Be your title what it may,
Sweet the lengthening April day,
While with you the soul is free,
Ranging wild o'er hill and lea.
Needs no show of mountain hoary,
Winding shore or deep'ning glen,
Where the landscape in its glory
Teaches truth to wandering men:
Give true hearts but earth and sky,
And some flowers to bloom and die,-
Homely scenes and simple views
Lowly thoughts may best infuse.
See the soft green willow springing
Where the waters gently pass,
Every way her free arms flinging
O'er the moist and reedy grass.
Long ere winter blasts are fled,
See her tipp'd with vernal red,
And her kindly flower display'd
Ere her leaf can cast a shade.
Though the rudest hand assail her,
Patiently she droops awhile,
But when flowers and breezes hail her,
Wears again her willing smile.
Thus I learn Contentment's power
From the slighted willow bower,
Ready to give thanks and live,
On the least that Heaven may give.
If, the quiet brooklet leaving,
Up the stony vale I wind,
Haply half in fancy grieving
For the shades I leave behind,
By the dusty wayside drear
Nightingales with joyous cheer
Sing, my sadness to reprove,
Gladlier than in cultur'd grove.
Where the thickest boughs are twining
Of the greenest darkest tree,
There they plunge, the light declining— All may hear, but none may see.
Fearless of the passing hoof,
Hardly will they fleet aloof;
So they live in modest ways,
Trust entire, and ceaseless praise.
John Keble: 1792-1866.
At the age of 19, Keble was elected to a Fellowship at Oriel College, and remained at Oxford for some years as tutor and examiner. He afterwards became his father's curate at ColnSt-Aldwynds, Gloucestershire. In 1833 he was appointed professor of poetry at Oxford. Finally he became vicar of Hursley, near Winchester. of The Christian Year.
He is best known as the author
SELKIRK1 IN JUAN FERNANDEZ.
I AM monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute;
From the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O solitude! where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,-
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts that roam over the plain
My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.
1 Alexander Selkirk was a Scotch sailor who was punished for insubordination by being left on the island of Juan Fernandez. After some time he was rescued, and returned to England. His adventures gave De Foe the notion of writing Robinson Crusoe.
Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestow'd upon man,
Oh had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the sallies1 of youth.
Religion! what treasure untold
Lies hid in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver or gold,
Or aught that this earth can afford.
But the sound of the church-going bell
These valleys and rocks never heard, .
Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a sabbath appear'd
Ye winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more.
My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
Oh tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.
How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-wingèd arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But, alas recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
1 sallies-gay words and frolics.
There's mercy in every place,
And mercy-encouraging thought—
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.
William Cowper: 1731-1800.
THE night is come, but not too soon;
And sinking silently,
All silently, the little moon
Drops down behind the sky.
There is no light in earth or heaven,
But the cold light of stars;
And the first watch of night is given
To the red planet Mars.
Is it the tender star of love?
The star of love and dreams?
Oh, no! from that blue tent above,
A hero's armour gleams.
And earnest thoughts within me rise,
When I behold afar,
Suspended in the evening skies,
The shield of that red star.
O star of strength! I see thee stand
And smile upon my pain;
Thou beckonest with thy mailèd hand
And I am strong again.
Within my breast there is no light,
But the cold light of stars;
I give the first watch of the night
To the red planet Mars.
The star of the unconquered will,
He rises in my breast,
Serene, and resolute, and still,
And calm, and self-possessed.
And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art,
That readest this brief psalm,
As one by one thy hopes depart,
Be resolute and calm.
Oh, fear not in a world like this,
And thou shalt know ere long,
Know how sublime a thing it is
To suffer and be strong.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: born, 1807.
(See page 14.)
SPRINGFIELD ARSENAL.
THIS is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling,
Like a huge organ, rise the burnished arms;
But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing
Startles the villages with strange alarms.
Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary,
When the death-angel touches those swift keys!
What loud lament and dismal Miserere1
Will mingle with their awful symphonies!
I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus,
The cries of agony, the endless groan,
Which, through the ages that have gone before us,
In long reverberations 3 reach our own.
The tumult of each sacked and burning village;
The shout that every prayer for mercy drowns ;
The soldiers' revels in the midst of pillage;
The wail of famine in beleaguered towns;
1 miserere-prayer for mercy.
music for instruments. 3 reverberations-echoings to and fro, 4 beleaguered surrounded by armies, besieged.
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