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    Harvard Classics Volume 41: English Poetry 2: Collins To Fitzgerald
    Harvard Classics Volume 41: English Poetry 2: Collins To Fitzgerald
    Harvard Classics Volume 41: English Poetry 2: Collins To Fitzgerald
    Ebook861 pages6 hours

    Harvard Classics Volume 41: English Poetry 2: Collins To Fitzgerald

    By William Collins, Golden Deer Classics, George Sewell and

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    Also available:

    The Complete Harvard Classics Collection (51 Volumes + The Harvard Classic Shelf Of Fiction)
    50 Masterpieces You Have To Read Before You Die (Golden Deer Classics)
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOregan Publishing
    Release dateSep 3, 2017
    ISBN9782377934324
    Harvard Classics Volume 41: English Poetry 2: Collins To Fitzgerald

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      Harvard Classics Volume 41 - William Collins

      Harvard Classics, Volume XLI

      —

      English Poetry II:

      From Collins to Fitzgerald

      —

      Table of Contents

      Harvard Classics, Volume XLI

      William Collins (1720—1759)

      294. Fidele

      295. Ode Written in MDCCXLVI

      296. The Passions

      297. To Evening

      298. The Dying Man in His Garden

      George Sewell (d. 1726)

      299. The Flowers of the Forest

      Alison Rutherford Cockburn (1712—1794)

      300. Lament for Flodden

      Jane Elliot (1727—1805)

      301. A Song to David

      Christopher Smart (1722—1770)

      302. Willy Drowned in Yarrow

      Anonymous

      303. The Braes of Yarrow

      John Logan (1748—1788)

      304. A Hunting Song

      Henry Fielding (1707—1754)

      305. Tom Bowling

      Charles Dibdin (1745—1814)

      Samuel Johnson (1709—1784)

      306. On the Death of Dr. Robert Levet

      307. A Satire

      Oliver Goldsmith (1728—1774)

      308. When Lovely Woman Stoops

      309. Retaliation

      310. The Deserted Village

      311. The Traveller

      312. If Doughty Deeds

      Robert Graham of Gartmore (1735—1797)

      313. For Lack of Gold

      Adam Austin (1726(?)—1774)

      William Cowper

      314. Loss of the Royal George

      315. To a Young Lady

      316. The Poplar Field

      317. The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk

      318. To Mary Unwin

      319. To the Same

      320. Boadicea: An Ode

      321. The Castaway

      322. The Shrubbery

      323. On the Receipt of My Mother’s Picture out of Norfolk

      324. The Diverting History of John Gilpin

      325. Drinking Song

      Richard Brinsley Sheridan (1751—1816)

      326. Life

      Anna Laetitia Barbauld (1743—1825)

      327. Ca’ the Yowes to the Knowes

      Isobel Pagan (?) (1741(?)—1821)

      328. Auld Robin Gray

      Lady Anne Lindsay (1750—1825)

      329. Song from AElla

      Thomas Chatterton (1752—1770)

      Carolina Oliphant, Lady Nairne

      330. The Land o’ the Leal

      331. He’s Ower the Hills That I Lo’e Weel

      332. The Auld House

      333. The Laird o’ Cockpen

      334. The Rowan Tree

      335. Wha’ll Be King But Charlie?

      336. Charlie Is My Darling

      337. Wooed and Married and A’

      Alexander Ross (1699—1784)

      338. Tullochgorum

      John Skinner (1721—1807)

      339. To the Cuckoo

      Michael Bruce (1746—1767)

      340. Logie o’ Buchan

      George Halket (d. 1756(?))

      341. The Braes of Yarrow

      William Hamilton of Bangour (1704—1754)

      Hector MacNeil (1746—1818)

      342. I Lo’ed Ne’er a Laddie but Ane

      343. Come Under My Plaidie

      Sir William Jones (1746—1794)

      344. An Ode

      345. On Parent Knees a Naked New-born Child

      346. And Ye Shall Walk in Silk Attire

      Susanna Blamire (1747—1794)

      347. My Mother Bids Me Bind My Hair

      Anne Hunter (1742—1821)

      348. The Year That’s Awa’

      John Dunlop (1755—1820)

      Samuel Rogers (1763—1855)

      349. A Wish

      350. The Sleeping Beauty

      William Blake (1757—1827)

      351. The Tiger

      352. Ah! Sun-Flower

      353. To Spring

      354. Reeds of Innocence

      355. Night

      356. Auguries of Innocence

      357. Nurse’s Song

      358. Holy Thursday

      359. The Divine Image

      360. Song

      361. To-Morrow

      John Collins (d. 1808(?))

      Robert Tannahill (1774—1810)

      362. Jessie, the Flower o’ Dunblane

      363. Gloomy Winter’s Now Awa’

      William Wordsworth

      364. Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

      365. My Heart Leaps Up

      366. The Two April Mornings

      367. The Fountain

      368. Written in March

      369. Nature and the Poet

      370. Ruth: Or the Influences of Nature

      371. A Lesson

      372. Michael

      373. Yarrow Unvisited

      374. Yarrow Visited

      375. Yarrow Revisited

      376. Lines

      377. The Daffodils

      378. To the Daisy

      379. To the Cuckoo

      380. The Green Linnet

      381. Written in Early Spring

      382. To the Skylark

      383. The Affliction of Margaret

      384. Simon Lee the Old Huntsman

      385. Ode to Duty

      386. She Was a Phantom of Delight

      387. To the Highland Girl of Inversneyde

      388. The Solitary Reaper

      389. The Reverie of Poor Susan

      390. To Toussaint L’Ouverture

      391. Character of the Happy Warrior

      392. Resolution and Independence

      393. Laodamia

      394. We Are Seven

      395. Lucy

      396. The Inner Vision

      397. By the Sea

      398. Upon WestminsterBridge

      399. To a Distant Friend

      400. Desideria

      401. We Must Be Free or Die

      402. England and Switzerland

      403. On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic

      404. London, MDCCCII

      405. The Same

      406. When I Have Borne

      407. The World is Too Much With Us

      408. Within King’s College Chapel, Cambridge

      409. Valedictory Sonnet to the River Duddon

      410. Composed at NeidpathCastle, the Property of Lord Queensberry

      411. Admonition to a Traveller

      412. To Sleep

      413. The Sonnet

      414. Dover Cliffs

      William Lisle Bowles (1762—1850)

      Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772—1834)

      416. Kubla Khan

      417. Youth and Age

      418. Love

      419. Hymn Before Sunrise, in the Vale of Chamouni

      420. Christabel

      421. Dejection: an Ode

      422. After Blenheim

      Robert Southey (1774—1843)

      423. The Scholar

      Robert Southey (1774—1843)

      Charles Lamb (1775—1834)

      424. The Old Familiar Faces

      425. Hester

      426. On an Infant Dying as Soon as Born

      Sir Walter Scott

      427. The Outlaw

      428. To a Lock of Hair

      429. Jock of Hazeldean

      430. Eleu Loro

      431. A Serenade

      432. The Rover

      433. The Maid of Neidpath

      434. Gathering Song of Donald the Black

      435. Border Ballad

      436. The Pride of Youth

      437. Coronach

      438. Lucy Ashton’s Song

      439. Answer

      440. Rosabelle

      441. Hunting Song

      442. Lochinvar

      443. Bonny Dundee

      444. Datur Hora Quieti

      445. Here’s a Health to King Charles

      446. Harp of the North, Farewell!

      James Hogg

      447. Kilmeny

      448. When the Kye Comes Hame

      449. The Skylark

      450. Lock the Door, Lariston

      451. Barthram’s Dirge

      Robert Surtees (1779—1834)

      Thomas Campbell

      452. The Soldier’s Dream

      453. To the Evening Star

      454. Ode to Winter

      455. Lord Ullin’s Daughter

      456. The River of Life

      457. To the Evening Star

      458. The Maid of Neidpath

      459. Ye Mariners of England

      460. Battle of the Baltic

      461. Hohenlinden

      462. Freedom and Love

      J. Campbell

      463. Hame, Hame, Hame

      Allan Cunningham (1784—1842)

      464. A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea

      Allan Cunningham (1784—1842)

      George Gordon, Lord Byron

      465. Youth and Age

      466. The Destruction of Sennacherib

      467. Elegy on Thyrza

      468. When We Two Parted

      469. For Music

      470. She Walks in Beauty

      471. All for Love

      472. Elegy

      473. To Augusta

      474. Epistle to Augusta

      475. Maid of Athens

      476. Darkness

      477. Longing

      478. Fare Thee Well

      479. The Prisoner of Chillon

      480. On the Castle of Chillon

      481. Song of Saul Before His Last Battle

      482. The Isles of Greece

      483. On This Day I Complete My Thirty-Sixth Year

      Thomas Moore (1779—1852)

      484. The Light of Other Days

      485. Pro Patria Mori

      486. The Meeting of the Waters

      487. The Last Rose of Summer

      488. The Harp that Once Through Tara’s Halls

      489. A Canadian Boat-Song

      490. The Journey Onwards

      491. The Young May Moon

      492. Echo

      493. At the Mid Hour of Night

      494. The Burial of Sir John Moore At Corunna

      Charles Wolfe (1791—1823)

      Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792—1822)

      495. Hymn of Pan

      496. Hellas

      497. Invocation

      498. Stanzas Written in Dejection Near Naples

      499. I Fear Thy Kisses

      500. Lines to an Indian Air

      501. To a Skylark

      502. Love’s Philosophy

      503. To the Night

      504. Ode to the West Wind

      505. Written Among the Euganean Hills, North Italy

      506. Hymn to the Spirit of Nature

      507. A Lament

      508. A Dream of the Unknown

      509. The Invitation

      510. The Recollection

      511. To the Moon

      512. A Widow Bird

      513. To a Lady, with a Guitar

      514. One Word is Too Often Profaned

      515. Ozymandias of Egypt

      516. The Flight of Love

      517. The Cloud

      518. Stanzas—April, 1814

      519. Music, When Soft Voices Die

      520. The Poet’s Dream

      521. The World’s Wanderers

      522. Adonais

      James Henry Leigh Hunt (1784—1859)

      523. Jenny Kiss’d Me

      524. Abou Ben Adhem

      John Keats (1795—1821)

      525. The Realm of Fancy

      526. Ode on the Poets

      527. The Mermaid Tavern

      528. Happy Insensibility

      529. Ode to a Nightingale

      530. Ode on a Grecian Urn

      531. Ode to Autumn

      532. Ode to Psyche

      533. Ode on Melancholy

      534. The Eve of St. Agnes

      535. La Belle Dame Sans Merci

      536. On the Grasshopper and Cricket

      537. On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer

      538. To Sleep

      539. The Human Seasons

      540. Great Spirits Now on Earth Are Sojourning

      541. The Terror of Death

      542. Last Sonnet

      Walter Savage Landor (1775—1864)

      543. Rose Aylmer

      544. Twenty Years Hence

      545. Proud Word You Never Spoke

      546. Absence

      547. Dirce

      548. Corinna to Tanagra, from Athens

      549. Mother, I Cannot Mind My Wheel

      550. Well I Remember

      551. No, My Own Love

      552. Robert Browning

      553. The Death of Artemidora

      554. Iphigeneia

      555. ‘Do You Remember Me?’

      556. For an Epitaph at Fiesole

      557. On Lucretia Borgia’s Hair

      558. On His Seventy-Fifth Birthday

      559. To My Ninth Decade

      560. Death Stands Above Me

      561. On Living Too Long

      Thomas Hood (1798—1845)

      562. Fair Ines

      563. The Bridge of Sighs

      564. The Death Bed

      565. Past and Present

      566. Glengariff

      Sir Aubrey De Vere (1788—1846)

      567. She is Not Fair

      Hartley Coleridge (1796—1849)

      568. To Night

      Joseph Blanco White (1775—1841)

      569. The Loveliness of Love

      George Darley (1795—1846)

      Thomas Babington Macaulay, Lord Macaulay (1800—1859)

      570. The Armada

      571. A Jacobite’s Epitaph

      573. The Babie

      Hugh Miller (1802—1856)

      574. Lament of the Irish Emigrant

      Helen Selina, Lady Dufferin (1807—1867)

      575. Letty’s Globe

      Charles Tennyson Turner (1808—1879)

      576. The Fair Hills of Ireland

      Sir Samuel Ferguson (1810—1886)

      Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806—1861)

      577. A Musical Instrument

      578. Sonnets from the Portuguese I

      579. Sonnets from the Portuguese II

      580. Sonnets from the Portuguese III

      581. Sonnets from the Portuguese IV

      582. Sonnets from the Portuguese V

      583. Sonnets from the Portuguese VI

      584. Sonnets from the Portuguese VII

      585. Sonnets from the Portuguese VIII

      586. Sonnets from the Portuguese IX

      587. Sonnets from the Portuguese X

      588. Sonnets from the Portuguese XI

      589. Sonnets from the Portuguese XII

      590. Sonnets from the Portuguese XIII

      591. Sonnets from the Portuguese XIV

      592. Sonnets from the Portuguese XV

      593. Sonnets from the Portuguese XVI

      594. Sonnets from the Portuguese XVII

      595. Sonnets from the Portuguese XVIII

      596. Sonnets from the Portuguese XIX

      597. Sonnets from the Portuguese XX

      598. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXI

      599. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXII

      600. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXIII

      601. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXIV

      602. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXV

      603. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXVI

      604. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXVII

      605. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXVIII

      606. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXIX

      607. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXX

      608. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXXI

      609. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXXII

      610. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXXIII

      611. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXXIV

      612. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXXV

      613. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXXVI

      614. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXXVII

      615. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXXVIII

      616. Sonnets from the Portuguese XXXIX

      617. Sonnets from the Portuguese XL

      618. Sonnets from the Portuguese XLI

      619. Sonnets from the Portuguese XLII

      620. Sonnets from the Portuguese XLIII

      621. Sonnets from the Portuguese XLIV

      622. The Sleep

      623. Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam of Naishapur

      Edward Fitzgerald (1809—1883)

      William Collins (1720—1759)

      294. Fidele

      William Collins (1720—1759)

        TO fair Fidele’s grassy tomb

        Soft maids and village hinds shall bring

        Each opening sweet of earliest bloom,

        And rifle all the breathing Spring.

        No wailing ghost shall dare appear

        To vex with shrieks this quiet grove;

        But shepherds lads assemble here,

        And melting virgins own their love.

        No wither’d witch shall here be seen,

        No goblins lead their nightly crew;

        The female fays shall haunt the green,

        And dress thy grave with pearly dew.

        The redbreast oft at evening hours

        Shall kindly lend his little aid,

        With hoary moss, and gather’d flowers,

        To deck the ground where thou art laid.

        When howling winds, and beating rain,

        In tempests shake thy sylvan cell;

        Or ’midst the chase, on every plain,

        The tender thought on thee shall dwell;

        Each lonely scene shall thee restore,

        For thee the tear be duly shed;

        Beloved, till life can charm no more;

        And mourn’d, till Pity’s self be dead.

      295. Ode Written in MDCCXLVI

      William Collins (1720—1759)

        HOW sleep the Brave, who sink to rest

        By all their Country’s wishes blest!

        When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,

        Returns to deck their hallow’d mould,

        She there shall dress a sweeter sod

        Than Fancy’s feet have ever trod.

        By fairy hands their knell is rung,

        By forms unseen their dirge is sung:

        There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,

        To bless the turf that wraps their clay;

        And Freedom shall awhile repair

        To dwell, a weeping hermit, there!

      296. The Passions

      An Ode for Music

      William Collins (1720—1759)

        WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young,

        While yet in early Greece she sung,

        The Passions oft, to hear her shell,

        Throng’d around her magic cell

        Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,

        Possest beyond the Muse’s painting,

        By turns they felt the glowing mind

        Disturb’d, delighted, raised, refined:

        ’Till once, ’tis said, when all were fired,

        Fill’d with fury, rapt, inspired,

        From the supporting myrtles round

        They snatch’d her instruments of sound,

        And, as they oft had heard apart

        Sweet lessons of her forceful art,

        Each, for Madness ruled the hour,

        Would prove his own expressive power.

        First Fear his hand, its skill to try,

        Amid the chords bewilder’d laid,

        And back recoil’d, he knew not why,

        E’en at the sound himself had made.

        Next Anger rush’d, his eyes on fire,

        In lightnings own’d his secret stings;

        In one rude clash he struck the lyre

        And swept with hurried hand the strings.

        With woeful measures wan Despair,

        Low sullen sounds, his grief beguiled;

        A solemn, strange, and mingled air,

        ’Twas sad by fits, by starts ’twas wild.

        But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,

        What was thy delighted measure?

        Still it whisper’d promised pleasure

        And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail!

        Still would her touch the strain prolong:

        And from the rocks, the woods, the vale

        She call’d on Echo still through all the song;

        And, where her sweetest theme she chose,

        A soft responsive voice was heard at every close;

        And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair;—

        And longer had she sung:—but with a frown

        Revenge impatient rose:

        He threw his blood-stain’d sword in thunder down;

        And with a withering look

        The war-denouncing trumpet took

        And blew a blast so loud and dread,

        Were ne’er prophetic sounds so full of woe!

        And ever and anon he beat

        The doubling drum with furious heat;

        And, though sometimes, each dreary pause between,

        Dejected Pity at his side

        Her soul-subduing voice applied,

        Yet still he kept his wild unalter’d mien,

        While each strain’d ball of sight seem’d bursting from his head.

        Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix’d:

        Sad proof of thy distressful state!

        Of differing themes the veering song was mix’d;

        And now it courted Love, now raving call’d on Hate.

        With eyes up-raised, as one inspired,

        Pale Melancholy sat retired;

        And from her wild sequester’d seat,

        In notes by distance made more sweet,

        Pour’d through the mellow horn her pensive soul:

        And dashing soft from rocks around

        Bubbling runnels join’d the sound;

        Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,

        Or, o’er some haunted stream, with fond delay,

        Round an holy calm diffusing,

        Love of peace, and lonely musing,

        In hollow murmurs died away.

        But O! how alter’d was its sprightlier tone

        When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,

        Her bow across her shoulder flung,

        Her buskins gemm’d with morning dew,

        Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,

        The hunter’s call to Faun and Dryad known!

        The oak-crown’d Sisters and their chaste-eyed Queen,

        Satyrs and Sylvan Boys, were seen

        Peeping from forth their alleys green:

        Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear;

        And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear.

        Last came Joy’s ecstatic trial:

        He, with viny crown advancing,

        First to the lively pipe his hand addrest:

        But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol

        Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best:

        They would have thought who heard the strain

        They saw, in Tempe ’s vale, her native maids

        Amidst the festal-sounding shades

        To some unwearied minstrel dancing;

        While, as his flying fingers kiss’d the strings,

        Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round:

        Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound;

        And he, amidst his frolic play,

        As if he would the charming air repay,

        Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

        O Music! sphere-descended maid,

        Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom’s aid!

        Why, goddess, why, to us denied,

        Lay’st thou thy ancient lyre aside?

        As in that loved Athenian bower

        You learn’d an all-commanding power,

        Thy mimic soul, O nymph endear’d!

        Can well recall what then it heard.

        Where is thy native simple heart

        Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art?

        Arise, as in that elder time,

        Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime!

        Thy wonders, in that god-like age,

        Fill thy recording Sister’s page;—

        ’Tis said, and I believe the tale,

        Thy humblest reed could more prevail

        Had more of strength, diviner rage,

        Than all which charms this laggard age,

        E’en all at once together found

        Cecilia’s mingled world of sound:—

        O bid our vain endeavours cease:

        Revive the just designs of Greece:

        Return in all thy simple state!

        Confirm the tales her sons relate!

      297. To Evening

      William Collins (1720—1759)

        IF aught of oaten stop or pastoral song

        May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear

        Like thy own solemn springs,

        Thy springs and dying gales;

        O Nymph reserved,—while now the bright-hair’d sun

        Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,

        With brede ethereal wove,

        O’erhang his wavy bed,

        Now air is hush’d, save where the weak-eyed bat

        With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing,

        Or where the beetle winds

        His small but sullen horn,

        As oft he rises midst the twilight path,

        Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum,—

        Now teach me, maid composed,

        To breathe some soften’d strain.

        Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale,

        May not unseemly with its stillness suit;

        As, musing slow, I hail

        Thy genial loved return.

        For when thy folding-star arising shows

        His paly circlet, at his warning-lamp

        The fragrant Hours, and Elves

        Who slept in buds the day,

        And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge

        And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still,

        The pensive Pleasures sweet,

        Prepare thy shadowy car.

        Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene;

        Or find some ruin midst its dreary dells,

        Whose walls more awful nod

        By thy religious gleams.

        Or, if chill blustering winds or driving rain

        Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut

        That, from the mountain’s side,

        Views wilds and swelling floods,

        And hamlets brown, and dim-discover’d spires;

        And hears their simple bell; and marks o’er all

        Thy dewy fingers draw

        The gradual dusky veil.

        While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont,

        And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!

        While Summer loves to sport

        Beneath thy lingering light;

        While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves;

        Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air,

        Affrights thy shrinking train

        And rudely rends thy robes;

        So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,

        Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace,

        Thy gentlest influence own,

        And love thy favourite name!

      298. The Dying Man in His Garden

      George Sewell (d. 1726)

        WHY, Damon, with the forward day

        Dost thou thy little spot survey,

        From tree to tree, with doubtful cheer,

        Pursue the progress of the year,

        What winds arise, what rains descend,

        When thou before that year shalt end?

        What do thy noontide walks avail,

        To clear the leaf, and pick the snail,

        Then wantonly to death decree

        An insect usefuller than thee?

        Thou and the worm are brother-kind,

        As low, as earthy, and as blind.

        Vain wretch! canst thou expect to see

        The downy peach make court to thee?

        Or that thy sense shall ever meet

        The bean-flower’s deep-embosom’d sweet

        Exhaling with an evening blast?

        Thy evenings then will all be past!

        Thy narrow pride, thy fancied green

        (For vanity’s in little seen)

        All must be left when Death appears,

        In spite of wishes, groans, and tears;

        Nor one of all thy plants that grow

        But Rosemary will with thee go.

      299. The Flowers of the Forest

      Alison Rutherford Cockburn (1712—1794)

        I’VE seen the smiling

        Of Fortune beguiling;

        I’ve felt all its favours, and found its decay;

        Sweet was its blessing,

        Kind its caressing;

        But now it is fled—fled far away.

        I’ve seen the forest

        Adorned the foremost,

        With flowers of the fairest, most pleasant and gay;

        Sae bonnie was their blooming!

        Their scent the air perfuming!

        But now they are withered and a’ wede away.

        I’ve seen the morning

        With gold the hills adorning,

        And loud tempest storming before the mid-day.

        I’ve seen Tweed ’s silver streams,

        Shinning in the sunny beams

        Grow drumly and dark as he rowed on his way.

        Oh, fickle Fortune!

        Why this cruel sporting?

        Oh, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day?

        Nae mair your smiles can cheer me,

        Nae mair your frowns can fear me;

        For the flowers of the forest are a’ wede away.

      300. Lament for Flodden

      Jane Elliot (1727—1805)

        I’VE heard them lilting at our ewe-milking,

        Lasses a’ lilting before dawn o’ day;

        But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning—

        For the Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede  away.

        At bughts,  in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning,

        Lasses are lonely and dowie  and wae;

        Nae daffin’,  nae gabbin’,  but sighing and sabbing,

        Ilk ane lifts her leglin  and hies her away.

        In har’st,  at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,

        Bandsters  are lyart,  and runkled,  and gray;

        At fair or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching—

        The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.

        At e’en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming

        ’Bout stacks wi’ the lasses at bogle to play;

        But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie—

        The Flowers of the Forest are weded away.

        Dool and wae for the order sent our lads to the Border!

        The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;

        The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,

        The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.

        We’ll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking;

        Women and bairns are heartless and wae;

        Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning—

        The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.

      301. A Song to David

      Christopher Smart (1722—1770)

        O THOU, that sitt’st upon a throne,

        With harp of high, majestic tone,

        To praise the King of kings:

        And voice of heaven, ascending, swell,

        Which, while its deeper notes excel,

        Clear as a clarion rings:

        To bless each valley, grove, and cost,

        And charm the cherubs to the post

        Of gratitude in throngs;

        To keep the days on Zion ’s Mount,

        And send the year to his account,

        With dances and with songs:

        O servant of God’s holiest charge,

        The minister of praise at large,

        Which thou mayst now receive;

        From thy blest mansion hail and hear,

        From topmost eminence appear

        To this the wreath I weave.

        Great, valiant, pious, good, and clean,

        Sublime, contemplative, serene,

        Strong, constant, pleasant, wise!

        Bright effluence of exceeding grace;

        Best man! the swiftness and the race,

        The peril and the prize!

        Great—from the lustre of his crown,

        From Samuel’s horn, and God’s renown,

        Which is the people’s voice;

        For all the host, from rear to van,

        Applauded and embraced the man—

        The man of God’s own choice.

        Valiant—the word, and up he rose;

        The fight—he triumphed o’er the foes

        Whom God’s just laws abhor;

        And, armed in gallant faith, he took

        Against the boaster, from the brook,

        The weapons of the war.

        Pious—magnificent and grand,

        ’Twas he the famous temple plann ’d,

        (The seraph in his soul:)

        Foremost to give the Lord his dues,

        Foremost to bless the welcome news,

        And foremost to condole.

        Good—from Jehudah’s genuine vein,

        From God’s best nature, good in grain,

        His aspect and his heart:

        To pity, to forgive, to save,

        Witness En-gedi’s conscious cave,

        And Shimei’s blunted dart.

        Clean—if perpetual prayer be pure,

        And love, which could itself inure

        To fasting and to fear—

        Clean in his gestures, hands, and feet,

        To smite the lyre, the dance complete,

        To play the sword and spear.

        Sublime—invention ever young,

        Of vast conception, towering tongue,

        To God the eternal theme;

        Notes from yon exaltations caught,

        Unrivalled royalty of thought,

        O’er meaner strains supreme.

        Contemplative—on God to fix

        His musings, and above the six

        The Sabbath-day he blessed;

        ’Twas then his thoughts self-conquest pruned,

        And heavenly melancholy tuned,

        To bless and bear the rest.

        Serene—to sow the seeds of peace,

        Remembering, when he watched the fleece,

        How sweetly Kidron purled—

        To further knowledge, silence vice,

        And plant perpetual paradise,

        When God had calmed the world.

        Strong—in the Lord, who could defy

        Satan, and all his powers that lie

        In sempiternal night;

        And hell, and horror, and despair

        Were as the lion and the bear

        To his undaunted might.

        Constant—in love to God, the Truth,

        Age, manhood, infancy, and youth:

        To Jonathan his friend

        Constant, beyond the verge of death;

        And Ziba, and Mephibosheth,

        His endless fame attend.

        Pleasant—and various as the year;

        Man, soul, and angel without peer,

        Priest, champion, sage, and boy;

        In armour or in ephod clad,

        His pomp, his piety was glad;

        Majestic was his joy.

        Wise—in recovery from his fall,

        Whence rose his eminence o’er all,

        Of all the most reviled;

        The light of Israel in his ways,

        Wise are his precepts, prayer, and praise,

        And counsel to his child.

        His muse, bright angel of his verse,

        Gives balm for all the thorns that pierce,

        For all the pangs that rage;

        Blest light, still gaining on the gloom,

        The more than Michal of his bloom,

        The Abishag of his age.

        He sang of God—the mighty source

        Of all things—the stupendous force

        On which all strength depends;

        From Whose right arm, beneath Whose eyes,

        All period, power, and enterprise

        Commences, reigns, and ends.

        Angels—their ministry and meed,

        Which to and fro with blessings speed,

        Or with their citterns wait;

        Where Michael, with his millions, bows,

        Where dwells the seraph and his spouse,

        The cherub and her mate.

        Of man—the semblance and effect

        Of God and love—the saint elect

        For infinite applause—

        To rule the land, and briny broad,

        To be laborious in his laud,

        And heroes in his cause.

        The world—the clustering spheres He made,

        The glorious light, the soothing shade,

        Dale, champaign, grove, and hill;

        The multitudinous abyss,

        Where Secrecy remains in bliss,

        And Wisdom hides her skill.

        Trees, plants, and flowers—of virtuous root;

        Gem yielding blossom, yielding fruit,

        Choice gums and precious balm;

        Bless ye the nosegay in the vale,

        And with the sweetness of the gale

        Enrich the thankful psalm.

        Of fowl—even every beak and wing

        Which cheer the winter, hail the spring,

        That live in peace or prey;

        They that make music, or that mock,

        The quail, the brave domestic cock.

        The raven, swan, and jay.

        Of fishes—every size and shape,

        Which nature frames of light escape,

        Devouring man to shun:

        The shells are in the wealthy deep,

        The shoals upon the surface leap,

        And love the glancing sun.

        Of beasts—the beaver plods his task;

        While the sleek tigers roll and bask,

        Nor yet the shades arouse;

        Her cave the mining coney scoops;

        Where o’er the mead the mountain stoops,

        The kids exult and browse.

        Of gems—their virtue and their price,

        Which, hid in earth from man’s device,

        Their darts of lustre sheath;

        The jasper of the master’s stamp,

        The topaz blazing like a lamp,

        Among the mines beneath.

        Blest was the tenderness he felt,

        When to his graceful harp he knelt,

        And did for audience call;

        When Satan with his hand he quelled,

        And in serene suspense he held

        The frantic throes of Saul.

        His furious foes no more maligned

        As he such melody divined,

        And sense and soul detained;

        Now striking strong, now soothing soft,

        He sent the godly sounds aloft,

        Or in delight refrained.

        When up to heaven his thoughts he piled,

        From fervent lips fair Michal smiled,

        As blush to blush she stood;

        And chose herself the queen, and gave

        Her utmost from her heart—‘so brave,

        And plays his hymns so good.’

        The pillars of the Lord are seven,

        Which stand from earth to topmost heaven;

        His Wisdom drew the plan;

        His Word accomplished the design,

        From brightest gem to deepest mine,

        From CHRIST enthroned to Man.

      Alpha, the cause of causes, first

        In station, fountain, whence the burst

        Of light and blaze of day;

        Whence bold attempt, and brave advance,

        Have motion, life, and ordinance,

        And heaven itself its stay.

      Gamma supports the glorious arch

        On which angelic legions march,

        And is with sapphires paved;

        Thence the fleet clouds are sent adrift,

        And thence the painted folds that lift

        The crimson veil, are waved.

      Eta with living sculpture breathes,

        With verdant carvings, flowery wreathes,

        Of never-wasting bloom;

        In strong relief his goodly base

        All instruments of labour grace,

        The trowel, spade, and loom.

        Next Theta stands to the supreme—

        Who formed in number, sign, and scheme,

        The illustrious lights that are;

        And one addressed his saffron robe,

        And one, clad in a silver globe,

        Held rule with every star.

      Iota’s tuned to choral hymns

        Of those that fly, while he that swims

        In thankful safety lurks;

        And foot, and chapiter, and niche,

        The various histories enrich

        Of God’s recorded works.

      Sigma presents the social droves

        With him that solitary roves,

        And man of all the chief;

        Fair on whose face, and stately frame,

        Did God impress His hallowed name,

        For ocular belief.

      Omega! greatest and the best,

        Stands sacred to the day of rest,

        For gratitude and thought;

        Which blessed the world upon his pole,

        And gave the universe his goal,

        And closed the infernal draught.

        O David, scholar of the Lord!

        Such is thy science, whence reward,

        And infinite degree;

        O strength, O sweetness, lasting ripe!

        God’s harp thy symbol, and thy type

        The lion and the bee!

        There is but One who ne’er rebelled,

        But One by passion unimpelled,

        By pleasures unenticed;

        He from himself hath semblance sent,

        Grand object of his own content,

        And saw the God in Christ.

        Tell them, I AM, Jehovah said

        To Moses; while earth heard in dread,

        And, smitten to the heart,

        At once above, beneath, around,

        All Nature, without voice or sound,

        Replied, ‘O Lord, THOU ART.’

        Thou art—to give and to confirm,

        For each his talent and his term;

        All flesh thy bounties share:

        Thou shalt not call thy brother fool:

        The porches of the Christian school

        Are meekness, peace, and prayer.

        Open and naked of offence,

        Man’s made of mercy, soul, and sense:

        God armed the snail and wilk;

        Be good to him that pulls thy plough;

        Due food and care, due rest allow

        For her that yields thee milk.

        Rise up before the hoary head,

        And God’s benign commandment dread,

        Which says thou shalt not die:

        ‘Not as I will, but as Thou wilt,’

        Prayed He, whose conscience knew no guilt;

        With Whose blessed pattern vie.

        Use all thy passions! love is thine,

        And joy and jealousy divine;

        Thine hope’s eternal fort,

        And care thy leisure to disturb,

        With fear concupiscence to curb,

        And rapture to transport.

        Act simply, as occasion asks;

        Put mellow wine in seasoned casks;

        Till not with ass and bull:

        Remember thy baptismal bond;

        Keep thy commixtures foul and fond,

        Nor work thy flax with wool.

        Distribute; pay the Lord His tithe,

        And make the widow’s heart-strings blithe;

        Resort with those that weep:

        As you from all and each expect,

        For all and each thy love direct,

        And render as you reap.

        The slander and its bearer spurn,

        And propagating praise sojourn

        To make thy welcome last;

        Turn from old Adam to the New:

        By hope futurity pursue:

        Look upwards to the past.

        Control thine eye, salute success,

        Honour the wiser, happier bless,

        And for their neighbour feel;

        Grutch not of mammon and his leaven,

        Work emulation up to heaven

        By knowledge and by zeal.

        O David, highest in the list

        Of worthies, on God’s ways insist,

        The genuine word repeat!

        Vain are the documents of men,

        And vain the flourish of the pen

        That keeps the fool’s conceit.

        Praise above all—for praise prevails;

        Heap up the measure, load the scales,

        And good to goodness add:

        The generous soul her Saviour aids,

        But peevish obloquy degrades;

        The Lord is great and glad.

        For Adoration all the ranks

        Of Angels yield eternal thanks,

        And David in the midst:

        With God’s good poor, which, last and least

        In man’s esteem, Thou to Thy feast,

        O Blessed Bridegroom, bidst.

        For Adoration seasons change,

        And order, truth, and beauty range,

        Adjust, attract, and fill:

        The grass the polyanthus checks;

        And polished porphyry reflects,

        By the descending rill.

        Rich almonds colour to the prime

        For Adoration; tendrils climb,

        And fruit-trees pledge their gems;

        And Ivis, with her gorgeous vest,

        Builds for her eggs her cunning nest,

        And bell-flowers bow their stems.

        With vinous syrup cedars spout;

        From rocks pure honey gushing out,

        For Adoration springs:

        All scenes of painting crowd the map

        Of nature; to the mermaid’s pap

        The scalèd infant clings.

        The spotted ounce and playsome cubs

        Run rustling ’mong the flowering shrubs.

        And lizards feed the moss;

        For Adoration beasts embark,

        While waves upholding halcyon’s ark

        No longer roar and toss.

        While Israel sits beneath his fig,

        With coral root and amber sprig

        The weaned adventurer sports;

        Where to the palm the jasmine cleaves,

        For Adoration ’mong the leaves

        The gale his peace reports.

        Increasing days their reign exalt,

        Nor in the pink and mottled vault

        The opposing spirits tilt;

        And by the coasting reader spied,

        The silverlings and crusions glide

        For Adoration gilt.

        For Adoration ripening canes,

        And cocoa’s purest milk detains

        The western pilgrim’s staff;

        Where rain in clasping boughs enclosed,

        And vines with oranges disposed,

        Embower the social laugh.

        Now labour his reward receives,

        For Adoration counts his sheaves,

        To peace, her bounteous prince;

        The nect’rine his strong tint imbibes,

        And apples of ten thousand tribes,

        And quick peculiar quince.

        The wealthy crops of whitening rice

        ’Mongst thyine woods and groves of spice,

        For Adoration grow;

        And, marshalled in the fencèd land,

        The peaches and pomegranates stand,

        Where wild carnations blow.

        The laurels with the winter strive;

        The crocus burnishes alive

        Upon the snow-clad earth;

        For Adoration myrtles stay

        To keep the garden from dismay,

        And bless the sight from dearth.

        The

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