■• « . '^^ : v^' -^ s^ ^• ,xx^ % <^ "' ■>. ^^ \'^ % 3C> -'^ v'' c^ -^^^ ^^', ^0^ •^L SO' « I \ s^ '^. A' "^^ ■^^ ^:^'■% .0^^ .0 o^ ^ H .-% T^ '' n ; i ■\^^ ,0> s^ " '., ^C- C>^ ■.V '■'?• '^ 0' ,* ,A^' ^.s X POETRY FOR SCHOOLS: DESIGNED FOR READING AND RECITATION THE WHOLE SELECTED FROM THE BEST POETS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. BY THE AUTHOR OF •AMERICAN POPULAR LESSONS," "PRIMARY DICTtONARY," "CLASSIC TALES," "biography for SCHOOLS," "tales from AMERICAN HISTORY," "ENGLISH HISTORY," "GRECIAN HISTORY," ETC. ETC. - Jlt4J JlJU-e^- ^r6^ny< M Not marble nor the gilded monuments Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme. Shakspcare. gc IKcto ana aaebiiscU lEUition, toitj) ^Uliitions. NEW YORK: C. S. FRANCIS & CO., 252 BROADWAY. boston: j.h. francis, 128 washington street. y 1850. 5 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in tho year ISSf, By Charles S. Francis & Co. Ib tho Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. PRINTED BV MUNEOF. & FRA.NCI3, BOSTON. ^ .A.^<* CONTENTS. PAOB PREFACE, 9 NATURE OF POETRY, 13 FIGURES OF SPEECH, 26 HISTORY OF ENGLISH POETRY, 35 ENGLISH POETRY. Edmund Spensbr, ...,.---43 Sir Philip Sidney, .--.--- 45 Sir Walter Ralbioh, .-----.47 Una and the Red Cross Knight, - - - Spenser, 47 Chivalry, ....-----50 The Oak and the Briar— a Fable, - - - Spenser, 54 Inscription for a Bust of Shakspeare, . - - Akenside, 57 Shakspeare, ...--. Idem, 57 Sonnet to Shakspeare, . . - . - Milton, 60 Hubert and Prince Arthur, - - . . Shakspeare, 61 Pembroke, Salisbury, and Bigod, - - - Jd. 66 Henry IV. and Prince Henry, . . - id, 68 Henry V. and Chief Justice, . ... Id. 72 Scene from Cymbeline, - - . - id. 77 Milton, ...-.-..81 Verses to My Father, .-.-«- Milton, 83 Sentence pronounced on Adam and Eve, - - Id. 86 The Departure from Paradise, • . - • Id. 88 Parthia, - Id. 91 Rome, ........ Id. 93 Athens, ------- id. 96 The Lady in Comus, ------ /rf. 98 Song in Comus, .-..-- id. 100 Comus and the Lady, ----- /d. 100 Dryden, .-.----.- 104 Tournaments, -...--.. 104 Extract from Palamon and Arcite, . - . Dryden, 111 3 IV CONTENTS, FA SB Boadicea, ..... Cowper, 117 The Druids, ...... . 119 Scene from Caractacus, ... - Mason, 121 Capture of Caractacus, .... Id. 122 Warton, ...... . 125 The Grave of Prince Arthur, ... ffarton, 127 Mrs. Hemans, ..... . 132 Burial of William the Conqueror, - Mrs, Hemans, 135 Extract from Windsor Forest, ... - Pope, 137 The Crusades, - - - . . . 138 The Crusade — a Poem, .... Warton, 140 Joanna Baillie, ..... . 146 Prince Edward in Prison, .... Miss Baillie, 147 Prince Edward and his Keeper, Id. 147 Sir Waltkr Scott, ..... . 149 The Last Minstrel, .... - fTalter Scott, 150 Improvisitori, ..... Oalt, 153 The Child of BranksomCj ... Scott, 156 The Galliard's White Horse, Id. 159 Border Wars, ..... Id. 161 The Gathering, ..... Id. 162 Roderick Dhu, .... Id. 163 The Alarm, Id. 163 TheTeviot, Id. 168 Lord Surrey, . . . . . . 168 Surrey's Vision, .... - Scott, 170 Constance de Beverly, . . . . Id. 172 Illustrations of the Story of Constance, - . 178 Lady of the Lake, .... Scott, 181 The Chase, ..... Id. 182 Ellen Douglas, . . . . . Id. 185 Rokeby, ...... Id. 190 Matilda, ...... Id. 190 Redmond O'Neal, .... Id. 191 Homer, ....... . 195 Moses' Song, ..... Ezodus, 196 Remarks on the Iliad and Odyssey, . 196 Parting of Hector and Andromache, Pope's Homer, 199 Sarpedon, ..... Id. 204 Death of Sarpedon, .... Id. 206 Revenge of Achilles, - - . . - Id. 208 Funeral of Hector, .... Id. 209 Ulysses, ..... Id. 213 Calypso, ..... Id. 214 Ulysses and Gryllua— from the French, Fenelon, 318 CONTENTS, Wisdom, . - . . . Circe's Palace, • - - . Argus, • • : • - Greek Poets, .... jESCHYLnS, - . . . . Scene from the Tragedy of Agamemnon, Sophocles, . . . . . Antigone, .... Antigone and Ismene, ... Euripides, .... iphige.nia, ..... Scene from the Tragedy of Iphigenia, SouTHEr, . . . . . Roderick in Solitude, • Pelayo and his Children, - . • Religion of Greece, ... Heavenly Love, .... Lord Byron, .... Night at Corinth, . . . Decapitation of Hugo, Prisoner of Chillon, Turkey, .... Vision of Belshazzar, ... Battle of Waterloo, Ball of Brussels, .... Wordsworth, .... The Bee, - . . . . Forsaken Indian Woman, The Solitary Reaper, - . . Andrew Marvell, ... The Emigrants, .... Henry Vauohan, ... Early Rising and Prayer, The Timber, The Rainbow, .... The Wreath, Thomson, ..... Intellectual Labor, ... Collins, ..... Verses on the Death of Thomson, Hassan, the Camel Driver, Gay, The Butterfly and the Snail, The Hare and many Friends, Proverbs, Pope's Homer, Id. Patterns Translation, FVanklin'' s Sophocles, Translation, Southey, Id. Per civ al. Souther/, Byron, Id. Id. Id. Id. Id. Id. Wordsworth, Id. Id. Mar veil, Vaughan, Id. Id Id. Thomson, Collins, Id. • Gay, Id. PAOE 223 234 225 227 228 231 234 234 2:il) L'39 240 241 244 245 24i» 251 252 253 253 254 256 257 2.-.9 2tJ0 2(J2 264 265 267 269 27t) 271 272 273 273 274 274 275 276 278 278 279 281 281 283 VI CONTENTS, RfttERS, . . . • . Extract from the Pleasures of Memory, The Alps at Day-Break, Wolfe, ..... Sir John Moore, . - . . Verses on the Death of Sir John Moore, COWPER, . . . . . The Poet .... Crazy Kale, ... Verses on a Spaniel, &c. Beau's Reply, . . . . Verses to Mrs. Bodham, The Castaway, . . . . Loss of the Royal George, Johnson, . . . . . Anningait and Ajut, ... Verses on the Death of Robert Levet, Grav, ..... Ode on the Spring, Verses on the Death of a Cat, Campbell, .... Lochiel's Warning, ... The Last Man, . . . . The Soldier's Dream, MlLSIAN, . . . . - Song of the Jews, Titus before Jerusalem, Javan's Lamentation, Ode to the Savioiu-, Samuel, ..... The Hebrew Mother, Syria, .... Thomas Moorb, . . . . God's Temple, ... The Kingdom Come, Mrs. Barbauld, . - . - Hymn, .... Helen Maria Williams, God seen in All, ... Babylon, .... Fairies, .... Fairies' Vagaries, . . • The Fairies' Grotto, What is Home? Instruction, ... PAoa . 285 Rogers, 285 Id. 286 • 286 . 288 rVolfe, 288 . 290 Cowper, 291 Id. 291 Id. 292 Id. 293 Id. 294 Id. 294 Id. 296 . 297 Johnson, 298 Id. 304 . 303 Gray, 306 Id. 307 . 308 Campbell, 312 . 314 Cam/ibell, 316 . 317 - JUilman, 317 Id. 321 Id. 324 Id. 325 - 326 Mrs Hemans, 327 Thomas Moore, 330 . 331 Moore, 332 Id. 332 . 334 Barbauld, 334 . - 335 Miss Williams, 336 Proctor, 337 . 340 Shakspeare, 340 Shenstone, 342 - Conder, 343 Bowring, 344 CONTENTS. VU Death's Final Conquest, • • • » • Shirley-, PAGB 34.-. The Genius of Death, .... Cro/ij, 340 Verses to a Friend, .... jUra. John Hunter, 340 Lucv AlKlN, •-.... . 348 The Beggar Man, • • • • Miss JiiUin, 343 India, ...... Id. 349 The Swallow, ...... Id. 350 The Traveller's Return, .... .Anthology, 344 AMERICAN POETRY. William Cullbn Bryant, - • - * . . 352 Autumn Woods, ..... - Bryant, 352 Song of the Stars, . . . . . Id. 355 Rizpah, --..-.. Id. 356 Agricultural Ode, . . . . - Id. 359 Death of the Flowers, - • . . - Id. 359 FiTZ Green Hallbck, . . . . . - 301 Warco Bozzaris, - ... - HalUck, ?0I Falls of the Passaic, . . . . . Irving, 3(;3 Fbisbie, ....... 303 Morning Hymn, ..... Frisbie, 304 Evening Hymn, ..... Id. 305 Oliver Wendell Holmes, . . . . - 306 Cambridge Church- Yard, ... - Holmts, 306 The Dorchester Giant, .... Id. 309 John Pierpont, ...... • 371 The Sparkling Bowl, . . . . . Pierpont, ■67-2 N. P. Willis, ...... 374 The Belfry Pigeon, miiis. 374 Dedication Hymn, ..... Id. 375 The Sabbath, - Id. 370 H. W. Longfellow, ..... - 377 The Skeleton in Armor, ..... LongfeUmc, 378 The VUlage Blacksmith, .... - Id. 382 Edward Everett, ...... • 384 Alaric the Visigoth, . . . . - Everett, 384 Jo«N G. Whittier, ...--• - 387 The Cypress-Tree of Ceylon, - Whittier, 388 Hannah F. Gould, ...... - 390 The Pebble and the Acorn, . . . • Oould, 390 The Frost, ■ Id. 392 Charles F. Hoffman, - - . . - ■ 392 The Forester, ...... Hoffman, 393 Legends, ....--- • 394 Christmas Times, ...•-• Moore, 394 PREFACE The superfluity of school-books which abeadj exists seems to make any further multiplication of them absurd, unless new ones should be better than the old, and it is somewhat presumptuous to suppose that a better than so many existing compilations can be furnished ; but as an instructor of young persons I have felt the want of elementary books different from those in common use, and therefore I have composed them. All that is new to a pupil stands in need of illustration, for without it his mind is rather overburthened than enriched by his acquirements. Oral instruction may furnish an en- lightened commentary upon what is contained in school- books : still it would diminish the labor of instruction if school-books themselves should not only afford the principal matter of instruction, but lead the young to inquiry, and supply the helps which the understanding needs in order to make the finest writers intelligible ; and it appears to me that ordinary school-books are whoUy deficient in this respect. It is a matter of self-gratulation to many that they were early made acquainted with the finest passages of English poetry, that these passages were safely stored in the memory before the imagination or the heart could be affected by their beauty, and that, in after life, when the higher powers have been cultivated, they could discover their inspiration and en- joyments to have grown not only from nature but knowledge. This is certainly true of many who have read Shakspeare and Milton as tasks^ or because they loved the sound of their X PREFACE. words — and that this fondness for the sound of poetry or eloquence does exist in young minds, before the subjects of either can be comprehended, may sometimes be observed. The writer has seen a boy of seven years listen to the pages of Burke with fixed and delighted attention, and has known a little girl, four years younger, as much excited and gratified by the reading of fine poetry — yet in both instances it was not a genuine comprehension of beauty, but an influence of sympathetic afiection. A parent's tastes, and animated pleasure, imparted this lively interest to the full- toned pe- riods of the orator, and the magic numbers of the poet. These early indications of taste and enthusiasm are rare. The greater part of young persons do not love literature, because they do not understand it — do not begin at the begin- ning. In our common schools, we formerly made children read disputes upon the comparative excellence of Reason and Revelation,* and required them to recite Pope's Messiah, the dialogue between Brutus and Cassius, and a multitude more of difficult passages from the poets. Our present practice, though it be less classical, dealing more in infe- rior authors, is not much better. I never knew a boy who could explain the first lines of the Messiah, or who could tell the matter of dispute between the complotters of Caesar's death — and only because boys are not instructed in elementary facts in relation to those pieces, or any others of their character. How repugnant this mode of cultivating literary taste is to some highly endowed minds is happily expressed by one whose memory, and whose genius in its creations, will endure for ever, • • • • "I abhorred Too much, to conquer for the poet's sake, The drilled dull lessons, forced down word by word In my repugnant youth, with pleasure to record Aught that recalls the daily drug which turned Wy sickening memory ; and though Time hath taught My mind to meditate what then it learned, Yet such the fixed inveteracy wrought By the impatience of my early thought • See English Reader, Dialogue between Locke and Bayle. PREEACE. Xi That, with the freshness wearing out before My mind could relish what it might have sought If free to choose, I cannot now restore Its health ; but what it then detested, still abhor." In a note upon these lines tliis higli authority expresses all that I would say upon this subject. " I wish," says Lord Byron, " to express that we become tired of the task before we can comprehend the beauty ; that we learn by rote before we can get by heart ; that the freshness is worn away, and the future pleasure and advantage deadened and destroyed, by the didactic anticipation, at an age when we can neither feel nor understand the compositions which it requires an acquaintance with life, as well as Latin and Greek, to relish, or to reason upon. For the same reason we never can be aware of the fulness of some of the finest passages of Shakspeare, ('To be or not to be,' for instance,) from the habit of having them hammered into us at eight years old, as an exercise, not of mind but memory ; so that when we are old enough to enjoy them, the taste is gone, and the appetite palled. In some parts of the Continent, young per- sons are taught from more common authors, and do not read the best classics till their maturity." In conformity to these views, and my own experience in relation to education, I have endeavored to prepare a school- book, not, however, taking specimens from " common au- thors," but those suitable for my purpose, from the best. In order to compose it I resorted to the purest fountains of English verse. I left the more elevated and sublime portions of the poets who supplied me, and appropriated to my se- lection such passages only as I believed would, with a littlp exposition, be useful and agreeable to young readers. As a bird does not lead her new-fledged oiFspring to the skies in her first flight with them, so I would dictate short excursions to the unformed faculties of the human mind, that young readers, feeling their own power and fehcity as they proceed, may at length be able and willing, without assistance, to as- cend " the brightest heaven of invention." In the modes of education in present fashion, civil and po- Xa PREFACE. litical history is presented to young minds at an early period of study, but literary histoiy — the peaceful influence of mind upon mind — is wholly neglected ; and those who are initiated in the most remarkable passages of Shakspeare, Milton, and other great authors, are taught nothing at school of these memorable men and their contemporaries. It is a debt which posterity owes to genius, to attach the memory of the man to his works, and to keep him and his contemporaries in the view of succeeding ages. I had only sufficient space simply to introduce authors and their relations to contempo- rary society, but I intended to suggest this relation, to awaken inquiry, to give my readers some acquaintance with the history of English poets and poetry, and also to show them the relations of English poetry to the rest of then' intellectual pursuits. I hope my purpose will be effected, and that Poe- try for Schools will be acceptable to teachers and pupils. The preceding remarks were introductory to the former editions of this book, but they are as applicable to the edu- cation of the present as to that of any former time. This edition has been carefully revised, and is enriched by many specimens from the best American poets. Long- fellow, Holmes, Everett and other eminent names added to Bryant's, embellish its pages, and give to a collection of English poetry, the proud and beautiful addition of American nationality. Eliza Robbins. New York, January \st, 1850. POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. NATURE OF POETRY. Whatever exists is divided into mind and matter. Phi- losophers do not accurately define the difference of mind and matter, but the body of animals, or living beings, which appears to die, and the " insensible clod " that we tread upon, are composed of matter. Every creature possessed of animal life, is, in some degree, "instinct with spirit" — endowed with some consciousness of wants, and some sense of supply and of enjoyment — this is intelligence. Intelli- gence in man, is called Mind. The minds of men are very different — some are wise, and others are foolish — some minds acquire great knowledge, and others only understand a few facts. Boys at school call others who are easily puzzled in arithmetic, or who are incapable of learning long lessons, dunces. Those who are capable of thinking with attention, who acquire knowledge readily, and who accurately remember what they have learned, are said to possess abilities ; and one, who besides learning his tasks with facility, can compose verses, or write a story of his own invention, possesses genius. Some men excel others as the hoy of genius excels the dunce. The genius and the dunce grow to be men, but they always remain the genius and the dunce. Genius is, properly, the talent of discovery — the talent in one mind of conceiving, and of displaying to others something previously unthought of. Genius is a capability to produce much advantage and pleasure to mankind. Genius may be very differently employed by different indi- viduals. Columbus was a man of genius. He manifested his genius when he meditated in one hemisphere of our globe upon another which had never been explored, when 14 POETRV FOR SCHOOLS. hf. devised means to navigate unknown seas, and when he persevered in his great enterprise till he had accomplished it. Mr. Fulton, the mechanician, Avho applied the steam engine to navigation, was a man of genius. Benjamin West, the painter, was a man of genius. He painted many fine pictures, and among others, the subjects of which were taken from the gospel, " Christ healing the sick." In this picture, Mr. West represented in his gracious countenance the benevolence of Jesus, a variety of diseases in those who surrounded him, and the emotions of desire, hope, and grati- tude in those who expected to be, or who had been restored to health. The power to do all this so much surpasses the powers of common men that it serves for a clear illustration of genius. Bonaparte, who conquered in many battles, who, by his power of controlling other men, obtained the first magistracy in France, who, after dethroning kings in Europe, gave their kingdoms to his brothers, and who, having slain his thou- sands and tens of thousands, devised and effected practical improvements in the condition of living men, was eminently a man of genius ; though he is only to be admired and imitated so far as he effected or intended good to mankind. But there is another order of genius, — men, who having ceased to live still speak — who are known and honored for their thoughts when their actions are forgfotten, and with whom we may be familiar though we can never see them. These are the authors of books, who have recorded their beautiful ideas that others may be better, and wiser, and happier, than they could be without the intelligence suppli- ed from these divine minds. Shakspeare, who wrote the plays which almost every reader of the English language possesses, and Milton, the author of Paradise Lost, were men of this class of genius. We should be thankful to God that such men have ever lived ; they exalt our nature, and procure for us pleasures which we could not enjoy if some minds did not differ from others in glory. If we could not enrich our understandings with the thoughts of others, we should be like savages in ignorance, or like bees and beavers : men of no age would be moie cultivated or improved tlian their ancestors who lived centuries before them. The body has diff^i-ent, functions : eyes for seeing, ears NATURE OF POETRY, 16 for hearing, &c. The mind also has its different operations. After we have been instructed in the nature of different objects, and have been taught their names, and the proper use of our senses, we learn to distinguish one substance from another, and we remember the qualities of these vari- ous substances ; thus, if a lighted lamp and a rose are set before us, we instantly compreliend that the lamp is an invention of art, and the rose a production of nature ; that the lamp is for use, and the rose for ornament ; that the lamp Jiame diffuses light and heat, and that the rose delights us by its beauty and its fragrance. The different properties of these objects, though they were first perceived by the senses of sight and smell, are comprehended by the mind. This consciousness of the presence of the lamp and the rose, given to the mind by sight and smell, is called a perception. We receive from the presence of these objects a certain feeling that they indeed exist and are before us. This exhibition to our minds of the lamp and the rose we call a demonstration, or certainty. We understand that the lamp and the rose are not alike — we then distinguish or compare them, and comprehend the different qualities of the two things. When we reflect, as we must, upon the different properties of these objects, we exert the power of comparing things, which is judgment. But suppose we did not see either of these objects, and, should read the following passages of poetry : " How far the little candle throws its beams," Shakspeare. And, " I will show you what is beautiful : it is a rose fully blown. See how she sits upon her mossy stem, like the queen of all the flowers. Her leaves glow like fire, and the air is filled with her sweet odor." — Barhauld. In reading the former passage we should immediately remember that in some dark night, while we were yet far from a house, we clearly perceived the light of a candle, and we knew the light to have proceeded from that candle to our eyes. We first knew this by a perception of the light, and we comprehend that the light was a candle flame, and not another thing, by our judgment. When we read of the 16 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. extended reach of the candle beams, we know that the fact mentioned is true, because it has been demonstrated to us at a former time. The present certainty of formerly acquired knowledge is the memory of that knowledge. As we know how far the little candle throws its beams, so we also know that the properties of the rose are well de- scribed. With our eyes shut, and far from the candle or the rose, we comprehend the properties of both objects — we perceive them with the " mind's eye," as Shakspeare says. This mind's eye is the imagination. Before the imagination can be employed upon absent objects, that is, before we can think about, or reflect upon absent objects, we must exert the powers of Perception, Judgment and Memory. It is, then, by an effort of memory and of imagination that we form an idea of absent objects, and by imagination we comprehend what is written in books, or represented in pic- tures which exhibit beautiful images. The imagination of an ignorant person is not powerful ; he thinks almost always of objects before his eyes ; but the imagination of a fine poet is a noble faculty. The poet or the artist comprehends and feels more than other men ; and he makes others feel, in some measure, as he feels. The imagination of him who writes a fine poem, or a tale, produces invention, or the combination and composition of something new. The imagination of a well-instructed person, who perhaps can invent nothing, produces taste. Taste is the power of taking pleasure in something beautiful and elegant that may be presented to us. The same taste, or enjoyment of the beautiful, must exist in the mind of the wi iter of a poem or tale, or in the mind of an artist, as in that of a person who delights in reading a poem, or beholding a good picture. The synvpathy of taste makes the poet write — he expects to be admired ; and the same sympathy makes other persons admire and enjoy the works of genius. All that is written in books is literature. Literature is written language : it is divided mio prose and poetry. Quad- rupeds have four feet, is a prose sentence. Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air, is poetry. Poetry is generally written in verse. Veree is a NATURE OFPOETRY. lY certain measure or quantity of sound, expressed in words, at regular times, during the whole of a poem. This mea- sure, or metre, consists of a certain number of syllables in the printed lines of a poem. Heroic metre, which is the most usual kind, consists of lines of ten syllables. Pope's and Milton's works are chiefly written in this metre ; but Pope wrote in rhyme, and Milton principally in blank verse : — Soft as the wily fox is seen to creep, Where bask on sunny banks the simple sheep. Pope. Each of these lines consist of ten syllables , and the last words of each of them, "creep" and " sheep," rhyme lo each other ; that is, they resemble each other in sound. Ye mists and exhalations that now rise From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray. Till the sun paints your fleecy skirts with gold. Milton Each of these lines also consists of ten syllables ; but though they are not in rhyme we easily distinguish them from prose. The difference consists in the choice of words, and in their arrangement, as may be perceived by reading the same words in an order different from that in which they are at present placed. AH verses are not written in lines of ten syllables ; some are written in eight, and some few in twelve ; indeed we meet with lines in poetry of every number of syllables from three to fourteen. In poetry words are not used literally, as for the most part, in prose. Snow is white, expresses what is literally true. — The words snow is white exactly express what we know to be true ; but, the golden sun diffuses his beams over the face of naiure is an expression altogether figurative. We understand not that the sun is gold, but that his yellow lustre resembles the appearance of gold. These words only signify that the sun shines upon the surface of the earth and the objects which are upon the earth. Truth describes something which really exists, as God made the world. Fiction describes something which might 2* 18 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. exist, cr has been supposed to exist, yet is not now really in existence. One of Gay's Fables begins, Remote from cities lived a swain. and proceeds to relate the conversation of a shepherd and a philosopher. There have been many shepherds and phi- losophers ; but probably none in particular even met, and held the conversation which Gay describes, yet a shepherd and philosopher might talk together in that manner. Gay's Shepherd and Philosopher is a Fable or Fiction. It is proper to distinguish between fiction and a lie. A fiction is an avowed invention ; a lie is a false declaration intended to deceive. English poetr}'^ includes the inventions of English poets, and their translations from other languages ; from Greek and Latin, and from the modern languages of Europe, be- sides a few from the oriental, or Asiatic languages. Our poetry (for whatever is written in the English language properly belongs to Americans who speak it), is divided into many kinds: the Sacred, Classical, Romantic, Drama- tic, (fee. Sacred Poetry relates to serious subjects, to the scriptures, and to the praise of God. Milton's Paradise Lost, and Watts's Hymns, are sacred poetry, and so are many parts of the Old Testament. Classical Poetry is that which has been translated from Greek and Latin. Pope's translation of Homer's Iliad, and Dryden's transla- tion of Virgil, are classical poetry. Romantic Poetry, or metrical romance, relates a tale in verse : as the Lady of the Lake, by Sir Walter Scott. Dramatic Poetry, is composed of poems in dialogue, or discourse of persons which relates a story : Shakspeare's Lear, and the tragedy of Douglas are of this class. In order to understand the greater part of poetry it is necessary to know something of Mythology and Classical Fable. A young reader may get this information from the Classical Dictionary, a book in very common use. Poetry which relates to fictions taken from the north of Europe alludes often to Scandinavian Mythology, or to the super- stitions of the more northern nations of Europe.* The writ- • For the whole subject of Mythology, see Elemeuta of Mythology, by tho Author of Poetry for Schools. NATDRE OF POETRY. 19 ers of Romantic poetry often supply notes to their works whicli make their text very clear. The Epic poem relates a long- history of some great event. It has what is called the beginning, middle, and end of the action. The beginning is the cause of what follows ; the middle relates the progress, or carrying on of the action ; the end is its catastrophe, or finishing. Homer's Iliad is an Epic poem ; the story related in it is a war between the Princes of Greece and those of Troy. The cause of tlie war was the elopement of Helen, a Grecian princess, with a young Trojan. The war itself consisted of a sei-ies of engagements, or battles, between the Greeks and Trojans, which are described by Homer in many successive books of the Iliad. The catastnjphe, or end of the poem, is the death of Hector, the Trojan prince, who alone could defend Troy. The destruction of that city by the Greeks must be supposed immediately to follow. The Ode was perhaps originally designed to be sung. It is a poem usually addressed to some real or ideal per- sonage, or it celebrates some distinguished individual. Gray's Ode to Spring is addressed to the season of vSpring, upon the supposition that she is a female, endowed with the capacity of knowing what is addressed to her, and of answering the prayer of the poet. Dryden's Alexander's Feast is an ode which celebrates the music of the ancients, but it was first written to be recited or sung on St. Cecelia's Day. The Elegy is a melancholy poem written upon some sub- ject which of itself excites the feeling of sadness. The most popular and most beautiful elegy in our language is Gray's, upon a Country Churchyard. The Ballad is a narrative song. Ballads are usually composed among a rude people in the early ages of society, and after society becomes more highly civilized, some writers imitate the old ballads ; but in highly polished communities ballads are too simple to please as new and original ; to be interesting, they must refer to the manners of a past age. The Children in the Wood is a pretty bal- lad and well known. The Eclogue is a narrative, or descriptive poem, meant to exhibit the particular manners of some few individuals in a country. The Eclogue is often a conversation. One of 20 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. Collins's Eclogues, Hassan the Camel Driver, will be found in this collection. Satire, in its best character, is a moral lecture in verse — a censure upon something which is respected without deserving to be so — of some 2)erson who is generally approved, or of some prevailing conduct which is allowed without much blame. Satire endeavors to make its subject, whatever it is, contemptible. Satire is sometimes wholesome correction of what is wrong, and sometimes it is mean malignity ; the spirit which a Avriter of talents expresses against some person whom he ixnworthily hates. Juvenal's Satires from the Latin are translated into the English — they describe the corrupt manners of the people in Rome during the reigns of the emperors, Nero, Domitian, and Trajan. In English poetry Pope's and Young's Satires are of this description — they attack follies and persons ridiculous in their time. Satire is like a caricature, it diverts when first known, but unless it is very just and happy it soon ceases to give pleasure. The Epitaph is designed for a memorial of the dead, and is generally a few verses inscribed upon a tombstone. The following has been much admired. ON THE COUNTESS OF- PEMBROKE. Underneath this marble hearse Lies the subject of all verse. Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother. Death, ere thou hast slain another. Fair, and learned, and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee. — Ben Jonson. This epitaph expresses very high praise. Before another so exalted by all merit as this lady was, should die, Death himself would cease to number his victims, for she surpass- ed all who should live after her. But this is hyperbole, or exaggeration. These lines are pretty, and epigravimat'ic, that is, the words have a variety of meaning, unexpectedly and happily presented to the mind of the reader ; but they are wanting in simplicxty. Simplicity is a single purpose. The epitaph not only praises Lady Pembroke, it intimates the dignity of her brother, Sir Philip Sidnej^ and of her son, the earl of Pembroke, and it disparages the rest of her sex by comparison with her ; — still it is, — (as we sometimes NA-TURK OF POETRY. 21 apply this word to expressive languaore,) mry happy ; it conveys much in a few words. One of Mr. Pope's epitaphs is a very pure and beautiful tribute to a good woman, EPITAPH ON MRS. CORBET. Here rests a woman good without pretence, Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense, No conquest she but o'er herself desired, No art essayed, but not to be admired. Passion and pride were to her soul unknown. Convinced that virtue only is our own. So unaffected, so composed a mind. So firm, yet soft, so strong, yet so refin'd, Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures tried — The saint sustained it, but the woman died. The simplicity of this epitaph is perfectly obvious. The Epigram is a few verses expressing a perspicuous and pointed meaning, and it usually conveys a brief satire. Mild William Clarke, grandfather to Dr. Clarke the traveller, composed an epigram on seeing the inscription which is engraved over the family tomb of the Dukes of Richmond. The inscription is Domus ultima — in English, the last house, and the epigram, the following : — Did he who thus inscribed the wall Not read or not believe Saint Paul, Who says there is, where'er it stands. Another house not made with hands — Or may we gather from these words. That house is not a house of Lords ? The writer here intimates that something which suggests the idea of eternal life ought to be written over the place of the body's interment. St. Paul says, in the New Testa- ment, and alluding to the immortality of the soul, there is " a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." Our Saviour says, " in my Father's house are many man- sions," — many places suitable to be assigned to my follow- ers in a future state of existence. Mr. Clarke, who was a Christian, on seeing the tomb of the Lords of Richmond instantly thought of those other mansions of the dead ; and because this noble race thus appeared to regard the grave as their last rest, he meant at once to satirize and reprove 22 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, their seeming unbelief, by insinuating, that perhaps the heavenly habitation mentioned by Paul would not suit the pride of Lords ; or that Lords, though they enjoy high honors on earth, might be excluded from an inheritance in heaven. Besides the kinds of poetry, that have been mentioned, there are the mock-heroic,, and the pastoral. The mock- heroic gives a fanciful importance to trivial things. The commencement of Cowper's Task is mock-heroic. The poet describes the progressive elegance of seats at different times in Britain. The whole passage is sprightly and amusing, i " Time was, when clothing sumptuous or for use. Save their own painted skins, our sires had none. As yet black breeches were not ; satin smooth. Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile : The hardy chief upon the rugged rock Washed by the sea, or on the gravelly bank Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud. Fearless of wrong, reposed his weary strength. Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next The birthday of invention ; weak at first, Dull in design, and clumsy to perform. Joint stools were then created ; on three legs Upborne they stood. Three legs upholding firm A massy slab, in fashion square or round. On such a stool immortal Alfred sat, And swayed the sceptre of his infant realms : And such in ancient halls and mansions drear May still be seen ; but perforated sore. And drilled in holes, the solid oak is found. By worms voracious eating through and through. At length a generation more refined Improved the simple plan ; made three legs four,. Gave them a twisted form vermicular. And o'er the seat with plenteous wadding stuffed. Induced a splendid cover, green and blue. Yellow and red, of tap'stry richly wrought And woven close, or needlework sublime. There might you see the piony spread wide. The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, Lapdog and lambkin with black staring eyes. And parrots with twin chei-ries in their beak. NATURE OF POETRY. 23 Now came the cane from India smooth and bright With Nature's varnish ; severed into stripes. That interlaced each other, these suppHed Of texture firm, a lattice work, that braced The new machine, and it became a chair. But restless was the chair ; the back erect Distressed the weary loins, that felt no ease; The slippery seat betrayed the sliding part That pressed it, and the feet hung dangling down. Anxious in vain to find the distant floor. These for the rich : the rest, w^hom Fate had placed In modest mediocrity content With base materials, sat on well tanned hides, Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth, With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn. Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fixed, If cushion might be cali'd, what harder seemed Than the firm oak of which the frame was formed. No want of timber then was felt or feared In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood Ponderous and fixed by its own massy weight. But elbows still were wanting ; these, some say, An alderman of Cripplegate contrived ; And some ascribe the invention to a priest, Burly and big and studious of his ease. But rude at first, and not with easy slope Receding wide, they pressed against the ribs, And bruised the side ; and, elevated high, Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears. Long time elapsed or ere our rugged sires Complained, though incommodiously pent in, And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 'Gan murmui', as became the softer sex ; Ingenious Fancy, never better pleased Than when employed to accommodate the fair Heard the sweet moans with pity, and devised The soft settee ; one elbow at each end. And in the midst an elbow it received, United yet divided, twain at once. So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne ; And so two citizens, who take the air, Close packed and smiling, in a chaise and one. But relaxation of the languid frame, 24 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, By soft recumbency of outstretched limbs, Was bliss reserved for happier days. So slow The growth of what is excellent ; so hard To attain pei-fection in this nether woi'ld. Thus first Necessity invented stools, Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs. And Luxury the accomplished sofa last. Pastoral poetry, as the name indicates, describes the shepherd's life, and indeed many modes of rural occupation and pleasiu'e. In America we have no persons professedly devoted to the care of flocks, but in Asia and Europe, from time immemorial, this mode of life has been followed by considerable numbers. It is necessarily lonely and quiet, and disposes the mind to reflection. When Moses was a shepherd in Midian he saw the vision of God ; when the shepherds mentioned by St. Luke were " keeping watch over their flocks by night, the glory of the Lord shone round about them." There is something peculiarly innocent and interesting in the occupation of shepherds ; and the state of their minds, detached from the common business of life, may be suppos- ed to be highly favorable to poetic thought ; but notwith- standing this presumption, Pastoral Poetry is out of date — little read, and, at present, not at all written. Many English poets, from Chaucer to Shenstone, have written Pastorals. Poetry is descriptive when it exhibits the appearances of nature, — humorous when it would excite laughter, — pathetic when it induces the feelings of sadness and pity. When humorous poetry excites contempt for any object by assuming dignity of style in representing it we call it hur- lesque. It may be remarked that poetry does not consist merely of measured words, but of poetic ideas. Common business, whatever relates to gaining money, and to supplying the mere wants of the body, is not poetical. Whatever em- ploys the imagination without regard to bodily wants — God and his works, the mind and its pleasures, great actions of good men, the appearance of the heavens and the beauty of the earth, and the hopes and probable enjoyments of an- other life, are poetical subjects. There is a proper manner or style of writing upon these subjects, more dignified and NATURE OF POETRY. 25 more refined than that which we use in ordinary writing : this is the poetic style, and it admits of ornaments which are explained by Rhetoric. Grammar informs us how to speak and write with propriety, Rlietoric instructs us to do both with elegance. Rules do not convey exact ideas of a just and beautiful style of writing ; they are useful but not sufficient. Good examples set before a writer, and good sense and good taste on his part, are necessary to make him write well ; and the careful and intelligent reading of the best books in his own language, is the best help which any young person can find to exalt and multiply his own ideas, or to create the power of expressing them with eft'ect upon others. The genius of a man determines Avhether he shall be a fine poet, an original artist, or an eloquent orator ; but genius does not determine whether whatever he does shall be done well or ill ; his education, his habits, and his own will, determine that. Industry and application of mind are the means of improving all the faculties. Taste consists in the knowledge of what is beautiful and proper, and in the love of it. If a young person be careless how he speaks and wiites, if his desire of excellence be no higher than to spell well, and to be amused by books, he has no chance of any high enjoyments derived from literature. A person really accomplished, capable of sustaining any eminence with honor, must know how to converse and to write well, and to form a correct judgment of the abilities of others in these respects. Perhaps there is no mortification more frequently felt than that of an embarrassed speech, a want of self-satis- fying power to give ready utterance of one's thoughts. This may be obviated by careful and early study, and by a habit of committing our ideas to writing. We ought to know what terms are suitable to ordinary discourse. A person who reads much becomes pedantic or bombastical, if he does not learn that the subjects and language of his books are somewhat distinct from the topics which spring up in common conversation ; but his conversation will be corrupted if he does not bear in mind the corrections which vulgar speech may take from an intimacy with good authors ; and his written compositions will not attain their suitable elegance unless he knows what is proper. 3 26 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. What is pi-ope)' is the style which the best writers have agreed to consider proper. The models of what is proper must be known — we must read poetry and prose in order to know them. We are not obhged exactly to imitate any style of writing. If we imderstand and love what we read, our minds will be conformed to the spirit of our reading ; and if we have judgment and the desire of excelling in whatever we do, we may improve upon the manner of others. No artist could have formed the statue of a r/od who had never seen a man ; but having seen and studied the human figure, images far surpassing the beauty of any indi- vidual man have been formed. Books are in every house ; instruction lifts up her voice everywhere ; we have nothing to do but to read, to listen, to think of these things, and to elevate ourselves above " the vulgar flight of low desire," to be all that we ought to be. Poetry is so happily adapted to our faculties that its con- struction catches the ear instantly, it fastens upon the mind, assimilates our thoughts to its suggestions, and is held more tenaciously in the memory than any other part of our know- ledge which is not connected with the mere preservation of life. The pleasure it affords as a luxury of ima^nation is incalculable, and as a purifying influence upon the heart and life, its moral benefit is beyond estimation. We cannot love things high and holy, and things mean and unworthy, at the same time. Poetry utters the oracles of God ; she is the voice of wisdom: let us seek for instruction from her inspiration. She is the handmaid of religion, her flights are upward, and her dwelling place is Heaven : let us follow whither she will lead us — there is the throne of the Almighty, and there is the intelligence of angels, there will be the last growth of our minds, and there the highest felicity of our nature. FIGURES OF SPEECH. Figures of speech are, properly, ornaments of written language, embellishments of thought, and illustrations of fact ; associated ideas brought before the mind of a writer or speaker, and exhibited to other minds, in order to set off or adorn some primary object of thought : thus, FIGURES OF SPEECH. 27 The rose, with feeble streak So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek, That you had said her hue was pale, &c. Rokeby, Canto iv. The primary, or first idea in this example, is the delicate glow of Matilda's cheek ; the associated idea is the pale red of a faintly-colored rose. The idea of the rose serves to convey to the mind of a reader the idea of the tint of Ma- tilda's cheek, by inducing a conij)arison between the two objects — that is, by making him think of both at the same time. Figures of speech are very impressive illustrations of ideas, when the figure is suitable to the primary idea. From the print of an elephant, as he may sometimes be seen in books, one who had never seen an elephant could not form a just notion of his size ; but if the figure of a man, in proper proportion, should be placed near that of the elephant the greater magnitude of the latter would be obvious ; and by comparing the two objects a tolerably correct notion of their relative bulk might be formed. The figure of a man serves for an illustiation of that of the elephant. In a similar way the image or thought presented to the mind by a figure of speech illustrates, or makes plain, some original or fore-mentioned idea. A simile, or comparison, is a figure of speech. It shows one thing, or circumstance, to be like another. The latter subject of the comparison illustrates the former part. Here is a simile taken from Parnell's Hermit : — Then pleased and thankful from the porch they go. And, but the landlord, none had cause of wo ; His cup was vanished : for in secret guise, The younger guest purloined the glittering prize. As one who spies a serpent in his way. Glistening and basking in the summer ray, Disordered stops to shun the danger near, Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear — So seemed the sire, when, far upon the road. The shining spoil his wily partner showed. The propriety of this simile, detached from the story to which it belongs, is not quite clear. From the porch they go — -vyho go ? An old hermit, and a young man, his com- 28 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. panion, who are travelling on foot. The time is morning, and they have just left the hospitable mansion of a rich man to whom they were strangers, but in whose house they had fared sumptuously the night before. Wine was presented to them in a valuable silver cup which the younger, at his departure, stole, and soon after showed to the hermit. The virtuous old man, struck with the dis- honesty and ingratitude of the youth, regards him with the horror he would have felt at the siglit of a venomous snake suddenly discovered in his path. The danger of being attended by a wicked companion, and the detestation felt by the good at a treacherous action, are forcibly suggested by the image of the danger and terror which any person would be in at the sudden appearance of so frightful a reptile. A Metaphor is an expression used as a simile ; but it sub- stitutes one thing for another, and speaks of the illustra- tion as being the thing compared with it : thus — God is the rock of ages, is a Metaphor. The meaning of this is, God is like a rock — a fiiin immove-able foundation for human trust in every age. We readily understand this species of comparison. Here is a fine metaphor from the poetry of Thomas Moore ^ • " • The fresh huoyant sense of being That bounds in youth's yet careless breast. Itself a star not borrowing light But in its own glad essence bright. Metmiymy is a figure in which one name is put for another, on account of some relation between the thing named, and that understood ; or some resemblance between the original implied and the individual whose name is sub- stituted for his : as, we call a wise man, a Franklin, and a base one, a Catiline. Such a Metonymy as this, is a sort of comparison. When the name of a place is used to convey the idea of its inhabitants, the expression is Metonymy : as when we say " the resources of Britain are immense," we mean, the resources of the people of Britain. A Synecdoche puts the whole for a part, or a part for tlie whole, as. Thy growing virtues justified my cares. And oromised comfort to my silver hairs. Pope's Homei: 5-1 CURES OF SPEECH. 29 The silver hairs signify the old age of the speaker. An Hyperbole is a figure that goes beyond the bounds of strict truth, and represents things as much greater, better, or worse, than they really are. Sir Walter Scott says of Ellen in the Lady of the Lake : E'en the light hare-bell lifts its head Elastic from her airy tread. This is Hyperbole. Ellen was lively and light, but her footprints must have broken the tender herb. However, Ave understand this to be poetic license, and admire the delicate illustration of her slight form and animated motion. Poetic license signifies the liberty permitted to poets to exceed the literal limits of truth. Irony is common to poetry and prose ; it is an expression of one idea, when we would convey the idea of its oppo- site extreme : thus, in common conversation, in order to ridicule his choice, we say, when we think a friend has pre- ferred an inferior to a better thing " / admire your taste." In Scott's Rokeby two assassins are described wa.tching their intended victims ; one of them approaches a young man whom he fears, and when he discovers who he is sud- denly withdraws ; upon this his companion laughs grimly, and says : A trusty mate art thou, to fear A single arm, and aid so near. Interrogation is asking a question. When the interroga- tion is made in writing, or public speaking, no reply is expected. It is used to induce the hearer to reflect with attention, and answer to his own reason if the speaker's argument be not just and forcible. When Habakkuk, the Hebrew prophet, forewarns his countrymen of God's vindictive' justice, that is, his punish- ment of their sins, which had been revealed to him, and of which he speaks as if it were past, he says : Was the Lord displeased against the rivers? Was thy wrath against the sea. ? An obvious answer would be, No. God is not displeas- ed with the rivers, nor angry against the sea; but he 30 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. woimds the head of the wicked, and as a whirlwind, he scatters the nations that offend. Exclamation is little more than a cry — a sudden, broken expression of surprise, pleasure, contempt, indignation, or pain. The Duke, in Shakspeare's Twelfth Night, relieving his melancholy with music, exclaims, That strain again ! it had a dying fall ! Oh, it came o'er my ear like the sweet south, That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odor. This example of exclamation from Shakspeare, expresses raiiture — unexpected, lively delight. Climax is the enumeration of many particulars in one period or whole sense, intended to produce one effect of persuasion or conviction in the minds to which it is address- ed. In climax or gradation the most important idea of the whole assemblage is the last mentioned. From the begin- ning to the end of the chmax it is proper that each particu- lar enumerated should rise in dignity of sense above the preceding. The following is an example of Climax from the Spec- tator : Mr. Addison has a beautiful climax of circumstances arisinfj one above another, when he is describincf the treat- ment of negroes in the West Indies, who sometimes, upon the death of their masters, or upon changing their service, hang themselves upon the next tree. ' Who can forbear admiring their fidelity, though it expresses itself in so dreadful a manner ? Wliat might not that savage greatness of soul, which appears in these poor wretches on many occasions, be raised to, were it rightly cultivated ? and what color of excuse can there be for the contempt with which we treat this part of our species ? That we should not put them upon the common foot of humanity ; that we should only set an insignificant fine upon the man who murders them, nay, that we should, as much as in us lies, cut them off from the prospects of happiness in another world as well as in this, and deny them that which we look upon as the proper means for attaining it?' FIGURES OF SPEECH. 31 Here Mr. Addison first mentions the virtues of the poor negroes, and then contrasts the cruel treatment of white men with their deserts. This cruel treatment in fact is this : We — Mr. Addison meant the Europeans, but his remarks apply to some Americans of the present age — We, says he in effect, deny them to possess the understandings of men ; we consider them brute animals ; we do not punish their murderers ; and we not only deprive them of liberty and the sympathies that exist between man and man in this world, but we refuse to consider them as immortal beings, and withhold from them the knowledge necessary to their salvation. It is very plain that the last articles of this passage — the immortal soul, and its final happiness in hea- ven — are considerations of greater magnitude, in regard to the negro character, the abuse it has suffered, and the re- dress that the author here claims for it, than any he had previously detailed. This example is not taken from poetry, but Climax is a figure which occurs in poetry. Anticlimax is often used as to denote a foolish representation of facts, which exag- gerates the unimportant, and gives the least regard to the more important particulars under consideration. Apostrophe is an abrupt address to the absent. It some- times partakes of the character of personification : as St. Paul, in holy rapture, exclaims, " Oh, Grave ! where is thy victory ? Oh, Death ! where is thy sting ?" The Minstrel in Scott's Lay, breaks out, at the thought of his beloved country, into this apostrophe : Caledonia, stern and wild. Meet nurse for a poetic child ! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood. Land of my sires ! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand ! Personification is the investing of qualities, or things in- animate, with the character of persons, or the introducing of dead or absent persons as if they were alive and pre- sent. The following example of the figure of personification is 32 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. from Milton's Comus. The poet personifies "Virtue, Wis- dom, and Contemplation : Virtue could see to do what virtue would By her own radiant light, though sun and moon Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, Where with her best nurse, Contemplation, She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, That in the various bustle of resort Were all too ruffled, and sometimes impaired. Cowper has personified Winter, as the " King of intimate delights. Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness" — and has introduced him in a very picturesque description : thus, Winter, ruler of the inverted year, Thy scattered hair with sleet like ashes filled, Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks Fringed with a beard made white with other snows Than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, But urged by storms along its slippery way, — 1 love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, And dreaded as thou art ! Allegory/ is a prolonged use of figures, so connected in sense as to form a parable, or fable. Gray's Ode to Ad- versity is an allegory. ODE TO ADVERSITY. Daughter of Jove, relentless power, Thou tamer of the human breast. Whose iron scourge and torturing hour The bad aff"right, afflict the best ! Bound in thy adamantine chain. The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. FIGURES OF SPEECH. 33 When first thy sire to send on earth Virtue, his darling child, designed, To thee he gave the heav'nly birth And bade to form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurse ! thy rigid lore With patience many a year she bore : What sorrow was, thou badst her know, And from her own she learned to melt at others' wo. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood, Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy. And leave us leisure to be good. Light they disperse ; and with them go The summer friend, the flattering foe ; By vain prosperity received. To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. Wisdom in sable garb arrayed. Immersed in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid, With leaden eye that loves the ground. Still on thy solemn steps attend : Warm Charity, the general friend. With Justice, to herself severe. And Pity, dropping soft the sadly pleasing tear. Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head, Dread Goddess, lay thy chast'ning hand ' Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Not circled with the vengeful band (As by the impious thou art seen) With thundering voice, and threatening mien, With screaming horror's funeral cry. Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty : Thy form benign, oh Goddess ! wear. Thy milder influence impart. Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound my heart. The generous spark extinct revive, Teach me to love, and to forgive. Exact my own defects to scan. What others are to feel, and know myself a man." 34 POETRY FORSCHOOLS. * Mr. Gray has thus personified Misfortune or Adversity. He has represented her as the daughter of the supreme Deity, but employed to affright the bad, and afflict the best men — " Whom he loveth, he chasteneth," or purifieth, say the Hebrew Scriptures. Perhaps this excellent poet had this passage in his mind when he wrote this stanza. " Sweet are the uses of adversity," says Shakspeare, and so has Gray represented them. " By the sadness of the counte- nance, the heart is made better," says Solomon. Taught by our sufferings, we learn to pity others ; we abandon our follies, and gain leisure to be good. When we are in afflic- tion, the sordid, and the frivolous, who shared the pleasures of our prosperity, forsake us ; but our virtues — wisdom, meditation, charity, justice, and pity, remain with us, and console us. The poet having asserted this, changes the form of his verses to apostrophe, and entreats the goddess, as he terms Adversity, to spare him from the severest in- flictions of her hand, and to purify and exalt his heart. Young persons should commit these fine verses to memory. Antithesis is a figure by which words and ideas very dif ferent, or contrary, are placed together, in contrast or oppo- sition, that they may mutually set off and illustrate each other. In Blair's Sermon on Gentleness, the annexed example of Antithesis may be found : " As there is a worldly happiness which God perceives to be no more than disguised misery ; as there are woildly honors which in his estimation are reproach : so there is a worldly wisdom which in his sight is foolishness. Of this worldly wisdom the characters are given in the Scriptures, and placed in contrast with those of the wisdom which is from above. The one is the wisdom of the crafty ; the other that of the upright : the one terminates in seljishness; the other in charity : the one is full of strife and bitter envyings ; the other of mercy and of good fruits." The antithetical words of this passage are printed in italics — happiness and misery, honor and reproach, ivisdom and foolishness, are ideas in direct opposition — and the re- maining antitheses of the period are, it is presumed, quite as clear. HISTORY OF ENGLISH POETRY. Young persons at all instructed in modern history know that the Enoflish lanejuacre is formed from several more ancient lanouages. The Romans carried the Latm mto Britain half a century before the birth of Christ. About five hundred years after, the Saxons, a warlike people from Germany, succeeded the Romans as masters of England, and, with their dominion, introduced and established their speech. The language of England for several centuries was what is called the Anglo Saxon, but this was super- seded, in great measure, by tlie Norman French. In 1066, William, Duke of Normandy, conquered Eng- land, and established his power in the country. He brought with him a multitude of followers whom he dis- tributed over the kingdom, and caused the laws to be announced in the Norman French. This language grad- ually combined itself with the previous dialect of England, and our English language, by slow degrees, was formed from these several languages. The Anglo-Saxons were not wholly without hterature ; they had wandering minstrels who sung verses, and in their convents some of the priests composed in rhyme. The Normans brought to England their own poetry, which con- sisted chiefly of songs, satires, morality, and rhyming chronicles. In the twelfth century, the Crusades, or reli- gious wars, carried on by the Europeans in Palestine, fur- nished romantic adventures which the poets rehearsed in verse ; and at the same time, narrative poems from Scrip- ture, and classical subjects began to appear in England. In the thirteenth century it became customary for the minstrels to " sing devotional strains to the harp on Sun- days, for the editication of the people, instead of the verses on gayer subjects which were sung at public enter- tainments." The first original poem of any extent in the English language is ascribed to Robert Langlande, a priest. It describes the Christian life, and the abuses of religion under the authority of the Pope. It is to the honor of poetry 35 36 POETRY !■ O K S C H O L S . that among the first efforts of her power over a partially civilized people slie should fearlessly utter the dictates of truth, undismaj'ed by arbitrary princes, and selfish priests. " The mind," says Mr. Campbell, speaking of Langlande, •' is struck with his rude voice, proclaiming independent and popular sentiments, from an age of slavery and super- stition, and thundering a prediction in the ear of papacy ; which was doomed to be literally fulfilled at the dis- tance of nearly two hundred years. His allusions to contemporary life afforded some amusing glim[)ses of its manners." The earliest English poet whose remains are still pre- served to popular readers is Geoffrey Chaucer. He died in 1400. It would not be suitable to the design of this little sketch to descant upon a poet whose works few young persons would have the patience to read. But with a little pains matured readers may make the obsolete language of Chaucer intelligible. The very lively pictures which his ■writings afford of the manners and sentiments peculiar to his time, are interesting to those that love to look far back into the dim region of the past, and behold there stars of mind which shine for ever and ever. During almost two centuries after the death of Chaucer civil wars and religious persecutions silenced the muse in England. Some obscure names of this period attached to poetry may be drawn from oblivion by the antiqua- ries, but the poetical feehng and genius of England are regarded by Mr. Campbell to have been at that time almost extinct. In the fifteenth century printing was introduced into Brit- ain. The desire of knowledge is excited in the public mind by the means of obtaining it, and it would seem that Divine Providence has adjusted the productiveness of genius to the estimation in which it is held. Whenever the people become eager for instruction, or for entertainment, Wisdom is heard crying in the streets, and the sweet strains of poetry seem to mingle in the common air that we breathe. In the six- teenth century the Scriptures were given to the people of England, learning was cultivated, and poetiy revived ; and as society was iinpioved genius was developed and honor- ed. Of this influence of society upon poetic genius, Mr. Campbell says : " Poets may be indebted to the learning and philosophy HISTORY OF ENGLISH POETRY. 37 of their age, ■without being themselves men of erudition or philosophers. When the fine spirit of truth has gone abroad, it passes insensibly from mind to mind, independ- ent of its direct transmissions from books ; and it comes home in a more welcome shape to the poet, when caught from his social intercourse with his species, than from solitary study." Lord Surrey lived in the reign of Henry VTII., and was the inventor of blanJc verse. In the reign of Queen Ehza- beth, and of her successor, James I, lived Shakspeare, Ben Jonson, and Spenser. Spenser, the author of the Fairy Queen, is now very much praised, and very little read. His subjects are partly allegorical, and partly in representa- tion of persons of his own age. On account of this con- fusion and obscurity in liis poetry, it may be that Spenser is more studied by poets than by general readers. Jonson is hardly more popular, but " ever}^ body's Shakspeare" now in universal estimation, wears, and will wear in the eyes of all posterity, his laurels fresh and green as ever. Shakspeare's appearance as a dramatist can be traced back to 1589, and the Fairy Queen was published in 1590. English Poetry comprehends the Drama. Mysteries, Moralities, and Interludes, are names of the dramatic rep- resentations, known in England previous to Shakspeare's time. The Mysteries were religious shows, exhibited to the people under the sanction of tlie ministers of religion. The Resurrection of Lazarus, and the Sepulture of our Lord, were among these representations. They were in fashion in England during four hundred years, and went out of vogue in the middle of the sixteenth century. The MoraHsts dramatized moral subjects, and sometimes represented discoveries in science. An Interlude on the nature of the four elements, and The Tracts of America lately discovered, and the manners of the natives, is record- ed among the last of these entertainments. It is obvious that when men, generally, could not read, these represen- tations might have been very instructive. Greek and Latin tragedies were translated into English as early as 1566. During the last twenty years of the sixteenth century, play-writers by profession were common, but their names and works have now, for the most part, become insignificant. Ben Jonson's plays exhibit much learning and wit — they are still read, but are rarely exhi- 4. BS POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, bii-ed upon the stage. Among his works are specimen* of that poetic and tasteful drama, the Masque. Milton's Comus is a masque, and Percy's Masque, by Mr. Hill- house, which was written about 1820 in America, is a masque. Poetic translation commenced in England about 1560. The poetry of Virgil, Ovid, and soon afterward of Homer,, was translated into English verse near this time. Dr. Johnson commences his Lives of the Poets with the life of Cowley, and classes him with Donne, Waller, and some other poets who had lived during the preceding century : these were the metap]ii/f>ical 2ioets. Their works exist in old books, but they are only known to curious readers. Shakspeare stands at the head of English poets, and next in eminence is the divine Milton: Milton died in 1G74, at the age of G2. In his early life Milton felt that he was. born for postei'ily and all time, and in the consciousness of his endowments his elevated mind was little disturbed bv the neglect of his contemporaries. For almost a century after tiie publication of his minor works they were little known ; and Paradise Lost, which appealed in print in 1669, after its author had become blind to external things, attracted little of tlie admiration which it has since called forth. Among British poets next to Milton in the order of time comes Dry den. Gray describes Milton and Dryden in these lines : • * • • He, that rode sublime Upon the seraph wings of Ecstasy, The secrets of th' Abyss to spy. He passed the flaming bounds of Space und Time, The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze, Where Angel's tremble while they gaze, He saw ; but, blasted with excess of light. Closed his eyes in endless night. — Behold where Dryden's less presumptuous car Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear Two coursers of etherial race, With necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace. Hark, his hands tlie lyre explore ! Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. HISTORY OF ENGLISH POETRY. 39 Dry den's plays and poems are not much read, though Alexander's Feast still retains its po[mlanty, and almost every school-boy can repeat it. Dryden died in IVOO. Pope died in 1744. For a wliole century Mr. Pope was perhaps the most popular of English poets ; and though his moral and religious sentiments were censured by the rigidly righteous, still they have passed into the principles and common talk of most readers. " As Pope says," is a phrase which is often prefixed in conversation to a multi- tude of pointed remarks tliat are found in Mr. Pope's writings, and readily applied by almost every mind to the practical wisdom of daily life. Whate'er by nature is in worth denied She gives in large recruits of needful pride. Trust not thyself — thy own defects to know Make use of every friend, and every foe. True wit is nature to advantage dressed — That oft was thought, but ne'er so well expressed. 'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call. But the joint force and full result of all. Man, like the generous vine, supported, lives — The strength he gains is from the embrace he gives. Reason's whole pleasures, all the joys of sense. Lie in three words. Health, Peace, and Competence. Such are a few of those couplets which are become almost common-place, but which express important principles with admirable simplicity and plainness. Among the contemporaries of Pope were several poets much in fashion during their lives, and of whose works some are yet popular. Of these Addison, Swift, Gay, and Parnell deserve to be mentioned. The respect- ive characters of these writers, and their works, may be learned from sources more ample than this brief notice of English poetry and poets. After the death of Pope, Thomson, Collins, Shenstone, Akenside, Graj^ and Goldsmith, were much and deserv- edly admired as English poets. Goldsmith, the last in the order in which they are mentioned, died in 1774. The genius of each, differing as they do from one another in 40 POETRY FORSCHOOLS. glory, is " essentially immortal," still exerts its sweet in- fluence, and gathers increase of honors from successive years. Cowper died in 1800. His poetry is in every house. It is without spot or blemish, inspired by the genius of Chris- tianity, full of humanity and piety, tender and holy as the writer's heart, and beautiful as the rural sights and sounds which delighted his pure nature. Since Cowper, Rogers, Walter Scott, Soutbey, Crabbe, Campbell, Byron, Words- worth, and Moore have appeared in the world. In no period since the existence of our language has such extend- ed homage been paid to living poets as in the present century. The legends of Scotland are made familiar and inexpressibly interesting, all over the world, by the min- strelsy of Scott — the valleys of America are brought out of obscurity by the genius of Campbell — the " gorgeous east " glitters in the pictured pages of Moore — Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep. Isles that crown the Egean deep, Fields that cool lUysus laves, have again breathed their inspiration, and the British name of Byron is now associated with the birth-place of all the muses. The talent of Southey has celebrated the chivalry of Spain ; and the rural life of England, in all its forms of good and evil, has been recorded for ever by the masterly hands of Crabbe and Wordsworth. Nothing like criticism upon the several works of these authors, can be useful to young readers. Read first, judge afterwards. All that is contained in this volume, is col- lected to inspire love for the pursuit of literature, and to make it agreeable by making it intelligible. Young persons are here introduced to a commvmity of the most venerable and gifted minds that ever lived, and they are invited to assimilate their moral nature by purity of heart and of thought, to this goodly fellov/ship ; — and to the reposito- ries of their heavenly fancies, repairing " as to their foun- tain," thence to draw light that shall not grow dim with age, but shine brighter and brighter to the perfect day of their intellectual progress. Various changes that the language has undergone are exhibited by English poetry. Our language has not HISTORY OP ENGLISH POETRY. 41 always been written as it now is. English grammars and dictionaries were not in general use till the latter half of the last century ; before that time, however, good English writers nearly ixgrecd in their orthography and gramraat'.cal construction, and fiom their practice, in respect to ortho- graphy and grammar, our rules are principally taken. Here follow four specimens of English poetry, written at different times. The first is from Chaucer : Emilie, that fayrer was to sene Then is the lilie upon his stalk grene, And fresher than the May with floures newe, (For with the rose colour strof hire hewe, I n'ot which was the finer of hem two.) Ere it was day, as she was wont to do, She was arisen, and all redy dight : For May wol have no slogardie a-night. The season priketh every gentil herte, And maketh him out of his sleep to sterte. And sayth, arise, and do thin observance. Chancers Kfiighte's Talc, verses 1037—1048. If a school boy of the present time should alter these verses after his own habits, and preserve the words as nearly as possible, he would write them thus: Emilie, that fairer was to see Than is the lily upon his stalk green. And fresher than the May with flowers new, (For with the rose color strove her hue, I know not which was finer of them two.) Ere it was day, as she was wont to do. She was arisen, and already drest : For May will have no sluggishness of night. The season pricketh every gentle heart. And maketh him out of his sleep to start, And saith, arise, make thy morning prayer. Spenser published the Faery Queene in 1590— one hundred and ninety years after Chaucer died. The fol- lowing description of a fine lady's ornaments and equipage is taken for the Faery Queene : Hee had a faire companion of his way, A goodly lady clad in scarlet red, 4 42 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS- Purfled with gold and pearle of rich essay ; And like a Persian mitre on her head She wore with crowns and owches garnished ; The which her lavish lovers to her gave. The wanton palfrey all way overspread With tinsel trappings woven like a wave, Whose bridle hung with golden bells and bosses brave. Fairy Queen, Canto II., verse 13, This is not so simple a description, not so easy to be understood, nor does it present so beautiful an image, as that of the sweet Emilie — rising with the dawn, and going forth among the flowers of May, — "herself the fairest flower," as the poet Milton afterwards said of Eve in Para- dise. Chaucer's lady is lovely in herself, but Spenser's fair one is thought much less of than the splendor with which she is attired and mounted. A fine woman dressed in a robe of scarlet, adorned with pearls and gold lichly wrought, wearing a splendid crown, and governing a noble horse, himself covered with cloth of silver, and reined with a glittering and tinkling bridle, may be looked at for a moment with pleasure ; but not with the same satisfaction as she must be i"egarded, whose beauty is the expression of gracefulness, modesty, and kindness. The next specimen shows the progress of our language, and teaches the very lesson that a moral comparison be- tween the preceding ones may do. It was written but a few years after that of Spenser. The author, Ben Jonson, died^iesY. Give me a look, give me a face That make simplicity a grace. Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art, — They strike my eyes and not my heart. The following specimen, written in 182T, is like the orthography of that which preceded it two hundred years : 'Tis eve, the soft, the purple hour, The dew is ghstening on the bower ; The lily droops its silver head. The violet slumbers on its bed ; SPENSER, 43 Heavy with sleep the leaflets close, Veiling thy bloom, enchanting rose. Still gazing on the western ray The last sweet worshipper of day, — Croly. English poetry is not confined to the British dominions — our western world has produced poets whose memory will be proof " 'Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity" — whose verses embellish these pages, and whose talents we should cherish with sentiments of pride and pleasure. EDMUND SPENSER. Spenser is the earliest English poet whose writings afford any specimens suitable to this collection. English History furnishes an interesting and useful subject of study to tlie young scholar if it afford him just views of English ■mind. If history describes those only who have conquered certain armies, who have devastated countries, or who have built towns and forts, it informs us of little that is useful and improving. But it is delightful to learn from history that wise men have arisen in a nation after long periods of general ignorance, — deliglitful to read the works which during centuries have made one generation of men after another, wiser and better, — delightful to turn from the bar- barous triumphs of mad ambition and physical force to the dominion of intellect, and to enrich the understanding by the genius of others, who have refined and exalted society ever since they came into being. Queen Elizabeth succeeded to the throne of Britain in 1558. Elizabeth was attached to the Protestant faith, made it the national religion, cultivated learning herself, and cher- ished genius in others. Shakspeare lived in her reign, and paid homage to this maiden queen. He styles her, " a fair star, throned in the west ;" and makes one, speaking of her infancy, say, Sheba was never More covetous of wisdom, and fair virtue, Than this pure soul shall be Truth shall nurse her ; Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her. In the reign of Elizabeth," says Campbell, " the En- 44 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. glisli mind put forth its energies in every direction, exalted by a purer religion, and enlaiged by new views of truth. This was an age of royalty, adventure, and generous emu- lation. The chivalrous character was softened by intellectual pursuits, while the genius of chivalry itself still lingered, as if unwilling to depart, and paid his last homage to a warlike and female reign. A degree of romantic foncy remained in the manners and superstitions of the people ; and allego- ry might be said to parade the streets in their public pageants and festivals. Quaint and pedantic as those allegorical exhibitions might often be, they were nevertheless more expressive of erudition, ingenuity, and moral meaning than they had been in former times. " The philosophy of the highest minds still partook of a visionary cliaracter, A poetical spirit infused itself into the practical heroism of the age ; and some of the worthies of that period seem less like ordinary men, than like beings called forth out of fiction, and arrayed in the briglttness of her dreams. They had ' high thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy.' The life of Sir Philip Sidney was poetry put into action." Three very memorable individuals adorned the age of Elizabeth, — Spenser, Sir Pliilip Sidney, and Sir Walter Raleirfh. The latter two are more properly subjects of verse than poets, though their verses are found in collections of English poetry, but Spenser stands without a rival in his own style of poetic invention. Edmund Spenser was born in London about the middle of the sixteenth century. After leaving the University of Cambridge, where he was educated, he passed some time in a state of rustic obscurity in the north of England, and there his mind was furnished with those natural images that abound in his works. He was afterwards introduced to Sir Phihp Sidney, and once resided with him at Penshurst in Kent. By the influence of Sidney, Spenser procured the place of Secretary to the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and subsequently, a grant from the Queen of land in that country, in which he )emained for several years. " Spenser's residence at Kilcolman, an ancient castle of the eails Desmond, commanded a view of above half the breadth of Ireland, and must have been a most romantic and pleasant situation. The river MuUa which Spenser has SIDNEY. 45 SO often celebrated, ran through his grounds.. In this re- treat he was visited by Sir Walter Raleigh, at that time a captain in the Queen's arnij'. His visit occasioned the re- solution of Spenser to prepai-e the first books of the Fairy Queen for immediate publication. Spenser has commemo- rated this interview, and the inspiring influence of Raleigh's praise, under the figurative description of two shepherds tuning their pipes, beneath the alders of the Mulla ; — a fiction with which the mind, perhaps, will be much less satisfied, than by recalling the scene as it really existed. " When we conceive of Spenser reciting his compositions to Raleigh, in a scene so beautifully appi'opriate, the mind casts a pleasing retrospect over that influence which the enterprise of the discoverer of Virginia, and the genius of the author of the Fairy Queen, have respectively produced on the fortune and language of England. The fancy might even be pardoned for a momentary superstition, that the Genius of their country hovered unseen over their meeting, casting her first look of regard on the poet, that was des- tined to inspire her future Milton, and the other on the maritime hero who paved the way for colonizing distant regions of the earth, where the language of Eng-land was to be spoken, and the poetry of Spenser to be admired." In 1597, a rebellion against the British government broke out in Ireland, and occasioned the precipitate flight of Spenser with his family to England. He died at London, January, 1599. He was buried, according to his own de- sire, near the tomb of Chaucer ; and " the most celebrated poets of the time" says Mr. Campbell, — Shakspeare was probably of the number — " followed his hearse, and threw tributary verses into his grave." SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. Sir Philip Sidney was the most celebrated man of his age. The question immediately occurs — for what ? — " Traits of character will distinguish great men independent of their pens or their swords," remarks Mr. Campbell. " The con- temporaries of Sidney knew the man : and foreigners, no less than his own countrymen, seem to have felt, from his personal influence and conversation, a homage for him, that could only be paid to a commanding intellect guiding the principles of a noble heart." 46 POKTRY FOR SCHOOLS. He spent part of his short life in the court of Queen Elizabeth, and another very brilliant portion of it in military service upon the continent. As a courtier, a scholar, and n soldiei', he commanded the admiration of Europe, and all England wore mourning at his death. This event happened in 1580, when he was only 32 years of age. His writings are obsolete, but we sometimes hear of Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia. This is an incomplete romance which he left. Miss Lucy Aikin says of the Arcadia, that " fervor of elo- quence," " nice discrimination of character," and " purity of thought,'' " stamp it for the offspring of a noble mind." " His death," continues Miss Aikin, " was worthy of the best parts of his life : he showed himself to the last devout, courageous, and serene. His wife, the beautiful daughter of Walsingham ; his brother Robert, to whom he had per- formed the part rather of an anxious and indulgent parent than of a brother ; and many sorrowing friends, surrounded his bed. Their grief was, beyond a doubt, sincere and poignant, as well as that of the many persons of letters and of worth who gloried in his friendship, and tiourished by his bountiful patronage." Such a man's name and example should still serve to kindle in the bosom of youth the animating glow of virtuous emulation. Lord Thurlow, a nephew of the late Lord Chancellor of England, Avrote a pretty sonnet on Sidney's picture : " The man that looks, sweet Sidney, in thy face, Beholding there love's truest majesty, And the soft image of departed grace, Shall fill his mind with magnanimity : There may he read unfeigned humilit)^. And golden pity, born of heavenly brood. Unsullied thouglits of immoi-tality. And musing virtue, prodigal of blood : Yes, in this map of what is fair and good, This glorious index of a heavenly book ; Not seldom, as in youthful years he stood, Divinest Spenser would admiring look ; And, framing thence high wit and pure desire, Iraaffined deeds that set the world on fire !" RALEIGH. 47 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. Sir Walter Raleigh was boi-n at Hayes Farm in Devon- shire, 1552, and was beheaded in London, 1618. He is memorable for his understanding, his knowledge, and his enterprising spirit. During the reign of Elizabeth Raleigh performed many honorable services in the British navy, and litted out, and sometimes accompanied, ships of discovery which explored the coasts of North and South America. After the accession of James I., Elizabeth's successor, Ra- leigh was indicted and tried for treason, upon the charge of attempting to place Lady Arabella Stuart on the throne of England ; and though he was not condemned he suffered fifteen years of imprisonment. When Raleigh was liberated he obtained a commission from the King, and commanded an expedition against Gui- ana in South America. In this enterprise he was unsuccess- ful, though he committed some depredations upon the Spaniards who were in possession of the country. On his return to England he was tried upon the former accusation, and sentenced to death. The sentence was immediately executed, and a life of singular vicissitudes, in which the prosperity was adorned by eminent accomplishments, and the adversity sustained by admirable fortitude, was thus cruelly terminated. SPENSER. UNA AND THE REDCROSS KNIGHT. 'The heavenly Una and her milk-white lamb." — TVordsworth, "A gentle knight was pricking* on the plain, Ycladf in mighty arms and silver shield. Wherein old dints of deep wounds did remain, The cruel marks of many a bloody field ; Yet arms till that time did he never wield ; His angry steed did chide his foaming bit, As much disdaining to the curb to yield : Full jolly knight he seemed, and fair did sit. As one for knightly jousts]]; and fici'ce encounters fit. • Riding. + Attired. % Contests of skill and arms. 48 P O K T li V F (m SCHOOLS. But on his breast a bloody cross he bore. The dear remembrance of his dying Lord, For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore. And dead (as living) ever him adored : Upon his shield the like was also scored,* For sovereign hope, which in his help he had : Right faithful true he was in deed and word ; But of his cheer did seem too solemn sad : Yet nothing did he dread ; but ever was ydrad.f Upon a great adventiu'e he was bound, That greatest Gloriana to him gave. That greatest glorious queen of fiiiry lond, To win him worship, and her grace to have, Which of all earthly things he most did crave ; And ever as he rode his heart did yearn To prove his puissance in battle brave Upon his foe, and his new force to learn ; Upon his foe, a dragon horrible and stern. A lovely lady rode him fair beside. Upon a lowly ass more white than snow ; Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide Under a veil, that wimpledj was full low, And over all a black stole§ she did throw, As one that inly mourned ; so was she sad. And heavy sat upon her palfrey slow ; Seemed in heart some hidden care she had. And by her in a line a milk-white lamb she led. So pure an innocent as that same lamb, She was in life and every virtuous lore, And by descent from royal lineage came Of ancient kings and queens, that had of yore Their sceptres stretcht from east to western shore. And all the world in their subjection held ; Till that infernal fiend with foul uproar Forewasted all their land and them expelled; Wliom to avenge, she had this kniglit from far compelled. • Engraved. )■ Preaded. t Drawn closuly § Robe. SPENSER. 49 Beliind her far away a dwarf did lag, That lazy seemed in being ever last, Or wearied with bearing of her bag Of needments at his back. Thus as they past The day Avitli clouds was sudden overcast, And angry Jove an hideous storm of rain Did pour into his leman's lap so fast That every wight to shroud it did constrain. And this fair couple eke to shroud themselves were fain. Enforced to seek some covert nigh at hand, A shady grove not far away they spied. That promised aid the tempest to witlistand ; Whose lofty trees, yclad with summer's pride, Did spread so broad, they heaven's liglit did hide, Not pierceable with power of any star : And all witliin wore paths and alleys wide, "With footinsx worn, and leadinfj inward far : Fair harbour, that them seems ; so in they entered ai-e. And forth they pass, with pleasure forward led. Joying to hear the bird's sweet harmony, Which therein shrouded from tlie tempest's dread, Seemed in their song to scorn the cruel sky. Much can they praise the trees so straight and high, The sailing Pine, the Cedar proud and tall, The vine-prop Elm, the Poplar never dry, The builder Oak, sole king of forests all. The Aspen good for staves, the Cypress funeral. The Laurel, meed of mighty conquerors And poets sage, the Fir that weepeth still. The Willow, worn of forlorn paramours, The Yew, obedient to the bender's will. The Birch for shafts, the Sallow for the mill. The Myrrh sweet bleeding in the bitter wound, The warlike Beech, the Ash for nothing ill. The fruitful Olive, and the Plantain round. The carver Holme, the Maple seldom inward sound : Led with delight they thus beguile the way, Until the blustering storm is overblown, 5 60 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. When, weening* to return, whence they did stray. They cannot find that path which first was shown. But wander to and fro in ways unknown. Furthest from end then, when they nearest ween, That makes them doubt their wits be not their own : So many paths, so many turnings seen. That which of them to take, in divers doubts they been. These verses are easily comprehended. Every young person should know something of Chivalry. That institu- tion had once great influence vipon the manners and happi- ness of Europe. Tlie situation of Una and the nature of her protector's character and office, will not be understood without some acquaintance with the meaning of chivalry. CHIVALRY. The origin of Chivalry was briefly this : France, Spain, England, Germany, Italy and Holland, once belonged to the Roman Empire ; but armies from the North of Europe invaded the more southern countries, overthrew the Ro- man power, and at different times took possession of the places they conquered. When they had made themselves masters of a countiy, the great leaders of the armies took large tracts of land ; and their followers, that is, the soldiers they commanded, together with such of the original inhabit- ants of the countries as they permitted to live, became the vassals of these great men. These subject people were not acquainted with the useful arts or comforts of life which we enjoy, but they could take care of cattle, cultivate the soil in a rude and imperfect manner, could help to erect the castle and church of their master, and could follow him to battle. This lattei- ser/ice, together with a great part of the cattle and corn whicli they could procure from the cultivation of the soil, they gave to their lords. The lords always kept many of their vassals in their houses or castles, and usually went out with a con- siderable number of them as attendants. This was partly for show, and partly for safety. These followers were called Retainers, and when they went abroad with their masters formed his Retinue. The more people a great lord had • Presuming. CHIVALRT. 51 about his person, the better was he guarded, and the more ■was he feared. In the present happier age of the world, when every man has his own business, and property, and leisure, and enjoy- ments, no great man has any right to the services of so many of his fellow-men ; nor has he anj^ need of them, for he has nothing to fear from the violence of others. He is protect- ed by the laws of his country, and what is better, by the humanity of all men, who have learned, in some measure, to respect one another's lives and property, and to know, in order that all may be happy, all must be safe, and protected by each other. But a thousand years ago men lived veiy differently. The owners of property which lay together often claimed the same ; and as there were not courts of justice to inquire into and settle their rights, they and their vassals fought about them. Many of the richer and more powerful lords, wanting to become still more rich and powerful, and having small sense of religion, of justice, or mercy, little of the fear of God or love of man — murdered their neighbors, set fire to their houses, carried off their property, and claimed their lands : on these occasions the ladies were often treated in a barbarous manner. A remarkable instance of this may be found in Shaks- peare's Tragedy of Macbeth. Macbeth, a Scottish noble- man, invited Duncan king of Scotland, to his castle, and there murdered him, that he might be king instead of Duncan. On the murder of the king, his two sons fled from Scotland in fear of their lives^ Macduff, a Scottish lord, followed Malcolm, one of the young pi-inces, into England ; upon which the usurper Macbeth was so enraged that he vowed to revenge himself upon Macduff for his desertion. In order to do this Macbeth resolved upon killing Macduff's innocent family, which he had left behind, and he accord- ingly gave orders for this cruel act. When the bloody work was done, Rosse, a friend of the unfortunate fiimily, escaped into England to inform Macduff of it. He found him talking to Malcolm, and after preparing his mind, relates the event. " Bosse. Your castle is surprised, your wife and babes savagely slaughtered ! Malcolm. Merciful heaven ! 62 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. Macduff. My children too ? Rosse. Wife, children, servants, all That could be found. Macd. And I must be from thence ! — My wife kill'd too ? Rosse. I have said. Mai. Let us make medicine of our great revenge, To cure this deadly grief. Macd. He has no children ! — All my pretty ones ? — Did you say all ? Rosse. All. Macd. What, all my pretty chickens and their dam ?" Macbeth, Act IV., Scene 3. Malcolm, it may be observed, proposes to make amends for this cruel injury by some " great revenge," that is, by some act of equal cruelty to the murderers of Macduff's vrife and cliildren. This was the way in which people at that time usually endeavored to satisfy themselves, but they only continued a strife which the descendants of both parties felt bound never to forget nor forgive ; and which, many long years after the first offence was given, caused fresh quarrels, murders, and destruction of property. In this state of violence and danger many people lived in constant and great fear, and were always prepared to ex- pect, and to defend themselves against an enemy. The rich lived in strong castles, surrounded by walls and gates, a watch was kept to look out for the approach of their foes ; and, before the discovery of gunpowder and the use of fire- arms, the knights — that is, the gentlemen soldiers — used generally to wear plates of metal over the whole person, called armor. Then, as at all times, there were good men — some who were not weak and timid, or ferocious and cruel, who could | not see the acts of these barbarians without indignation j against them, and compassion for the unfortunate victims I of their ci'uelty. The distress of the ladies, above all, jj inspired the just and the generous with a desire to serve Ij them, and to save them fi-om the dreadful calamities to \ which the}'' were exposed. Many noblemen and brave n soldiers devoted themselves to the redress of injuries inflict- i ed upon all good persons, and particularly upon the young C H I V A L R V i 53 and the beautiful of the female sex. These formed what is called the order of Chivalry. The young men who composed the order of Chivalry could not be admitted into it unless they possessed streno-th and courage, and wei^e distinguislied by truth and honor; and this being known, made ambitious youths desirous to be so distinguished, that they miglit be worth}?^ to assert justice, and to defend innocence ; that they might become objects of admiration and praise, and form at once the pro- tectors and ornaments of society. To be all this it was necessary that they should not only be fearless and powerful, but that they should also be pleasing and interesting ; that they should perfectly understand the use of arms to prevail over their enemies, and be masters of every graceful ac- complishment to inspire the affection of their fiiends. Many arts of little use at this time, were then necesmry, and these arts exhibited much grace and skill. The man- agement of fieiy horses, the throwing of the pike (a sharp instrument used in ancient Avarfai-e), and the exercise of the bow, were taught to young men with as much, and more pains than dancing, fencing, and music now require. Horse- manship, arcliery, (fee, require great presence of mind and strength of body, and show elegance of person and quick- ness of tliought to the utmost advantage. For a long time Chivalry did much good, but at length it went out of use, because laws were made and enforced that compelled people to live peaceably together, so that the arts that belonged to Chivalry only served for amusement, and Knights' or Champions used to practise a sort of mock fiLclitino^ as a mere trial of strength and skill, not intendinof to kill one another, but to spare the life of him Avho should prove the weakest. The most beautiful lad}^ present at the encounter, used to give a prize to the victorious knight. These public spectacles were at last given up, but not all at once, for so late as the year 1600, and afterwards, we read of young gentlemen who were taught all the exercises of Chivalry. Tliese remarks do not refer exclusively to the preceding extract from Spenser, but they also serve to explain other pieces in this collection. The distressed condition of Una exemplifies the sufferings to which the young and beautiful were exposed in a rude age, and the devotedness of her 5* 64 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. attendant is a further illustration of the sentiments and services of a disinterested knight-errant in behalf of endan- gered innocence. ^' FABLE OF THE OAK AND THE BRIAR. •' There grew an aged tree on the green, A goodly Oak sometime had it been, With arms full strong and largely displayed, But of their leaves they were disarrayed : The body big and mightily pight, Thoroughly rooted, and of wondrous height ; Whilom* had been the king of the field. And mochel mastf to the husband did yield, And with his nuts larded many swine, But now the gray moss marred his rine. His bared boughs were beaten with storms, His top was bald, and wasted with worms, His honor decayed, his braunches sere.;|; Hard by his side grew a bragging Breere, Which proudly thrust into th' element, And seemed to tlireat the firmament: It was imbelli.sht with blossoms fair. And thereto age wonted to repair ; The shepherd's daughteivs to gather flowres, To paint their garlands with his colowres ; And in his small bushes used to shroud, The sweet nightingale singing so loud. Which made this foolish Breere wax so bold. That on a time he cast him to scold. And sneb the good Oak, for he was old. " Why stand'st there (quoth he) thou bi-utish block ? Nor for fruit nor for shadow serves thy stock ; Seest how fresh my flowers been spread. Died in lily white and crimson red. With leaves engrained in lusty green. Colors meet to clothe a maiden queen ? Thy waste bigness but cumbers the ground. And dirks the beauty of my blossoms round : The mouldy moss, which thee accloyeth. My cinnamon smell too much annoyeth : * Formerly. t Many acorns. X Dry. SPENSER. 65 Wherefore soon I rede* thee hence remove. Lest thou the price of mj displeasure prove." So spake thi-s bold Breere with great disdain, Little him answered the Oak again, But yielded, with shame and grief adawed,f That of a weed he was over-crawed.J It chaunced after upon a day. The husband-man's self to come that way. Of custom to surview his ground, And his trees of state in compass round : Him when the spightful Breere had espyed. He causeless complained, and loudly cried Unto his lord, stirring up stern strife : my liege Loi-d ! the god of my life, Please you pond§ your suppliant's plaint. Caused of wrong and cruel constraint, AVhich I j-our poor vassal daily endure ; And but your goodness the same recui'e, Am like for desperate dole|| to die, Througli felonous force of mine enemy. Greatly aghast with this piteous plea. Him rested the good man on the lea. And bade the Breere in his plaint proceed. With painted words then 'gan this proud weed (As most used ambitious folk) His colored crime with craft to cloke. Ah, my Sovereign ! lord of creatures all, Thou placer of plants both humble and tall. Was not I planted of thine own hand, To be the primrose of all thy land, With flowering blossoms to furnish tlie prime, And scarlet berries in sommer-time ? How falls it then that this faded Oak, Whose body is sere, Avhose branches broke. Whose naked arms stretch unto the fire, Unto such tyrranny doth aspire, Hindering with his shade my lovely light, And robbing me of the sweet sun's sight ? So beat his old boughs my tender side, That oft the bloud springeth from woundes wide ; Untimely my flowers forced to fall, * Advise. + Dejected. t Triumphed over, § Consider. | Grief. 66 POETRY FOE SCHOOLS. That been the honor of your coronal ;* And oft he lets his canker-worms light Upon my branches, to work me more spight, And of his hoary locks doth cast, Wherewith my fresh flowerets been defast: For this, and many more such outrage, Craving your godlyhead to assuage The rancorous ricror of his miffht ; Nought ask I, but onely to hold my right, Submitting me to your good sufferance, And praying to be guarded from grievaunce. To this the Oak cast him to reply Well as he couth ; but his enemy Had kindled such coles of displeasure, That the good man nouldf stay his leisure, But home him hasted with furious heat, Encreasing his wrath with many a threat His liarmful hatchet he hent| in hand, (Alas! that it so ready should stand !) And to the field alone he spticdeth, (Ay little help to harm there needeth) Anger nould let him speak to the tree, Enaunter his rage mought cooled be. But to the root bent his sturdy stroke, And made many wounds in the waste Oak. The axe's edge did oft turn again. As half imwilling to cut the grain. Seemed the senseless iron did fear. Or to wrong holy eld did forbear ; For it had been an antient tree, Sacred with many a mystery. And often crost with the priests' crew. And often hallowed with hol}^ water dew; But like fancies weren foolery. And brought the Oak to this misery ; For nought might they quitten him from decay, For fiercely the good man at him did lay. The block§ oft groaned under his blow, And sighed to see his near overthrow. In fine, the steel had pierced his pith. Then down to the ground he fell forthwith. * Wreath of Qowers, chaplet. + Would not. _ J Took. § Trunk, 8HAKSPEARE. 5*1 His wondrous weight made the ground to quake, Th' earth sunk under him, and seem'd to shake : There lieth the Oak pitied of none. Now stands the Breere Hke a lord alone, Puff' d up with pride and vain pleasance But all this glee had no continuance : For eftsoons* winter 'gan to approach, The blustering Boreas did encroach. And beat upon this solitary Breere, For now no succour was seen him neere. Now 'gan he repent his pride too late, For naked left and disconsolate, The biting frost nipt his stalk dead. The watry wet weighed down his head. And heaped snow burdened him so sore. That now upright he can stand no more ; And being down is trod in the durt Of cattle, and bronzed, and sorely hurt. Such was th' end of this ambitious Breere, For scorning eld " SHAKSPEARE. O youths and virgins : declining old : Oh pale misfortune's slaves : ye who dwell Unknown with humble quiet : ye who wait In courts, or fill the golden seat of kings : sons of sport and pleasure: thou wretch That weep'st for jealous love, or the sore wounds Of conscious guilt, or Death's rapacious hand Which left thee void of hope : O ye who roam In exile ; ye who through the embattled field Seek bright renown, or who for noble palms Contend, the leaders of a public cause ; Approach : behold this marble, know ye not The features? Hath not oft his faithful tongue Told you the fashion of your own estate. The secrets of your bosom ? Here then, round ♦ Not long after. 58 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. His monument, with reverence while you stand, Say to each other, " This was Shakspeare's form : Who walked in every path of human life ; Felt every passion, and to all mankind Doth now, will ever, that experience yield Which only his own genius could acquire." Inscription from a bust of Shakspeare. — Akenside. This dramatic poet is justly esteemed by those who speak the English language as the most interesting writer in the world. There are few so highly endowed as to be able to comprehend the wealth and magnitude of Shakspeare's genius in all its variety and comprehensiveness, but there are none, perhaps, wiihin the remotest influence of English literature, that have not felt the power of this mighty master in some of those numerous passages of his works which have passed into the popular mind. The best fur- nished and most profound intellects meet with congenial thoughts in Shakspeare ; and all human experience, from the monarch's to the laborer's lot, is recorded and express- ed by his immortal muse, so that every mind may find its own feelings and circumstances somewhere illustrated by his inspiration. From the accounts which are preserved of Shakspeare's early life it appears that he had few advantages of direct instruction, though the knowledge contained in books popular at that time in England lent him its little light, and the talent " that Nature did him give," supplied in him every defect of human learning, and enabled him to leave an inheritance of thought to future ages, which nothing but the dissolution of " the great globe itself " can anni- hilate. Dryden says of him, " He was a man who, of all mo- dern, and, perhaps, ancient poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul. All the images of nature were still present to him, and he drew them not laboriously, but luckily. When he describes any thing, you more than see it, you feel it too. He needed not the spectacles of books to read nature ; he looked inwards and found her there." But, 'Tis wonderful. That an invisible instinct should frame him To poetry unlearned ; honor untaught ; SHAKSTEARE, B9' Civility not seen in other ; knowledge That wildly grew in him, yet yielded crops As though it had been sown. Shakspeare was born at Stratford-upon-Avon in War- wickshire, 1564. The documents of his life are very im- perfect. Rowe, the poet, published a memoir of him a century after his death. From this it appears that Shaks- peare removed himself to London, that lie was an actor as well as a writer of plays, that he subsequently returned to Stratford, purchased a house there, and died in that town. In the church of Stratford a moiuinu'iit to his memory still remains. The following inscription on this monument is engraved beneath a bust of the poet: Stay, passenger, why goest thou so fast? Read, if thou canst whom envious death has placed Within this monument — Shakspeare : with wliom Quick nature died ; whose name doth deck this tomb Far more than cost ; since all that he hath writ Leaves living art, but art to serve his wit. Obt A D. IClG—jEtatis 53, die 23 Ajuil. Shakspeare's thirty-five plays were first collected and published in 1623, in folio. The title page of tliis folio was embellished by an engraving, which was said to be a likeness of the author, and attached to it were these lines by Ben Jonson, addressed to the reader : This figure that thou seest here put, It was for gentle Shakspeare cut, Wherein the graver had a strife With nature to outdo the life : O, could he but have drawn his wit As well in brass, as he hath hit His face ; the print would then surpass All that was ever writ in brass. But since he cannot — reader, look Not on his picture, but his book. Frorn 1*709, when Rowe published Shakspeare's plays, to the present time, (1849), they have been often, publish- ed, and are disseminated throughout the readintj world of 60 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. our language ; and the more they are studied, the more they are admired and enjoyed. The fine arts have derived important aid from Shakspeare. The stage has been ex- alted, literature has been illustrated and adorned by him, his scenes have been delineated an infinite number of times by the pencil, and they embellish almost every house and every library. Milton's Sonnet to Shakspeare is among the most inte- resting tributes to his memory : What needs my Shakspeare for his honored bones The labor of an age in piled stones, Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid ? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame What need'st thou such weak witness of they name ? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Has built thyself a live-long monument. For whilst to the shame of slow-endeavoring art Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book Those Delphic lines with deep impression took ; Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving, Dost make us marble with too much conceiving ; And so sepulchered, in sucli pomp dost lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die." English, Roman, and Grecian Historj^, furnish part of the subjects of Shakspeare's plays ; and some of his plots are taken from Italian romances that had been translated into English ; but upon what foundation soever he built, the superstructure is original and beautiful. Though Shakspeare's poetry is the delight and pride of all who speak our language, it is in general too abstruse and difficult for foreigners and young persons. It exhibits the most lively pictures of external natvire, and the most perfect representations of human passions. But his lan- guage is frequently obscure, from its containing many words and phrases which are now out of common use ; besides, his writings relate so much to the passions of men, and the concerns of princes and politicians, that a person must have had some experience of the effects of human passions, before he can perceive the beauties, or have a SHAKSPEARE. 61 relish for the excellencies of Shakspeare. Parts of King John, of Henry IV., and of Cymbeline, are in some measure free from these difficulties ; and are selected for the pur- pose of introducing this great poet to young readers. Shakspeare wrote dramatic pieces upon the history of England ; they are now called plays, though formerly they were called histories ; each of them takes in several years ; and they carry the imagination of the spectator from Eng- land to France, and back again, many times in the space of one niofht. Kincj John is one of these dramas. KING JOHN. John surnamed Sans Terrc or Lackland, was the fourth son of Henry II., King of England. John succeeded to the throne upon the death of his brother, Richard I. Arthur, Duke of Brittany, was the son of GeoflFrey, John's elder brother, and, according to the laws of England, the legal successor of his uncle Richard. The unfortunate Artluxr, it is supposed, was murdered by the command of Jolm, but the manner of his death is unknown. Philip, King of France, publicly accused John of murdering his nephew ; but John declared that Arthur fell from the walls of a castle where he was confined into a river which flowed beneath, and thus lost his life. Shakspeare has made a most affect- ing scene of John's cruelty to the poor youth. That and the subsequent passages from Shakspeare's play of King John which complete Arthur's history, follow in this place. KING JOHN, ACT IV., SCENE I. Hubert, th,?. assassin, employed to -put out the young jrrince's eyes. Arthur, and attendants. Scene, a room in the Castle. Hubert. Heat me these irons hot ; and look thou stand Within the arras : when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth. And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 1. Attend. I hope your Avarrant will bear out the deed. Htih. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look to't. — \^Exeunt Attendants. Voiuig lad, com^' forth ; I have to say with you. 6 62 P O K r li, Y FOR SCHOOLS. Enter Arthur Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. Huh. Good morrow, little prince. Arth. As little prince (having so gi-eat a title To be more prince) as may be. — You are sad. Huh. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Mercy on me ! Methinks, nobody should be sad but I : Yet, I remember, when I was in France, Young gentlemen would be as sad as night, Only for wantonness. By my Christendom,* So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, I should be as merry as the day is long ; And so I would be here, but that I doubt My uncle practises more harm to me : He is afraid of me, and I of him : Is it my fault that I was Geoffrey's son ? No, indeed, is't not ; and I would to heaven, I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my merc3% which lies dead : Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. \^Aside. Arth, Are you sick, Hubert ? You look pale to-day : In sooth, I would j^ou were a little sick, That I might sit all night, and watch with you : I warrant, I love you more than you do me. Huh. His words do take possession of my bosom. — Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper ^ How now, foolish rheum ! \Aside. Turning dispiteous torture out of door ! I must be brief ; lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. Can you not i-ead it ? is it not fair Avrit ? Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: Must you with hpt irons burn out both mine eves ? Hub. Young boy, I must. Arth. And will you ? Huh. And I will. Arth. Have you the heart '? Wlien youi- head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your bi'ows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) * V.y christening', or bnptisin. SHAKSPEARE. 68 And I did never ask it you again : And with my hand at midnight held your head ; And, hke the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheered up by the heavy time ; Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? Or, What good love may I perform for you ? Many a poor man's son would have lain still, And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; But you at your sick ser\ice had a j^rince. Nay, you may think my love was crafty love. And call it cunning ; do, an if you will : If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill. Why, then you must.' — Will you put out mine eyes ? These eyes, that never did, nor never shall. So much as frown on you ? Huh. I have sworn to do it ; And with hot ii-ons must I burn them out. Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it ! The iron of itself, though heat red hot. Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, And quench his fiery indignation. Even in the matter of mine innocence ; Nay, after that, consume away in rust, But for containing fire to harm mine eye. Are you more subborn-hard than hammered iron ? And if an angel should have come to me. And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed him. No tongue, but Hubert's. Hub. Come forth. [^Stamps. Re-enter Attendants, with cord, irons, SfC. Do, as I bid you do. Arth. 0, save me, Hubert, save me ! my eyes are out, Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous rough ? I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound 1 Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away. And I will sit as quiet as a lamb. I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word. Nor look upon the iron angerly : '64 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you, Whatever torment you do put me to. Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 1 At. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. [Exeunt. Arth. Alas ! I then have chid away my friend ; He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart: — Let hira come back, that his compassion may Give life to yours. Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. Arth. Is there no remedy ? Huh. None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. O heaven ! — that there were but a mote in yours, A grain, a dust, a gnat, a waud'ring hair. Any annoyance in that precious sense ! Then, feeling what small things are boislerous there. Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. Hub. Is tliis your promise ? go to, hold your tongue. Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. So I may keep mine eyes ; 0, spare mine eyes ; Though to no use, but still to look on you ! Lo by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm me. Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth ; the fire is dead with grief. Being create for comfort, to be used In undeserved extremes : See else yourself ; There is no malice in this burning coal ; The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out. And strewed repentant ashes on his head. Huh. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert : Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; And, like a dog, that is compelled to fight. Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. All things, that you should use to do me wrong, Deny their office : only you do lack That mercy, which fierce fire and iron extends, Creatures of note, for mercy lacking uses. SnAKSPEARE. 66 Hub. Well, see to live : I will not touch thine eyes For all the treasure that t.hine uncle owns : Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, With this same A-ery iron to burn them out. Ai-th. 0, now you look like Hubert ! all this while You were disguised. Hub Peace : no more. Adieu ; Your luicle must not know but you are dead : I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. And, prett}' child, sleep doubtless, and secure, Tha.t Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, Will not offend thee. Arth. heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert, Huh. Silence ; no more : Go closely in with me ; Much dangf-r do I undergo for thee. [^Exeunt. I hope your wan-ant will bear out the deed. — I hope yoa act in this bloody business by some higher authority than your own cruelty or selfishness. It is necessary that poor men in the service of arbitrary princes should act their Avicked wills. If you do as you are commanded you are not so guilty as if you devised of your own heart such hor- rible deeds ; but if you do this without some such justifi- cation — dread the punishment due to your cruelty. All this is impticd in this passage. Heat. — Heated is the modern participle. " The participle heat, though now obsolete, was in use in our author's time. So in the sacred writings : ' He commanded that they should heat the furnace one seven times more than it was wont to be heat.'" — Dan. iii. 19. Tarre. — To stimulate, to set on. SCENE III. Arthur on the castle wall. Arth. The wall is high ; and yet will I leap down : Good ground, be pitiful, and hurt me not! — There's few, or none, do know me ; if they did, This ship-boy's semblance hath disguised me quite. I am afraid ; and yet I'll venture it. If I get down, and do not break my limbs, I'll find a thousand shifts to get away : As good to die and go, as die and stay. Oh me ! my uncle's spirit is in these stones: — Heaven take my soul, and England keep my bones ! [Dies. 6* 66 POETRY Foil SCHOOLS. Enter Pembkoke, Salisbury, and Bigod. Sal, This is the prison : What is he hes here ? [Seeing Arthur. Pern. death, made proud with pure and princely beauty ! The earth hatli not a hole to hide this deed. Sal. Murder, as hating what himself hath done, Doth lay it open, to urge on revenge. Biq. Or, when he doomed this beauty to a grave. Found it too precious princely for a grave. Sal. Sir Ricliard, what think you ? Have you beheld, Or have you read, or heard ? or could you think ? Or do you almost think, although you see, Tiiat you do see ? could thought, without this object. Form such another? This is the very top, The height, the crest, or crest unto the crest. Of murder's arms ; this is the bloodiest shame. The wildest savager)'', the vilest stroke, That ever wall-eyed wrath, or staring rage, Piesented to the tears of soft remorse. Pern. All murders past do stand excused in this. — It is a bloody work ; The graceless action of a heavy hand, If that it be the work of any hand. Sal. If that it be the work of any hand ? — We had a kind of light what would ensue. It is the shameful work of Hubert's hand ; The practice, and the purpose of the king : — From whose obedience I forbid my soul. Kneeling before this ruin of sweet life, And breathing to his breathless excellence The incense of a vow, a Ao/y vow ; Never to taste the pleasures of the world. Never to be infected with delight, ' Nor conversant with ease and idleness, Till I have set a glory to this head. By giving it the worship of revenge. Pern. Big. Our souls religiously confirm thy words. Revenge, to a certain extent, is the love of justice. It has been shown in the brief sketch lately given of the origin and principal objects of Chivalry that its purpose was not only to defend innocence, but to punish those who S H A KS 1' E A 1!E. 67 sViould injure the -weak and unprotected, The knights of that age not only make a vow to serve God and the interests of humanity, wlien they were initiated, but, oit setting out upon a sjjecial enterprise, solemnly devoted themselves to the work before them. In conformity to this practice, Salisbury kneels beside the dead body of Arthur, and vows never to take pleasure or rest till he has punished the wretches who wrought bis death, HENRY IV. Henry, Duke of Lancaster, sumamed Bolingbroke, was son of John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster, third son of Edward IIL, king of England. Richard 11. was the pre- decessor of Henry IV. Richard was the rightful king, but he had no talent for government, and during his reign all England was in a state of confusion and civil warfare. In consequence of his mis-government, Richard was deposed and thrown into prison. He was a son of Edward, called from the black armor which he wore, the Black Prince. The Black prince was the eldest son of Edward IIL, the duke of Clarence was his second son, and John of Gaunt the third. When Richard was deposed, a descendant of the duke of Clarence was the legal successor to the throne, but Henry Bolingbroke set aside his claim, and caused himself to be crowned King, Henry IV. died March, 1413, in the 14th year of his reign. At the age of twenty-five Henry V. succeeded his father. During his short reign of nine years he exhibited such quali- ties as are much admired in a i-ude age. He possessed great personal courage, a spirit of military enterprise, talent for command, and patient perseverance in the accomplish- ment of his purposes. According to history his deportment was singularly graceful and dignified, and his power of self- government even more extraordinary than his control of other men. Shakspeare, in the last act of Henry IV., has given " very touching scene — it is the closing one of the king's life, in which he gives his latest counsel to the Prince of Wales. The king being ill, has his crown displaced from his head, and falls asleep. At this moment the prince enters the apart- ment of his father, and percei\ing his condition, tenderly laments it, but removes the crown, and swears to maintain 68 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. his right to it. The king awakes, eagerly demands who has taken away the crown, and seeing prince Henry, requests to he left alone with him ; they then confer together thus : Henry IV. and Prince Henry. K. Hen. Come hither to me, Harry. P. Hen. I never thought to hear you speak again. K. Hen. Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought : I stay too long by thee, I weary thee. Dost thou so hunger for my empty chair, That thou wilt needs invest thee with mine honors Before thy hour be ripe ? 0, foolish youth ! Thou seek'st the greatness that will overwhelm thee. Stay but a little ; for my cloud of dignity Is held from falling with so weak a wind, That it will quickly drop ; my day is dim, Thou hast stolen that, Avhicb, after some few hours. Where thine without offence ; and, at my death. Thou hast sealed up my expectation;* Thy life did manifest, thou lov'dst me not, And thou wilt have me die assured of it. Thou hid'st a thousand daggers in thy thoughts : Which thou hast whetted on thy stony heart. To stab at half an hour of my life. What ! canst thou not forbear me half an hour ? Then get thee gone, and dig my grave thyself; And bid the merry bells ring to thine ear, That thou art crowned, not that I am dead. Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse Be drops of balm, to sanctify thy head ; Only compound me with forgotten dust ; Give that, which gave thee life, imto the worms. Pluck down my officers, break my decrees ; For now^ the time is come to mock at form ; Harry the Fifth is crowned. — Up, vanity ! Down, royal state ! all you sage counsellors, hence I And to the English court assemble now. From every region, apes of idleness ! Now, neighbor confines, purge you of your scum. Have you a ruffian, that will swear, drink, dance, Revel the night ; rob, murder, and commit The oldest sins the newest kind of ways ? * i. c. confirmed my opinion. SHAKSPEARE, €9 Be Viappy ; he will trouble you no more, England shall double gild his treble guilt ; England shall give him office, honor, might; For the fifth Harry from curbed license plucks The muzzle of restraint, and the wild dog Shall flesh his tooth in every innocent, my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows 1 When that my care could not withhold thy riots. What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care ? O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants 1 P. Hen. 0, pardon me, my liege ! but for my tears. The moist impediments unto my speech, \Kneeling, 1 had forestalled this dear and deep rebuke. Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard The course of it so far. There is your crown : And He that wears the crown immortally, Long guard it yours ! If I afiect it more. Than as your honor, and as your renown, Let me no more from this obedience rise, (Which my most true and inward-duteous spirit Teacheth,) this prostrate and exterior bending ! Heaven witness with me, when I here came in, And found no course of breath within your majesty. How xiold it struck my heart ! If I do feign, O, let me in my present wildness die ; And never live to show the incredulous worid. The noble change that I have purposed ! Coming to look on you, thinking you dead, (And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,) I spake unto the crown, as having sense. And thus upbiaided it : — The care on tkee depending. Hath fed ui)on the body of my father ; Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold. And thou, most fine, most honored, most renowned. Hast eat thy hearer up. Thus, my most royal liege. Accusing it, I put it on my head ; To try with it, — as with an enemy. That had before my face murdered my father, — The quarrel of a true inheritor. But if it did infect my blood with joy, Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride; If any rebel or vain spirit of mine VO POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, Did, with the least affection of a welcome, Give entertainment to the might of it. Let God forever keep it from my head ! And make me as the poorest vassal is. That doth with awe and teiTor kneel to it ! K. Hen. 0, my son ! Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence. That thou mightst win the more thy father's love. Pleading so wisely in excuse of it. Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed ; And hear, I think, the very latest counsel That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son. By what by-paths, and indirect, crooked ways, I met this crown ; and I myself know well. How troublesome it sat upon my head : To tliee it shall descend with better quiet. Better opinion, better confirmation ; For all the soil of the achievement goes With me into the earth. It seemed in me. But as an honor snatched witli boisterous hand ; And I had many living, to upbraid My gain of it by their assistances ; Which daily grew to quarrel, and to bloodshed. What in me was purchased,'^ Falls upon thee in a more fairer sort ; So thou the garland wear'st successively. Yet, though thou stand'st more sure than I could do. Thou art not firm enough, since griefs are green ; And all thy friends, whicli thou must make thy friends. Have but their stings and teeth newly ta'en out ; By whose fell woiking I was first advanced, And by whose power I well might lodge a fear To be again displaced ; which to avoid, I cut them off ; and had a purpose now To lead out many to the Holy Land ; Lest rest, and lying still, might make them look Too near imto my state. Therefore, my Harry, Be it thy course, to busy giddy minds With foreign quarrels ; that action, hence bome out. May waste the memory of the former days. More would I but my hmgs are wasted so. That strength of speech is utterly denied me. • Not obtained in regular succession. SHAKSPEARE. Vl How I came by the crown, O God, forgive ! And grant it may with thee in true peace live ! P. Hen. My gracious Hege. You won it, wore it, ktpt it, gave it me : Then plain, and right, must my possession be ; Which I, with more than with a common pain, 'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain. HENRY V. The noble change that he had 'purposed, as he bound his brows with the crown of his dying father, was exemplified in Prince Henry when he became King of England. One circumstance of his public conduct, which is finely exhibited by Shakspeare, is illustrative of his respect for the constitu- tion and laws of his kingdom, and, as an example of dis- interestedness and veneration for justice, does honor to his memory. Henry the Fifth, when Prince of Wales, was wild, and in the disgraceful society of Sir John Fid.staff, Poins, and other idlers, committed several offences against the laws. Some of his attendants had been taken up by the officers of jus- tice, for a riot, and were brouglit before the chief justice. Sir William Gascoigne. While they were in court. Prince Henry came, and rudely demanded that they should be released. The chief justice refused. The prince insulted, and, it is supposed, even struck the judge. The chief jus- tice with great dignity kept his seat upon the bench, and in the authoritative tone of a man to whom the execution of the laws is intrusted, rebuked the prince, and ordered him to be taken into custody. To this the prince, recollecting his dutv, becomingly submitted. It is related by an old historian that Prince Henry, being ordered to prison, " doing reverence" to the judge, depart- ed, and went to the King's Bench as he was commanded. One of his attendants, displeased at this indignity (as he deemed it), offered to the prince, and thinking to incense the King against the chief justice, repaired to his majesty Avith the whole affair. The King on hearing the circum- stance, paused for a moment, and then, lifting his eyes and clasped hands to Heaven, exclaimed, " O merciful God ! how much above all other men am I indebted to thine infi- nite goodness ; especially that thou hast given me a judge 72 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. who feareth not to administer justice, and also a son who can suffer worthily and obey justice." After the death of liis father, when Henry became King, the nation expected he would give himself up to amuse- ment and intemperance, but on the contrary, he immediately assumed the deportment and conduct of a wise monarcli. Dismissing from his presence his former companions, instead of disoTacinf' the chief justice who had committed him, he thanked him for the firmness and dignity Avitli wliich lie had executed the laws, and conferred great favors upon him. King Henry, the Princes his brothers, and the Chief Justice. Ch. Just. Good morrow ; and heaven save your majesty ! Kinff. This new and goi-geous garment, majesty. Sits not so easy on me as you think. — Brothers, you mix your sadness Avith some fear ; This is the Enghsh, not the Turkish court. good brothers — be assured, I'll be your father and your brother too ; Let me but bear your love, I'll bear your cares. P. John and the others. We hope no other from your majesty. King. You all look strangely on me : — and you most ; You are, I think, assured I love you not. \T'o the Chief Just. Ch. Just. I am assured, if I be measured rightly. Your majesty hath no just cause to hate me. King. No ! how might a prince of my great hopes forget So great indignities you laid upon me ? What! rate, rebuke, and rouglily send to prison The immediate heir of England? AVas this easy? May this be washed in Lethe, and forgotten ? Ch. Just. I then did use the person of your father ; The image of his power lay then in me : And, in the administration of his law, While I was busy for the commonwealth. Your highness pleased to forget my place, The majesty and power of law and justice. The image of the king whom I presented, And struck me in my very seat of judgment; Whereon, as an offender to your fathei-, I gave bold way to my authoiity. And did commit you. If the deed were ill, SHAKSPEARE. - V3 Be you contented, wearing now the garland. To have a son set j^our decrees at naught ; To pluck down justice from your awful bench ; To trip the course of law, and blunt the sword That guards the peace and safety of your person : Nay, more ; to spurn at your most royal image, And mock your workings in a second body. Question your royal thoughts, make the case yours ; Be now the father, and propose a son : Hear your own dignity so much profaned. See your most dreadful laws so loosely slighted. Behold yourself so by a son disdained ; And then imagine me taking your part. And, in your power, soft silencing your son. After this cold considerance, sentence me ; And as you are a king, speak in your state, What I have done, that misbecame my place. My person, or my liege's sovereignty. King. You are right, justice, and you weigh this well; Therefore still bear the balance and the sword ; And I do wish your honors may increase, Till you do live to see a son of mine Oftend you, and obey you, as I did. So shall I live to speak my father's words ; — Happy am /, that have a man so hold. That dares do justice on my proper son : And, not less happy, having such a son, Tliat would deliver up his greatness so Into the hands of justice. — You did commit me ; For which, I do commit into j^our hand The unstain'd sword that you have used to bear ; With this remembrance, — That you use the same With the like bold, just, and impartial spirit. That you have done 'gainst me. There is my hand ; You shall be as a father to my youth : My voice shall sound as you do prompt mine ear ; And I will stoop and humble my intents To your well-practised, wise directions. And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ; My father's gone into his grave, and in His tomb lie all my wild affections ; And with his spirit sadly I survive. To mock the expectation of the world ; 1 74 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS, To frustrate prophecies ; and to raze out Rotten opinion, who hath writ me down After my seeming. The tide of blood in me Hath proudly flowed in Aanity, till now. Now doth it turn, and ebb back to the sea ; Where it shall mingle with the state of floods. And flow henceforth in formal majesty. Now call we our high court of parliament : And let us choose such limbs of noble counsel. That the great body of our state may go In equal rank with the best governed nation ; That war, or peace, or both at once, may be As things acquainted and familiar to us : — In which you, father, shall have foremost hand. [ To the Lord Chief Justice. This is the .English, not the Turkish court. — Brothers, why should you fear me ? — You are not in the despotic country of Turkey, where a monarch, through fear that his brothers should kill him, in order that one of them may usurp the throne, to secure his own life takes theirs. You are in Britain, whei'e our knowledge and laws make me your protector ; and the institutions we live under induce me to trust as well as to defend you. Mr. Edgeworth, in Poetry Explained, has rendered the reply to the king into the following prose : — When the king asks, Was this easy ? Can it be easily forgotten? the judge's remonstrance signifies, " I tlien represented the person of your father (who is supposed to be present in this court of justice) ; his power was then in me, and Avhilst I was ad- ministering the laws, and busj^ for the common-weal (for the common good), your highness forgot my office — forgot the power and majesty of the laws and of justice — you forgot your father, whom I represented, and struck me on the bench of justice; whereupon I boldly exerted my au- thority, and sent you to prison. " If you think this wrong, you must be contented when, now you wear the garland (the crown), to have your son set your decrees at nought, to have him pull down the authority of your judgment-seat, to trip and stop the cur- rent course of law, and to take off the edge and power of the sword of justice, wjiich guards the peace and safetv of S H A K S P E A R E , t5 your person ; nay more, you must submit to have your son affront your own royal image, represented and acting in the person of your judge, whom you substitute in your place. • " Question your royal thoughts ; make the case your own ; suppose yourself a father, and that you had a son ; suppose you heard your dignity scorned, and that you saw your laws disdained ; then Imagine me taking your part, and by your power, inherent in me, silencing your son. After having brought these images before your mind, and after cool consideration, pass sentence upon me ; and as you are a king, speak — not as a private person, but in the dignity of your public capacity, and declare what I have done unbecoming of my office, my person, or your sover- eignty," Your highness. — Highness is now a title of honor or respect, addressed to the sons and daughters of a king ; formerly it was used in addressing the king or queen. The Garland, — Shakspeare, in two or three places, calls the crown the garland. Liege's sovereignty. — Liege properly means a person to whom a certain duty or obedience is owing. Formerly, after the conquest of England by William the Conqueror, when the land of the kingdom was divided amongst his fol- lowers, or vassals, every man, instead of paying rent in money for the land which he held, was bound to supply the person from whom he held it, whenever that person de- manded them to fight his battles, with a certain number of armed men, on horseback, or on foot. The person to whom he owed this service was called his liege lord. Persons who were themselves princes frequently had liege lords over them ; in particular, the emperor of Germany had a great number of piinces and dukes for his vassals, who were all bound to him as their liege lord. Tlierefore still hear the balance and the sioord. — The chief justice of the Court of the King's Bench, or Queen's Bench, as may be, has neither a balance (a pair of scales), nor a sword, carried before him ; but tlie allegorical figure of Jus- tice is represented in painting and statuary by a female figure blindfold, to show that Justice should not respect the per- sons of people ; with a balance in her left hand, to denote that she weighs carefully before she determines ; and with. a sword in her right hand, to denote that Justice can punish offenders with the sword of the law. 76 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. Tlie Roman magistrates had axes surrounded with rods carried before them, as emblems of punishment ; the rods to punish smaller offences ; the axe to punish greater crimes with death. Though the judges have not swords carried before them, yet the king of England, who is the head of the law, and Avho is represented by the chief justice of the King's Bench, has the sword of state carried before him on days of ceremony. And, princes all, believe me, I beseech you ; My father's gone into his grave, and in His tomb lie all my wild affections. Princes, believe me, my father has carried my wildness and youthful follies into his grave with him, for all my for- mer affections or propensities lie there ; and his sedate spirit lives in me, to disappoint the expectation which the world has of my being a dissipated monarch, and to contra- dict prophecies and opinions which are induced by my for- mer conduct. CYMBELINE. According to the old histories of Britain, about seventy years before the birth of our Saviour, a prince named Lud reigned over the southern part of the island. Lud was murdered, and his brother Cassibelan, excluding his sons from the throne, usurped the sovereign power. In the ninth year of the reign of Cassibelan, Julius Caesar, the Roman general, invaded Britain, and Tenantius, the younger son of Lud, aided him. When Cassibelan died, Tenantius was restored to his inheritance, and agreed to pay tribute to the Romans. Cassibelan had not been so submissive, for when Csesar sent to him a messenger demanding that he should confess himself subject to Rome ; should fay hommje, or acknow- ledge the authority of the Roman government over himself and his dominions, and, moreover, should pay tribute to Rome, he refused, saying, t at " The ambition of the Ro- mans was insatiable, who would not suffer Britain, to them a new world, placed by nature in the ocean and beyond the bounds of their empire, to lie unmolested." Cymbeline, the son of Tenantius, succeeded his father. B K A K S r E A R E . V7 In liis youth Cymbeline was sent to Rome to be educated, was caressed by Augustus, and called the friend of the Roman people. The Romans liked to have hereditary pi-inces of partially conquered countries come to their capital and dwell with them, that the former might learn their language and laws, and respect their power, and, when they should return to their own dominions, make their subjects feel that it was desii'able to submit to the conquerors. The Romans did not always act thus, for they often treated cap- tive princes with extreme dignity, when the latter possessed great riches. Shakspeare represents that Cymbehne refused to pay tribute to Rome. In the play, or History of Cymbeline, Belarius, a British lord, is supposed by Cymbeline to con- nive with the Romans against him, and as a punishment, he banished Belarius from his court, Belarius being imjustly accused by his sovereign, took vengeance upon him by carrying off two young piinces, his sons, and keeping them in a cave until they had grown to be men. At that time the princes became tired of their lonely life in the woods, and thus remonstrated with Be- larius. BELARIUS, GUIDERIUS, AND ARVIRARGUS. A mortntainous country toith a cave* Bel. A goodly day not to keep house, with such Whose roof's as low as ours! Stoop boys : This gate Instructs you how to adore the heavens ; and bows you To a morning's holy office : The gates of monarchs Are arched so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on, without Good-morrow to the sun, — Hail, thou fair heaven! Gui. Hail, heaven! Arv. Hail, heaven ! Ikl. Now for our mountain sport : Up to yon hill, Your legs are young ; Oh, this life Is nobler, than attending for a check ; Richer, than doing nothing for a bribe ; Prouder, than rustling in unpaid-for silk ; No life to ours. Gui. Out of ^our proof you speak : we, poor unfledofed, 7* '18 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. Have never winged from view of the nest ; nor know not What air's from home. Haply this Ufe is best If qxiiet life be best ; sweeter to you, That have a sharper known ; well corresponding With your stiff age ; but unto us it is A cell of ignorance ; travelling abed, A prison for a debtor, that not dares To stride a limit. Arv. What should we speak of When we are as old as you ? When we shall hear The rain and wind beat dark December ; how In this, our pinching cave, shall we discourse The freezing hours away ? We have seen nothing : We are beastly ; subtle as the fox, for prey ; Like warlike as the wolf, for what we eat. Our valor is to chase what flies ; our cage We make a quire, as doth the prisoned bird, And sing our bondage freely. Bel. How you speak ! Did you but know the city's usuries. And felt them knowingly : the art of the court. As hard to leave, as keep ; whose top to climb Is certain falling, or so slippery that The fear 's as bad as falling : the toil of war, A pain that only seems to seek out danger I' the name of fame and honor : v/hich dies i' the search ; And hath as oft a slanderous epitaph As record of fair act ; nay, many times, Doth ill deserve by doing well ; what 's worse. Must court'sy at the censure : — 0, boys, this story The world may read in me : My body 's marked With Roman swords ; and ray report was once First Avith the best of note : Cymbeline loved me And when a soldier was the theme my name Was not far off: Then was I as a tree Whose boughs did bend with fruit. But, in one night, A storm, or robber)^ call it what you will, Shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves. And left me bare to weather. Gui. Uncertain favor ! Bel. My fault being nothing (as I have told you oft) But that two villains, whose false oaths prevailed Before my perfect honor, swore to Cymbeline SHAKSPEARE. 79 I was confederate with the Romans : so, Followed my banishment ; and, this twenty years This rock and these demesnes have been my world : • • — But, up to the mountains ; This is not hunter's language :^He that strikes The venison first shall be lord o' the feast ; To him the other two shall minister; And we will fear no poison, which attends In place of greater state. I'll meet you in the valleys. [£!.veu7it Gui. and Arv. How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature ! These boys know little they are sons to the king ; Nor Cymbeline dreams that they are alive. They think they are mine : and, though trained up thus meanly I' the cave, wherein they bow, their thoughts do hit The roofs of palaces ; and nature prompts them, In low and simple things to prince it much Beyond the trick of others. This Polydore — ' The heir of Cymbeline and Britain, whom The king his father called Guiderius, — Jove ! When on his three-foot stool I sit, and tell The warlike feats that I have done, his spirits fly out Into ray story : say, — ■" Thus mine enemy fell ; And thus I set my foot upon his neck " — even then The princely blood flows in his cheek, he sweats — • Strains his j'oung nerves, and puts himself in posture That acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal, (Once Arviragus,) in as like a figure Strikes life into my speech, and shows much more His own conceivintj. Hark ! the i^ame is roused ! O Cymbeline ! heaven, and my conscience, knows Thou didst unjustly banissh me: whereon. At three, and two years old, I stole these babes ; Thinking to bar thee of succession, as Thou reft'st me of my lands. Euriphile, Thou wast their nurse ; they took thee for their mother, And every day do honor to her grave : Myself, Belarius, that am Morgan called, They take for natural father. The game is up. 80 POETRY FOR SCHOOLS. this gate Instructs you how to adore the heavens, <&c. This humble habitation of ours teaches our hearts humili- ty. The palaces of princes encoui-age their pride, but as we must bow our heads to pass out of this low cave, so are we reminded to prostrate ourselves before the majesty of Heavenv giants may jet through And keep their imjnous turbans on, (&c. As if Belarius had said, "They who dwell in king's houses are not likely, as we do, to pay homage to the sun at early morning." The parties spoken of are supposed to be heathens, and to worship the sun, and other powers of nature. To " keep their turbans on," implies want of re- verence, foi* men uncover their heads when they would show respect for the Deity in his temple, and even in presence of their fellow-men when they intend to honor them. ■ — this life Is nobler than attending for a check, c&c. The innocent life we lead here in the woods, is truly "nobter," "richer," "prouder," to an honest mind, than the life of those who ask favors at court of princes and great men. They who do this, often only wait for a check, or refusal. Inexperienced youths^ in this safe retreat you know not the follies and vices of mankind. No life is so desirable as ours, for its innocence, peace, and security. Out of your proof you speak,