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Though Justice against Fate complain,
and plead the ancient Rights in vain-

but those do hold or break
as men are strong or weak,

A. MARVELL

448

THE FIRST OF APRIL

MINDELL Of disaster past,

and shrinking at the northern blast,
the sleety storm returning still,
the morning hoar, and evening chill,
reluctant comes the timid Spring.
Scarce a bee with airy ring
murmurs the blossom’d boughs around,
that clothe the garden's southern bound:
scarce a sickly straggling flower
decks the rough castle's rifted tower:
scarce the hardy primrose peeps
from the dark dell's entangled steeps:
o'er the field of waving broom
slowly shoots the golden bloom:
and, but by fits, the furze-clad dale
tinctures the transitory gale.
While from the shrubbery's naked maze,
where the vegetable blaze
of Flora's brightest 'broidery shone,
every chequered charm is flown.
The swallow, for a moment seen,
skims in haste the village green;
from the gray moor, on feeble wing,
the screaming plovers idly spring;
the butterfly gay-painted soon
explores awhile the tepid noon;
and fondly trusts its tender dyes
to fickle suns and flattering skies.

T. WARTON

449

MODERN JERUSALEM

FALTON

ALL’N is thy throne, O Israel!

silence is o'er thy plains; thy dwellings all lie desolate,

thy children weep in chains,

where are the dews that fed thee,

on Etham's barren shore?
That fire from heaven, which led thee,

now lights thy path no more.
Lord! thou didst love Jerusalem-

once she was all Thy own: her love Thy fairest heritage:

her power Thy glory's throne: till evil came, and blighted

Thy long-loved olive-tree:and Salem's shrines were lighted

for other gods than Thee. Then sunk the star of Solyma,

then pass'd her glory's day, like heath that in the wilderness

the wild wind whirls away. Silent and waste her bowers,

where once the mighty trod,
and sunk those guilty towers,

where Baal reigned as God.
"Go'—said the Lord--'ye Conquerors,

steep in her blood your'swords:
and raze to earth her battlements,
for they are not the Lord's!'

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T. MOORE

450

TO A SKYLARK

HA

AIL to thee, blithe Spirit !

bird thou never wert,
that from heaven, or near it

pourest thy full heart
in profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher

from the earth thou springest like a cloud of fire;

the blue deep thou wingest, and singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning

of the sunken sun
o'er which clouds are brightening,

thou dost float and run,
like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even

melts around thy flight: like a star of heaven

in the broad day-light thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight:

keen as are the arrows

of that silver sphere,
whose intense lamp narrows

in the white dawn clear
until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.

451 All the earth and air

when thy voice is loud, as, when night is bare,

from one lonely cloud the moon rains out her beams, and heaven is over

flowed.

What thou art we know not ;

what is most like thee?
from rainbow clouds there flow not

drops so bright to see
as from thy presence showers a rain of melody.

With thy clear keen joyance

languor cannot be:
shadow of annoyance

never came near thee:
thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

Better than all measures

of delightful sound, better than all treasures

that in books are found, thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

Teach me half the gladness

that thy brain must know, such harmonious madness

from my lips would flow the world should listen then, as I am listening now!

P. B. SHELLEY

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UP

P with me! up with me into the clouds!

for thy song, Lark, is strong;
up with me, up with me into the clouds !

singing, singing,
with clouds and sky about thee ringing,

lift me, guide me till I find
that spot which seems so to thy mind!
I have walked through wildernesses dreary
and to-day my heart is weary ;
had I now the wings of a Faery,
up to thee would I fly.
There is a madness about thee, and joy divine
in that song of thine;
lift me, guide me high and high
to thy banqueting-place in the sky.

Joyous as morning,
thou art laughing and scorning:
thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest;
and, though little troubled with sloth,
drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth
to be such a traveller as I,
Happy, happy Liver,
with a soul as strong as a mountain river
pouring out praise to the Almighty Giver,

joy and jollity be with us both!
Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven,
through prickly moors or dusty ways must wind;
but hearing thee or others of thy kind,
as full of gladness and as free of heaven,
I, with my fate contented, will plod on,
and hope for higher raptures, when life's day is done.

W. WORDSWORTH

453

CONSTAT GENITVM NIHIL

WHI

THEN the sun from his rosy bed

the dawning light begins to shed,
the drowsy sky uncurtains round,
and the (but now bright) stars all drown'd

in one great light, look dull and tame,
and homage his victorious flame.
Thus, when the warm Etesian wind
the earth's seald bosom doth unbind,
straight she her various store discloses
and purples every grove with roses;
but if the South's tempestuous breath
breaks forth, those blushes pine to death.
Oft in a quiet sky the deep
with unmoved waves seems fast asleep,
and oft again the blust'ring North
in angry heaps provokes them forth.
If then this world, which holds all nations,
suffer itself such alterations,
that not this mighty, massy frame,
nor any part of it can claim
one certain course, why should man prate
or censure the designs of fate?
Why from frail honours, and goods lent,
should he expect things permanent ?
since 'tis enacted by divine decree,
that nothing mortal shall eternal be.

H. VAUGHAN

454 COMFORT FROM HIS MUSE IN PRISON

THO!
'HOUGH I miss the flowery fields

with those sweets the spring-tide yields;
though of all those pleasures past
nothing now remains at last,
but remembrance, poor relief,
that more makes than mends my grief;
she's my mind's companion still
maugre envy's evil will;
(whence she should be driven too,
wer't in mortal's power to do).
She doth tell me where to borrow
comfort in the midst of sorrow;
makes the desolatest place
to her presence be a grace;
and the blackest discontents
to be pleasing ornaments.
In my former days of bliss
her divine skill taught me this,
F. S. II,

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