Pagina-afbeeldingen
PDF
ePub
[ocr errors]

THE DEPARTURE.

[ocr errors]

MILTON

Inhospitable appear and desolate,
Nor knowing us nor known ; and if by prayer

In either hand the hastening angel caught
Incessant I could hope to change the will

Our lingering parents, and to the eastern gate Of Him who all things can, I would not cease

Led them direct, and down the clits as fast To weary him with my assiduous cries.

To the subjected plain ; then disappeared. But prayer against his absolute decree

They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld
No more avails than breath against the wind,

Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth; Waved over by that flaming brand ; the gate
Therefore to his great bidding I submit.

With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms.
This inost afflicts me, that, departing hence,

Some natural tears they dropt, but wiped them As from his face I shall be hid, deprived

soon ; His blesséd countenance, here I could frequent

The world was all before them, where to choose With worship place by place where he vouch- Their place of rest, and Providence their guide. safed

They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and Presence divine, and to my sons relate,

slow,
On this mount he appeared ; under this tree

Through Eden took their solitary way.
Stood visible ; among these pines his voice
I heard ; here with him at this fountain talked :
So many grateful altars I would rear
Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone

PATIENCE AND SORROW.
Of lustre from the brook, in memory

FROM "KING LEAR."
Or monument to ages, and thereon
Offersweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers.

Kent. Did your letters pierce the queen to any
In yonder nether world where shall I seek

demonstration of grief? His bright appearances, or footstep trace?

GENTLEMAN. Ay, sir; she took them, read For though I fled him angry, yet, recalled

them in my presence ; To life prolonged and promised race,

I

And now and then an ample tear trilled down Glarlly behold though but his utmost skirts

Her delicate cheek, it seemed she was a queen
Of glory, and far off his steps adore.

Over her passion ; who, most rebel-like,
Sought to be king o'er her.

KENT.
Henceforth I learn that to obey is best,

0, then it moved her. And love with fear the only God, to walk

GENT. Not to a rage: patience and sorrow strove As in his presence, ever to observe

Who should express her goodliest. You have seen His providence, and on him sole depend,

Sunshine and rain at once ; her smiles and tears Merciful over all his works, with good

Were like a better way : those happy smilets, Still overcoming evil, and by small

That played on her ripe lip, seemed not to know Accomplishing great things, by things deemed What guests were in hereyes; which parted thence, weak

As pearls from diamonds dropped. - In brief.
Subverting worldly strong and worldly wise
By simply meek; that suffering for truth's sake Would be a rarity most beloved, if all
Is fortitude to highest victory,

Could so become it.
And to the faithful death the gate of life:
Taught this by his example, whom I now
Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blest.

FLORENCE VANE.

now

[ocr errors]

sorrow

SHAKESPEARE.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]
[blocks in formation]

IX.

SAMSON,

X.

XI.

SAMSON AGONISTES.
If I'm designed yon lordling's slave,

By Nature's law designed,
Why was an independent wish

A LITTLE onward lend thy guiding hand
E’er planted in my mind ?

To these dark steps, a little farther on ;
If not, why am I subject to

For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade:
His cruelty or scorn ?

There I am wont to sit, when any chance
Or why has man the will and power

Relieves me from my task of servile toil,
To make his fellow mouru ?

Daily in the common prison else enjoined me,
Where I a prisoner, chained, scarce freely draw

The air imprisoned also, close and damp,
Yet let not this too much, my son,

Unwholesome draught; but here I feel amends,
Disturb thy youthful breast :

The breath of heaven fresh blowing, pure and This partial view of human-kind

sweet, Is surely not the last !

With day-spring born : here leave me to respire.
The poor, oppresséd, honest man

This day a solemn feast the people hold
Hai never, sure, been born,

To Dagon, their sea-idol, and forbid
Had there not been some recompense'

Laborious works : unwillingly this rest
To comfort those that mourn !

Their superstition yields me; hence with leave
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek

This unfrequented place to find some ease,
O Death ! the poor man's dearest friend, Ease to the body some, none to the mind
The kindest and the best!

From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm
Welcome the hour my aged limbs

Of hornets armed, no sooner found alone,
Are laid with thee at rest.

But rush upon me thronging, and present
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, Times past, what once I was, and what am now.
From pomp and pleasure torn;

0, wherefore was my birth from Heaven foretold But 0, a blest relief to those

Twice by an angel, who at last in sight
That weary-laden mourn !

Of both my parents all in flames ascended
From off the altar, where an offering burned,
As in a fiery column, charioting
His godlike presence, and from some great act

Or benefit revealed to Abraham's race?
LOVE NOT.

Why was my breeding ordered and prescribed
Love not, love not ! ye hapless sons of clay ! As of a person separate to God,
Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flow- Designed for great exploits, if I must die

Betrayed, captived, and both my eyes put out,
Things that are made to fade and fall away

Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze;
Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours. To grind in brazen fetters under task
Love not !

With this Heaven-gifted strength? O glorious

strength,
Love not ! the thing ye love may change ; Put to the labor of a beast, debased
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you,

Lower than bondslave! Promise was that I
The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange, Should Israel from Philistian yoke deliver ;
The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true. Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him
Love not!

Eyeless in Gaza, at the mill with slaves,

Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke !
Love not! the thing you love may die,
May perish from the gay and gladsome earth;

O loss of sight, of thee I most complain!
The silent stars, the blue and smiling sky,

Blind among enemies, O, worse than chains,
Beam o'er its grave, as once upon its birth.

Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age !
Love not !

Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct,
Love not ! 0 warning vainly said

And all her various objects of delight
In present hours as in years gone by!

Annulled, which might in part my grief have eased
Love flings a halo round the dear ones' head,

Inferior to the vilest now become
Faultless, immortal, till they change or die.

Of man or worm ; the vilest here excel me:
Love not!

They creep, yet see ; I dark in light exposed
To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong,

ROBERT BURNS.

[ocr errors]

ers,

[ocr errors]

CAROLINE NORTON.

MILTON.

GEORGE MONK LEWIS.

Within doors or without, still as a fool,

And must I never see thee more, In power of others, never in my own ;

My pretty, pretty, pretty lad !
Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half. I will be free ! unbar the door !
O ark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon,

I am not mad; I am not mud !
Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse,
Without all hope of day!

0, hark ! what mean those yells and cries?

His chain some furious madman breaks ; He comes,

- I see his glaring eyes ;

Now, now, my dungeon-grate he shakes. THE MANIAC.

Help! Help! – He's gone !-0, fearful woe,

Such screams to hear, such sights to see ! STAY, jailer, stay, and hear my woe!

My brain, my brain, -- I know, I know
She is not mad who kneels to thee;

I am not mad, but soon shall be.
For what I'm now too well I know,
And what I was, and what should be.

Yes, soon ; - for, lo yon ! -- while I speak, I'll rave no more in proud despair ;

Mark how yon demon's eyeballs glare ! My language shall be mild, though sad ;

He sees me; now, with dreadful shriek, But yet I firmly, truly swear,

He whirls a serpent high in air. I am not mad, I am not mad!

Horror! the reptile strikes his tooth

Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad ; My tyrant husband forged the tale

Ay, laugh, ye fiends ; - I feel the truth ; Which chains me in this dismal cell;

Your task is done, — I'M MAD! I'M MAD! My fate unknown my friends bewail,

O jailer, haste that fate to tell !
0, haste my father's heart to cheer!
His heart at once 't will grieve and glad

ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE.
To know, though kept a captive here,
I am not mad, I am not mad!

(Written in the spring of 1819, when suffering from physical de

pression, the precursor of his death, which happened soon after.) He smiles in scorn, and turns the key ;

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains He quits the grate; I knelt in vain ; His glimmering lamp still, still I see,

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk ; "T is gone! and all is gloom again.

Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains Cold, bitter cold ! - No warmth ! no light!

One minute past, and Lethe-ward had sunk.

'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, Life, all thy comforts once I had ;

But being too happy in thy happiness, Yet here I'm chained, this freezing night,

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, Although not mad; no, no, -- not mad!

In some melodious plot 'T is sure some dream, some vision vain ; Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

What! I, the child of rank and wealth, - Singest of Summer in full-throated ease.
Am I the wretch who clanks this chain,

O for a draught of vintage
Bereft of freedom, friends, and health ?
Ah ! while I dwell on blessings fled,

Cooled a long age in the deep-delvéd earth,

Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Which nevermore my heart must glad,
How aches my heart, how burns my head ;

Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburned

mirth! But 't is not mad; no, 't is not mad!

O for a beaker full of the warm South, Hast thou, my child, forgot, ere this,

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, A mother's face, a mother's tongue ?

With beaded bubbles winking at the brim, She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss,

And purple-stainéd mouth, Nor round her neck how fast you clung ;

That I might drink, and leave the world unNor how with her you sued to stay ; Nor how that suit your sire forbade ;

And with thee fade away into the forest dim. Nor how -- I'll drive such thoughts away ; They'll make me mad, they'll make me mad !

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled!

known, His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone ! The weariness, the fever, and the frit: None ever bore a lovelier child,

Here, where men sit and hear each other And art thou now forever gone ?

'groan,

seen,

FROM

Where palsy shakes a few sad, last gray hairs, Adieu ! adieu ! thy plaintive anthem fades Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and Past the near meadows, over the still stream, dies,

Up the hillside ; and now 't is buried deep
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow

In the next valley-glades :
And leaden-eyed despairs,

Was it a vision or a waking dream ?
Where beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Fled is that music, do I wake or sleep?
Or new love pine at them beyond to-morrow.

JOHN KEATS.
Away ! away! for I will fly to thee !
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,

THE PALMER.
But on the viewless wings of poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards :

MARMION.”
Alrealy with thee tender is the night,

WHENAS the Palmer came in hall, And haply the queen-moon is on her throne,

No lord, nor knight, was there more tall, Clustered around by all her starry fays;

Or had a statelier step withal,
But here there is no light,

Or looked more high and keen;
Save what from heaven is with the breezes

For no saluting did he wait, blown

But strode across the hall of state, Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy

And fronted Marmion where he sate, ways.

As he his peer had been. I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,

But his gaunt frame was worn with toil ; Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs ;

His cheek was sunk, alas the while ! But, in embalméd darkness guess each sweet

And when he struggled at a smile, Wherewith the seasonable month endows

His eye looked haggard wild : The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild,

Poor wretch ! the mother that him bare, White hawthorn and the pastoral eglantine ;

If she had been in presence there,
Fast-fading violets, covered up in leaves ;

In his wan face and sunburned hair
And mid- May's oldest child,

She had not known her child.
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,

Danger, long travel, want, or woe, The murmurous haunt of bees on summer eves. Soon change the form that best we know,

For deadly fear can time outgo, Darkling I listen ; and for many a time

And blanch at once the hair ; I have been half in love with easeful Death,

Hard toil can roughen form and face, Called him soft names in many a muséd rhyme, And want can queạch the eye's bright grace, To take into the air my quiet breath ;

Nor does old age a wrinkle trace, Now, more than ever, seems it rich to die,

More deeply than despair. To cease upon the midnight, with no pain,

Happy whom none of these befall,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad,

But this poor Palmer knew them all.
In such an ecstasy !
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in

vain, -
To thy high requiem become a sod.

WOOLSEY'S FALL.
Thon wast not born for death, immortal bird !

HENRY VIII."
No hungry generations tread thee down ;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard

FAREWELL, a long farewell, to all my greatness! In ancient days by emperor and clown :

This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth Perhaps the self-same song that found a path

The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms, Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for And bears his blushing honors thick upon him : home,

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost ; She stood in tears amid the alien corn;

And — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely The same that ofttimes hath

His greatness is a ripening – nips his root, Charmeg magic casements opening on the foam And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Of perilous seas, in fairy lands forlorn.

Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,

This many summers in a sea of glory ; Forlorn ! the very word is like a bell,

But far beyond my depth : my high-blown pride To toll me back from thee to my sole self ! At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Adieu ! the Fancy cannot cheat so well Weary and old with service, to the mercy A: she is famed to do, deceiving elf.

Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

FROM

« VorigeDoorgaan »