pry in musty archives or retentive scrolls, charters and statutes, constitutions, rolls, and remnants of the old world's history:-these show what has been, not what ought to be; or teach at best how wiser Time controls man's futile purposes. As vain the search of restless factions, who, in lawless will, fix the foundations of a creedless church, a lawless rule,—an anarchy of ill. But what is Freedom? Rightly understood, a universal license to be good.

19. TO SHAKESPEARE.-Hartley Coleridge.

The soul of man is larger than the sky, deeper than ocean, or abysmal dark of the unfathom'd centre. Like that ark which, in its sacred hold, uplifted high o'er the drown'd hills the human family, and stock reserved of every living kind; so, in the compass of a single mind, the seeds and pregnant forms in essence lie to make all worlds. Great poet! 'twas thy art to "know thyself;" and in thyself to be whate'er Love, Hate, Ambition, Destiny, or the firm fatal Purpose of the Heart, can make of Man. Yet thou wert still the same,-serene of thought, unhurt by thy own flame.

20.-TO MARY UNWIN.-Cowper.

Mary! I want a lyre with other strings, such aid from heaven as some have feigned they drew,—an eloquence, scarce given to mortals, new and undebased by praise of meaner things; that ere through age or woe I shed my wings, I may record thy worth with honour due, in verse as musical as thou art true, and that immortalizes whom it sings:-but thou hast little need. There is a Book by seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, on which the eyes of God not rarely look; a chronicle of actions just and bright-there all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine; and since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine.

21.-MODERN DEGENERACY.-Wordsworth.

O Friend! I know not which way I must look for comfort, being, as I am, opprest to think that now our life is only drest for show; mean handiwork of craftsman, cook, or groom!-We must run glittering like a brook in the open sunshine, or we are unblest; the wealthiest man among us is the best no grandeur now in Nature or in book delights us. Rapine, avarice, expense, this is idolatry; and these we adore: plain living and high thinking are no more: the homely beauty of the good old cause is gone; our peace, our fearful innocence, and pure religion breathing household laws.

22.-TO THE PLANET VENUS (Composed at Loch Lomond).—Wordsworth. Though joy attend thee, orient at the birth of dawn, it cheers the lofty spirit most to watch thy course when Daylight, fled from earth, in the gray sky hath left his lingering ghost;-perplex'd, as if between a splendour lost, and splendour slowly mustering. Since the Sun-the absolute, the world-absorbing One-relinquish'd half his empire to the host, embolden'd by thy guidance, holy star, holy as princely; who that looks on thee, touching, as now, in thy humility the mountain-borders of this seat of care, can question that thy countenance is bright, celestial Power! as much with love as light?

23.-TO MILTON.-Wordsworth.

Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour: England hath need of thee: she is a fen of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, have forfeited their ancient English dower of inward happiness. We are selfish men: O, raise us up! return to us again! and give us manners, virtue, freedom, power! Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart: thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea, pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free; so didst thou travel on life's common way in cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart the lowliest duties on herself did lay.

24.-LONDON AT EARLY MORNING.-Wordsworth.

Earth has not anything to show more fair: dull would he be of soul who could pass-by a sight so touching in its majesty. This city now doth, like a garment, wear the beauty of the morning: silent, bare, ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie open unto the fields and to the sky, all bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep in his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill; ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: dear God! the very houses seem asleep; and all that mighty heart is lying still!

25.-EVENING BY THE SEA.-Wordsworth.

It is a beauteous evening, calm and free; the holy time is quiet as a nun breathless with adoration; the broad sun is sinking down in its tranquillity; the gentleness of heaven is on the Sea. Listen! the mighty being is awake, and doth, with his eternal motion, make a sound like thunder, everlastingly...Dear child! dear girl! that walkest with me here, if thou appear untouch'd by solemn thought, thy nature is not therefore less divine: thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year, and worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine,—God being with thee, when we know it not.

26.-WORLDLINESS CONDEMNED.-Wordsworth.

The World is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; little we see in Nature that is ours; we have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon-the winds that will be howling at all hours, and are upgather'd now, like sleeping flowers,-for this, for everything, we are out of tune; it moves us not.-Great God! I'd rather be a Pagan suckled in a creed outworn, so might I, standing on this pleasant lea, have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, or hear old Triton blow his wreathéd horn.

27.-TO MY MOTHER.-H. K. White.

And canst thou, mother, for a moment think that we, thy children, when old age shall shed its blanching honours on thy weary head, could from our best of duties ever shrink? Sooner the sun from his bright sphere shall sink, than we ungrateful leave thee—in that day, to pine in solitude thy life away, or shun thee, tottering on the grave's cold brink. Banish the thought! Where'er our steps may roam, o'er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree, still will fond memory point our hearts to thee, and paint the pleasures of thy peaceful home; while duty bids us all thy griefs assuage, and smoothe the pillow of thy sinking age.

28.-THE LILIES OF THE FIELD.-Mrs. Hemans.

Flowers! when the Saviour's calm benignant eye fell on your gentle beauty; when from you that heavenly lesson for all hearts He drew, eternal, universal as the sky; then, in the bosom of your purity a voice He set, as in a temple-shrine,—that life's quick travellers ne'er might pass you by, unwarn'd of that sweet oracle divine. And though too oft its low, celestial sound, by the harsh notes of work-day Care is drowned, and the loud steps of vain, unlistening Haste; yet the great Ocean hath no tone of power mightier to reach the soul in thought's hush'd hour, than yours, meek lilies, -chosen thus and graced!

29.-SORROW.-Aubrey de Vere.

Count each affliction, whether light or grave, God's messenger sent down to thee. Do thou with courtesy receive him: rise and bow, and, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave permission first his heavenly feet to lave. Then lay before him all thou hast. Allow no cloud of passion to usurp thy brow, or mar thy hospitality; no wave of mortal tumult, to obliterate the soul's marmoreal calmness. Grief should be like joy

majestic, equable, sedate; confirming, cleansing, raising, making free: strong to consume small troubles; to commend great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end.

30.-ENJOYMENT OF THE PRESENT.-Trench.

We live not in our moments or our years;-the Present we fling from us as the rind of some sweet Future, which we after find bitter to taste; or bind that in with fears, and water it beforehand with our tears—vain tears, for that which never may arrive; meanwhile, the joy, whereby we ought to live, neglected or unheeded, disappears. Wiser it were to welcome and make ours whate'er of good, though small, the Present brings— kind greetings, sunshine, song of birds, and flowers, with a child's pure delight in little things; and of the griefs unborn to rest secure-knowing that Mercy ever will endure.

31.-THE WALL-FLOWER.-Doubleday.

I will not praise the often flatter'd Rose, or virgin-like, with blushing charms half seen, or when, in dazzling splendour, like a queen, all her magnificence of state she shows; no, nor the nun-like Lily, which but blows beneath the valley's cool and shady screen; nor yet the Sun-flower, that, with warrior mien, still eyes the orb of glory where it glows; but thou, neglected Wall-flower! to my breast and muse art dearest, wildest, sweetest flower;-to whom alone the privilege is given proudly to root thyself above the rest, as Genius does; and, from thy rocky tower, lend fragrance to the purest breath of heaven.

32. TO THE MOON.-Charlotte Smith.

Queen of the silver bow! by thy pale beam, alone and pensive I delight to stray, and watch thy shadow trembling in the stream, or mark the floating clouds that cross thy way. And, while I gaze, thy mild and placid light sheds a soft calm upon my troubled breast; and oft I think, fair planet of the night! that, in thy orb, the wretched may have rest: the sufferers of the earth perhaps may go, released by death, to thy benignant sphere; and the sad children of despair and woe, forget, in thee, their cup of sorrow here . . . Oh, that I soon may reach thy world serene, poor wearied pilgrim in this toiling scene!

...

33. THE EVENING CLOUD.-Wilson.

A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun; a gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow: long had I watched the glory moving on, o'er the still

radiance of the lake below: tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow! Even in its very motion there was rest; while every breath of eve that chanced to blow, wafted the traveller to the beauteous west....Emblem, methought, of the departed Soul! to whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given, and, by the breath of mercy, made to roll right onward to the golden gates of Heaven,—where, to the eye of faith, it peaceful lies, and tells to man his glorious destinies.

34.-THE HUMAN SEASONS.-Keats.

Four Seasons fill the measure of the year: there are four seasons in the mind of man: he has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear takes in all beauty with an easy span: he has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honey'd cud of youthful thought he loves to ruminate, and, by such dreaming high, is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves his soul has in its Autumn, when his wings 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.

35.-COLUMBUS.-Tupper.

Thy soul was nerved with more than mortal force, bold mariner upon a chartless sea! with none to second, none to solace thee; alone, who daredst keep thy resolute course through the broad waste of waters drear and dark, 'mid wrathful skies, and howling winds; and worse-1 -the prayer, the taunt, the threat, the muttered curse of all thy brethren in that fragile bark. For on thy brow, throbbing with hopes immense, had just Ambition set his royal mark, enriching thee with noble confidence; that, having once thy venturous sails unfurled, no danger should defeat thy recompense—the god-like gift to man of half the world.

36. THE CRUCIFIXION.-Montgomery.

I ask'd the Heavens :-"What foe to God hath done this unexampled deed?" The Heavens exclaim, ""Twas Man; and we in horror snatch'd the sun from such a spectacle of guilt and shame." I ask'd the Sea;—the Sea in fury boil'd, and answer'd with his voice of storms,-""Twas Man! My waves, in panic at his crime, recoiled, disclosed the abyss, and from the centre ran." I ask'd the Earth ;-the Earth replied, aghast, ""Twas Man!-and such strange pangs my bosom rent, that still I groan and shudder at the past." To Man-gay, smiling, thoughtless Man, I went, and ask'd him next;-he turn'd a scornful eye, shook his proud head, and deign'd me no reply.