36. THE LOVED ONE.-Hartley Coleridge.

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'She is not fair to outward view, as many maidens be; her loveliness I never knew, until she smiled on me. O then I saw her eye was brightBut now, her looks are coy and cold, to mine they ne'er reply; and yet I cease not to behold the love-light in eye : her very frowns are fairer far than smiles of other maidens are.

a well of love, a spring of light.

her

37.-MARIANA.-Tennyson.

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1 With blackest moss the flower-plots were thickly crusted, one and all: the rusted nails fell from the knots that held the peach to the gardenwall. The broken sheds look'd sad and strange: unlifted was the clinking latch; weeded and worn the ancient thatch upon the lonely moated grange. She only said, "My life is dreary, he cometh not," she said; she said, I am aweary, aweary! I would that I were dead!" Her tears fell with the dews at even-her tears fell ere the dews were dried; she could not look on the sweet heaven, either at morn or eventide. After the flitting of the bats, when thickest dark did trance the sky, she drew her casement-curtain by, and glanced athwart the glooming flats. She only said, "The night is dreary, he cometh not," she said; she said, "I am aweary, aweary! I would that I were dead!" 3 Upon the middle of the night, waking she heard the night-fowl crow: the cock sung out an hour ere light : from the dark fen the oxen's low came to her without hope of change, in sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn, till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn about the lonely moated grange. She only said, "The day is dreary, he cometh not," she said; she said, "I am aweary, aweary I would that I were dead!" 4 About a stone-cast from the wall a sluice with blacken'd waters slept, and o'er it many, round and small, the cluster'd marish-mosses crept. Hard by a poplar shook alway, all silvergreen with gnarled bark: for leagues no other tree did mark the level waste, the rounding gray. She only said, "My life is dreary, he cometh not," she said; she said, "I am aweary, aweary! I would that I were dead!" 5 And ever when the moon was low, and the shrill winds were up and away, in the white curtain, to and fro, she saw the gusty shadow sway. But when the moon was very low, and wild winds bound within their cell, the shadow of the poplar fell upon her bed, across her brow. She only said, "The night is dreary, he cometh not," she said; she said, “I am aweary, aweary! I would that I were dead!" All day within the dreamy house, the doors upon their hinges creak'd; the blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd, or from the crevice peer'd about. Old faces glimmer'd through the doors, old footsteps trod the

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upper floors, old voices called her from without. She only said, "My life is dreary, he cometh not," she said; she said, "I am aweary, aweary! I would that I were dead!" 7 The sparrow's chirrup on the roof, the slow clock ticking, and the sound which to the wooing wind aloof the poplar made, did all confound her sense; but most she loathed the hour when the thick-moted sunbeam lay athwart the chambers, and the day was sloping toward his western bower. Then said she, "I am very dreary, he will not come," she said; she wept, "I am aweary, aweary! oh God, that I were dead!"

88.-HESTER. -Lamb.

1 When maidens such as Hester die, their place ye may not well supply, though ye among a thousand try with vain endeavour. A mouth or more hath she been dead-yet cannot I by force be led to think upon the wormy bed and her together. 2 A springy motion in her gait, a rising step, did indicate of pride and joy no common rate that flush'd her spirit: I know not by what name beside I shall it call: if 'twas not pride, it was a joy to that allied she did inherit. 3 Her parents held the Quaker rule, which doth the human feeling cool; but she was train'd in Nature's schoolNature had blest her! A waking eye-a prying mind—a heart that stirs -is hard to bind; a hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind-ye could not Hester. My sprightly neighbour! gone before, to that unknown and silent shore; shall we not meet, as heretofore, some summer morning— when from thy cheerful eyes a ray hath struck a bliss upon the day, a bliss that would not go away-a sweet fore-warning?

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39.-THE SOLDIER'S TEAR.—Bayley.

Upon the hill he turn'd to take a last fond look

Of the valley, and the village church, and the cottage by the brook :— He listen'd to the sounds so familiar to his ear,

And the Soldier lean'd upon his sword, and wiped away a tear!

Beside that cottage-porch a girl was on her knees;

She held aloft a snowy scarf that flutter'd in the breeze;

She breathed a prayer for him—a prayer he could not hear,

-But he paused to bless her as she knelt, and wiped away a tear!

He turn'd and left the spot. Oh! do not deem him weak,

For dauntless was the Soldier's heart, though tears were on his check' -Go, watch the foremost ranks in danger's dark career :

Be sure the hand most daring there, has wiped away a tear!

40.-TO THE SKYLARK.-Wordsworth.

Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!

Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?
Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!
To the last point of vision, and beyond,

Mount, daring warbler !—that love-prompted strain
-Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond-
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain :
Yet mightst thou seem (proud privilege!) to sing
All independent of the leafy Spring.

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine,

Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine;

Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam-
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!

41.-LIGHT FOR ALL.-Gilfillan.

You cannot pay with money the million sons of toil—
The sailor on the ocean, the peasant on the soil,
The labourer in the quarry, the hewer of the coal ;-
Your money pays the hand, but it cannot pay the soul.
While viewing the cathedral, whose turrets meet the sky,
Remember the foundations that in earth and darkness lie:
For, were not those foundations so darkly resting there,
Yon towers could never soar so proudly in the air.

The workshop must be crowded that the palace may be bright:
If the ploughman did not plough, the poet could not write.
Then let every toil be hallowed, that man performs for man;
And have its share of honour, as part of one great plan.

See, light darts down from heaven, and enters where it may; The eyes of all carth's people are cheer'd with one bright day. And let the Mind's true sunshine be spread o'er earth as free, And fill the souls of men as the waters fill the sea.

42. THE JOURNEY ONWARDS.-Moore.

As slow our ship her foamy track against the wind was cleaving,
Her trembling pennant still look'd back to that dear isle 'twas leaving.
So loth we part from all we love, from all the links that bind us;
So turn our hearts, as on we rove, to those we've left behind us!

When round the board, of vanish'd years we talk with joyous seeming--
With smiles that might as well be tears, so faint, so sad their beaming;
While memory brings us back again each early tie that twined us,
O, sweet's the cup that circles then to those we've left behind us!

And when in other climes we meet some isle or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flowery wild and sweet, and nought but love is wanting;
We think how great had been our bliss if Heaven had but assign'd us
To live and die in scenes like this, with some we've left behind us!

As travellers oft look back at eve when eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon that light they leave still faint behind them glowing;
So, when the close of pleasure's day to gloom hath near consign'd us,
We turn to catch one fading ray of joy that's left behind us.

43.-THE BUTTERFLY AND THE SNAIL.-Gay.

As in the sunshine of the morn a Butterfly, but newly born, sat proudly perking on a rose, with pert conceit his bosom glows; his wings, all glorious to behold, bedropt with azure, jet, and gold, wide he displays; the spangled dew reflects his eyes and various hue. His now-forgotten friend, a Snail, beneath his house, with slimy trail, crawls o'er the grass, whom when he spies, in wrath he to the Gardener cries: "What means yon peasant's daily toil, from choking weeds to rid the soil? why wake you to the morning's care? why with new arts correct the year? why grows the peach's crimson hue? and why the plum's inviting blue? were they to feast his taste design'd, that vermin of voracious kind? Crush then the slow, the pilfering race,-so purge thy garden from disgrace." "What arrogance!" the Snail replied; "how insolent is upstart pride! Hadst thou not thus, with insult vain, provok'd my patience to complain, I had conceal'd thy meaner birth, nor trac'd thee to the scum of earth; for scarce nine suns have wak'd the hours, to swell the fruit, and paint the flowers, since I thy humbler life survey'd, in base, in sordid guise array'd. I own my humble life, good friend; Snail was I born and Snail shall end. And what's a Butterfly? At best he's but a caterpillar dress'd; and all thy race (a numerous seed) shall prove of caterpillar breed."

44.-THE PATRIOT'S MOURNERS.-Collins.

How sleep the Brave who sink to rest by all their Country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, returns to deck their hallow'd mould, she there shall dress a sweeter sod than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 2 By fairy hands their knell is rung, by forms unseen their dirge is sung: there Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, to bless the turf that wraps their clay; and Freedom shall awhile repair to dwell a weeping hermit there!

45.-HOME.-Goldsmith.

Where shall we find the happiest spot below?
Who can direct, when all pretend to know?
The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own,--
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas,
And his long nights of revelry and ease:
The naked negro, panting at the line,
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine,
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave,
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave.
Such is the Patriot's boast where'er we roam;
His first, best country, ever is at home.
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare,
And estimate the blessings which they share--
Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find
An equal portion dealt to all mankind;
As different good, by art or nature given

To different nations, makes their blessings even.

46.-THE SNAIL.-Cowper.

1 To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall, the snail sticks close, nor fears to fall; as if he grew there, house and all-together. 2 Within that house secure he hides, when danger imminent betides of storm, or other harm besides of weather. 3 Give but his horns the slightest touch, his selfcollecting power is such, he shrinks into his house with much-displeasure. Wherein he dwells he dwells alone; except himself has chattels none; well satisfied to be his own-whole treasure. 5 Thus hermit-like his life he leads, nor partner of his banquet needs, and, if he meets one, only feeds-the faster. 6 Who seeks him must be worse than blind, (he and his house are so combined), if, finding it, he fails to find-its master!

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