WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

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us;

Live in the spirit of this creed ;

Must hear, first uttered from my

orchard Yet find that other strength, according to trees, their need.

And the first cuckoo's melancholy cry. I, loving freedom, and untried,

Even thus last night, and two nights No sport of every random gust,

more I lay, Yet being to myself a guide,

And could not win thee, Sleep! by any Too blindly have reposed my trust;

stealth: Full oft, when in my heart was heard So do not let me wear to-night away: Thy timely mandate, 1 deferred

Without thee what is all the morning's The task imposed, from day to day;

wealth? But thee I now would serve more strict. Come, blesséd barrier between day and ly, if I may.

day,

Dear mother of fresh thoughts and joyous Through no disturbance of my soul,

health!
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;

THE WORLD.
But in the quietness of thought:
Me this unchartered freedom tires;

The world is too much with late and I feel the weight of chance desires :

soon, My hopes no more must change their Getting and spending, we lay waste our name,

powers: I long for a repose which ever is the same. Little we see in nature that is ours; Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear

We have given our hearts away, a sordid

boon! The Godhead's most benignant grace;

This sea that bares her bosom to the Nor know we anything so sair As is the smile upon thy face.

moon, Flowers laugh before thee on their beds, The winds that will be howling at all

hours And fragrance in thy footing trea Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping And the most ancient heavens, through For this, for everything, we are out of

flowers, thee, are fresh and strong.

tune; To humbler functions, awful power!

It moves us not. Great God! I'd rather

be I call thee: I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour;

A pagan suckled in a creed outworn; 0, let my weakness have an end ! So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Give unto me, made lowly wise,

Have glimpses that would make me less The spirit of self-sacrifice;

forlorn, The confidence of reason give;

Have sight of Proteus coming from the And, in the light of truth, thy bondman

sea, let me live!

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathéd

horn.

TO SLEEP.

TO THE RIVER DUDDON. A Flock of sheep that leisurely pass by I THOUGHT of thee, my partner and my One after one; the sound of rain, and bees guide, Murmuring; the fall of rivers, winds As being passed away, — vain sympaand seas,

thies! Smooth fields, white sheets of water, and

For backward, Duddon! as I cast my pure sky;

eyes,

I see what was, and is, and will abide: I've thought of all by turns, and still I Still glides the stream, and shall forever lie

glide; Sleepless; and soon the small birds' The form remains, the functio. never

melodies

dies;

have power

you denied :

While we, the brave, the mighty, and "O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in the wise,

war, We men, who in our morn of youth Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord defied

Lochinvar ?" The elements, must vanish ;- be it so! Enough, if something from our hands "I long wooed your daughter, my suit To live, and act, and serve the future Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like hour;

its tide! And if, as toward the silent tomb we And now am I come, with this lost love go,

of mine, Through love, through hope, and faith's To lead but one measure, drink one cup transcendent dower,

of wine! We feel that we are greater than we know. There be maidens in Scotland more

lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young

Lochinvar!"

took it up,

her eye.

had none,

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight (1771 - 1832.)

He quaffed off the wine, and he threw

down the cup! YOUNG LOCHINVAR.

She looked down to blush, and she looked

up to sigh, O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the With a smile on her lips and a tear in

west, Through all the wide Border his steed He took her soft hand, ere her mother was the best;

could bar, and save his good broadsword he weapon “Now tread we a measure !" said young

Lochinvar. He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.

So stately his form, and so lovely her So faithful in love, and so dauntless in face, war,

That never a hall such a galliard did There never was knight like the young

grace! Lochinvar!

While her mother did fret, and her father

did fume, He stayed not for brake, and he stopped And the bridegroom stood dangling his not for stone,

bonnet and plume, He swam the Esk River where ford there And the bride-maidens whispered, was none;

“'T were better by far But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, To have matched our fair cousin with The bride had consented, the gallant came

young Lochinvar!” late: For a laggard in love, and a dastard in One touch to her hand, and one word in

war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Loch. When they reached the hall door, and invar,

the charger stood near,

So light to the croupe the fair lady he So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, swung, 'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and So light to the saddle before her he brothers, and all!

sprung. Then spoke the bride's father, his hand "She is won! we are gone, over bank, on his sword,

bush, and scaur; For the poor craven bridegroom said They 'll have Heet steeds that follow!" never a word,

quoth young Lochinvar.

her ear,

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of | LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNO

MAN. the Netherby clan; Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they My hawk is tired of perch and hood,

rode and they ran; There was racing and chasing on Canno- My horse is weary of his stall,

My idle greyhound loathes his food, bie Lea,

And I am sick of captive thrall. But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did

wish I were as I have been, they see!

Hunting the hart in forests green,
So daring in love, and so dauntless in With bended how and bloodhound free,
war,

For that's the life is meet for me.
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young
Lochinvar?

I hate to learn the ebb of time
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime,

Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,
A SERENADE.

Inch after inch, along the wall.
AH! County Guy, the hour is nigh,

The lark was wont my matins ring,
The sun has left the lea,

The sable rook my vespers sing;
The orange-Hower perfumes the bower,

These towers, although a king's they be,
The breeze is on the sea.

Have not a hall of joy for me.
The lark, his lay who trilled all day,
Sits hushed his partner nigh;

No more at dawning morn I rise,
Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour, And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,
But where is County Guy?

Drive the fleet deer the forest through,

And homeward wend with evening dew; The village inaid steals through the shade A blithesome welcome blithely meet, Her shepherd's snit to hear;

And lay my trophies at her feet, To Beauty shy, by lattice high,

While fled the eve on wing of glee, — Sings high-born Cavalier.

That life is lost to love and me!
The star of Love, all stars above,

Now reigns o’er earth and sky,
And high and low the influence know,-

THE TROSACHS.
But where is County Guy?

The western waves of ebbing day
Rolled o'er the glen their level way;

Each purple peak, each flinty spire,
SONG.

Was bathed in floods of living fire. "A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, But not a setting beain could glow A weary lot is thine!

Within the dark ravines below, To pull the thorn thy brow to braid,

Where twined the path, in shadow hid, And press the rue for wine!

Round many a rocky pyramid, A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, Shooting abruptly from the dell A feather of the blue,

Its thunder-splintered pinnacle;
A doublet of the Lincoln-green,

Round many an insulated mass,
No more of me you knew,

The native bulwarks of the pass,
My love!

Huge as the tower which builders vain
No more of me you knew.

Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain.

Their rocky summits, split and rent, “This morn is merry June, I trow, -- Formed turret, dome, or battlement, The rose is budding fain;

Or seemed fantastically set But she shall bloom in winter snow With cupola or minaret, Ere we two meet again."

Wild crests as pagod ever decked, He turned his charger as he spake, Or mosque of Eastern architect. Upon the river shore;

Nor were these earth-born castles bare, He gave his bridle-reins a shake, Nor lacked they many a banner fair ; Said, “Adieu forevermore,

For, from their shivered brows displayed, My love!

Far o'er the unfathomable glade, And adieu forevermore."

All twinkling with the lexolrop sheen,

1

The brier-rose fell in streamers green, Loch-Katrine lay beneath him rolled;
And creeping shrubs of thousand dyes, In all her length far winding lay,
Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs. With promontory, creek, and bay,

And islands that, empurpled bright,
Boon nature scattered, free and wild, Floated amid the livelier light;
Each plantorflower, the mountain'schild. And mountains, that like giants stand,
Here eglantine embalmed the air, To sentinel enchanted land.
Hawthorn and hazel mingled there; High on the south, huge Ben-venue
The primrose pale, and violet flower, Down to the lake in masses threw
Found in each cliff a narrow bower; Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly
Foxglove and nightshade, side by side,

hurled,
Emblems of punishment and pride, The fragments of an earlier world;
Grouped their dark hues with every stain, A wildering forest feathered o'er
The weather-beaten crags retain.

His ruined sides and summit hoar,
With boughs that quaked at every breath, While on the north, through middle air,
Gray birch and aspen wept beneath; Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare.
Aloft, the ash and warrior oak
Cast anchor in the rifted rock;

From the steep promontory gazed
And higher yet, the pine-tree hung The stranger, raptured and ainazed,
His shattered trunk, and frequent Aung, And “What a scene were here,” he cried.
Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, “For princely pomp or churchman's
His boughs athwart the narrowed sky. pride!
Highest of all, where white peaks glanced, On this bold brow, a lordly tower;
Where glistening streamers waved and in that soft vale, a lady's bower;
danced,

On yonder meadow, far away,
The wanderer's eye could barely view

The turrets of a cloister gray;
The summer heaven's delicious blue; How blithely might the bugle-horn
So wondrous wild, the whole might seem Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn!
The scenery of a fairy dream.

How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute,
Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep

Chime, when the groves are still and
A narrow inlet, still and deep,

mute !
Affording scarce such breadth of brim, And when the midnight moon should lave
As served the wild-duck’s brood to swim; Her forehead in the silver wave,
Lost for a space, through thickets veering, How solemn on the car would come
But broader when again appearing: The holy matins' distant hum,
Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face While the deep peal's commanding tone
Could on the dark-blue mirror trace; Should wake, in yonder islet lone,
And farther as the hunter strayed, A sainted hermit from his cell,
Still broader sweep its channels made. To drop a beach with every knell,
The shaggy mounds no longer stood, And bugle, lute, and bell, and all,
Emerging from entangled wood,

Should each bewildered stranger call
But, wave-encircled, seemed to float, To friendly feast and lighted hall."
Like castle girdled with its moat;
Yet broader floods extending still,
Divide them from their parent hill,

CORONACH.
Till each, retiring, claims to be
An islet in an inland sea.

He is gone on the mountain,

He is lost to the forest, And now, to issue from the glen,

Like a summer-dried fountain,
No pathway meets the wanderer's ken,

When our need was the sorest.
Unless he climb, with footing nice, The font reappearing
A far-projecting precipice.

From the rain-drops shall borrow;
The broom's tough roots his ladder made,

But to us comes no cheering,
The hazel saplings lent their aid ;

To Duncan no morrow!
And thus an airy point he won,
Where, gleaming with the setting sun,

The hand of the reaper
One burnished sheet of living gold,

Takes the ears that are hoary,

But the voice of the weeper

CHRISTMAS-TIME.
Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds, rushing,

HEAP on more wood !--the wind is chill;
Waft the leaves that are searest; But let it whistle as it will,
But our flower was in flushing, We'll keep our Christmas merry still.
When blighting was nearest. Each age has deemed the new-born year

The fittest time for festal cheer:
Fleet foot on the correi,

Even heathen yet, the savage Dane
Sage counsel in cumber,

At lol more deep the mead did drain ;
Red hand in the foray,

High on the beach his galleys drew, How sound is thy slumber! And feasted all his pirate crew; Like the dew on the mountain, Then in his low and pine-built hall, Like the foam on the river,

Where shields and axes decked the Like the bubble on the fountain,

wall,
Thou art gone, and forever. They gorged upon the half-dressed steer;

Caroused in seas of sable beer;
While round, in brutal jest, were thrown

The half-gnawed rib and marrow-bone,
HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID. Or listened all, in grinı delight,

While scalds yelled out the joys of fight. WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved, Then forth in frenzy would they hie,

Out from the land of bondage came, While wildly loose their red locks fly; Her father's God before her moved, And, dancing round the blazing pile,

An awful guide in smoke and flame. They make such barbarous mirth the By day, along the astonished lands,

while,
The cloudy pillar glided slow; As best might to the mind recall
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands The boisterous joys of Odin's hall.
Returned the fiery columu's glow.

And well our Christian sires of old There rose the choral hymn of praise, Loved when the year its course had rolled,

And trump and timbrel answered keen; And brought blithe Christmas back again, And Zion's daughters poured their lays, With all his hospitable train. With priest's and warrior's voice be- Domestic and religious rite tween.

Gave honor to the holy night: No portents now our foes amaze,

On Christmas eve the bells were rung;
Forsaken Israel wanders lone;

On Christmas eve the mass was sung;
Our fathers would not know thy ways, That only night, in all the year,
And thou hast left them to their own. Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.

The damsel donned her kirtle sheen ;
But, present still, though now unseen,

The hall was dressed with holly green; When brightly shines the prosperous Forth to the wood dil merry-men go, day,

To gather in the mistletoe.
Be thonghts of thee a cloudy screen, Then opened wide the baron's hall
To temper the deceitful ray.

To vassal, tenant, serf, and all;
And 0, when stoops on Judali's path Power laid his rod of rule aside,

In shade and storm the frequent night, And Ceremony doffed his pride.
Be thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, The heir, with roses in his shoes,
A burning and a shining light ! That night might village partner choose;

The lord, underogating, share
Our harps we left by Babel's streams, The vulgar game of “post and pair."

The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn; All hailed, with uncontrolled delight
No censer round our altar beams, And general voice, the happy night

And mutearetimbrel, trump, and horn. That to the cottage, as the crown,
But thou hast said, The blood of goats, Brought tidings of salvation down.

The flesh of rams, I will not prize, A contrite heart, and humble thoughts, The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, Are mine accepted sacrifice.

Went roaring up the chimney wide;