180 181 Oh! not the conflict midst the throng, love is the gifted and the strong F. HEMANS IL PENSEROSO AND when the sun begins to fling his flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring where the rude axe with heaved stroke J. MILTON We die, as your hours do, and dry like to the Summer's rain; R. HERRICK 182 183 TYR ON THE DEATH OF A SON YRANT of man! Imperious Fate! Life is a dark, tumultuous stream, Think not that stream will backward flow, Believe not Fate at thy command will grant a meed she never gave; as soon the airy tower shall stand, that's built upon a passing wave. J. D. CARLYLE A LAMENT SWIFTER than youth's delight, WIFTER far than summer's flight, swifter far than happy night, art thou come and gone: as the earth when leaves are dead, 184 Lilies for a bridal bed, roses for a matron's head, violets for a maiden dead, pansies let my flowers be: on the living grave I bear, scatter them without a tear, waste one hope, one fear for me. P. B. SHELLEY THE MOUNTAIN BOY HAT liberty so glad and gay, WHAT as where the mountain boy, reckless of regions far away, a prisoner lives in joy? The dreary sounds of crowded earth, never untuned his lonely mirth, nor drew his visions down. The snow-clad peaks of rosy light, the thwarting cliffs that bound his sight, Two ways alone his roving eye for aye may onward go, or in the azure deep on high J. KEBLE 185 O ELEGY SNATCH'D away in beauty's bloom! but on thy turf shall roses rear their leaves, the earliest of the year, and the wild cypress wave in tender gloom: and oft by yon blue gushing stream fond wretch! as if her step disturb'd the dead! Away! we know that tears are vain, or make one mourner weep the less? LORD BYRON 186 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY THE peace of Heaven attend thy shade, my early friend, my favourite maid! when life was new, companions gay, Ah, with what joy did I behold the flower of beauty fair unfold! and feared no storm to blast thy bloom, Untimely gone! for ever fled Alas! the cheek where beauty glowed, and 'dust to dust' the mourner cries. 187 O from thy kindred early torn, and to thy grave untimely borne ! vanished for ever from my view, thou sister of my soul, adieu! Fair, with my first ideas twined, and, while remembrance brings thee near, affection sad will drop a tear. How oft does sorrow bend the head, What tragic tears bedew the eye! 188 No after-friendship e'er can raise the endearments of our early days; Affection dies, a vernal flower; Versed in the commerce of deceit, Then lovely Nature is expelled, then Prudence comes with hundred eyes: 189 The dear illusions will not last; The sallies of the soul are o'er, Still may the generous bosom burn, though moistened with a tender tear! J. LOGAN |