no more I wept my brother's lot,-
his image was almost forgot;
and every deeper shade of pain
had vanished from my soul again.
The well-known morn I used to greet
with boyhood's joy at length was beaming,
and thoughts of home and rapture sweet
in every eye but mine were gleaming:
but I, amidst that youthful band
of bounding hearts and beaming eyes,
nor smiled nor spoke at joy's command
nor felt those wonted ecstasies!
356 I loved my home, but trembled now
to view my father's altered brow;
I feared to meet my mother's eye,
and hear her voice of agony;
I feared to view my native spot,
where he who loved it now was not:
the pleasures of my home were fled,
my brother slumbered with the dead.
I drew near to my father's gate;
no smiling faces met me now,
I entered,—all was desolate,
grief sat upon my mother's brow;
I heard her, as she kissed me, sigh;
a tear stood in my father's eye;
my little brothers round me pressed,
in gay, unthinking childhood blessed;
long, long that hour has passed; but when
shall I forget its gloomy scene!
357 And years have passed—and thou art now forgotten in thy silent tomb:
and cheerful is my mother's brow;
my father's eye has lost its gloom;
and years have passed-and death has laid
another victim by thy side;
with thee he roams, an infant shade,
but not more pure than thee he died. Blest are ye both! your ashes rest beside the spot he loved the best; and that dear home, which saw your birth, o'erlooks you in your bed of earth. But who can tell what blissful shore your angel-spirits wander o'er!
and who can tell what raptures high now bless your immortality! 358 My boyish days are nearly gone;
my breast is not unsullied now;
and worldly cares and woes will soon
cut their deep furrows on my brow,-
and life will take a darker hue
from ills my brother never knew;
and I have made me bosom friends,
and loved and linked my heart with others;
but who with mine his spirit blends,
as mine was blended with my brother's? When years of rapture glided by,
the spring of life's unclouded weather,
our souls were knit, and thou and I,
my brother, grew in life together.
The chain is broke that bound us then ;
when shall I find its like again?
Tuted in her song the morning gray;
'HE morning-lark, the messenger of day,
and soon the sun arose with beams so bright,
that all the horizon laughed to see the joyous sight;
he with his tepid rays the rose renews,
and licks the dropping leaves, and dries the dews;
when Arcite left his bed, resolved to pay
observance to the month of merry May:
forth on his fiery steed betimes he rode,
that scarcely prints the turf on which he trode:
at ease he seemed, and, prancing o'er the plains,
turned only to the grove his horse's reins,
the grove I named before; and lighted there,
a woodbine garland sought to crown his hair;
then turned his face against the rising day,
and raised his voice to welcome in the May.
HAPPY the man, of mortals happiest he,
whose quiet mind from vain desires is free; whom neither hopes deceive, nor fears torment, but lives at peace within himself content:
in thought or act accountable to none,
but to himself and to his God alone:
O sweetness of content! heart-soothing joy!
which nothing wants, and nothing can destroy.
Welcome ye groves-here let me ever dwell;
and bid the haunts of men a long farewell.
How sweet the morning! and the day how bright!
how calm the evening! and how still the night!
from hence, as from a hill, I view below
the crowded world, a mighty wood in show;
where several wanderers travel day and night
by different paths, and none are in the right.
WER arms across her breast she laid;
was more fair than words can say:
bare-footed came the Beggar maid
before the king Cophetua.
In robe and crown the king stept down,
to meet and greet her on her way;
'It is no wonder' said the lords
'She is more beautiful than day.'
As shines the moon in clouded skies,
she in her poor attire was seen:
one praised her ancles, one her eyes,
one her dark hair and lovesome mien.
So sweet a face, such angel grace,
in all that land had never been:
Cophetua sware a royal oath :
'This beggar maid shall be my queen!'
ON LUCY, COUNTESSE of bedfORD
Thought to forme unto my zealous Muse,
HIS morning, timely rapt with holy fire,
what kinde of creature I could most desire,
to honour, serve and love; as Poets use.
I meant to make her faire and free and wise,
of greatest blood and yet more good than great,
I meant the day-starre should not brighter rise,
nor lend like influence from his lucent seat.
I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet,
hating that solemn vice of Greatnesse, pride;
I meant each softest vertue there should meet,
fit in that softer bosome to reside.
Only a learned and a manly soule
I purposed her; that should with even powers
the rock, the spindle, and the sheeres controule
of Destinie, and spin her owne free houres.
Such when I meant to faine, and wished to see,
my Muse bade, Bedford write, and that was shee.
B. JONSON
363 INSCRIPTION ON THE BACK OF A GOTHIC ALCOVE YOU that bathe in courtly blysse,
or toyle in Fortunes giddy spheare;
do not too rashlye deem amysse
of him that bydes contented here.
Nor yet disdeigne the russet stoale
which o'er each carelesse lymbe he flyngs: nor yet deryde the beechen bowle
in whyche he quaffs the lympid springs.
Forgive him if at eve or dawne,
devoide of worldlye cark, he stray,
or all beside some flowerye lawne
he waste his inoffensive daye.
So may he pardonne fraud and strife,
if such in courtlye haunt he see:
for faults there beene in busye life,
from whyche these peaceful glennes are free.
BUT hark, the din of arms! no time for sorrow:
to horse, to horse! a day of blood to-morrow:
one parting pang, and then-and then I fly,
fly to the field, to triumph—or to die!—
He goes, and Night comes as it never came,
with shrieks of horror and a vault of flame!
and lo, when morning mocks the desolate,
red runs the river by; and at the gate
breathless a horse without his rider stands !
but hush!...a shout from the victorious bands!
and oh the smiles and tears, a sire restored!
one wears his helm, one buckles on his sword;
one hangs the wall with laurel leaves, and all
spring to prepare the soldier's festival;
while She best loved, till then forsaken never,
clings round his neck as she would cling for ever!
Hvite the tuneful birds to sing;
HE smiling morn, the breathing spring,
and, while they warble from each spray,
love melts the universal lay.
Let us, Amanda, timely wise,
like them improve the hour that flies,
and in soft raptures waste the day
among the shades of Endermay.
For soon the winter of the year,
and age, life's winter, will appear;
at this, thy living bloom must fade,
as that will strip the verdant shade.
Our taste of pleasure then is o'er;
the feathered songsters love no more:
and when they droop, and we decay,
adieu the shades of Endermay!
THE POWER OF LOVE
HE winds are high on Helle's wave,
as on that night of stormy water
when Love, who sent, forgot to save
the young, the beautiful, the brave,
the lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.
O, when alone along the sky
her turret-torch was blazing high,
though rising gale and breaking foam
and shrieking sea-birds warned him home;
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