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339

AD DIVINAM SAPIENTIAM

ALMIGHTY Spirit! thou that by

set turns and changes from thy high
and glorious throne dost here below
rule all, and all things dost foreknow;
can those blind plots we here discuss
please thee, as thy wise counsels us?
When thou thy blessings here dost strow,
and pour on Earth, we flock and flow
with joyous strife and eager care,
struggling which shall have the best share
in thy rich gifts, just as we see
children about nuts disagree.
Some that a crown have got and foiled
break it; another sees it spoiled
ere it is gotten: thus the world
is all to piece-meal cut, and hurled
by factious hands. It is a ball
which fate and force divide 'twixt all
the sons of men. But O good God!
while these for dust fight and a clod,
grant that poor I may smile and be
at rest and perfect peace with Thee.

H. VAUGHAN

340

THE POET TO HIS FARM

DEA
EAR mansion, once my father's home,

sweet farm, his pride and joy,
ye could not shield, ye could not save,
when he was carried to the grave,

his little orphan boy!
A stranger came with iron hand,

lord of that evil day:
and drove me forth with weeping eye,
to seek through toil and poverty

my miserable way.
But now my gracious Prince restores

his poet's home again :
he comes with his victorious reed,
to teach the river, mount and mead

a proud yet grateful strain.

He comes in yonder latticed room

to dream of manhood's days; he comes, beneath his father's trees to mix with rustic melodies

the great Farnese's praise.

Break forth, my father's blessed home,

thou prize of minstrelsy!
He comes, the good old master's son:
up with thy tuneful benison,
give praise and melody!

E. W. BARNARD

341

THE CASTLE OF ARLINKOW

HGH on a rock, whose castled shade

the
in ancient strength majestic stood

the towers of Arlinkow.

The fisher in the lake below

durst never cast his net,
nor ever swallow in its waves

her passing wing would wet.

The cattle from its ominous banks

in wild alarm would run,
though parched with thirst and faint beneath

the summer's scorching sun.
For sometimes when no passing breeze

the long lank sedges waved,
all white with foam and heaving high

its deafening billows raved;
and when the tempest from its base

the rooted pine would shake,
the powerless storm unruffled swept

across the calm dead lake.

And ever then when death drew near

the house of Arlinkow,
its dark unfathomed depths did send
strange music from below.

R. SOUTHEY

342

HIS POETRY HIS PILLAR

NLY a little more
ON

I

then I'll give o'er,
and bid the world good-night.
'Tis but a flying minute,

that I must stay,

or linger in it,
and then I must away.
O Time that cut'st down all,

and scarce leav'st here

memorial
of any men that were;
How many lie forgot

in vaults beneath ;

and piece-meal rot without a fame in death ? Behold this living stone

I rear for me,

ne'er to be thrown
down, envious Time, by thee.
Pillars let some set up,

if so they please,

here is my hope, and my pyramides.

R. HERRICK

343

PRAISE OF A COUNTRY LIFE

AP where joy, hearts.ase, and comforts grow,

you'd scorn proud towers,

and seek them in these bowers where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may shake, but blustering care could never tempest make,

nor murmurs e'er come nigh us,

saving of fountains that glide by us. Here's no fantastic masque or dance, but of our kids that frisk and prance;

nor wars are seen,

unless upon the green two harmless lambs are butting one the other ; which done, both bleating run, each to his mother;

and wounds are never found,

save what the ploughshare gives the ground. Go! let the diving Negro seek for gems

hid in some forlorn creek: we all pearls scorn,

save what the dewy morn
congeals upon each little spire of grass,
which careless shepherds beat down as they pass:

and gold ne'er here appears,
save what the yellow Ceres bears.

SIR W. RALEIGH

344 ODE ON THE DEATH OF JAMES THOMSON

IN
N yonder grove a Druid lies,

where slowly winds the stealing wave!
The year's best sweets shall duteous rise

to deck its poet's sylvan grave.
In yon deep bed of whispering reeds

his airy harp shall now be laid,
that he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds,

may love through life the soothing shade.
The maids and youth shall linger here,

and while its sounds at distance swell, shall sadly seem in Pity's ear

to hear the woodland pilgrim's knell. Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore

when Thames in summer wreaths is drest, and oft suspend the dashing oar,

to bid his gentle spirit rest!
And oft as ease and health retire

to breezy lawn, or forest deep,
the friend shall view yon whitening spire,

and 'mid the varied landscape weep. 345 But thou who own'st that earthly bed,

Ah! what will every dirge avail ? or tears, which Love and Pity shed,

that mourn beneath the gliding sail !

Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye

shall scorn thy pale shrine glimmering near ? with him, sweet bard, may Fancy die,

and Joy desert the blooming year.
But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide

no sedge-crowned sisters now attend;
now waft me from the green hill's side,

whose cold turf hides the buried friend! And see, the fairy valleys fade;

dun night has veiled the solemn view ! yet once again, dear parted shade,

meek Nature's Child, again adieu ! The genial meads, assigned to bless

thy life, shall mourn thy early doom; their hinds and shepherd girls shall dress

with simple hands thy rural tomb. Long, long, thy stone and pointed clay

shall melt the musing Briton's eyes: O! vales, and wild woods, shall he say, in yonder grove your Druid lies !

W. COLLINS

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REST on your battle-fields, ye brave!

let the pines murmur o'er your grave,
your dirge be in the moaning wave-

we call you back no more !
O there was mourniug when ye fell,
in your own vales a deep-toned knell,
an agony, a wild farewell

but that hath long been o'er.
Rest with your still and solemn fame;
the hills keep record of your name,
and never can a touch of shame

darken the buried brow.
But we on changeful days are cast
when bright names from their place fall fast;
and ye that with your glory passed,
we cannot mourn you now.

F. HEMANS

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