"I was Ever thus ! _ Each hour that came, Still moremitting, brought Some newer form of grif or shame, Some newer care for thought POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION. THE NOBLE NATURE. In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night, It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be. BEN JONSON. MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS. My minde to me a kingdom is ; That God or nature hath assignde; Though much I want that most would have, Yet still my minde forbids to crave. Content I live; this is my stay,— I seek no more than may suffice. I see how plentie surfets oft, And hastie clymbers soonest fall; I see that such as sit aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all. No princely pompe nor welthie store, No wylie wit to salve a sore, No shape to winne a lover's eye, To none of these I yeeld as thrall; For why, my mind despiseth all. Some have too much, yet still they crave; I little have, yet seek no more. They are but poore, though much they have, They poor, I rich; they beg, I give ; I laugh not at another's losse, I grudge not at another's gaine; I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend; I joy not in no earthly blisse; I weigh not Cresus' wealth a straw; For care, I care not what it is ; I feare not fortune's fatal law; My mind is such as may not move For beautie bright, or force of love. I wish but what I have at will; I wander not to seeke for more; I like the plaine, I clime no hill; In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, And laugh at them that toile in vaine To get what must be lost againe. I kisse not where I wish to kill; I feigne not love where most I hate ; I breake no sleepe to winne my will; I wayte not at the mightie's gate. I scorne no poore, I feare no rich; I feele no want, nor have too much. The court ne cart I like ne loath, Extreames are counted worst of all; The golden meane betwixt them both Doth surest sit, and feares no fall; My wealth is health and perfect ease; Nor by desert to give offence. WILLIAM BYRD. BEAUTY. "T is much immortal beauty to admire, THOUGHT. LORD THURLOW. THOUGHT is deeper than all speech, Feeling deeper than all thought; Souls to souls can never teach What unto themselves was taught. We are spirits clad in veils ; Man by man was never seen; All our deep communing fails To remove the shadowy screen. Heart to heart was never known; Mind with mind did never meet; We are columns left alone Of a temple once complete. All is thus but starlight here. What is social company But a babbling summer stream? What our wise philosophy But the glancing of a dream? Only when the sun of love Melts the scattered stars of thought, Only when we live above What the dim-eyed world hath taught. Only when our souls are fed By the fount which gave them birth, And by inspiration led Which they never drew from earth, We, like parted drops of rain, CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH. PRELUDE TO THE VOICES OF THE NIGHT. PLEASANT it was, when woods were green, And winds were soft and low, To lie amid some sylvan scene, Where, the long drooping boughs between, Shadows dark and sunlight sheen Alternate come and go; Or where the denser grove receives A slumberous sound, a sound that brings The feelings of a dream, As of innumerable wings, As, when a bell no longer swings, O'er meadow, lake, and stream. And dreams of that which cannot die, Dreams that the soul of youth engage And chronicles of eld. And, loving still these quaint old themes, Even in the city's throng I feel the freshness of the streams That, crossed by shades and sunny gleams, Water the green land of dreams, The holy land of song. HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. THE INNER VISION. MOST sweet it is with unuplifted eyes |