In secret boughs no sweet birds sing, in secret boughs no bird can shroud; T. HOOD 110 O LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF HUSH thee, my babie! thy sire was a knight, thy mother a lady both lovely and bright; the woods and the glens, from the towers which we see, O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, O hush thee, my babie, the time will soon come, SIR W. SCOTT III LOCAL ATTACHMENT T was a barren scene and wild I where naked cliffs were rudely piled, but ever and anon between lay velvet tufts of loveliest green: I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade SIR W. SCOTT 112 113 114 SIREN ISLES EASE, Stranger, cease those piercing notes, CEAS the craft of Siren choirs ; hush the seductive voice that floats upon the languid wires. Music's ethereal fire was given not to dissolve our clay, but draw Promethean beams from heaven, and purge the dross away. Weak self! with thee the mischief lies, nor age nor trial have made wise H EPITAPH Lyra Apostolica ERE rests his head upon the lap of earth, a youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown; fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, and Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; Heaven did a recompence as largely send: he gave to Misery all he had, a tear, he gain'd from Heav'n, 'twas all he wish'd, a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (there they alike in trembling hope repose) the bosom of his Father and his God. TO A FLY BUSY, curious, thirsty fly, drink with me and drink as I; freely welcome to my cup, T. GRAY W. OLDYS 115 116 MARIANA WER tears fell with the dews at even; she could not look on the sweet heaven, Upon the middle of the night, waking she heard the night-fowl crow: MUTABILITY OF LOVE OVE is an April's doubtful day: LOVE awhile we see the tempest lower; anon the radiant heaven survey, and quite forget the flitting shower. A. TENNYSON The flowers, that hung their languid head, The sprightly birds, that drooped no less in every raptured note express the joy I feel,-when thou art kind. W. SHENSTONE 117 AUTUMN PENSIVE Autumn! how I grieve when languid suns are taking leave Ah, let me not, with heavy eye, haste, Winter, haste; usurp the sky, complete my bower's decay. 118 119 120 Ill can I bear the motley cast yon sickening leaves retain, that speak at once of pleasures past, W. SHENSTONE TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS ELL me not, Sweet, I am unkinde, TELL that from the nunnerie of thy chaste breast and quiet minde True, a new mistresse now I chase, and with a stronger faith imbrace I could not love thee, Deare, so much, R. LOVELACE SHE THE LOST LOVE HE dwelt among the untrodden ways a maid, whom there were none to praise, A violet by a mossy stone -fair as a star, when only one is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know but she is in her grave, and O the difference to me! W. WORDSWORTH THE SWEET NEGLECT TILL to be neat, still to be drest, though art's hid causes are not found, all is not sweet, all is not sound. 121 Give me a look, give me a face, they strike mine eyes, but not my heart. BEN JONSON THE SPIRIT IN 'PROMETHEUS UNBOUND' MY Y coursers are fed with the lightning, they have strength for their swiftness I deem, ere the cloud piled on Atlas can dwindle P. B. SHELLEY 122 FAR ITALY AR to the right, where Apennine ascends, its uplands sloping deck the mountain's side, woods over woods in gay theatric pride; while oft some temple's mouldering tops between Whatever fruits in different climes are found, |