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Or who would reign o'er vale and hill,
One jerk, and there a lady lay,
A lady wondrous fair ; But the rose of her lip had faded away, And her cheek was as white and as cold as clay,
And torn was her raven hair.
Her gallant was hooked before ;'
The eyes of Mistress Shore !
But he signed- he knew not why or how,-
• O ho! O ho!
The cock doth crow;
With as clear articulation
Against Emancipation ;
Had roused the zeal of martyrs,
And the King himself three-quarters : But ever since that hour, 'tis said,
He stammered and he stuttered,
With every word he uttered.
He stuttered drunk or dry ;
WHEN the British warrior-queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,
Counsel of her country's gods,
Sat the Druid, hoary chief,
Full of rage and full of grief.
• Princess! If our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties
All the terrors of our tongues. “Rome shall perish-- write that word
In the blood that she has spilt ;
Deep in ruin as in guilt.
Tramples on a thousand states ; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates. • Other Romans shall arise,
Heedless of a soldier's name ; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame. • Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land, Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings,
Shall a wider world command. Regions Cæsar never knew
Thy posterity shall sway,
None invincible as they.'
Pregnant with celestial fire,
Of his sweet but awful lyre. She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow, Rush'd to battle, fought, and died ;
Dying, hurld them at the foe. Ruffians, pitiless as proud,
Heav'n awards the vengeance due : Empire is on us bestow'd, Shame and ruin wait for you.
On the Departure of Sir Walter Scott
from Abbotsford for Naples (1831] A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height; Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain For kindred Power departing from their sight; While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain, Saddens his voice again, and yet again. Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners ! for the might Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes ; Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue Than sceptred king or laurelled conqueror knows, Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true, Ye winds of ocean, and the midland sea, Wafting your Charge to soft Parthenope !
RICHARD BARNFIELD (1574-1627) was born at Norbury, in Shropshire. His father was a gentleman, and he went in due course to Oxford, and was a friend of the poet Drayton, and of Francis Meres, who gives us interesting information about Shakespeare.
In 1594 Barnfield published a small volume of poems entitled The Affectionate Shepherd, and dedicated them to Penelope Lady Rich, the Stella whom Sir Philip Sidney's sonnets have made so famous. In 1595 he published another volume entitled Cynthia, and in 1598 a third, wherein occur two beautiful poems which in the following year appeared again as part of The Passionate Pilgrim with the name of William Shakespeare as author. The two poems are, the one beginning
• If music and sweet poetry agree,' and the other beginning
• As it fell upon a day.'
There is little doubt that they are both the work of Barnfield, and they well show the richness of his fancy, and the power and sweetness of his language. The ascription of the name of Shakespeare is the device of the publisher, and there is good evidence that other parts of The Passionate Pilgrim belong to Christopher Marlowe and to Sir Walter Raleigh.
WILLIAM BLAKE (1757-1828) was born in Broad Street, Soho, where his father was a well-to-do hosier. The boy gave his heart to sketching and writing poetry, and his father apprenticed him to an engraver in Lincoln's Inn Fields. His first volume of Poetical Sketches appeared in 1783. It