English

Upon the breast of stolid earth
This immemorial stone,
A jewel of Golconda's worth,
In sovran beauty shone.

My lady for a moment bore
The gem upon her brow,
A moment on her bosom wore—
'Tis worth the Orient now.

C HLOE the Wonder of the latter Age,
Tho' antiquated does our Hearts engage;
With such an Art affects the Wits and Beaus!
How like good Wine? by Time she stronger grows.

Lord, for the names that light
The path of Truth and Right
And Freedom's way;
For all whose life doth prove
The might of Faith, Hope, Love
The souls of men to move,
Be praise to-day!

Praise for the hearts of love,
Kin to thine own above,
Tender and brave;
Steadfast in pain and loss,
Counting earth's glory dross,
Bearing anew the cross,
To bless and save!

May their dear memory be
Motive and guide to thee,
With saints of yore!
The truth of God they taught,

To cheer our minds
Such crowds and kinds
Of charms all round us are;
That if we were
All eye or ear
Each sense would have full share.

Birds in the spring
Do chirp and sing,
With clear, shrill, and sweet throats:
Some hop, some fly,
Some soar on high,
Each of them knows its notes.

With bills and breasts
They build their nests,
Then lay and hatch their young;
They feed them too,
All this they do,
And spare some time for song.

Hear you a lark?
Tell me what clerk

The goddess slept. About her where she lay
Dead pansies, fragrant still, and the myriad rose:
Adream 'mid the fallen drift, she woke one day,
And the blooms stirred, seeing her eyes unclose.

The oaks and beeches stood in disarray,
Gaunt, spectral, dark, in dismal phantom rows;
She smiled, and there was a shimmer 'mid the grey
And sudden fall of the first winter-snows.

But when, tired with the icy blossoms of the air,
She slept once more, and all the snow was over,
She dreamed of Spring and saw his sunlit hair,

When Tom to Cambridge first was sent,
A plain brown bob he wore;
Read much, and look'd as though he meant
To be a fop no more.

See him to Lincoln's-Inn repair,
His resolution flag;
He cherishes a length of hair,
And tucks it in a bag.

Nor Coke nor Salkeld he regards,
But gets into the House,
And soon a judge's rank rewards
His pliant votes and bows.

Adieu, ye bobs! ye bags! give place;
Full bottoms come instead;
Good L—d! to see the various ways
Of dressing—a calf's head!

Ah! poor Matilda, cou'd thy fate,
But reach the fickle fair,
Whom transient pomp and fortune wait,
Mere phantoms, light as air.

Perhaps a tear they'd willing pay
Of pity, ere they doom'd
Too harsh a sentence on thy clay,
For sweeter flow'r ne'er bloom'd.

The fame of fair Matilda's charms
The lofty dome has rung;
And while they courted to their arms,
Thy praise has nobles sung.

By flatt'ry lull'd, by peers caress'd
How swift the minutes flew;
In various forms was pleasure dress'd,

Begone , ye sighs! begone, ye tears!
Begone, ye jealousies and fears!
Celinda swears she never lov'd;
Celinda swears none ever mov'd
Her heart, but I: If this be true,
Shall I keep company with you?
What though a senseless rival swore
She said as much to him before?
What though I saw him in her bed?
I'll trust not what I saw, but what she said.
Curse on the prudent and the wise,
Who ne'er believe such pleasing lies.
I grant she only does deceive;
I grant 'tis folly to believe;
But by this folly I vast pleasures gain,

Not harps and palms for these, O God,
Nor endless rest within the courts of Heaven,—
These happy boys who left the football field,
The hockey ground, the river, the eleven,
In a far grimmer game, with high elated souls
To score their goals.

Let these, O God, still test their manhood's strength,
Wrestle and leap and run,
Feel sea and wind and sun;
With Cherubim contend;
The timeless morning spend
In great celestial games.
Let there be laughter and a merry noise
Now that the fields of Heaven shine

A strong, stern Hand has steeled my heart,
And blessed me has the mouth of God.
I am the plough, I am the sod,
The tempest, and the lightning's dart.

I am the flood-swell none may pass,
The hurricane that wrecks, pursues.
And I am rain that glad bedews
A desert for one blade of grass.

I am the cloud-mist distant seen,
The echo from a mountain height,
I am a high deed's high delight,
And quickening sorrow that makes green.

I am the threshold and the key,
I am the gate and gate-way long.