Ji eaMjeaggw }^ Uy j^ ■ r ■ A IS- ■ -^ ■/^.- ^3?^ v?:s^^Mi|:^rfV:: "T I 4 i r '^ i 4 rtT 5 J" -^ C7 H 1 I i 6 t ^ 1 cr=» J' J^-l .1 -^ ^ i f SELECTED FROM MANY SOURCES, WITH NUMEE0U3 ILLUSTPwATIONS FEOM ORIGINAL DESIGNS. HEXNESSY, DARLEY, GRISWOLD, FEXX, EYTINGE, HERRICK. WARD, HOPPIN, &c., fc NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER k COMPANY 1870. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the j'ear 1SG9, By CHARLES SCKIBNEE & CO., In the Clerk"s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. ALYORD, TRINTER. PUBLISHERS' NOTE. Some years since the present publishers issued the iirst edition of Folk Songs, selected and edi-ted by John Witxiamsox Palmer, M. D. This was followed by a second, revised and enlarged. The size and consequent cost of these editions prevented that large circulation which the selection deserved, and now in accordance with a suggestion frequently made, they have rearranged the material in four divisions. The present volume, Songs of Life, is the first of the re-issue. The remainder will be pub- lished at regular intervals, under the title of Songs or the Heart, Soxgs OF Nature, Songs of Home. Each volume will be complete in itself, and, like the present, be enriched with additional illustrations by the best artists. INTEODUCTIOI^. He wlio walks through a Conservatory of choicest flowers, with an accorded privilege of selecting specimens of such as strike his fancy and please his taste, will often find an added pleasure in the thought that those which he plucks, having ah-eady been a joy to their first possessors, are now to become ministers of delight, not only to himself, but to others whom he loves. Thus these products of many lands, of diverse form, of delicate hue. redolent of perfume, the ever-varying types of love- liness, mnintain, independent of all place and individual possession, their power over the heart and life of those who love the beautiful and pure. The Flowers of Poetry, heiein gathered from the gardens and by the streams of our own land, as well as from lands and places beyond the sea, who shall attempt to write the story of their ministry? what af- fections they have stirred, what memories wakened, what hopes quick- ened, or fears quelled, or joys and pleasures created, since they came fresh and glowing from the heart and brain of those who made them? That which they have already done they will continue to do. They are the Flowers Perennial ; fair to behold, without the elements of decay. Over seas au'l across continents, in quiet homes as in Liboring ships, in public places as in solitary ways, they are ever borne, making some dreary spots less dreary, while the sunny })laces are more glad because of their presence. Vlll INTRODUCTION. Some of these here offered have long held a conspicuous place in the Garlands of Song. That they are familiar, will render them none the less fragrant and acceptable. Beside them are others less widely known, and a few from regions that are far away ; but in all of them may be found that which makes them worthy of the praise that belongs to what- ever jightly moves and cultures the heart of man. CONTENTS. Page Bugle Song Alfred Tennyson 1 SOXG Christina G. Kossetti 2 The Piper William Blake 3 The Awakening of Endymion Leiitia Elizabeth London 4 The Pauper's Driye Thomas Noel 7 "WiNiFREDA Anonymous 8 Incident of the French Camp Robert Browning 10 Deadness in the Country William Barnes ] 2 Tom Bowling Charles Dibdin 13 La Belle Dame Sans Merci John Keats 14 The String Token William Barnes 16 The Bridge op Sighs Thomas Hood J 7 The Last Leaf Oliver WtndeU Holmes 22 To Althea from Prison Richard Lovelace 24 It Xever Comes Again .Richard Henry Stoddard 26 The Age of Wisdom WiUiam Makepeace Hiackeray 27 Youth and Age Samuel Taylor Coleridge 29 The Lorelei Translation of Christophtr Pearse Cranch 31 Without and Within James Russell Lmvell 32 Sir Patrick Spens Anonymous 34 An Angel in the House Leigh Hunt 39 The Merry Chasseur ... Sydney Dobell 40 The Song of the Shirt Thoinas Hood 43 The Charge of the Light Brigade Alfred Tennysrm 47 Song of the Silent Land Translation of Henry Wadsiuorth Longfellow 50 The One Gray Hair. Walter Savage Landor 51 The Shepherd's Eesolutton Getrge Wither 52 The Old Continentals Guy Humphrey McMaster 53 Napoleon and the British Sailor Tlwmas Campbell 57 The Forging of the Anchor Samuel Ferguson 60 How they Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix Robert Browning 65 X CONTENTS. Page No More Fei'cia Dorotliea HemmtrS 68 Korner's Sword Song Translation of William B. Ohorky 70 Little axd G-reat Charles Mackay 74 The River Time Benjamin Franklin Taylor 77 GrivE Me tre Old Robert Hinckley Messingei- 78 Rest and Labor Dinah Maria Muloch 81 He Standeth at thk Door and Knocketh Arthur Cleveland Caxe 82 GrULF Weed Cornelius George Fenn.r 83 Exhortation to Prayer Margaret Mercer 84 The Good Great Man Samuel Taylor Coleridge 86 Dirge of Jephthah's Daughter Robert Herrick 87 Unseen Spirits Xathaniel Parker Willis 91 The Crooked Footpath Oliver Wendell Holmes 93 Invocation to Silence Richard Flecknoe 95 A Lyke-wake Dirge Anonymous 96 Song Christina G. Rossetii. .... 97 The Crowded Street . William Cullen Bryant 98 The "\Var Song of Dinas Yawr Thomas L.ve Peacock 100 Mother Margery George Shepherd Burleigh 102 Louis XY John Sterling 105 The Storming of Magdebukgh Wdliam Maginn. . . . 107 The King of Denmark's Ride Caroline Elizabeth Korton 109 I Give my Soldier Boy a Blade William Maginn 112 The Mahogany Ti:ee William Make'peace Thackeray 113 The Grace of Simplicity Ben Johmon 115 The Soldier's Dream Thomas Campbell 116 It is Not Beauty I Demand Thomas Carew 117 The Beggar's Courage Translation of William Rounsenville Alger 119 The Happy Life Sir Henry Wotton 120 The Gifts of God George He7-bert .... 121 The Hymn of Damascenus Elizabeth Barrett Browning 122 A Thanksgiving William Bean Howelh 124 KxCELSiOR Henry Wadsuorth Longfellow 1 24 The Emigrants in Bermudas Andrew Marvdl 126 The Singers Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 128 The Mariner's Wife William Julius Mickle 130 Tibbie Robert Burns 133 When the Sultan goes to Ispahan Thomas Bailey Aldrirh 135 The Angel William Blake 137 CONTENTS. xi My Lady Singing Aubrey Be Vere 139 The Sword of Castrlccio Castrucaxi Elizabeth Barrett Browning 139 SOXG OF Ariel Shak^peure 141 The Parting Lovers Translation of William Rousenville Alger 142 The Raven Edgar Allan Foe 142 The Sabbath Morning ' John Leyden 150 Sonnet on his Blindness John 3Iilton 151 To Keep a True Lent Robert Herrick 151 The P]migrants Translation of Charles T. Brooks 153 Song of Fairies Thomas Randolph 156 Sir Peter Thomas Lore Peacock 156 Armstrong's Good Night Anonymous 157 The Sentry Translation of Charles Godfrey Leland 158 The "World is Too Much With Us William Wordsworth 159 Long Thomas Heywood. .... 160 How Sleep the Brave William Collins 162 Song Sir William Davenant ... 162 Jo Ideje Lement a Nap. Traaslaturn of Sir John Bowring 163 Echo and Silence Sir Egerton Brydges 1G4 The Sabbath .Edward Bulwer Lytton 165 On First Looking into Chapman's Homer John Keats 1 66 The Making of Man Algernon Charles Swinburne 168 Calm is the Night Translation of Charles Godfrey Leland 170 If I Desire with Pleasant Songs Thomas Burbidge 1 7 1 The Undiscovered Country Edmund Clarence Stedman 172 Nearer to Thee Sarah Flower AdajnA- 173 The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire Jean Ingelov: 1 74 Come Sleep, Sleep Sir Philip Sidney 18 i Jolly Old Pedagogue George Arnold.. . . . 182 Caught Richard Herry Stoddard. .... 187 A Dedication Algernon Charles Swinburne. . . . 187 The Last Poet Translation of Nathaniel Langdon Frothingham. ... 191 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. SUBJECT. DKAW>' BY ENGRAVED BY Bugle Song Fenn 1 Incident of the French Camp H. W. Herrick 10 The BRroGE of Sighs Eytinge Anthony 17 The Last Leap Hennessy Anthony 22 The Age of Wisdom Eytinge Anthony 27 ■• My Coachman in the Moonlight there."' . . McLenan Anthony 32 " The Galley Slate of Dreary Forms." . . . .McLenan Anthony 34 The ]Merry Chasseur H. AV. Herrick 40 The Song of the Shirt Hoppin Anthony. . ... 43 The Charge of the Light Brigade Meflfert Andrew Filmer. ... 48 •'Then the Bare-headed Colonel." Darley Anthony 55 The Drummer Darley. Anthony 56 The Forging of the Anchor Fenn 60 " Good Speed .' cried the "Watch." Heine Cox 65 As I Sat, with his Head 'twixt my EInees, ON the Grot:nd Meffert. Cox 67 Initial Letter Heine Cox 70 Tail Piece Heine Cox 73 Little and Great BenseU 74 Gulf Weed Parsons Bobbett & Hooper 83 The Crooked Footpath C. C. Griswold 93 The King or Denmark's Ride Bensell 109 XIV LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. The Singers Macdonough Anthony. .... 128 Tibbie Ehninger 133 The Sabbath Morning C. C. Griswold. 150 The Emigrants "Ward Ward 154 Song Herrick 1 60 " Silent, upon a Peak in Darien." Chapman Hayes 1 67 Calm is the Night E. J. Whitney . . . Kingdon & Boyd 170 The Jolly Old Pedagogue Hennessy 182 AUTOGRAPHS The Singers Longfellow Fare. . . .Title. The Soxg of the Shirt Hood 43 How THEY Brought tfte Good Xews. . . .Browning 65 Unseen Spirits "Willis 91 The Sword of Castruccio C.astrucaxi . .Browning 139 Birds are Singing round my Window. . .Stoddard 187 BUGLE SONG. The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story ; The lono' lio-ht shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory. 1 SOXG. Blon-, bugle, blow ! set tlie wild eclioes flvino; : Blow, bugle ! answer, ccboes — dviiigr, dying, dying ! O hark, bear! bow thin and clear. And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far, from cliif and scar, The horns of Elfland fiintlv blowing ! Blow ! let us hear the purple glens replying : Blow, bugle I answer, echoes — dying, dying, dving ! O love, they die in yon rich sky : They faint on hill or field or ri\'er ! Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow I set the wild echoes flying : And answer, echoes, answer! — dying, dying, dving! Alfred Tkxxysox. SOXG. O ROSES for the flush of youth, And him'el for the perfect prime ; But pluck an ivy branch for me Grown old before my time. O violets for the grave of youth, And bay for those dead in their prime ; Give me the withered leaves I chose Before iu the old time. ClIJUSTIXA (t. RosSETTl. THE PIPER. Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he, laughing, said to me : '' Pipe a song about a lamb." So I piped with merry cheer. ^' Piper, pipe that song again." So I piped ; he wept to hear. " Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe ; Sing thy songs of happy cheer.' So I sano; the same again, While he wept Avith joy to hear. " Piper, sit thee down and write. In a book, that all may read." So he vanished from my sight. And I plucked a hollow reed, And I made a rural pen ; And I stained the w^ater clear ; And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear. William Rlakk THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION Lone upon a mountain, tlie pine-trees wailing round him, Lone upon a mountain the Grecian youtli is laid ; Sleep, mystic sleep, for many a year has bound him. Yet his beauty, like a statue's, pale and fair, is undecayed. When will he awaken ? When will he awaken ? a loud voice hath been crviiio; Night after night — and the cry has been in vain ; Winds, woods, and waves found echoes for replying. But the tones of the beloved one were never heard again. When will he awaken ? Asked the midnight's silver queen. Never mortal eye has looked upon his slee])ing ; Parents, kindred, comrades, have mourned for him as dead ; By day the gathered clouds have had him in their keeping. And at night the solemn shadows round his rest are shed. When will he awaken ? Long has been the cry of faithful Love's imploring; Long has Hope been watching with soft eyes fixed above. When will the Fates, the life of life restoring. Own themselves vanquished by much-enduring Love ? When Avill he awaken ? Asks the midnight's weary queen. 4 THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION. 5 Beautiful the sleep that she has watched untiring, Lighted up with visions from yonder radiant sky, Full of an immortal's glorious inspiring. Softened by the woman's meek and IoaIuo; sio-h. When will he awaken ? He has been dreamino; of old heroic stories, The Poet's passionate world has entered in his soul ; He has grown conscious of life's ancestral glories. When sages and when kings first upheld tlie mind's control. When will he awaken ? Asks the midnight's stately queen. Lo, the appointed midnight ! the present hour is fated ! It is Endymion's planet that rises on the air ; How long, how tenderly his goddess love has waited, Waited with a love too mighty for despair I Soon he will awaken. Soft amid the pines is a sound as if of singing, Tones that seem tlie lute's from the breathing flowers de]>art; Not a wind that wanders o'er jNIount Latmos but is bringing Music that is murmured from Nature's inmost heait. Soon he will awaken To his and midnight's queen. Lovely is the green earth — she knows the hour is liolv ; Starry are the heavens, lit with eternal joy ; lAsiht like their own is dawnino; sweet and slowly O'er the fair and sculptured forehead of that yet dreaming bov. Soon he will awaken. THE AWAKENING OF ENDYMION. Red as the red rose toward the mornino; turnino;, Warms tlie youth's hp to the watcher's near his own ; While the dark eyes open — bright, intense, and burning With a Hfe more glorious than, ere tliey closed, was known. Yes, he has awakened For the midnight's happy queen I What is this old history, but a lesson gi^'en, How true love still conquers by the deep strength of trutli ; How all the impulses, whose native home is heaven, Sanctify the visions of hope, and faith, and youth ? 'Tis for such they waken. When every woi-ldly thought is utterly forsaken. Comes the starry midnight, felt by life's gifted few ; Then will the spirit from its earthly sleep awaken To a being more intense, more spiritual, and true. So doth the soul awaken, Like that youtli to night's fan* queen I Letitia Eliza hktii Lax don THE PAUrEll'S DRIVE. There's a o-rim one-liorse hearse in a iollv roinid trot: To the cliurchyarcl a pauper is going, I wot ; The road it is rough, and tlie hearse lias no springs ; And hark to the diro-e Avhicdi the mad driver sino's : o en Hattle Ids hones over the stones! He's only a pauper^ whom nobody oiuns I O, wliere are the mourners? Alas! there are none: He lias left not a gap in the world, now he's gone — Xot a tear in the eye of child, woman, or man ; To the grave with his carcass as fast as you can. llattle Ids hones over the stones! Hes only a pauper^ luhom nohody owns ! What a jolting, and creaking, and splashing, and din I The whip, how it cracks I and the wheels, how they spin I How the dirt, right and left, o'er the hedges is hurled ! The pauper at length makes a noise in the world. Rattle his hones over the stones! Hes only a pauper^ ivhom nohody oicns ! Poor pauper defunct I he has made some approach To gentility, now that he's stretched in a coach. He's takino; a drive in his carriage at last : But it will not be loner, if he o-oes on so fiist. llattle his hones over the stones ! Hes only a pauper^ -whom nohody owns .' 8 WINIFREDA. You bumpkins, who stare at your brother conve\e«l, Behohl wliat respect to a cloddy is paid I And be joj-ful to think, when by death you're laid low, You've a chance to the pTave like a o;emnian to so. , Was walkino; on the sand. " To NoroAvay, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem ! The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis thou maun brino; her hame." The first word that Sir Patrick read, Sae loud, loud laughed he ; The neist word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blindit his e'e. '' O ! wlia is this has done this deed. And tauld the kino; o' me. To send us out at this time o' the vear. «/ To sail upon the sea ? "Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship maun sail tlie faem ; The kino-'s dauf^hter of Norowav. 'Tis we maun fetch her hame.'' 36 i=>^^ PATRICK SPENS. They lioysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi' a' the speed they may ; They hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wodensday. They liadna been a week, a week, In Noroway but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to sav : " Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's gowd, And a' our queenis fee." " Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud ! Fu' loud I hear ye lie ! '' For I hae brought as mickle white monie As gane my men and me; And I hae brought a lialf-fou o' gude red gowd Out owre the sea wi' me. '' Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a' I Our gude ship sails the morn." "■ Now, ever alake ! my master dear ; I fear a deadly storm I '•I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; And if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm." SIR PATiilCK SrENS. 37 They liadiia sailed a league, a league, A league, but barely three. When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea. The ankers brak and the topmasts lap, It was sic a deadly storm ; And the waves cam owre the broken ship Till a' her sides were torn. *' O where will I o-et a mide sailor To tak my helm in hand, Till I gae up to the tall topmast. To see if I can spy land ? " '' O liere am I, a sailor gude. To tak the helm in hand. Till you gae up to the tall topmast ; But I fear ye'll ne'er s])y land." He hadna gane a step, a step, A step, but barely ane. When a boiilt flew out of our goodly siiij), And the saut sea it cam in. " Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith, Anither o' the twine. And wap them into our ship's side, And letna the sea come in." 38 SIR PATRICK SPENS. They fetched a web o' the silken claith, Anither o' the twine, And thej wapped them into that gude ship's side ; But still the sea cam in. O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords, To weet their milk-white hands ! But lang or a' the play was played They wat their gowden bands. O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords To weet their cork-heeled shoon ! But lang or a' the play was played, They wat their hats aboon. And mony was the feather-bed That floated on the faem ; And mony was the gude lord's son That never mair cam hame. The ladyes wrang their fingers white. The maidens tore their hair, A' for the sake of their tnie loves ; For them they'll see nae mair. O lang, lang may the ladyes sit, Wi' their fans in their hand. Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailino; to the strand I AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. SO And lang, lang may the maidens sit, Wi' their gowd kaims in their liair, A' waitino; for tlieir ain dear loves ; For them tliey'U see nae mair. Half-owre, half-owre to Aberdonr 'Tis fifty fatliom deep, And there lies glide Sir Patrick Speiis, Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. Anonymous. AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. How sweet it were, if without feeble fright, Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight. An angel came to us, and we could bear To see him issue from the silent air At evening in our room, and bend on ours His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers News of dear friends, and children who have never Been dead indeed — as we shall know fore\er. Alas ! we think not what we daily see About our hearths — angels, that are to be, Or may be if they will, and we prepare Their souls and ours to meet in happy air : A child, a friend, a wife whose soft heart sinos In unison with ours, breeding its future wings. Leigh Hunt. ."^A^:-^ \ THE MERRY CHASbEUR O, a gallant sans-peur Is the merry chasseur, With his t'anfaron horn, and his rifie, ping-pang ! And his grand haversack Of gold on his back : 40 THE MERRY CHASSEUR. 41 His pistol, cric-crac ! And his sword, clinoi:-clano; ! O, to see liim blithe and gay From some hot and bloody day, Come to dance tlie nio;ht awav till the buMe blows " au rano- 1 " With a wdieel and a whirl. And a wheeling waltzing girl. And his bow, " place aux dames ! " and his oatli, " feu et sang I " And his hop and his fling, Till his gold and silver ring To the clatter and the clash of his sword, clino;-clano; I But hark ! Throuo;h the dark Up goes the well-known shout I The drums beat the turn-out ! Cut short your courting. Monsieur I'Amant ! Saddle ! mount ! march ! trot ! Down comes the stomi of shot ! The foe is at the charo;e ! En avant ! His jolly haversack Of sold is on his back ; Hear his pistol, cric-crac ! hear liis lifle, ping-pang ! Vive I'Empereur ! And where' s the chasseur ? He's in Among: the din, Steel to steel — clino-clano; ! Sydxky Doukli. y/^ ^/i^ -yZ^ J-iT)-^ ^ /%- o/'/C^Jy^ / THE SONG OF THE SHHIT. With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids lieavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags. Plying her needle and thread : Stitch, stitch, stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt : 43 44 THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sano; the " Sono^ of the Shirt ! " 4t Work, work, work ! While the cock is crowing aloof; And work, work, work ! Till the stars shine throuo-h the roof. It's O I to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where Avoman has never a soul to save, If this is Clmstian work ! " Work, work, work, Till the brain begrins to swim ! Work, work, work. Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! Seam, and gusset, and band, Band, and gusset, and seam; Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream ! " O men, with sisters dear ! O men, with mothers and wives ! It is not linen you're wearing out. But human creatures' lives ! Stitch, stitch, stitch. In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; Sewing at once, with a double thread, A shroud as well as a shirt ! " But why do I talk of Death, That phantom of grisly bone ? THE iSOlsG OF THE SHIRT. 45 I hardly fear Ills terrible shape, It seems so like my own ; It seems so like my own Because of the fasts I keep ; O God ! that bread shoidd be so dear, And tlesh and blood so cheap ! " Work, work, work ! My labor never flags ; And what are its wages ? A bed of straw, A crust of bread — and rags. That shattered roof — and this naked floor, A table — a broken chair ; And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank For sometimes fallmg there ! " Work, work, work, From weary chime to chime ! Work, work, work. As prisoners work for crime ! Band, and gusset, and seam. Seam, and gusset, and band ; Till the heart is sick and the brain benumbed. As well as the weary hand. '' Work, work, work, In the dull December light I And work, work, Avork, When the weather is warm and brio-ht ! While underneath the eaves The broodino; swallows clino;, 46 THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. As if to show me their sunnj backs. And twit nie with the Spring. " O ! but to breathe the breath Of the cowshp and primrose sweet. With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet ! For only one sliort hour To feel as I used to feel, Before T knew the woes of want. And the walk that costs a meal " O ! but for one short hour, A respite however brief! No blessed leisure for love or hope, But only time for grief! A little weeping would ease my heart : But in their briny bed My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread ! " With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plyincr her needle and thread. Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! In poverty, hunger, and dirt ; And still with a voice of dolorous pitch. Would that its tone could reach the rich ! She sano; this " Sono; of the Shirt Thomas Hood. THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE, AT BAl.AKLAVA. Half a league, lialf a league, Half a leao;Lie onward, All in the valley of Death, Rode the Six Hundred. Into the valley of Death Rode the Six Hundred ; For up came an order whicli Some one had blundered. '' Forward, the Lio-ht Brio-ade ! Take the guns ! " Nolan said ; Into the valley of Death, Rode the Six Hundred. '^Forward, the Light Brigade!'" No man was there dismayed. Not though the soldiers know Some one had blundered : Theirs not to make replv. Theirs not to reason wliv. Theirs but to do and die ; Into the valley of Death, Rode the Six Hundred. 47 48 THE CHARGE OF THE EIGHT BRIGADK Cannon to rio-]it of tliem. Cannon to left of tlieni. Cannon in front of tlieni, Yolleved and tlnmdered. Stormed at with sliot and si i ell, Boldly they rode and well : Into the jaws of Death, Into the month of Hell, Rode the Six Hnndi'ed. u Flasiied all their sabres bare, Flaslied all at once in air. THK CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 49 Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, wliile All the world wondered. Plunged in the battery smoke, With many a desperate stroke The Russian line they broke • Then they rode back — but not, Not the Six Hundred. Cannon to right of them. Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them, Volleyed and thundered. Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell. Those that had fought so well Came from the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them. Left of Six Hundred. When can their glory fade ? O I the wild charge they made ! All the world wondered. Honor the cliarge they made ! Honor the Light Brigade, Noble Six Hundred ! Alfued Tennysox. SONG OF THE SILENT LAND Into the Silent Land ! All ! who shall lead us thither ? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand ; Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, O thither! Into the Silent Land ? Into the Silent Land ! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfection, tender morning-visions Of beauteous souls, the Future's pledge and band ! Who in Life's battle firm doth stand Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms Into the Silent Land ! O Land! O Land! For all the broken-hearted. The mildest herald by our fate allotted Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand, To lead us with a gentle hand Into the land of the great departed. Into the Silent Land ! JoHAXx Gaudexz von Salis. (German.) Translation of Henry Waijswokth Longfellow. 50 THE ONE GRAY HAIR. The wisest of the ^vise Listen to pretty lies, And love to liear them told; Doubt not that Solomon Listened to many a one : Some in his youth, and more when he grew old. I never sat among The choir of Wisdom's song, But pretty lies loved I As much as any king : When youth was on the wing, And (must it then be told?) when youth had quite gone by. Alas ! and I have not The pleasant hour forgot, When one pert lady said " O Landor ! I am quite Bewildered with affi'io-ht : I see f sit quiei now !) a white hair on your head ! " Another, more benign, Drew out that hair of mine, And in her own dark liair 51 52 THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. Pretended she had found That one, and twnled it round : Fair as she was, she never was so fair. Walter Savage Laxdor THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. Shall I, wasting in despair, Die, because a woman's fair ? Or make pale my cheeks with care, 'Cause another's rosy are ? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be ^ Shall my foolish heart be pined 'Cause I see a woman kind ? Or a well-disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature ? Be she meeker, kinder, than Turtle-dove or pelican. If she be not so to me. What care I how kind she be "^ Shall a woman's wtues move Me to perish for her love? Or her well-deservings known Make me quite forget mine own ? THE OLD CONTINENTALS. 53 Be she with that goodness blest Which may merit name of best, If she be not such to me, What care I how good she be ? 'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die ? Those that bear a noble mind Where they want of riches find Think what with them they would do That without them dare to woo ; And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be ^ Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair. If she love me, tliis believe : I will die ere she shall o^rieve. If she slio;ht me when I woo, I can scorn, and let her go ; For if she be not for me. What care I for whom she be ? Geobge Wither THE OLD CONTINENTALS In their ragged regimentals Stood the old Continentals, Yielding not. While the grenadiers were lunging, 54: THE OLD CONTINENTALS. And like hail fell tlie plunging Cannon-shot; When the files Of the Isles, From the smoky night-encampment, bore the banner of the ram- pant Unicorn ; And grummer, grummer, grummer, rolled the \oll of the drummer. Through the morn ! Then with ejes to the front all, And with guns horizontal. Stood our sires ; While the balls whistled deadly, And in streams flashing redly. Blazed the fires ; As the roar On the shore. Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded acres Of the plain ; And louder, louder, louder, cracked the black gunpowder. Cracking amain ! Now like smiths at their forges Worked the red St. George's Cannoneers ; And the " villainous saltpetre ' Rano; a fierce, discordant metre Round our ears. As the swift Storm-drift, THE OLD CONTINENTALS. ,).) With liot sweeping anger, came tlie horse-guards' clangor On our flanks ; Tlien In'o-her, hio-lier, hio-her, burned the old-fashioned fire Throuoli the ranks I Then the bareheaded Colonel Galloped through the white infei'iial Powder-cloud ; And his broadsword Avas swingino;, 5() THE OLD COJSTTl^ENTALS. And his brazen tliroat was rino-ina, Trumpet-loud. Then the blue Bullets fleAv, And tlie trooper-jackets reddened at tlie toucli of tlie leaden Rifle-breath ; And rounder, I'onnder, rounder, roared the iron six-pounder, Huidins deatli ! GfTY IIUMI'IIUKY McMaSTKU. NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAlLOIl 1 LOA'E contemplating, ajmrt From all his homicidal gloiy. The traits that soften to our heart Napoleon's story. 'Twas when his banners at Boulogne Armed in our island every freeman, His navy chanced to capture one Poor British seaman. They sulFered him, I know not how, Unprisoned on the shore to roam ; And aye was bent his longing brow On Eno-land's home. » His eye, methinks, pursued the flight Of birds, to Britain half-way over, With envy — they could reach the white, Dear cHffs of Dover. A stormy midnight watch, he thought, Than this sojourn would have been deaur If but the storm his vessel brought To England nearer. 57 58 NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR. '■> At last, when care had banished sleep. He saw one mornmo' — dreammo; — dotino;, An empty hogshead from the deep Come shoreward floatmg ; He hid it in a cave, and wrought The livelong day laborious; lurking. Until he launched a thiy boat, By mighty working. Heaven help us ! 'twas a thing beyond Description wretched ; such a wherry Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond. Or crossed a ferry. For ploughing in the salt-sea field, It would have made the boldest shudder . Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled ; No sail — no rudder. From neiMiborino; woods he interlaced His sorry skiff with wattled willows ; And, thus equipped, he would have passed The foaming billows. But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, His little Argo sorely jeering ; Till tidino's of him chanced to reach Napoleon's hearing. NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR. 59 With folded arms Napoleon stood, Serene alike in peace and danger ; And, in his wonted attitnde, Addressed the stranger: "Rash man, that wonld'st yon channel pass On twicTs and staves so rndelv fashioned ! Thy heart with some sweet British lass Must be impassioned." " I have no sweetheart," said the lad ; " But, absent long from one another, Great was the lonoino; that I had To see my mother." " And so thou shalt," Napoleon said : " Ye've both my favor fairly Avon ; A noble mother must have bred So brave a son." He gave the tar a piece of gold, And, with a flag of truce, commanded He should be shipped to England Old, And safely landed. Our sailor oft could scantly shift To find a dinner, plain and hearty ; But never chano^ed the coin and o-ift Of Bonaparte. Thomas Camimu-.i-l. THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged ! 'tis at a white heat now ; The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; though, on the forge's brow, 60 THE FORGING OF THE ANX'HOR. 61 The little flames still fitfully play tliroiigli the sable mound, And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round ; All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare- Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there. The windlass strains the tackle-chains — the black mould heaves below ; And, red and deep, a hundred veins burst out at every throe. It rises, roars, rends all outright — O, Yulcan ! what a glow I 'Tis blindino; white, 'tis blastino; brio-ht — the liio-h sun shines not so! The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery, fearful show ! The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row Of smiths, that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe ! As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster slow Sinks on the anvil — all about, the faces fiery grow. '' Hurrah ! " they shout, " leap out, leap out ! " bang, bang I the sledges go ; Hurrah ! the jetted lio;htnino;s are hissino; hioh and low ; A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing blow ; The leathern mail rebounds the hail : the rattlino' cinders strow The ground around ; at every bound the sweltering fountains flow ; And, thick and loud, the swinking crowd at every stroke j^anl ^^lo!" Leap out, leap out, my masters ! leap out, and lay on load ! Let's forge a goodly anchor — a bower thick and broad ; For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode ; And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road : The low reef roaring on her lee ; the roll of ocean poured From stem to stern, sea after sea ; the mainmast by the board ; The bulwarks down ; the rudder gone ; the boats stove at the chains ; But courage still, brave mariners — the bower yet remains ! And not an inch to flinch he deigns — save when ye pitch sky hio-h ; Tlien moves his head, as though he said, "Fear nothinnj — liere am I : " 62 THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. Swing in your strokes in order ! let foot and hand keep time ; Your blows make music sweeter far than anv steejile's chime. But while ye swing your sledges, sing ; and let the burden be, The anchor is the anvil-king, and royal craftsmen we ! Strike in, strike in I — the spai'ks begin to dull their rustling red; Our hammers ring with sharper din — our work will soon be sped : Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of clay ; Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here For the yeo-heave-o, and the heave-away, and the sighing seamen's cheer. When, weighing slow, at eve they go, far, far from love and home ; A.nd sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam. [n livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down at last ; A. shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from cat was cast. O trusted and trustworthy guard ! if thou hadst life like me. What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea ! O deep-sea diver, who might then behold such sights as thou ? The hoary monster's palaces ! — Methinks what joy 'twere now To go plumb-plunging down, amid the assembly of the whales. And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath their scourging tails ! Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce sea-unicorn, And send him foiled and bellowing back, for all his ivory honi ; To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade forlorn ; And for the ghastly-grinning shark, to laugh his jaws to scorn ; To leap down on the kraken's back, where 'mid Norwegian isles He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shallowed miles. Til], snorting like an under-sea volcano, off he rolls; Meanwhile to swing, a-buffeting the far astonished shoals THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. (33 Of his back-browsliig ocean-calves ; or, liaplj, in a cove Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some Undine's love. To find the long-haired mermaidens ; or, hard by icy lands, To wrestle with the sea-serpent, upon cerulean sands. O broad-armed fisher of the deep ! whose sports can equal thine ? The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons that tugs thy cable line ; And night by night 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by day, Through sable sea and breaker white the giant game to play. But, shamer of our little sports, forgive the name I gave : A fisher's joy is to destroy — thine office is to save. O lodo'er in the sea-kino;s' halls ! couldst thou but understand Whose be the white bones by thy side — or who that dripping band, Slew swaying in the heaving wave, that round about thee bend, With sounds like breakers in a dream blessino- their ancient friend ! O, couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger steps round thee. Thine iron side would swell with pride — thou 'dst leap within tlie sea ! Give honor to their memories who left the pleasant strand To shed their blood so freely for the love of fatherland. Who left theu chance of quiet age and grassy churchyard grave So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave ! O, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung, Honor him for their memory whose bones he o-oes anion o- ! Samuel Ferguson. i^'sr' ^^/ SPRANG to the stiriiip, and Joris and lie: /^r^^V'^^/f^^J;^ I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all G, ^^ ^ [A/. A^^v^ ;. three : ^- '' Good speed ! " cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew ; "Speed!" echoed the wall to us gallopmg through. Belimd shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast. "o -.>> '& Not a word to each other ! we kept the great pace. Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique right, Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit ; Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. 'Twas a moonset at starting ; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew, and twilight dawned clear ; At Boom a ^reat vellow star came out to see : 65 (]{] HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD At Dliffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be; And from Meclieln church-steeple we heard the half-chime : So Joris broke silence with " Yet there is time ! " At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against him the cattle stood black, every one. To stare tlu*ough the mist at us galloping past ; And I saw my stout galloper, Roland, at last, With resolute shoulders, each butting away The haze, as some bluflp river headland its spray ; And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out .on his track. ; And one eye's black intelligence — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, its own master, askance ; And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on. By Hasselt Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, ''Stay spur! Your Roos galloped bravely — the fault's not in her; We'll remember at Aix " — for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank. As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank. So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky ; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh ; 'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff: Till over by Dalliem a dome-spire sprang white, And " Gallop ! " gasped Joris, " for Aix is in sight I JMEVVS FllOM GHENT TO AIX. 67 " How tliey'll greet us ! " — and all in a moment liis roan, Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone ; And there was mv Roland to bear the whole weio-ht Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With liis nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim. And witli circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. Tlien I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall. Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all. Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear. Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer. Clapped my liands, lauglied and sang, any noise, bad or good ; Till at lengtli into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And all I remember is friends flocking round. As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the groinid ; And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine. As I poured down his tlu'oat our Lnst measure of wine, Whicli (the burgesses A'oted by common consent) Was no more than his due who broucrht p'ood news from Ghent. KoiJKiiT BnowxixQ, NO MORE. No more ! a liarp-string's deep and breaking tone, A last low summer breeze, a far-ofF swell, A dying echo of rich mnsic gone, Breathe through those words, those murnuirs of fare\vel No More! To dwell in peace, with home-aflPections bound, To know the sweetness of a mother's voice. To feel the spirit of her love around, And in the blessing of her eye rejoice, No moi'e ! A dirge-like sound ! — to greet the early friend Unto the hearth, his place of many days ; In the glad song with kindred lips to blend, Or join the household laughter by the blaze. No more ! Through woods that shadowed our first years to rove, With all our native music in the ah' ; To watch the sunset with the eyes we love. And turn and read our own heart's answer there, No more ! 68 NO MOKE. 69 Words of despair ! yet Earth's, all Earth's, the woe Then' passion breathes, the desolately deep ! That sonnd m Heaven — O ! imao:e then the flow Of gladness in its tones — to part, to weep, No more ! To w^atch, in dying hope, affection's wane, To see the beantiful from life depart. To wear impatiently a secret chain, To waste the untold riches of the heart, No more ! Through long, long years to seek, to strive, to yearn For human love, and never quench that thirst ; To pour the soul out, winning no return, O'er fragile idols, by delusion nursed. No more ! On things that fail us, reed by reed, to lean ; To mourn the changed, the far aw^ay, the dead ; To send our troubled spirits through the unseen, Intensely questioning for treasures fled. No more ! Words of triumphant nuisic ! Bear we on The weio;lit of life, tlie cliain, the uno-enial air : Their deathless meaning, wlien our tasks are done. To learn in joy — to strnggle, to despair, No more ! FkLICIA DOKOTIIF.A HkMAXS. KORNER'S SAVORD SONG, COAirr.ETED ONE HOUK BEFORE HE FELL ON THE 15ATTLK-FIKLI), AUG. 26, 1813. , • WORD at my left side gleaming! Why is thy keen glance, beaming, So fondly bent on mine ? I love that smile of thine I Hnrrali ! '•' Borne by a trooper daring, My looks his fire-glance wearing, I arm a freeman's hand : This well delights thy brand ! Hurrah ! " Ay, good sword, free I wear thee ; And, true lieart's love, I bear thee, Betrothed one, at my side, As my deal', chosen bride ! Hurrah ! '' To thee till death united. Thy steel's bright life is plighted ; Ah, were my love but tried ! When wilt thou wed thv bride ? H uri'ali . 70 KORNER'S SWORD SONG. ^i The trumpet's festal warning Shall hail our bridal morning ; When loud the cannon chide, Then clasp I mj loved bride ! Hurrah ! *' O joy, when thine arms hold nie ! I pine until they fold me. Ccmie to me ! brideo;room, come I Thine is my maiden bloom. Hurrah ! " Why, in thy sheath upspringing. Thou wild, dear steel, art ringing? Why clanojing with delight, So eao'er for the fio-ht ? Hurrah ! " Well may thy scabbard rattle : Trooper, I pant for battle ; Rio;ht eacier for the fio-ht, T clancT with wild delio-ht. Hurrah I " Why thus, my love, forth creeping? Stay in thy chamber, sleeping; Wait still, in the narrow room : Soon for my bride I come. > Hui'r;i]i ! i Z' KORNEK'S SWORD SOXG. '' Keep me not longer pining ! O for Love's garden, shining With roses bleeding red, And blooming with the dead ! Hurrah ! " Come from thy sheath, then, treasure ! Thou trooper's true eye-pleasure ! Come forth, my good sword, come ! Enter thy father-home ! Hurrah ! '' Ha ! in the free air glancing, How brave this bridal dancino; ! How, in the sun's glad beams, Bi*ide-like, thy bright steel gleams ! Hurrah ! " Come on, ye German horsemen I Come on, ye valiant Norsemen ! Swells not your hearts' warm tide ? Clasp each in hand his bride ! Hurrah ! Once at your left side sleeping, Scarce her veiled glance forth peeping ; Now, wedded with your right, God plights your bride in the light. Hurrah ! KOKNER'S SWORD SONG. Then press with warm caresses, Close hps and bridal kisses, Your steel ; — cursed be his head Who fails the bride he wed ! Hurrah ! Now, till your swords flash, flino-incr Clear sparks forth, wave them singing. Day dawns for bridal pride ; Hurrah, thou iron bride ! Hurrah I IvAUL TiiKODOR KoRXKii. (German.) Hi /3 Translation of William B. Ciioim.ey. LITTLE AND GREAT. A TRAVELLER, through a dusty road, Strewed acorns on the lea ; 74 LITTLE AND GREAT. 75 And one took root and sprouted up, And cri'ew into a tree. Love sought its sliade at evening time, To breathe his early vows; And Age was pleased, in heats of noon, To bask beneath its boughs. The dormouse loved its dangling twigs, The birds sweet music bore ; It stood a glory in its place, A blessing evermore. A little spring had lost its way Amid the grass and fern ; A passing stranger scooped a well. Where weary men might turn. He walled it in, and huno; with care A ladle at the brink : He thought not of the deed he did, But judged that Toil might drink. He passed again — and lo ! the well, By summers never dried. Had cooled ten thousand parching tongues, And saved a life beside. A dreamer dropped a random thought ; 'Twas old — and yet 'twas new . A simple fancy of the brain, But stroncv in being: true. It shone upon a genial mind, And lo ! its lio'ht became 76 LITTLE AXD GEEAT. A lamp of life, a beacon ray, A monitory flame. The tliouo;lit was small — its issue cri'eat : A watch-fire on the hill. It sheds its radiance far adown. And cheers the valley still. A nameless man, amid a crowd That thronged the daily mart. Let fall a word of hope and love. Unstudied, fi"om the heart. A whisper on the tumult thrown, A transitory breath. It raised a brother from the dust. It saved a soul from death. O germ ! O fount ! O word of love ! O thought at random cast ! Ye were but little at the first. But mighty at the last ! Charles Mackav THE RIVER TIME. O ! a wonderful stream is the River Time, As it runs tln'ough the realm of tears, With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme. And a broader sweep and a surge sublime. As it blends with the ocean of Years. How the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow, And the summers, like buds between. And the year in the sheaf — so they come and they go, On the river's breast, with its ebb and its flow. As it o'lides in the shadow and sheen. There's a magical isle up the River Time, Where the softest of airs are playing ; There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime. And a song as sweet as a vesper chime. And the Jurres with the roses are staying. And the name of the isle is the Lono- Aso, And we bury our treasures there ; There are brows of beauty, and bosoms of snow ; They are heaps of dust — but we loved them so ! There are trinkets, and tresses of hair. 77 78 C;iVE ME THE OLD. There are fragments of song that nobody sino-s, And a part of an infant's prayer ; There's a kite iinswept, and a harp without strings ; There are broken vovrs, and pieces of rings, And the o-arments that She used to wear. There are hands that are waved, when the fairv shore By the mirage is kfted in air ; And we sometimes hear, through the turbulent roar, Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before. When the wind down the river is filr. O ! remembered for aye be the blessed isle, All the day of our life till night ; When the e^enrng comes with its beautiful smile, And our eves are closino- to slumber awkile. May that '' Greenwood " of Soul be in sight ! Bexjamix Fraxklix Taylor GIVE ME THE OLD OLD WJXK TO DKIXK, OLD WOOD TO EURX, OLD BOOKS TO i;EAD. AXU OLD FKIEXDS TO COX VERSE WITH. I. Old wine to drink ! Ay, give the slippery juice That drippeth from the grape thrown loose Within the tun : GIVE ME THE OLD. 79 Plucked from beneath the cHfF Of sunny-sided Teneriffe, And ripened 'neath the blink Of India's sun ! Peat whiskey hot, Tempered with well-boiled water I These make the long night shorter ; Forgetting not Good stout old English porter. II. Old wood to burn ! Ay, bring the hill-side beech From where the owlets meet and screech And ravens croak ; The crackling pine, and cedar sweet ; Bring too a clump of fi'agrant peat, Dug 'neath the fern ; The knotted oak, A fagot too, perhap, Whose bright flame, dancing, winking, Shall lio-ht us at our drinkincr • While the oozing sap Shall make sweet music to our thinkinor. III. Old books to read ! Ay, bring those nodes of wit. The brazen-clasped, the vellum- writ. Time-honored tomes ! The same my sire scanned before. 80 GIVE ME THE OLD. The same my grandsire thumbed o'er. The same his sire from college bore : The well-earned meed Of Oxford's domes. Old Homer blind, Old Horace, rake Anacreon, by Old TuLLY, Plautus, Terence lie ; Mort Arthur's olden minstrelsie, Quaint Burton, quainter Spenser, ay ! And Gervase Markham's venerie ; Nor leave behind The Holye Book by which we live and die. IV. Old friends to talk ! Ay, bring those chosen few, The wise, the courtly, and the true, So rarely found : Hirri for my wine, him for my stud. Him for my easel, distich, bud In mountain walk ! Bring Walter good. With soulful Fred, and learned Will ; And thee, my alter ego^ (dearer still For every mood.) Robert Hinckley Messixger. REST AND LABOR " Two hands upon the breast, And labor's done ; Two pale feet crossed in rest. The race is won ; Two eyes with coin weights shut, And all tears cease ; Two lips where grief is mute, Anger at peace ! " So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot ; (jod in his kindness answereth not. " Two hands to work addrest. Aye for His praise ; Two feet that never rest, Walking His ways ; Two eyes that look above, Throuo;h all their tears ; Two lips still breathing love, Not wrath, nor fears ! " So pray we afterwards, low on our knees , Pardon those erring prayers ! Father, hear these DixAH Maria Muloch 81 HE STANDETH AT THE DOOR AND KNOCKETH. In the silent midnight watches, List — thy bosom door ! How it knocketh — knocketh — knocketh, Knocketh evermore ! Say not 'tis thy pulse's beating : -'Tis thy heart of sin ; 'Tis thy Saviour knocks, and crietli " Kise, and let me in ! " Death comes on with reckless footsteps. To the hall and hut : Think you Death will tarry, knocking, Where the door is shut ? Jesus waiteth — waiteth — waiteth, But the door is fast ; Grieved, away thy Saviour goeth ; Death breaks in at last. Then 'tis time to stand entreating Christ to let thee in : At the gate of Heaven beating, Wailing for thy sin. Nay ! — alas, thou guilty creature ! Hast thou, then, forgot ? Jesus waited long to know thee ; Now he knows thee not. Arthur Cleveland Coxe 82 GULF- WEED. A WEARY weed, tossed to and fro, Drearily drenched in the ocean brine, Soarinc;; liio;h and sinkino; low, Laslied alono; without will of mine ; Sport of the spoom of the surging sea. Flung on the foam afar and anear, Mark my manifold mystery : Growth and grace in their place appear 83 84 EXHORTATION TO PRAYER. 1 bear round berries, gray and red, Rootless and rover tliough I be ; My spangled leaves, when nicely spread, Arboresce as a trunkless tree ; Corals curious coat me o'er, White and hard in apt array ; 'Mid the wild waves' rude u])roar, Gracefully grow I, niglit and day. Hearts there are on the sounding shore. Something whispers soft to me. Restless and roaming for evermore, Like this weary weed of the sea ; Bear they yet on eacli beating breast Tlie eternal type of the wondrous wliole : Growth unfolding amidst unrest, Grace informing witli silent soul. CoiJXELius Gp:okgk Ekxnku. EXHORTATION TO PRAYER. Not on a prayerless bed, not on a prayerless bed Compose thy weary limbs to rest ; For they alone are blest With balmy sleep Whom angels keep ; Noi", thougli by care oppressed, ( )r anxious sorrow, EXHOKTATION TO PRAYER. 35 Or thouglit in many a coil perplexed For coming morrow, Lay not thj head On prayerless bed. For wlio can tell, when sleep thine eye sliall close, Til at earthly cares and woes To thee may e'er return? Arouse, my soul ! Slumber control. And let thy lamp burn brightly ; So shall thine eyes discern Things pure and sightly ; Taught by the Spirit, learn Never on prayerless bed To lay thine nnblest head. Hast thou no pining want, or wish, or care, That calls for holy prayer ? Has thy day been so bright That in its flight There is no trace of sorrow ? And art thou sure to-morrow Will be like this, and more Abundant? Dost thou yet lay up thy store. And still make plans for more ? Thou fool ! this very night Thy soul may wing its flight. Hast thou no being than thyself more dear, That ploughs the ocean deep, 86 THE GOOD GREAT MAX. And when storms sweep The wintrv, lowerino* skv, For whom thou wak"st and weepest? O, when thy pangs are deepest, Seek then the covenant ark of prayer ' For He that slmnbereth not is there : His ear is open to thy cry. O. then, on prayerless bed Lay not thy thouo-htless head I Arouse thee, weary soul, nor j^^ield to slumber ! Till in communion blest With the elect ve rest, Those souls of countless number ; And with them raise The note of praise, Heaching from Earth to Heaven : Chosen, redeemed, forgiren I So lay thy happy head, Prayer-crowned, on blessed bed. Margaret Merckr THE GOOD GREAT MAN. How^ seldom, Mend, a good great man inherits Honor and wealth, with all his worth and pains ! It seems a story from the world of spirits When any man obtains that which he merits, Or any merits that which he obtains. DIRGE OF JP:PHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. gj For shame, my friend ! renomice this idle strain ! What wouldst thou have a good great man obtain '^ Wealth, title, dignity, a golden chain ? Or heap of corses which his sword hath slain ? Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends. Hath he not always treasures, always friends. The good great man ? Three treasures — love, and Hght, And calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath : And three fast friends, more sure than day or night : Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death. Samuel Taylor Colekidge. DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. SUNG BY THE VIHGIXS. O THOU, the wonder of all dayes ! O paragon, and pearl of praise ! O virgin-martyi', ever blest Above the rest Of all the maiden traine ! We come, And bring fresh strewings to thy tombe. Thus, thus, and thus, we compasse rouml Thv harmlesse and unhaunted cri'ound I And as we sino; thy diro-e, we will The daffodill, And other flowers, lay upon The altar of our love, thv stone. 88 DJRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. Thou wonder of all maids, rest here ! Of daughters all the dearest deare, The eye of virgms ; nay, the queen Of this smooth green, And all sweet meades from whence we get The primrose and the violet ! Too soone, too deare, did Jeplithah buy, By thy sad losse, our liberty ; His was the bond and covenant, yet Thou paid'st the debt. Lamented maid ! he won the day, But for the conquest thou didst pay. Thy father brouglit with him along Tiie olive branch, and victor's sono;. He slew the Ammonites, we know : But to thy woe ; And in the purchase of cur peace The cure was worse than the disease. For which obedient zeale of thine We offer here, before thy shrine. Our sio;hs for storax, teares for Avine ; And, to make fine And fresh thy herse-cloth, we will here Four times bestrew thee every yeare. Receive, for this thy praise, our teares I Receive this offering of our haires ! Receive these christall vials, filled DIRGE OF JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. 89 Witli teares distilled From teeming eyes ! To these we bring, Each maid, her silver filleting, To guild thj tombe. Besides, these caules, These laces, ribbands, and these faules ; Tliese veiles, where^vith we use to hide The bashfull bride When we conduct her to her groome • All, all we lay upon thy tombe ! No more, no more, since thou art dead, Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed ; No more, at yearly festivalls, We cowslip balls. Or chaines of columbines, shall make For this or that occasion's sake. No, no ! our maiden pleasures be Wrapt in the winding-sheet with thee : 'Tis we are dead, though not i' th' grave ; Or if we have One seed of life left, 'tis to keep A Lent for thee — to fast and weep. Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice. And make this place all paradise ! May sweets grow here, and smoke from hence Fat frankincense ! Let balme and cassia send their scent From out thv maiden monument ' Z^L.^ *:-^'i-^*^ ^ "^^^^ .'^^fe.^v^ ^*^uZ^ A<^/te/ P2^t:^^«^-V„ UNSEEN SPIEITS. 91 May no wolfe howle, nor screecli-owle stir A wing about thy sepulchre ! No boysterous winds or storms come hither, To starve or wither Thy soft sweet earth ; but, hke a Spring, Love keep it ever flourishing ! May all shie maids, at wonted hours, Come forth to strew thy tombe with flowers I May virgins, when they come to mourn, Male incense burn Upon thine altar ; then return. And leave thee sleeping in thine urn ! Robert Herrick. UNSEEN SPIRITS. The shadows lay along Broadway : 'Twas near the twilight-tide ; And slowly there a lady fair Was walking in her pride. Alone walked she ; but, viewlessly. Walked spirits at her side. Peace charmed the street beneath her feet. And Honor charmed the air ; And all astir looked kind on her. And called her good as fair ; For all God ever save to her She kept with chary care. 92 UNSEEN SPIRITS. She kept with care her beauties rare From lovers warm and true ; For her heart was cold to all but gold. And the rich came not to woo. But honored well are charms to sell, If priests the selling do. Now walking there was one more fair, A slight girl, lily-pale ; And she had unseen company To make the spirit quail : 'Twixt Want and Scorn she walked forlorn. And nothing could avail. No mercy now can clear her brow For this world's peace to pray ; For, as love's wild prayer dissolved in air, Her woman's heart gave way. But the sin forgiven by Christ in Heaven By man is cursed alway ! Nathaniel Pabker Willis. ^ 1. ^ - C-'ar ''^^^ -J.-'^ -^^^-o ^.;:^^ yif^-- - THE CKOOKED FOOTPATH. Ah, here it is ! the sliding mil That marks the old remembered spot, 93 94 THE e'ROOKED FOOTPATH. ' The gap that struck our schoolboy trail, Tlie crooked path across tlie lot. It left the road by school and church : A pencilled shadow, nothing more, Tliat parted from the silver birch And ended at the farmhouse door. No line or compass traced its plan ; With frequent bends to left or right, In aimless, wayward curves it ran. But always kept the door in sight. The gabled porch, with woodbine green, The broken millstone at the sill, Tliough many a rood might stretch betweeji, The truant child could see them still. No rocks across the })athway lie, No fallen trunk is o'er it thrown ; And yet it winds, ^\e know not why, And turns as if for tree or stone. Perhaps some lover trod the wav, With shaking knees and leaping heart ; And so it often runs astray, With siiuious sweep or sudden start. Or one, perchance, with clouded brain, From some imholy banquet reeled ; And since, our devious steps maintain His track across tlie trodden held. THE CROOKED FOOTPATH. 95 Nay, deem not thus: — no earth-born will Could ever trace a faultless line ; Our truest steps are human still, To walk unswerving were divine. Truants from love, we dream of wrath ; O, rather let us trust the more ! Through all the wanderings of the path, We still can see our Father's door ! Oliver Wendell Holmes. INVOCATION OF SILENCE. Still-born Silence ! thou that art Flood-gate of the deeper heart ! Offspring of a heavenly kind ; Frost o' the mouth, and thaw o' the mind ; Secrecy's confidant, and he Who makes religion mystery ; Admiration's speaking'st tongue ! Leave, thy desert shades among. Reverend hermits' hallowed cells, Where retired Devotion dwells : With thy enthusiasms come, Seize our tongues, and strike us dumb I Richard Flpzckxoe. A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE This ae nighte, this ae niglite, Everie nighte and alls, Fire, and selte, and candle-lighte ; And Ohriste receive thy saide! When thou from hence away art past, Everie nighte and alle^ To Whinny-muir thou comest at last ; A7id Christe receive thy saide ' If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon, Everie nighte and alle, Sit thee down and put them on ; And Christe receive thy saule! If hosen and shoon thou gavest nane, Everie 7iighte and alle^ The whinnes shall pricke thee to the bare bane ; And Christe receive thy saide! From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe, Everie yiighte and alle^ To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at last ; And Christe receive thy saule ! From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe, Everie nighte and alle, 96 SONG. 9' To Purgatory fire thou comest at last : And Christe receive thy saule! If ever thou gavest meate or drinke, . Everie nighte and alle^ The fire shall never make thee shrinke : And Christe receive thy saule! If meate or drinke thou gavest nane, Everie nighte and alle, The fire will burne thee to the bare bane ; And Christe receive thy saule! This ae nio-hte, this ae nio-hte, Everie nighte and alle. Fire, and selte, and candle-lighte ; And Christe receive thy saule! Anonymous. SOXG. She sat and sang alway By the green margin of a stream, Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam. I sat and wept alway Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam, Watching the blossoms of the May TTeep leaves into the stream. I wept for memory ; She sang the hope that is so fair : My tears were swallowed by the sea ; Her sonors died on the air. Chkistina G. Rossetti. THE CROWDED STREET. Let me move slowly through the street, Filled with an ever-shiftino; train, Amid the somid of steps that beat The murmuring walks like autumn rain. How fast the flittino; fio-ures come ! The mild, the fierce, the stony face : Some bright with thoughtless smiles, and some Where secret tears have left their trace ! They pass — to toil, to strife, to rest : To halls in which the feast is spread, To chambers where the funeral guest In silence sits beside the dead. And some to happy homes repair, Where children, pressing cheek to cheek With mute caresses, shall declare The tenderness they cannot speak. And some, who walk in calmness here. Shall shudder as they reach the door Where one who made their dwelling dear. Its flower, its light, is seen no more. 98 THE CROWDED STREET. 99 Youth, with pale cheek and slender frame, And dreams of greatness in thine eye, Go'st thou to build an early name, Or early in the task to die ? Keen son of trade, with eager brow, Who is now fluttenng in thy snare ? Thy golden fortunes, tower they now ? Or melt the glittering spires in air ? Who of this crowd to-night shall tread The dance, till daylight gleams again ? Who sorrow o'er the untimely dead ? Who writhe in throes of mortal pain ? Some, famine-struck, shall think how long The cold, dark hours — how slow the liglit ; x^nd some, who flaunt amid the throng, Shall hide in dens of shame to-nio;ht. Each where his tasks or pleasures call. They pass, and heed each otlier not ; There is who heeds, who holds them all. In His laro'e love and boundless thoucrht. These struggling tides of life, that seem In wayward, aimless course to tend, Are eddies of the mighty stream That rolls to its appointed end. William Cullex Bkvaxt. THE WAR-SOXG OF DIN AS VAWK. The mountain sheep are sweeter, But the valley sheep are fatter ; ^,Ve therefore deemed it meeter To carry off the latter. We made an expedition ; We met a host, and quelled it ; We forced a strong position. And killed the men who held it. On Djfed's richest valley, Where herds of kine were browsing, We made a mighty sally, To fornish our carousing. Fierce warriors rushed to meet us ; We met them, and overthrew them. They struggled hard to beat us ; But we cimcjuered them, and slew then:. As we drove our prize at leisure, The kino; marched forth to catch us ; His rage surpassed all measure. But his people could not match us. 100 THE WAR-SONG OF DINAS VAWR IQI He fled to his hall pillars ; And, ere oar force we led off, Some sacked his house and cellars, While others cut his head off. We there, in strife bewildering. Spilt blood enough to swim in : We orphaned many children, And widowed many women. The eagles and the ravens We glutted with om' foemen : The heroes and the cravens. The spearmen and the bowmen. We broucrht awav from battle, (And much their land bemoaned them), Two thousand head of cattle, And the head of him who owned them ; Ednyfed, king of Dyfed, His head was borne before as ; His wine and beasts supplied our feasts, His overthrow our chorus. Thomas Love Peacock MOTHER MARGERY. On a bleak ridge, from whose granite edges Sloped the rough land to the gi'islj north, And whose hemlocks, clinmnp; to the ledges. Like a thin banditti stao-^ered forth : In a crouching, wormy- timbered hamlet Mother Margery shivered in the cold, With a tattered robe of faded camlet On her shoulders — crooked, weak, and old ! Time on her had done his cruel pleasure ; For her face was very dry and thin. And the records of his growing measure Lined and cross-lined all her shrivelled skin. Scanty goods to her had been allotted, Yet her thanks rose oftener than desire ; While her bony fingers, bent and knotted, Fed with withered twigs the dying fire. Raw and weary were the northern winters ; Winds howled piteously around her cot. Or with rude sighs made the jarring splinters Moan the misery she bemoaned not. Drifting tempests rattled at her windows. And hung snow-wreaths round her naked bed ; While the wind-flaws muttered on the cinders, Till the last spark fluttered and was dead. 102 MOTHER MARGERY. 103 Life had fi'esher hopes when she was younger, But their dying wrung out no complaints ; Chill, and penury,, and neglect, and hunger, These to Margery were guardian saints. When she sat, her head was, prayer-like, bending ; When she rose, it rose not any more. Faster seemed her true heart o;raveward tendino; Than her tired feet, weak and travel-sore. She was mother of the dead and scattered. Had been mother of the brave and fair ; But her branches, bough by bough, were shattered, Till her torn breast was left dry and bare. Yet she knew, though sadly desolated, When the children of the poor depart Their earth-vestures are but sublimated, So to gather closer in the heart. With a couracre that had never fitted Words to speak it to the soul it blessed. She endured, in silence and unpitied, Woes enough to mar a stouter breast : Thus was born such holy trust witliin her That the graves of all who had been dear, To a region clearer and serener Raised her spirit from our chilly sphere. They were footsteps on her Jacob's ladder ; Angels to her were the loves and hopes Which had left her purified, but sadder ; And they lured her to the emerald slop"^ 104 MOTHER MARGERY. Of that Heaven where Anguish never flashes Her red fire-whips — happy land, where flowers Blossom over the volcanic ashes Of this bHghtmg, blighted world of ours I All her power was a love of goodness ; All her wisdom was a mystic faith That the rough world's jargoning and rudeness Turn to music at the gate of Death. So she walked, while feeble limbs allowed her, Knowing well that any stubborn grief She might meet with could no more than crowd her To that wall whose opening was relief. So she lived, an anchoress of sorrow, Lone and peaceful, on the rocky slope ; And, when burning trials came, would borrow New fire of them for the lamp of hope. When at last her palsied hand, in groping. Rattled tremulous at the grated tomb, Heaven flashed round her joys beyond her hoping. And her young soul gladdened into bloom. George Sfephekd Burleigh LOUIS XV. The king, with all the kingly train, had left his Pompadour be- hind, And forth he rode in Senart's wood, tlie royal beasts of chase to find. That day, by chance, the monarch mused ; and turning suddenly away, He struck alone into a path that far from crowds and courtiers lay. He saw the pale green shadows play upon the brown untrodden earth ; He saw the birds around him flit, as if he were of peasant birth ; He saw the trees, that know no king but him who bears a wood- land axe ; He thouo-ht not — but he looked about, like one who still in tliinkino; lacks. Then close to him a footstep fell, and glad of human sound was he ; For, truth to say, he found himself but melancholy companie. But that which he would ne'er have guessed before him now most plainly came : The man upon his weary back a coffin bore of rudest frame. •' Why, who art thou ? " exclaimed the king ; '' and what is that I see thee bear? " '* I am a laborer in the wood, and 'tis a coffin for Pierre. 105 106 LOUIS XV. Close by the royal Jiiin ting-lodge you may liave often seen him toil ; But he will never work ao-ain, and I for him must dio; the soil." The laborer ne'er had seen the king, and this he thought was but a man ; Who made at first a moment's pause, and then anew his talk be- gan : " I think I do remember now — he had a dark and glancing eye ; And I have seen his sturdy aiTQ with wondrous stroke the pickaxe ply. •' Pray tell me, friend, what accident can thus have killed our good Pierre ? " " O, nothing more than usual, sir : he died of living upon air. 'Twas hunger killed the poor good man, who long on empty hopes relied ; He could not pay gabelle and tax, and feed his children — so he died." The man stopped short ; and then went on — " It is, you know, a common story : Our children's food is eaten up by courtiers, mistresses, and glory." The king looked hard upon the man, and afterwards the coffin eyed; Then spurred to ask, of Pompadour, how came it that the peasants died. JoHx Stkhlixg. THE STORmNG OF MAGDEBURGH. When the breach was open laid, Bold we mounted to the attack : Five times the assault was made ; Four times were we driven back I But the fifth time up we strode, O'er the dvino; and the dead. Red the western sunbeams glowed, Sinkino; in a blaze of red ; Redder in the gory way Our deep plashing footsteps sank, As the cry of "Slay — Slay — Slay!" Echoed fierce from rank to rank. And we slew, and slew, and slew : Slew them with unpitying sword. Neolio-ently could we do The commandino; of the Lord ? Fled the coward, fought the brave, Wept the Avidow, wailed the child ; But there did not 'scape the glai^-e ]\ran that frowned, nor babe tliat smiled There were thrice ten thousand men When that morning's snn arose ; Lived not thrice three hundred when Sunk that sun at evening's close. 107 108 THE STORMING OF MAGDEBURGH. Then we spread the wasting flaniCj Fed to fury by the wind : Of the city — but tlie name, Nothing else, remained beliind. But it burned not till it o-ave All it had to yield of spoil : Should not brave soldadoes have Some rewarding for their toil ? What the villain sons of trade Earned by years of toil and care. Prostrate at our biddino; laid. In one moment won — was there. Hall and palace, dome and tower, Lowly cot and soaring spire. Sank in that victorious hour Which consigned the town to fire. Then throuo-hout the burn in o; town, 'Mid the steammg heaps of dead, Cheered by sound of hostile moan. We the gorgeous banquet spread : Laughing loud and quaffing long, At our glorious labor o'er. To the skies our jocund song Told Magdeburgh Avas no more ! WiLLiAai Mag INN. THE KING OF DEmiARK'S RIDE. Word was brought to tlie Danish king, (Hurry !) That the love of his lieart lay suffering, 109 110 THE KIXG OF DENMARK'S RIDE. And pined for the comfort his voice would bring ; (O ! ride as though jou were flying :) Better he loves each golden curl On the brow of that Scandinavian girl Tlian his rich crown-jewels of ruby and peai'l : And his Rose of the Isles is dvino-. Thirty nobles saddled with speed ; (Hurry !) Each one mounted a gallant steed Wliich he kept for battle and days of need : CO ! ride as thouoli vou were flvino- 1) Spurs were struck in the foaming flank ; Worn-out chargers staggered and sank ; Bridles Mere slackened, and girths were burst • But ride as they would, the king rode first ; For his Rose of the Isles lav dvino;. His nobles are beaten, one by one ; (Hurry !) They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone His little fair i)age now follows alone, For strenoth and for courao;e trvino;. The king looked back at that faithftd child: ^Van was the face that answerino' smiled. They passed the draAvbridge with clattering din : Then he dropped ; and only the king rode in Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying. The king blew a blast on his bugle horn ; (Silence !j THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. Ill No answer came, but faint and forlorn An echo returned on the cold o-rav morn, Like the breath of a spirit sighing. The castle portal stood grimly wide ; None welcomed the king from that weary ride ; For, dead in the light of the dawning day, The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay. Who had yearned for his voice while dying. The panting steed with a drooping crest Stood weary. The king returned from her chamber of rest, The thick sobs choking in his breast ; And, that dumb companion eyeing, The tears gushed forth, which he strove to check ; He bowed his head on his charo-er's neck : " O, steed, that every nerve didst strain. Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain, To the halls where mv love lav dyino; ! " Carolixk Elizabeth No h ton I aiVE MY SOLDIER-BOY A BLADE. I GIVE my soldier-boy a blade, In fair Damascus fashioned well ; Who first the glittering falchion swayed, Who first beneath its fury fell, I know not ; but I hope to know That for no mean or hireling trade. To guard no feeling base or low, I give my soldier-boy a blade. Cool, calm, and clear, the lucid flood In which its tempering work was done ; As calm, as clear, as cool of mood. Be thou whene'er it sees the sun ; For country's claim, at Honor's call. For outraged friend, insulted maid, At Mercy's voice to bid it fall, I give my soldier-boy a blade. The eye which m.arked its peerless edge, The hand that weighed its balanced poise, Anvil and pincers, forge and wedge, Are gone, with all their flame and noise; And still the pleamino- sword remains : So, when in dust I low am laid. Remember, by these heart-felt strains, I gave my soldier-boy a blade. AViLLiAM Magixx. 112 THE MAHOGANY TRKE. Christmas is here: Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill. Little care we ; Little we fear Weather without, Sheltered about The Mahogany Tree. Once on the boughs Birds of rare plume Sano;, in its bloom : Night-birds are we. Here we carouse, Sinmno- like tliem. Perched round the stem Of the jolly old tree. Here let us sport, Boys, as we sit. Laughter and wu F'lashing so free. 113 114 THE MAHOGANY TREE Life is but short ; When we are gone, Let them sing on, Round the old tree. Evenings we knew Happy as this ; Faces we miss, Pleasant to see. Kind hearts and true. Gentle and just. Peace to your dust ! We sing round tlie tree. Care, like a dun, Lurks at the 2:ate : Let the dog wait ; Happy we'll be ! Drink, every one ; Pile up the coals-; Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree ! Drain we the cup : Friend, art afraid ? Spirits are laid In the Red Sea. Mantle it up ; Empty it yet ; Let us forget. Round the old tree. IHE GRACE OF SBIPLICITY 115 Sorrows, begone ! Life and its ills, Duns and their bills. Bid we to flee. Come with the dawn. Blue-devil sprite ! Leave us to-night, Round the old tree ! William Makp:pkace Tiiackkuay. THE GRACE OF SIMPLICITY. Still to be neat, still to be drest As you were going to a feast, Still to be powdered, still pei'finned ! Lady, it is to be presumed. Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sw^eet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace ; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art ; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. Bkn Jo.nson. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. Our bugles sano- truce: for toe nio-lit-cloud liacl lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered : The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring fao;ot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the nio-ht a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Methought from the battle-field's di'eadful array Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track : 'Twas Autumn — and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 1 fiew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft In hfe's mornino; march, when mv bosom was vounir ; I heard mv own mountain-goats bleating aloft. And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the winecup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part ; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobbed aloud in her fidncss of heart. 116 IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DEMAND. II7 Stay, stay with us ! — rest ; thou art weary and worn I And fain was tlieir war-broken soldier to stay ; But sorrow returned with the dawnino- of morn, And the voice in my dreammg ear melted away. Thomas Campbell. IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DEMAND. It is not beauty I demand : A crystal brow, the moon's despair ; Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand ; Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair. Tell me not of your starry eyes ; Your lips, that seem on roses fed ; Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies, Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed ; A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks, Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours ; A breath that softer music speaks Tlian summer winds a-wooino; flowers. These are but gauds; nay, what are lirs'? Corals beneath the ocean-strenro, Whose brink when your adventurer sHps, Full oft he perisheth on them. 118 IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DEMAND. And what are cheeks, but ensigns oft, That wave hot youth to fields of blood? Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft. Do Greece or Ilium any good ? Eyes can with baleful ardor burn, Poison can breathe, that erst ];erfuined ; There's many a wh.'te hand holds an urn, With lovers' hearts to dust consumed. Foi* crystal brows, there's naught widnn: They are but empty cells for pride ; He who the Siren's hair would win Is mostly strangled in the tide. Give me, instead of beauty's bust, A tender heart, a loyal mind. Which with temptation I would trust. Yet never linked with error find ; One in whose gentle bosom I Could pour my secret heart of woes, Like the care-burdened honey-fly. That hides his murmurs in the rose ; My earthly comforter ! whose love So indefeasible might be, Tlmt when my spirit won above. Hers CO aid not stay, for sympathy. Thomas CAiti. a- THE BEGGAR'S COURAGE. To heaven approached a Sufi saint, From groping in the darkness late, And, tapping timidly and faint, Besonglit admission at God's gate. Said God, '' Who seeks to enter here ? " " 'T is I, dear Friend I " the saint replied, And trembled much with hope and fear. " If it be thou^ without abide." Sadly to earth the poor saint turned. To bear the scourging of life's rods ; But aye his heart within him yearned To mix and lose its love in God's. He roamed alone through weary years. By cruel men still scorned and mocked. Until from faith's pure fires and tears Again he rose, and modest knocked. Asked God, " Who now is at the door ? " " It is Thyself, beloved Lord ! " Answered the saint — in doubt no more, But clasped and rapt in his reward. DSCHF.LLALKDDIN RUMI, (PiTsian.) Translation of William Rou>'SEville Algek. 119 THE HAPPY LIFE. Plow happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will, Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill ! Whose passions not his masters are. Whose soul is still prepared for death — Untied unto the worldly care Of public fame or private breath ; Who envies none tliat chance doth raise, Or vice ; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise ; Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; Who hath his life from humors 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 gi-;ice than gifts to lend ; And entertJiins 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 ot himself, though not of lands ; And, having nothing, yet hath all. Sir IIkxuy Wot ion. 120 THE GIFTS OF GOD. When God at first made man, Having a glass of blessings standing by, '^ Let us," said He, " pour on him all ^xe can ; Let the Avorld's riches, which dispersed lie, Contract into a span." So strength first made a way ; Then beauty flowed ; then wisdom, honor, pleasure. A^^hen almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure. Rest in the bottom lay. "For if I should," said He, " Bestow this jewel also on my creature. He would adore my gifts instead of me. And rest in Nature — not the God of Nature : So both should losers be. *' Yet let him keep the rest. But keep them with repining restlessness ; Let him be rich and weary — that, at least. If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him, to my breast." George Heruekt 121 THE HYMN OF DAMASCEXUS. Fro^[ my lips in their defilement, From my heart in its beguile ment, From my tongue which speaks not fair, From my soul stained everywhere — O my Jesus, take my prayer ! Spurn me not, for all it says : Not for words, and not for ways. Not for shamelessness indued ! Make me brave to speak my mood, my Jesus, as I would ! Or teach me, which 1 rather seek. What to do and what to speak. 1 have sinned more than she Who, learning where to meet with Thoc, And bringing myrrh the highest priced, Anointed bravely, from her knee. Thy blessed feet accordingly — My God, my Lord, my Christ I As Thou saidest not "Depart!" To that suppliant from her heart, Scorn me not, O Word, that art The crentlest one of all words said ! But give Thy feet to me instead, 122 THE HYMX OF DAMASCENUS. j That tenderly I may them kiss, And clasp them close; and never miss, With over-dropping tears, as free And precious as that myrrh could be, T' anoint them bravely from my knee I Wash me with thy tears I draw nigh me. That their salt may purify me ! Then remit my sins, who knowest All the sinnino-, to the lowest — Knowest all my wounds, and seest All the stripes Thyself decreest. Yea, but knowest all my faith, Seest all my force to death, Hearest all my wailings low That mine evil should be so ! Nothing hidden but appears In Thy knowledge, O Divine, O Creator, Saviour mine! — Not a drop of falling tears, Not a breath of inward moan, N^t a heart-beat — wdiich is o-one ! St. Joannes Damasckxus. (Greek.) Translation of Elizabeth Barrktt Browning. A THANKSGIVING. Lord, for the emnor tlioujrlr Not unto evil wrouo-ht ; Lord, for the wicked will Betrayed and baffled still : For the heart from itself kept ; Our Thanksgiving accept I For ignorant hopes that vi^ere Broken to our blind prayer ; For pain, death, sorrow — sent Unto our chastisement ; For all loss of seeming good : Quicken our gratitude ! William Dean ^{owkll EXCELSIOR. The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strano-e device — Excelsior ! His brow was sad ; his eye beneath Flashed like a falchion from its sheath : 124 EXCELSIOR. 125 And like a silver clarion rang The accents of that unknown tongue — Excelsior ! In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright ; Above, the spectral glaciers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan — Excelsior ! " Try not the pass ! " the old man said : " Dark lowers the tempest overhead ; The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior ! " O stay ! " the maiden said, " and rest Thy weary head u])on this breast ! " A tear stood in his brioi:lit blue eye. But still he answered, with a sigh. Excelsior ! " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch ! Beware the awful avalanche ! " This was the peasant's last good-night ; A voice replied, far up the height. Excelsior ! At break of day, as heavenward The pio\is monks of St. Bernard 126 THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDAS. Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, A voice cried, through the startled ai)', Excelsior ! A traveller, by the faitliful hound. Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strano;e device — Excelsior ! There, in the twilight cold and gray. Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay ; And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a fallino; star — Excelsior ! Hexry Wads worth Longfellow THE EMIGKANTS IN BERMUDAS. Where the remote Bermudas ride In th' ocean's bosom unespied, From a small boat, that rowed along, The listening winds received this song : What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the watery maze Unto an isle so long unknown. And yet far kinder than our own? Where He the huo-e sea-monsters wracks That lift the deep upon their backs, He lands us on a grassy stage. THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDAS. 127 Safe from tlie storms, and prelate's rage. He gave us this eternal spring Which here enamels every thmg, And sends the fowls to us in care, On daily visits through the air. He hano-s in shades the orano-e brio;ht, 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 stores the land ; And makes the hollow seas, that roar, Proclaim the ambergris on shore. He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel's pearl upon our coast ; 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 sang they, in the English boat, A holy and a cheerful note ; And all the way, to guide their chime. With falling oars they kept the time. Andiskw MaUVI£M. THE SINGERS. God sent his singers u])on eartli With songs of sachiess and of mirth. 128 THE SINGERS. 129 That they might touch the hearts of men, And bring tliem back to heaven again. The first, a youth with soul of fire, Held In his hand a golden lyre ; Through groves he wandered, and by streams, Playing the music of our dreams. The second, with a bearded face. Stood singing in the market-place. And stirred, with accents deep and loud, The hearts of all the listenino- crowd. A ^ray old man, the third and last, bang in cathedrals dim and vast, While the majestic organ rolled Contrition from its mouths of gold. And those who heard the Singers three Dis];)uted which the best might be ; For still their music seemed to start Discordant echoes in each heart. But the great Master said, " I see No best in kind, but in degree ; I gave a various gift to each : To charm, to strengthen, and to teach. " These are the three great chords of might ; And he whose ear is tuned ario;ht Will hear no discord in the three, But the most perfect harmony." Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. THE MAKINER'S WIFE. And are ye sure the news is true ? And are ye sure he's weel ? Is tin's a time to talk o' wark ? Ye jades, fling by your wheel ! For there's nae luck about the houi; Bo wring. ECHO AND SILEN^CE. In eddying course when leaves began to fly. And Autumn in her lap the store to strew, As mid wild scenes I chanced the Muse to woo, Through glens untrod and woods that frowned on liigli, Two sleeping nymphs, with wonder mute, I spy : And lo ! she 's gone — in robe of dark green hue, 'T was Echo from her sister Silence flew ; For quick the hunter's horn resounded to the sky. In shade affrighted Silence melts away. Not so her sister — hark I for onward still. With far-heard step, she takes her listening way, Bounding from rock to rock, and hill to hill : Ah ! mark the merry maid, in mockful play. With thousand mimic tones the lauo-hinof forest fill ! Sir Egertox Bkvdges. THE SABBATH. Fresh glides the brook, and blows the gale, Yet yonder halts the quiet mill ! The whirring w^heel, the rushing sail, How motionless and still I Six days of toil, poor child of Cain, Thy strength the slave of want may be The seventh thy limbs escape the chain — A God hath made thee free ! Ah ! tender was the law that gave This holy respite to the breast — To breathe the gale, to watch the wave, And know the wheel may rest I But where the waves the gentlest glide What image charms, to lift thine eyes ? The spire reflected on the tide Invites thee to the skies. To teach the soul its nobler worth This rest from mortal toils is oriven : Go, snatch tlie brief reprieve from earth. And pass — a guest to heaven ! 165 166 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER. They tell thee, in their dreaming school, Of power from old dominion hurled. When rich and poor, with juster rule. Shall share the altered world. Alas ! since time itself began, That fable hath but fooled the hour ; Each age that ripens power in man But subjects man to power. Yet every day in seven, at least, One bright republic shall be known : Man's world awhile hath surely ceased When God proclaims His own ! Six days may rank divide the poor, O Dives, from tliy banquet-hall I The seventh the Father opes tlie door. And holds His feast for all ! Edward Bulwer LYTT0^. ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER Much have I travelled in the realms of croUl, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen ; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to A])ollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-browed Homer in.iled as his demesne ; ON FIKST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMEK. Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold : Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken ; 167 Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific ; and all his men Looked at each other with a wild surmise — Silent, upon a peak in Darien. John Keats. THE MAKING OF MAN. Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man. Time, with a gift of tears ; Grief, with a glass that ran ; Pleasure, with pain for leaven ; Summer, with flowers that fell ; Remembrance, fallen fi'om heaven. And madness, risen from hell ; Strength, without hands to smite ; Love, that endures for a breath ; Night, the shadow of light, And life, the shadow of death. And the high gods took in hand Fire, and the falling of tears. And a measure of sliding sand From under the feet of the years ; And froth and drift of the sea ; And dust of the laboring earth ; And bodies of things to be In the houses of death and of birth ; And wrought with weeping and laughter. And fashioned with loathing and love, With life before and after And death beneath and above, IfiS THE MAKING OF MAN. |(;9 For a day and a night and a morrow, That his strength might endure for a span, With travail and heavy sorrow, The holy spirit of man. From the wnnds of the north and tlie south They gathered as unto strife ; They breathed upon his mouth. They filled his body w ith life ; Eyesight and speech they wrought For the veils of the soul therein, A time for labor and thought, A time to serve and to sin ; They gave him light in his ways, And love, and a space for delight, And beauty, and length of days. And night, and sleep in the night. His speech is a burning fire ; With his lips he travaileth ; In his heart is a blind desire. In his eyes foreknowledge of death ; He weaves, and is clothed with derision ; Sow^s, and he shall not reap ; His life is a watch or a vision Betw^een a sleep and a sleep. Algernon Charles Swinburne. .\V| \\ CALM IS THE NIGHT. Cal]\[ is the night, and the city is sleepinij- Once in this house dwelt a lady fair ; Long, long ago, she left it, weeping — But still the old house is standing there. bonder a man at the heavens is starino-. Wringing his hands as in sorrowful case ; 170 IF I DESIRE WITH PLEASANT SOXGS. I7I He turns to the moonlight, his countenance baring — O Heaven ! he shows me my own sad face ! Shadowy form, with my own agreeing I Why mockest thou tlius, in tlie moonlight cold. The sorrows which here once vexed my being. Many a night in the days of old ? Heinrich Hf.ixe. (German.) Translation of Charles Godfrey Lelaxd. IF I DESIRE WITH PLEASANT SONGS. If I desire witli pleasant songs To throw a merry hour away, Comes Love unto me, and my wrongs In careful tale he doth display. And asks me how I stand for sincrino; While I my helpless hands am wringing. And then another time, if I A noon in shady bower would pass. Comes he with stealthy gesture sly, \nd flinging down upon the grass. Quoth he to me : jNly master dear, Tliink of this noontide such a year ! And if elsewhile I lay my head On pillow, with intent to sleep, IJ2 THE U:N"DIS COVERED COU]N'TKY. Lies Love beside me on the bed, And gives me ancient words to keep; Says lie : These looks, these tokens, number — May be, tliey '11 help you to a slumber ! So every time when I would yield An hour to quiet, comes he still, And hunts up every sign concealed. And every outward sign of ill ; And gives me his sad face's pleasures For merriment's, or sleep's, or leisure's. Thomas Burbidge. THE UNDISCOVERED COUN'TRY. Could we but know The land that ends our dark, uncertain travel. Where lie those happier hills, and meadows low - Ah ! if beyond the spirit's inmost cavil Aught of that country could we surely know — Who would not go ? Might we but hear The hoverino; ano-els' hio-h imao-ined chorus, Or catch betimes, with wakeful eyes and clear, One radiant vista of the realm before us. With one rapt moment given to see and hear — Ah ! who would fear ? NEARER TO THEE. 173 Were we quite sure To find tlie peerless friend avIio left us lonely ; Or there, by some celestial stream as pure, To gaze in eyes that here were lovelit only — This weary mortal coil, were we quite sure, Who would endure ? Edmuxd Clarence Stedman. KEARER TO THEE. Nearer, my God, to Thee ! Nearer to Thee ! E'en thouo-h it be a cross That raiseth me ; Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee ! Nearer to Thee ! Though, like a wanderer, The san gone down, Darkness be over me. My rest a stone. Yet in my dreams I 'd be Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee ! There let the way appear Steps unto heaven ; 1^4 THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LIXCOLXSHIRK All that Thou sendest me In mercy given : Angels to beckon me Nearer, mj God, to Tliee, Nearer to Thee I Then, with mv waking thouglits Bright with Thy praise, Out of my stony griefs Bethel I '11 raise : So by mj woes to be Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee ! Or if, on joyful wing Cleaving the sky, Sun, moon, and stars forgot. Upward I fly — Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee ! Nearer to Thee ! Sarah Flower Adams THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LIXCOLXSIIIRE. The old mayor climbed the belfry tower, The rino-ers ran bv two, bv three : " Pull ! if ye never pulled before ; Good ringers, pull your best ! " quoth hee. THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. I75 " Play uppe, play iippe, O Boston bells ! Ply all your changes, all your swells I Play uppe ' The Brides of En derby I ' " Men say It was a stolen tyde — The Lord that sent it, He knows all ; But in myne ears doth still abide The message that the bells let fall ; And there was nought of strano-e, beside • The flights of mews and peewits ])ied, By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. I sat and span within the doore ; My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes : The level sun, like ruddy ore. Lav sinkino; in the barren skies ; And, dark against day's golden death. She moved where Lindis wanderetli — Mv Sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. " Cusha ! Cusha I Cusha ! " callinor, Ere the earlv dews were fallino;, Farre away I heard her song. " Cusha ! Cusha ! " all along ; Where the reedy Lindis floweth, Floweth, floweth. From the meads where melick sroweth. Faintly came her milking song. '' Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! " callincr, " For the dews will soone be falling ; 176 THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow ! Quit jour cowslips, cowslips yellow^ I Come uppe, AVhitefoot ! come uppe, Lightfoot I Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow ! Come uppe. Jetty! rise and follow : Froui the clovers lift your head ! Come uppe, Whitefoot ! come uppe, Lightfoot I Come uppe. Jetty ! rise and follow. Jetty, to the milkiuo; shed I " If it be long — ay, long ago — AVhen I beginne to think howe long Agaiue I hear the Lindis flow. Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong ; And all the aire, it seemeth mee. Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), That ring the tune of Enderby. Alle fresh the level pasture lay, And not a shadowe mote be scene, Save where, full fyve good miles away, The steeple towered from out the greene. And lo ! the o-i'eat bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side, That Saturday at eventide. The swanherds, where their sedges are, IMoved on in sunset's golden breath ; The shepherde-lads I heard afarre, THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. 1^7 And my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth ; Till, floating o'er the grassy sea. Came downe that kyndl}'- message free, "The Brides of Mavis Enderby." Then some looked uppe into the sky, And all alono; where Lindis flows To where the goodly vessels He, And where the lordly steeple shows : They sayde, '^ And why should this thing be ? What danger lowers by land or sea, They ring the tune of Enderby ? " For evil news from Mablethorpe, Of })yrate galleys Avarping down — For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, They have not spared to wake the towne ; But while the west bin red to see, And storms be none, and pyrates flee, Why ring ' The Brides of Enderby ? ' " I looked without, and lo ! my sonne Came riding downe with might and main ; He raised a shout as he drew on, Till all the welkin rano; ao-ain : "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" (A sw^eeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) " The olde sea-wall (he cryed) is downe ! 178 THE HIGH TIDE OX THE COAST OF LIXCOLXSHIRE. The rising tide comes on apace ; And boats, adrift in yonder towne, Go sailing uppe the market-place I " He shook as one that looks on death : " God save you, mother ! " straight he savth ; " AVhere is my wife, Elizabeth ? " '' Good Sonne, where Liiidis winds away, With her two bairns I marked her long ; And eie yon bells beganne to play, Afar I heard her milkinii- sono-." He looked across the o-i'assy sea. To right, to left : " Ho, Enderby ! " Thev ranor '^ The Brides of Enderbv ! " With that he cried and beat his breast ; For lo ! along the river's bed A mighty eygre reared his crest, And nppe the Lindis raging sped. It swept with thunderous noises loud — Shaped like a curling snow-white cloud. Or like a demon in a shroud. And rearing Lindis, backward pressed, Shook all her trembling bankes amaine ; Then madly at the eygre's breast Flung uppe her weltering walls again. Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout — Then beaten foam flew round about — Then all the mio;htv floods were out. THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. 1 79 So farre, so fast, the eygre drave, The heart had hardly time to beat Before a shallow seethino; wave Sobbed ill the grasses at oure feet : The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake acrainst the knee — And all the world was in tlie sea ! Upon the roofe we sate that night ; The noise of bells went sweeping by ; I marked the lofty beacon-light Stream from the chnrch tower, red and high — A lurid mark, and dread to see ; And awsome bells they were to mee. That in the dark rang " Enderby." They rang the sailor -lads to guide, From roofe to roofe who fearless rowed ; And I — my sonne was at my side. And yet the ruddy beacon glowed ; And yet he moaned beneath his breath, " O come in life, or come in death I O lost ! my love, EHzabeth." And didst thou visit him no more ? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare ! The waters laid thee at his doore Ere yet the early dawn was clear : Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace. The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe-drifted to thy dwelling-place ! 180 THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. That flow strewed wrecks about the sfrass. That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea — A fatal ebbe and flow, alas ! To manye more than myne and mee ; But each will inourn liis own (she sayth), And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my Sonne's wife, Elizabetli. I shall never hear her more By the reedy Lindis shore, " Cusha ! Cusha ! Cusha ! " callincr, Ere the early dews be falling ; I shall never hear her song, " Cusha ! Cusha I " all alono;. Where the sunny Lindis floweth, Goetli, floweth. From the meads where melick groweth, When the water, winding down, Onward floweth to the town. I shall never see her more. Where the reeds and rushes quiver. Shiver, quiver. Stand beside the sobbing river — Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling, To the sandy lonesome shore ; I shall never hear her calling, *' Leave your meadow grasses mellow. Mellow, mellow ! Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow ! Come uppe, Whitefoot ! come uppe, Lightfoot ! COME SLEEP, O SLEEP! 181 Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow ! Come uppe, Lightfoot ! rise and follow, Lightfoot, Whitefoot : From your clovers lift the head ! Come uppe, Jetty ! follow, follow, Jetty, to the milking shed ! " Jean Ingelow. COME, SLEEP, O SLEEP! Come, Sleep, O Sleep ! the certain knot of })eace. The baiting- place of wit, the balm of woe ; The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release ; The indifferent judge between the high and low ! With shield of proof, shield me from out the prease Of those fierce darts despair doth at me throw. O ! make in me those civil wars to cease : I will good tribute pay if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise and blind to lio-ht, A rosy garland and a weary head ; And if these things, as being thine by right. Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me. Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. Sir Pfiilip Sidney. THE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE. 'T WAS a jolly old pedagogue, long ago, Tall and slender, and sallow and dry ; 182 THE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE. 183 His form was bent, and his gait was slow, His long, thin hair was as white as snow, But a wonderful twinkle shone in liis e>'e ; And he sang every night as lie went to bed, " Let us be happy down here below ; The livino; should live, thoucrh the dead be dead," Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. He taught his scholars the rule of three, Writing, and reading, and history, too ; He took the little ones up on his knee. For a kind old heart in his breast had he, And the wants of the littlest child he knew : "■ Learn while you 're vouno;," he often said, " There is much to enjoy, down here below ; Life for the livino;, and rest for the dead ! " Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. With the stupidest boys he was kind and cool. Speaking only in gentlest tones ; The rod was hardly known in his school ... Whipping, to him, was a barbarous rule. And too hard work for his poor old bones ; Beside, it was painful, he sometimes said : " We should make life pleasant, down here below, The living need charity more than the dead," Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. He lived in the house by the hawthorn lane. With roses and woodbine over the door ; 184 THE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE. His rooms were quiet, and neat, and plain, But a spirit of comfort there held reicrn, And made him forget he was old and poor ; '' I need so little," he often said ; " And my friends and relatives here below Won't litigate over me when I am dead," Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ao-o. But the pleasantest times that he had, of all, Were the sociable hours he used to pass. With his chair tipped back to a neighbor's wall, Making an unceremonious call. Over a pipe and a friendly glass : This was the finest })leasure, he said, Of tlie many he tasted, here below ; '' Who has no cronies, had better be dead ! " Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. Then the jolly old pedagogue's wrinkled face Melted all over in sunshiny smiles ; He stirred nis glass with an old-school grace. Chuckled, and sipped, and prattled apace, Till the house grew merry, from cellar to tiles " I 'm a pretty old man," he gently said, " I have lingered a long wliile, here below ; But my heart is fresh, if my youth is fled ! " Said the iollv old pedao;oo'ue, lono; ao;o. He smoked his pipe in the balmy air. Every night when the sun went down. THE JOLLY OLD PEDAGOGUE. 185 While the soft wind played in his silvery hair, Leaving- his tenderest kisses there, On the jolly old pedagogue's jolly old crown : And, feeling the kisses, he smiled, and said, 'T was a glorious world, down here below ; '' \Vliy wait for hap})iness till we are dead ? " Said the jolly old pedagogue, long ago. He sat at his door, one midsummer nio-ht, After the sun had sunk in the west. And the lino-erino; beams of sjolden lio;ht Made his kindly old face look warm and bright. While the odorous night- wind whispered, " Rest ! " Gently, gently, he bowed his head . . . There were ano-els waitino; for him, I know ; He was sure of happiness, living or dead. This jolly old pedagogue, long ago! George Arnold. t/p^o 4AjUf li^K.^ ' iuZdl- a/L (Xai, Jravto ; l/iuT %L