TO ROBERT BROWNING

(From the same)

There is delight in singing, tho' none hear Beside the singer; and there is delight In praising, tho' the praiser sit alone. And see the prais'd far off him, far above. 5 Shakespeare is not our poet, but the world's, Therefore on him no speech! and brief for thee, Browning! Since Chaucer was alive and hale, No man hath walkt along our roads with step So active, so inquiring eye, or tongue

10 So varied in discourse. But warmer climes Give brighter plumage, stronger wing: the breeze Of Alpine heights thou playest with, borne on Beyond Sorrento and Amalfi, where

The Siren waits thee, singing song for song.

INTRODUCTION TO

THE LAST FRUIT OFF AN OLD TREE

(1853)

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art;

I warmed both hands before the fire of Life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

Bryan Waller Procter
(Barry Cornwall)

1787-1874

A PETITION TO TIME

(From Poems, 1850)

Touch us gently, Time!

Let us glide adown thy stream
Gently, as we sometimes glide
Through a quiet dream!

5 Humble voyagers are We,

10

Husband, wife, and children three(One is lost, an angel, fled

To the azure overhead!)

Touch us gently, Time!

We've not proud nor soaring wings:
Our ambition, our content

Lies in simple things.
Humble voyagers are We,

O'er Life's dim unsounded sea, 15 Seeking only some calm clime:Touch us gently, gentle Time!

bartley Coleridge

1796-1849

SONG

(1851)

She is not fair to outward view
As many maidens be,

Her loveliness I never knew

Until she smiled on me;

5 Oh! then I saw her eye was bright, A well of love, a spring of light.

10

But now her looks are coy and cold,
To mine they ne'er reply,

And yet I cease not to behold

The love-light in her eye:
Her very frowns are fairer far,
Than smiles of other maidens are.

Charles Lamb

1775-1834

TO HESTER

(1805)

When maidens such as Hester die,
Their place ye may not well supply,
Though ye among a thousand try,
With vain endeavour.

5 A month or more hath she been dead,
Yet cannot I by force be led
To think upon the wormy bed,
And her together.

A springy motion in her gait, 10 A rising step, did indicate

Of pride and joy no common rate,
That flushed her spirit.

I know not by what name beside
I shall it call;-if 'twas not pride,
15 It was a joy to that allied,
She did inherit.

20

Her parents held the Quaker rule,
Which doth the human feeling cool,
But she was train'd in Nature's school,
Nature had blest her.

A waking eye, a prying mind,
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind,
A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind,
Ye could not Hester.

10

25 My sprightly neighbour, gone before
To that unknown and silent shore,
Shall we not meet, as heretofore,
Some summer morning,

When from thy cheerful eyes a ray
30 Hath struck a bliss upon the day,
A bliss that would not go away,
A sweet fore-warning?

Thomas bood

1798-1845

THE DEATH BED

(From Poems, 1825)

We watched her breathing thro' the night,
Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.

5 So silently we seemed to speak,
So slowly moved about,

As we had lent her half our powers
To eke her living out.

Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our fears our hopes belied-

We thought her dying when she slept,

And sleeping when she died.

For when the morn came dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,

15 Her quiet eyelids closed-she had
Another morn than ours.

THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS

("Drowned! drowned!"-Hamlet)

(First published in Hood's Magazine, 1844)
One more Unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

5 Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Look at her garments
10 Clinging like cerements;
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.-

15 Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her,
All that remains of her
20 Now is pure womanly.

Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny

Rash and undutiful:

Past all dishonor,

25 Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.

Still, for all slips of hers,

One of Eve's family-
Wipe those poor lips of hers

30 Oozing so clammily,