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SONNET.

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN'S HOMER.

MUCH

UCH have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
And mary goodly states and kingdoms

seen;

Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne : Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies, When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes

He stared at the Pacific-and all his men Look'd at each other with a wild surmiseSilent, upon a peak in Darien.

KEATS.

TH

THE APOLOGY.

HINK me not unkind or rude,
That I walk alone in grove and glen;

I go to the god of the wood,

To fetch his word to men.

Tax not my sloth that I

Fold my arms beside the brook; Each cloud that floated in the sky Writes a letter in my book.

Chide me not, laborious band,
For the idle flowers I brought;
Every aster in my hand

Goes home loaded with a thought.

There was never mystery

But 'tis figured in the flowers,

Was never secret history,

But birds tell it in the bowers.

One harvest from thy field

Homeward brought the oxen strong; A second crop thine acres yield,

Which I gather in a song.

EMERSON.

O

66

TIBBIE.

TUNE INVERCAULD'S REEL.'

TIBBIE, I hae seen the day
Ye wadna been sae shy!
For laik o' gear ye lightly me ;—
But, trowth, I carena by!

Yestreen I met you on the moor,
Ye spak na, but gaed by like stoure;1
Ye geck at me because I'm poor;
But fient a hair care I.

Chorus. O Tibbie, &c.

I doubtna, lass, but ye may think,
Because ye hae the name o' clink,

1 Stoure, a whirl of dust.

That ye can please me at a wink,
Whene'er ye like to try:

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean,
Although his pouch o' coin were clean,
Wha follows ony saucy quean

That looks sae proud and high!

Although a lad were ne'er sae smart,
If that he want the yellow dirt
Ye'll cast your head anither airt
And answer him fu' dry:

But if he hae the name o' gear
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier,
Though hardly he, for sense or lear,
Be better than the kye.

But Tibbie, lass, tak my advice,—
Your daddie's gear maks you sae nice;
The deil a ane wad spier your price
Were ye as poor as I;

There lives a lass in yonder park,
I wadna gie her in her sark
For thee wi' a' thy thousan' mark,—
Ye needna look sae high!

Chorus. O Tibbie, I hae seen the day
Ye wadna been sae shy!

For laik o' gear ye lightly me;-
But, trowth, I carena by!

BURNS.

CHORAL SONG OF ILLYRIAN

U

PEASANTS.

[FROM "ZAPOLYA."]

P! up! ye dames, ye lasses gay!
To the meadows trip away.

'Tis must tend the flocks this morn,
you

And scare the small birds from the corn.
Not a soul at home may stay:

For the shepherds must go

With lance and bow

To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

Leave the hearth and leave the house
To the cricket and the mouse:
Find grannam out a sunny seat,
With babe and lambkin at her feet.
Not a soul at home may stay:
For the shepherds must go

With lance and bow

To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

COLERIDGE.

Ο

THE RAVEN.

NCE upon a midnight dreary, while İ
ponder'd, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of for

gotten lore,

G

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

""Tis some visitor," I mutter'd, "tapping at my chamber door

Only this, and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wish'd the morrow;-vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore

Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrill'd me-fill'd me with fantastic terrors never

felt before;

So that now,

to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

""Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door ;

This it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then

no longer,

"Sir," said I," or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

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