« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »
Hanging on their velvet heads Like a rope of crystal beads ; See the heavy clouds low-falling, And bright Hesperus down calling The dead Night from underground, At whose rising, mists unsound, Damps and vapours, fly apace Hovering o'er the wanton face Of these pastures ; where they come Striking dead both bud and bloom. Therefore from such danger, lock Every one his loved flock, And let your dogs lie loose without, Lest the wolf come as a scout From the mountain, and, e'er day, Bear a lamb or kid away, Or the crafty thievish fox Break upon your simple flocks. To secure yourselves from these, Be not too secure in ease; Let one eye his watches keep, While the other eye doth sleep; So shall you good shepherds prove, And for ever hold the love Of our great God. Sweetest slumbers And soft silence fall in numbers On your eyelids : so farewell ; Thus I end my evening's knell.
HE waters are flashing,
The white hail is dashing,
The whirlwind is rolling,
The Earth is like Ocean,
“ Our boat has one sail,
And she cried : 66 Ply the oar;
O'er the sea.
And from isle, tower, and rock,
From the lee.
“ And fear'st thou, and fear'st thou ?
I and thou?"
One boat-cloak did cover
Soft and low ;
While around, the lash'd Ocean,
To and fro.
On the topmost watch-turret,
And with curses as wild
[TO A DEPARTED FRIEND.]
OST thou look back on what hath been,
As some divinely gifted man, Whose life in low estate began And on a simple village green;
Who breaks his birth's invidious bar,
And grasps the skirts of happy chance,
And breasts the blows of circumstance, And grapples with his evil star;
Who makes by force his merit known
And lives to clutch the golden keys,
To mould a mighty state's decrees, And shape the whisper of the throne;
And moving up from high to higher,
Becomes on Fortune's crowning slope
The pillar of a people's hope, The centre of a world's desire;
Yet feels as in a pensive dream,
When all his active powers are still,
A distant dearness in the hill, A secret sweetness in the stream,
The limit of his narrow fate,
While yet beside its vocal springs
He play'd at counsellors and kings, With one that was his earliest mate;
Who ploughs with pain his native lea
the labour of his hands, Or in the furrow musing stands ; Does my old friend remember me?
(FROM AS YOU LIKE IT."]
Who loves to lie with me,
Unto the sweet bird's throat,
Here shall he see
Who doth ambition shun,
And pleased with what he gets,
Here shall he see
But winter and rough weather.