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promise of sunshine, not so prone to fail.
So to us, sojourners in life's low vale,
the smiles of Fortune flatter to deceive,
while still the Fates the web of misery weave:
so Hope exultant spreads her airy sail,
and from the present gloom the soul conveys
to distant summers and far happier days.

TO CAPEL LOFFT ESQ.

H. K. WHITE

OFFT, unto thee one tributary song

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the simple Muse, admiring, fain would bring; she longs to lisp thee to the listening throng, and with thy name to bid the woodlands ring. Fain would she blazon all thy virtues forth, thy warm philanthropy, thy justice mild, would say how thou didst foster kindred worth, and to thy bosom snatched Misfortune's child: firm she would paint thee, with becoming zeal, upright and learned as the Pylian sire, would say how sweetly thou couldst sweep the lyre, and show thy labours for the public weal,

ten thousand virtues tell with joys supreme,

but ah! she shrinks abashed before the arduous theme. H. K. WHITE

SW

TO CONSUMPTION

'WEET to the gay of heart is Summer's smile, sweet the wild music of the laughing Spring; but ah! my soul far other scenes beguile,

where gloomy storms their sullen shadows fling.
Is it for me to strike the Idalian string,
raise the soft music of the warbling wire,
while in my ears the howls of furies ring

and melancholy wastes the vital fire?

Away with thoughts like these!-To some lone cave where howls the shrill blast and where sweeps the

wave,

direct my steps; there, in the lonely drear,

I'll sit remote from worldly noise and muse,

till through my soul shall Peace her balm infuse, and whisper sounds of comfort in my ear.

F. S. II.

H. K. WHITE

4

136

W

THE PAINS OF MEMORY

HAT time my heart unfolded its fresh leaves in spring-time gay, and scattered flowers around, a whisper warned of earth's unhealthy ground, and all that there faith's light and pureness grieves; sun's ray and canker-worm,

and sudden-whelming storm:—

but, ah! my self-will smiled, nor recked the gracious sound.

So now defilement dims life's morning springs;

I cannot hear an early-cherished strain,
but first a joy, and then it brings a pain—
fear and self-hate, and vain remorseful stings:
tears lull my grief to rest,

not without hope, this breast

may one day lose its load, and youth yet bloom again.

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LYRA APOSTOLICA

HOPE

N with quivering ray the silent glen pervades,

OW sober Cynthia spreads her lucid beam,

tints the brown wood that crowns yon silvery stream,
and darts fine lustres on the full cascades:
through drear autumnal scenes her rays diffuse
that gentle charm which soothes the pensive sigh:
now Spring no more presents her blushing hues,
and Summer's gaudy pageants fading fly!

'tis thus, sweet Hope! through sorrow's blasting day
thy meek-eyed light kind solace can impart,

give to departing joy a lingering ray

and cheer with promised good the drooping heart; with radiant hands life's sable clouds remove,

and ere the future dawns its blessings prove.

WHY

TO DEATH

HY art thou slow, thou rest of trouble, Death, to stop a wretch's breath,

that calls on thee and offers her sad heart

a prey unto thy dart?

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I am nor young nor fair; be, therefore, bold:
sorrow hath made me old,

deformed and wrinkled; all that I can crave
is quiet in my grave.

Such as live happy hold long life a jewel;
but to me thou art cruel,

if thou end not my tedious misery;
and I soon cease to be.

Strike, and strike home, then: pity unto me,
in one short hour's delay, is tyranny.

P. MASSINGER

AD SEIPSVM DE ADVENTV HYEMIS

UMMER'S last lingering rose is flown,

She lear has withered from the tree;

I hear the coming winter moan

through the sad forest sullenly.

The north wind's rage soft Zephyr flies;
and all the songsters of the grove,
borne on his wing, 'mid brighter skies
trill their sweet lays of joy and love.

Then quit we too the rural plain;

till spring, with coronal so gay,
woo young Favonius back again,
and chide his coy, his long delay.

Farewell ye flowers, ye streams, and thou
my home, than princely hall more dear,
seat of my soul's delight, adieu!

I go-but leave my spirit here.

F. WRANGHAM

TO VIOLETS

WELCOME, maids of Honour,

you do bring

in the spring;

and wait upon her.

She has Virgins many,
fresh and fair;

yet you are

more sweet than any.

Ye are the maiden posies,
and so grac'd

to be plac'd

'fore damask roses.

Yet though thus respected,

by and by

ye do lie,

poor girls, neglected.

R. HERRICK

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AND

THE RULE OF LOVE

ND said I that my limbs were old;
and said I that my blood was cold,
and that my kindly fire was fled,
and my poor withered heart was dead,

and that I might not sing of love?—
how could I to the dearest theme,
that ever warmed a minstrel's dream,
so foul, so false a recreant prove?
how could I name love's very name,
nor wake my heart to notes of flame!
in peace Love tunes the shepherd's reed;
in war he mounts the warrior's steed;
in halls, in gay attire is seen;

in hamlets, dances on the green.

OF THE SEA

SIR W. SCOTT

FOR to the Sea that fleets about the land,

and like a girdle clips her solid waist,
music and measure both doth understand;
for his great crystal eye is always cast
up to the moon, and on her fixed fast:
and as she danceth in her pallid sphere,
so danceth he about the centre here.

Sometimes his proud green waves in order set,
one after other, flow unto the shore,
which when they have with many kisses wet,
they ebb away in order as before;

and to make known his courtly love the more,
he oft doth lay aside his three-forked mace,
and with his arms the timorous Earth embrace.
SIR J. DAVIES

143

HARK! whence that rushing sound?

'tis like the wondrous strain

that round a lonely ruin swells,

which, wandering on the echoing shore,
the enthusiast hears at evening:
'tis softer than the west wind's sigh;
'tis wilder than the unmeasured notes
of that strange lyre whose strings
the genii of the breezes sweep:

those lines of rainbow light

are like the moonbeams when they fall
through some cathedral window, but the teints
are such as may not find
comparison on earth.

P. B. SHELLEY

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NOR

A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH

of woe;

OR can the parted body know,
nor wants the soul, these forms
as men who long in prison dwell
with lamps that glimmer round the cell,
whene'er their suffering years are run,
spring forth to greet the glittering sun:
such joy, though far transcending sense,
have pious souls at parting hence.
On earth, and in the body placed,
a few and evil years they waste:
but, when their chains are cast aside,
see the glad scene unfolding wide,
clap the glad wing and tower away,
and mingle with the blaze of day.

TO ENGLAND

NOT yet enslaved, not wholly vile,

Albion! O my mother isle!

thy valleys, fair as Eden's bowers,
glitter green with sunny showers;
thy grassy uplands' gentle swells
echo to the bleat of flocks;
(those grassy hills, those glittering dells,
proudly ramparted with rocks)

T. PARNELL

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