And, rising from those lofty groves, The shattered front of Newark's towers, Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom, For sportive youth to stray in, For manhood to enjoy his strength, And age to wear away in! Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss, A covert for protection Of tender thoughts that nestle there- How sweet, on this autumnal day, I see, but not by sight alone, And gladsome notes my lips can breathe The vapors linger round the heights, But that I know, where'er I go, Will dwell with me,-to heighten joy, And cheer my mind in sorrow. William Wordsworth [1770-1850] On a Distant Prospect of Eton College 2489 ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE YE distant spires, ye antique towers, And ye, that from the stately brow Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among His silver-winding way: Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! Where once my careless childhood strayed, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye blow A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen The paths of pleasure trace; The captive linnet which enthral? What idle progeny succeed To chase the rolling circle's speed, While some on earnest business bent Their murmuring labors ply 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint Some bold adventurers disdain Gay Hope is theirs by fancy fed, And lively Cheer, of Vigor born; Alas! regardless of their doom No sense have they of ills to come, Yet see, how all around them wait The ministers of human fate And black Misfortune's baleful train! Ah, show them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murderous band! Ah, tell them they are men! These shall the fury Passions tear, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, And Shame that sculks behind; Or pining Love shall waste their youth, Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth, That inly gnaws the secret heart, And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visaged comfortless Despair, And Sorrow's piercing dart. Ambition this shall tempt to rise, And grinning Infamy. The stings of Falsehood those shall try That mocks the tear it forced to flow; Lo! in the Vale of Years beneath More hideous than their Queen: This racks the joints, this fires the veins, Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, To each his sufferings: all are men, Condemned alike to groan; The tender for another's pain, The unfeeling for his own. Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, And happiness too swiftly flies? Thomas Gray [1716-1771] SHERWOOD SHERWOOD in the twilight, is Robin Hood awake? Gray and ghostly shadows are gliding through the brake; Shadows of the dappled deer, dreaming of the morn, Dreaming of a shadowy man that winds a shadowy horn. Robin Hood is here again: all his merry thieves In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day. Merry, merry England has kissed the lips of June: Merry, merry England is waking as of old, With eyes of blither hazel and hair of brighter gold: Love is in the greenwood building him a house Hark! The dazzled laverock climbs the golden steep: Round the fairy grass-rings frolic elf and fay, In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day. Oberon, Oberon, rake away the gold, Rake away the red leaves, roll away the mould, Friar Tuck and Little John are riding down together Softly over Sherwood the south wind blows; Hears across the greenwood the sunny whisper leap, |