 Each chord should imprecations fling. 
 
 Till startled Scotland loud should ring, 
 
 ' Revenge for blood and treachery ! ' 
 
 Sir W. Sec it 
 * 17* 
 SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA 
 
 Where the remote Bermudas ride 
 In the ocean's bosom unespied. 
 From 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 ? 
 
 30 brand, torch 34 flaiti, crying 35 _^ain respite, save itself 
 40 c leniency, mercy 41 chord, string 
 
 I ride, lie 2 ituespled, hidden 6 maze, pathless s.ea 
 
192 Tlie Children's Treasury 
 
 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 
 
 From Lebanon he stoies 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 ; 
 
 And in these rocks for us did frame 
 
 A temple where to sound His name. 
 
 O let our voice His praise exalt 
 
 Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, 
 
 Which then 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 chiinc, 
 
 With falling oars they kept the time, 
 
 A. Mirvell 
 
 II stage, plain 12 see end 14 c7ia)iicls, colours brightly 
 
 19 the pomegrante seeds are like rubies 
 
 20 Orntits, island in the Persian Gulf 23 price, value 
 
 28 proclaim, give notice of; aittbergris, fragrant gum floating 
 on the sea 
 
of English Song 193 
 
 * 18 * 
 
 THE PILGRIM 
 
 Who would true valour see 
 
 Let him come hither ! 
 One here will constant be, 
 
 Come wind, come weather : 
 There's no discouragement 
 Shall make him once relent 
 His first-avow'd intent 
 
 To be a Pilgrim. 
 Whoso beset him round 
 
 With dismal stories, 
 Do but themselves confound ; 
 
 His strength the more is. 
 No lion can him fright ; 
 He'll with a giant fight ; 
 But he will have a right 
 
 To be a Pilgrim. 
 Nor enemy, nor fiend, 
 
 Can daunt his spirit ; 
 He knows he at the end 
 
 Shall Life inherit :— 
 Then, fancies, fly away ; 
 He'll not fear what men say ; 
 He'll labour, night and day. 
 
 To be a Pilgrim, 
 
 J. B tiny an 
 * 19 * 
 TRUE GREATNESS 
 
 The fairest action of our human life 
 
 Is scorning to revenge an injury : 
 For who forgives without a further strife 
 
 His adversary's heart to him doth tie : 
 And 'tis a firmer conquest truly said 
 To win the heart, than overthrow the head. 
 
 6 releui, slacken 7 avow'd, proclaimed 17 daunt, frighten 
 5 said, called 
 
194 The Children's Treasury 
 
 If we a worthy enemy do find, 
 
 To yield to worth, it must be nobly done : — 
 But if of baser metal be his mind, 
 
 In base revenge there is no honour won. 
 Who would a worthy courage overtlirow ? 
 And who would wrestle with a worthless foe ? 
 
 We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield ; 
 
 Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor : 
 Great hearts are task'd beyond their power but 
 seld: 
 The weakest lion will the loudest roar. 
 Truth's school for certain does this same allow, 
 High-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow. 
 
 Lady E. Carezo 
 
 ♦ 20 * 
 
 CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE 
 
 How happy is he born and taught 
 That serveth not another's will ; 
 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, 
 Not tied unto the Avorld with care 
 Of public fame, or private breath ; 
 
 Who envies none that chance doth raise 
 Or vice ; who never understood 
 How deepest Avounds are given by praise ; 
 Nor rules of state, but rules of good : 
 
 8 it must be a noble thing to yield to a worthy enemy 
 
 9 metal, quality n courage, enemy 15 seld, seldom 
 Character, description 8 private breath, \y\\-ax. his neighbours say 
 
 12 state, policy, craft 
 
of English Song 195 
 
 Who hath his hfe from rumours freed ; 
 Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; 
 Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
 Nor ruin make accusers great ; 
 
 Who God doth late and early pray 
 More of His grace than gifts to lend ; 
 And entertains the harmless day 
 With a well- chosen 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 H. Wot ton 
 
 * 21 * 
 THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER 
 
 When my mother died I was very young, 
 And my father sold me while yet my tongue 
 Could scarcely cry, ^weep / ^weep ! ' weep ! 'weep I 
 So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot 1 sleep. 
 
 There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his 
 
 head. 
 That curl'd like a lamb's back, was shaved ; so I 
 
 said, 
 ' Hush, Tom ! never mind it, for when your head's 
 
 bare, 
 ' You know that the soot cannot spoil your white 
 
 hair.' 
 
 And so he was quiet : and that very night. 
 As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight, 
 That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and 
 
 Jack, 
 Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black. 
 
 13 riunojirs, I suppose, vain alarms 
 15 not rich enough to invite flatterers or enemies 
 21 so vile bands, from being bound like a slave 
 
 O 2 
 
196 The Children's Treasury 
 
 And by came an angel, who had a bright key, 
 And he open'd the coffins, and set them all free ; 
 Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they 
 
 run. 
 And wash in a river, and shine in the sun. 
 
 Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, 
 They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind ■; 
 And the angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy, 
 He'd have God for his father, and never want joy. 
 
 And so Tom awoke ; and v;e rose in the dark. 
 And got with our bags and our brushes to work ; 
 Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and 
 
 warm : 
 So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm. 
 
 W, Blake 
 * 22 * 
 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, 
 
 I blood and state, life and condition 5 kings and labourers, all 
 
 must die 9 field, of glory 10 and gain fresh fame 
 
 12 taine^ conquer 
 
of English So?ig I97 
 
 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. 
 
 y. Shirhy 
 
 * 23 * 
 READEN OV A HEAD-STWONE . 
 Dorset dialect 
 As I wer readen ov a stwone, 
 In Grenley church-yard, all alwone, 
 A little maid ran up, wi' pride 
 To zee me there ; an' push'd azide 
 A bunch o' bennets, that did hide 
 A verse her father, as she zaid, 
 Put up above her mother's head 
 To tell how much he loved her. 
 
 The verse wer short, but very good, 
 I stood an' learn'd en where I stood, 
 ' Mid God, dear Meary, gi'e me greace 
 ' To vind, like thee, a laetter pleace, 
 ' Where I, oonce mwore, mid zee thy feace ; 
 ' An' bring thy childern up, to know 
 ' His word, that they mid come an' show 
 ' Thy soul how much I loved thee.' 
 
 'Where's father, then,' I zaid, ' my chile ? ' 
 ' Dead, too,' she answer'd wi' a smile : 
 ' An' I an' brother Jem do bide 
 ' At Betty White's, o' tother zide 
 
 1 7 garlands, crowns of glory 20 victor-victim., the dying conqueror 
 
 ■2T,jnst, good 
 
 Head-stwone, stone at head of a grave 5 bejinets, bent-grass 
 
 II 7md, might 12 vi7id, find 19 ^''^^> '"''^^ 
 
198 The Children'' s Treasury 
 
 ' O' road.'—' Mid He, my chile/ I cried, 
 ' That's father to the fatherless, 
 ' Become thy father now, an' bless 
 ' An' keep, an' lead, an' love thee.' 
 — Though she've a-lost, I thought, so much, 
 Still He don't let the thoughts o't touch 
 Her litsome heart, by day or night ; 
 An' zoo, if we could teake it right. 
 Do show He'll meake his burdens light 
 To weaker souls ; an' that his smile, 
 Is sweet upon a little chile, 
 When they be dead that loved it. 
 
 W. Barnes 
 
 * 24 * 
 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE A T 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 inclosed his breast, 
 
 Not in sheet nor 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. 
 
 27 litsome, light 1 note, sound 
 
 2 7-anipart, wall or line of fortification 3 dtschm-ged, fired 
 
 4 /i^r<?, noble and loved one 11 •warrio?-, soldier 
 12 ynartial, soldier's 
 
of English Song 199 
 
 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 ; 
 
 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. 
 
 C. Wolfe 
 
 * 25 * 
 THE BRITISH SOLDIER IN CHINA 
 
 Last night among his fellow-roughs 
 
 He jested, quaff'd, and swore : 
 A drunken private of the Buffs, 
 
 Who never look'd before. 
 To-day, beneath the foeman's frown, 
 
 He stands in Elgin's place, 
 Ambassador from Britain's crown, 
 
 And type of all her race. 
 
 22 ashes, body : vphraid, blame 23 reck, care 
 
 6 Lord Elgin was then our ambassador in China : see end 
 
 7 ambassador, person sent to represent the Queen 
 
 8 type, example 
 
200 The Children's Treasury 
 
 Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught, 
 
 Bewilder'd, and alone, 
 A heart, with English instinct fraught, 
 
 He yet ,an call his own. 
 Ay ! tear his body limb from limb ; 
 
 Bring cord, or axe, or flame ! — 
 He only knows, that not through him 
 
 Shall England come to shame. 
 Far Kentish hopfields round him seem'd 
 
 Like dreams to come and go ; 
 Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleam'd, 
 
 One sheet of living snow : 
 The smoke above his father's door 
 
 In gray soft eddyings hung :— 
 Must he then watch it rise no more, 
 
 Doom'd by himself, so young .^ 
 Yes, Honour calls ! — with strength like steel 
 
 He put the vision by : 
 Let dusky Indians whine and kneel ; 
 
 An English lad must die ! 
 And thus, with eyes that would not shrink, 
 
 With knee to man unbent, 
 Unfaltering on its dreadful brink 
 
 To his red grave he went. 
 
 — Vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed ; 
 
 Vain, those all-shattering guns ; 
 Unless proud England keep, untamed, 
 
 The strong heart of her sons ! 
 So, let his name through Europe ring — 
 
 A man of mean estate 
 Who died, as firm as Sparta's king, 
 
 Because his soul was great. 
 
 Sir F. H. Doyle 
 
 lo beivildered, puzzled ii full of true English feeling 
 
 17 The Buffs are the East Kent Regiment ig leagues, mi'es 
 26 vision, thought of home 32 red, bloody 
 
 39 Leonidas, who died at Thermopylae 
 
of EnglisJi Song' 201 
 
 * 26 * 
 
 YOUNG LOCHINVAR 
 
 O, YOUNG Locliinvar is come out of the West ! 
 Through all the wide Border his steed is the best ; 
 And save his good broadsword he weapons had none; 
 He rode all unarm'd and he rode all alone. 
 So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
 There never was knight like the young Lochinvar ! 
 
 He stay'd not for brake and he stopp'd not for stone ; 
 He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; 
 But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
 The bride had consented ; the gallant came 
 
 late ; 
 For a laggard in love and a dastard in war, 
 Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 
 
 So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, 
 
 Among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and 
 
 afl;- 
 Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his 
 
 sword, 
 For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word, 
 ' O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 
 ' Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?' 
 
 — ' I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied ; 
 ' Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its 
 
 tide ; 
 ' And now am I come with this lost Love of mine 
 ' To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
 ' There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
 ' That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar I ' 
 
 The bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up, 
 He quaffed off the wine and he threw down the cup ; 
 
 5 dauntless, bold ig suit, courtship 
 
202 The Childre7i^s Ti'easuiy 
 
 She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, 
 With a smile on her Ups and a tear in her eye : — 
 He took her soft hand ere her mother could iDar ; 
 'Nowtread we a measure! ' said young Lochinvar. 
 
 So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 
 That never a hall such a galliard did grace : 
 While her mother did fret and her father did fume, 
 And the bridegroom stood danghng his bonnet and 
 
 plume ; 
 And the bride-maidens whispered, "Tvvere better 
 
 by far 
 ^ To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochin- 
 var !' 
 
 W^hen they reach'd the hall door; and the charger 
 
 stood near ; 
 So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 
 So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
 ' She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush and 
 
 scaur, 
 ' They'll have fleet steeds that follow ! ' quoth young 
 
 Lochinvar. 
 
 There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby 
 
 clan ; 
 Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and 
 
 they ran ; 
 There was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea ; 
 But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see :— 
 So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. 
 Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? 
 
 Sir W. Scott 
 
 30 tneasicre, dance 32 galliard, lively dance 
 
 38 charger, war-horse 39 croupe, hind-part 
 
 41 scaur, broken cliff-side 43 c/ati, family 
 
of English Song 203 
 
 * 27 * 
 
 THE MAID OF N BID PATH 
 
 O 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 fiom mourning. 
 Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower 
 
 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 flying ; 
 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 waved to greet him. 
 And o'er the battlement did bend 
 
 As on the wing to meet him. 
 
 He came — he pass'd — a 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 W. Scott 
 13 hectic, fitful colour of consumptioa 
 
204 The Children's Treasury 
 
 * 28 * 
 
 ANNAN WATER 
 
 'Annan Water's wading deep, 
 
 'And my Love Annie's wondrous bonny ; 
 
 ' And I am loath she should wet her feet, 
 ' Because I love her best of ony.' 
 
 He's loupen on his bonny gray, 
 
 He rode the right gate and the ready ; 
 
 For all the storm he wadna stay, 
 For seeking of his bonny lady. 
 
 And he has ridden o'er field and fell. 
 
 Through moor, and moss, and many a mire ; 10 
 
 His spurs of steel were sair to bide. 
 And from her four feet flew the fire. 
 
 ' My bonny gray, now play your part ! 
 
 ' If ye be the steed that wins my dearie, 
 'With corn and hay ye'll be fed for aye, 
 
 ' And never spur shall make you wearie.' 
 
 The gray was a mare, and a right gude mare ; 
 
 But when she wan the Annan Water, 
 She could not have ridden the ford that night 
 
 Had a thousand merks been wadded at her. 
 
 ' O boatman, boatman, put off your boat, 
 ' Put off your boat for golden money ! ' 
 
 But for all the gold in fair Scotland, 
 
 He dared not take him through to Annie. 
 
 ' O I was sworn so late yestreen, 
 
 ' Not by a single oath, but mony ! 
 ' I'll cross the drumly stream to-night, 
 
 ' Or never could I face my honey.' 
 
 5 louf-en, leaped 
 
 6 g-ate,v/3.y n sair, hard i8 tuan, reached 
 
 20 merks, old coin : wadded at, betted upon 27 dmmly, muddy 
 
of English Sono- 205 
 
 The side was stey, and the bottom deep, 
 From bank to brae the water pouring ; 
 
 The bonny gray mare she swat for fear, 
 For she heard the water-kelpy roaring. 
 
 He spurr'd her forth into the flood, 
 
 I wot she swam both strong and steady ; 
 But the stream was broad, and her strength did 
 fail, 
 And he never saw his bonny lady ! 
 
 Unknown 
 
 *29* 
 THE ROVER 
 
 ' A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, 
 
 ' A weary lot is thine ! 
 ' To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, 
 
 ' jT^nd 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. 
 
 ' The morn is 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.' 
 
 St'r W. Scolt 
 
 29 stey, steep 30 btae, slope 32 kelpy, spirit 
 
 5 inieu, face, air \2 fahi, gaily 
 
2o6 The Children's T7'easiuy 
 
 * 30 * 
 
 A MORNING SONG 
 
 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 ! 
 
 T. Heywood 
 
 * 31 * 
 
 A HAPPY LIFE 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 
 Who loves to lie with me. 
 And tune his merry note 
 Unto the sweet bird's throat — 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ! 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 2 banish, send away 16 stare, starling 
 
 17 elves, little live things 
 
of English Song 207 
 
 Who doth ambition shun, 
 And loves to Hve 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. 
 
 W. Shakespeare 
 
 * 32 * 
 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 a while 
 
 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 we 
 May read how soon things have- 
 Their end, though ne'er so brave : 
 And after they have shown their pride 
 Like you, a while, they glide 
 Into the grave. 
 
 R. HcTrick 
 
 9 ambition, struggle to get on i promises of fruit 
 
 3 date, time 15 brave, brilliant 16 pride, beauty 
 
2o8 The Children's Treasury 
 
 THE DAFFODILS 
 
 I vvander'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, 
 
 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 
 
 Out-did 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. 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 '34* 
 
 A THANKSGIVING TO GOD, FOR HIS HOUSE 
 
 Lord, thou hast given me a cell. 
 Wherein to dwell ; 
 
 A little house, whose humble root 
 Is weather-proof; 
 
 7 continuous, close together lo margin, edge 
 
 i8 wealth, benefit 20 idle or thoughtful 21 inward eye, thought 
 
of E?iglish So fig 209 
 
 Under the spars of which I lie 
 
 Both soft and dry ; 
 Where thou, niy chamber for to ward, 
 
 Hast set a guard 
 Of hariiiless thoughts, to watch and keep 
 
 Me, while I sleep. 
 Low is my porch, as is my fate : 
 
 Both void of state ; 
 And yet the threshold of my door 
 
 Is worn by th' poor, 
 Who thither come, and freely get 
 
 Good words, or meat. 
 Like as my parlour, so my hall 
 
 And kitchen's small ; 
 A little buttery, and therein 
 
 A little bin, 
 Which keeps my little loaf of bread 
 
 Unchipt, unflead ; 
 Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar 
 
 Make me a fire. 
 Close by whose living coal I sit. 
 
 And glow like it. 
 Lord, I confess too, when I dine. 
 
 The pulse is thine. 
 And all those other bits that be 
 
 There placed by thee ; 
 The worts, the purslain, and the mess 
 
 Of water-cress, 
 W^hich of thy kindness thou hast sent ; 
 
 And my content 
 Makes those, and my beloved beet. 
 
 To be more sweet. 
 'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth 
 
 With guiltless mirth, 
 
 5 spars, timbers 7 ivard, protect 11 fate, place in life 
 
 12 state, grandeur 22 nnflead, unpared 
 
 28 pulse, pottage 31 purslnifi, a salad 
 
 P 
 
2IO The Childrerts Treasury 
 
 And giv'st me wassail-bowls to drink, 
 
 Spiced to the brink. 
 Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand 
 
 That soils my land, 
 And giv'st me, for my bushel sown, 
 
 Twice ten for one ; 
 Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay 
 
 Her tgg each day ; 
 Besides my healthful ewes to bear 
 
 Me twins each year ; 
 The while the conduits of my kine 
 
 Run cream, for wine : 
 All these, and better, thou dost send • 
 
 Me, — to this end. 
 That I should render, for my part, 
 
 A thankful heart. 
 
 R. Herrick 
 
 SUNSHINE AFTER A SHOWER 
 
 Ever after summer shower. 
 When the bright sun's returning power 
 With laughing beam has chased the storm, 
 And cheered reviving Nature's form, 
 By sweet-briar hedges bathed in dew, 
 Let me my wholesome path pursue ; 
 There, issuing forth, the frequent snail 
 Wears the dank way with slimy trail ; 
 While as I walk, from pearled bush 
 The sunny, sparkling drop I brush ; 
 And all the landscape fair I view 
 Clad in robe of fresher hue ; 
 And so loud the blackbird sings, 
 That far and near the valley rings. 
 
 39 wassail-hoivh, cups of old ale 42 soils, manures 
 
 49 coiduits, udders 8 dank, moist : irnil, track 
 
of English Song 2 1 1 
 
 From shelter deep of shaggy rock 
 The shepherd drives his joyful flock ; 
 From bowering beech the mower blithe 
 With new-born vigour grasps the scythe ; 
 While o'er the smooth unbounded meads 
 His last faint gleam the rainbow spreads. 
 
 T. Warton 
 
 .36. 
 
 THE HOCK-CART, OR HARVEST-HOME 
 
 Come, sons of summer, by whose toil 
 We are the lords of wine and oil ; 
 By whose tough labours and rough hands. 
 We rip up first, then reap our lands. 
 Crown'd with the ears of corn, now come, 
 And, to the pipe, sing Harvest Home ! 
 Come forth, my lord, and see the cart 
 Brest up with all the country art : — 
 See, here a maukin, there a sheet, 
 As spotless pure as it is sweet ; 
 The horses, mares, and frisking fillies. 
 Clad all in linen white as lilies : — 
 The harvest swains and wenches bound 
 For joy, to see the hock-cart crown'd. 
 
 About the cart hear how the rout 
 Of rural younglings raise the shout. 
 Pressing before, some coming after. 
 Those with a shout, and these with laughter. 
 Some bless the cart, some kiss the sheaves, 
 Some prank them up with oaken leaves ; 
 Some cross the fill-horse, some with great 
 Devotion stroke the home-borne wheat ; 
 While other rustics, less attent 
 
 18 vigour, strength 7 lord, the Earl of Westmorland 
 
 9 inaitkin, coarse doth 14 hock-cart, last from harvest-fielJ 
 21 Jill, shaft-horse 23 attent, eager 
 
 P 2 
 
12 The Childreti's Treasury 
 
 To prayers than to merriment, 
 Run after with their breeches rent. 
 
 Well, on, brave boys, to your lord's hearth, 
 Glitt'ring with fire, where, for your mirth. 
 Ye shall see first the large and chief 
 Foundation of your feast, fat beef ! 
 With upper stories, mutton, veal, 
 And bacon, which makes full the meal ; 
 With sev'ral dishes standing by, 
 As, here a custard, there a pie. 
 And here all-tempting frumenty. 
 And for to make the merry cheer. 
 If smirking wine be wanting here, 
 There's that, which drowns all care, stout beer ; 
 Which freely drink to your lord's health. 
 Then to the plough, the commonwealth, 
 Next to your flails, your fanes, your fatts ; 
 Then to the maids with wheaten bats ; 
 To the rough sickle, and crook't scythe, 
 Drink, frolick, boys, till all be blythe. 
 Feed and grow fat,. and as ye eat. 
 Be mindful that the lab'ring neat. 
 As you, may have their fill of meat ; 
 And know, besides, je must revoke 
 The patient ox unto the yoke. 
 And all go back unto the plough 
 And harrow, though they're hanged up now. 
 And, you must know, your lord's word's true. 
 Feed him ye must, whose food fills you : 
 And that this pleasure is like rain. 
 Not sent ye for to drown your pain. 
 But for to make it spring again. 
 
 R. Herrick 
 
 ^o fanes, apparently weathercocks : fatts, casks 
 7uheaien, straw 45 fteat, oxen 47 revoke, call back 
 
of Evglish Song 2 1 3 
 
 THE FIRST SIVALLOIV 
 
 The gorse is yellow on the heath ; 
 The banks with speedwell flowers are gay ; 
 The oaks are budding, and beneath, 
 The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath. 
 
 The silver wreath of May. 
 The welcome guest of settled spring, 
 The swallow, too, is come at last ; 
 Just at sunset, when thrushes sing, 
 I saw her dash with rapid wing, 
 
 And hail'd her as she past. 
 Come, summer visitant, attach 
 To my reed roof your nest of clay, 
 And let my ear your music catch. 
 Low twittering underneath the thatch, 
 
 At the gray dawn of day. 
 
 C. Smith 
 
 TO A REDBREAST 
 
 Little bird, with bosom red, 
 Welcome to my humble shed ! 
 Courtly domes of high degree 
 Have no room for thee and me ; 
 Pride and pleasure's fickle throng 
 Nothing mind an idle song. 
 Daily near my table steal. 
 While I pick my scanty meal : — 
 Doubt not little though there be, 
 But V\\ cast a crumb to thee ; 
 Well rewarded, if I spy 
 Pleasure in thy glancing eye ; 
 See thee., when thou'st eat thy fill, 
 Plume thy breast, and wipe thy bill. 
 
 3 domes, houses 5 the changeable crowd of proud and idle people 
 14 plume, trim 
 
214 The Children's Treasury 
 
 Come, my feather'd friend, again ! 
 Well thou know'st the broken pane : — 
 Ask of me thy daily store ; 
 Go not near Avaro's door ; 
 Once within his iron hall, 
 Woful end shall thee befall 
 Savage ! — he would soon divest 
 Of its rosy plumes thy breast ; 
 Then, with solitary joy, 
 Eat thee, bones and all, my boy ! 
 
 J. Langhorne 
 
 *39* 
 
 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 i-est upon the dewy ground ? 
 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-faihng bond — 
 Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain : 
 Yet mightst 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 woi'ld 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. 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 i8 Avaro, man too fond of money : here, perhaps; a fierce dog 
 
 19 iron, cruel 21 divest, take off i singer of the 
 
 air, and wanderer through the sky 3 aspire, mount 
 
 8 prompted, caused by 12 without waiting for the leaves, like 
 
 most birds 14 /r/e'acjj solitude 17 /j'/^, figure 
 
of English So7ig 215 
 
 * 40* 
 
 THE LAST OF THE FLOCK 
 
 In distant countries have I been, 
 And yet I have not often seen 
 A healthy man, a man full grown, 
 Weep in the public roads alone ; 
 But such a one, on English ground, 
 And in the broad highway I met ; 
 Along the broad highway he came, 
 His cheeks with tears were wet ; 
 Sturdy he seem'd, though he was sad , 
 And in his arms a lamb he had. 
 
 He saw me, and he turn'd aside. 
 
 As if he wish'd himself to hide : 
 
 And with his coat did then essay 
 
 To wipe those briny tears away. 
 
 I follow'd him and said, ' ]\Iy friend, 
 
 ' What ails you 1 wherefore weep you so ? ' 
 
 — ' Shame on me, sir ! this lusty lamb, 
 
 ' He makes my tears to flow. 
 ' To-day 1 fetch'd him from the rock ; 
 ' He is the last of all my flock. 
 
 '■ When I was young, a single man, 
 
 ' And after youthful follies ran, 
 
 ' Though little given to care and thought, 
 
 ' Yet so it was, an ewe I bought ; 
 
 ' And other sheep from her I raised, 
 
 ' As healthy sheep as you might see ; 
 
 ' And then I married, and was rich 
 
 ' As I could wish to be ; 
 ' Of sheep I number'd a full score, 
 ' And every year increased my store. 
 
 ' Year after year my stock it grew ; 
 *' And from this one, this single ewe. 
 
2i6 The Children's Treasury 
 
 *■ Full fifty comely sheep I raised, 
 
 ' As fine a flock as ever grazed ! 
 
 ' Upon the Ouantock Hills they fed ; 
 
 ' They throve, and we at home did thrive : 
 
 — '■ This lusty lamb of all my store 
 
 ' Is all that is alive ; 
 ' And now I care not if we die, 
 ' And perish all of poverty. 
 
 * Six children, sir, had I to feed ; 
 
 ' Hard labour, in a time of need ! 
 
 ' My pride w^as tamed, and in our grief, 
 
 ' I of the parish ask'd relief ; 
 
 ' They said I was a wealthy man, 
 
 ' My sheep upon the uplands fed, 
 
 ' And it was fit that thence I took 
 
 ' Whereof to buy us bread. 
 ^ Do this ; hoiu can we give to yon ^ 
 ' They cried, what to the poor is due ? 
 
 ' I sold a sheep as they had said, 
 
 * And bought my little children bread, 
 'And they were healthy with their food : 
 ' For me — it never did me good. 
 
 ' A woful time it was for me, 
 ' To see the end of all my gains, 
 
 * The pretty flock which I had rear'd 
 
 ' With all my care and pains, 
 ' To see it melt like snow away — 
 ' For me it was a woful day ! 
 
 ' Another still ! and still another ! 
 
 ' A little lamb, and then its mother ! 
 
 ' It was a vein that never stopp'd — 
 
 ' Like blood-drops from my heart they dropp'd 
 
 * Till thirty were not left ahve ; 
 
 ' They dwindled, dwindled, one by one ; 
 
of English Song 217 
 
 ' And I may say that many a time 
 
 ' I wish'd they all were gone ; 
 ' Reckless of what might come at last, 
 ' Were but the bitter struggle past. 
 
 ' To wicked deeds I was inclined, 
 ' And wicked fancies cross'd my mind ; 
 ' And every man I chanced to see, 
 ' I thought he knew some ill of me. 
 ' No peace, no comfort could I find, 
 ' No ease within doors or without ; 
 ' And crazily and wearily 
 
 ' I went my work about : 
 ' And oft was moved to flee from home 
 ' And hide my head where wild beasts roam. 
 
 * Sir, 'twas a precious flock to me, 
 ' As dear as my own children be ; 
 ' For daily with my growing store 
 ' I loved my children more and more. 
 'Alas ! it was an evil time ; 
 ' God cursed me in my sore distress ; 
 ' I pray'd, yet every day I thought 
 
 * I loved my children less ; 
 ' And every week, and every day, 
 ' My flock it seem'd to melt away. 
 
 ' They dwindled, sir, sad sight to see ! 
 
 ' From ten to five, from five to three, 
 
 ' A lamb, a wether, and a ewe ; 
 
 ' And then at last from three to two ; 
 
 ' And, of my fifty, yesterday 
 
 ' I had but only one : 
 
 ' And here it lies upon my arm — 
 
 'Alas, and I have none ; 
 ' To-day I fetch'd it from the rock — 
 ' It is the last of all my flock ! ' 
 
 W. IVordsivorth 
 
2i8 The Children's Treasury ■' 
 
 *4I* 
 
 THE SHEPHERD IN WINTER 
 
 When red hath set the beamless sun, 
 Through heavy vapours dark and dun ; 
 When the tired ploughman, dry and warm, 
 Hears, half-asleep, the rising storm 
 Hurhng the hail, and sleeted rain, 
 Against the casement's tinkling pane ; 
 — The sounds that drive wild deer, and fox, 
 To shelter in the brake and rocks. 
 Are warnings which the shepherd ask 
 To dismal and to dangerous task ! 
 Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in vain, 
 The blast may sink in mellowing rain ; 
 Till, dark above, and white below, 
 Decided drives the flaky snow, 
 And forth the hardy swain must go. 
 
 Long, with dejected look and whine, 
 
 To leave the hearth his dogs repine ; 
 
 Whisthng and cheering them to aid,* 
 
 Around his back he wreathes the plaid ; 
 
 His flock he gathers, and he guides 
 
 To open downs, and mountain-sides. 
 
 Where fiercest though the tempest blow. 
 
 Least deeply lies the drift below. 
 
 The blast, that whistles o'er the fells. 
 
 Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 
 
 Oft he looks back, while streaming far. 
 
 His cottage window seems a star, — 
 
 Loses its feeble gleam, — and then 
 
 Turns patient to the blast again. 
 
 And, facing to the tempest's sweep. 
 
 Drives through the gloom his lagging sheep. 
 
 If fails his heart, if his limbs fail. 
 
 Benumbing death is in the gale : 
 
 24 fells, moors, high open ground 
 
of English Song 2 1 9 
 
 His paths, his landmarks, all unknown, 
 Close to the hut, no more his own, 
 Close to the aid he sought in vain. 
 The morn may find the siiffen'd swain : 
 The widow sees, at dawning pale. 
 His orphans raise their feeble wail ; 
 And, close beside him, in the snow. 
 Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe, 
 Couches upon his master's breast. 
 And licks his cheek to break his rest. 
 
 Sir W. Scott 
 
 *42 * 
 
 THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY 
 
 The noon was shady, and soft airs 
 
 Swept Ouse's silent tide. 
 When, 'scaped- from literary cares, 
 
 I wander'd on his side. 
 
 My spaniel, prettiest of his race, 
 
 And high in pedigree, — 
 (Two nymphs adorn'd with every grace 
 
 That spaniel found for me,) 
 
 Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds, 
 
 Now, starting into sight, 
 Pursued the swallow o'er the meads 
 
 With scarce a slower flight. 
 It w^as the time when Ouse display'd 
 
 His lilies newly blow^n ; 
 Their beauties 1 intent survey'd, 
 
 And one I wish'd my own. 
 With cane extended far I sought 
 
 To steer it close to land ; 
 But still the prize, though nearly caught, 
 
 Escaped my eager hand. 
 
 3 literary cares, studying and writing 6 of a good breed 
 
 7 7iytnphs, girls 15 intent, attentively 
 
220 The Children's Treasury 
 
 Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains 
 
 With fix'd considerate face, 
 And puzzling set his puppy brains 
 
 To comprehend the case. 
 
 But with a cherup clear and strong 
 
 Dispersing all his dream, 
 I thence withdrew, and follow'd long 
 
 The windings of the stream. 
 
 My ramble ended, I return'd ; 
 
 Beau, trotting far before, 
 The floating wreath again discern'd, 
 
 And plunging left the shore. 
 
 ! saw him with that lily cropp'd 
 
 Impatient swim to meet 
 My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd 
 
 The treasure at my feet. 
 
 Charm'd with the sight, ' The world,' I cried 
 
 ' Shall hear of this thy deed ; 
 ' My dog shall mortify the pride 
 
 ' Of man's superior breed ; 
 
 ' But chief myself I will enjoin, 
 
 ' Awake at duty's call, 
 * To show a love as prompt as thine 
 
 'To Him who gives me all.' 
 
 W. Cowper 
 
 TO A FIELD MOUSE 
 
 Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, 
 O what a panic's in thy breastie ! 
 Thou need na start awa sae hasty, 
 Wi' bickering brattle ! 
 
 24 comprehend, make out 26 dream, thinking 
 
 39 mortify, take down 41 enjoin, remind 
 I sleekit, sleek 2 panic, sudden fear 
 
 3 na, not 4 bickering^ brattle, flittering race 
 
of English Song 221 
 
 I wad be laith to rin and chase thee 
 Wi' murd'ring pattle ! 
 
 I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
 Has broken Nature's social union. 
 And justifies that ill opinion 
 
 Which makes thee startle 
 At me, thy poor earth-born companion. 
 
 And fellow-mortal ! 
 
 I doubt na, whyles, but thou 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 Avee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
 Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' : 
 And naething, now, to big a new ane, 
 
 O' foggage green ! 
 And bleak December's winds ensuin,' 
 
 Baith snell and keen I 
 
 Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, 
 And weary winter coming fast ; 
 And 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 and stibble 
 Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 
 
 5 laith, loath : rin, run , 6 pattle, ploughstaflf 
 
 7 man's cruelty to animals 13 "whyles, at times 
 
 14 771 un, must 15 a corn-ear now and then from a double shock 
 
 17 lave, rest 20 7£/a'j,'walls 21 big, build 
 
 22 foggage, after-grass 23 e7isimig, following 
 
 24 S7iell, biting 29 co7tlter, plough-iron 30 cell, nest 
 
222 The Cliild7'eii^s Treasury 
 
 Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble 
 
 But house or hald, 
 To thole the winter's sleety dribble 
 
 And cranreuch cauld ! 
 
 But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane 
 In proving foresight may be vain : 
 The best laid schemes o' mice and men 
 
 Gang aft a-gley, 
 And lea'e usnoughfbut grief and 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 ! 
 And forward, tho' I canna see, 
 
 I guess and fear. 
 
 R. Burns 
 
 *44* 
 
 THE WORM 
 
 Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside, 
 Nor crush that helpless worm ! 
 
 The frame thy wayward looks deride 
 Required a God to form. 
 
 The common lord of all that move. 
 
 From whom thy being flow'd, 
 A portion of His boundless love 
 
 On that poor worm bestow'd. 
 
 The sun, the moon, the stars, He made 
 
 For all His creatures free ; 
 And spread o'er earth the grassy blade, 
 
 For worms as well as thee. 
 
 34 bjit hald, without dwelling-place • 35 thole, bear 
 
 36 cranreuch, hoarfrost 37 thy Inrie, alone 
 
 39 schemes, plans 40 often go awry 41 lea'e, leave 
 
of English Song 223 
 
 Let them enjoy their httle day, 
 
 Their humble bhss receive ; 
 O ! do not lightly take away 
 
 The life thou canst not give ! 
 
 7\ Gisborne 
 
 THE GIRL DESCRIBES HER FA WN 
 
 With SAveetest milk and sugar first 
 
 I it at my own fingers nursed ; 
 
 And as it grew, so every day 
 
 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 
 'Tvvould 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 hlies laid. 
 
 24 should, might 
 
224 The ChildfCfi's Treasufy 
 
 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 aii its chief delight was still 
 On roses thus itself to hll^ 
 And its pure virgin limbs to fold 
 In whitest sheets of lilies cold-: — 
 Had it lived long, it would have been 
 Lilies without, — roses within. 
 
 A. Marvell 
 
 .46- 
 
 THE CHILD AND THE SNAKE 
 
 Henry was every morning fed 
 
 With a full rness of milk and bread. 
 
 One day the boy his breakfast took, 
 
 And ate it by a purling brook. 
 
 His mother lets him have his way. 
 
 With free leave Henry every day 
 
 Thither repairs, until she heard 
 
 Him talking of a fine^/'^j/ bird. 
 
 This pretty bird, he said, indeed, 
 
 Came every day with him to feed ; 
 
 And it loved him and loved his milk, 
 
 And it was smooth and soft like silk. 
 
 — On the next morn she follows Harry, 
 
 And carefully she sees him carry 
 
 Through the long grass his heap'd-up mess. 
 
 What was her terror and distress 
 
 When she saw the infant take 
 
 His bread and milk close to a snake ! 
 
 Upon the grass he spreads his feast, 
 
 And sits down by his frightful guest, 
 
of Ejiglish Song 225 
 
 Who had waited for the treat ; 
 
 And now they both began to eat. 
 
 Fond mother ! shriek not, O beware 
 
 The least small noise, O have a care — 
 
 The least small noise that may be made 
 
 The wily snake will be afraid — 
 
 If he hear the slightest sound, 
 
 He will inflict th' envenom'd wound. 
 
 — She speaks not, moves not, scarce does breathe. 
 
 As she stands the trees beneath. 
 
 No sound she utters ; and she soon 
 
 Sees the child lift up his spoon, 
 
 And tap the snake upon the head. 
 
 Fearless of harm ; and then he said. 
 
 As speaking to familiar mate, 
 
 ' Keep on your own side, do, Gray Pate ; ' 
 
 The snake then to the other side, 
 
 As one rebuked, seems to glide ; 
 
 And now again advancing nigh. 
 
 Again she hears the infant cry. 
 
 Tapping the snake, ' Keep further, do ; 
 
 * Mind, Gray Pate, what I say to you.' 
 
 The danger's o'er ! she sees the boy 
 
 (O what a change from fear to joy !) 
 
 Rise and bid the snake ' Good-bye ' ; 
 
 Says he, ' Our breakfast's doiie, and I 
 
 ^ Will come again to-morrow day ' ; 
 
 — Then, lightly tripping, ran away. 
 
 M. Lamb 
 
 *47* 
 
 THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN 
 
 Sweet to the morning traveller 
 
 The song amid the sky, 
 Where, twinkling in the dewy light. 
 
 The skylark soars on high. 
 
 O 
 
226 The Childrefi^s Treasury 
 
 And cheering to the traveller 
 The gales that round him play, 
 
 When faint and heavily he drags 
 Along his noontide way. 
 
 And when beneath the unclouded sun 
 
 Full wearily toils he, 
 The flowing water makes to him 
 
 A soothing melody. 
 
 And when the evening light decays, 
 
 And all is calm around, 
 There is sweet music to his ear 
 
 In the distant sheep-bell's sound. 
 
 But O ! of all delightful sounds 
 
 Of evening or of morn, 
 The sweetest is the voice of love 
 
 That welcomes his return. 
 
 R. Southev 
 
 A FAREWELL 
 
 Go fetch to me a pint o' win^. 
 
 And 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 of 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 : 
 
 2 tassie, cup 4 a serrncr, a health 8 maun, must 
 
of English Soh(^ 227 
 
 Bnt it's not the roar o' sea or shore 
 Wad make me langer wish to tarry; 
 
 Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar — 
 It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 
 
 R. Burns 
 
 * 49 * 
 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 ghnted by 
 
 When I was wi' my dearie. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON 
 
 When Love with unconfined wings 
 
 Hovers within my gates, 
 And my divine Althea brings 
 
 To whisper at the grates ; 
 When I lie tangled in her hair, 
 
 And fetter'd to her eye. 
 The birds that wanton in the air 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When flowing cups run swiftly round 
 
 With no allaying Thames, 
 Our careless heads with roses crown'd, 
 
 Our hearts with loyal flames : 
 
 4 eerie, in low spirits 6 As ye, as if; 7vae, sad 
 
 7 tin, not ; glinted, went brightly 
 
 3 Althea, his lady-love lO with no water in the wine 
 
 12 /lames, feelings 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 The Children's Treasury 
 
 When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 
 When healths apd draughts go free — 
 
 Fishes that tipple in the deep 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When, linnet-like confined, 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. 
 
 Colonel Lovelace 
 
 THE FORSAKEN 
 
 Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 
 
 Thou hast left me ever ; 
 Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, 
 
 Thou hast left me ever. 
 Aften hast thou vow'd that death 
 
 Only should us sever ; 
 Now thou'st left thy lass for aye— 
 
 I maun see thee never, Jamie, 
 I'll see thee never ! 
 
 20 King, Charles I. 28 a prison for a place of rest 
 
 2 ever, for ever 
 
of Eiiglish So?iif 229 
 
 Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 
 
 Thou hast me forsaken ; 
 Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, 
 
 Thou hast me forsaken. 
 Thou canst love anither jo, 
 
 While my heart is breaking ; 
 Soon my weary e'en I'll close — 
 
 Never mair to waken, Jamie, 
 Ne'er mair to waken ! 
 
 R. Burns 
 
 THE BRAES OF YARROIV 
 
 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, O 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 bovvers ; 
 
 He promised me a little page 
 
 To squire me to his father's towers ; 
 
 He promised me a wedding-ring, — 
 
 The wedding-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 ! 
 
 14 JO, sweetheart 16 e'e7i, eyes 
 
 T brnes, sloping sides 12 squire, go with and guard 
 
130 The Childre7i^s Treasury 
 
 Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; 
 It vanish'd with a shriek of SDrrow ; 
 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 weeping walk'd 
 
 The green-wood path to meet her brother ; 
 
 They sought him east, they sought him west, 
 
 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 I 
 No longer walk, thou lovely maid ; 
 Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! 
 No longer seek him east or west 
 And search no more the forest thorough ; 
 For, wandering 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 I'll 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. 
 
 J. Logan 
 
 23 wraith, ghost of person about to die 42 viarroiv, mate 
 
of English Song 231 
 
 *53* 
 
 ADAM OF GORDON 
 
 It fell about the Martinmas, 
 
 When the wind blew shrill and cold, 
 
 Said Adam of Gordon to his men, 
 ' We maun draw to a hold. 
 
 * And whatna hold shall we draw to, 
 
 ' My merry men and me ? 
 ' We will go to the house of Rodes, 
 ' To see that fair ladye.' 
 
 The lady stood on her castle wall ; 
 
 Beheld both dale and down ; 
 There she was aware of a host of men 
 
 Came riding towards the town. 
 
 ^ O see ye not, my merry men all, 
 ' O see ye not what I see ? 
 
 * Methinks I see a host of men : 
 
 ' I marvel who they be.' 
 
 She had no sooner buskit herself, 
 
 And putten on her gown, 
 Till Adam of Gordon and his men 
 
 Were round about the town. 
 
 The lady ran to her tower-head. 
 
 As fast as she could hie, 
 To see if by her fair speeches 
 
 She could with hirn agree. 
 
 ' Give o'er your house, ye lady fair, 
 
 ' Give o'er your house to me ! 
 ' Or I shall burn yourself therein, 
 
 ' But and your babies three.' 
 
 4 maun draw to a hold, must go to a castle 7 Rodes, Rothes 
 
 12 town, walled dwelling-place. 17 buskit, dressed 
 
 28 but and, and also 
 
232 The Childreii's Treasury 
 
 ' I winna give o'er, ye false Gordon, 
 
 ' To no sic traitor as thee ; 
 ' And if ye burn my ain dear babes, 
 
 ' My lord shall mak' ye dree. 
 
 — ' Woe worth, woe worth ye, Jock, my man ; 
 
 * I paid ye well your fee ; 
 ' Why pull ye out the grund-wa' stone, 
 
 ' Lets in the reek to me ? 
 
 ^ And e'en woe worth ye, Jock, my man I 
 
 ' I paid ye well your hire ; 
 ' Why pull ye out the grund-wa' stone, 
 
 ' To me lets in the tire ? ' 
 
 — ' Ye paid me well my hire, ladye, 
 
 ' Ye paid me well my fee ; 
 ' But now I'm Adam of Gordon's man, — 
 
 ' Must either do or dee.' 
 
 O then bespake her little son, 
 
 Sat on the nurse's knee ; 
 Says, ' O mither dear, give o'er this house ! 
 
 ' For the reek it smothers me,' 
 
 — ' I winna give up my house, my dear, 
 
 ' To no sic traitor as he : 
 ' Come weel, come woe, my jewel fair, 
 
 ' Ye maun take share with me.' 
 
 O then bespake her daughter dear, — 
 
 She was both jimp and small : 
 ' O row me in a pair of sheets, 
 
 ' And tow me o'er the wall ! ' 
 
 29 winna, will not 32 dree, suffer for it 347^^. wage; 
 
 35 grund-wa, foundation 36 reek, smoke 44 dee, die 
 
 54 jimp, slender 55 row, roll 
 
of English Song 233 
 
 They row'd her in a pair of sheets. 
 
 And tow'd her o'er the wall ; 
 But on the point of Gordon's spear 
 
 She gat a deadly fall. 
 
 O bonnie, bonnie was her mouth, 
 
 And cherry were her cheeks, 
 And clear, clear was her yellow hair, 
 
 Whereon the red blood dreeps !^ 
 
 Then with his spear he turn'd her o'er ; 
 
 O gin her face was wan ! 
 He said, 'Ye are the first that e'er 
 
 ' I wish'd alive again. 
 
 ' Busk and boun, my merry men all, 
 
 ' For ill dooms I do guess ; — 
 ' I cannot look on that bonnie face 
 
 ' As it hes on the grass.' 
 
 But when the ladye saw the fire 
 
 Come flaming o'er her head, 
 She wept, and kiss'd her children twain. 
 
 Says, ' Bairns, we be but dead.' 
 
 — O this way look'd her own dear lord. 
 
 As he came o'er the lea ; 
 He' saw his castle all in a lowe. 
 
 So far as he could see. 
 
 ' Put on, put on, my mighty men, 
 
 ' As fast as ye can dri'e ! 
 * For he that's hindmost of the thrang 
 
 ' Shall ne'er get good of me ! ' 
 
 66 gin, if 69 biisk and boun, prepare and get ready 
 
 70 I see evil coming 79 lowe, red flame 82 dri'e, drive 
 
234 The Children's Treastijy 
 
 Then some they rade, and some they ran, 
 
 Out-o'er the grass and bent ; 
 But ere the foremost could win up, 
 
 Both k dy and babes were brent. 
 
 And after the Gordon he is gane, 
 
 Sae fast as he might dri'e ; 
 And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's blood 
 
 He's wroken his fair ladye. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 . 54 * 
 
 HUNTING SONG 
 
 The hunt is up, the hunt is up, 
 
 And it is well nigh day ; 
 And Harry our king is gone hunting 
 
 To bring his deer to bay. 
 
 The east is bright with morning light, 
 
 And darkness it is fled ; 
 And the merry horn wakes up the morn 
 
 To leave his idle bed. 
 
 Behold the skies with golden dyes 
 
 Are glowing all around ; 
 The grass is green, and so are the treen 
 
 All laughing at the sound. 
 
 The horses snort to be at sport, 
 
 The dogs are running free, 
 The woods rejoice at the merry nois6 
 
 Of Hey tantara tee ree ! 
 
 The sun is glad to see us clad 
 
 All in our lusty green, 
 And smiles in the sky as he riseth high 
 
 To see and to be seen. 
 
 87 wi?i, come 92 wroken, revenged 11 treen, trees 
 
 18 green, dress 
 
of English Song 235 
 
 Awake all men, I say again, 
 
 Be merry as you may ; 
 For Harry our king is gone hunting, 
 
 To bring his deer to bay. 
 
 Unknown 
 
 *55* 
 
 THE R E TIR ED CA T 
 
 A poet's cat, sedate and grave 
 As poet well could wish to have, 
 Was much addicted to inquire 
 For nooks to which she might retire. 
 And where, secure as mouse in chink, 
 She might lepose, or sit and think. 
 Sometimes ascending, debonair, 
 An apple-tree, or lofty pear. 
 Lodged with convenience in the fork, 
 She watch'd the gardener at his work : 
 Sometimes her ease and solace sought 
 In an old empty watering-pot; 
 There, wanting nothing save a fan 
 To seem some nymph in her sedan, 
 Apparell'd in exactest sort, 
 And ready to be borne to court. 
 
 But love of change it seems has place 
 Not only in our wiser race ; 
 Cats also feel, as well as we, 
 That passion's force, and so did she. 
 Her climbing, she began to find. 
 Exposed her too much to the wind, 
 And the old utensil of tin 
 Was cold and comfortless within : 
 
 I sedate, sober 3 addicted, fond of 
 
 7 debonah; cheerful 11 solace, comfort 14 nymph, young lady 
 15 dressed in the height of fashion 23 utensil, the watering-pot 
 
236 The Children's Treasury 
 
 She therefore wish'd, instead of those, 
 Some place of more serene repose, 
 Where neither cold might come, nor air 
 Too rudely wanton with her hair, 
 And sought it in the likeliest mode. 
 Within her master's snug abode. 
 
 A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined 
 With linen of the softest kind, 
 With such as merchants introduce 
 From India, for the ladies' use — 
 A drawer impending o'er the rest. 
 Half open, in the topmost chest. 
 Of depth enough, and none to spare, 
 Invited her to slumber there. 
 Puss, with delight beyond expression, 
 Survey'd the scene and took possession. 
 Recumbent at her ease, ere long, 
 And lull'd by her own hum-drum song. 
 She left the cares of life behind. 
 And slept as she would sleep her last ; 
 When in came, housewifely inclined. 
 The chambermaid, and shut it fast ; 
 By no malignity impell'd, 
 But all unconscious whom it held. 
 
 Awaken'd by the shock, cried Puss, 
 ' Was ever cat attended thus ! 
 ' The open drawer was left, I see, 
 ' Merely to prove a nest for me ; 
 ' For soon as I was well composed, 
 ' Then came the maid, and it v/as closed. 
 ' How smooth these kerchiefs, and how sweet ! 
 ' Oh 1 what a delicate retreat. 
 ' I will resign myself to rest. 
 
 28 wanton, ruffle 30 abode, home 35 impending; hanging out 
 
 41 recumbent, lying down 45 housewifely, to make things neat 
 
 48 Jtiiconscwiis, not knowing 50 attended, waited nn 
 
of English Song 237 
 
 * Till Sol, declining in the west, 
 
 ' Shall call to supper, when, no doubt, 
 
 ^ Susan will conae and let me out.' 
 
 The evening came, the sun descended. 
 And Puss remain'd still unattended. 
 The night roll'd tardily away, 
 (With her, indeed, 'twas never day,) 
 The sprightly morn her course renew'd, 
 The evening gray again ensued ; 
 And Puss came into mind no more 
 Than if entomb'd the day before. 
 With hunger pinch'd, and pinch'd for room, 
 She now presaged approaching doom, 
 Nor slept a single wink or purr'd, 
 Conscious of jeopardy incurr'd. 
 
 That night, by chance, the poet watching, 
 Heard an inexplicable scratching ; 
 His noble heart went pit-a-pat. 
 And to himself he said, ' What's that ? ' 
 He drew the curtain at his side, 
 And forth he peep'd, but nothing spied ; 
 Yet, by his ear directed, guess'd 
 Something imprison'd in the chest. 
 And, doubtful what, with prudent care 
 Resolved it should continue there. 
 At length a voice which well he knew, 
 A long and melancholy mew. 
 Saluting his poetic ears. 
 Consoled him and dispell'd his fears. 
 He left his bed, he trod the floor, 
 And 'gan in haste the drawers explore. 
 The lowest first, and without stop 
 
 58 Sol, the sun 63 tardily, slowly 6^^ ensued, followed 
 
 68 entomU d, burled 70 presaged, prophesied ; doom, death 
 72 jeopardy, danger incurr'd, run into 73 poet, Cowper 
 
 74 inexplicable, what he could not make out 86 dispelled, drove 
 iway 88 'gan, began 
 
238 The Children's Treasiny 
 
 The rest in order, to the top ; 
 
 For 'tis a truth well known to most, 
 
 That whatsoever thing is lost, 
 
 We seek it, ere it come to light, 
 
 In every cranny but the right. 
 
 — Forth skipp'd the cat, not now replete, 
 
 As erst, with airy self-conceit, 
 
 Nor in her own fond apprehension 
 
 A theme for all the world's attention : 
 
 But modest, sober, cured of all 
 
 Her notions hyperbolical, 
 
 And wishing for a place of rest 
 
 Anything rather than a chest. 
 
 Then stepp'd the poet into bed 
 
 With this reflection in his head : — 
 
 Moral 
 Beware of too sublime a sense 
 Of your own worth and consequence ! 
 The man who dreams himself so great, 
 And his importance of such weight, 
 That all around, in all that's done. 
 Must move and act for him alone, 
 Will learn in school of tribulation, 
 The folly of his expectation. 
 
 W. Coxvper 
 
 * 56 * 
 THE HARPER 
 
 On the green banks of Shannon when Sheelah was 
 
 nigh. 
 No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I ; 
 No harp like my own could so cheerily play, 
 And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray. 
 
 95 replete, filled 96 erst, before 97 apprehension thought 
 98 theme, mat'er 100 hyperbolical, ridiculously grand 
 
 T05 sublime, grand iii tribulation, suffering 
 
of English Song 239 
 
 When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to 
 
 part, 
 She said, (while the. sorrow was big at her heart,) 
 Oh ! remember your Sheelah when far, far away : 
 And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray. 
 
 Poor dog ! he was faithful and kind to be sure, 
 And he constantly loved me although I was poor ; 
 When the sour-looking folk sent me heartless away 
 1 had always a friend in my poor dog Tray. 
 
 When the road was so dark, and the night was so 
 
 cold, 
 And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, 
 How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray. 
 And he lick'd me for kindness — my poor dog Tray. 
 
 Though my wallet was scant, I remember'd his case. 
 Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face ; 
 Biit he died at my feet on a cold winter day. 
 And I play'd a sad lament for my poor dog Tray. 
 
 Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind ? 
 Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind .'' 
 To my sweet native village, so far, far away, 
 1 can never more return with my poor dog Tray. 
 
 T. Campbell 
 
 *57 * 
 
 ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG 
 
 Good people all, of every sort, 
 • Give ear unto my song ; 
 And if you find it wondrous short, 
 It cannot hold you long. 
 
 In Islington there was a Man, 
 
 Of whom the world might say, 
 That still a godly race he ran — 
 
 Whene'er he went to pray. 
 
:4'3 The Chilch-en^s Treasury 
 
 A kind and gentle heart he had, 
 To comfort friends and foes : 
 • The naked every day he clad, — 
 When he put on his clothes. 
 
 And in that town a Dog was found, 
 
 As many dogs there be, 
 Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound. 
 
 And curs of low degree. 
 
 This Dog and Man at first were friends ; 
 
 But when a pique began, 
 The Dog, to gain some private ends, 
 
 Went mad, and bit the Man. 
 
 Around from all the neighbouring streets 
 The wondering neighbours ran, 
 
 And swore the Dog had lost his wits, 
 To bite so good a Man ! 
 
 The wound it seem'd both sore and sad 
 
 To every Christian eye : 
 And while they swore the Dog was mad, 
 
 They swore the Man would die. 
 
 But soon a wonder came to light, 
 That show'd the rogues they lied : — 
 
 The Man recover'd of the bite, 
 The Dog it was that died ! 
 
 O. Golds7nith 
 
 THE PARROT 
 A True Siory 
 
 The deep affections of the breast 
 
 That Heaven to living things imparts, 
 Are not exclusively possess'd 
 By human hearts. 
 
 18 piqtie, quarrel 19 ends, objects 3 exclusively, only 
 
of E?ti(lish SonQ- 24 1 
 
 A Parrot, from the Spanish main, 
 
 Full young and early caged came o'er, 
 With bright wings, to the bkak domain 
 Of Mulla's shore. 
 
 To spicy groves where he had won 
 His plumage of resplendent hue, 
 His native fruits, and skies, and sun, 
 He bade ad feu. 
 
 For these he changed the smoke of turf, 
 
 A heathery land and misty sky, 
 And turn'd on rocks ^and raging surf 
 His golden eye. 
 
 But petted in our cKmate cold. 
 
 He lived and chatter'd many a day : 
 Until with age, from green and gold 
 His wings grew gray. 
 
 At last when blind, and seeming dumb. 
 
 He scolded, laugh'd, and spoke no more, 
 A Spanish stranger chanced to come 
 To MuUa's shore ; 
 
 He hail'd the bird in Spanish speech, 
 
 The bird in Spanish speech replied ; 
 Flapp'd round the cage with joyous screech, 
 Dropt down, and died. 
 
 T. Campbell 
 
 ROBIN REDBREAST 
 
 Good-bye, good-bye to. Summer I 
 
 For Summer's nearly done ; 
 71ie garden smiling faintly, 
 
 Cool breezes in the sun ; 
 
 5 Spanish main^ mainland of South America near West Indies, 
 
 belonging to Spain S Blulla, island of Muil 
 
 ID pluviage, feathers : resplendent, brilliant 12 adieu, farewell 
 
 13 changed, took instead : tiirf, the fuel of the Hebrides 
 
 R 
 
242 The Children's Treasury 
 
 Our thrushes now are silent. 
 
 Our swallows flown away, — 
 But Robin's here with coat of brown. 
 And ruddy breast-knot gay. 
 Robin, Robin Redbreast, 
 
 O Robin dear I 
 Robin sings so sweetly 
 In the falling of the year. 
 
 Bright yellow, red, and orange, 
 
 The leaves come down in hosts ; 
 The trees are Indian princes. 
 
 But soon they'll turn to ghosts ; 
 The scanty pears and apples 
 Hang russet on the bough ; 
 Its Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, 
 T'will soon be Winter now. 
 Robin, Robin Redbreast, 
 
 O Robin dear ! 
 And what will this poor Robin do ? 
 For pinching days are near. 
 
 The fire-side for the cricket, 
 
 The wheatstack for the mouse. 
 When trembling night-winds whistle 
 
 'And moan all round the house. 
 The frosty ways like iron, 
 
 The branches plumed with snow, — 
 Alas I in winter dead and dark. 
 Where can poor Robin go ? 
 Robin, Robin Redbreast, 
 
 O Robin dear ! 
 And a crumb of bread for Robin, 
 His little heart to cheer ! 
 
 W. AllmgJiam 
 
 IS covered with gold 30 plujiied, feathery 
 
of English Song 243 
 
 *6o* 
 
 ODE TO A UTUMN 
 
 Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness I 
 Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; 
 Conspiring with hmi 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-hfted by the winnowing wind ; 
 
 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 flowers ; 
 
 And sometime like a gleaner thou dost keep 
 
 Steady thy laden head across a brook ; 
 
 Or by a cider-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. 
 While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day 
 And touch the stubble-pjains with rosy 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 ; 
 
 2 maturing, ripening 3 conspiring, planning 
 
 12 Thee, Autumn 17 drmvsed, made drowsy : _/«w^, sleepy smell 
 
 25 bloom, cast a soft light upon 27 ivailficl, waiUng 
 
 R 2 
 
244 The Children's Treasury 
 
 And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn ; 
 Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft 
 The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, 
 And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. 
 
 J. Keats 
 
 •*6l * 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS 
 
 The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the 
 
 yer.r. 
 Of wailing winds, and naked w'oods, and meadows 
 
 brown and sear. 
 Heap'd in the hollows of the grove, the autumn 
 
 leaves lie dead ; 
 They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's 
 
 tread. 
 The robin and the wren are flown, and from the 
 
 shrubs the jay, 
 And from the wood-top calls the crow through all 
 
 the gloomy day. 
 
 The wind-flower and the violet, they perish'd long 
 
 ago. 
 And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the 
 
 summer glow ; 
 But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the 
 
 wood. 
 And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn 
 
 beauty stood, 
 Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls 
 
 the plague on men, 
 And the brightness of their smile was gone, from 
 
 upland, glade, and glen. 
 
 30 bourn, hill bounding the view 31 treble, piping 
 
 7 zvind-floiver. Anemone nemorosa 
 
of English Song 
 
 !45 
 
 And now, when comes the cahn mild day, as still 
 
 such days will come, 
 To call the squirrel and the bee from out their 
 
 winter home ; 
 When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though 
 
 all the trees are still, 
 And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, 
 The south wind searches for the flowers whose 
 
 fragrance late he bore, 
 And sighs to find them in the wood and by the 
 
 stream no more. 
 
 W. C. Bryant 
 
 * 62 * 
 rO 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. 
 
 R. Herrick 
 16 smoky, misty 17 ffufcrance, sweet smell 
 
 4 attained, reached 13 we grow as fast towards death 
 
246 The Children's T?-easiiry 
 
 * 63 * 
 
 CHRISTMAS IN OLD TIME 
 
 Heap on more wood ! — the wind is chill ; 
 
 But let it whistle as it will, 
 
 We'll keep our Christmas merry still. 
 
 Each age has deem'd the new-born year 
 The fittest time for festal cheer : 
 And well our Christian sires of old 
 Loved when the year its course had roll'd, 
 And brought blithe Christmas back again, 
 With all his hospitable train. 
 Domestic and religious rite 
 Gave honour to the holy night ; 
 On Christmas Eve the bells were rung ; 
 On Christmas Eve the mass was sung : 
 That only night in all the year, 
 Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. 
 The damsel donn d her kirtle sheen ; 
 The hall was dress'd with holly green ; 
 Forth to the wood did merry-men go, . 
 To gather in the mistletoe. 
 Then open'd wide the baron's hall 
 To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; 
 Power laid his rod of rule aside. 
 And Ceremony doff'd his pride. 
 The heir, with roses in his shoes, 
 That night might village partner choose ; 
 The lord, underogating, share 
 The vulgar game of ' post and pair.' 
 All hail'd, with uncontroll'd delight 
 And general voice, the happy night, 
 
 4 deemed^ thought 10 rite, observance 
 
 13 mass, divine service 15 stoled, robed 
 
 16 kirtle sheen, gay gown 21 vassal, serf, countr5'men under 
 
 landlord 26 laiderogatiiig, without losing his place 
 
 27 a game at cards 
 
of English Song 2^7 
 
 That to the cottage, as the crown, 
 Brought tidings of Salvation down. 
 
 The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, 
 Went roaring up the chimney wide ; 
 The huge hall-table's oaken face, 
 Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace, 
 Bore then upon its massive board 
 No mark to part the squire and lord. 
 Then was brought in the lusty brawn. 
 By old blue-coated serving-man ; 
 Then the grim boar's head frown'd on high. 
 Crested with bays and rosemary. 
 Well can the green-garb'd ranger tell, 
 How, when, and where, the monster fell ; 
 What dogs before his death he tore, 
 And all the baiting of the boar. 
 The wassel round, in good brown bowls, 
 Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls. 
 There the huge sirloin reek'd ; hard by 
 Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie ; 
 Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce. 
 At such high tide, her savoury goose. 
 Then came the merry maskers in, 
 And carols roar'd with blithesome din ; 
 If unmelodious was the song, 
 It was a hearty note, and strong. 
 Who lists may in their mumming see 
 Traces of ancient mystery ; 
 White shirts supplied the masquerade, 
 And smutted cheeks the visors made ; — 
 But, O ! what maskers, richly dight, 
 Can boast of bosoms half so light ! 
 England was merry England, when 
 Old Christmas brought his sports again. 
 
 42 green-garbed, foresters were dresed in green 
 
 46 -wassel, comfortable drink : probably old ale 56 lists, likes 
 
 57 mystery, rough stage-play 59 visoi-s, masks 60 dight, dressed 
 
248 The Chihb'eii^s Treasury 
 
 'Twas Christmas broach'd the mijj;htiest ale ; 
 'Twas Christmas tcld the merriest tale ; 
 A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
 The poor man's heart through half the year. 
 
 Sir VV. Scott 
 
 ♦ 64* 
 
 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 ; 
 
 64 broached, opened the ca'-k 
 2 azure main, blue sea 3 charter, law 12 foreign stroke, attack 
 
 \-] flame, spirit 19 ricral reign, excellence in fjtrming 
 
 21 main,%Q3. 23 the Muses, arts' andlearning 24 repair, come 
 
of English Song 249 
 
 Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd, 
 And manly hearts to guard the fair : — 
 Rule Britannia ! Britannia rules the waves ! 
 Britons never shall be slaves ! 
 
 y . T/iojnson 
 
 *65 * 
 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 England flushed 
 
 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 
 
 From its adamantine lips 
 
 Spread a death-shade round the ships, 
 
 Like the hurricane eclipse 
 
 Of the sun. 
 
 4 all the power of the Danes 6 brand, torch 1 1 bulwarks, Danish^ 
 
 ships 19. 20 our sailors rejoiced at what was coming 
 
 21 van, foremost ships 24 ada7na7itine, very hard 
 
 26 like the sun hidden by a southern storm 
 
250 The Childrens Treasury 
 
 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 blest our chief 
 
 That he gave her wounds repose ; 
 
 And the sounds of joy and grief 
 
 From her people w^ildiy 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. 
 
 Now joy, old England, raise ! 
 
 For the tidings of thy might, 
 
 By the festal cities' blaze. 
 
 Whilst the w'ine-cup shines in light ; 
 
 And yet amidst that joy and uproar, 
 
 Let us think of them that sleep 
 
 29 havoc, destruction 33 wail, sorrow 37 victor, conqueror 
 
 50 as the battle-smoke cleared off 57 festal, rejoicing 
 
of English Song 251 
 
 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 Riou : 
 
 Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave I 
 
 While the billow mournful rolls, 
 
 And the mermaid's song condoles, 
 
 Singing, Glory to the souls 
 
 Of the brave ! 
 
 T. Campbell 
 
 TOM BOWLING 
 
 Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, 
 
 The darhng of our crew ; 
 No more he'll hear the tempest howling, 
 
 For death has broach'd him to. 
 His form was of the manliest beauty. 
 
 His heart was kind and soft ; 
 Faithful, below, he did his duty ; 
 
 But now he's gone aloft. 
 
 Tom never from his word departed, 
 
 His virtues were so rare, 
 His friends were many and true-hearted, 
 
 His Poll was kind and fair : 
 And then he'd sing, so blithe and jolly. 
 
 Ah, many's the time and oft I 
 But mirth is turn'd to melancholy. 
 
 For Tom is gone aloft. 
 
 70 condoles, joins in lamenting 
 I sheer hulk, ship without masts 4 broach to, brought him 
 
 suddenly up so as to go over 8 aloft, up to heaven 12 his wife 
 
;2 The Children's Treasury 
 
 Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, 
 
 When He, who all commands, 
 Shall give, to call Hfe's crew together, 
 
 The word to pipe ' all hands.' 
 Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches. 
 
 In vain Tom's life has doff'd : 
 For though his body's under hatches, 
 
 His soul has gone aloft. 
 
 C. Dibdin 
 
 *6'/ * 
 THE LA W LANDS GF HOLLAND 
 
 The Love that I have chosen 
 
 I'll therewith be content ; 
 The salt sea shall be frozen 
 
 Before that I repent. 
 Repent it shall I never 
 
 Until the day I dee ! 
 But the Lawlands of Holland 
 
 Have twinn'd my Love and me. 
 
 My Love he built a bonny ship, 
 
 And set her to the main ; 
 With twenty- four brave mariners 
 
 To sail her out and hame. 
 But the weary wind began to rise, 
 
 The sea began to rout, 
 And my Love and his bonny ship 
 
 Turn'd withershins about. 
 
 There shall no mantle cross my back. 
 
 No comb go in my hair. 
 Neither shall coal nor candle-light 
 
 Shine in my bower mair ; 
 
 20 pipe, whistle 22 doffed, ended 
 
 23 under hatches, below the deck, buried 
 
 7 the Lnwhiids, probably here the flat sands of the coast 
 
 8 twinn'd, parted 16 withershins, the wrong way ; probably 
 
 here, right over 20 bozuer, girl's room 
 
of English Song 253 
 
 Nor shall I choose another Love 
 
 Until the day I dee, 
 Since the Lawlands of Holland 
 
 Have twinn'd my Love and me. 
 
 ' Now hand your tongue, my daughter dear, 
 
 ' Be still, and bide content ! 
 ' There's other lads in Galloway ; 
 
 ' Ye needna sair lament.' 
 — O there is none in Galloway, 
 
 There's none at all for me : — 
 I never loved a lad but one, 
 
 And he's drown'd in the sea. 
 
 Uiiknoivn 
 
 * 6Z * 
 
 THE ANCHORSMITHS 
 
 Like Aetna's dread volcano, see the ample forge 
 Large heaps upon lirge heaps of jetty fuel gorge, 
 While, salamander-like, the ponderous anchor lies 
 Glutted with vivid fire, through all its pores that 
 
 flies :— 
 The dingy anchorsmiths, to renovate their strength, 
 Stretch'd out in death-like sleep, are snoring at 
 
 their length, 
 Waiting the master's signal when the tackle's force 
 Shall, like split rocks, the anchor from the fire 
 
 divorce ; 
 While, as old Vulcan's Cyclops did the anvil bang, 
 In deafening concert shall their ponderous hammers 
 
 clang, 
 And into symmetry the mass incongruous beat. 
 To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant 
 
 British fleet. 
 
 2 goyge, swallow greedily 3 salamander, reptile fabled to live in fire 
 4 glutted, filled through and through 5 renovate, refresh 
 
 8 divorce, withdraw 9 see end 11 symmetry, accurate form: 
 
 incongruous, shapeless 12 adverse, opposing 
 
-54 The Children'' s Treasury 
 
 Now, as more vivid and intense each splinter flies, 
 The temper of the fire the skilful master tries ; 
 And, as the dingy hue assumes a brilliant red, 
 The heated anchor feeds that fire on which it fed : 
 The huge sledge-hammers round in order they 
 
 arrange, 
 And waking anchorsmiths await the look'd-for 
 
 change, 
 Longing with all their force the ardent mass to 
 
 smite, 
 When issuing from the hre array'd in dazzling 
 
 white ; 
 And, as old Vulcan's Cyclops did the anvil bang. 
 To make in concert rude their ponderous hammers 
 
 clang, 
 So the misshapen lump to symmetry they beat, 
 To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant 
 
 British fleet. 
 
 The preparations thicken ; with forks the fire they 
 
 goad ; 
 And now twelve anchorsmiths the heaving bellows 
 
 load ; 
 While arm'd from every danger, and in grim array, 
 Anxious as howhng demons waiting for their prey : — 
 The forge the anchor yields from out its fiery maw, 
 Which, on the anvil prone, the cavern shouts 
 
 hurraw ! 
 And now the scorch'd beholders want the power to 
 
 gaze. 
 Faint with its heat, and dazzled with its powerful 
 
 rays ; 
 While, as old Vulcan's Cyclops did the anvil bang. 
 To forge Jove's thunderbolts, their ponderous ham- 
 mers clang ; — 
 
 15 as the dark iron grows red 19 ardent, white-hot 
 
 30 prone, lying flat : cavern, the smiths in their smithy 
 
of English Song 255 
 
 And, till its fire's extinct, the monstrous mass they 
 
 beat 
 To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant 
 
 British fleet. 
 
 C Dibdin 
 
 * 69 * 
 THE VISION OF BELSHAZZAR 
 
 The King was on his throne. 
 
 The Satraps throng'd the hall ; 
 A thousand bright lamps shone 
 
 O'er that high festival. 
 A thousand cups of gold, 
 
 In Judah dcem'd divine — 
 Jehovah's vessels hold 
 
 The godless Heathen's wine. 
 
 In that same hour and hall 
 
 The fingers of a Hand 
 Came forth against the wall, 
 
 And wrote as if on sand : 
 The fingers of a man ; — 
 
 A solitary hand 
 Along the letters ran, 
 
 And traced them like a wand. 
 
 The monarch saw, and shook. 
 
 And bade no more rejoice ; 
 All bloodless wax'd his look, 
 
 And tremulous his voice : — 
 * Let the men of lore appear, 
 
 'The wisest of the earth, 
 ' And expound the words of fear, 
 
 ' Which mar our royal mirth.' 
 
 35 extinct, gone out 
 2 Satraps, chief governors 79 ivax'd, grew 
 3o tretmilons, trembling 21 lore, wisdom 23 expound, explain 
 24. mar, spoil 
 
256 The Children's Treasury 
 
 Chaldea's seers are good, 
 
 But here they have no skill ; 
 And the unknown letters stood 
 
 Untold and awful still.' 
 And Babel's men of age 
 
 Are wise and deep in lore ; 
 But now they were not sage, 
 
 They saw — but knew no more, 
 
 A Captive in the land, 
 
 A stranger and a youth, 
 He heard the king's command, 
 
 He sav/ that writing's truth ; 
 The lamps around were bright, 
 
 The prophecy in view ; 
 He read it on that night, — 
 
 The morrow proved it true I 
 
 ' Belshazzar's grave is made, 
 
 ' His kingdom pass'd away, 
 ^ He, in the balance weigh'd, 
 
 ' Is light and worthless clay ; 
 ' The shroud, his robe of state ; 
 
 * His canopy, the stone ; 
 
 * The Mede is at his gate ! 
 
 ' The Persian on his throne !' 
 
 Lord Byron 
 
 EDWIN AND PA ULINUS: 
 
 The Conversion oj Korthumbria 
 
 The black-hair'd gaunt Paulinus 
 By ruddy Edwin stood : — 
 
 * Bow down, O king of Deira, 
 
 ' Before the blessed Rood ! 
 
 25 J^<?r5, prophets 46 ^rtWfyJy, covering of throne j/'i?;/^, tombstone 
 4 Rood, crucifix 
 
of English Song i^'j 
 
 ' Cast out thy heathen idols, 
 
 ' And worship Christ our Lord.' 
 — But Edwin look'd and ponder'd, 
 And ansvver'd not a word. 
 
 Again the gaunt Paulinus 
 
 To ruddy Edwin spake : 
 ' God offers hfe immortal 
 
 ' For his dear Son's own sake ! 
 ' Wilt thou not hear his message, 
 
 ' Who bears the keys and sword ? ' 
 — But Edwin look'd and ponder'd, 
 And answer'd not a word. 
 
 Rose then a sage old warrior ; 
 
 Was five- score winters old ; 
 Whose beard from chin to girdle 
 
 Like one long snow-wreath roll'd : — 
 
 * At Yule-time in our chamber 
 
 ' We sit in warmth and light, 
 
 * While cold and howling round us 
 
 ' Lies the black land of Night. 
 
 * Athwart the room a sparrow 
 
 * Darts from the open door : 
 
 * Within the happy hearth-light 
 
 ' One red flash, — and no more ! 
 ^ We see it come from darkness, 
 ' And into darkness go : — 
 
 * So is our hfe, King Edwm ! 
 
 ' Alas, that it is so ! 
 
 * But if this pale Paulinus 
 
 ' Have somewhat more to tell ; 
 
 * Some news of Whence and Whither, 
 
 ' And where the soul will dwell ; — 
 
 13 his, the Bishop of Rome, who sent the mission to England 
 
 S 
 
Unknown 
 
 258 The Childi'oi's Treasury 
 
 * If on that outer darkness 
 
 ' The sun of Hope may shine ; — 
 ' He makes life worth the living ! 
 ' I take his God for mine I' 
 
 So spake the wise old warrior ; 
 
 And all about him cried 
 ' Paulinus' God hath conquer'd ! 
 
 ' And he shall be our guide : — 
 
 * For he makes life worth living 
 
 'Who brings this message plain, 
 
 * When our brief days are over, 
 
 'That we shall live again.' 
 
 TO A FLY 
 
 Busy, curious, thirsty Fly, 
 Drink with me, and drink as I ! 
 Freely welcome to my cup, 
 Could'st thou sip and sip it up : 
 Make the most of life you may ! 
 Life is short and wears away. 
 
 Both alike are mine and thine, 
 Hast'ning quick to their decline :— 
 Tbine's a summer : mine's no more, 
 Though repeated to three-score : — 
 Three-score summers, when they're gone, 
 Will appear as short as one. 
 
 W. Oldys 
 
 * 72 * 
 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 : 
 
 2 before Sleep has made me his prisoner 
 
of Ejiglish Song 259 
 
 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 cham has bound me, 
 Sad Memory brings the hght 
 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 I 
 Thus in the stilly night 
 
 Ere slumbers chain has bound me. 
 Sad Memory brings the light 
 Of other days around me. 
 
 T. Moore 
 
 * 73 * 
 
 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 sing in the leaves, 
 Nor Ouse on his bosom their imasje receives. 
 
 16 linJid, joined 21 laitqztef, feast 
 
 2 colonnade, row 
 
 S 2 
 
26o The Children's Treasury 
 
 Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view 
 Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew : 
 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 1 must ere long lie as lowly as they, 
 With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head, 
 Ere another sach grove shall arise in its stead. 
 
 'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can, 
 To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ; 
 Short-lived as. we are, our enjoyments, I see, 
 Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. 
 
 W. Coivper 
 
 * 74 * 
 
 FRIENDS DEPA R TED 
 
 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. 
 
 5 ^/rt/^^f/, passed w melody ■,vrM'^\c 13 _/«.^///z'^, flying 
 
 17 engage, lead 18 muse, reflect 
 
 S It, memory 8 remove, setting 
 
of English ^ojig 261 
 
 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 glimmerings and decays. 
 
 O holy hope ! and high humility ! 
 
 High as the Heavens above ! 
 These are your walks, and you have sliow'd them 
 me, 
 
 To kindle my cold love. 
 
 Dear, beauteous Death ; the jewel of the just ! 
 
 Shining nowhere but in the dark ; 
 What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, 
 Could man outlook that mark ! 
 
 He that hath found some fledged birdes nest may 
 know 
 At first sight if the bird be flown ; 
 But what fair dell 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. 
 
 *75* 
 
 THE LAND OF DREAMS 
 
 ^ Awake, awake, my little boy ! * 
 
 * Thou wast thy mother's only joy ; 
 
 * Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep ? 
 
 * O wake ! thy father does thee keep.' 
 
 10 trampl on, surpass greatly 17 ji*st. good 19 mysteries, 
 
 wonders 27 tra7iscend, go above ou UFual thoughts 
 
262 The Childi'en^s Treasury 
 
 — ' O what land is the Land of Dreams ? 
 
 ' What are its mountains, and what are its streams ? 
 
 ' O father ! I saw my mother there, 
 
 * Among the Hhes by waters fair. 
 
 ' Among the lambs, clothed in white, 
 
 ' She walk'd with her Thomas in sweet delight : 
 
 ' I wept for joy ; like a dove I mourn : — 
 
 ' O when shall I again return ! ' 
 
 — ' Dear child ! I also by pleasant streams 
 ' Have wander'd all night in the Land of Dreams : — 
 ' But, though calm and warm the waters wide, 
 ' I could not get to the other side.' 
 
 — ' Father, O father ! what do we here, 
 ' In this land of unbehef and fear ?— ^ 
 ' The Land of Dreams is better far, 
 ' Above the light of the morning star.' 
 
 W. Blake 
 
 * 76 * 
 
 DEATH IN LIFE 
 
 How soon doth man decay ! 
 When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets 
 To swaddle infants, whose young breath 
 
 Scarce knows the way, 
 Those clouts are little winding-sheets. 
 Which do consign and send them unto death. 
 
 When boys go first to bed, 
 They step into their voluntary graves ; 
 Sleep bind^them fast ; only their breath 
 
 Makes them not dead. 
 Successive nights, like rolling waves, 
 Convey them quickly, who are bound for death. 
 
 6 consign, mark them for : — the thought of the poem is, that every. 
 
 thing in Life foreshows and longs for Death 
 
 II successive, one after the other 
 
of English Sofig 263 
 
 When youth is frank and free, 
 And calls for music, while his veins do swell, 
 All day exchanging mirth and breath. 
 
 In company ; 
 That music summons to the knell, 
 Which shall befriend him at the house of death. 
 
 When man grows staid and wise, 
 Getting a house and home, where he may move 
 Within the circle of his breath, 
 
 Schooling his eyes ; 
 
 That dumb inclosure maketh love 
 
 Unto the coffin, that attends his death. 
 
 When age grows low and weak. 
 Marking his grave, and thawing every year, 
 Till all do melt, and drown his breath 
 
 When he would speak ; 
 A chair or litter shows the bier 
 Which shall convey him to the house of death. 
 
 Man, ere he is aware, 
 Hath put together a solemnity. 
 And drest his hearse, while he has breath 
 
 As yet to spare : — 
 Yet, Lord ! instruct us so to die. 
 That all these dyings may be life in death. 
 
 G. Herbert 
 
 TO-MORROW 
 
 In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining, 
 
 May my lot no less fortunate be 
 Than a snug elbow-chair can afford for reclining, 
 
 And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea ; 
 
 15 breath, song 22 schooling, training 
 
 23 the walls of his house form themselves beforehand into a coffin 
 
 24 aitends, is waiting for 29 shows, figures beforehand 
 
264 The Children's Treasury 
 
 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 to-morrow. 
 
 With a porch at my door, both for shelter and 
 shade too, 
 
 As the sun-shine 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, 
 
 Nor what honours await him to-morrow. 
 
 From the bleak northern blast may my cot be com- 
 pletely 
 
 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 1 find at my board, 
 
 With a heart free from sickness and sorrow. 
 With my friends may I share what to-day may afford, 
 
 And let them spread the table to-morrow. 
 
 And Avhen I at last must throw off this frail cover- 
 ing 
 Which I've worn for three -score years and ten, 
 On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep 
 hovering, 
 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 thread-bare to-day, 
 May become everlasting to-morrow. 
 
 J. Collins 
 
 15 nabob ^ newly rich man 28 thread to spin, live my life 
 
 29 se?-eneiy, calmly 31 stt(ff, his body 
 
of English So Jig 265 
 
 * 7^ * 
 
 ■HUMAN LIFE 
 
 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. 
 
 W. Drumnioud 
 
 *79* 
 
 ADORATION 
 
 Sweet is the dew that falls betimes, 
 And drops upon the leafy limes ; 
 
 Sweet Hermon's fragrant air : 
 Sweet is the lily's silver bell. 
 And sweet the wakeful tapers smell 
 
 That watch for early prayer. 
 
 Sweet the young nurse, with love intense. 
 Which smiles o'er sleeping innocence ; 
 
 Sweet when the lost arrive : 
 Sweet the musician's ardour beats, 
 While his vague mind's in quest of sweets, 
 
 The choicest flowers to hive. 
 
 5 heqimith, give lo pomp, glory 12 erst, at first 
 
 TO ardour, passion for his work 11 vague, wandering : quest, search 
 12 floiiiers, of music 
 
266 The Child7'e7i^s Treasiny 
 
 Strong is the horse upon his speed ; 
 Strong in pursuit the rapid glede, 
 
 Which makes at once his game : 
 Strong the tall ostrich on the ground : 
 Strong through the turbulent profound 
 
 Shoots xiphias to his aim. 
 
 Strong is the lion — like a coal 
 His eyeball — like a bastion's mole 
 
 His chest against the foes : 
 Strong the gier-eagle on his sail ; 
 Strong against tide the enormous whale 
 
 Emerges as he goes. 
 
 But stronger still, in earth and air, 
 And in the sea, the man of prayer, 
 
 And far beneath the tide : 
 And in the seat to Faith assign'd, 
 Where ask is, have ; where seek is, find ; 
 
 Where knock is, open wide. 
 
 C, Smart 
 
 *8o* 
 
 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD 
 
 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, 
 The lowing herd winds 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 tinkUngs lull the distant folds : 
 
 14 glede, kite 17 turbuletit profound, stormy sea 
 
 18 xiphias sword-fish 20 bastion's mole, projecting; piece of 
 
 fortification 22 gier-eagle, large 
 
 2 emerges, rises above surface i curfew, evening bell 
 
 7 droning-, long low humming 
 
of E7iglish Sons; 267 
 
 Save that from yonder ivj^-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 jew-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 ; 
 How jocund did they drive their team afield I 
 How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke I 
 
 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, 
 Await alike th' ine\'i table hour : — 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 
 
 12 molest, trouble her solitude 15 cell, chamber, the grave 
 
 17 incense-brenihinp:, smelling sweetly 19 clarion, trumpet 
 
 22 ply her care, do her work 26 glebe, plough land 
 
 27 jocimd, cheerful 30 destiny, mode of life : 
 
 obscure, little known of 32 annals, history of years 
 
 ^ 35 inevitable, that which cannot be escaped 
 
268 The Childi-eii^s Treasury 
 
 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 ecstasy 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 current of the soul. 
 
 Full many a gem of purest ray serene 
 The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear : 
 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 Uttle tyrailt of his fields withstood, 
 Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest. 
 Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 
 
 Th' applause of list'ning 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 
 
 37 impute fault, blame 38 trophies, great monuments 
 
 29 fretted, carved 41 storied nrn, monument with inscription 
 
 43 provoke, call out again to life 46 pregnant ivith. full of 
 
 48 lyre, harp 5r Penury, poverty : rage, genius 53 ray, radiance 
 59 mute, silent 61 applause, shouts of praise: senates, parliamciits 
 
of English Song 269 
 
 Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone 
 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 
 Forbade to wade through 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 : 
 And many a holy text around she strews 
 That teach the rustic moralist to die. 
 
 For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey. 
 This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned, 
 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, 
 
 65 circjimscribed, bounded 71, 72 flatter with poetry the rich 
 
 75 sequester d, quiet 76 tenoicr, character So tribute, offering 
 81 miletter'd Miisc, untaught village poet 82 elegy, poem upon 
 
 a person dead 84 moralist, thoughtful person 
 
 86 this being, this life 87 precincts, abodes 89 parting, departing 
 
 90 pious drops, tears of affection 
 
 gi, 92 the dead have affections and desires 
 
270 The Children's Treasury 
 
 For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour d dead, 
 Dost in these Hnes their artless tale relate ; 
 If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, 
 Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — 
 
 Haply some hoary-headed swam 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 ; 
 '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 church-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'd not on his humble birth. 
 And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 
 
 93 thee, the Poet 94 artless, simple 96 kindred spirit, thoughtful 
 
 man 97 jwrtz«, countryman 102 _/««/<7J//<:. twisted 104/^^6-, 
 
 look steadily \o^ Hard by ,c\o?,t.\.o 113 «'/r^^i^, funeral service 
 
 115 lay, epitaph 119 thoujj;h poor, he was well educated 
 
of English So/ig 271 
 
 Large was 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. 
 
 T. Gray 
 
 *8l* 
 
 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, 
 A.nd singing still dost soar, and soaring ever 
 singest. 
 
 In the golden lightning 
 
 Of the sunken sun 
 O'er which clouds are bright'ning. 
 
 Thou dost float and run. 
 Like an u»bodied 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 : 
 
 122 recompense , reward 125 disclose, make known 
 
 5 profuse, abundant : ntipremeditated, not thought of before 
 
272 The Children^ s T7'easury 
 
 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 here. 
 
 All the earth and air 
 
 With thy voice is loud, 
 As, when night is bare. 
 From one lonely cloud 
 The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is over 
 flow'd. 
 
 What thou art Ave 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 
 To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : 
 
 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 : 
 
 21 arrows, rays 22 sphere, star 
 
 23 intense lamp, brilliant light 40 to sympathy, to feel 
 
 49 aerial hue, the faint light of the glow-worm 
 
of English Song 273 
 
 Like a rose embovver'd 
 
 In its own green leaves, 
 By warm winds deflower'd, 
 Till the scent it gives 
 Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy- 
 winged thieves. 
 
 Sou ad of vernal showers 
 On the twinkling grass, 
 Rain-awaken'd flowers. 
 All that ever was 
 Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth sur- 
 pass. 
 
 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 
 Matched with thine, would be all 
 But an empty vaunt — 
 A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden 
 w^ant. 
 
 What objects are the fountains 
 
 Of thy happy strain t 
 What fields, or waves, or mountains .'' 
 
 What shapes of sky or plain 't 
 What love of thine own kind.'* what ignorance of 
 
 55 thieves, the \v".nds that steal the scent of the rose 
 
 56 vernal, in spring 65 raptme, delight 66, 67 marriage-song 
 
 or song of victory 69 vaunt, boast 
 
 T 
 
274 The Children's Treasury 
 
 With thy clear keen joyance 
 
 Languor cannot be : 
 Shadow of annoyance 
 
 Never came near thee : 
 Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 P. B. Shelley 
 82 deem, think Zq fra^ight, laden 96 measures, music 
 
of English Song 275 
 
 A CRADLE SONG 
 
 Hush ! my dear, lie still and slumber ; 
 
 Holy angels guard thy bed ! 
 Heavenly blessings without number 
 
 Gently falling on thy head. 
 
 Sleep, my babe ; thy food and raiment. 
 House and home, thy friends provide , 
 
 All without thy care or payment 
 All thy wants are well supplied. 
 
 How much better thou'rt attended 
 
 Than the Son of God could be, 
 When from Heaven he descended, 
 
 And became a child like thee ! 
 
 Soft and easy is thy cradle : 
 
 Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay : * 
 
 When his birth-place was a stable, 
 And his softest bed was hay. 
 
 See the kindly shepherds round him. 
 
 Telling wonders from the sky ! 
 Where they sought him, there they found him. 
 
 With his Virgin-Mother by. 
 
 See the lovely babe a-dressing : 
 
 Lovely infant, how he smiled ! 
 When he wept, the mother's blessing 
 
 Soothed and hush'd the holy child. 
 
 Lo, he slumbers in his manger, 
 
 Where the horned oxen fed ; 
 — Peace, my darling ! here's no danger ! 
 
 Here's no ox a-near thy bed ! 
 
 9 attended, waited on 
 
 T 2 
 
276 The Children's Treasury 
 
 — May'st thou live to know and fear him, 
 
 Trust and love him all thy days : 
 Then go dwell for ever near him ; 
 
 See his face, and sing his praise. 
 
 1 could give thee thousand kisses, 
 
 Hoping what I most desire : 
 Not a mothei-^s fondest wishes 
 
 Can to greater joys aspire. 
 
 /. Watts 
 
 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 arid virgin mother born, 
 Our great redemption from above did bring ; 
 For so the holy sages once did sing 
 That he out 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 clav 
 
 Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 
 
 Afford a present to the Infant God .? 
 
 Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn sirain 
 
 To welcome him to this his new abode. 
 
 Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, 
 
 36 aspire, hope 6 fo-feit, pinishment due for sin 
 
 15, 16 shill not this sacred subject be sung 
 
 19 team, chariot and horses, supposed to carry the sun 
 
of English Song 277 
 
 Hath took no print of the approaching hght, 
 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 : 
 
 O run, prevent them with thy humble ode 
 
 And lay it lowly at his blessed feet ; 
 
 Have thou the honour tirst thy Lord to greet, 
 
 And join thy voice unto the angel quire 
 
 From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire. 
 
 The Hymn 
 
 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 Reason then for her 
 
 To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. 
 
 Only with speeches fair 
 
 She woos the gentle air 
 
 To hide her guilty front with innocent snow ; 
 
 And on her naked shame, 
 
 Pollute with sinful blame, 
 
 The -.lintly 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 oHve green, came softly sliding 
 
 Down through the turning sphere, 
 
 21 host, star? : squadrons, bands 23 luizards. the three kings 
 
 24 prevent, go before : ode, solemn song 33 doff'd, put off 
 
 34 sympathize, show similar feeling 36 paramour, lover 
 
 39 /;7W^. forehead 48 t7i7nifig sphere , sc& &nA 
 
278 The Childreji's Treasury 
 
 His ready harbinger, 
 
 With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ; 
 
 And waving wide her myrde wand, 
 
 She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. 
 
 No war, or battle's sound 
 
 Was heard the world around : 
 
 The idle spear and shield were high up hung ; 
 
 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 windG, 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, 
 
 49 harbinger herald 50 turtle, dove 56 hooked, with hooks 
 
 at axletree 59 awful, full of fear 64 ivhist, hushed 
 71 iit/lziejice, supposed power 74 Lucifer, the morning-star 
 
of Efi^lish Song 279 
 
 As his inferior flame 
 
 The nevv-enhghten'd world no more should need : 
 He saw a greater Sun appear 
 
 Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could 
 bear. 
 
 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 aery region thriUing, 
 
 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. 
 
 81 As, as if 86 (9r ^r^, before 88 than,X}h&n 
 
 92 silly, simple 95 strook, struck 98 delighted their souls 
 
 100 close, cadence 102 within the Moon's {Cynthia's) orbit 
 
 103 ae>y region, the atmosphere 
 
28o The CJiildreii's Treasury 
 
 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. 
 
 vSuch music (as 'tis said) 
 
 Before was never made 
 
 But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, 
 
 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 ; 
 A-nd speckled vanity 
 Will sicken soon and die. 
 
 And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould ; 
 And Hell itself wnll pass away. 
 
 And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering 
 day. 
 
 ii6 7i?iexpressive , such as no one couid express 
 
 124 ivelterutg , rolling 125 see end 132 consort, agreement : 
 
 symphony, choral song 134 be audible to man 
 
 136 speckled, perhaps, plague-spotted 140 dolorous, sad 
 
of English So^ig 281 
 
 Yea, Truth and Justice then 
 
 Will down return to men, 
 
 Orb'd in a rainbow ; and, Hke 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. 
 
 But- wisest Fate says No ; 
 This must not yet be so ; 
 The Babe yet hes in smiling infancy 
 That on the bitter cross 
 Must redeem our loss ; 
 So both himself and us to glorify : 
 Yet first, to those y-chain'd in sleep, 
 The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through 
 the deep ; 
 
 With such a horrid clang 
 As oh mount Sinai rang 
 
 While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake : 
 The aged Earth aghast 
 With terrour of that blast 
 Shall from the surface to the centre shake. 
 When, at the world's la-st 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 hmits bound. 
 
 Not half so far casts his usurped sway ; 
 
 143 OrFiin, encircled by 145 sheen, brightness 
 
 146 tissued, variegated 155 y-chained, y is a participial prefix 
 
 163 session, assembly for trial 168 Dragon, Satan 
 
282 The Children's Treasury 
 
 And wroth to see his kingdom fail, 
 Swindges the scaly horrour of his folded tail. 
 
 The oracles are dumb ; 
 
 No voice or hideous hum 
 
 Runs thro' the arched roof in words deceiving : 
 
 Apollo from his shrine 
 
 Can no more divine, 
 
 With hollow shriek the steep of Deiphos 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 sound 
 
 Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ; 
 
 And the chill marble seems to sweat, 
 
 While each peculiar Power forgoes his wonted seat. 
 
 Peor and Baalim 
 
 Forsake their temples dim. 
 
 With that twice batter'd god of Palestine ; 
 
 And mooned Ashtaroth 
 
 172 s'ivindges,\z.%\t.'& 177 (f/?//;/^, utter oracles ; see end 
 
 186 Genius, Spirit of the place 191 Lnrs and Jic'iii7{res,housG- 
 
 hold gods and spirits of the dead 194 Flamens, Roman priests : 
 quaint, here, usual Tg6/orgoes, quits 199 Dagon 
 
of English Song 283 
 
 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 
 
 His burning idol all of blackest hue ; 
 
 In vain wdth cymbals' ring 
 
 They call the grisly king, 
 
 In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; 
 
 The brutish gods of Nile as fast 
 
 I sis, 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 timbrelFd 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 ; 
 Not all the gods beside 
 Longer dare abide, 
 
 Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : 
 Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, 
 Can in his sw^addling bands control the damned 
 crew. 
 
 2T5 u/ishowo^d, watered by the Nile only 
 
 219 timhreWd anthems, sacred songs, accompanied by timbrels 
 
 220 stolid, mantled 223 eytt, eyes 226 tzviiie, twists 
 
284 The Children's Treasury 
 
 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. 
 
 But see, the Virgin blest 
 
 Hath 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. 
 
 J. Milton 
 
 .84* 
 
 THE BURNING BABE 
 
 As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the 
 
 snow, 
 Surprised I was with sudden heat, which made my 
 
 heart to glow ; 
 And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was 
 
 near, 
 A pretty babe, all burning bright, did in the air 
 
 appear ; 
 Who, scorched with excessive heat, such floods of 
 
 tears did shed, 
 As though his floods should quench his flames 
 
 which with his tears were fed : — 
 
 ?3i i7r?'i!?«^, in the east 232 see end 235 y^jv^, fairies 
 
 236 steeds, mares : maze, dancing-ground 239 tedious, long 
 
 240 teemed, born 241 the star is resting 244 harness' d, armoured 
 
of Eiii^Itsh So Jig 285 
 
 Alas ! ' quoth He, ' but newly born, in fiery heats 
 
 1 fry, 
 ' Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel 
 
 my fire but I ! 
 ' My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wound- 
 ing thorns ; 
 ' Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes 
 
 shame and scorns ; 
 'The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the 
 
 coals, 
 ' The . metal in this furnace wrought are men's 
 
 defiled souls, 
 ' For which, as now on fire I am, to work them to 
 
 their good, 
 ' So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my 
 
 blood.' — 
 With this He vanish'd out of sight, and swiftly 
 
 shrunk away ; 
 And straight I called unto mind that it was 
 
 Christmas-day. 
 
 N. Southwell 
 
 7 /^y> old use of the word for bztrn 1 2 defiled, .sinful 
 
 inir of %m\\ii |art 
 
NOTES: 
 
 MAINLY HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL 
 PART I. 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 6 4 Most copies* of Cowper's poems contain an aiccount of 
 these hares, written in the exquisite prose of which he 
 was master. 
 
 13 g The poetry which Blake, an artist of very high and rare 
 powers, wrote during his youth, shows the same qualities 
 as his art : simple yet often majestic imagination; spiritual 
 insight, profound feeling for grace and colour. Like his 
 art also, his verse is narrow in its range, and at times 
 eccentric to the neighbourhood of madness. But, what- 
 ever he writes, his eye is always straight upon his subject. 
 
 26 12 So many beautiful pieces in prose and verse have been 
 written in the Scots or North Country language that a 
 great source of pleasure is lost by readers who will not 
 take the small pains required to master the peculiarities 
 of spelling and vocabulary : it is hoped that the very 
 numerous notes added here will tempt children to give 
 themselves this pleasure. 
 
 The original ballads by unknown poets appear gene- 
 rally to have taken their present form within the two 
 hundred years before 1700. 
 
 33 16 Casabianva wr.s son to a French Admiral commanding 
 
 the flag-ship UOrient at the battle of the Nile, 1798. 
 
 34 17 The Birkenhead , steam troop-ship, struck near Simon's 
 
 Bay, Cape of Good Hope, 25th of February, 1852. Four 
 hundred and thirty-eight officers, soldiers, and seamen, 
 were lost : including the military commander. Colonel 
 Seton of the 74ih. For some alterations which make 
 this fine poem more intelligible to children, readers are 
 indebted to the author's kindness. 
 
 37 19 These gallant lines are almost worthj' of Campbell. 
 
 33 20 The Royal George, of 108 guns, commanded by Admiral 
 Kempenfelt, whilst undergoing a partial careening in 
 Portsmouth Harbour, was overset about 10 a.m. Aug. 29, 
 1782. The total loss was believed to be near 1,000 
 souls. These lines were written (Sept. 1782) to tlie music 
 of the March ia Handel's Scipio. For tenderness and 
 grandeur under the form of severe simplicity they have 
 few rivals. 'J hey are Greek after the manner in which a 
 modern English poet should be Greek: — Readers who 
 admire tliem are on the right way to high and lasting 
 pleasure. 
 
 39 21 Burns justly named this 'one of the most beautiful songs 
 in the Scots or any other language.' 
 
 41 23 ' I never saw anything like this funeral dirge,' says 
 
 Charles Lamb, ' except the ditty which reminds Ferdi- 
 nand of his drowned father in the Tempest. As that is 
 of the water, watery ; so this is of the earth, earthy. 
 Both have that intenseness of feeling, which seems to re- 
 solve itself into the element which it contemplates.' 
 
 42 24 Alexander Selkirk's life of four years in the desolate 
 
Notes ' 287 
 
 island, Juati Fernandez, may have been in De Foe's 
 mind when he wrote ' Robinson Crusoe.' 
 
 48 28 Line 66, Cockrood, unexplained, so far as the Editor can 
 
 learn. It would seem to mean either a road or 7-tin, as 
 we say, for woodcocks ; or a wooden stage for them, by 
 a vague use of rood. 
 
 49 2g A justly famous specimen of the allegorical style pre- 
 
 valent in Elizabeth's time : the Shepherd's life being 
 poetically glorified and described as a type of life in 
 general. This piece should be compared with the charm- 
 ing truthfulness of Herrick's countiy scenes in the pre- 
 ceding piece, or Wordsworth's following: — Marlowe's 
 has much beauty : but how much more beautiful is Truth, 
 in the hands of a genuine poet ! 
 63 41 'Ihe tale of Lord Leicester's private marriage with 
 Amy Robsart, her imprisonment and fearful death at 
 Cimmor Hall, near Oxford, partially confirmed by his- 
 tory, has been made more real to us than most histori- 
 cal realities by Sir Walter Scott's Keiiilivorth : the most 
 splendid of the three tragic romances left by that great 
 writer. 
 78 47 This spirited poem, which blazes throughout with the 
 highhearted patriotism of its distinguished author, should 
 be read accompanied by some history of the period, and 
 the map of England. 
 
 Line 10, Pinta; the Editor can find no Spanish vessel 
 recorded under this name ; nor does the w ord, in Spanish, 
 bear any sense applicable to a ship. Medina Sidonia, 
 who commanded the Armada, sailed in the Saint 
 HI art in. 
 
 Line 23, At Cres.sy, ■- Picardy, the king of Bohemia, 
 and a body of Genoese soldiers, fought in the aimyof 
 Philip. CtTsar's tngle shield appears to be an allusion 
 to some German troops who also served. The eagle is 
 the ancient bearing of the empire. 
 
 Line 42, Mines of lead and zinc exist in the Mendip 
 Hills. 
 
 Line 43, Longleai, Cranhou7-ne ; houses in Wilts and 
 Dorset belonging to Lords Bath and Salisbury. 
 
 Line 71, Belvoir, house of the Duke of Rutland near 
 Grantham. 
 
 Line 73, Gannfs embattled pile, Lancaster Castle, built 
 by John of Gaunt about 1363. 
 8c 48 This battle was fought December 2, 1800, between the 
 Austiians under Archduke John and the French imder 
 Moreau, in a forest near Munich. Hohen Linden means 
 High Linietrees. 
 86 51 Belisarius, a Thracian peasant, became genera) of the 
 Roman Empire under Justinian. He fought against the 
 Vandals, Moors, Goths, Bulgarians, and other enemies ; 
 but was finally dismissed ungratefully by the Emperor, 
 and died a.d. 565. 
 
 The writer of this rough, but truly noble and original 
 poem, died soon after 1800. The version here given (from 
 Plumtre's ' Songs,' 1806) differs from that publishpd by 
 Collins in his very rare little book, ' Scripscrapologia,' 
 1804. 
 8q S3 Lines 22, 24, These places are in the S.W. promontory of 
 
Notes 
 
 Donegal, Ireland. Slieveleague is a mountain ; Cohtmb- 
 kill a glen between Slieveleague and the Rosses islands. 
 96 56 The poet professed that these fine, wildly musical lines 
 came to him in his sleep, and that all he did on waking 
 was to write them down. Coleridge, in his magic 
 world, is the most imaginative and romantic of all our 
 poets, Shakespeare (always exceptional) excepted. 
 Seeing how little he wrote in this class, we must regret 
 that he did not dream oftener. 
 
 100 59 In thi§ one poem the Eaitor has ventured to make some 
 changes, in order to simplify the language, which (in the 
 original) does not appear to him to do full justice to the 
 admirable simplicity and pathos of the picture presented. 
 
 102 60 During the last three centuries, the poetry written in thi. 
 North Country or Scots form of English has been so mu' 
 more important than that written in other form;:, as 1 
 obscure the peculiar merits which each of them possesses. 
 But the series of poems from which thispiece and the next 
 are taken proves the pathos and picturesqueness which the 
 Dorset dialect has when handled bya gifted countryman. 
 
 105 62 The death of a young man w andeiing on Helvellyn in 
 the Lake country, in 1805, supplied Scott with his sub- 
 ject. In this poem the thoughts are much simpler than 
 the language : a rare fault with Scott, or, indeed, with 
 any really great poet. 
 
 112 70 An admirable specimen of the Allegorical style which, 
 under the first two Stuart kings, took the place of the 
 pastoral Elizabethan allegory represented by No. 29. 
 Few poets, in C- Lamb's language, are more ' matterful' 
 than Herbert, or express their thoughts with fewer words, 
 introduced only for ornament or metre's sake. 
 
 118 72 Remarkable for its close and scientific enumeration of 
 
 natural phenomena. 
 
 119 73 An extract irom the long poem said to have been written 
 
 by poor Smart when confined as a madman. It is full of 
 glorious wildness and intense imagination. . Many of its 
 strange phrases (as line 10 here) might probably be traced 
 to, if not explained hy, the writings of the ' mystical ' 
 theologians. 
 
 120 74 It is remarkable how much Addi«on here anticipates the 
 
 exquisite suavity and elegance of Cowper's style in similar 
 pieces. 
 
 121 75 Wordsworth has left no more consummate specimen of 
 
 the singular art by which he piesents us with a thought 
 which strikes the mind as, at once, perfectly original, 
 and 5'et, perfectly familiar. The Cvckoo (No. 78), on 
 the other hand, paints a fervour of imaginative delight 
 which would be felt only by a highly poetical nature. 
 128 Si Arethnsa, with the two poems vhich follow it, will pro- 
 bably be found difficult at first reading, and may give 
 older children a glimpse into that world of poetry in 
 general to which this book is meant as an introduction. 
 
 Shelley has here put into verse, so brilliant that we 
 easily forgive its occasional commonplace and careless- 
 ness of phrase, a Greek mythical legend. 
 
 Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluice 
 Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse, 
 —-a river rising near Mount Erymanthus hi Arcadia, 
 
Notes 289 
 
 the ancient central province of Southern Greece, 
 is feigned to pursue the stream Arethusa ; they pasi 
 through a rent in Mount Erymanthus, cross under th< 
 sea to Sicily (opposite to the coast of Greece), and now 
 form one stream in the harbour of Syracuse (Ortygia). 
 Acroceraiuiia, a mountain tract in Northern Greece, 
 must have been named by Shelley inadvertently, or on 
 account of the re onance of the name. This poem is 
 a fine example of Shelley's singular power \r\. personifica- 
 tioit: he paints the rivers as vividly as if they had been 
 real hum in creatures 
 
 L'Allci^ro and // Penseroso. It is a striking proof of 
 Milton's astonishing power, that these, the earliest pure 
 descriptive lyrics in our language, shovild still remain 
 the best in a style which so many great poets have since 
 attempted. The bright and the thoughtful aspects of 
 nature are their subjects ; but each^ is prece ed by a 
 mythological introdiiciion in a mixed Classical and Italian 
 manner. The meaning of the first is that gaiety is the 
 child of nature and of spring; of the second, that pen- 
 sivenessis the daughter of solitude and wisdom. 
 Line 36, Milton calls Liberty a iiwiaitaiu-tiyvi/'h in 
 allusion to ancient Greece, Switzerland, and other similar 
 countries in which national freedom has been defended 
 by the hardy inhabitants. Wordsworth has a fine sonnet 
 on this subject. 
 
 Line 132, The sack was the low shoe worn by actors in 
 the ancient comedies ; the buskin (line 102 of the 
 PenseroH), No. 83) the high .shoe worn in tragedies, to 
 ^ive the figure a more commanding air. 
 
 Line 133, Fancy: probably used for what we speak of 
 as Imagination. Milton is here alluding to Shakespeare 
 through the mouth of the ' Cheerful Man ; ' he hence 
 refers to Shakespear-'s lighter qualities. 
 
 Line 14:;, Orpheus in Greek story was a divine musician 
 who redeemed his wife Eurydice from death (Pluto) by 
 song ; but lost her when on the boundary line of life 
 by turning back to look on her before she had passed it. 
 See also Peusero'^o, No. 83, line 105. 
 
 Line 46, Spare Fast: Milton elsewhere has expressed 
 his belief that the mind is made clear and fit for high and 
 divine thoughts by fasting. 
 
 Line 87, The Great Bear, in English latitudes being 
 always above the horizon, is here used for Night. 
 
 Line 98, Sceptred pall : Ancient tragedies turned gene- 
 rally on the fortunes of heroic persons, kings, and gods ; 
 hence' the actors appeared robed and with sceptre*;. 
 Thebes, &c. are names referring to the great Athenian 
 tragedies. 
 
 Line i to. Cambttscan, &c. , these names occur in Chaucer's 
 unfinished ' Squire's Tale. ' 
 
 Line 116, Great bards ; referring to such poets as the 
 Italian Ariosto and Tasso, and to our own Spenser. 
 This fine poem, recently printed from manuscript, has 
 been ascribed to Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. It 
 does not appear whether the first of that mme (be- 
 headed 1600) or his son (with whom the peerage ended 
 in 1^461 be intended. The lines, at any rate, belong to 
 the ' Elizabethan ' period or a few years later. 
 
 U 
 
NOTES: 
 
 PART II. 
 MAINLY HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 143 I This rough but spirited poem, with a very few more, give 
 
 Drayton a claim to remembrance, which his long and 
 laborious chronicle;; in rhyme have failed to secure. 
 
 Agincourt was fought October 25, 1415. A history of 
 England, and Shakespeare's He?iry the Fifth should be 
 read with this poem. 
 
 14s — Line 48, The lilies are the Fleur-de-Lys, long the arms 
 of France, as ihe Lions are of England. 
 
 147 2 Southey, like Drayton, has left little work vividly 
 
 penetrated with the spirit of poetry, in comparison with 
 his many pages of skilful and industrious manufacture. 
 This piece has something of the merit shown in Words- 
 worth's tales : but it wants Wordsworth's exquisiteness 
 
 149 3 Simple as Lttcy G7-ny seem-;, a mere narrative of what 
 
 'has been aiid may be again,' yet every detdil in it is 
 marked by the deepest and purest 'ideal' character. 
 Hence it is not strictly a pathetic poem, pathetic as the 
 situation is. So far as this element has a place, Words- 
 worth asks that we should feel for the parents, rather 
 than for the child : she is painted as a creature, ' made 
 one with Nature ' in her death, not less than in her life. 
 
 152 5 This little poem, again, within, its sphere, in ideal per- 
 
 fection rivals the most perfect work of the world's greatest 
 lyrical poets.— Readers who smile, are invited to try to 
 'do likewise' 
 
 163 12 Within its rznge, t\\& Ancient Mariner h 'alone in its 
 glory':— but the crown must have been given to Chris- 
 tahel, had Coleridge completed that poem, and completed 
 it m the style of the two parts which we have. 
 
 The Memoirs of Wordsworth give an interesting 
 narrative of the mode in which the hicient Marine) wzs 
 written: The dream of a friend, according to Coleridge, 
 was the foundation ; but by far the greatest part of the 
 story is due to the poet's mind. The introduction of the 
 Albatross, and the working of the .ship by the dead 
 sailors, were motive* suggested by Wordsworth, who also 
 supplied a very few lines, as the friends walked together 
 over the lovely Quantock Hills in the autumn of 1797.— 
 Such were the external circumstances under which this 
 masterpiece was created : it is pleasant to know them : 
 but all that made it such is the poet's secret. 
 185 14 Line 5, It is not clear whether by fairy-jiax the poet 
 means graceful and fairylike, or whether it be a local 
 name for some species of the plant. 
 
Notes 291 
 
 NO 
 
 16 Glencoe, the ' Valley of Weeping,' is a savage glen on 
 the north-western coast of Argyllshire. The murder of 
 the Macdonalds who were settled in it, by the Earls of 
 Breadal bane and Argyll, and (most prominently) Sir 
 John Dalrymple of Stair, has been told by Macaulay 
 with equal historical force and judicial fairness. 
 
 17 Line 12, Marvell belonged to the ' Puritan' party; and 
 the Emigrants htre intended are persons of that party 
 flying from ecclesiastical pressure during the first half of 
 the seventeenth century. Lines 35, 36 present a curious 
 example of ' anti-climax' ; but the poem, as a whole, is 
 very sweet and original. 
 
 18,19 Noble, if rough, pieces of work. In Bunyan's, there 
 may be an echo of Shakespeare's Under the greeiiuiood 
 tree, No. 31. 
 
 23 Very full explanatory notes have been subjoined to this 
 and to other poems written in local dialect, in hope that 
 children may thus be tempted to conquer (to their own 
 great advantage! the sense of difficulty and repulsion which 
 the first sight of a voca' ulary, diiiering slightly from 
 the common literary form, never fails to rou.se. 
 
 24 After the capture of Madrid by Napoleon, Sir J. Moore 
 retreated before Soult and Ney, the French com- 
 manders, to Corunna, iir North-west Spain, and was 
 killed whilst covering the embarkation of his troops. 
 His tonhb, built by Ney, bears this inscription — 
 'John Moore, leader of the English armies, slain in 
 battle, 1809.' 
 
 25 Four,ded on a real story of the English campaign in 
 China, i860. 
 
 29 Eminently characteristic of Scott in its music. It has 
 
 an airy freedom and freshness, a certain magical quality ; 
 
 one might fancy that the actual voice of the wildwood 
 
 was audible in it. 
 34 The Thanksgivitig, and No 36, are delightful pictures of 
 
 English country life two centuries ago. 
 
 44 There is something of the sublime in the severe and 
 pathetic simplicity of this little piece. 
 
 45 Perhaps no poem in this collection is more delicately 
 fancied, more exquisitely finished. By placing the 
 description of the Fawn in a young girl's mouth, Marvell 
 has legitimated that abundance of ' imaginntive hyper- 
 bole ' to which he is always partial ; he makes us feel it 
 quite natural that the maiden's favou'-ite should be whiter 
 than milk, sweeter than sugar, ' lil es without, roses 
 within.' The poet's imagination is, as it were, justified 
 in its seeming extravagance by the intensity and unity 
 with which it invests the poem — and the reader's plea- 
 sure is proportionately intensified. 
 
 The verdict of Time is not always just and conclusive, 
 even after many years. Undeserved contemporary 
 fame is sometimes traditionally prolonged ; sometimes, 
 though less often, the crown, fairly won, is withheld for 
 centuries. Of this latter injustice, Marvell is an ex- 
 ample. We cannot place him among our ' greater gods ' 
 of song ; yet, within his own sphere, no one has more 
 decided originality, more vivid imagination, more attrac- 
 tive and enduring charm. 
 
 U 2 
 
1 
 
 292 Notes 
 
 PAGE NO 
 
 224 46 This poem (inserted on the ground of its naivete and 
 oiiginahty) is one of a stries described as by Charles and 
 Mary Lamb. The style seems to warrant its ascription 
 to the latter. 
 
 226 48 An old fragment, completed with exquisite skill by Burns 
 
 His version of Nq 49 is not equally successful. it 
 would, indeed, hardly be possible to improve such a little 
 masterpiece of music, tenderness, and simplicity. 
 
 227 50 A justly-famous piece of 'Cavalier' poetry: Lovelace 
 
 was brought twice to prison by his devotion to Charles I. 
 Tha7Jies (line 10), by a classical loim of metaphor, is used 
 for water. 
 
 228 51 Compare the note on Nos. 48, 49: — These poems may 
 
 (perhaps) a little exceed the boundary line laid down in \ 
 the Preface; but the Editordidnot know how to omit them. I 
 235 55 Our collection has much loftier pieces of poetry than \ 
 Cowper's Cat^ but none in which poetical skill is more | 
 consummate. \ 
 
 249 65 Sir Hyde Parker commanded in this battle, fought J 
 in April 1801 in order to dttach Denmark from the ' 
 Northern c alition which hindered the singlehanded 
 attempt of England to curb Napoleon Bonaparte. Nei- • 
 son's spirit of heroic gallantry never blazed higher than { 
 here. Riou was kilTed in command of a squadron. j 
 
 253 63 The insertion of these grandly-simple, almost Homeric 1 
 stanzas is due to the suggestion of Mr W. E. Gladstone : — ; 
 of No. 79, equally fine in its wild intensity of imagina- 
 tion, to Mr R. Browning. The Cyclops were the assist- \ 
 ants of Vulcan, the god of liie forge, in old mythology: i 
 Jove was the king of all i 
 
 256 70 The vivid incident (a.d 627), characteristic in every way | 
 of the English m nd, upon which the poem is founded, is ! 
 told by the old English historian Bede. ; 
 
 260 74 The subjects chosen by Vaughan and Herbert have mostly 
 placed their poems beyond the limits of this .selection ; 
 but they will be found ' treasures for ever ' by Traders 
 who find more attraction in the matter than in the manner 
 of poetry. Line 17 refers either to the imagined car- 
 buncle, or to the brief luminosity which the diamond 
 jjgtains after exposure to sunshine. 
 266 80 JtQX wealth of condensed thought and imager^', fused into 
 ' one equable stream of golden song hy intense fire of 
 genius, the Editor knows no poem superior to this Ele^y, — 
 none quite eqiialj Nor has ihe difficulty of .speaking well 
 on common topffs, without exaggeration yet with unfail- 
 ing freshness and originality, been ever met with greater 
 success. Line after line has the perfection of a flawless 
 jewel : it is hard to find a word that could have been 
 spared, or changed for the better. This condensation, 
 however, has injured the clearness of the poem : the 
 specific gravity of the gem, if we mav pursue the image, 
 has diminished its translucent qualities. Many notes, 
 have hence been added ; — the u.seful but prosaic task of 
 paraphnse is best left to the reader, who may make one 
 for his benefit, and then burn it for his pleasure. 
 275 82 Shelley's masterpiece, in the shorter form of lyric (as, if 
 such a judgment Le permissible, all things considered, 
 the Editor would hold the Skylark,) follows Gray's : 
 
Notes 293 
 
 >AGE NO. 
 
 and in No. S3 we have one of the most stately and 
 musical odes in our or any language. With these, 
 Watts' verses come like the child they describe into a 
 company of kings and conquerors. Indeed, the admir- 
 able author of the Cradle So)ig almost apologized for 
 publishing it ; — ^et wiihin its little sphere, this also is a 
 masterpiece : — Reynolds him;^elf does not paint childhood 
 with a more absolute tenderness. 
 
 Here, as in other instances within our selection, it will 
 be useful if the reader pauses and considers how many 
 ways true art offers fjr reaching excellence. The ' House 
 of Poetry,' if we may so call it. truly has ' many man- 
 sions ': size and splenoour sre not the only elements 
 of success : here, as elsewhere, the poet's words are 
 true — 
 
 In small proportions we just beauties see ; 
 And in short measures Ufe may perfect be. 
 
 83 Milton imagined this magnificent ode at dawn of 
 Christmas-day 1629, having then lately passed his twenty- 
 first birthday, and completed his Cambriiige course. 
 The poem, if compared wnh L'Allep-o or Coiuus, moves 
 -somewhat heavily at times, and as if embarrassed bj' its 
 wtight of historical allusion: Milton has proved his 
 armour, but does not yet wear it with perfect ease. Yet 
 this stateliness of movement, as in sacred music, befits 
 the subject. 
 
 83 Line 37, Nature is here treated by Milton as ' guilty.' as 
 impersonating a ' fallen world.' 'I'he heathen religions, 
 in the latter part of the Ode, are similarly regarded 
 rather as demon-worship thjn as the imperfect and 
 corrupted efforts of man to reach the truth. 
 
 — Line 47, The oHve and the Jiiyrtle (line 51) have for 
 many centuries been regarded as emblems of Peace and 
 her blessings. 
 
 — Line 48, turning sphere; the whole Universe is here 
 thought of as a whirling orb, hung from heaven. 
 
 — Line 68, The ' halcyon "days," when the king-fishers were 
 breeding, and the sea supposed to be .supernaturally 
 calm, were placed by the ancients in midwinter. 
 
 — Line 89, Pan, God of shepherds, here us< d for the Lord 
 of All. 
 
 — Line no, globe; here seemingly bears the military 
 sense of body of troops. 
 
 — Line 125, The Univer-e was by 1 he Greeks suppo.sed to 
 consist of crystal spheres concentrically arranged, the 
 sound cf which as they moved formed a heavenly music, 
 too fine for human hearing. 
 
 — Line 135, By the ' age of gold' the old poets meant the 
 earliest and best time of the world. 
 
 — Lines 173 — 236, Milton here works out at length the 
 tradition that the power of the heathen gods ended with 
 the birth of Our Saviour. Oracles were answers given 
 to enquirers at certain holy places, as Delphos (line 178): 
 Nymplis (line 188) goddesses of wood and field. 
 
 — Line 204, Thainmuz or Adonis was feigned to die and 
 revive yearly in Lebanon. Osiris (line 213) was the' god 
 of the Nile, torn to pieces by Tyjhon, and embalmed in a 
 
294 Notes 
 
 sacred chest. The Bull-form belongs, however, to Apis, 
 another Egyptian deity. 
 
 284 8^ Line 232, The old belief was, that spirits fled away at 
 
 dawning to their prisons underground. 
 
 Line 243, courtly, the stable of Bethlehem being figured 
 
 as a palace. 
 
 284 &4 ^^xv Jonson, a man who rated himself highly, said If he 
 
 had written that piece, the BurfiingBabe, he would have ' 
 been content to destroy many of his own poems : — and 
 Jonson's enthusiasm is well justified by the passionate 
 intensity and picturesque ness of this lovely mystical 
 lyric. 
 
 II 
 
INDEX OF WRITERS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 FIRST PERIOD 
 
 Fletcher, John (1576— 1625) 27 
 
 Herbert, George (1593 — 1632) 70 
 Herkick, Robert (1591 — 1674?) 28 
 
 JoNSON, Ben (1574—1637)67 
 
 King, Henry (1591— 1669) 64 
 
 Marlowe, Christopher (1562 -1593) 29 
 Milton, John (1608 — 1674) 82, 83 
 
 Nash, Thomas (1567 — 1600?) 26 
 
 Shakespeare, William (1564—^1616) 22, 36, 52 
 
 Webster, John ( 1638?) 23 
 
 Unknown : 12, 13, 33, 40, 44, 54, 69, 84 
 
 SECOND PERIOD 
 
 Addison, Joseph (1672 — 1719) 74 
 
 Blake, William (1757 — 1827) i, 3, 9, 57, 58 
 Burns, Robert (1759 — 1796) 5, 34, 65 
 
 Gibber, Golley (1671 — 1757I 7 
 
 Collins, John (i8th century) 51 
 
 Gowper, William (1731 — 1800J 4, 6, 10, 20, 24 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliver (1728 — 1774) 39 
 
 Lindsay, Anne (1750 — 1825) 43 
 Logan, John (1748 — 1788) 77 
 
 Mallet, David (1700? — 1765) 11 
 MiCKLE, WiUiam JuHus (1734 — 1788) 21, 41 
 
 Skelton, Philip (1707 — 1787)72 
 Smart, Christopher (1722 —1770) 73 
 
396 Index of Writers 
 
 THIRD PERIOD 
 
 Ai.LiNGHAM, William ( ) 53 
 
 Barnes, William ( ) 60, 61 
 
 Bryant, William Cullen ( ) 79 
 
 Byron, George Gordon Noel (1788— 1824) 46 
 
 Campbell, Thomas (1777—1844) 14, 45, 48, 50, 76 
 CoLbRiDGE, Samuel Taylor (1772 — 1834)56 
 Ci-'NNINGHAM, Allan (1784- 1842) 25 
 
 DiBDiN, Charles (1745*- 1814) 15 
 
 DoYi-E, Fiancis Hastings Charles \ ) 17 
 
 Hemans, Felicia Dorothea (1794—1835) 16 
 
 Macau LAY, Thomas Babington (i8no — 1859) 47 
 
 Nkwman, John Henry ( ) 68 
 
 Scott. Walter (1771— 1832) 37, 38, 42, 49, 55, 62, 63, So 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792 — 1822) 32, 81 
 
 Wordsworth, William (1770 — 1850) 2, 8, 30, 31, 35, 66, 71, 75, 78 
 
 Unknown ; 18, 19, 59 
 
INDEX OF WRITERS. 
 
 PART 11. 
 
 FIRST PERIOD 
 
 BuNYAN, John (1628—1688) 18 
 
 (,'are\v. Elizabeth (i6th and 17th centuries) 19 
 
 Drayton, Michael (1563 — 1631) i 
 Dkummond, William (1585— 1649) 78 
 
 Herbert, George (1593 — 1632) 76 
 Herrick, Robert (1591—1674?) 32, 34, 36. 62 
 Heyvvood, Thomas ( 1649 ?) i, 30 
 
 Lovelace, Richard (1618 — 1658) 50 
 
 Marvell, Andrew (1621— 1678) 17, 45 
 Milton, John (1608 — 1674) 83 
 
 Shakespeare, William (1564-1616) o, 31 
 Shirley, James (1596 -1666) 22 
 Southwell, Robert (1560 — 1505)84 
 
 Vaughan, Henry (1621 — 1695) 74 
 
 WoTTON, Henry !i568 — 1639) 20 
 
 Unknown : 10, ii, 13, 28, 53, 54, 67 
 
 SECOND PERIOD 
 
 Blake, William {1757—1827) 4, 5. 7, 21, 75 
 Burns, Robert (1759 — 1796' 43. 48, 
 
 Collins, John (i8th century) 77 
 Cow-PER, William (1731— 1800I 42, 55, 73 
 
 GiSBORNE, Thomas (1758— 1846 44 
 Goldsmith Oliver (1728— 1774) 57 
 Gray, Thomas (1716— 1771) 80 
 
 Langhorne, John (1735— 1779) 3^ 
 Logan, John (1748 — 1788) 52 
 
 Oldvs, W (i8th century) 71 
 
298 Index of Writers 
 
 Smart, Christopher (1722 —1770) 79 
 Smith, Charlotte (1749—1806) 37 
 
 Thomson', James (1700 — 1748) 64 
 
 Warton, Thomas (1728 — 1790) 35 
 Watts, Isaac (1674— 1748) 82 
 
 Unknown ; 49 
 
 THIRD PERIOD 
 
 Alungham, William ( ) 59 
 
 Barnes, William ( ) 23 
 
 Bryant, William Cullen ( ) 61 
 
 Byron, George Gordon Noel (1788— 1824) 69 
 
 Campbell, Thomas (1777 — 1844) 56, 58, 65 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772 — 1834) 12 
 
 Dtbdin, Charles (1745 — 1814)66, 68 
 
 DoY^E, Francis Hastings Charles y ) 25 
 
 Keats, John (1795 — 1821) 60 
 
 Lamb, Mary (1765 ? — 1847) 46 
 
 Latto, T C (19th centur>0 6 
 
 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth(^ ) 14 
 
 Moore, Thomas (1780 — 1852) 72 
 
 Scott, Walter (1771 — 1832) 15, 16, 26, 27, 29, 41, 63 
 Shellky, Percy Bysshe (1792 — 1822) 81 
 SouTHEY, Robert (1774 — 1843) 2, 47 
 
 Wolfe, Charles (1791— '1823) 24 
 
 Wordsworth, William (1770 — 1850) 3, 8, 33, 39, 40 
 
 Unknown : 70 
 
I INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Chieftain to the Highlands bound 75 
 
 A fair maid sat at her bower-door 26 
 
 A poet's cat, sedate and grave 235 
 
 A wearjf lot is thine, fair maid 205 
 
 A wet sheet and a flowing sea 43 
 
 Agincourt, Agincourt ! know ye not Agincourt 143 
 
 And are ye sure the news is true 39 
 
 Annan Water's wading deep . . 204 
 
 *Arethusa arose 128 
 
 As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow . . . 284 
 
 As I wer readen ov a stwone i97 
 
 *A spaniel, Beau, that fares like you 8 
 
 Attend all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise ... 78 
 
 Awake, awake, my little boy 261 
 
 A whirl-blast from behind the hill 54 
 
 Behold her, single in the field 50 
 
 Busy, curious, thirsty fly ^ . . . . 258 
 
 Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren ....'.... 41 
 
 *Come live with me and be my Love . . 49 
 
 Come unto these 3'eilow sands . £8 
 
 Come, sons of summer, by whose toil 211 
 
 Down in yon garden sweet and gay 73 
 
 Ethereal minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky 214 
 
 Ever after summer shower 210 
 
 Fair Daffodils, we weep to see .....* 245 
 
 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree 207 
 
 From Oberon, in fairy land • • 158 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies 41 
 
 *Glad sight, wherever new with old 51 
 
 Go fetch to me a pint o' wine 226 
 
 Good-bye, good-bye to Summer 241 
 
 Good people all, of every sort . . 239 
 
 Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove 124 
 
 Hail to thee, blithe Spirit ! • • ■_ 271 
 
 Happy were he could finish forth his fate ' • • 141 
 
 Heap on more wood ! — the wind is chill 246 
 
 *Heaven's gifts are unequal in this world awarded 86 
 
 *Hence loathed Melancholy 131 
 
 *Hence, vain deluding Joys 135 
 
 Henry was every morning fed 224 
 
 Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling 251 
 
 Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue 6 
 
 He sang of God, the mighi y source 119 
 
300 Index of First Lines. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 How are thy servants blest, O Lord 120 
 
 Ho*v ha;.py is he born and taught iy4 
 
 How soon doth man decay 262 
 
 Hush! my dear, lie still and shimber 275 
 
 I am monarch of all I survey 4^ 
 
 *I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn 105 
 
 I have no name 152 
 
 I heard a thousand blended notes 121 
 
 I reach'd the village on the plain 100 
 
 [ wander d lonely as a cloud 208 
 
 In distant countries have I been -215 
 
 in the southern clime 15 
 
 *In Xanadu did Kubla Khan yo 
 
 In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining 263 
 
 In the sweet shire of Cardigan 154 
 
 Inhuman man ! curse on thy barbarous art 7 
 
 It fell about tae Martinmas 231 
 
 It is an Ancient Mariner 121 
 
 It is not growing like a tree 110 
 
 It was a summer evening 147 
 
 It was intill a pleasant time 160 
 
 It was the schojner //t'i'/^rz<j 1S5 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John 109 
 
 John Gilpin was a citizen 16 
 
 Last night among his fellow roughs 199 
 
 Like Aetna's dread volcano, see the ample forge 253 
 
 Like to the falling of a scar ic8 
 
 Little bird, with bosom red 213 
 
 Little Lamb, who made thee 5 
 
 Lord, thou hasc given me a cell 208 
 
 Merry it is in the good greenwood 92 
 
 My mind to me a kingdom is iii 
 
 No soul did hear her lips complain 104 
 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note 198 
 
 O, aye ! they had woone chile bezide 102 
 
 *^0 blithe new comer ! I have heard 125 
 
 O Brignall banks are wild and fair 56 
 
 O hark to the strain that sae sweetly is ringin' 152 
 
 O listen, li-ten, ladies gay ibS 
 
 U lovers' eyes are sharp to see 203 
 
 O say what is that thing call'd light 10 
 
 tell me, Harper, wherefore flow -. . . 190 
 
 O well is me, my gay goshawk 28 
 
 O who will shoe my bonny foot 64 
 
 O where have ye been, my long-lost lover . / 183 
 
 O, young Lochinvar is come out of the West 201 
 
 Of Nelson and the North 249 
 
 Oft I heard of Ivicy Gray 149 
 
 Oft in the stilly night 258 
 
 *On came the whirlwind — like the last 83 
 
 On Linden, when the siin was low 82 
 
 On the green banks of Shannon w'len Sheelah was nigh . . . 238 
 
 Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered ... 85 
 
 Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day 206 
 
 *Prune thou thv words ; the thoughts control iii 
 
 * Right on our flank the crimson sun went down 34 
 
 Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness 243 
 
 See the day begins to break 45 
 
 Sleep, sleep, beauty bright . . 99 
 
Index of First Lines, 301 
 
 PAGH 
 
 Spring, t} e sweet Spring is the year's pleasant king .... 44 
 
 Sweet country life, to such unknown 46 
 
 Sweet is the dew that falls betimes 265 
 
 Sweet peace, where dost thou dwell ? I humbly crave . . . .112 
 
 Sweet to the morning traveller 225 
 
 *That way look my Infant, lo 114 
 
 The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold 77 
 
 The blac'k-hair'd giunt Pauiinus 256 
 
 The bov stood on the burnmg deck • • •■ 33 
 
 The curfew tolls the knell of parting day 266 
 
 The deep affections of the breast 240 
 
 The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink i 
 
 * rhe dews of summer night did fall 68 
 
 The fairest action of our human life 193 
 
 The glories of our blood and state ig6 
 
 The gorse is yellow on the heath 213 
 
 The iau it is up, the hunt is up 234 
 
 The King was on his throne 255 
 
 The Love that I have chosen 252 
 
 The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year . . .244 
 
 The noon was shady, and soft airs 219 
 
 The 'Northern Star' 36 
 
 Th J poplars are felld, farewell to the shade 259 
 
 The signal to engage shall be 32 
 
 The sun descendmg m the West i53 
 
 The sun does arise . 98 
 
 T.ie sun upon the lake is low 127 
 
 I'he post-boy drove with fierce career . 11 
 
 T.iC warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailmg 51 
 
 *There is a flower, the Lesser Celandine icg 
 
 There is in the lone, lone sea ..".'. 37 
 
 There lived a wife at Usher's Well 01 
 
 'Ihey are all gone into the world o*" light . . 260 
 
 This is the month, and this the happy morn 276 
 
 This Life, which seems so fair 265 
 
 Thou hast left me ever, Jamie 228 
 
 Thy traes were bonny. Yarrow stream 229 
 
 'To God, ye choir above, begin 1:8 
 
 To'l for the Brave 38 
 
 Triumphal arch, that fill'st the ky 122 
 
 *Turn, gentle Hermit of the da.^ 5"* 
 
 Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside 222 
 
 ' Twas at the silent, solemn hour 24 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 206 
 
 Up the airy mountaui S9 
 
 Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower 53 
 
 Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie 220 
 
 What pie isu'cs have great princes 52 
 
 When Britain first, at Heaven's command 248 
 
 Wnen icicles hang by the wall 55 
 
 When 1 think on the happy days 227 
 
 When Love with unconfined wings 227 
 
 Wh°n my mother died I was very young 105 
 
 *VVhen, m sing on companions gone 107 
 
 When red hath set the beamless sun 218 
 
 When the green woods iausih with the voice of joy i 
 
 When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame .... 72 
 When the voices of children are heard on the green . . . .151 
 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck I 88 
 
302 Index of First Lines. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Where the remote Bermuda's ride 191 
 
 "Where shall the lover rest 70 
 
 Whither, 'midst falling dew 126 
 
 Who wou!d true valour see ? 193 
 
 Why weep ye by the tide, ladie 55 
 
 With sweetest milk and sugar first 223 
 
 *Ye Mariners of England 31 
 
 You spotted snakes with double tongue . 157 
 
 741 
 
 Nkw York , Langs, Littlk & Co., Printers, 
 N08. 10 TO 20 AsTOR Place. 
 

 
 
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