His ballad of Edwin and Angelina, poor imitation though it be. Goldsmith remained attached to the older school, but it is clear that his heart was inclining to the newer, and that his later work shows in him many marks of a poet of a transition age. His last great work, and his greatest in comedy, She Stoops to Conquer, was written in On April 4th, , Goldsmith died, troubled in mind and sunk in debt, and was buried by Temple Church.
He has left works that give him a high mark, though not a supreme one, in four departments of literature, in the essay, the drama, the novel, and in poetry, — a versatility of genius few can equal. For his life, "Let not his frailties be remem- bered: Men grew tired of the monotony of form and expression in literature, just as they grew tired of formal, urban life and a narrow range of feeling and experience.
Reaching out for relief from the heroic couplet, they resumed old forms of versification, the blank verse of Milton, the epic stanza of Spenser, the ode, the ballad, and the sonnet. All Europe was stirring with new emotion. The ecstasies of Wvrthtr met with ' vehement acceptance ' everywhere. The Kevolution in men's minds was in progress, reiJized befoi-e the end of the century in Political Revolution. This movement of humanity towards the picturesque past, towards nature and the supernatural, towards emotion, towards beauty, constitutes the Romantic Move- ment, to which in this nineteenth century we owe our best literature.
With the beginning of the full glory of English Romanticism two names are indissolubly associated,— Wordsworth and Coleridge. Others prepared the way ; others revealed more or less tentatively some of the characteristics of the Movement. XXI that went out to all weak and helpless oreatureR. Thom- son, Gray, Burns, and Cowpor, then, all felt the impulso of a now life; but this new life was manifested clearly and unmistakably first in two names, Wordsworth and Colovidge.
William Wordswortli was born at Cockermouth. Cum- berland, April 7th. His childhood truly showed that in him at least the boy was father to the man. Cookermoiuh is near the Derwent, that blent A murmur with my nurse's sonpr. Bathing in the mill-race, plundering the raven's nest, skating, nutting, fishing, such were the golden days of happy boyhood ; and the activities of boyhood lived on in thn man.
Wordsworth, Elizabeth Wordsworth says, could cut his name in the ice when quite an elderly man. The effect on his spirits of this free open life, lighted up by a passion for the open air, may be read in his early Lines on Leaving School.
His schooldays at Hawkshead, Lancashire, were happy, though he described himself as being 'of a stiff, mooily, violent temper. His father interested himself in his training, and through his guidance Words- worth as a boy could repeat by heart much of Spenser, Shakspere, and Milton.
His father having died ir , Wordsworth Avas sent to Cambridge by his uncles. On fhe whole he took little intrrost in academic pursuits. His vacations were spent in the country ; in one of them he traversed on foot France Switzerland, and Northern Italy. Anrl in the meadows and the lower grounds Was all the sweetness of a common dawn- Dews, vapours, and the melodies of birds, And labourers going forth to till the fields Ah! On I wallted In thankful blessedness, which: Wordsworth's first long poem. An Evening Walk '. Unable to decide on a profession, Wordsworth went to France in November, , whore he stayed thirteen months studying Frenc'..
He returned to England with hi. Inspired hy his sisror, Words- worth re. Words- worth nevor was ungrateful to that noblest of women his sister Dorothy. In the midst of troubles she never llagged, in the momenta of literary aspir. She whispered still that brlprhtness would n,tmn, She, In the midst of all, preserved nie siill A poet, made me seek beneath that niune.
And that alone, my office upon earth. She K'ave me eyes, she gave me ears ; And huml. Henceforth he was dedicated to poetry. Meantime, Coleridge, the son of a Devonshire clergy- man, had passed through Christ's Hospital and Cam- bridge, and had entered on matrimony and authorship. He had first settled at Clevedon, near Bristol, where he eked out a poor living with hack-work, lecturing, tutoring, varied by some attempts at publishing periodicals and poetry.
Early in he removed to Nether Stowoy. Nether Stowey lies at the foot of the Qnantocks. In the spring of 1 the two poets planned a pedestrian tour to L. The project of o! This memorable volume, openinir with Th. I o Quiricey snd John Wilson were [lorhapa alone in recog- nizing the value of the volume. Originality, it has been said, must create the taste Ijy which it is to be appreciated, and it was some years before taste for the new poetry was created. It was rejected by the Covent Garden Theatre ; upon which the poet remarked tliat "the moving accident is not my trade. Hazlitt, hearing Coleridge read some of his friend's poems, " felt the sense of a new style and a new spirit of poetry come over him.
Coleridge parted company with the Wordsworths on reaching the Continent, passing on to Ratzeburg and GSttingen, while the latter buried tliemselves in Goslar, on tlie edge of the Hartz Forest. Wordsworth got little ideasure from Gernaui society, literature, climate, or tobacco. Driven back upon him- self, he took inspiration from the memories of Alfoxden life, and wrote some of his best lyrics, Nuttiny, The Poefs Epitaph, The Fountain, Two April Morninys, Buth, and the five poems grouped about the name of Lucy.
Memorials of a Tour in Scotland 4 , On the Cantinent , In Italy , are collections of poems due to these excursions. His sonnets, many of which are gems of lyrical beauty unsurpassed, are chiefly in three series, Ecclesiastical Sketches, On the Itiver Duddon, and Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty. Of his other chief works. Peter Bell, written in , was not published till ; the Excursion, composed in , was published in ; The White Doe of Rylstonc, written in , was issued in ; while The Prelude, begun in and finished in , was printed only after his death.
About the years of neglect and ridicule that Wordsworth had borne with serene mind changed for years of honour and fame. Oxford bestowed on him a doctor's degree ; the nation, with one voice, on the death of Soutliey in , crowned him with the laurel, "as the just due of the first of living poets" ; and the best minds of England, such as Arnold.
George Eliot, Mill, acknow- ledged the strength and blessedness of liis influence. When he died, April 23rd, , tl. The best personal sketch of the poet is that of Thomas Carlyle, about the year His voice was good, frank, and sonorous, though practically clear, distinct, and forcible rather tban melodious; the tone ol him l usiness-like. Yo wo d h mself to aud,ence sympathetic and intelligent, when such offered. Fifth, a meditative pathos, a union of deep and subtle thought with sensibility ; a sym- pathy with man as man ; the sympathy indeed of a con- templator rather than a fellow -sufferer or co-mate.
Last, and preeminently, I challenge for this poet the gift of imagination. In the play of fancy, Wordsworth, to my feelings, is not always graceful, and is sometimes recondite. The likeness is occasionally too strange But in imaginative power he stands nearest of all modern writers to Shakespeare and Milton. To emplov his own words Scott's descent rom a fighting clan, his early associations, his taste for ballad literature, which he memorized with prodigious tac.
The lirst books he read were ballads, Pope's translation of Homer, and the songs of Allan Ramsay'a collections. At the High School Scott did not make any great figure; but, he tells us, his tales used to assemble an admiring audience round Lucky Brown's fireside, and ' hai py was he who could sit next to the inexhaustible narrator,' Ho gained some recognition for metrical versions of the classics; and "in the inte" als of my schoolhours," he says, "I The same period was noteworthy for the awakening of his taste in natural scenery, fostered by the romantic neigbbourhood of the Tweed and the Teviot.
Natural beauty, especially when associated with romantic or religious antiquities, became for Scott ' an insatiable passion. He forswore classics, neglected mathematics, and made some progress only in ethics and history. College life ended in , when he entered on an apprenticeship to the law in the office of his father. His ruling passion was still strong. French literature and Italian literature were his steady devotion, and the old songs and romances. Enthusiastic minds at oiioe seized ou this intimation of a new literature, full of passion, medieevalism, and romance.
Scott and others became diligent students of German. The notion seized Scott of attempting something similar to the verses of The Monk. His acquaintance with German was extended until he became familiar with the great masters of Germany, Schiller and Goethe. In he published a translation of Giitz von Berlichingen of the latter author.
This and The Eve of St. In , in the full tide of other successes, Scott bade farewell to his muse, To a hard when the relffn of his fancy Is o'er. In Scott blre interested as a partner in the printing firm of Ballan. He had no sooner satisfied hxs proud dream of founding a a family estate by.
G pmohase of Abbotsford tban tbe clo. In two years he had earned by his novels one-third of tho sum, in five years his liabilities were reduced one-half. Scott's poetry, as has been seen, was a natural and easy develoi mentof his interest, -a hearty, practical, imaf,nna- tive interest, -in the ballad literature of Germany and Great Britain. His ballads under the infiue. Aiming at vigour, picturescp. He had none of that feeling for the rare and happy phrase, which. There is none of that mev.
If he touches na- ture, he describes it with a perfect ey for colour and form atid local truth, but without recognition of any infinite and pervading spirit. In character what interests him. Scott's poetry, indeed, was but a preparation for his greater novels. Great as tliese were, his life, it must be remembered, was equal to them: Thou hast risen to be great, but thou wert always good!
Clarke, Recollections of J.
Follow the Author
Men of Letters " ; Rossel ti, Keats. Letters and Poems of J. Additional critical articles of value are: Arnold, Essays in Criticism, ind ser. Liberal Movement ; Masson. Of these years, if we except some boyish effusions, only six were in any any sense given up to poetry, and of these six years three were shadowed by the disease from which the poet died.
His youth, his passionate love of beauty, his long- ing for fame, his early death win for Keats an intei-est that has steadily risen since his death. He was born in London, in , the first child of Thomas Keats, head hostler and successor tc his wife's father, a prosperous livery-man. The records of these years sliow him clearly enough as a noble, headstrong, passionate, loveable nature,— above all pugnacious, — "fighting was meat and drink to him.
At fourteen years of age, he was apprenticed to a surgeon at Edmonton ; but as Enfield was onlv two in. Now Mormng from her orient chamber came. And her hrst footsteps touched a verdant hilli etc. When Keats came up to London in to finish his sudy of medicine at St. Thomas's Hospital, he hunted out Clarke who was living with a sister in Clerkenwell ri. He took down to him some of his friend's poems, which samed an invitation from that important editor and poet Keats s vi It was made and repeated till he became a fam. By degrees his circle of Ir.
Reynolds, poet and cntic, Jan. Mysterious, wild, tlie far-hcavd trump. As late I rambled in the happy fields, What time tiie slvylark. A drainless shower Of light is poesy ; 'tis tlie supreme of power ; 'Tis might half slumbering on its own right arm. It clearly indicates, moreover, the beginning of one of Keats's happiest victories, the making over of the heroic couplet into a romantic measure full of all subtle har- monies and cadences: Their scanty-leaved, and finely-tapering steins.
Had not yet lost their starry diadems Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. On the personal side we see the poet's enthusiasm for his fnends and for friendship, for poets and poetry, and for naturo. On the subjective side of his art, it contains the most pronounced expression yet given of the spirit of romanticism protesting against the poelrj.
Hie, winds of heaven blow, the ocoai. The bine Haied its eternal bosom, and the dew Of snnimer night collected still to make The morninfe' precious: Why were ye not awake? Hut ye were dead io thin -8 ye knew not of,-were closely wed To musty laws lined out with wretched rule And compass vile Easy was the task: A thousand handicraftsmen wore tlie mask Of Poesy. At nlrgate and at Hamp. In the spring of , Endymion, a Poetical liomance, was published. In this poem Keats turned to Greek mythology with the warmth of a kindred spirit, and gave the old myth of Diana and Endymion with all the richness—the bewilder- ing richness— of incident, scene, detail, that the story became u path hardly visible amidst a tropical forest.
The rare render who makes his way throiigli is not unre- paid for the toil, for of much he can. Blackwood's Magazine, in a series of articles attiibntel to Lockhart, had meanwhile been making a bitter attack on Leigh Hunt and the ' Cockney School ' of poetry , the fourth article was given up to a bitter and ignorant crit- icism on Keats and Endymion.
It was followed by an equally ignorant and un. His own throat Imd developed ill Scotcli mists some dangerous symptoms. It was a time when he might have been despondent. Friends came to his defence, and his own courage. Keats died, as his mother liad died before him, of consumption. In this time it was a consolation to share home with Brown in Went- worth Place, Hampstead.
Keats's genius had reached its early maturity and was destined to bear only first fruits. In the winter of he composed Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and parts of Hyperion; in the spring of most of his odes see p. It seems that the last months of and the beginning of were months of effort to anticipate approaching death, so rapid and so passionate were his compositions. The Eve of St. On the 'JlJrd of Fehiuary, in spite of the hest medical skill and liiu meniorahle devotion of his friend Severn, he died, desiring that on his tomb should he inscribed, "Here lies one whose name was writ in water.
It might make one in love with death, to think that one should be buried in so sweet a spot. As he became conscious of his vocation, his life steadied more and more to his purpo. I will pursue it. In the beauty of rhythm Keats is the master of our modern muse. Of these Odes, Swinburne reinaiks tluit " porliaps the two nearcHt to absohite perfection, to tlie triumphant achievement and accomplishment of I lie very utmost beauty possible in human words, may be that to Autumn and that on a Grecian Urn ; the most radiant, fervent, and musical is that to a Nightinnnle; the most pictorial and perhaps the tenderest in its ardour of pass'onate fancy is that to Psyche ; the subtlest in sweetness of thouj;ht and feeling is that on Mehnicholy.
His mother was an excellTn but rather narrow woman. Shelley's early years gave no As a ch,ld he was imaginative, inventing fables and per sonatmg sprits, addicted to the society of the great snake of the manor gardens. In his early school days he passed among his school-fellows as a strange and unsoc. Amidst the floggings of the masters and the thrashings, the enforced faggings and torment- ings of the older boys, to whom he was but "Mad Shelley," and "the atheist," there began to grow up in the youth a spirit of revolt.
He heaped knowledge from 'forbidden mines of lore,' but it was to work. At Eton he read classics ardently, was devoted to chemical experiments and night rambles, and devoured all current literature, —Southey and Lewis, Godwin and Mrs. His own literary talent began to appear in the composition of a rejected play and an accepted novel Zastrozzi. A volume of poems entitled Original Poetry, hy Victor and Cazire was issued— but immediately with- drawn as not being entirely original, and its place taken by a second unreadable romance St. Irvyne, or the Jio.
By this time Shelley was in Oxford, immersed now in passionate and tireless reading of philosophy and specu- lative politics. Under the influence of Hume and tlie French materialists he became a disbeliever in Christian theology. When his friend Hogg remonstrated, he too was expelled, Shelley's father closed his door on his son, and stopped supplies. Shelley had come iip with Hogg to London, where his sisters were at school. Early in Shelley met one of their school friends. She was harshly treated at home hy het father, a prosperous colTce-lioiise keeper, which was enough to win Shoiloy's synipatliy.
He himself was not recovered from a rejected affection for another Harriet, his cousin Harriet Grove. The young lady threw herself on Shelley's protection, and they were married. The mdsallkmce re-opened the closing breach with the poet's family, though afterwards both fatlier and father-in-law gave an allowance to the young couple. Tliey settled first in Edinburgh, then in York, whei-e some months of happy companionship were j assed. Ivoswick was their next home, full of associations of the hiika poets.
But Wordsworth took no notice of Shelley, and Southey Sholley grew to detest. To William Godwin he turned for inspiration and counsel. Godwin was a disciple of the French philosopliers, an ardent sympathizer with the French Revolution, author of Political Justice and novels, all well known to Sjielley, —a force in London letters and politics. At this time Godwin's family was made up of various step-daughters, one of whom was to become Slielley's seconcf wife!
Slielley's intimacy with Godwin, limited at first to corre- spondence was increa. At Godwin's Shelley met Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, whose charm of person and mind gave promise of a sympathy he lacked in his own marriage. Shelley and Mary Godwin, in July, , fled to Switzerland. The mass of testimony is too direct and too abundant to admit doubt. The fidelity of many friends, his beneficence to the poor, the brave dreams for the regeneration of mankind that prompted his life and his work speak abundantly for a nature whose name was surely written as "one who loved his fellow men," and like that of Ben Adhem, '-miiy load all the rest.
Uescends upon me ; my spirit's barli is driven K: I am liorne d. But from the mistakes of his life, however we regard them, his poetry detaches itself pure and gleaming, with tlie promise that it shall never pass into nothingness. In respect to nature Shelley stands as our finest painter of wildness and wonder, of scenes steeped in the 'gloom of earthipiake and eclipse': Even as a wretciied soul hour alter liour Clings to tlie mass of life: Like Byron he was fascinated by personification of revolt, and found in Prometheus the type of his own mind, fearlessness in convictions, hostility to authority, and, unlike Byron, passionate love of humanity.
The Cenci is a strange contrast to the Prometheus, because entirely objective and impersonal. Though its plot pre- cludes its representation on the stage, the Cenci rises in its tragic interest, in the powerful conception of character, in the tremendous vigour of language above every tragedy since Shakspere. As a lyric poet, Shelley excels, net as Keats in the nocture of passionate melancholy, but in gay joyous out- burst as of the spirit of poetry itself. His lyrics are, for the most part, impersonal, belonging to the sphere of pure intellectual delight.
Oil wiiosti last steps 1 climb It was witli wonderful fitness tluit tlie words of the song of Shakspere's Ariel, witli whose nature Shel- ley hatl much in common, were inscribed on his toml l eside the grave of Keats,— Notliinj; of lilm that doth fade Mm liotli sud'cr a spa-c-haiifrc IiitoduinctliiiiK I'ifh and stiiUiKC. I in fin hca: Ihe best editions are Moore, seventeen vols.. Critical estimates of value are M. Arnold, Introd to Seleettona from Byron; Swinburne. George Gordon, Lord Byron, was born January 22nd, S, the only cliild of a spendthrift and dissolute fatlier and a foolish mother.
He was badly reared by the latter, whose nature alternating between fondness and temper quickly spoiled his passionate nature. His early life was spent at Aberd. Byron settled at Nottingham, and her son, who hud had some training in Aberdeen, was prepared for Harrow wliere in he was sent. He won no reputation at s-i. In he was desperately in love with Mary Chaworth, who however married elsewhere and unhappily. In a desul- tory, fitful way he had read extensively, and had remem- beied much. In Byron printed privately, and immediately sup- pressed, his Fugitive Pieces, which was issued the follow- ing year as Poems on Various Occasions.
The same year the poems and translations called Hours of Idleness — his first public volume — were published. No great writer ever began worse. The Edinburgh Revieio fell foul of the volume in the first number of , and held the author up to ridicule. On leaving Cambridge, Byron lived a time in iiis ances- tral hall of Newstead, which was in ruins, and in 1H09 took his seat in the House of Lords. In July of that year, accompanied by Hobhouse he departed for the Continent. Visiting the Troad, our modern Leandor, but 'with much less love,' swam the Hellespont from Sestos to Abydos.
Hobhouse returned to England, while Byron spent the winter in Athens and the Morea. In July, , lie too returned home. The latter, however, at the urgent re- quests of h. The Romantic movement hnd uttered its supreme note of individualism and subjec- tivity. On the 2nd of January, On April 24th 18, J Byron, wounded and imiignant. D UC 7 70NS. Switzerland, where lie joined the Shelleys. Harold belong; to this period, the latter showing a splendid descriptive power cf. He passed a life of dissijia- tion alternating with liard intellectual labour.
Before tlie 1st of July, see p. From this time till his death Byron was interested in politics. From lluvonna he headed a section of the Car- bonari in an abortive attem[ t at insurrection against Austria. Pisa and Leghorn, Byron frequently met Shelley, but the poets were on too different moral i l! Meanwhile the Greek revolt against the Turkish occu- pation hud broken out The Greek Committee in England, early in , elected Byion a member, much to his gratification.
Fitting out an expedition, he sailed from Genoa in July for Cephalonia. The French Revolution had rt h. The individualism of Byro, IS chiefly seen ,n the intrusion of him. It is seen raurt;': Byron's contribution, then, to the awakeninj; of the human spirit in this nineteenth century is a large and important contribution. When we look at his work even in these late days, we still feel the great genius that inspires them, — the Romantic satirist, wiioso Svviftian wit laid bare the hypocrisy of his time, the impassioned advocate of love and liberty, the singer of the daring and unconquerable spirit of man, the poet whose descriptive verso has added new and lasting glory to the greatest triumphs of architecture and art.
Dear Sir,— I am sensible that the Iriendslup between us can a'cquire no new force from the ceremonies of a Dedication ; and per- haps It demands an excuse thus to prefix your name to my attcnpts, wliich you decline giving with your own. But as a part of this Poem was formerly written to you from Swit- 5. But ofifi all kinds of ambitioa, what from iHo refinement of the times, from different 3y8tem3 of oriticisru, au. Poetry makes a principal amusoment among unpoli-hod nations; but in a country vergin- to the extremes of rofino- ao meat, Painting and Music come in for a share.
But there is an enemy to this art still more dangerous, I mean party. Party entirely distorts the judgment and de- 3. When the mind is once infected with this disease, it can only find pleasure in what contributes to in- crease the distemper. Like the tiger, that seldom desists from pursuing man after having once preyed upon human flesh, the reader, who has once gratified his appetite with calumny, 40 makes, ever after, the most agreeable feast upon murdered reputation.
Such readers generally admire some half-witted thing, who wants to be thought a bold man, having lust the character of a wise one. But if lis f the times, divisions of idost. What reception a Poem may find, which has neither ah-ise party, nor blank verse to supp rt it, I cannot tell, nor am I solicitous to know. My aims are right. Or where Campania's plain forsaken lies, A weary waste expanding to the skies: Where'er I roam, whatever realms to see, My heart untravell'd fondly turns to thee ; Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain.
Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, And round his dwelling guardian saints attend ; Bless'd be that ot, where cheerful guests retire To pause from toil and trim their evening fire ; Bless'd that abode, where want and pain repair, And every stranger finds a ready chair ; Bless'd be those feasts with simple plenty crown'd, Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail. Or press the bashful stranger to his food, And learn the luxury of doing good. But me, not destin'd such delights to share, My prime of life in wand'ring spent and care, [mpoll'd, with steps unceasing, to pursue Some fleeting good, that mocks me with the view ; That, like the circle bounding earth and skies, Allures from far, yet, as I follow, flies ; My fortune leads to traverse realms alone.
And find no spot of all the world my own. E'en now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, I sit me down a pensive hour to spend ; And, plac'd on high above the storm's career. Look downward where an hundred realms appear ; Lakes, forests, cities, plains extending wide. The pomp of kings, the shepherd's humbler pride. Amidst the store, should thankless pride repine? Say, should the philosophic mind disdain That good, which makes each humbler bosom vain?
Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can, These little things are great to little man ; And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind Exults in all the good of all mankind. Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round. Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale. Ye bending swains, that dress the flow'ry vale, For me your tributary stores combine ; Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine!
Thus to my bi'east alternate passions rise, 55 Pleas'd with each good that heaven to man supplies: Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, To see the hoard of human bliss so small ; And oft I wish, amidst the scene, to find Some spot to real happiness consign'd, 60 Where my worn soul, each wand'ring hope at rest, May gather bliss to see my fellows blest. But where to find that happiest spot below. Who can direct, when all pretend to know? And thanks his gods for all the good they gave.
Such is the patriot's boast, where'er we roam, His first, best country, ever is at home. As different good, by Art or Nature given. To different nations make their blessings even. Nature, a mother kind alike to all, Still grants her bliss at Labour', earnest call ; With food as well the peasant is supplied On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shelvy side; And though the rocky-crested summits frown, These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down.
Yet these each other's power so strong contest. Wliere wealth and freedom reign, contentment fails. And honour sinks where commerce long prevails. Hence every state to one lov'd blessing prone, Conforms and models life to that alone. Eacli to the fav'rite happiness attends, And spurns the plan that aims at other ends ; Till carried to excess in each domain, This fav'rite good begets peculiar pain.
But let us try these truths with closer eyes, And trace them throu! Here for a while my proper cares resign'd, Here let me sit in sorrow for mankind, Like yon neglected shrub at random cast, That shades the steep, and sighs at every blast. Far to the right where Apennine ascends, Bright as the summer, Italy extends ; Its uplands sloping deck the moui.
Could Nature's bounty satisfy the breast, The sons of Italy were surely blest. Whatever fruits in different climes were found, That proudly rise, or humbly court the ground ; Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear. Whose bright succession decks the varied year ; Whatever sweets salute the northern sky With vernal lives that blossom but to die ; These here disporting own the kindred soil, Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; 'While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand To winnow fragrance round the smiling land.
But small the bliss that sense alone bestows, And sensual bliss is all the nation knows. All evnls here contaminate the mind, That opulence departed loaves behind ; For wealth was theirs, not far remov'd the date, When commerce proudly flourish'd througli the si. But towns unmann'd and lords without a slave ; And late the nation found with fruitless skill Its former strength was but plethoric ill.
Yet still the loss of wealth is here supplied By arts, the splendid wrecks of former pride ; From these the feeble heart and long-fall'n mind An easy compensation seem to find. Here may be seen, in bloodless pomp array'd, The paste-board triumph and the cavalcade ; Processions form'd for piety and love, 9 ISA l. W l. A mistress or a saint in every grove. By sports like these are all their cares begnil'd, The sports of chiliren satisfy the child ; Each nobler aim, repress'd by long control, Now sinks at last, or feebly mans the soul ; While low delights, succeeding fast behind, happier meanness occupy the mind: As in those domes, where Caesars once bore sway, Defac'd by time and tott'ring in decay, There in the ruin, heedless of the dead.
The shelter-seeking peasant builds his shed ; And, wond'ring man could want the larger pile, Exults, and owns nis cottage with a smile. IftA too My soul, turn from them ; turn we to survey Where rougher climes a nobler race display, Where the bleak Swiss their stormy mansion tread. And force a churlish soil for scanty bread ; No product here the barren hills ufford, But man and steel, the soldiei- and his sword. No vernal blooms their torpid rocks array, But winter ling'ring chills the lap of May ; No zephyr fondly sues the mountain's breast, ' But meteors glare, and stormy glooms invest.
Yet still, e'en here, content can spread a charm. Redress the clime, and all its rage disarm. Cheerful at morn, he wakes from short repose, Breasts the keen air. At night returning, every labour spe'd. He sits him down the monarch of a slied ; Smiles by his cheerful fire, and round surveys His children's looks, that brighten at the blaze ; While his lov'd partner, boastful of her hoard, Displays her cleanly platter on the board: And haply too some pilgrim, thither led, With many a tale repays the nightly bed. Thus every good his native wilds impart, Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ; And e'en those ills that round his mansion rise, Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies.
Such are the charms to barren states assign'd ; Their wants but few, their wishes all confm'd. Yet let them only share the praises due ; If few their wants, their pleasures are but few ; For every want that stimulates the breast Becomes a source of i leasure when redrest. Whence from such lands each pleasing science flies, That first excites desire, and then supplies ; Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy, To fill the languid pause with finer joy ; Unknown those powers that raise the soul to flame, Catch every nerve, and vibrate through the frame.
Their level life is but a smould'ring fire. Unqaench'd by want, unfann'd by strong desire; Unfit for raptures, or, if raptures cheer On some high festival of once a year. In wild excess the vulgar breast takes fire, Till, buried in debauch, the bliss expire.
But not their joys alone thus coarsely flow: To kinder skies, where gentler manners reign, I turn ; and France displays her bright domain. With tuneless pipe, beside the murmuring Loire? Dames of ancient days Have led their children through the mirthful maze, And the gay grandsire, skill'd in gestic lore.
Has frisk'd U aeath the burthen of threescore. Honour, that praise which leal merit gains, Or e'en imaginary worth obtains, Here passes current ; paid from liand to hand, It shifts in splendid traftic round the land: From courts to camps, to cottages it strays, And all are taught an avarice of praise, They please, are pleas'd, they give to get esteem, Till, seeming bless'd, they grow to what they seem.
But while this softer art their bliss supplies, It gives their follies also room to rise ; For praise too dearly lov'd, or warmly sought, Enfeebles all internal strength of tliought ; And the weak soul, within itself unblest, Leans for all pleasure on another's breast. Hence ostentation here, with tawdry art.
Pants for the vulgar praise which fools impmt ; Here vanity assumes her pert grimace. And trims her robes of frieze with copper htce ; Here beggar pride defrauds her daily cheer. To boast one splendid banquet once a year ; ' The mind still turns where shifting fashion draws. Nor weighs the solid worth of self-applause. To men of other minds my fancy flies, Embosom d in the deep where Holiaud lies. IS Methinks her patient sons before mo atand, Where the broad ocean leans ajfalnst tlie lurid, And, sedulous to stop the coming tide, m Lift the tall rampire's artificial pride.
Onward, methinks, and diligently slow, The firm-connected bulwark seems to grow: Spreads its long arms amidst the wat'ry roar. Scoops out an empire, and usurps ihe shore. The slow canal, the yellow-blossoni'd vale, The willow-tufted bank, the gliding sail, The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, jm A new creation rescu'd from his reign.
Thus, while around the wave-subjected soil Impels the native to repeated toil, Industrious habits in each bosom reign, And industry begets a love of gain. Hence all the good from opulence that springs. With all those ills superfluous treasure brings, Are here displayed.
Their much-lov'd wealth imparts Convenience, plenty, elegance, and arts ; But view them closer, craft and fraud appear, sm E'en liberty itself is barter'd here. Here wretches seek dishonourable graves, And calmly bent, to servitude conform, Dull as their lakes that slumber in the storm. Rough, poor, content, ungovernably bold ; War in each breast, and freedom on each brow ; How much unlilie the sons of Britain now! There all around the gentlest breezes stray, Tliere gentle music melts on every spray ; Creation's mildest charms are there combin'd, Extremes are only in the master's mind!
All claims that bind and sweeten life unknown ; Here by the bonds of Nature feebly held, Minds combat minds, repelling f i repell'd. Ferments arise, imprison'd factions roar, Repress'd ambition struggles round her shore Till over-wrought, th eneral system feels Its motions stop, or plirenzy fire the wheels. SS5 Nor this the worst.
Hence all obedience bows to these alone. And scholars, soldiers, kings, unhonour'd die. Yet think not, thus when Freedom's ills I state, I mean to flatter kings or court the great ; Ye powers of truth, that bid my soul aspire, Far from my bosom drive the low desire ; And thou, fair Freedom, taught alike to feel The rabble's rage and tyrant's angry steel ; Thou transitory flower, alike undone By proud contempt, or favour's fost'ring sun, Still may thy blooms the changeful clime endure, I only would repress them to secure: For just experience tells, in every soil.
That those who think must govern those that toil ; And all that freedom's highest aims can reach, Is but to lay proportion'd loads on each. Hence, should one order disproportion'd grow, Its double weight must ruin all below. Calm is my soul, nor apt to rise in arms, Except when fast-approaching danger warms: But when contending chiefs blockade the throne, ' Contracting regal power to rtretch their own ; When I behold a factious band agree To call it freedom when themselves are free ; Each wanton judge new penal statutes draw. Tear off reserve, and bare my swelling heart ; Till half a patriot, half a coward grown, I fly from petty tyrants to the throne.
Have we not seen, round Britain's peopled shore. Her useful sons exchang'd for useless ore? Seen all her triumphs but destruction haste. Like flaring tapers bright'ning as they waste ; Seen opulence, her grandeur to maintain, Lead stern depopulation in her train. And over fields where scatter'd hamlets rose, In barren solitary pomp repose?
Have we not seen at pleasure's lordly call The smiling long-frequented village fall? Beheld the duteous son, the sire decay'd, The modest matron, and the blushing maid, Forc'd from their homes, a melancholy train. To traverse climes beyond the western main ; Where wild Oswego spreads her swamps around, And Niagara stuns with thund'ring sound? E'en now, perhaps, as there some pilgrim strays Through tangled forests, and through dangerous ways ; Where beasts with man divided empire claim, And the brown Indian marks with murd'rous aim ; There, while above the giddy tempest flies, And all around distressful yells arise, The pensive exile, bending with his woe, To stop too fearful, and too faint to go.
Casts a long look where England's glories shine. And bids his bosom sympathise with mine. Vain, vary vain, my weary search to find That bliss which only centres in the mind: Ill every government, though terrors reign. Though tyrant kings, or tyrant laws restrain, How small, of all that human hearts endure. That part which laws or kings can cause or cure.
Still to ourselves in every place consign'd, Our own felicity we make or find: With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,. Glides the smooth current of domestic joy. The lifted axe, the agonising wheel, Luke's iron crown, and Damiens' bed of steel, To men remote from power but rarely known, Leave reason, faith, and conscience, all our own. Dear Sm, I can have no oxpectation in an address of this kind, either to add to your reputation or to establish my own.
You can gam nothing from my admiration, as I am ignorant of that art xn which you are said to excel ; and I may lose much by the seventy of your judgment, as few have a juster taste in , poetry than you. Setting interest, therefore, aside, to which never paid much attention, I must be indulged at present m following my affections. The only dedication I ever made was to my brother, because I loved him better than most other men. He is since dead. Permit me to inscribe this lo -roem to you.
But this is not the place to enter into an inquiry, whether the country be depopulating or not ; thB discussion would take 25 up much room, and I should prove myself, at best, an indif- ferent politician, to tire the reader with a long preface, when I want his unfatigued attention to a long poem. In regretting the depopulation of the country, I inveigh against the increase of our luxuries; and here also I expect 30 the shout of modern politicans against me. For twenty or thirty years past, it has been the fashion to consider luxury as one of the greatest national advantages ; and all the wis- dom of antiquity, in that particular, is erroneous.
Still, however, I must remain a professed ancient on that head, 35 and continue to think those luxuries prejudicial to states, by which so many vices are introduced, and so many kingdoms have been undone. Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease, Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green, Where humble happiness endear'd each scene ; How often have 1 paus'd on every charm, The slielter'd cot, the cultivated farm, The never-failing brook, the busy mill, The decent church that topp'd the neighbouring hill. While secret laughter titter'd round the place; The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, The matron's glance that would those looks reprove.
Sweet smiling village, loveliest of the lawn. Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen. And desolation saddens all thy green: One only master grasps the whole domain. And half a tillage stints thy smiling plain ; No more thy glassy brook reflects the day. But, chok'd with sedges, works its weedy way ; Along thy gladeS; a solitary guest.
The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ; Amidst thy desert walks the lapwing flies, And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates, and men decay: Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade ; A breath can make them, as a breath hath made ; But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, When once destroy'd can never be supplied.
A time there was, ere England's griefs began, When every rood of ground maintain'd its man ; For him light labour spread her wholesome store, Just gave what life requir'd, but gave no more; His best companions, innocence and health ; And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. But times are alter'd ; trade's unfeeling train Usurp the land and dispossess the swain: Akng the lawn, where scatter'd hamlets rose, Unwieldy wealth and cumbrous pomp repose ; And every want to opulence allied, And every pang that folly pays to pride. Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, Those calm desires that ask'd but little room.
Those healthful sports that grac'd the peaceful scene. Liv'd in each look, and brighten'd all the green ; These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, And rural mirth and manneis are no more. Here, as I take my solitary rounds, Amidst thy tangling; walks, and ruin'd grounds, And, many a year elaps'd, return to view Where once the cottage stood, the hawtliorn grew, 80 Remembrance wakes with all her busy train, Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain.
I stiil had hopes, for pride attends us still, Amidst the swains to show my book-learn'd skill, 90 Around my fire an evening group to draw. And tell of all I felt, and all I saw ; And, as an hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, I still had hopes, my long vexations pass'd, 96 Here to return — and die at home r. The playful children just let loose from school ; The watchdog's voice, that bay'd the whisp'ring wind. And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind ; These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
For all the bloomy flush of life is fled: All but yon wiJowM, solitary thing, That feebly bends beside the plashy spring ; irw She, wretchei 1 matron, forc'd, in age, for bread, To strip tlie bi ok with mantling cresses spread, To pick her wintry faggot from the thorn, To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn ; She only left of all the harmless train, iss The sad historian of the pensive plain. Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd. And still where many a garden flower grows wild ; There, where a few torn slirubs the place disclose.
The village preacher's modest mansion vose. His house was known to all the vagrant train. Pleas'd with his guests, the good man learn'd to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; leo Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings lean'd to Virtue's side ; But in his duty prompt at every call, Hewatch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt, f.
Beside che bed where parting life was laid. And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay'd, The reverend champion stood. Despair and anguish fled the. At church, with meek and unaffected grace, His loc ks adorn'd the venerable place ; Truth from his lips prevail'd with double swjiy. And fools, who came to scoff, remain'd to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; Even children follow'd with endearing wile, And pluck'd his gown, to share tlie good man's smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth express'd, Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distress'd ; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had vest in Heaven: As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm. Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head. ISO ISfl Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule. The village master taught his little school.
A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew ; -Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace Tlie day's disasters in his morning face ; Full well they laugh'd, with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd; Yet ho was kind, or if severe in aught, Tlie love he bore to learning was in fault ; aoo THE DESERTED VILLAGE.
For e'en though vanquish'd, he could argue still ; While words of learned length and thundering sound Amaz'd the gazing rustics rang'd around ; And still they gaz'd, and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew. The very spot Where many a time he triumph'd, is forgot. Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspir'd.
Where grey-beard mirth, and smiling toil retir'd, Where village statesmen talk'd with looks profound. And news much older than their ale went round. With aspen boughs, and flowers, and fennel pay ; While broken tea-cups, wisely kept for show, Rang'd o'er the chimney, glisten'd in a row. Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart An hour's importance to the poor man's heart ; Thither no more the peasant shall repair To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale, No more the woodman's ballad shall prevail ; No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear, Relax his ponderous strength, and lean to hear The host himself no longer shall be found Careful to see the mantling bliss go round ; Nor the coy maid, half willing to be press'd.
Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. Spontaneous joys, where Nature has its play, The soul adopts, and owns their first-born sway ; Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind. But the long pomj , the midnight masquci: Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore. And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; Hoards, e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, And rich men flock from all the world around. Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name That leaves our rueful products still the same. Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds. Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds: The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth Has robb'd the neighbouring fields of half their growth ; 28O His seat, where solitary sports are seen.
Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ; Around the world each needful product flies, For all the luxuries the world supplies: Secure to please while youth confirms her reign, Slights every borrow'd charm that dress supplies. Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; But when those charms are pass'd, for charms are frail, When time advances, and when lovers fail, She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, In all the glaring impotence of dress. Thus fares the land, by luxury betray'd, In nature's simplest charms at first array'd, But verging to decline, its splendours rise, Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; While, scourg'd by famine, from the smiling lantl The mournful peasant leads his humble biuid ; And while he sinks, without one arm to save.
The country blooms — a garden, and a grave. To 'scape the pressure of contiguous pride? If to some common's fenceless limits stray'd, He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, And even the bare- worn common is denied. L'O To pamper luxury, and thin mankind ; To see those joys the sons of pleasure knew Extorted from his fellow creature's woe. Here, while the courtier flitters in brocade, There the pale ai tist plies the sickly trade ; Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomps disph There the black gibbet glooms beside the way.
The dome where Pleasure iiolds her midnight reign Here, richly deck'd, admits the gorgeous train ; Tumultuous grandeur crowds the blazing square, The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy! Sure these denote one universal joy! Are these thy serious thoughts? She once, perhaps, in village plenty bless'd, Has wept at tales of innocence distress'd ; Her modest looks the cottage might adorn. Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; aao Now lost to all ; her friends, her virtue fled.
Near her betrayer's door she lays her head. And, pinch'd with cold, and shrinking from tlie shower, With heavy heart deplores that luckless liour, When idly first, ambitious of the towni, She left her wheel and robes of country brown. E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led, At proud men's doors they ask a little bread! To distant climes, a dreary scene, Where half the convex world intrudes between, Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go, Where wild Altama murmurs to their woo. Far different there from all that charni'd hefoie.
The various terrors of that horrid shore ; Those blazing suns hat dart a downward ray. And fiercely shed intolerable day ; Those matted woods where birds forget to sing. But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; Thee poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crownM Where the dark scorpion gathers death around ; Where at each step the stranger fenrs to wake The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; Where crouching tigers wait their iiapless prey, And savage men more murderous still than they ; While oft in whirls the mad tornado flies, -Mingling the ravag'd landscape with the skies.
Whon tho poor exiles, every pleasure past, 86ft Huiij; round their bowers, and fon-ily look'd tlioir last, And took a long farewell, and wish'd in vain For seats like these beyond the western main ; And shuddering still to face the distant deep, Return'd and wept, and still return'd to weep. He only wisli'd for worlds beyond the grave. Whilst her fond husband strove to lend relief In all the silent manliness of grief.
How do thy potions, with insidious joy Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy! Kingdoms, by thee, to sickly greatness grown. Boast of a florid vigour not their own ; At every draught more large and large Llaey grow. And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ; Unfit in these degenerate times of shame.
To catch the heart, or strike for honest fnme; Dear charming nymph, neglected and decried. My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; Thou source of all my bliss, and all my woe, Thou found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ; Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, ' Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well! On Torno's cliffs, or Pambamarca's side. Earth has not anything to show move-, fair: This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the moi'ning ; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and tcni.
The river glideth at his own sweet will: And birds and flowers once more to greet. Palgrave for permission to reprint his redaction of a famous Scots ballad ; to Mr. George Wyndham for the hint that Shakespeare's theory of the quatorzain is based on the practice of— not Daniel nor Drayton but — Surrey, and the suggestion, among others, that the numbers excerpted from Chaucer's Troilus 2 might well be found lyrical in the true sense and to the finest purpose ; to Mr.
Henderson for revising and correcting the glossarial element, and to Mr. James Fitzmaurice-Kelly for compiling and redacting the bibliographical matter, in the Notes. My lady cometh, that all this may disteyne 1 Thy faire body, let it not appere, Lavyne ; and thou, Lucrece of Rome toun, And Polixene, that boughten love so dere, And Cleopatre, with all thy passioun, Hide ye your trouthe of love and your renoun ; And thou, Tisbe, that hast of love such peyne: My lady cometh, that all this may disteyne 1 Herr6, Did6, Laud6mia, all y-fere.
My lady cometh, that all this may disteyne! As frost, him thought, his hertl gan to cold ; For which with changld, deedlich, paleface, With-outen word, he forth began to pace ; And, as God would, he gan so fasti ride. That no wight of his countenance espied. Then said he thus: Well oughtest thou to fell, and I to die, Since she is went that wont was us to gye! O palace, whilom crown of houses all, Eiuuminid with sun of alle bliss! O ring fro which the ruby is out-fall!
O cause of woe, that cause hast been of lisse I Yet, since I may no bet, fain would I kiss Thy colde dores, durst I for this route — And farewell shrine, of which the saint is out 1 ' Fro thennesforth he rideth up and down. And everything com him to remembrance As he rood forth by places of the town. In which he whilom, had all his pleasance: And yonder ones to me gan she say: That to the death mine herte is to her hold.
My lady first me took unto her grace. Somewhat, his woful hert'ifor to light. And when he was from every mann'es sight. With softe voice he, of his lady dear. That was absent, gan sing as ye may hear: That ever dark in torment, night by night, Toward my death with wind in stern I sail ; For which the tenthe night, if that I fail The guiding of thy hemes bright an hour, My ship and me Carybdis will devour.
He stood the brighte mone to behold. And aU his sorrow he to the mone told ; And said: For love of God, run fast about thy sphere! For when thy homes newe ginne spring. Then shall she come, that may my blisse bring! And to himself right thus he wolde talk: Or elles yonder, there tho' tentes be! And thennes comth this air, that is so sote That in my soul I feel it doth me bote. And hardely this wind, that more and more Thus stoundemele increaseth in my face, Is of my lady's depe sicknesse sore.
I prove it thus, for in no other place Of all this town, save only in this space, Feel I no wind that souneth so like pain. Capiimty Your eyen two will slay me suddenly: I may the beauty of hem not sustene, So woundeth it through-out my herte kene. And but your word will helen hastily My hertes wounde, while that it is green. Your eyen two will slay me sodenly: I may the beauty of hem not sustene. Upon my troth I say you faithfully.
That ye be of my life and death the queen. For with my death the truthe shall be seen: So woundeth it through-out my herte kene. Rejection So hath your beauty from your herte chased Pity, that me ne availeth not to plain: For Daunger halt your mercy in his chain. Guiltless my death thus have ye me purchased ; I say you sooth, me needeth not to feign: So hath your beauty from your herte chased Pity, that me ne availeth not to plain. So hath your beauty from your herte chased Pity, that me ne availeth not to plain ; For Daunger halt your mercy in his chain.
He may answer, and saye this or that ; I do no force, I speak right as I mean: Since I from Love escaped am so fat, I never think to ben in his prison lean. Love hath my name y-strike out of his sclat. And he is strike out of my bookes clean For evermore ; there is none other mean. Since I from Love escaped am so fat, I never think to ben in his prison lean ; Since I am free, I count him not a bean! Am troubled now vdth great sickness. And feebled with infirmity: Our plesance here is all vain glory.
This false world is but transit6ry. The flesh is brukle, the Fiend is slee: The state of man does change and vary, Now sound, now sick, now blithe, now sary, Now dansand merry, now like to dee: So waves this world's vanity: That strong unmerciful tyrand Takes, on the mother's breast sowkand. The babe full of benignity: He takes the campion in the stour, The captain closit in the tour, The lady in bower full of beauty: He spares no lord for his piscence, No clerk for his intelligence ; His awfiil stroke may no man flee: Art-magicians and astrologues, Rethors, logicians, theologues, Them helpes no conclusions slee: In medicine the most practicians.
Leeches, surrigians, and physicians. Themselves from death may not supplee ; — Timor Mortis conturbat me. I see that makars among the lave Plays here their pageant, syne goes to grave ; Spared is not their faculty: Since he has all my brothers tane. He will not let me live alane ; Of force I must his next prey be: Since for the dead remeid is none, Best is that we for death dispone.
After our death that live may we: Nature all courage me denies Of sangis, ballads, and of plays. When that the night does lenthin hours, With wind, with hail, and heavy showers. My dule spreit does lurk for schoir ; My heart for languor does forloir For lack of Summer with his flowers. The mair that I remeid have sought. I am assailed on every side. Or with great trouble and mischeif Thou shall in to this court abide. Hold Hope and Truth within thee fast ; And let Fortdne work forth her rage, When that no reason may assuage.
Till that her glass be run and past. Or crave that thou may have no space, Thou tending to another place, A journey going every day? Come, brother, by the hand me take: Remember thou has compt to make Of all thy time thou spended here. No lady's beauty, nor luifs bliss May let me to remember this. How glad that ever I dine or sowp. Yet, when the night begins to short, It does my spreit some part comfort. This world will wend thee fro.
Which has beguiled many great estate. Turn to thy friend, believe not in thy foe ; Since thou must go, be graithing to thy gait ; SKELTON Remeid in time, and rue not ail-too late ; Provide thy place, for thou away must pass Out of this vale of trouble and dissait: Vanitas Vanitatum, et omnia Vanitas! Walk forth, pilgrame, while thou has day's light ; Dress from desert, draw to thy dwelling-place ; Speed home, for why? Anone comes the night Which does thee follow with ane ythand chace! Bend up thy sail, and win thy port of grace ; For and the death o'ertake thee in trespass.
Then may thou say these wordis with allace 1 Vanitas Vanitalum, et omnia Vanitas! Here naught abides, here standes no thing stabill. For this false world ay flittes to and fro ; Now day up bright, now night all black as sabill, Now ebb, now flood, now friend, now cruel foe ; Now glad, now sad, now well, now into woe ; Now clad in gold, dissolvit now in ass ; So does this world transitory go: Vanitas Vanitatum, it omnia Vanitas 1 William Duniar.
That hath no earthly pere?
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Comfort, pleasure, and solace. Mine heart doth so embrace, And so hath ravished me Her to behold and see, That in words plain I cannot me refrain To look on her again: Alas 1 what should I feign? It were a pleasant pain With her ay to remain. The Indy sapphire blew Her veins doth ennew. The orient pearl so clere, The witness of her lere.
The lusty ruby ruddes Resemble the rose buddes.
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Her lips soft and merry Embloomed like the cherry, It were an heavenly bliss Her sugared mouth to kiss! Her beauty to augment, Dame Nature hath her lent A wart upon her cheek. Whoso list to seek In her visage a scar, That seemeth from afar Like to the radiant star, All with favour fret, So properly it is set! She is the violet. This blossom of fresh col6ur. So Jupiter me succour.
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She flourisheth fresh and new In beauty and virtue! And when I perceived Her wart, and conceived. It cannot be denayd But it was well convayd. It maketh lovers bold To her to sue for grace, Her favour to purchase: The scar upon her chin, Enhatched on her fair skin, Whiter than the swan. It would make any man To forget deadly sin Her favour to win: Soft, and make no din. For now I will begin To have in remembrance Her goodly dalyaunce And her goodly pastauncc!
So sad and so demure, Behaving her so sure. With words of pleasure She would make to the lure. And any man convert To give her his whole hert. She made me sore amazed Upon her when I gazed. Methought mine hert was crazed. My eyen were so dazed: And to amend her tale. When she list to avail, And with her fingers smale. Whiter than the milk. That are so quickly veined, Wherewith my hand she strained, Lord, how I was pained!
Unneath I me refrained, How she me had reclaimed, And me to her retained, Embracing therewithall Her goodly middle small With sides long and straight! To tell you what conceit I had then in a trice, The matter were too nice. And yet there was no vice, Nor yet no villainy. But whereto should I note How often did I tote Upon her pretty fote? It raised mine hert-rote To see her tread the ground With heels short and round! There is no beast savage. Nor no tiger so wood, But she would change his mood, Such relucent grace Is formW in her face: Whereto should I disclose The gartering of her hose?
It is for to suppose How that she can wear Gorgeously her gear. Her kirtle so goodly laced, And under that is braced Such pleasures that I may Neither write nor say. Yet though I write not with ink. No man can let me think: For thought hath liberty. Thought is frank and free: To think a merry thought It cost me little or naught. Would God mine homely style Were polished with the file Of Cicero's eloquence, To praise her excellence!
For this most goodly flower. This blossom of fresh colour, So Jupiter me succour, She flourisheth fresh and new In beauty and virtue! My pen it is unable, My hand it is unstable. My reason rude and dull To praise her at the full. Goodly mistress Jane, Sober, demure Diane!
This blossom of fresh col6ur, So Jupiter me succ6ur. My maiden Isabell, Reflaring rosabell. Star of the morrow gray. The blossom on the spray, The freshest flower of May ; Maidenly demure. Of womanhood the lure, "Wherefore I make you sure: Good year and good luck. With chuk, chuk, chuk, chuk! And, when this song is sung and past. My lute, be still, for I have done I As to be heard where ear is none, As lead to grave in marble stone, My song may pierce her heart as soon: Should we, then, sigh or sing or moan?
No, no, my lute, for I have done! The rocks do not so cruelly Repulse the waves continually. As she my suit and affecti6n: So that I am past remedy: Whereby my lute and I have done. Proud of the spoil that thou hast got Of simple hearts thorough Love's shot, By whom unkind thou hast them won, Think not he hath his bow forgot. Although my lute and I have done! Vengeance shall fall on thy disdain.
That mak'st but game of earnest pain. Trow not alone under the sun Unquit to cause thy lover's plain, Although my lute and I have done. Now is this song both sung and past — My lute, be still, for I have done. My Lady's beauty passeth more The best of yours, I dare well sayen, Than doth the sun the candle light.
Or brightest day the darkest night. And thereto hath a troth as just As had Penelope the fair ; For what she saith, ye may it trust. As it by writing sealed were: And virtues hath she many moe Than I with pen have skill to show. I could rehearse, if that I would. The whole e6fect of Nature's plaint, When she had lost the perfect mould, The like to whom she could not paint: With wringing hands, how she did cry, And what she said, I know it, I!
I know she swore with raging mind. Her kingdom only set apart, There was no loss, by law of kind. That could have gone so near her heart ; And this was chiefly all her pain: To be the chiefest work she wrought ; In faith, methink! To match the candle with the sun. Howard, Earl of Surrey. Hers will I be, and only with this thought Content myself, although my chance be nought! Step in your foot, come, take a place, and mourn with me awhile!
And such as by their lords do set but little price. Let them sit still, it skills them not what chance come on the dice. But ye whom Love hath bound, by order of desire. To love your lords, whose good deserts none other would require Come ye yet once again, and set your foot by mine. Whose woful plight, and sorrows great, no tongue may well define! My love and lord, alas! Whom I was wont t'embrace with well contented mind.
Is now amid the foaming floods at pleasure of the wind. Where God well him preserve, and soon him home me send — Without which hope my life, alas I were shortly at an end! Whose absence yet, although my hope doth tell me plain. With short return he comes anon, yet ceaseth not my pain. The fearful dreams I have ofttimes do grieve me so.
That when I wake, I lie in doubt wh'er they be true or no. That my dear lord, ay me 1 alas! Another time the same doth tell me he is come, And playing, where I shall him find, with his fair little son ; So forth I go apace to see that liefsome sight, And with a kiss, methinks I say: Welcome, my sweet, alas! Thy presence bringeth forth a truce betwixt me and my care. But when I me awake, and find it but a dream, The anguish of my former woe beginneth more extreme, And me tormenteth so that unneath may I find Some hidden place, wherein to slake the gnawing of my mind.
Thus every way you see, with absence how I burn. And for my wound no cure I find but hope of good return. Save when I think by sour how sweet is felt the more, It doth abate some of my pains, that I abode before ; And then unto myself I say: And that I may not long abide in this excess. Do your good will to cure a wight that liveth in distress! As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed. As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth pass the evening' weed. As mellow pears above the crabs esteemed be: So doth my love surmount them all, whom yet I hap to see!
The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray, The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay. Or I my love let slip out of mine entire heart. So deep reposed in my breast is she for her desart! For many blessed gifts, O happy, happy land. Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory most to stand! Let some for honour hunt, and hoard the massy gold: With her so I may live and die, my weal cannot be told. Therefore, go, with thy love remain, And let me leif thus unmolest, And see that thou come not again, But bide with her thou luves best.
Sen she that I have served lang Is to depart so suddenly, Address thee now, for thou sail gang And bear thy lady company. Fra she be gone, heartless am I, For why? And bide with her thou luves best. Though this belappit body here Be bound to servitude and thrall. My faithful heart is free entire And mind to serve my lady at alL Would God that I were perigall, Under that redolent rose to rest! Yet at the least, my heart, thou sail Abide with her thou luves best. Sen in your garth the lily white May not remain among the laif. Adieu the flower of whole delight! Adieu the succour that may me saif!
Adieu the fragrant balm suaif. And specially, ye lovers true, That wounded ben with Luvis' dart! For some of you sail want ane heart As well as I ; therefore at last Do go with mine, with mind invart. Art thou not wanton, hale and in good howp, Permit in grace and free of all thirlage? Bathing in bliss and set in high courige, Braisit in joy, no fault may thee affray, Having thy lady's heart as heritage, In blanch-farm for ane sallat every May: So needs thou not now sussy, sytt, nor sorrow.
Sen thou art sure of solace even and morrow. Thou, Cupeid, rewarded me with this, I am thy own true liege without tressoun! There lives no man in more ease, wealth, and bliss ; I know no siching, sadness, nor yet soun. Waking, thought, languor, lamentatioun. My breast is void and purgit of passoun, I feel no pain, I have no purgatorie. But peerless, perfect, paradisal pleasure, With merry heart and mirthfulness but measure. Lord, thou gave me for to herd, Within mine arms I nourish on the night. Steer, rule, and guider of my senses right! Thanking great God of that treasiire and might.
I cost her dear, but she far dearer me, Whilk hazards honour, fame, in aventure, Committing clean her corse to me in cure. Burnt in desire of amour's play and sport, Meittand our lusts, sprightless we twa depairts. Lord, I thee exhort. Sic time that we may both take our comfort, First for to sleep, syne walk without espies! I blame the cock, I plain the night is short ; Away I went — my wathe the cushat crys. Wishing all lovers leal to have sic chance, That they may have us in rememberance!
I must depart From her that has my heart, With heart full soir! Against my will indeed. And can find no remeid — I wot the pains of deid Can do no moir. Now must I go, alace! From sight of her sweet face. The ground of all my grace, And sovereign ; What chance that may fall me Sail I never merry be. Unto the time I see My sweet again. I go, and wot not where, I wander here and there, I weep and sich right sair. Now must I pass away, away, In wilderness and wildsome way — Alace!
My spirit does quake for dreid. My thirled heart does bleed. My panes does exceed: What should I say? Through languor of my sweet, So thirled is my spreit, My days are most complete, Through her absence: Christ, sen she knew my smart, Ingraven in my heart, Because I must depart From her presence! Adieu, my own sweet thing. My joy and comforting. My mirth and solaceing Of earthly gloir! Farewell, my lady bright. And my remembrance right, Farewell, and have good night— I say no moir. By me, I say, that no ways may The ground of grief remove.
But still decay both night and day: Lo, what it is to love 1 Love is ane fervent fire. Short pleasure, lang displeasure, Repentance is the hire ; Ane puir tressour, without measour ; Love is ane fervent fire. To love and to be wise, To rage vidth good advice ; Now thus, now than, so goes the game, Uncertain is the dice ; There is no man, I say, that can Both love and to be wise. She sighed sore and sang full sweet, to bring the babe to rest. That would not cease but cried still, in sucking at her breast. She was full weary of her watch, and grieved with her child.
She rocked it and rated it, till that on her it smiled ; Then did she say: In register for to remain of such a worthy wight: As she proceeded thus in song unto her little brat. Much matter uttered she of weight, in place whereas she sat. And proved plain, there was no beast, nor creature bearing life.
Could well be known to live in love, without discord and strife: Then kissed she her little babe, and sware by God above, The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love. She said that neither king, nor prince, nor lord could live aright. Until their puissance they did prove, their manhood and their might. When manhood shall be matched so that fear can take no place, Then weary works make warriors each other to embrace, And left their force that failed them, which did consume the rout.
That might before have lived their time, and nature out: Then did she sing as one that thought no man could her reprove, The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love. She said she saw no fish nor fowl, nor beast within her haunt. That met a stranger in their kind, but could give it a taunt: Since flesh might not endure, but rest must wrath succeed, And force the fight to fall to play, in pasture where they feed. So noble nature can well end the work she hath begun, And bridle well that will not cease, her tragedy in some: Thus in song she oft rehearsed, as did her well behove.
The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love. Some kneel, some crouch, some beck, some check, and some can smoothly smile. And some embrace others in arm, and there think many awhile; Some stand aloof at cap and knee, some humble and some stout, Yet are they never friends in deed, until they once fall out. Christ, that my love were in my arms And I in my bed again! What more than Water soft? Yet with soft water drops hard stones be pierced oft. What gives so strong impulse. That stone we may withstand? What gives more weak repulse Than water prest with hand?
Yet weak though water be. It hoUoweth hardest flint: By proof whereof we see. Time gives the greatest dint. I see in helping me She seeks and will not find. I see when I come nigh. How fain she would be gone. I see — what will ye more? She will me gladly kill: And you shall see therefore That she shall have her will. I can not live with stones. It is too hard a food: I will be dead at once To do my Lady good. In May of every moneth queen ; When merle and mavis sings with mirth, Sweet melling in the schawes sheen ; When all lovers rejoiced been, And most desirous of their prey ; I heard a lusty lover mene: But yet with patience I sustene, I am so fettered with the love Only of my lady sheen, Whilk for her beauty might be queen, Nature so craftily alway Has done depaint that sweet serene!
That blinkis of that dulce amene ; So comely clear are her twa een, That she mae lovers does affray Then ever of Greece did fair Helena! The virtue of hei lively looks Excels the precious stone: I wish to have none other books To read or look upon. In each of her two crystal eyes, Smileth a naked boy ; It would you all in heart suffice To see that lamp of joy.
I think Nature hath lost the mould, Where she her shape did take, Or else I doubt if Nature could So fair a creature make. She may be well compared Unto the Phoenix kind ; Whose like was never seen or heard. That any man can find. In life she is Diana chast, In truth Penelope, In word and eke in deed steadfast — What will you more we say? If all the world were sought so far, Who could find such a wight?
Her beauty twinkleth like a star Within the frosty night. Her rosial colour comes and goes, With such a comely grace, More redier to than doth the rose, Within her lively face. At Bacchus feast none shall her meet, Ne at no wanton play. Nor gazing in an open street. Nor gadding as a stray. O Lord, it is a world to see, How Virtue can repair. And deck in her such honesty, Whom Nature made so fair!
Truly she doth as far exceed Our women nowadays As doth the ieliflower a weed, And more a thousand ways! How might I do to get a graffe Of this unspotted tree? Forall the rest are plain but chaff, Which seem good corn to be. This gift alone I shall her give When Death doth what he can: Her honest fame shall ever live Within the mouth of man.
The balmy drops from Phoebus sheen Preluciand beams before the day: By that Diana growl's green Through gladness of this lusty May. Then Espenis, that is so bright, Till woful heartes casts his light, With banks that blooms on every brae. And showers are shed forth of their sight. Through gladness of this lusty May. Birds on bevrt's of every birth. Rejoicing notes makand their mirth Right pleasantly upon the spray, With flourishings o'er field and firth, Through gladness of this lusty May.
I love my lady pure, and she loves me again, I am her serviture, she is my sovereign! She is my very heart, I am her hope and heill ; She is my joy invart, I am her lover leal ; I am her bond and thrall, she is at my command ; I am perpetual her man, both foot and hand ; The thing that may her please, my body shall fulfil ; Whatever her disease, it does my body ill. My bird, my bonnie ane, my tender babe vennst, My love, my life alone, my liking and my lust! We interchange our hearts, in others armes soft, Spriteless we two depart, usand our luves oft.
We mourn when light day dawes, we plain the night is short. We curse the cock that craws, that hinders our disport. I glowffin up aghast, when I her miss on night. And in my oxter fast I find the bowster right! Then languor on me lies, like Morpheus the mair, Which causes me uprise, and to liiy sweet repair ; And then is all the sorrow furth of remembrance, That ever I had a sorrow in love's observance! Thus never I do rest, so lusty a life I lead, When that I list to test the well of womanheid.
Lovers in pain, I pray God send you sic remeid As I have night and day, you to defend from deid! Therefore be ever true unto your ladies free, And they will on you rue, as mine has done on me! The more offence, the greater pain: The greater pain, the less defence: The less defence, the lesser gaift. Wherefore come death, and let me die I The shorter life, less count I find: The less account, the sooner made: The count soon made, the merrier mind: The merry mind doth thought evade.
Short life in truth this thing doth try: Wherefore come death, and let me die! Come gentle death, the ebb of care, The ebb of care, the flood of life, The flood of life, the joyful fare. The joyful fare, the end of strife. The end of strife, that thing wish I: Wherefore come death, and let me die. The Lord is my strength and song, And he is become my salvation: He is my God, and I will prepare him an habitation: My father's God, and I will exalt him.
The Lord is a man of war: The Lord is his name. Pharaoh's chariots and his hosts hath he cast into the sea: His chosen captains also are drowned in the Red Sea. The depths have covered them: They sank into the bottom as a stone. Thy right hand, O Lord, is become glorious in power: Thy right hand, O Lord, hath dashed in pieces the enemy.
Thou sentest forth thy wrath, which consumed them as stubble. And with the blast of thy nostrils the waters were gathered together, The floods stood upright as an heap, And the depths were congealed in the heart of the sea. They sank as lead in the mighty waters. Who is like unto thee, O Lord, among the gods?
Who is like thee, glorious in holiness, Fearful in praises, doing wonders? Thou stretchest out thy right hand, The earth swallowed them. Thou in thy mercy hast led forth the people which thou hast redeemed: Thou hast guided them in thy strength unto thy holy habitation. The people shall hear, and be afraid: Sorrow shall take hold on the inhabitants of Palestina. Then the dukes of Edom shall be amazed ; The mighty men of Moab, trembling shall take hold upon them ; All the inhabitants of Canaan shall melt away.
Fear and dread shall fall upon them ; By the greatness of thine arm they shall be as still as a stone ; Till thy people pass over, O Lord, Till the people pass over, which thou hast purchased. Thou shalt bring them in, and plant them in the mountain of thine inheritance. In the place, O Lord, which thou hast made for thee to dwell in, In the Sanctuary, O Lord, which thy hands have established. The Lord shall reign for ever and ever. Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously ; The horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.
How are the mighty fallen! Tell it not in Gath, Publish it not in the streets of Askelon ; Lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice, Lest the daughters of the uncircumcised triumph. From the blood of the slain, from the fat of the mighty. The bow of Jonathan turned not back. And the sword of Saul returned not empty. They were swifter than eagles, They were stronger than lions. Ye daughters of Israel, weep over Saul, Who clothed you in scarlet, with other delights. Who put on ornaments of gold on your apparel.
How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle! Jonathan, thou wast slain in thine high places. Very pleasant hast thou been unto me ; Thy love to me was wonderful. Passing the love of women. How are the mighty fallen. And the weapons of war perished! For he hath founded it upon the seas. And established it upon the floods. Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? Or who shall stand in his holy place? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart ; Who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity.
He shall receive the blessing from the Lord, And righteousness from the God of his salvation. This is the generation of them that seek him, That seek thy face, O Jacob. Lift up your heads, O ye gates ; And be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors ; And the King of glory shall come in.
Who is this King of glory? The Lord strong and mighty. The Lord mighty in battle. Lift up your heads, O ye gates ; Even lift them up, ye everlasting doors ; And the King of glory shall come in. The Lord of hosts. He is the King of glory. Give unto the Lord the glory due unto his name ; Worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness. The voice of the Lord is upon the waters: The God of glory thundereth: The Lord is upon many waters.
The voice of the Lord is powerful: The voice of the Lord is full of majesty. The voice of the Lord breaketh the cedars ; Yea, the Lord breaketh the cedars of Lebanon. He maketh them also to skip like a calf; Lebanon and Sirion like a young unicorn. The voice of the Lord divideth the flames of fire.
The voice of the Lord shaketh the wilderness ; The Lord shaketh the wilderness of Kadesh. The voice of the Lord maketh the hinds to calve. And discovereth the forests: And in His temple doth every one speak of His glory. The Lord sitteth upon the flood ; Yea, the Lord sitteth King for ever. The Lord will give strength unto his people ; The Lord will bless his people with peace. So panteth my soul after thee, O God. My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: When shall I come and appear before God?
My tears have been my meat day and night. While they continually say unto me, Where is thy God? When I remember these things, I pour out my soul in me: For I had gone with the multitude, I went with them to the house of God, With the voice of joy and praise, with a multitude that kept holyday. And why art thou disquieted in me? Hope thou in God: Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: All thy waves and thy billows are gone over me: Yet the Lord will command his lovingkindness in the daytime, And in the night his song shall be with me, And my prayer unto the God of my life.
Why go I mourning because of the oppression of the enemy? As with a sword in my bones, mine enemies reproach me ; While they say daily unto me: Why art thou cast down, O my soul? And why art thou disquieted within me? Who is the health of my countenance, and my God. For the Lord most high is terrible ; He is a great King over all the earth. He shall subdue the people under us, And the nations under our feet. He shall choose our inheritance for us. The excellency of Jacob whom he loved. God is gone up with a shout.
The Lord with the sound of a trumpet. Sing praises to God, sing praises: Sing praises unto our King, sing praises. For God is the King of all the earth: Sing ye praises with understanding. God reigneth over the heathen ; God sitteth upon the throne of his holiness. The princes of the people are gathered together. Even the people of the God of Abraham For the shields of the earth belong unto God He is greatly exalted. Hold not thy peace, and be not still, O God. For, lo, thine enemies make a tumult: And they that hate thee have lifted up the head.
They have taken crafty counsel against thy people, And consulted against thy hidden ones. For they have consulted together with one consent: They are confederate against thee. Assur also is joined with them: They have holpen the children of Lot. Which perished at En-dor: They became as dung for the earth. Make their nobles like Oreb, and like Zeeb: Yea, all their princes as Zebah, and as Zalmunna: O my God, make them like a wheel ; As the stubble before the wind. As the fire burneth a wood, And as the flame setteth the mountains on fire.
So persecute them vrith thy tempest. And make them afraid with thy storm. Fill their faces with shame. That they may seek thy name, O Lord. Let them be confounded and troubled for ever ; Yea, let them be put to shame, and perish ; That men may know that thou, whose name alone is Jehovah, Art the most high over all the earth. O Lord my God, thou art very great ; Thou art clothed with honour and majesty. Who coverest thyself with light as with a garment: Who stretchest out the heavens like a curtain.
Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters: Who maketh the clouds his chariot: Who walketh upon the wings of the wind: