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III.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As
you

too shall adore ;
I could not love thee, Deare, so much,
Loved I not Honour more.

RICHARD LOVELACE.

A FAREWELL.

FO

"LOW down, cold rivulet, to the sea,

Thy tribute wave deliver: No more by thee my steps shall be,

For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,

A rivulet then a river:
No where by thee my steps shall be,

For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder tree,

And here thine aspen shiver ; And here by thee will hum the bee,

For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee,

A thousand moons will quiver ; But not by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever.

TENNYSON.

SONNET.

HA

[TWILIGHT AMONG MOUNTAINS.] AIL, Twilight, sovereign of one peaceful

hour! Not dull art Thou as undiscerning Night; But studious only to remove from sight Day's mutable distinctions.—Ancient Power! Thus did the waters gleam, the mountains lower, To the rude Briton, when, in wolf-skin vest Here roving wild, he laid him down to rest On the bare rock, or through a leafy bower Look'd ere

his

eyes were closed. By him was seen The self-same Vision which we now behold, At thy meek bidding, shadowy Power! brought

forth;
These mighty barriers, and the gulf between;
The flood, the stars,-a spectacle as old
As the beginning of the heavens and earth!

WORDSWORTH.

[INTRODUCTION TO “ SONGS OF

INNOCENCE.”]

IPING down the valleys wild,

Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,

And he, laughing, said to me,

Pipe a song about a lamb,”
So I piped with merry cheer;

Piper, pipe that song again,"

So I piped, he wept to hear.
“ Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe,

Sing thy songs of happy cheer;"
So I sung the same again,

While he wept with joy to hear.

“ Piper, sit thee down and write
In a book, that all may

read."
So he vanish'd from my sight;

And I pluck'd a hollow reed;

And I made a rural pen,

And I stain'd the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs,
Every child may joy to hear.

WILLIAM BLAKE.

SONG.

THE OWL.

WH

HEN cats run home and light is come,

And dew is cold upon the ground,
And the far-off stream is dumb,

And the whirring sail goes round,
And the whirring sail goes round;

Alone, and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.

When merry

milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch

Twice or thrice his roundelay,

Twice or thrice his roundelay :

Alone, and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits.

TENNYSON.

SONNET.

TO MR. LAWRENCE.

L

AWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son,
Now that the fields are dank and ways are

mire,
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won
From the hard season gaining ? Time will run

On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire

The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire The lily and rose that neither sew'd nor spun. What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice,

Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice

Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air ?

He who of these delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

MILTON.

THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM.

" T

WAS in the prime of summer time,

An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys

Came bounding out of school :

There were some that ran, and some that leapt,

Like troutlets in a pool.

Away they sped with gamesome minds,

And souls untouch'd by sin ;
To a level mead they came, and there

They drave the wickets in :
Pleasantly shone the setting sun

Over the town of Lynn.
Like sportive deer they coursed about,

And shouted as they ran-
Turning to mirth all things of earth,

As only boyhood can :
But the usher sat remote from all,

A melancholy man!

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch heaven's blessed breeze;
For a burning thought was in his brow,

And his bosom ill at ease :
So he lean’d his head on his hands, and read

The book between his knees !

Leaf after leaf he turn’d it o'er,

Nor ever glanced aside ;
For the peace of his soul he read that book

In the golden eventide :
Much study had made him very lean,

And pale, and leaden-eyed.
At last he shut the ponderous tome;

With a fast and fervent grasp
He strain'd the dusky covers close,

And fix'd the brazen hasp": “ O God, could I so close my mind,

And clasp it with a clasp !”.

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