with his lily fingers, pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood. Hark! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den? 'Tis three days since he tasted flesh; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon yours and a dainty meal for him ye will be. If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife. If ye are men, follow me. Strike down your guard, gain the mountain passes, and there do bloody work, as did your sires at old Thermopylæ. Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a belabored hound beneath his master's lash? O comrades! warriors! Thracians! if we must fight, let us fight for ourselves. If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors. If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle. THE SKYLARK PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY NOTE TO THE PUPIL. at Field Place in 1792. The eminent English poet Shelley was born He went to Eton, and from there to Oxford, where he was expelled for his atheistic writings, which he forced on the attention of the college authorities. His was a peculiar tempera ment, and his life was an unhappy one. Among his longer poems are "The Cenci," "Witch of Atlas," "Prometheus Unbound," and "Adonais." He was drowned off the coast of Italy in 1822. AIL to thee, blithe spirit, HA Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher, From the earth thou springest Like a cloud of fire. The blue deep thou wingest, And, singing still, dost soar, and soaring, ever singest In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun, O'er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; Like a star of heaven, In the broad daylight, Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed What thou art we know not; What is most like thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see, As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not. Chorus hymeneal, Of triumphal chant, Matched with thine, would be all But an empty vaunt A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? What ignorance of pain? We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought Yet if we could scorn Hate and pride and fear, If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground. Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now. THE SKYLARK JAMES HOGG NOTE TO THE PUPIL. James Hogg, known as "The Ettrick Shepherd," was born in Ettrick Forest, Scotland, in 1772. He was the son of a shepherd, and followed his father's employment until he was thirty years old. His first publication was a collection of poems entitled "The Mountain Bard." This was in 1803. In 1813 he published the "Queen's Wake,” which is generally considered his best work. "Kilmeny" is, perhaps, his most noted ballad. He published many poems and some prose tales. He died in 1835. IRD of the wilderness, BIR Blithesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Blest is thy dwelling place: Oh, to abide in the desert with thee! Far in the downy cloud; Love gave it energy, love gave it birth! Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven; thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day; Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar singing away! Then when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling place Oh, to abide in the desert with thee! THE FIRST SKYLARK OF SPRING WILLIAM WATSON WO worlds hast thou to dwell in, sweet, TWO The virginal, untroubled sky, And this vext region at my feet, Alas, but one have I! To all my songs there clings the shade, My heart is dashed with griefs and fears; Not loftiest bard, of mightiest mind, We sing of Life, with stormy breath, That shakes the lute's distempered string, We sing of Love, and loveless Death Takes up the song we sing. |