of many colours? get thee fruit,

or steal from heaven old Orpheus' lute? all these I'll venture for, and more, to do her service all these woods adore.

Holy Virgin, I will dance

round about these woods as quick
as the breaking light, and prick
down the lawns and down the vales
faster than the windmill-sails.
So I take my leave and pray
all the comforts of the day,
such as Phoebus' heat doth send
on the earth, may still befriend
thee and this arbour!

VAIL, old patrician trees, so great and good!

HAI

Η

Hail, ye plebeian underwood,

where the poetic birds rejoice,

and for their quiet nests and plenteous food
pay with their grateful voice.

Here Nature does a house for me erect,
Nature, the fairest architect,

who those fond artists does despise

that can the fair and living trees neglect,
yet the dead timber prize.

Here let me, careless and unthoughtful lying,
hear the soft winds above me flying
with all their wanton boughs dispute,

and the more tuneful birds to both replying,
nor be myself too mute.

A silver stream shall roll his waters near,
gilt with sun-beams here and there,

on whose enamelled bank I'll walk,

and see how prettily they smile, and hear
how prettily they talk.

471

Ah! wretched and too solitary he,
who loves not his own company!
He'll feel the weight of't many a day,
unless he calls in sin or vanity

to help to bear't away.

O solitude, first state of humankind,

thou break'st and tam'st th' unruly mind,
which else would know no settled pace,
making it move, well managed by thy art,
with swiftness and with grace.

Thou the faint beams of reason's scatter'd light
dost like a burning glass unite,

dost multiply the feeble heat,

and fortify the strength, till thou dost bright
and noble fires beget.

ODE TO LIBERTY

A. COWLEY

HO shall awake the Spartan fife,

WHO

and call in solemn sounds to life,

the youths, whose locks divinely spreading,
like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue,

at once the breath of Fear and Virtue shedding,
applauding Freedom loved of old to view?
What new Alcæus, fancy-blest,

shall sing the sword, in myrtles drest,

at Wisdom's shrine awhile its flame concealing, (what place so fit to seal a deed renowned?)

till she her brightest lightnings round revealing, it leap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted wound? O goddess, in that feeling hour,

when most its sounds would court thy ears, let not my shell's misguided power

e'er draw thy sad, thy mindful tears.

No, Freedom, no! I will not tell,

how Rome, before thy weeping face

with heaviest sound a giant-statue fell,

push'd by a wild and artless race

from off its wide ambitious base,

when Time his northern sons of spoil awoke,

and all the blended work of strength and grace with many a rude repeated stroke

and many a barbarous yell to thousand fragments broke.

W. COLLINS

ET, even whene'er the least appeared,

472 YET,

the admiring world thy hand revered;
still 'midst the scattered states around,
some remnants of her strength were found;
they saw, by what escaped the storm,
how wondrous rose her perfect form;
how in the great, the laboured whole,
each mighty master poured his soul!
for sunny Florence, seat of art,
beneath her vines preserved a part,
till they, whom Science loved to name,
(O who could fear it?) quenched her flame.
And lo an humbler relic laid

in jealous Pisa's olive shade!

see small Marino joins the theme
though least, not last in thy esteem:
strike, louder strike the ennobling strings
to those, whose merchant sons were kings;
to him, who decked with pearly pride
in Adria weds his green-haired bride;
hail, port of glory, wealth and pleasure,
ne'er let me change this Lydian measure:
nor e'er her former pride relate,

to sad Liguria's bleeding state.

Ah no! more pleased thy haunts I seek,
on wild Helvetia's mountains bleak:
(where, when the favoured of thy choice
the daring archer heard thy voice,
forth from his eyrie roused in dread
the ravening eagle northward fled :)
or dwell in willowed meads more near,
with those to whom thy stork is dear:
those whom the rod of Alva bruised,
whose crown a British queen refused!
the magic works, thou feel'st the strains,
one holier name alone remains:

the perfect spell shall then avail,
hail nymph, adored by Britain, hail!

473 Beyond the measure vast of thought,
the work the wizard Time has wrought!
the Gaul, 'tis held of antique story,

saw Britain linked to his now adverse strand,

F. S. II.

16

no sea between, nor cliff sublime and hoary, he passed with unwet feet through all our land. To the blown Baltic then, they say,

the wild waves found another way,

where Orcas howls, his wolfish mountains rounding; till all the banded west at once 'gan rise,

a wide wild storm even nature's self confounding, withering her giant sons with strange uncouth surprise.

This pillared earth so firm and wide,

by winds and inward labours torn,

in thunders dread was pushed aside,

and down the shouldering billows borne,

And see, like gems, her laughing train,

the little isles on every side,

Mona, once hid from those who search the main, where thousand elfin shapes abide,

and Wight, who checks the western tide,

for thee consenting Heaven has each bestowed,

a fair attendant on her sovereign pride:

to thee this blest divorce she owed,

for thou hast made her vales thy loved, thy last abode!

W. COLLINS

474

IN

THE EXPOSTULATION

N doubtful twilight Nature sleeps
within this silent grove:

love only his pale vigil keeps,

and I, the slave of love.

Ah! cruel Julia, dare you brave

the sea's engulfing tide?

Torn from me by the tossing wave,
shall winds my hopes deride?

So your fond lover can you cheat,
to all your vows untrue?

Yet dread th' avenging wind's deceit―
know, seas are fickle too.

F. WRANGHAM

475

CHRISTIAN WARFARE

OLDIER, go-but not to claim

SOLD

mouldering spoils of earth-born treasure,

not to build a vaunting name;

not to dwell in tents of pleasure;

dream not that the way is smooth,

hope not that the thorns are roses;
turn no wishful eye of youth
where the sunny beam reposes:

thou hast sterner work to do,
hosts to cut thy passage through;
close behind thee gulfs are burning-
forward!-there is no returning.

Soldier, rest-but not for thee

spreads the world her downy pillow;
on the rock thy couch must be,
while around thee chafes the billow:
thine must be a watchful sleep,
wearier than another's waking;

such a charge as thou dost keep
brooks no moment of forsaking.
Sleep, as on the battle-field,

girded, grasping sword and shield:

those thou canst not name or number
steal upon thy broken slumber.

Soldier, rise—the war is done:

lo, the hosts of hell are flying;
'twas thy Lord the battle won;
Jesus vanquished them by dying.
Pass the stream-before thee lies
all the conquered land of glory;
hark what songs of rapture rise;
these proclaim the victor's story;

soldier, lay thy weapons down,
quit the sword, and take the crown;
triumph! all thy foes are banished,
death is slain, and earth has vanished.

C. ELIZABETH