« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »
Solemn hours, wail aloud
mother in her shroud ! As the wild air stirs and sways
The tree-rock'd cradle of a child, So the breath of these rude days
Rocks the Year: be calm and mild, Trembling hours, she will arise With new love within her eyes. January grey is here,
Like a sexton by her grave; February bears the bier,
March with grief doth howl and rave, And April weeps,—but, O ye
hours ! Follow with May's fairest flowers.
SONG OF ARIEL.
(FROM THE TEMPEST.”] NOME unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands, – Curtsied when you have and kiss'd ;
(The wild waves whist)-
Hark, hark !
Bough, wough. (dispersedly)
ON HIS BLINDNESS.
HEN I consider how my light is spent,
Ere half my days in this dark world and
And that one talent which is death to hide Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he, returning, chide ;
“ Doth God exact day-labour, light denied ?” I fondly ask: but Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, “ God doth not need
Either man's work, or his own gift; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best ; his
And post o'er land and ocean without rest ;
SONG ON MAY MORNING.
OW the bright Morning-Star, day's har
binger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Hail! bounteous May, that dost inspire
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing.
T little profits that an idle king,
By his still hearth, among these barren crags, Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole Unequal laws unto a savage race, That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me. I cannot rest from travel: I will drink Life to the lees : all life I have enjoy'd Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades Vext the dim sea : I am become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart Much have I seen and know; cities of men And manners, climates, councils, governments, Myself not least, but honour'd of them all ; And drunk delight of battle with my peers, Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. I am a part of all that I have met ; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravell’d world, whose margin fades For ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use ! As though to breathe were life. Life piled on life
Were all too little, and of one to me
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail : There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toild, and wrought, and thought
with meThat ever with a frolic welcome took The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old ; age hath yet
his honour and his toil; Death closes all : but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods. The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks : The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the
deep Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world. Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
SONG OF ARIEL.
[FROM THE TEMPEST."]
Of his bones are coral made;
Nothing of him that doth fade
EASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness !
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with him how to load and bless