87.-LOVE IN LIFE.-Mrs. E. B. Browning.

I once thought how Theocritus had sung of the sweet Years, the dear and wish'd-for Years, who, each one, in a gracious hand appears to bear a gift for mortals, old and young: and, as I mused it in his antique tongue, I saw, in gradual vision, through my tears, the sweet, sad Years-the melancholy Years-those of my own life,-who, by turns, had flung a shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware, so weeping, how a mystic Shape did move behind me, and drew me backward by the hair; and a voice said in mastery, while I strove :-"Guess now who holds thee!" "Death!" I said. But there the silver answer rang:- "Not Death, but Love!"

38.-COMFORT.-Mrs. E. B. Browning.

Speak low to me, my Saviour! low and sweet-from out the hallelujahs, sweet and low,-lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so, who art not miss'd by any that entreat. Speak to me, as to Mary at thy feet; and, if no precious gums my hands bestow, let my tears drop like amber, while I go in reach of Thy divinest voice complete in humanest affection. Thus, in sooth, to lose the sense of losing! As a child, whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore, is sung-to in its stead by mother's mouthtill, sinking on her breast, love reconciled, he sleeps the faster that he wept before.

89.-HOPE.-Miss Williams.

O, ever skilled to wear the form we love, to bid the shapes of fear and grief depart ;-come, gentle Hope! with one gay smile remove the lasting sadness of an aching heart. Thy voice, benign enchantress! let me hear; say that for me some pleasures yet shall bloom,-that Fancy's radiance, Friendship's precious tear, shall soften, or shall chase, Misfortune's gloom. But come not glowing in the dazzling ray, which once with dear illusions charmed my eye; O, strew no more, sweet flatterer! on my way the flowers I fondly thought too bright to die:-visions less fair will soothe my pensive breast, that asks not happiness-but longs for rest!

40.-THE NEGRO'S ESCAPE.-W. Drennan.

Night came the Negro strained his wistful sight, round fields where once his childhood lov'd to roam; then plunged beneath the dark wood's welcome dome, and sped on hastily; till dawning light disclos'd an humble dwelling, with a slight mark on the door-post: when his breath could come, he tapped, and asked, "Is this the Wanderer's Home?" The bolt shot

back, and a kind voice said, "Right!" Its farewell tones were, "Follow the North Star!" And oft return'd those words as over broad savannahs, on, from fetter, lash, and scar, it beckon'd-that bright, holy thing afar His joy-thrill'd spirit oft it soothed, and awed, in after-life; to him, the eye of God!

41.-THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.-Keats.

The poetry of earth is never dead: when all the birds are faint with the hot sun, and hide in cooling trees, a voice will run from hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead: that is the Grasshopper's; he takes the lead in summer luxury-he has never done with his delights; for, when tired out with fun, he rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed....The poetry of earth is ceasing never on a lone winter evening, when the frost has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills the Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever; and seems, to one in drowsiness half lost, the Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.

42.-TO BRITAIN (BY THE DUKE OF W "Halt! Shoulder arms' Recover!

-N).—Bon Gaultier (Aytoun).

As you were! Right wheel!

Eyes left! Attention! Stan at ease!" Ŏ Britain! O my country!

...

words like these have made thy name a terror and a fear to all the nations. Witness Ebro's banks-Assaye-Toulouse-Nivelle-and Waterloo, where the grim despot muttered, "Sauve qui peut !” and Ney fled darkling— silence in the ranks! Inspired by these, amidst the iron crash of armies, in the centre of his troop, the Soldier stands-unmovable, not rash—until the forces of the foeman droop; then knocks the Frenchman to eternal smash, pounding them into mummy. "Shoulder, hoop!"

43.-VINDICATION OF THE SONNET.-Wordsworth.

Nuns fret not at their convent's narrow room; and hermits are contented with their cells; and students with their pensive citadels; maids at the wheel, the weaver at his loom, sit blithe and happy; bees, that soar for bloom high as the highest peak of Furness Fells, will murmur by the hour in foxglove-bells: in truth, the prison unto which we doom ourselves no prison is: and hence to me, in sundry moods, 'twas pastime to be bound within the sonnet's scanty plot of ground: pleased, if some souls (for such there needs must be) who have felt the weight of too much liberty, should find brief solace there,—as I have found.

249

MISCELLANEOUS SELECTIONS IN BLANK VERSE

FOR

SENIOR PUPILS.

1.-EVENING IN PARADISE.-Milton.

Now came still Evening on, and Twilight gray
Had in her sober livery all things clad;
Silence accompanied; for beast and bird,
They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,
Were slunk--all but the wakeful nightingale;
She, all night long, her amorous descant sung:
Silence was pleas'd. Now glow'd the firmament
With living sapphires: Hesperus, that led
The starry host, rode brightest; till the Moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length

(Apparent queen!) unveiled her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.

When Adam thus to Eve:-"Fair Consort, the hour

Of night, and all things now retir'd to rest,
Mind us of like repose; since God hath set
Labour and rest, as day and night, to men
Successive; and the timely dew of sleep,
Now falling with soft slumb'rous weight, inclines
Our eyelids: other creatures all day long
Rove idle, unemploy'd, and less need rest;
Man hath his daily work of body or mind
Appointed-which declares his dignity,
And the regard of Heav'n on all his ways;
While other animals unactive range,
And of their doings God takes no account.
To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east
With first approach of light, we must be risen,
And at our pleasant labour,-to reform
Yon flowery arbours, yonder alleys green;

Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums,
That lie bestrown unsightly and unsmooth,
Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease.
Meanwhile, as Nature wills, Night bids us rest.”
To whom thus Eve with perfect beauty adorn'd:-
"My Author and Disposer! what thou bidd'st
Unargued I obey; so God ordains;

God is thy law, thou mine: to know no more
Is woman's happiest knowledge and her praise.
With thee conversing, I forget all time;

:

All seasons, and their change, all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,
When first, on this delightful land, he spreads
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft showers; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful Evening mild; then silent Night,
With this her solemn bird, and this fair Moon,
And these the gems of Heav'n!-her starry train :
But neither breath of Morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun
On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers;
Nor grateful Evening mild; nor silent Night
With this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon,
Or glittering starlight-without thee, is sweet!"

2.-EVE'S DREAM.-Milton.

O, sole in whom my thoughts find all repose, my glory, my perfection! glad I see thy face, and morn return'd; for I this night (such night till this I never pass'd !) have dream'd-if dream'd-not as I oft am wont, of thee, works of day past, or morrow's next design, but of offence and trouble, which my mind knew never till this irksome night: methought, close at mine ear, one called me forth to walk with gentle voice-I thought it thine; it said, "Why sleep'st thou, Eve? Now is the pleasant time, the cool, the silent; save where silence yields to the night-warbling bird, that now awake tunes sweetest his love-labour'd song; now reigns full-orb'd the moon, and, with more pleasing light, shadowy sets off the face of things; in vain, if none regard: Heav'n wakes with all his eyes,-whom to behold

but thee, Nature's desire? in whose sight all things joy, with ravishment attracted by thy beauty still to gaze."...I rose as at thy call, but found thee not; to find thee, I directed then my walk; and on, methought, alone I passed through ways that brought me, on a sudden, to the tree of interdicted knowledge: fair it seem'd, much fairer to my fancy than by day: and as I wondering look'd, beside it stood one shaped and winged like one of those from Heaven by us oft seen; his dewy locks distilled ambrosia: on that tree he also gazed; and, "O fair plant!" said he, "with fruit surcharged, deigns none to ease thy load, and taste thy sweet,-nor God, nor man? Is knowledge so despised? Or envy, or what reserve, forbids to taste? Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold longer thy offered good,-why else set here ?" This said, he paus'd not; but, with venturous arm, he plucked, he tasted! Me damp horror chill'd at such bold words vouch'd with a deed so bold: but he, thus overjoyed: "O fruit divine! sweet of thyself, but much more sweet thus cropped; forbidden here, it seems, as only fit for Gods, yet able to make Gods of Men: and why not Gods of Men? since good, the more communicated, more abundant growsthe Author not impair'd, but honour'd more. Here, happy creature! fair, angelic Eve! partake thou also; happy though thou art, happier thou mayst be, worthier canst not be: take this, and be henceforth among the Gods, thyself a Goddess—not to earth confined, but sometimes in the air, as we; sometimes ascend to Heaven, by merit thine, and see what life the Gods live there—and such live thou!" So saying, he drew nigh; and to me held, even to my mouth, of that same fruit held part which he had plucked the pleasant savoury smell so quickened appetite, that I, methought, could not but taste! Forthwith, up to the clouds with him I flew, and, underneath, beheld the earth outstretched immense-a prospect wide and various. Wondering at my flight and change to this high exaltation, suddenly my guide was gone-and I, methought, sunk down and fell asleep; ...but O, how glad I wak'd to find this but a dream!

3.-MORNING HYMN OF ADAM AND EVE.-Milton.

These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty! Thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then!
Unspeakable! who sitt'st above these Heavens,
To us invisible; or dimly seen

In these Thy lowest works: yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine!
Speak, ye, who best can tell,-ye sons of light-