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To darken o'er the fair domain.
It is as though the fiends prevaild
Against the seraphs they assail'd,
And fix'd on heavenly thrones, should dwell
The freed inheritors of hell;
So soft the scene, so form'd for joy,
So curst the tyrants that destroy!


He soon
Saw within ken a glorious angel stand,
The same whom John saw also in the sun :
His back was turned, but not his brightness hid:
Of beaming sunny rays a golden tiar
Circled his head ; nor less his locks behind
Illustrious on his shoulders, fledge with wings,
Lay waving round; on some great charge employed
He seemed, or fixed in cogitation deep.
Glad was the Spirit impure, as now in hope
To find who might direct his wandering flight
To Paradise, the happy seat of man,
His journey's end, and our beginning woe.
But first he casts to change his proper shape,
Which else might work him danger or delay :
And now a stripling cherub he appears,
Not of the prime, yet such as in his face
Youth smiled celestial, and to every

Suitable grace diffused, so well he feigned:
Under a coronet his flowing hair
In curls on either cheek played; wings he wore
Of many a coloured plume, sprinkled with gold;
His habit fit for speed succinct, and held
Before his decent steps a silver wand.
He drew not nigh unheard ; the angel bright,
Ere he drew nigh, his radiant visage turned,



Admonished by his ear, and straight was known
The archangel Uriel, one of the seven
Who in God's presence, nearest to his throne,
Stand ready at command, and are his eyes
That run through all the heavens, or down to th' earth
Bear his swift errands over moist and dry,
O’er sea and land.



John. Come hither, Hubert. O my gentle Hubert, We owe thee much; within this wall of flesh There is a soul, counts thee her creditor, And with advantage means to pay thy love: And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. Give me thy hand. I had a thing to sayBut I will fit it with some better time. By heaven, Hubert, I'm almost asham'd To say what good respect I have of thee. Hubert. I am much bounden to your majesty.

John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet: But thou shalt have: and creep time ne'er so slow, Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. I had a thing to say—but let it goThe sun is in the heaven; and the proud day, Attended with the pleasures of the world, Is all too wanton and too full of gawds, To give me audience; if the midnight bell Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, Sound one unto the drowsy race of night; If this same were a church-yard where we stand, And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; Or if that surly spirit, Melancholy, Had bak'd thy blood, and made it heavy, thick; (Which, else, runs tickling up and down the veins,



Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes,
And strain their cheeks to idle merriment,
A passion hateful to my purposes);
Or if that thou could'st see me without eyes,
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply
Without a tongue, using conceit alone,
Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words ;
Then, in despight of broad-eyed watchful day,
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts:
But, ah, I will not: yet I love thee well ;
And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well.

Hubert. So well, that what you bid me undertake,
Though that my death were adjunct to my act,
By heaven, I'd do it.

John. Do not I know thou wouldst?
Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine eye
On yon young boy: I'll tell thee what, my friend,
He is a very serpent in my way;
And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread,
He lies before me; Dost thou understand me?
Thou art his keeper.



ATTEND all ye who list to hear our noble England's

praise, I tell of the thrice-famous deeds she wrought in ancient

days, When that great Fleet Invincible against her bore in

vain The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of

It was about the lovely close of a warm

day, There came a gallant merchant ship full sail to Plymouth





Her crew hath seen Castille's black fleet, beyond

Aurigny's isle, At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a

mile; At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace; And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in

chase. Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the

wall, The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty

hall; Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the

coast; And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many

a post. With his white hair unbonnetted the stout old sheriff

comes ; Behind march the halberdiers, before him sound the

drums; His yeomen, round the market-cross, make clear an

ample space, For there behoves him to set up the standard of her

Grace. And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the

bells, As slow upon

the labouring wind the royal blazon swells. Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient

crown, And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies

down ! So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed

Picard field, Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle

shield: So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to

bay, And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely

hunters lay.



Ho! strike the flagstaff deep, sir knight: ho! scatter

flowers, fair maids : Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute: ho! gallants, draw

your blades:

Thou sun, shine on her joyously-ye breezes, waft her


Our glorious SEMPER EADEM—the banner of our pride.


The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's

massy fold,

The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll

of gold; Night sunk upon the dusky beach, and on the purple


Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again

shall be. From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to

Milford bay, That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day; For swift to east and swift to west the warning radiance

spread; High on St. Michael's Mount it shone—it shone on

Beachy Head. Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern

shire, Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling

points of fire; The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering

waves, The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless


O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery

herald flew; He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of

Beaulieu :

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