And sounding lyre 2 speed Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store And added length to solemn sounds, With Nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. -Let old Timotheus yield the prize Or both divide the crown; He raised a mortal to the skies; She drew an angel down! J. DRYDEN. THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD COME live with me and be my love, And we will sit upon the rocks, And I will make thee beds of roses A gown made of the finest wool, A belt of straw and ivy-buds With coral clasps and amber studs, Thy silver dishes for thy meat The shepherd-swains shall dance and sing MARLOWE. THE FLOWERS O' THE FOREST I've heard them lilting, at the ewe-milking, But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning; At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning; Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing; In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching; At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border! The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; The Flowers o' 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; ELLIOTT. ULALUME I THE skies they were ashen and sober; In the misty mid region of Weir,— II Here once, through an alley Titanic Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul,— Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole,That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. III Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere,- Our memories were treacherous and sere; For we knew not the month was October, (Though once we had journeyed down here), Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. |