The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Lets in new light through chinks that time Stronger by weakness, wiser men become Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers, LIV. Oh yet we trust that somehow good To pangs of nature, sins of will, That nothing walks with aimless feet; That stand upon the threshold of the new. That not a worm is cloven in vain; EDMUND WALLER. FROM IN MEMORIAM.” 1. I HELD it truth, with him who sings And find in loss a gain to match? Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd, XXXII. Her eyes are homes of silent prayer, Nor other thought her mind admits But, he was dead, and there he sits, And He that brought him back is there. Then one deep love doth supersede All other, when her ardent gaze Roves from the living brother's face, And rests upon the Life indeed. All subtle thought, all curious fears, Borne down by gladness so complete, She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet With costly spikenard and with tears. That not a moth with vain desire Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire, Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall So runs my dream: but what am I? LXXVIII. Again at Christmas did we weave The holly round the Christmas hearth; Again our ancient games had place, No single tear, no mark of pain: O last regret, regret can die! No-mixt with all this mystic frame, CVI. Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, Ring, happy bells, across the snow : Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin, The faithless coldness of the times; Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride in place and blood, Ring out old shapes of foul disease; ALFRED TENNYSON. RECESSIONAL. (London Times, July 17, 1897.) GOD of our fathers, known of oldLord of our far-flung battle-lineBeneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pineLord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget-lest we forget! The tumult and the shouting diesThe captains and the kings departStill stands Thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart. Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget-lest we forget! Far-called our navies melt away On dune and headland sinks the fireLo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget--lest we forget! If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in aweSuch boasting as the Gentiles use Or lesser breeds without the lawLord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget-lest we forget! For heathen heart that puts her trust And guarding calls not Thee to guard- RUDYARD KIPLING. POEMS OF SENTIMENT. ON THE PROSPECT OF PLANTING | Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA. THE Muse, disgusted at an age and clime Barren of every glorious theme, In distant lands now waits a better time, Producing subjects worthy fame. In happy climes, where from the genial sun And virgin earth such scenes ensue, The force of Art by Nature seems outdone, And fancied beauties by the true; In happy climes, the seat of innocence, Where Nature guides and Virtue rules, Where men shall not impose for truth and sense The pedantry of courts and schools; Not such as Europe breeds in her decay; By future poets shall be sung. Westward the course of empire takes its way; The four first acts already past, A fifth shall close the drama with the day; Time's noblest offspring is the last. GEORGE BERKELEY, A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT. WHAT was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river? Spreading ruin and scattering ban. 46 goat, And breaking the golden lilies afloat He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep, cool bed of the river. The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away, Ere he brought it out of the river. High on the shore sate the great god Pan, While turbidly flow'd the river, And hack'd and hew'd as a great god can With his hard, bleak steel at the patient reed, Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed To prove it fresh from the river. He cut it short, did the great god Pan Steadily from the outside ring, "This is the way," laugh'd the great god Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, To laugh, as he sits by the river, Making a poet out of a man. Then, round her slender waist he curl'd, And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. The true gods sigh for the cost and the The listening crowd admire the lofty The master saw the madness rise- He sung Darius great and good, Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen- And welt'ring in his blood; sate Revolving in his alter'd soul And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again. At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. CHORUS. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair Who caused his care, And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again. At length, with love and wine at once op press'd, The vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast. VI. The various turns of chance be- Now strike the golden lyre again low; And, now and then, a sigh he stole ; And tears began to flow. CHORUS. Revolving in his alter'd soul The various turns of chance be low; A louder yet, and yet a louder strain! Hark, hark! the horrid sound Has raised up his head! As awaked from the dead, And, now and then, a sigh he stole; Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries; And tears began to flow. V. The mighty master smiled to see Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. War, he sung, is toil and trouble; Honor but an empty bubble Never ending, still beginningFighting still, and still destroying; If the world be worth thy winning, Think, oh think it worth enjoying! Lovely Thais sits beside theeTake the good the gods provide thee. The many rend the sky with loud applause; So Love was crown'd, but Music won the cause. The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gazed on the fair Who caused his care, See the Furies arise! See the snakes that they rear, How they hiss in their hair, And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! Behold a ghastly band, Each a torch in his hand! Those are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, And unburied remain, Behold how they toss their torches on high, The princes applaud with a furious joy, And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy; Thais led the way To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fired another Troy. |