5 10 'And Matthew, for thy children dead At this he grasp'd my hand and said, -We rose up from the fountain-side; Of the green sheep-track did we glide; And ere we came to Leonard's rock About the crazy old church-clock, W. Wordsworth CCCXXXII THE RIVER OF LIFE The more we live, more brief appear The gladsome current of our youth, Steals lingering like a river smooth But as the care-worn cheek grows wan, Ye Stars, that measure life to man, Why seem your courses quicker? When joys have lost their bloom and breath Why, as we reach the Falls of Death Feel we its tide more rapid? It may be strange-yet who would change When one by one our friends have gone Heaven gives our years of fading strength And those of youth, a seeming length, T. Campbell CCCXXXIII THE HUMAN SEASONS Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings 10 He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness-to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook. He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature. J. Keats 5 CCCXXXIV A DIRGE Rough wind, that moanest loud Sad storm whose tears are vain, P. B. Shelley 5 10 CCCXXXV THRENOS O World! O Life! O Time! On whose last steps I climb, Trembling at that where I had stood before; Out of the day and night A joy has taken flight: Fresh spring, and summer, and winter hoar Move my faint heart with grief, but with delight No more Oh, never more! P. B. Shelley CCCXXXVI THE TROSACHS There's not a nook within this solemn Pass, Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, 5 Wither'd at eve. From scenes of art which chase That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouch'd, unbreathed upon:-Thrice happy quest, 10 If from a golden perch of aspen spray (October's workmanship to rival May), W. Wordsworth 5 CCCXXXVII My heart leaps up when I behold So was it when my life began, So be it when I shall grow old The Child is father of the Man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. W. Wordsworth CCCXXXVIII ODE ON INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, To me did seem 5 The glory and the freshness of a dream. By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The rainbow comes and goes, And lovely is the rose; The moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath past away a glory from the earth. Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song. As to the tabor's sound, To me alone there came a thought of grief: The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep:- 10 Land and sea Give themselves up to jollity. Thou child of joy Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shepherd-boy! 15 Ye blessed Creatures. I have heard the call The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; My head hath its coronal, 20 The fulness of your bliss, I feel-I feel it all. 25 30 This sweet May-morning; And the children are culling On every side In a thousand valleys far and wide, Doth the same tale repeat: And cometh from afar; |