96 97 98 THE POET'S OBSEQUIES ALL it not vain:-they do not err, CALL who say, that, when the poet dies, SONG H, how hard it is to find the one just suited to our mind; SIR W. SCOTT Suspense's thorns, Suspicion's stings; T. CAMPBELL PROSPERITY HEN mirth is full and free, Wine sudden gloom shall be; when haughty power mounts high, all growth has bound: when greatest found, it hastes to die. When the rich town, that long has lain its huts among, builds court and palace vast and vaunts, it shall not last! Bright tints that shine are but a sign And when thine eye surveys, with fond adoring gaze, and yearning heart, thy friend,— All gifts below, save Truth, but grow towards an end. LYRA APOSTOLICA 99 THE LOTOS-EATERS HOW sweet it were, hearing the downward stream, with half-shut eyes ever to seem falling asleep in a half-dream! to dream and dream, like yonder amber light, which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height; to hear each other's whispered speech; eating the Lotos day by day, to watch the crisping ripples on the beach, to lend our hearts and spirits wholly to the influence of mild-minded melancholy: heaped over with a mound of grass, two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass is each boasted favourite of Fame, WHERE fill'd the loud echoes of the world around, while shore to shore returned the lengthened sound? The warriors where, who, in triumphal pride, with weeping Freedom to the chariot tied, to glory's Capitolian temple rode? In undistinguished dust together trod, victors and vanquished mingle in the grave; worms prey upon the mouldering god, nor know a Cæsar from his slave; in empty air their mighty deeds exhale, 101 In vain with various arts they strive 102 to keep their little names alive: bid to the skies th' ambitious tower ascend; of vanquish'd monarchs tumbled from the throne; rushing with strong and steady current, bears deep in whose dread abyss the glory lies WHERE'S now imperial Rome, who erst to subject-kings denounced their doom and shook the sceptre o'er a trembling world? from her proud height by force barbarian hurl'd! Now, on some broken capital reclined, the sage of classic mind her awful relics views with pitying eye, and o'er departed grandeur heaves a sigh; or fancies, wandering in his moonlight walk, the prostrate fanes and mouldering domes among, or pensive hover o'er the ruins round, 103 Where old Euphrates winds his storied flood, the curious traveller explores in vain the barren shores and solitary plain where erst majestic Babel's turret stood! there the wild tenants of the desert dwell: 104 ST JOHN THE EVANGELIST BELOVED of God, to thee was given unscathed to see the blaze of present Deity; to see the veil in sunder riven, and search the inmost court of Heaven. Borne as on eagle-wings away through ether far, thy soul outstrips the utmost star, 'Tis thine Heaven's deepest notes to tell thou op'st the light in darkness shining: 105 WITH SONNET TO THE MOON ITH how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the how silently, and with how wan a face! those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? SIR P. SIDNEY 106 107 TRUE BEAUTY for that your selfe ye daily such doe see: and virtuous mind, is much more praysd of me: shall turne to nought and loose that glorious hew; from frayle corruption that doth flesh ensew. to be divine, and borne of heavenly seed; derived from that fayre Spirit, from whom al true He onely fayre, and what he fayre hath made, E. SPENSER SONNET 108 YKE as the culver on the bared bough mate, and in her songs sends many a wishfull vow so I alone, now left disconsolate, mourn to myselfe the absence of my love; and, wandering here and there all desolate, seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove: Dark is my day whyles her fayre light I mis, SWEE SONNET E. SPENSER WEET warriour! when shall I have peace with you? High time it is this warre now ended were, which I no lenger can endure to sue, nor your incessant battry more to beare: |