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one in whose gentle bosom I

could pour my secret heart of woes, like the care-burthen'd honey-fly

that hides his murmurs in the rose, -
my earthly comforter! whose love

so indefeasible might be,
that, when my spirit wonn'd above,

hers could not stay, for sympathy.

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LAS! alas! thou turn'st in vain

thy beauteous face away,
which, like young sorcerers, rais'd a pain

above its power to lay.
Love moves not, as thou turn'st thy look,

but here doth firmly rest;
he long ago thy eyes forsook,

to revel in my breast.
Thy power on him why hop'st thou more

than his on me should be?
the claim thou lay'st to him is poor,

to that he owns from me.
his substance in my heart excels

his shadow in thy sight;
fire, where it burns, more truly dwells,
than where it scatters light.

T. STANLEY

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BEYOND the

and gloomy realms of Pluto's rule
the happy soul hath' come:
and hark, what music on the breeze?
'Twas like the tune of summer-bees

a myriad-floating hum.
From spirits like himself it flowed
a welcome to his blest abode,

that melody of sound:
and lo, the sky all azure clear,
and liquid-soft the atmosphere:

it is Elysian ground.

To mortals, who on earth fulfil
the great Olympian Father's will,

are given these happy glades;
where they, from all corruption free,
in unrestricted liberty

may dwell, etherial shades.

228 There is no bound of time or place;

each spirit moves in endless space

advancing as he wills:
the summer lightnings gleam not so,
as life with ever-varying flow

the tender bosom thrills.

And memory is unmixed with pain,
though consciousness they still retain

of joys they left behind;
whate'er on earth they held most dear,
to pure enjoyment hallowed here

in golden dream they find.

The pilgrim oft by whispering trees
hath stretcht his weary limbs at ease,

and laid his burden down;
the reaping man hath dropt his scythe,
around him gather'd harvests blithe

the field with plenty crown. 229

The warrior-chief in soft repose
bethinks him of his vanquisht foes,

and martial sounds begin
to rattle in his slumbering ear,
the rolling drum, the soldier's cheer,

and dreadful battle-din.

The lover, whom untimely fate
hath sever'd from a worthy mate,

expects the destined hour,
when she shall come, his bliss to share,
in beauty clad, divinely fair,

with love's immortal dower.

Meanwhile in many a vision kind
he sees her imaged to his mind;

and for her brow he weaves
a mystic bridal coronal,
such as no poet's tongue can tell
nor human heart conceive.

Translated from SCHILLER

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COME

OME take a woodland walk with me,

and mark the rugged old Oak Tree,
how steadily his arm he flings
where from the bank the fresh rill springs,
and points the waters' silent way
down the wild marge of reed and spray,
Two furlongs on they glide unseen,
known only by the livelier green.
There stands he, in each time and tide,
the new-born streamlet's guard and guide.
To him spring shower and summer sun,
brown autumn, winter's sleet, are one :
but firmest in the bleakest hour
he holds his root in faith and power,
the splinter'd bark, his girdle stern,
his robe, grey moss and mountain fern.

J. KEBLE

231

A HYMN TO THE LARES

IT
T was, and still my care is,

to worship ye, the Lares,
with crowns of greenest parsley,
and garlick chives not scarcely:
for favours here to warm me,
and not by fire to harm me:
for gladding so my hearth here
with inoffensive mirth here;
that while the wassaile bowle here
with north-down ale doth trowl here,
no syllable doth fall here,
to mar the mirth at all here.
For which, whene'er I am able,
to keep a country-table,
great be my fare or small cheer,
I'le eat and drink up all here.

R. HERRICK

232

TO THE LADY MARGARET, COUNTESS OF ";

CUMBERLAND

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233

and rear'd the dwelling of his thoughts so strong, as neither fear nor hope can shake the frame of his resolved powers; nor all the wind of vanity or malice pierce to wrong his settled peace, or to disturb the same: what a fair seat hath he, from whence he may the boundless wastes and wilds of man survey! And with how free an eye doth he look down upon these lower regions of turmoil, where all the storms of passions mainly beat on flesh and blood : where honour, power, renown, are only gay afflictions, golden toil; where greatness stands upon as feeble feet, as frailty doth ; and only great doth seem to little minds, who do it so esteem.

He is not moved with all the thunder-cracks of tyrants' threats, or with the surly brow of power, that proudly sits on others' crimes ; charged with more crying sins than those he checks. The storms of sad confusion, that may grow up in the present for the coming times, appal not him ; that hath no side at all, but of himself, and knows the worst can fall. And whilst distraught Ambition compasses and is encompassed ; whilst as craft deceives, and is deceived: whilst man doth ransack man, and builds on blood, and rises by distress; and th' inheritance of desolation leaves to great-expecting hopes : he looks thereon, as from the shore of peace, with unwet eye, and bears no venture in impiety.

S. DANIEL

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THERE

'HERE is a calm for those who weep;

a rest for weary pilgrims found, they softly lie and sweetly sleep

low in the ground.

The storm that wrecks the winter sky
no more disturbs their deep repose,
than summer-evening's latest sigh

that shuts the rose.
There is a calm for those who weep;
a rest for weary pilgrims found;
and, while the mouldering ashes sleep

low in the ground,
the soul, of origin divine,
God's glorious image, freed from clay,
in heaven's eternal sphere shall shine,
a Star of Day.

J. MONTGOMERY

235

PROOF AGAINST FORTUNE

FOR

1

FORTUNE, that with malicious joy

does man her slave oppress,
proud of her office to destroy,

is seldom pleased to bless :
still various and inconstant still,
but with an inclination to be ill,
promotes, degrades, delights in strife,

2
and makes a lottery of life.
I can enjoy her while she's kind ;
but when she dances in the wind,

and shakes the wings and will not stay,

I puff the prostitute away; the little or the much she gave is quietly resigned: content with poverty my soul I arm, and virtue, though. in rags, will keep me warm.

236

What is't to me,
who never sail in her unfaithful sea,

if storms arise, and clouds grow black;

if the mast split and threaten wreck ?
Then let the greedy merchant fear

for his ill-gotten gain;
and pray to gods that will not hear,
while the debating winds and billows bear

his wealth into the main.
For me, secure from Fortune's blows,
secure of what I cannot lose,

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