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Some twenty of his train came, rank on rank; New thoughts of life, for it seemed full of soul, – He gave the word, — “Arrest, or slay, the Frank.” She had so much, earth could not claim the whole.
Then, with a sudden movement, he withdrew
She woke at length, but not as sleepers wake, His daughter; while compressed within his Rather the dead, for life seemed something new, clasp,
A strange sensation which she must partake 'Twixt her and Juan interposed the crew;
Perforce, since whatsoever met her view In vain she struggled in her father's grasp, Struck not hor memory, though a heavy ache His arms were like a serpent's coil : then flew
Lay at her heart, whose earliest beat, still true, Upon their prey, as darts an angry asp, Brought back the sense of pain without the cause, The file of pirates ; save the foremost, who For, for a while, the furies made a pause. Had fallen, with his right shoulder half cut through.
She looked on many a face with vacant eye, The second had his cheek laid open ; but
On many a token without knowing what;
She saw them watch her without asking why ; The third, a wary, cool, old sworder, took
And recked not who around her pillow sat ; The blows upon his cutlass, and then put
Not speechless, though she spoke not; not a sigh His own well in : so well, ere you could look,
Relieved her thoughts ; dull silence and quick His man was floored, and helpless, at his foot,
chat With the blood running, like a little brook,
Were tried in vain by those who served; she gave From two smart sabre-gashes, deep and red,
No sign, save breath, of having left the grave. One on the arm, the other on the head. And then they bound him where he fell, and bore Her handmaids tended, but she heeded not ; Juan from the apartment: with a sign,
Her father watched, she turned her eyes away ; Old Lambro bade them take him to the shore,
She recognized no being, and no spot, Where lay some ships which were to sail at nine.
However dear, or cherished in their day ; They laid him in a boat, and plied the oar
They changed from room to room, but all forgot,
Gentle, but without memory, she lay ;
At length those eyes, which they would fain be
weaning They stowed him, with strict orders to the watches.
Back to old thoughts, waxed full of fearful meanThe last sight Haidee saw was Juan's gore,
ing. And he himself o'ermastered and cut down : His blood was running on the very floor,
And then a slave bethought her of a harp ; Where late he trod, her beautiful, her own;
The harper came, and tuned his instrument; Thus much she viewed an instant and no more,
At the first notes, irregular and sharp, Her struggles ceased with one convulsive groan ;
On him her flashing eyes a moment bent, On her sire's arm, which until now scarce held
Then to the wall she turned, as if to warp Her, writhing, fell she, like a cedar felled. Her thoughts from sorrow, through her heart
re-sent; A vein had burst, and her sweet lips' pure (lyes And he began a long low island-song
Were dabbled with the deep blood which ran of ancient days, ere tyranny grew strong.
And her head drooped, as when the lily lies Anon her thin wan fingers beat the wall, O'ercharged with rain : her summoned hand- In time to his old tune ; he changed the theme, maids bore
And sung of love; the fierce name struck through Their lady to her couch, with gushing eyes ;
all Of herbs and cordials they produced their store, Her recollection ; on her flashed the dream But she defied all means they could employ, Of what she was, and is, if ye could call Like one life could not hold, nor death destroy. To be so being; in a gushing stream
The tears rushed forth from her o'erclouded brain, Days lay she in that state, unchanged, though Like mountain mists at length dissolved in rain.
chill, With nothing livid, still her lips were red ; Short solace, vain relief ! — thought came too She had no pulse, but death seemed absent still ; quick, No hideous sign proclaimed her surely dead ;
And whirled her brain to madness; she arose, Corruption came not, in each mind to kill As one who ne'er had dwelt among the sick,
All hope ; to look upon her sweet face bred And flew at all she met, as on her foes ;
But no one ever heard her speak or shriek, Purple the sails, and so perfuméd, that Although her paroxysm drew towards its The winds were love-sick with them; the oars close ;
were silver ; Hers was a frenzy which disdained to rave, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made Even when they smote her, in the hope to save. The water, which they beat, to follow faster,
Asamorous of their strokes. For her own person, Yet she betrayed at times a gleam of sense ;
It beggared all description : she did lie Nothing could make her meet her father's face, In her pavilion (cloth of gold of tissue), Though on all other things with looks intense
O'erpicturing that Venus, where we see, She gazed, but none she ever could retrace ;
The fancy out-work nature ; on each side her Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, Availed for either; neither change of place,
With divers-colored fans, whose wind did seem Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give her to glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, Senses to sleep, — the power seemed gone forever. And what they undid, did. Twelve daysand nights she withered thus; at last, AGRIPPA.
O, rare for Antony! Without a groan or sigh or glance to show Eno. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereids, A parting pang, the spirit from her past; So many mermaids, tendered her i' the eyes, And they who watched her nearest could not And made their bends adornings : at the helm know
A seeming mermaid steers : the silken tackle The very instant, till the change that cast Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands,
Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, That yarely frame the office. From the barge Glazed o'er her eyes, -the beautiful, the black, -- A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 0, to possess such lustre, and then lack ! Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast
Her people out upon her; and Antony, She died, but not alone ; she held within
Enthronéd i' the market-place, did sit alone, A second principle of life, which might
Whistling to the air ; which, but for vacancy, Have dawned a fair and sinless child of sin;
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, But closed its little being without light,
And made a gap in nature. And went down to the grave unborn, wherein
Rare Egyptian ! Blossom and bough lie withered with one
Exo. Upon her landing, Antony sent to her, blight;
Invited her to supper : she replied, In vain the dews of heaven descend above
It should be better he became her guest ; The bleeding flower and blasted fruit of love.
Which she entreated : our courteous Antony, Thus lived, thus died she; nevermore on her,
Whom ne'er the word of “No" woman heard
Which colder hearts endure till they are laid And, for his ordinary, pays his heart
Royal wench! Long with her destiny ; but she sleeps well MECENAS. Now Antony must leave her utterly. By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell. Exo. Never ; he will not :
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale That isle is now all desolate and bare,
Her infinite variety : other women cloy Its dwellings down, its tenants passed away ;
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry None but her own and father's grave is there,
Where most she satisfies : for vilest things And nothing outward tells of human clay ;
Become themselves in her; that the holy priests Ye could not know where lies a thing so fair, Bless her when she is riggish.
No stone is there to show, no tongue to say, What was ; no dirge, except the hollow sea's, Mourns o'er the beauty of the Cyclades.
Not only we, the latest seed of Time,
that in the flying of a wheel ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA."
Cry down the past ; not only we, that prate EXOBARBUS. The barge she sat in, like a bur- of rights and wrongs, have loved the people well, nished throne,
And loathed to see them overtaxed; but she Burned on the water: the poop was beaten gold ;) Did more, and underwent, and overcame,
The woman of a thousand summers back,
Then she rode back, clothed on with chastity : Godiva, wife to that grim Earl who ruled And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, In Coventry : for when he laid a tax
The fatal byword of all years to come, Upon his town, and all the mothers brought Boring a little auger-hole in fear, Their children, clamoring, “If we pay, we Peeped — but his eyes, before they had their starve !'
will, She sought herlord, and found him, where he strode Were shrivelled into darkness in his head, About the hall, among his dogs, alone,
And dropt before him. So the Powers, who wait His beard a foot before him, and his hair On noble deeds, cancelled a sense misused ; A yard behind. She told him of their tears, And she, that knew not, passed : and all at once, And prayed him, “If they pay this tax, they With twelve great shocks of sound, the shameless
starve." Whereat he stared, replying, half amazed, Was clashed and hammered from a hundred towers, “You would not let your little finger ache One after one : but even then she gained For such as these ?” — “But I would die,” said Her bower; whence re-issuing, robed and crowned, she.
To meet her lord, she took the tax away, He laughed, and swore by Peter and by Paul: And built herself an everlasting name. Then filliped at the diamond in her ear; “O, ay, ay, ay, you talk !" — “Alas !” she said, “But prove me what it is I would not do." And from a heart as rough as Esau's hand,
THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS. He answered, “ Ride you naked through the town, And I repeal it”; and nodding, as in scorn, THERE also was a Nun, a Prioress, He parted, with great strides among his dogs. That in her smiling was full simple and coy ;
So left alone, the passions of her mina, Her greatest oath was but by Saint Eloy ; As winds from all the compass shift and blow, And she was cleped Madame Eglantine. Made war upon each other for an hour,
Full well she sang the service divine, Till pity won. She sent a herald forth,
Entuned in her nose full sweetly ; And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet, all And French she spake full faire and fetisly, The hard condition ; but that she would loose After the school of Stratford at Bow, The people : therefore, as they loved her well, For French of Paris was to her unknowe. From then till noon no foot should pace the street, At meat was she well ytaught withall ; No eye look down, she passing ; but that all She let no morsel from her lips fall, Should keep within, door shut and window barred. Nor wet her fingers in her sauce deep ;
Then fled she to her inmost bower, and there Well could she carry a morsel, and well keep, Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt, That no drop neer fell upon her breast. The grim Earl's gift ; but ever at a breath In courtesie was set full much her lest. She lingered, looking like a summer moon Half dipt in cloud : anon she shook her head, And certainly she was of great disport, And showered the rippled ringlets to her knee ; And full pleasant, and amiable of port, Unclad herself in haste ; adown the stair Stole on ; and, like a creeping sunbeam, slid And took much pains to imitate the air From pillar unto pillar, until she reached Of court, and hold a stately manner, The gateway ; there she found her palfrey trapt And to be thoughten high of reverence. In purple blazoned with armorial gold.
But for to speaken of her conscience, Then she rode forth, clothed on with chastity : She was so charitable and so piteous, The deep air listened round her as she rode, She would weep if that she saw a mouse And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled ; The little wide-mouthed heads upon the spout Two small hounds had she that she fed Had cunning eyes to see : the barking cur With roasted flesh, and milk, and wasted bread, Made her cheek flame: her palfrey's footfall shot But sore she wept if one of them were dead, Light horrors through her pulses: the blind Or if men smote it with a staff smarte : walls
She was all conscience and tender heart. Were full of chinks and holes ; and overhead Full seemely her wimple pinched was ; Fantastic gables, crowding, stared : but she
was strait; her eyes were grey as Not less through all bore up, till, last, she saw glass, The white-flowered elder-thicket from the field Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and reil : Gleam through the Gothic archways in the wall. ' But certainly she had a fair forehead.
It was almost a span broad I trow,
Full handsome was her cloak, as I was 'ware
Another Nux also with her had she That was her chaplain, and of Priests three.
A good man there was of religion, That was a poor PARSONE of a town; But rich he was in holy thought and work, He was also a learned man, a clerk, That Christ's gospel truely would preach. His parishens devoutly would he teach, Benigne he was and wondrous diligent, And in adversity full patient : And such he was yproved often times ; Full loth were he to cursen for his tithes, But rather would he given, out of doubt, Unto his poor parishioners about, Of his offering, and eke of his substance ; He could in little thing have suffisance. Wide was his parish, and houses far asunder, But he nor felt nor thought of rain or thunder, In sickness and in mischief to visit The farthest in his parish, much and oft, Upon his feet, and in his hand a staff. This noble ensample to his sheep he gave. That first he wrought, and afterward he taught, Out of the gospel he the words caught, And this figure he added yet thereto, That if gold rust, what should iron do ? And if a priest be foul, on whom we trust, No wonder if a common man do rust; Well ought a priest ensample for to give, By his cleanness, how his sheep should live.
He set not his benefice to hire, Or left his sheep bewildered in the mire, And ran unto London, unto Saint Paul's, To seeken him a chanterie for souls, Or with a brotherhood to be withold: But dwelt at home, and kept well his fold, So that the wolf ne inade it not miscarry. He was a shepherd and no mercenarie, And though he holy were, and virtuous, He was to sinful men not dispiteous, Nor of his speech dangerous nor high, But in his teaching (liserete anel benigne. To draw his folk to heaven, with fairness, By good ensample, was his business : But if were any person obstinate, Whether he were of high or low estate, Him would he reprove sharply for the nones, A better priest I trow that nowhere is. He waited after neither pomp ne reverence,
THE VICAR. SOME years ago, ere time and taste
Had turned our parish topsy-turvy, When Darnel park was Darnel waste,
And roads as little known as scurvy, The man who lost his way between
St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket Was always shown across the green,
And guided to the parson's wicket. Back flew the bolt of lissom lath ;
Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle, Led the lorn traveller up the path,
Through clean-clipt rows of box and myrtle , And Don and Sancho, Tramp and Tray,
Upon the parlor steps collected,
“Our master knows you ; you 're expected." Up rose the reverend Doctor Brown,
Up rose the doctor's “Winsome marrow"; The lady laid her knitting down,
Her husband clasped his ponderous Barrow. Whate'er the stranger's caste or creed,
Pundit or papist, saint or sinner, He found a stable for his steed,
And welcome for himself, and dinner. If, when he reached his journey's end,
And warmed himself in court or college, He had not gained an honest friend,
And twenty curious scraps of knowledge ; If he departed as he came,
With no new light on love or liquor, Good sooth, the traveller was to blame,
And not the vicarage or the vicar. His talk was like a stream which runs
With rapid change from rocks to roses ; It slipped from politics to puns ;
It passed from Mahomet to Moses ; Beginning with the laws which keep
The planets in their radliant courses, And ending with some precept deep
For dressing eels or shoeing horses. He was a shrewd and sound divine,
Of loud dissent the mortal terror; And when, by dint of page and line,
He 'stablished truth or startled error, The Baptist found him far too deep,
The Deist sighed with saving sorrow, And the lean Levite went to sleep
And dreamt of eating pork to-morrow.
His sermon never said or showed
That earth is foul, that heaven is gracious, Without refreshment on the road,
From Jerome or from Athanasius ; And sure a righteous zeal inspired The hand and head that penned and planned
them, For all who understood admired,
And some who did not understand them,
Where is the old man laid ? Look down
And construc on the slab before you, “Hic jacct Guliclmus Brown, Vir nulla non donandus lauro."
WINTHROF MACKWORTH PRAED
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS."
He wrote too, in a quiet way,
Small treatises, and smaller verses, And sage remarks on chalk and clay,
And hints to noble lords and nurses ; True histories of last year's ghost;
Lincs to a ringlet or a turban ;
And nothings for Sylvanus Urban.
Although he had a knack of joking; He did not make himself a bear,
Although he had a taste for smoking; And when religious sects ran mad,
He held, in spite of all his learning, That if a man's belief is bad,
It will not be improved by burning.
And he was kind, and loved to sit
In the low hut or garnished cottage, And praise the farmer's homely wit,
And share the widow's homelier pottage. At his approach complaint grew mild,
And when his hand unbarred the shutter The clammy lips of fever smiled
The welcome that they could not utter.
I'll hold thee any wager, When we are both accoutred like young men, I'll prove the prettier fellow of the two, And wear my dagger with the braver grace ; And speak between the change of man and boy, With a reed voice ; and turn two mincing steps Into a manly stride ; and speak of frays, Like a fine bragging youth ; and tell quaint lies, How honorable ladies sought my love, Which I denying, they fell sick and died, I could not do withal ; then I'll repent, And wish, for all that, that I had not killed them. And twenty of these puny lies I 'll tell ; That men shall swear I have discontinued school Above a twelvemonth : I have within my mind A thousand raw tricks of these bragging Jacks, Which I will practise.
He always had a tale for me
Of Julius Cæsar or of Venus ;
Cat’s-cradle, leap-frog, and Quæ genus. I used to singe his powdered wig,
To steal the staff he put such trust in, And make the puppy dance a jig
When he began to quote Augustine.