ERE, in the northern gathe trees are gone, the woods of Autumn, all around our vale, The mountains that infold, in their wide sweep, the coloured landscape round, seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold, that guard the enchanted ground. I roam the woods that crown the upland, where the mingled splendours glow, My steps are not alone in these bright walks; the sweet south-west, at play, flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strewn along the winding way. W. C. BRYANT 255 THE POWER OF MUSIC THE Gift to with HE Gift to king Amphion that walled a city with its melody was for belief no dream:-thy skill, Arion! could humanise the creatures of the sea, where men were monsters. A last grace he craves, so shall he touch at length a friendly strand, W. WORDSWORTH 256 THE SPIRIT IN COMUS TO SABRINA VIRGIN, daughter of Locrine, VIRG sprung of old Anchises' line, with groves of myrrh and cinnamon. J. MILTON 257 I A WISH WISH I was by that dim Lake, of this vain world, and half-way lie deceitful world, my home should be; where, come what might of gloom and pain, false hope should ne'er deceive again. The lifeless sky, the mournful sound of unseen waters falling round; the dry leaves, quivering o'er my head, like man, unquiet, ev'n when dead! these, aye, these shall wean my soul from life's deluding scene, and turn each thought, o'ercharged with gloom, like willows downwards tow'rds the tomb. T. MOORE 258 INVOCATION RARELY, rarely, comest thou, Spirit of Delight! wherefore hast thou left me now How shall ever one like me Spirit false thou hast forgot As a lizard with the shade of a trembling leaf, thou with sorrow art dismayed; even the sighs of grief reproach thee, that thou art not near, and reproach thou wilt not hear. 259 I love all that thou lovest,. Spirit of Delight! the fresh Earth in new leaves drest autumn evening, and the morn I love snow and all the forms I love waves, and winds, and storms, which is Nature's, and may be untainted by man's misery. I love Love-though he has wings, but above all other things, Spirit, I love thee thou art love and life! O come! make once more my heart thy home! P. B. SHELLEY 260 261 ECHOES How sweet the answer Echo makes to Music at night when, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, goes answering light! yet Love hath echoes truer far and far more sweet than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star, of horn or lute or soft guitar the songs repeat. 'Tis when the sigh,-in youth sincere and only then, the sigh that's breathed for one to hear- breathed back again. T. MOORE THE WINTER'S EVENING HE sun is sinking in the fiery west; wet wings; the lightning, like an eagle from its nest, without one song from that red lip of thine? come, fill the bowls, and heap the faggots high! to birds and flowers let Summer's morning shine, to nobler man alone the Winter eve's divine. G. CROLY 262 TO LUCASTA, ON GOING BEYOND THE SEAS F to be absent were to be IF away from thee; or that when I am gone you or I were alone; then, my Lucasta, might I crave pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave. Though seas and land betwixt us both, our faith and troth, like separated souls, all time and space controls: So then we do anticipate and are alive i' the skies, can speak like spirits unconfined in Heaven, their earthy bodies left behind. R. LOVELACE 263 MODERN GREECE WHEN riseth Lacedæmon's hardihood, when Thebes Epaminondas rears again, when Athens' children are with hearts endued, when Grecian mothers shall give birth to men, then may'st thou be restored; but not till then. A thousand years scarce serve to form a state; an hour may lay it in the dust, and when can man its shatter'd splendour renovate, recall its virtues back, and vanquish Time and Fate? Yet are thy skies as blue, thy crags as wild; sweet are thy groves, and verdant are thy fields, thine olive ripe as when Minerva smiled, and still his honied wealth Hymettus yields; there the blithe bee his fragrant fortress builds, the freeborn wanderer of thy mountain-air ; Apollo still thy long, long summer gilds, still in his beam Mendeli's marbles glare; Art, Glory, Freedom fail, but Nature still is fair. LORD BYRON |