;-;:: .:-.::-:-: .r.-.:^(ii*t-Ki-.;..-. .-.-.■- '-■.r--.-.:-;-;-:-: ; !-.:i;W%ta Library of the University of North Carolina J821.08 Palgrave 92-889 Child en's treasury of English so:^g TO •juvexile Historical coll This BOOK may be kept out TWO WEEKS ONLY, and is subject to a fine of FIVE CENTS a day thereafter. It was taken out on the day indicated below: mm 'St «Y 1 Lib. 10M-N '37 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from Universityof North Carolina at Chapel Hill http://archive.org/details/childrenstreasurOOpal THE CHILDREN'S TREASURY OF ENGLISH SONG. MACMILLAN'S SCHOOL LIBRARY OP BOOKS SUITABLE FOR SUPPLEMENTARY READING. J 6 mo. Cloth. Each, 50 cents. A BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS . . . Charlotte M. Yonge. MADAM HOW AND LADY WHY . . Rev. Charles Kingsley. STORIES FROM WAVERLEY . H. Gassiot (Mrs. Alfred Burton). WESTWARD HO ! Rev. Charles Kingsley. HEREWARD THE WAKE .... Rev. Charles Kingsley. STORIES FROM THE HISTORY OF ROME Mrs. Busby. STORIES FROM VIRGIL .... Rev. Alfred J. Church. ROMAN LIFE IN THE DAYS OF CICERO Rev. Alfred J. Church. TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE . . . Charles and Mary Lamb. THE WATER BABIES Rev. Charles Kingsley. TOWN GEOLOGY Rev. Charles Kingsley. LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE . Charlotte M. Yonge. THE STORY OF THE ILIAD . . . Rev. Alfred J. Church. THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF SONGS AND LYRICS, Selected and arranged by Francis Turner Palgrave. BIOGRAPHIES Lord Macaulay. THE CHILDREN'S TREASURY OF ENGLISH SONG, Selected and arranged by Francis Turner Palgrave. TALES FROM SPENSER .... Sophia H. Maclehose. STORY OF THE ODYSSEY .... Rev. Alfred J. Church. THE HEROES OF ASGARD . . . .A. and E. Keary. OTHER VOLUMES TO FOLLOW. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. THE CHILDREN'S TREASURY OF ENGLISH SONG SELECTED AND ARRANGED WITH NOTES BY FRANCIS TURNER MLGRAVE LATE FELLOW OF EXETER COLLEGE, OXFORD ; EDITOR OF THE ' GOLDEN TREASURY ' THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 1906. The Publishers owe their thanks to Mr. William Cullen Bryant for the use of his two poems " To a Waterfowl" and " The Death of the Flowers "j also to Messrs. yames P. Osgood & Co. for permission to print Professor Longfellow's " The Wreck of the Hesperus" from their copyright edition of his works. J 3*21.08 PREFACE This selection is planned for children between nine or ten, and fifteen or sixteen years of age ; the pleasure and advantage of the older students in Elementary, and the younger in Grammar and Public Schools, being especially kept in view. As it is meant for their own possession and study, not less than for use as a class-book in the teacher's hand, sufficient notes (it is thought) have been added to render the volume by itself fairly comprehensible to children of average in- telligence : and the editor hopes that this object may be his excuse with those who may consider the annotations too numerous. The scheme of choice followed has produced a selection different from any known to the editor. Suitability to childhood is, of course, the common principle of all. But, this quality secured (so far as individual judgment can), nothing has been here admitted which does not reach a high rank in poetical merit ; and the available stores of English poetry have been carefully reviewed for the purpose. The editor's wish has been to collect all songs, narratives, descriptions, or reflective pieces of a lyrical quality, fit to give pleasure, —high, pure, manly, (and therefore lasting) — to children in the stage between early childhood and early youth ; and no pieces which are not of this character. Poetry, for poetry's sake, is what vi Preface he offers. To illustrate the history of our litera- ture, to furnish specimens of leading or of less- known poets, to give useful lessons for this or the other life, to encourage a patriotic temper — each an aim fit to form the guiding principle of a selection — have here only an indirect and sub- sidiary recognition. It is, however, believed that, so far as the scope of the book coincides with such other aims, they may be more effectually served through the powerful operation of really good poetry, than when made the main object of a collection. The standard of ' merit as poetry ' (so far as the editor, aided by some friends distinguished by good judgment and scholarship, may have been success- ful in preserving it), has excluded a certain number of popular favourites. But the standard of 'suita- bility to childhood,' as here understood, has ex- cluded many more pieces : pictures of life as it seems to middle-age — poems coloured by sentimentalism or morbid melancholy, however attractive to readers no longer children— love as personal passion or regret (not love as the groundwork of action) — artificial or highly allusive language — have, as a rule, been held unfit. The aim has been to shun scenes and sentiments alien from the temper ot average healthy childhood, and hence of greater intrinsical difficulty than poems containing un- usual words. Hence, although the rules of choice have given this book, as compared with many of its predecessors, an unfamiliar air, yet it is believed that the contents will in fact prove ultimately at least as comprehensible to children between the ages specified. Preface vii Poems suitable for readers in the latter half of these years are marked with a star in the index. Some pieces will be found admitted as examples leading up to the poetry appropriate to later educa- tion and the experience of life ; but, looking to the small size of the collection, it has not been thought desirable to attempt ranging the contents in order of composition or of relative difficulty. A few omissions have been made in order to render a poem more suitable for childhood, or to escape encroachment on the field of distinctly devotional verse ; others, more copiously, when the poem could be thus strengthened in a vivid effectiveness. The North-country Ballads have thus been greatly shortened ; a child (in the editor's judg- ment), especially one unfamiliar with dialect, being more likely to appreciate afterwards their charming antique garrulity, and the repetitions of phrase proper to orally-published poetry, if presented first with a tale in our more condensed modern manner. When, as here, poetry for poetry's sake is concerned, extracts in general appear wholly unsatisfactory to the editor ; they are like fragments barbarously broken from statues. Such only have, therefore, been included which form in themselves complete works of art For some pieces, the editor has to thank the liberality of the copyright owners ; regretting the refusal by which the present publisher of Mr. Alfred Tennyson's poems has deprived this book of a few brilliant pages, and its readers of an intro- duction to the writings of our greatest living poet. The rule that no piece should be admitted, unless reaching a high rank in poetical merit, if carried viii Preface out successfully, will have rendered this book fit also for older readers. Such will know that the treasures here collected are but a few drops from an ocean, unequalled in wealth and variety by any existing literature ; that many illustrious names are, necessarily, altogether absent ; that many others receive but a meagre and imperfect repre- sentation. Among the five (surviving) Imperial poets of the Western world, England claims two ; but how faintly does a selection, limited as this, present the splendour of Shakespeare and Milton ! Descending one or two steps, if Words- worth and Scott, within this century, are fairly shown in a single region of their power, Keats, Shelley, Byron, Crabbe, on different grounds, must be nearly or wholly undisplayed. But, in truth, no selection should be planned or accepted as able to do more than open a glimpse into the ' Elysian fields ' of song. Pleasant as has been the task of forming this book, in the hope that it may, in itself, prove a pleasure and a gain to the dear English and English-speaking children, all the world over,— yet the editor will hold his work but half fulfilled, unless they are tempted by it to go on and wander, in whatever direction their fancy may lead them, through the roads and winding ways of this great and glorious world of English poetry. He aims only at showing them the path, and giving them a little foretaste of our treasures: — To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. F. T. P. May: 1875 FIRST PART * I * A LA UGHING SONG When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by ; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it ; When the meadows laugh with lively green, And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene ; When Mary, and Susan, and Emily, With their sweet round mouths sing, ' Ha, ha, he ! ' When the painted birds laugh in the shade, Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread : Come live, and be merry, and join with me To sing the sweet chorus of ' Ha, ha, he ! ' W. Blake * 2 * THE PET LAMB The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink ; I heard a voice ; it said, ' Drink, pretty creature, drink ! ' And looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at its side. B 2 The Children's Treasury Nor sheep, nor kine were near ; the lamb was all alone, And by a slender cord was tetherM to a stone ; With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel, While to that mountain lamb she gave its evening meal. The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took, Seem'd to feast with head and ears ; and his tail with pleasure shook : ' Drink, pretty creature, drink!' she said in such atone That I almost received her heart into my own. 'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare ! I watch'd them with delight, they were a lovely pair ; Now with her empty can the maiden turn'd away ; But ere ten yards were gone, her footsteps did she stay. Right towards the lamb she look'd ; and from that shady place I unobserved could see the workings of her face ; If nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring, Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sing : ' What ails thee, Young one ? what ? Why pull so at thy cord ? ' Is it not well with thee ? well both for bed and board ? 1 Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ; ' Rest, little Young one, rest ; what is 't that aileth thee? 19 If she could write verse of English Song . 3 1 What is it thou wouldst seek ? What is wanting to thy heart ? ' Thy limbs are they not strong ? and beautiful thou art! ' This grass is tender grass ; these flowers they have no peers ; ' And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears. ' If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woollen chain ; ' This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain ; ' For rain and mountain-storms ! — the like thou need'st not fear, 1 The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here. ' Rest, little Young one, rest ; thou hast forgot the day ' When my father found thee first in places far away ; ' Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert own'd by none, ' And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone. ' He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home : ' A blessed day for thee ! — then whither wouldst thou roam? ' A faithful nurse thou hast ; the dam that did thee yean ' Upon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been. 27 peers, equals B2 4 The Childreiis Treasury ' Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can ' Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran ; 'And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew, ' I bring thee draughts of milk, warm milk it is and new. ' Thy limbs will shortly be twice as stout as they are now, ' Then I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plough ! ' My playmate thou shalt be ; and when the wind is cold ' Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be thy fold. ' It will not, will not rest ! — Poor creature, can it be ' That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee? ' Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear, ' And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear. ' Alas, the mountain-tops that look so green and fair! ' I've heard of fearful winds and darkness that come there ; 'The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, ' When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey. ' Here thou need'st not dread the raven in the sky ; 'Night and day thou art safe, — our cottage is hard by. 'Why bleat so after me? Why pull so at thy chain ? ' Sleep — and at break of day I will come to thee again ! ' 51 belike, probably of English Song t — As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat ; And it seem'd, as 1 retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was hers, and one half of it was mine. Again, and once again, did I repeat the song ; ' Nay,' said I, ' more than half to the damsel must belong ! — ' For she look'd with such a look, and she spake with such a tone, ' That I almost received her heart into my own.' IV. Wordsworth THE LAMB Little Lamb, who made thee ? Dost thou know who made thee ? Gave thee life, and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead ; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright ; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice : Little Lamb, who made thee ? Dost thou know who made thee ? Little Lamb, 111 tell thee! Little Lamb, I'll tell thee. He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb : — 63 retraced, repeated The Children's Treasury He is meek, and He is mild ; He became a little child : I, a child, and thou, a lamb, We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee ; Little Lamb, God bless thee. IV. Make EPITAPH ON A HARE Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue. Nor swifter greyhound follow, Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew.. Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo ! Old Tiney, surliest of his kind, Who, nursed with tender care, And to domestic bounds confined, Was still a wild Jack-hare. Though duly from my hand he took His pittance every night, He did it with a jealous look, And, when he could, would bite. His diet was of wheaten bread, And milk, and oats, and straw ; Thistles, or lettuces instead, With sand to scour his maw. On twigs of hawthorn he regaled, On pippin's russet peel ; And when his juicy salads fail'd Sliced carrot pleased him well. 3 tainted, scented 10 pittance, portion 16 to make his food digest 1 8 russet, brown-red of English Song A Turkey carpet was his lawn, Whereon he loved to bound, To skip and gambol like a fawn, And swing his rump around. His frisking was at evening hours, For then he lost his fear ; But most before approaching showers, Or when a storm drew near. Eight years and five round-rolling moons He thus saw steal away, Dozing out all his idle noons, And every night at play. I kept him for his humour's sake, For he would oft beguile My heart of thoughts that made it ache, And force me to a smile. But now, beneath this walnut shade, He finds his long last home, And waits, in snug concealment laid, Till gentler Puss shall come. He, still more aged, feels the shocks From which no care can save : — And, partner once of Tiney's box, Must soon partake his grave. W. Cowper * c * THE WOUNDED HARE Inhuman man ! curse on thy barbarous art, And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye ; May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ! 29 moons, months 34 beguile, cheat 1 inhuman, cruel ; barbarous art, shooting for sport's sake 8 The Children's Treasury — Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood and field, The bitter little that of life remains ; No more the thickening brakes and verdant plains To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest, No more of rest, but now thy dying bed ! The sheltering rushes whistling o'er thy head, The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, wait The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn, And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy hapless fate. ft- Burns TO A SPANIEL ON HIS KILLING A YOUNG BIRD A spaniel, Beau, that fares like you, Well fed, and at his ease, Should wiser be than to pursue Each trifle that he sees. But you have kill'd a tiny bird, Which flew not till to-day, Against my orders, whom you heard Forbidding you the prey. Nor did you kill that you might eat, And ease a doggish pain, For him, though chased with furious heat, You left where he was slain. 9 wonted, where he had been before 13 Nith, river in Ayrshire 7 thickening, growing leafier of English Song Nor was he of the thievish sort, Or one whom blood allures, But innocent was all his sport Whom you have torn for yours. My dog ! what remedy remains, Since, teach you all I can, I see you after all my pains So much resemble man ? Beau's Reply Sir, when I flew to seize the bird In spite of your command, A louder voice than yours I heard, And harder to withstand. You cried — forbear ! — but in my breast A mightier cried — proceed ! 'Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest Impell'd me to the deed. Yet, much as Nature I respect, I ventured once to break (As you, perhaps, may recollect) Her precept for your sake ; And when your linnet, on a day, Passing his prison door, Had flutter'd all his strength away, And, panting, press'd the floor ; Well knowing him a sacred thing, Not destined to my tooth, I only kiss'd his ruffled wing, And lick'd the feathers smooth. 14 allures, tempts 17 remedy, cure 27 behest, command 28 impelVd, drove 32 precept, order 38 destined, meant for io The Children's Treasury Let my obedience then excuse My disobedience now, Nor some reproof yourself refuse From your aggrieved Bow-wow ; If killing birds be such a crime (Which I can hardly see), What think you, Sir, of killing time, With verse address'd to me ? IV. Cowper * J * THE BLIND BOY SAY what is that thing call'd Light, Which I must ne'er enjoy ; What are the blessings of the Sight : O tell your poor blind boy ! You talk of wondrous things you see ; You say the sun shines bright ; 1 feel him warm, but how can he Or make it day or night ? My day or night myself I make Whene'er I sleep or play ; And could I ever keep awake With me 'twere always day. With heavy sighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe ; But sure with patience I can bear A loss I ne'er can know. Then let not what I cannot have My cheer of mind destroy : Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, Although a poor blind boy. C. Cibber 44 aggrieved, vexed 47 killing, wasting 14 hapless, unhappy of English Song 1 1 ALICE FELL The post-boy drove with fierce career, For threatening clouds the moon had drown'd ; When, as we hurried on, my ear Was smitten with a startling sound. As if the wind blew many ways, I heard the sound, — and more and more j It seem'd to follow with the chaise, And still I heard it as before. At length I to the boy call'd out ; He stopp'd his horses at the word, But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout, Nor aught else like it, could be heard. The boy then smack'd his whip, and fast The horses scamper'd through the rain ; But hearing soon upon the blast The cry, I bade him halt again. Forthwith alighting on the ground, ' Whence comes,' said I, ' this piteous moan ? ' And there a little girl I found, Sitting behind the chaise alone. ' My cloak ! ' no other word she spake, But loud and bitterly she wept, As if her innocent heart would break ; And down from off her seat she leapt. 'What ails you, child?'— she sobb'd, 'Look here ! ' I saw it in the wheel entangled, A weather-beaten rag as e'er From any garden scarecrow dangled. 12 The Children's Treasury There, twisted between nave and spoke, It hung, nor could at once be freed ; But our joint pains unloosed the cloak, A miserable rag indeed ! ' And whither are you going, child, ' To-night, along these lonesome ways ? ' ' To Durham,' answer"d she, half wild — ' Then come with me into the chaise.' Insensible to all relief Sat the poor girl, and forth did send Sob after sob, as if her grief Could never, never have an end. ' My child, in Durham do you dwell ? ' She check'd herself in her distress, And said, ' My name is Alice Fell ; ' I'm fatherless and motherless. ' And I to Durham, Sir, belong.' Again, as if the thought would choke Her very heart, her grief grew strong ; And all was for her tatter'd cloak. The chaise drove on ; our journey's end Was nigh ; and, sitting by my side, As if she had lost her only friend, She wept, nor would be pacified. Up to the tavern-door we post : Of Alice and her grief I told, And I gave money to the host, To buy a new cloak for the old. ' And let it be of duffil gray, ' As warm a cloak as man can sell ! ' — Proud creature was she the next day, The little orphan, Alice Fell ! W. Wordsworth 52 Jiacified, quieted 57 duffil, strong shaggy cloth of English Song 13 * 9 * THE LITTLE GIRL LOST In the southern clime, Where the summer's prime Never fades away, Lovely Lyca lay. Seven summers old Lovely Lyca told ; She had wandered long, Hearing wild-birds' song. ' Sweet sleep, come to me ' Underneath this tree ! ' Do father, mother, weep ? ' Where can Lyca sleep ? ' Lost in desert wild ' Is your little child ! ' How can Lyca sleep ' If her mother weep ? ' If her heart does ache ' Then let Lyca wake : — ' If my mother sleep, ' Lyca shall not weep. ' Frowning, frowning, night ' O'er this desert bright, ' Let thy moon arise ' While I close my eyes ! ' Sleeping Lyca lay : While the beasts of prey Come from caverns deep, View'd the maid asleep. The kingly lion stood, And the virgin view'd : Then he gamboll'd round O'er the hallowM ground. 14 The Children's Treasury Leopards, tigers, play Round her as she lay ; While the lion old Bow'd his mane of gold, And [did] her bosom lick ; And upon her neck From his eyes of flame Ruby tears there came : While the lioness Loosed her slender dress ; And naked they convey'd To caves the sleeping maid. THE LITTLE GIRL FOUND All the night in woe Lyca's parents go, Over valleys deep, While the deserts weep. Tired and woe-begone, Hoarse with making moan, Arm-in-arm seven days They traced the desert ways. Seven nights they sleep Among shadows deep, And dream they see their child Starved in desert wild. Pale through pathless ways The fancied image strays, Famish'd, weeping, weak, With hollow piteous shriek of English Song 1 5 Rising from unrest The trembling woman press'd With feet of weary woe : She could no further go. In his arms he bore Her, arm'd with sorrow sore ; Till before their way A couching lion lay. Turning back was vain : Soon his heavy mane Bore them to the ground ; Then he stalk'd around Smelling to his prey ; But their fears allay, When he licks their hands, And silent by them stands. They look upon his eyes, Fill'd with deep surprise ; And wondering behold A spirit arm'd in gold. On his head a crown : On his shoulders down Flow'd his golden hair ! Gone was all their care. ' Follow me/ he said ; ' Weep not for the maid ; ' In my palace deep ' Lyca lies asleep.' Then they followed Where the vision led, And saw their sleeping child Among tigers wild. 1 6 The Children's Treasury To this day they dwell In a lonely dell ; Nor fear the wolvish howl, Nor the lions' growl. W. Blake *IO* JOHN GILPIN John Gilpin was a citizen Of credit and renown, A train-band captain eke was he Of famous London Town. John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, ' Though wedded we have been ' These twice ten tedious years, yet we ' No holiday have seen. ■' To-morrow is our wedding-day, ' And we will then repair ' Unto the Bell at Edmonton, ' All in a chaise and pair. ' My sister and my sister's child, ' Myself, and children three, ' Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride ' On horseback after we.' He soon replied, ' I do admire ' Of womankind but one, And you are she, my dearest dear, ' Therefore it shall be done. 3 train-band, militia of English Song. \ y ' I am a linendraper bold, ' As all the world doth know, ' And my good friend, the Calender, ' Will lend his horse to go.' Quoth Mistress Gilpin, ' That's well said ; ' And, for that wine is dear, ' We will be furnish'd with our own, ' Which is both bright and clear.' John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife ; O'erjoy'd was he to find That, though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind. The morning came, the chaise was brought, But yet was not allowed To drive up to the door, lest all Should say that she was proud. So three doors off the chaise was stay'd, Where they did all get in, Six precious souls, and all agog To dash through thick and thin. Smack went the whip, round went the wheels ; Were never folks so glad : The stones did rattle underneath, As if Cheapside were mad. John Gilpin, at his horse's side, Seized fast the flowing mane, And up he got, in haste to ride, But soon came down again ; For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he, His journey to begin, When, turning round his head, he saw Three customers come in. 23 Calender, cloth-dresser 44 a street in London 49 saddle-tree, bow of the saddle C 1 8 The Children 's Treasury So down he came ; for loss of time Although it grieved him sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble him much more. 'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty, screaming, came downstairs, 1 The wine is left behind ! ' ' Good lack ! ' quoth he, ' yet bring it me, ' My leathern belt likewise, ' In which I bear my trusty sword ' When I do exercise.' Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul !) Had two stone-bottles found, To hold the liquor that she loved, And keep it safe and sound. Each bottle had a curling ear, Through which the belt he drew, And hung a bottle on each side, To make his balance true. Then over all, that he might be Equipp'd from top to toe, His long red cloak, well-brush'd and neat, He manfully did throw. Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed, Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, With caution and good heed. But finding soon a smoother road Beneath his well-shod feet, The snorting beast began to trot, Which gall'd him in his seat. 64 as a soldier 74 equipped, dressed out of English Song ig So, ' Fair and softly ! ' John he cried, But John he cried in vain ; That trot became a gallop soon, In spite of curb and rein. So stooping down, as needs he must Who cannot sit upright, He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, And eke with all his might. His horse, who never in that sort Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more. Away went Gilpin, neck or nought ; Away went hat and wig ; He little dreamt, when he set out, Of running such a rig. The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, Like streamer long and gay, Till loop and button failing both, At last it flew away. Then might all people well discern The bottles he had slung ; A bottle swinging at each side, As hath been said or sung. The dogs did bark, the children scream'd, Up flew the windows all ; And every soul cried out — ' Well done ! ' As loud as he could bawl. Away went Gilpin- — who but he ? His fame soon spread around, ' He carries weight ; he rides a race ! ' 'Tis for a thousand pound ! ' 92 eke, also C 2 20 The ChildrerCs Treasury And still as fast as he drew near, 'Twas wonderful to view How in a trice the turnpike men Their gates wide open threw. And now, as he went bowing down His reeking head full low, The bottles twain behind his back Were shatter'd at a blow. Down ran the wine into the road, Most piteous to be seen, Which made his horse's flanks to smoke As they had basted been. But still he seem'd to carry weight, With leathern girdle braced ; For all might see the bottle-necks Still dangling at his waist. Thus all through merry Islington These gambols he did play, Until he came unto the Wash Of Edmonton so gay ; And there he threw the Wash about On both sides of the way, Just like unto a trundling mop, Or a wild goose at play. At Edmonton his loving wife From the balcdny spied Her tender husband, wondering much To see how he did ride. ' Stop, stop, John Gilpin ! — Here's the house' — They all at once did cry ; ' The dinner waits, and we are tired ; ' Said Gilpin, ' So am I ! ' 119 trice, moment 122 reeking, steaming 128 with gravy of English Song 21 But yet his horse was not a whit Inclined to tarry there ; For why ? his owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware. So like an arrow swift he flew, Shot by an archer strong ; So did he fly — which brings me to The middle of my song. Away went Gilpin, out of breath, And sore against his will, Till at his friend the Calender's His horse at last stood still. The Calender, amazed to see His neighbour in such trim, Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, And thus accosted him. ' What news ? what news ? your tidings tell ! ' Tell me you must and shall — ' Say, why bare-headed you are come, ' Or why you come at all ? ' Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, And loved a timely joke ; And thus unto the Calender In merry guise he spoke : 1 1 came, because your horse would come ; 'And, if I well forbode, ' My hat and wig will soon be here, ' They are upon the road.' The Calender, right glad to find His friend in merry pin, Return'd him not a single word, But to the house went in ; 149 whit, bit 164 accosted, spoke to 17 4. forbode ; prophecy 178 pin, humour 2 The Children's Treasury Whence straight he came, with hat and wig, A wig that fiow'd behind ; A hat not much the worse for wear ; Each comely in its kind. He held them up, and in his turn Thus show'd his ready wit : ' My head is twice as big as yours, ' They therefore needs must fit. ' But let me scrape the dirt away, ' That hangs upon your face ; ' And stop and eat, for well you may ' Be in a hungry case.' Said John, ' It is my wedding-day, ' And all the world would stare, ' If wife should dine at Edmonton, 'And I should dine at Ware ! ' So, turning to his horse, he said, ' I am in haste to dine ; ' 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, 'You shall go back for mine.' Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast ! For which he paid full dear ; For, while he spake, a braying ass Did sing most loud and clear ; Whereat his horse did snort, as he Had heard a lion roar, And gallop'd off with all his might, As he had done before. Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig ; He lost them sooner than at first, For why? — they were too big. 201 bootless, vain of English Song 23 Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw Her husband posting down Into the country far away, She pull'd out half-a-crown ; And thus unto the youth she said, That drove them to the Bell, ' This shall be yours, when you bring back ' My husband safe and well.' The youth did ride, and soon did meet John coming back amain ; Whom in a trice he tried to stop, By catching at his rein ; But not performing what he meant, And gladly would have done, The frighten'd steed he fnghten'd more, And made him faster run. Away went Gilpin, and away Went postboy at his heels, The postboy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering of the wheels. Six gentlemen upon the road Thus seeing Gilpin fly, With postboy scampering in the rear, They raised the hue and cry: — ' Stop thief ! — stop thief ! —a highwayman ! ' Not one of them was mute ; And all and each that pass'd that way Did join in the pursuit. And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space: The toll-men thinking as before That Gilpin rode a race. The Children's Treasury And so he did, and won it too ! For he got first to town ; Nor stopp'd, till where he had got up He did again get down. — Now let us sing, Long live the King, And Gilpin, long live he ; And, when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see ! W. Cowper * II * WILLIAM AND MARGARET 'Twas at the silent, solemn hour When night and morning meet ; In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, And stood at William's feet. Her face was like an April morn, Clad in a wintry cloud ; And clay-cold was her lily hand, That held her sable shroud. So shall the fairest face appear When youth and years are flown : Such is the robe that kings must wear, When death has reft their crown. Her bloom was like the springing flower, That sips the silver dew ; The rose was budded in her cheek, Just opening to the view. But love had, like the cankerworm, Consumed her early prime: The rose grew pale, and left her cheek ; She died before her time. 12 reft, taken of English Song 25 'Awake !' she cried, 'thy true Love calls, ' Come from her midnight grave ; * Now let thy pity hear the maid, ' Thy love refused to save ! ' This is the dumb and dreary hour, ' When injured ghosts complain ; ' When yawning graves give up their dead, ' To haunt the faithless swain. ' Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, ' Thy pledge and broken oath ! ' And give me back my maiden-vow, ' And give me back my troth. ' Why did you promise love to me, 'And not that promise keep? ' Why did you swear my eyes were bright, ' Yet leave those eyes to weep ? ' How could you say my face was fair, ' And yet that face forsake ? ' How could you win my virgin heart, ' Yet leave that heart to break ? ' Why did you say my lip was sweet, ' And made the scarlet pale ? ' And why did I, young witless maid ! ' Believe the flattering tale ? ' That face, alas ! no more is fair, ' Those lips no longer red : ' Dark are my eyes, now closed in death, 'And every charm is fled. ' The hungry worm my sister is ; ' This winding-sheet I wear : ' And cold and weary lasts our night, ' Till that last morn appear. 28 swain, lover 32 troth, promise 48 charm, beauty 26 The Children's Treasury ' But, hark ! the cock has warn'd me hence ; ' A long and late adieu ! ' Come see, false man, how low she lies ' Who died for love of you ! ' The lark sung loud ; the morning smiled With beams of rosy red : Pale William quaked in every limb, And raving left his bed. He hied him to the fatal place Where Margaret's body lay ; And stretch'd him on the green-grass turf That wrapp'd her breathless clay. And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, And thrice he wept full sore ; Then laid his cheek to her cold grave, And word spake never more ! D. Mallet * 12 * THE TRUE SWEETHEART A fair maid sat at her bower-door, Wringing her lily hands ; And by it came a sprightly youth Fast tripping o'er the strands. ' Where gang ye, young John,' she says, ' Sae early in the day ? ' It gars me think, by your fast trip, ' Your journey's far away.' He turn'd about with surly look, And said, ' What's that to thee ? ' I'm gaen' to see a lovely maid ' Mair fairer far than ye.' 54 adieu, good-bye 5 gang., go 7 gars, makes 12 mair, more of English Song 27 — ' False Love, and hast thou play'd me this ' In summer among the flowers ? ' I will repay thee back again ' In winter among the showers. ' Unless again, again, my Love, ' Unless you turn again ; ' As you with other maidens rove, ' I'll smile on other men.' — ' O make your choice of whom you please, ' For I my choice will have ; ' I've chosen a maid mair fair than thee, ' I never will deceive.' She kilted up her clothing fine, And after him gaed she ; But aye he said, ' Turn back, turn back, ' No further gang with me ! ' ' — But again, dear Love, and again, dear Love, ' Will ye ne'er love me again ? ' Alas for loving you sae weel, ' And you nae me again ! ' The firstan town that they came till, He bought her brooch and ring ; But aye he bade her turn again, And no farther gang with him. ' But again, dear Love, and again, dear Love, ' Will ye ne'er love me again ? ' Alas ! for loving you sae weel, ' And you nae me again ! ' The second town that they came till, His heart it grew more fain ; And he was as deep in love with her As she with him again. 25 kilted, tucked 31 sae weel, so well 33 firstan, first ; till, to 28 The Children's Treasury The neistan town that they came till, He bought her wedding-gown ; And made her lady of halls and bowers, In bonny Berwick town. Unknown * 13 * THE GA Y GOSH A WK 1 well is me, my gay goshawk, 1 That you can speak and flee ; ' For you can carry a love-letter ' To my true Love from me.' — ' O how can I carry a letter to her ? ' Or how should I her know ? ' 1 bear a tongue ne'er with her spake, ' And eyes that ne'er her saw.' — ' O well shall ye my true Love ken ' So soon as ye her see : ' For of all the flowers of fair England, ' The fairest flower is she. ' And when she goes into the house, ' Sit ye upon the whin ; ' And sit you there and sing our loves ' As she goes out and in.' Lord William has written a love-letter, Put it under his pinion gray : And he's awa' to Southern land As fast as wings can gae. And first he sang a low, low, note, And then he sang a clear ; And aye the o'erword of the sang Was ' Your Love can no win here.' 45 neistan, next 1 goshawk, large hawk 14 whin, furze-bush 23 o'ei'word, burden 24 no win, not come of English Song 29 ' Feast on, feast on, my maidens all, ' The wine flows you amang ; ' While I gang to my shot-window 1 And hear yon bonnie bird's sang.' O, first he sang a merry sang, And then he sang a grave : And then he peck'd his feathers gray ; To her the letter gave. ' Have there a letter from Lord William : ' He says, he sent ye three ; ' He can not wait your love longer, ' But for your sake he'll die.' — ' I send him the rings from my white fingers, ' The garlands of my hair ; ' I send him the heart that's in my breast ; ' What would my Love have mair ? ' And at Mary's kirk in fair Scotland, ' Ye'll bid him wait for me there.' She hied her to her father dear As fast as go could she : ' An asking, an asking, my father dear, ' An asking grant you me ! ' That if I die in fair England, ' In Scotland bury me. 'At the first kirk of fair Scotland, ' You cause the bells be rung ; 'At the second kirk of fair Scotland, ' You cause the mass be sung ; 1 And when ye come to Saint Mary's kirk, ' Ye'll tarry there till night.' And so her father pledged his word, And so his promise plight. 27 sJu>t-wind a Soldier w)w sunived RIGHT on our flank the crimson sun went down ; The deep sea roll'd around in dark repose ; When, like the wild shriek from some captured town. A cry of women rose. 19 but, only : booming, deep soundine 37 pennon, small flag 1 flank, side 3 captured, taker, in war of English Song. 35 The stout ship Birkenhead lay hard and fast, Caught without hope upon a hidden rock ; Her timbers thrill'd as nerves, when through them pass'd The spirit of that shock. And ever like base cowards, who leave their ranks In danger's hour, before the rush of steel, Drifted away disorderly the planks From underneath her keeL So calm the air, so calm and still the flood, That low down in its blue translucent glass We saw the great fierce fish, that thirst for blood, Pass slowly, then repass. They taried, the waves tarried, for their prey ! The sea turn'd one clear smile ! Like things asleep Those dark shapes in the azure silence lay, As quiet as the deep. Then amidst oath, and prayer, and rush, and wreck, Faint screams, faint questions waiting no reply, Our Colonel gave the word, and on the deck Form'd us in line to die. To die ! — 'twas hard, whilst the sleek ocean glow'd Beneath a sky as fair as summer flowers : — All to the boats ! cried one : — he was, thank God, No officer of ours ! Our English hearts beat true : — we would not stir : That base appeal we heard, but heeded not : On land, on sea, we had our Colours, Sir, To keep without a spot ! They shall not say in England, that we fought With shameful strength, unhonour'd life to seek ; Into mean safety, mean deserters, brought By trampling down the weak. 10 rush of steel, battle 14 translucent, transparent z$Jish, sharks D 2 36 The Children's Treasury So we made women with their children go, The oars ply back again, and yet again ; Whilst, inch by inch, the drowning ship sank low, Still under steadfast men. — What follows, why recall ? — The brave who died, Died without flinching in the bloody surf, They sleep as well, beneath that purple tide, As others under turf : — They sleep as well ! and, roused from their wild grave, Wearing their wounds like stars, shall rise again, Joint-heirs with Christ, because they bled to save His weak ones, not in vain. Sir F. H. Doyle * 18* THE ' NOR THER N STAR' A Tynemouth Ship The 'Northern Star' Sail'd over the bar Bound to the Baltic Sea ; In the morning gray She stretch'd away : — 'Twas a weary day to me ! For many an hour In sleet and shower By the lighthouse rock I stray ; And watch till dark For the winge'd bark Of him that is far away. The castle's bound I wander round, Amidst the grassy graves : 11 winged, with sails 15 Tynemouth Castle, used as a graveyard of English Song. 37 But all I hear Is the north-wind drear, And all I see are the waves. The 'Northern Star' Is set afar ! Set in the Baltic Sea : And the waves have spread The sandy bed That holds my Love from me. Unknown * 19* THE ADMIRAL'S GRAVE There is in the lone, lone sea A spot unmark'd but holy ; For there the gallant and the free In his ocean-bed lies lowly. Down, down, beneath the deep That oft in triumph bore him, He sleeps a sound and peaceful sleep With the wild waves dashing o'er him. He sleeps ! — he sleeps ! serene and safe From tempest and from billow, Where storms that high above him chafe Scarce rock his peaceful pillow. The sea and him in death They did not dare to sever : It was his home when he had breath : 'Tis now his home for ever ! Sleep on, sleep on, thou mighty dead ! A glorious tomb they've found thee ; The broad blue sky above thee spread : The boundless ocean round thee. Unknown 38 The Children's Treasury * 20 * LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE Toll for the Brave ! The brave that are no more ! All sunk beneath the wave Fast by their native shore ! Eight hundred of the brave Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel And laid her on her side. A land-breeze shook the shrouds And she was overset ; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak, She ran upon no rock His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down. With twice four hundred men. — Weigh the vessel up Once dreaded by our foes ! And mingle with our cup The tears that England owes. 7 heel, lean over 9 shrouds, mast ropes 19 sprang, opened 25 weigh, lift 27 cup, rejoicing of English Song. 39 Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main : But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er ; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more. W. Cowper * 21 * THE SAILOR'S WIFE And are ye sure the news is true ? And are ye sure he's weel ? Is this a time to think o' wark ? Ye jades, lay by your wheel ; Is this the time to spin a thread, When Colin's at the door ? Reach down my cloak. I'll to the quay, And see him come ashore. For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a' ; There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa'. And gie to me my bigonet, My bishop's satin gown ; For I maun tell the bailie's wife That Colin's in the town. My Turkey slippers maun gae on, My stockin's pearly blue ; It's a' to pleasure our gudeman, For he's baith leal and true. 31 thunder, cannon 2 weel, well 4 jades, girls 10 at a', at all 12 gudeman, master of the house 13 bigonet, little cap 15 maun, must : bailie, magistrate 20 leal, faithful 4° The ChildrerCs Treasury Rise, lass, and mak a clean fireside, Put on the muckle pot ; Gie little Kate her button gown And Jock his Sunday coat ; And mak their shoon as black as slaes, Their hose as white as snaw ; It's a' to please my ain gudeman, For he's been long awa'. There's twa fat hens upo' the coop Been fed this month and mair ; Mak haste and thraw their necks about, That Colin weel may fare ; And spread the table neat and clean, Gar ilka thing look braw, For wha can tell how Colin fared When he was far awa' ? Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech, His breath like caller air ; His very foot has music in't As he comes up the stair : — And will I see his face again ? And will I hear him speak ? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet. If Colin's weel, and weel content, I hae nae mair to crave, And gin I live to keep him sae, I'm blest aboon the lave : And will I see his face again, And will I hear him speak ? I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought, In troth I'm like to greet. 22 muckle, big 25 slaes, sloes 31 thraw, twist 34 gar, make : ilka, every : braw, smart 38 caller, fresh 44 greet, cry 47£t", if 48 aboon tfie lave, beyond every one else of English Song. 41 For there's nae luck about the house, There's nae luck at a' ; There's little pleasure in the house When our gudeman's awa'. W. J. Mickle * 22 * A SEA DIRGE FULL fathom five thy father lies : Of his bones are coral made ; Those are pearls that were his eyes : Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange ; Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : Hark ! now I hear them — Ding, Dong, Bell. W. Shakespeare * 23 * A LAND DIRGE CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field mouse, and the mole To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm, And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm: But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men : For with his nails he'll dig them up again. y. Webster 1 Full five fathoms under water 7 sea-nymphs, fairies 8 gay, splendid 5 dole, feast 42 The Children's Treasury * 24 * THE SOLITUDE OF ALEXANDER SELKIRK I AM monarch of all I survey ; My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea I am lord of the fowl and the brute. Solitude ! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face ? Better dwell in the midst of alarms Then reign in this horrible place. 1 am out of humanity's reach, I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech ; I start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain My form with indifference see ; They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, Friendship, and Love, Divinely bestow'd upon man, O had I the wings of a dove How soon would I taste you again ! My sorrows I then might assuage In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. Ye winds that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more : — My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me ? O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see ! 6 sages, wise people 9 humanity, human creatures 21 assuage, heal 24 salli s, lively talk 27 report, news of English Song. 43 How fleet is a glance of the mind ! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land In a moment I seem to be there ; But alas ! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. — But the seafowl is gone to her nest, The beast is laid down in his lair ; Even here is a season of rest, And I to my cabin repair. There's mercy in every place, And mercy, encouraging thought ! Gives even affliction a grace, And reconciles man to his lot. W. Cowper AT SEA A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast And fills the white and rustling sail And bends the gallant mast ; And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While like the eagle free Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. O for a soft and gentle wind ! I heard a fair one cry ; But give to me the snoring breeze And white waves heaving high ; 33 glance, thought 42 lair, den 44 repair, go 48 makes us con- tent with life 1 sheet, sail-ropes 8 he, behind 44 The Children's Treasury And white waves heaving high, my lads, The good ship tight and free : — The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we. There's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud ; But hark the music, mariners ! The wind is piping loud ; The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashes free — While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea. A. Cunningham * 26 * SPRING Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo. The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! Spring ! the sweet Spring ! T. Nash 17 horned, new 23 oak, ship 24 heritage, proper home of English Song. 45 * 27 * COUNTRY SCENES IN OLD DAYS Day-break See the day begins to break, And the light shoots like a streak Of subtle fire ; the wind blows cold While the morning doth unfold ; Now the birds begin to rouse, And the squirrel from the boughs Leaps, to get him nuts and fruit ; The early lark, that erst was mute, Carols to the rising day Many a note and many a lay. Unfolding the Flocks Shepherds, rise, and shake off sleep — See the blushing morn doth peep Through the windows, while the sun To the mountain-tops is run, Gilding all the vales below With his rising flames, which grow Greater by his climbing still. — Up ! ye lazy swains ! and fill Bag and bottle for the field ; Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield To the bitter north-east wind. Call the maidens up, and find Who lies longest, that she may Be chidden for untimed delay. Feed your faithful dogs, and pray Heaven to keep you from decay ; So unfold, and then away. Folding the Flocks Shepherds all, and maidens fair, Fold your flocks up ; for the air 'Gins to thicken, and the sun Already his great course hath run. 3 subtle, piercing 8 erst, before 10 lay, song 26 decay, harm 30 'gins, begins 46 The Children's Treasury See the dew-drops how they kiss Every little flower that is ; 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 love"d flock ; And let your dogs lie loose without, Lest the wolf come as a scout From the mountain, and ere day Bear a lamb or kid away ; Or the crafty, thievish fox Break upon your simple flocks. To secure yourself from these Be not too secure in ease ; So shall you good shepherds prove, And deserve your master's love. Now, good night ! may sweetest slumbers And soft silence fall in numbers On your eye-lids ! so farewell ; — Thus I end my evening's knell. J. Fletcher THE COUNTRY LIFE Sweet country life, to such unknown Whose lives are others', not their own, But, serving courts and cities, be Less happy, less enjoying thee : — 7 Hesperus, the evening star 39 unsound, unhealthy 47 scout, s Py 53 secure, careless 57 in numbers, musically, softly of English Song. 47 — Thou never plough'st the ocean's foam To seek and bring rough pepper home ; Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove To bring from thence the scorche'd clove ; Nor, with the loss of thy loved rest, Bring'st home the ingot from the west : No ! thy ambition's masterpiece Flies no thought higher than a fleece ; Or how to pay thy hinds, and clear All scores, and so to end the year : But walk'st about thine own dear bounds, Not envying others' larger grounds ; For well thou know'st 'tis not the extent Of land makes life, but sweet content. When now the cock, the ploughman's horn, Calls forth the lily-wristed morn, Then to thy cornfields thou dost go, Which though well soil'd, yet thou dost know That the best compost for the lands Is the wise master's feet and hands : There at the plough thou find'st thy team, With a hind whistling there to them ; And cheer'st them up, by singing how The kingdom's portion is the plough : This done, then to th' enamell'd meads Thou go'st, and as thy foot there treads, Thou seest a present God-like power Imprinted in each herb and flower ; And smell'st the breath of great-eyed kine Sweet as the blossoms of the vine : Here thou behold'st thy large sleek neat Unto the dew-laps up in meat ; And as thou look'st, the wanton steer, The heifer, cow, and ox draw near, To make a pleasing pastime there : — 10 ingot, gold or silver bars n thy highest wish 17 extent, size 20 lily, white 23 compost, manure 29 enamelTd, brightly-coloured 48 The Children's Treasury These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks Of sheep, safe from the wolf and fox, And find'st their bellies there as full Of short sweet grass, as backs with wool ; And leav'st them, as they feed and fill, A shepherd piping on a hill. For sports, for pageantry and plays, Thou hast thy eves and holydays ; On which the young men and maids meet To exercise their dancing feet, Tripping the comely country round, With daffodils and daisies crown'd. Thy wakes, thy quintels, here thou hast, Thy May-poles too with garlands graced, Thy morris-dance, thy Whitsun-ale, Thy shearing-feast, which never fail, Thy harvest home, thy wassail bowl, That's toss'd up after Fox'i'th'hole, Thy mummeries, thy twelfth-tide kings And queens, thy Christmas revellings, — Thy nut-brown mirth, thy russet wit, And no man pays too dear for it : — To these, thou hast thy times to go And trace the hare i'th'treacherous snow ; Thy witty wiles to draw, and get The lark into the trammel net ; Thou hast thy cockrood and thy glade To take the precious pheasant made ; Thy lime-twigs, snares, and pitfalls then To catch the pilfering birds, not men. O happy life ! if that their good The husbandmen but understood ; 46 pageantry, shows 52 quintels, a game in which poles were run at a post 54 morris, mumming 56 wassail-bn-wl, cup of old ale 57 Fox, a game in which boys hopped and flogged each other 60 russet, homely 62 Besides 64 witty, clever 65 trammel, fowling 66 cockrood, see end of English Song 49 Who all the day themselves do please And younglings, with such sports as these ; And, lying down, have nought t'affright Sweet sleep, that makes more short the night. R. Herrick * 2Q * THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE Come live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field, And all the craggy mountains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle EmbroiderM all with leaves of myrtle. A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull, Fair lindd slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold. A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my Love. Thy silver dishes for thy meat As precious as the gods do eat, Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me. 8 madrigals, short songs u kirtle, jacket E 50 The Childretis Treasury The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May-morning : If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my Love. C. Marlowe THE REAPER Behold her, single in the field, Yon solitary Highland Lass ! Reaping and singing by herself ; Stop here, or gently pass ! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain ; listen ! for the vale profound Is overflowing with the sound. No nightingale did ever chaunt More welcome notes to weary bands Of travellers, in some shady haunt Among Arabian sands : No sweeter voice was ever heard In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. Will no one tell me what she sings ? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago : Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day ? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again ? Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang As if her song could have no ending ; 1 saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending ; 25 theme, subject of her song of English Song 5 1 I listen'd till I had my fill ; And as I mounted up the hill The music in my heart I bore Long after it was heard no more. W. Wordsworth *3* * NEW AND OLD Glad sight, wherever new with old Is join'd through some dear homeborn tie ; The life of all that we behold Depends upon that mystery. Vain is the glory of the sky, The beauty vain of field and grove, Unless, while with admiring eye We gaze, we also learn to love. W. Wordsworth *3 2 * A UTUMN A Dirge The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing, The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying ; And the year On the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead, Is lying. Come, Months, come away, From November to May, In your saddest array, — Follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre. 8 array, dress n sepulchre, tomb E 2 52 The Children's Treasury The chill rain is falling, the nipt worm is crawling, The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knelling, For the year ; The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone To his dwelling. Come, Months, come away ; Put on white, black, and gray ; Let your light sisters play ; Ye, follow the bier Of the dead cold year, And make her grave green with tear on tear. P. B. Shelley *33* THE COUNTRYMAN What pleasures have great princes More dainty to their choice, Than herdmen wild, who careless In quiet life rejoice ; And fortune's favours scorning, Sing sweet in summer morning. All day their flocks each tendeth ; At night they take their rest ; More quiet than who sendeth His ship into the east, Where gold and pearl are plenty, But getting very dainty. For lawyers and their pleading, They 'steem it not a straw : — They think that honest meaning Is of itself a law : Where conscience judgeth plainly, They spend no money vainly. 19 the summer months 12 dainty, difficult 14 'steem, value of English Song 53 O happy who thus liveth, Not caring much for gold ; With clothing, which surhceth To keep him from the cold : — Though poor and plain his diet, Yet merry it is and quiet. Unknown * 34* TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY Wee, modest, crimson-tippe"d flower, Thou's met me in an evil hour ; For I maun crush amang the stour Thy slender stem ; To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonnie gem. Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet ! Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet Wi' spreckled breast, When upward springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east. Cauld blew the bitter-biting north Upon thy early, humble, birth ; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm ; Scarce reared above the parent earth Thy tender form. The flaunting flowers our gardens yield High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield, But thou beneath the random bield O' clod or stane Adorns the histie stibble-field, Unseen, alane. 3 7naun, must : stour, dust 7 no, not : neebor, neighbour 8 meet, fit 9 weet, wet 10 spreckled, speckled 12 purpling, at dawn 15 glinted, glanced 20 wa's, walls 21 bield, shelter 23 histie, dry: stibble, stubble 54 The Children's Treasury There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawy bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise ; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies ! R. Burns *35* THE WHIRL-BLAST A WHIRL-BLAST from behind the hill Rush'd o'er the wood with startling sound ; Then — all at once the air was still, And showers of hailstones patter'd round. Where leafless oaks tower'd high above, I sat within an undergrove Of tallest hollies, tall and green ; A fairer bower was never seen. From year to year the spacious floor With wither'd leaves is cover'd o'er, And all the year the bower is green ; But see ! where'er the hailstones drop The wither'd leaves all skip and hop ; There's not a breeze — no breath of air — Yet here, and there, and every where Along the floor, beneath the shade By those embowering hollies made, The leaves in myriads jump and spring, As if with pipes and music rare Some Robin Goodfellow were there, And all those leaves, in festive glee, Were dancing to the minstrelsy. W. Wordsworth 27 unassuming, modest 28 guise, manner 20 Robin Goodfellow, a fairy 22 minstrelsy, music of English Song 55 *3 6 When icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail ; When blood is nipt, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl Tuwhoo ! Tuwhit ! tuwhoo ! A merry note ! While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. When all around the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw ; When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl — Then nightly sings the staring owl Tuwhoo ! Tuwhit ! tuwhoo ! A merry note ! While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. W. Shakespeare *37* JOCK OF HAZELDEAN 1 Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? ' Why weep ye by the tide ? ' I'll wed ye to my youngest son, ' And ye sail be his bride : ' And ye sail be his bride, ladie, ' Sae comely to be seen ' — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. 9 keel, skim n saw, speech 14 cmis, wild apples 7 loot, let : fa fall 56 The Children's Treasury ' Now let this wilfu' grief be done, ' And dry that cheek so pale ; 'Young Frank is chief of Errington, ' And lord of Langley-dale ; ' His step is first in peaceful ha', ' His sword in battle keen' — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. ' A chain of gold ye sail not lack, ' Nor braid to bind your hair, ' Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, ' Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; ' And you the foremost o' them a' ' Sail ride our forest-queen ' — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, The tapers glimmerM fair ; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there : They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; The ladie was not seen ! She's o'er the Border, and awa' Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. Sir W. Scott * 3 8 * THE OUTLAW O Brignall banks are wild and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there "Would grace a summer-queen. 13 ha', hall, for house 19 mettled, spirited: managed, trained 25 kirk, church 29 bower, lady's own rown Outlaw, man driven out to live by himself, a robber of English Son% 57 And as I rode by Dalton-Hall Leneath the turrets high, A Maiden on the castle-wall Was singing merrily : ' O Brignall Banks are fresh and fair, ' And Greta woods are green ; ' I'd rather rove with Edmund there ' Than reign our English queen.' — ' If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, ' To leave both tower and town, ' Thou first must guess what life lead we ' That dwell by dale and down. ' And if thou canst that riddle read, ' As read full well you may, ' Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed ' As blithe as Queen of May.' Yet sung she, ' Brignall banks are fair, ' And Greta woods are green ; ' I'd rather rove with Edmund there ' Than reign our English queen.' ' I read you by your bugle-horn ' And by your palfrey good, ' I read you for a ranger sworn ' To keep the king's greenwood.' — ' A Ranger, lady, winds his horn, ' And 'tis at peep of light ; ' His blast is heard at merry morn, ' And mine at dead of night' Yet sung she ' Brignall banks are fair, ' And Greta woods are gay ; ' I would I were with Edmund there ' To reign his Queen of May ! 13 wend, go 25 read, declare 26 palfrey, pony 27 ranger, forest-keeper 28 keep, guard 29 winds, blows 58 The Children's Treasury ' With burnish'd brand and musketoon ' So gallantly you come. ' I read you for a bold Dragoon ' That lists the tuck of drum.' — ' I list no more the tuck of drum, ' No more the trumpet hear ; ' But when the beetle sounds his hum ' My comrades take the spear. ' And O ! though Brignall banks be fair ' And Greta woods be gay, ' Yet mickle must the maiden dare ' Would reign my Queen of May ! ' Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, ' A nameless death I'll die ! ' The fiend whose lantern lights the mead ' Were better mate than I ! ' And when I'm with my comrades met ' Beneath the greenwood bough ' What once we were we all forget, ' Nor think what we are now.' Chorus Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there Would grace a summer-queen. Sir W. Scott * 39 * EDWIN AND ANGELINA 'Turn, gentle Hermit of the dale, ' And guide my lonely way ' To where yon taper cheers the vale ' With hospitable ray. 37 brand, sword : musketoon, blunderbuss 40 tuck, beat 47 mickle, much 51 Will o' the Wisp of English Song 59 ' For here forlorn and lost I tread, ' With fainting steps and slow, ' Where wilds, immeasurably spread, ' Seem lengthening as I go.' — ' Forbear, my son,' the Hermit cries, ' To tempt the dangerous gloom, ' For yonder faithless phantom flies ' To lure thee to thy doom. Here to the houseless child of want ' My door is open still ; ' And though my portion is but scant ' I give it with goodwill. ' Then turn to-night, and freely share ' Whate'er my cell bestows ; ■ My rushy couch and frugal fare, ' My blessing and repose. ' No flocks that range the valley free ' To slaughter I condemn ; ' Taught by that Power that pities me, ' I learn to pity them : ' But from the mountain's grassy side ' A guiltless feast I bring : ' A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, ' And water from the spring. ' Then, pilgrim ! turn ; thy cares forego; ' All earth-born cares are wrong : ' Man wants but little here below, ' Nor wants that little long.' 7 immeasurably, without end 10 tempt, try 11 the Will-o'-the-Wisp 12 lure, tempt 19 bed of rushes 22 kill 27 scrip, little bag 29 forego, lay by 60 The Children's Treasury Soft as the dew from heaven descends His gentle accents fell : The modest stranger lowly bends, And follows to the cell. Far in a wilderness obscure The lonely mansion lay, A refuge to the neighbouring poor, And strangers led astray. No stores beneath its humble thatch Required a master's care, The wicket, opening with a latch, Received the harmless pair. And now, when busy crowds retire To take their evening rest, The hermit trimm'd his little fire, And cheer'd his pensive guest: And spread his vegetable store, And gaily press'd and smiled ; And skill'd in legendary lore, The lingering hours beguiled. Around, in sympathetic mirth, Its tricks the kitten tries ; The cricket chirrups on the hearth, The crackling fagot flies. But nothing could a charm impart To soothe the stranger's woe ; For grief was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow. His rising cares the Hermit spied, With answering care oppress'd : And ' Whence, unhappy youth,' he cried, ' The sorrows of thy breast ? 34 accents, voice 48 pensive, thoughtful 51 legendary lore, ancient stories 53 cheerful like the Hermit 57 impart, give 62 similar sadness of English Song 6 1 ' From better habitations spurn'd ' Reluctant dost thou rove ? ' Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, ' Or unregarded love ? ' Alas ! the joys that fortune brings ' Are trifling, and decay ; ' And those who prize the paltry things, ' More trifling still than they. ' And what is friendship but a name, ' A charm that lulls to sleep ; ' A shade that follows wealth or fame, ' But leaves the wretch to weep ? ' And love is still an emptier sound, ' The modern fair-one's jest ; ' On earth unseen, or only found * To warm the turtle's nest. ' For shame, fond youth ! thy sorrows hush ; ' And spurn the sex,' he said ; But while he spoke, a rising blush His love-lorn guest betray'd ! Surprised he sees new beauties rise, Swift mantling to the view ; Like colours o'er the morning skies, As bright, as transient too. The bashful look, the rising breast, Alternate spread alarms: The lovely stranger stands confess'd, A maid in all her charms. And ' Ah ! forgive a stranger rude, — ' A wretch forlorn,' she cried ; ' Whose feet, unhallow'd, thus intrude 1 Where Heaven and you reside ! 65 spurn'd, driven 66 reluctant, unwilling 69 Jbrlune,\vea\th 82 the sex, women 86 mantling, spreading 3 fransient, soon passing 91 confess'd, revealed 95 intrude, push in 62 The Children's Treasury 4 But let a maid thy pity share, Whom love has taught to stray; ' Who seeks for rest, but finds despair ' Companion of her way. ' My father lived beside the Tyne, ' A wealthy lord was he ; ' And all his wealth was mark'd as mine, 4 He had but only me. 4 To win me from his tender arms ' Unnumber'd suitors came, ' Who praised me for imputed charms, ' And felt or feign'd a flame. 4 Each hour a mercenary crowd 4 With richest proffers strove : 4 Amongst the rest, young Edwin bow'd, 4 But never talk'd of love. 4 In humble, simple habit clad, 4 No wealth nor power had he : 4 Wisdom and worth were all he had, 4 But these were all to me. 4 And when, beside me in the dale, 4 He caroll'd lays of love, 4 His breath lent fragrance to the gale, ' And music to the grove. 4 The blossom opening to the day, 4 The dews of heaven refined, 4 Could nought of purity display 4 To emulate his mind. 4 The dew, the blossom on the tree, 4 With charms inconstant shine: 4 Their charms were his ; but, woe to me ! 4 Their constancy was mine. 107 imputed, which they said they saw 108 Jlame, love 109 mercenary, greedy of money wo proffers, offers 124 emulate, rival 126 changeable beauties of English Song 63 ' For still I tried each fickle art, ' Importunate and vain ; ' And, while his passion touch'd my heart, ' I triumph'd in his pain : ' Till, quite dejected with my scorn, ' He left me to my pride ; ' And sought a solitude forlorn, ' In secret, where he died. ' But mine the sorrow, mine the fault ! 'And well my life shall pay; ' I'll seek the solitude he sought, ' And stretch me where he lay. ' And there, forlorn, despairing, hid, ' I'll lay me down and die ; 1 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, ' And so for him will I.' — ' Forbid it, Heaven ! ' the Hermit cried, And clasp'd her to his breast : The wondering fair one turn'd to chide — 'Twas Edwin's self that press'd ! ' Turn, Angelina, ever dear, ' My charmer, turn to see ' Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, ' Restored to love and thee. ' Thus let me hold thee to my heart, ' And every care resign : ' And shall we never, never part, ' My life — my all that's mine ? ' No, never from this hour to part, ' We'll live and love so true : ' The sigh that rends thy constant heart 1 Shall break thy Edwin's too.' O. Goldsmith 132 triumph'd, rejoiced 133 dejected, grieved 64 The Children's Treasury *40* THE LASS OF LOCHROYAN 1 O WHO will shoe my bonny foot, ' And who will glove my hand ? And who will lace my middle jimp ' Wi' a long, long, linen band ? ' Or who will kaim my yellow hair ' Wi' a new-made silver kaim ? ' O who will father my young son ' Till Lord Gregory comes hame ? ' O if I had a bonny ship, ' And men to sail wi' me, ' It's I would gang to my true Love, ' Since he winna come to me ! ' Then she's gar'd build a bonny boat, To sail the salt, salt sea : The sails were of the light-green silk And the ropes of taffetie. She had not been on the sea sailing About a month or more, Till landed has she her bonny ship Near to her true Love's door. She's ta'en her young son in her arms And to the door she's gane ; And long she knock'd, and sair she call'd, But answer got she nane. ' O open the door, Lord Gregory ! ' O open, and let me in ! ' For the wind blows through my yellow hair, ' And the rain drops o'er my chin.' 3 middle jimp, slender waist 5 kaim, comb 12 winna, will not 13 gar'd, made 16 taffetie, thin silk 23 sair, sorely of English Song 65 Long stood she at Lord Gregory's door, And long she tirl'd the pin ; At length up gat his false mother, Says, ' Who's that would be in ? ' — ' O it's Annie of Lochroyan, ' Your Love, come o'er the sea, ' But and your young son in her arms ; ' So open the door to me.' — 'Away, away, ye ill woman ! ' You're not come here for gude ; ' You're but a witch, or a vile warlock, ' Or a mermaid o' the flood.' — ' I'm no a witch, nor vile warlock, ' Nor mermaiden,' said she ; ' But I am Annie of Lochroyan, — ' O open the door to me ! ' — ' If thou be Annie of Lochroyan ' (As I trow ye binna she), ' Now tell me some of the love-tokens ' That pass'd 'tween me and thee.' — * O dinna ye mind, Lord Gregory, ' As we sat at the wine, ' How we changed the rings from our fingers, ' And I can show thee thine ? ' O yours was good, and good enough, ' But not so good as mine ; ' For yours was o' the good red gold, ' But mine of the diamond fine. ' So open the door, Love Gregory, 'And open it with speed ; ' Or your young son that's in my arms, ' For cold will soon be dead.' 30 tirl'd, twisted the latch 35 But and, and also 39 warlock, wizard 46 binna, be not 49 dinna, do not F 66 The Children's Treasury — ' Away, away, ye ill woman ! ' Go from my door for shame ! ' For I have gotten another Love, ' So you may hie you hame.' Fair Annie turn'd her round about ; ' Well ! since that it be sae, ' May never a woman, that has borne a son, ' Have a heart so full of wae ! ' Take down, take down, the mast of gold, ' Set up the mast o' tree ; I It ill becomes a forsaken lady ' To sail so gallantlie.' Lord Gregory started from his sleep, And to his mother did say, I I dreamt a dream, this night, mother, 1 That makes my heart right wae. ' I dreamt that Annie of Lochroyan, ' The flower of all her kin, ' E'en now was standing at my door, ' But none would let her in.' — ' O there was a woman stood at the door, ' With a bairn intill her arm ; ' But I could not let her come within, ' For fear she had done you harm.' — ' O wae betide ye, ill woman ! ' An ill death may ye dee ! ' That wadna open the door to her, Nor yet would waken me ! ' O, he's gone down to yon shore side As fast as he could fare ; He saw fair Annie in the boat, But the wind it toss'd her sair. 68 wae, woe 70 tree, wood 76 wae, sad 82 intill, in 87 wadna, would not of English Song 67 And ' hey, Annie ! ' and ' how, Annie !' ' O Annie, winna ye bide ? ' But aye the mair he cried ' Annie,' The broader grew the tide. And ' hey, Annie ! ' and ' how, Annie ! ' ' O Annie, speak to me ! ' But aye the louder he cried ' Annie,' The louder roar'd the sea. The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough, And the ship was rent in twain : And soon he saw his fair Annie Come floating o'er the main. He saw his young son in her arms, Both toss'd above the tide ; He wrang his hands, and fast he ran And plunged in the sea sae wide. He catch'd her by the yellow hair, And drew her up on the sand ; But cold and stiff was every limb Before he reach'd the land. And then he kiss'd her on the cheek, And kiss'd her on the chin ; And sair he kiss'd her on the lips ; But there was no breath within. ' O wae betide my cruel mother ! ' An ill death may she dee ! 1 She turn'd fair Annie from my door, ' Wha died for love of me ! ' Unknown 94 bide, wait 68 The Children's Treasury * A\ * CUMNOR HALL THE dews of summer night did fall ; The moon, sweet Regent of the sky, Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall, And many an oak that grew thereby. Now nought was heard beneath the skies ; The sounds of busy life were still, Save an unhappy lady's sighs That issued from that lonely pile. ' Leicester ! ' she cried, ' is this thy love ' That thou so oft hast sworn to me, ' To leave me in this lonely grove, ' Immured in shameful privity ? ' No more thou com'st with lover's speed ' Thy once-belove"d bride to see ; ' But, be she alive, or be she dead, ' I fear, stern Earl, 's the same to thee. ' Not so the usage I received ' When happy in my father's hall : ' No faithless husband then me grieved ; ' No chilling fears did me appal. ' I rose up with the cheerful morn, ' No lark more blithe, no flower more gay : ' And like the bird that haunts the thorn, ' So merrily sung the live-long day. ' If that my beauty is but small, ' Among court-ladies all despised ; ' Why didst thou rend it from that hall ' Where, scornful Earl ! it well was prized ? 2 regent, ruler S issued, came forth : pile, building 12 immured, buried : privity, solitude i usage, treatment 20 appal, frighten 27 rend, take away of English Song 69 1 But, Leicester, (or I much am wrong), ' Or 'tis not beauty lures thy vows ; ' Rather, ambition's gilded crown ' Makcis thee forget thy humble spouse. ' Then, Leicester, why, — again I plead, ' The injured surely may repine,- — ' Why didst thou wed a country maid, ' When some fair Princess might be thine ? ' Why didst thou praise my humble charms, ' And O ! then leave them to decay ? ' Why didst thou win me to thy arms, ' Then leave to mourn the live-long day ? ' The village maidens of the plain ' Salute me lowly as they go : ' Envious they mark my silken train, ' Nor think a Countess can have woe. ' How far less blest am I than them ! ' Daily to pine and waste with care, 1 Like the poor plant, that, from its stem ' Divided, feels the chilling air. ' My spirits flag ; my hopes decay ; ' Still that dread death-bell smites my ear : ' And many a boding seems to say ' Countess, prepare ! thy end is near ! ' Thus sore and sad the Lady grieved In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear ; And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved, And let fall many a bitter tear. And ere the dawn of day appear'd, In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear, Full many a piercing scream was heard, And many a cry of mortal fear. 30 lures, tempts thy wishes 32 spouse, wife 34 repine, murmur 37 charms, beauties 42 bow to me 43 train, dress 49 flag, sink 51 boding, sign jo The Children's Treasury The death-bell thrice was heard to ring ; An aerial voice was heard to call ; And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing Around the towers of Cumnor Hall. The mastiff howl'd at village door ; The oaks were shattered on the green ; Woe was the hour ! for never more That hapless Countess e'er was seen. And in that manor now no more Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball : For ever since that dreary hour Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall. The village maids, with fearful glance, Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall, Nor ever lead the merry dance Among the groves of Cumnor Hall. Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd, And pensive wept the Countess' fall, As wandering onwards they've espied The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall. W. J. Mickle * 42 * THE TRUE AND THE FALSE Where shall the lover rest Whom the fates sever From his true maiden's breast Parted for ever ? Where, through groves deep and high Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die Under the willow : — Eleu loro Soft shall be his pillow. 62 aerial, in the air 78 pensive, thoughtful of English Song 71 There, through the summer day Cool streams are laving : There, while the tempests sway, Scarce are boughs waving ; There thy rest shalt thou take, Parted for ever, Never again to wake Never, O never ! Eleu loro Never, O never ! — Where shall the traitor rest, He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, Ruin, and leave her ? In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying ; Eleu loro There shall he be lying. Her wing shall the eagle flap O'er the falsehearted ; His warm blood the wolf shall lap Ere life be parted : Shame and dishonour sit By his grave ever ; Blessing shall hallow it Never, O never ! Eleu loro Never, O never / Sir W. Scott 72 The Chi/dre/i's Treasury *43* A ULD ROBIN GRAY WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, And a' the warld to rest are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, While my gudeman lies sound by me. Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride ; But saving a croun he had naething else beside : To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea ; And the croun and the pund were baith for me. He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa' ; My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea - And auld Robin Gray came a-courtin' me. My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; I toil'd day and night, but their bread I couldna win ; Auld Rob maintain'd them baith, and wi' tears in his e'e ' Said, Jennie, for their sakes, O, marry me ! ' My heart it said nay ; I look'd for Jamie back ; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack ; His ship it was a wrack — why didna Jamie dee ? Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me ? i fauld, fold : kye, cattle 3 fa' , fall 7 gaed, went 9 awa' , away a fortnight 10 stoivn. stolen 13 couldna, could not 19 dee, die of English Song 73 My father urgit sair : my mother didna speak ; But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break : They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea : Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. 1 hadna been a wife a week but only four, When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at the door, I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I couldna think it he — Till he said, ' I'm come hame to marry thee.' — O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say 5 We took but ae kiss, and I bad him gang away : I wish that I were dead, but I'm no like to dee ; And why was I born to say, Wae's me ! I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin ; I daurna think on Jamie, for that wad be a sin ; But I'll do my best a gude wife aye to be, For auld Robin Gray he is kind unto me. Lady A. Lindsay * 44* WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW Down in yon garden sweet and gay Where bonnie grows the lily, I heard a fair maid sighing say, ' My wish be wi' sweet Willie ! 1 Willie's rare, and Willie's fair, 'And Willie's wondrous bonny ; •And Willie hecht to marry me ' Gin e'er he married ony. 21 urgit, pressed 24 gudeman, husband 27 wraith, ghost 29 sair, sorely : greet, cry : muckle, much 31 like, likely 34 daurna, dare not 7 hecht, promised 8 gin, if: ony, any 74 The Children's Treasury ' O gentle wind, that bloweth south, ' From where my Love repaireth, ' Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth ' And tell me how he fareth ! ' O tell sweet Willie to come doun ' And hear the mavis singing, ' And see the birds on ilka bush ' And leaves around them hinging. ' The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast ' And gentle throat sae narrow : ' There's sport eneuch for gentlemen ' On Leader-haughs and Yarrow. ' O Leader-haughs are wide and braid ' And Yarrow-haughs are bonny ; ' There Willie hecht to marry me ' If e'er he married ony. ' But Willie's gone, whom I thought on, ' And does not hear me weeping ; 1 Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e ' When other maids are sleeping. ' O came ye by yon water-side ? ' Pou'd you the rose or lily ? ' Or came you by yon meadow green, ' Or saw you my sweet Willie ? ' She sought him up, she sought him down, She sought him braid and narrow ; Syne, in the cleaving of a craig, She found him drown'd in Yarrow ! Unknown io repaireth, is going 14 mavis, thrush 15 ilka, every 17 lav'rock, lark 19 eneuch, enough 20 hauglis, water-meadows 21 braid, broad 30 pou'd, pulled 34 through plain and valley 35 syne, then : craig, rock of English Song 75 *45 * LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER A Chieftain to the Highlands bound Cries ' Boatman, do not tarry ! ' And I'll give thee a silver pound ' To row us o'er the ferry ! ' — ' Now, who be ye, would cross Lochgyle ' This dark and stormy water ? ' — ' O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, ' And this, Lord Ullin's daughter. ' And fast before her father's men ' Three days we've fled together, ' For should he find us in the glen, ' My blood would stain the heather. ' His horsemen hard behind us ride — ' Should they our steps discover, c Then who will cheer my bonny bride ' When they have slain her lover ? ' Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, ' I'll go, my chief, I'm ready: ' It is not for your silver bright, ' But for your winsome lady: — ' And by my word ! the bonny bird ' In danger shall not tarry ; ' So though the waves are raging white, ' I'll row you o'er the ferry.' By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking ; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. 26 water-wraith, spirit of the lake 27 scowl, storminess 76 The Children's Treastiry But still as wilder blew the wrnd, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode arme'd men, Their trampling sounded nearer. ' O haste thee, haste ! ' the lady cries, ' Though tempests round us gather ; ' I'll meet the raging of the skies, ' But not an angry father ! ' The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her, — When, O ! too strong for human hand The tempest gather'd o'er her. And still they row'd amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing : Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, — His wrath was changed to wailing. For, sore disma/d, through storm and shade His child he did discover : — One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid, And one was round her lover. ' Come back ! come back ! ' he cried in grief 1 Across this stormy water : ' And I'll forgive your Highland chief : — 1 My daughter ! — O my daughter !' 'Twas vain : the loud waves lash'd the shore, Return or aid preventing : The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting. T. Campbell of English Song 77 * 46 * THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold, And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green. That host with their banners at sunset were seen ; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still. And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride ; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail ; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. 2 cohorts, regiments 3 sheen, shining 11 wax'd, grew 13 steed, warhorse 16 surf, waves 1 distorted, twisted in death 18 mail, armour 78 The Children 's Treasury And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal, And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! Lord Byron *47 * THE SPANISH ARMADA Attend all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise, I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days, When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain. It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day, There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay ; Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet beyond Aurigny's isle, At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile ; At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace ; And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase. Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall ; The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty hall ; 9i Ashur, Assyria i list, desire 7 isle, Alderney 9 van, foremost ships of English Song 79 Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast ; And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post. With his white hair unbonnet'd the stout old sheriff comes ; Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the drums ; His yeomen, round the market-cross, make clear an ample space, For there behoves him to set up the standard of her Grace. And haughtily the trumpets peal, and gaily dance the bells, As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells. Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown, And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay Lilies down. So stalk'd he when he turn'd to flight on that famed Picard field Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Caesar's eagle shield : So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turn'd to bay, And crush'd and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay. Ho ! strike the flag-staff deep, Sir Knight ; ho ! scatter flowers, fair maids : Ho ! gunners, fire a loud salute : ho ! gallants, draw your blades ; 14 post, messenger 16 halberdiers, guards with axes 17 yeomen, stout followers 18 standard, great flag : her Grace, Queen Elizabeth 20 blazon, arms of England 22 lilies, old arms of France 23 field, Cressy 28 salute, volley : blades, swords 80 The Childreris Treasury Thou sun, shine on her joyously — ye breezes waft her wide ; Our glorious SEMPER EADEM— the banner of our pride. The freshening breeze of eve unfurl'd that ban- ner's massive fold, The parting gleam of sunshine kiss'd that haughty scroll of gold ; Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea, — Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be ! From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay, That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day ; For swift to east and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread ; High on Saint Michael's Mount it shone— it shone on Beachy Head. Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire, Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twink- ling points of fire ; The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves, The rugged miners pour'd to war from Mendip's sunless caves. O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's o^ks, the fiery herald flew ; He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu. Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town, And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton down ; 30 Semper Eadem, ' always the same ' : banner, flag ^2 scroll, flng of English Song 81 The sentinel on Whitehall-gate look'd forth into the night, And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill, the streak of blood-red light. Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like silence broke, And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke. At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires ; At once the wild alarum clash'd from all her reel- ing spires ; From all the batteries of the Tower peal'd loud the voice of fear ; And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer : And from the furthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet, And the broad streams of pikes and flags rush'd down each roaring street : And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din, As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in : And eastward straight, from wild Blackheath, the warlike errand went, And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent. Southward, from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth ; High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the North ; And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still, 50 city, London 52 reeling, trembling under the sound 55 wards, divisions of the city 56 pikes, spears 58 horse, soldiers 59 errand, the beacon-fires to rouse England : so 61 couriers 62 swarthy, dark 63 pause, stay G 82 The Children's Treasury All night from tower to tower they sprang ; they sprang from hill to hill : Till the proud Peak unfurl'd the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales, Till like volcanoes flared to Heaven the stormy hills of Wales ; Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height, Till stream'd in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light, Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane, And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain ; Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent ; Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burn'd on Gaunt's embattled pile, And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle. Lord Macaulay * 48 * HOHENLINDEN On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. 69 fane, cathedral 72 sped, sent quickly 74 burghers, citizens of English Song 83 By torch and trumpet fast array'd Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neigh'd To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven ; Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven ; And louder than the bolts of Heaven Far flash'd the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow ; And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 'Tis morn ; but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun Shout in their sulphurous canopy. The combat deepens. On, ye Brave Who rush to glory, or the grave ! Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry ! Few, few shall part, where many meet ! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. T. Campbell *49* THE LAST CHARGE OF THE FRENCH AT W A TERLOO ON came the whirlwind — like the last But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast — On came the whirlwind — steel-gleams broke Like lightning through the rolling smoke ; 9 array d, dressed n charger, war-horse 15 than thunder 16 artillery, cannon 22 dun, gloomy 24 sulphurous canopy, overhanging smoke from guns 28 chivalry, horsemen 32 sepulchre, grave G 2 84 The Children's Treasury The war was waked anew, Three hundred cannon-mouths roar'd loud, And from their throats, with flash and cloud, Their showers of iron threw. Beneath their fire, in full career, Rush'd on the ponderous cuirassier, The lancer couch'd his ruthless spear, And hurrying as to havoc near, The cohorts' eagles flew. In one dark torrent, broad and strong, The advancing onset roll'd along, Forth harbinger'd by fierce acclaim, That, from the shroud of smoke and flame, Peal'd wildly the imperial name ! But on the British heart were lost The terrors of the charging host ; For not an eye the storm that view'd Changed its proud glance of fortitude ; Nor was one forward footstep stay'd, As dropp'd the dying and the dead. Fast as their ranks the thunders tear, Fast they renew'd each serried square ; And on the wounded and the slain Closed their diminish'd files again, Till from their line scarce spears' lengths three, Emerging from the smoke they see Helmet, and plume, and panoply, — Then waked their fire at once ! Each musketeer's revolving knell, As fast, as regularly fell, As when they practise to display Their discipline on festal day. 10 cuirassier, heavily armed horseman 13 cohort, body of men 16 harbinger'd, preceded 17 shroud, covering 18 name, Napoleon Buonaparte 22 fortitude, bravery 26 serried, closely drawn 31 panoply, armour 33 firing in turn of English Song 85 Then down went helm and lance, Down were the eagle-banners sent, Down reeling steeds and riders went, Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent ; And to augment the fray, Wheel'd full against their staggering flanks, The English horsemen's foaming ranks Forced their resistless way. Then to the musket-knell succeeds The clash of swords — the neigh of steeds — As plies the smith his clanging trade, Against the cuirass rang the blade; And while amid their close array The well-served cannon rent their way, And while amid their scattered band Raged the fierce riders bloody brand, Recoil'd in common rout and fear Lancer and guard and cuirassier, Horsemen and foot, — a mingled host ! Their leaders fall'n, — their standards lost. Sir IV. Scott * 50* THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. OUR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw ; And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. 38 the Eagle was borne by the French 40 corslet, body-armour 41 augment, increase 1 truce, peace for the time : lo-wer'd, descended 5 pallet, couch 6 fire lighted to keep the wolves away 86 The Children's Treasury Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array Far, far, I had roam'd on a desolate track : 'Twas Autumn,— and sunshine arose on the way To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. ; Stay — stay with us ! — rest !— thou art weary and worn ! ' — And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; — But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. T. Campbell *5i* BLIND BELISARIUS HEAVEN'S gifts are unequal in this world awarded, As the wise page of history to us has recorded ; Since the learn'd, great, and good, of its frowns seldom scape any : — Witness brave Belisarius, who begg'd for a half- penny : — ''Date obolutn, Dateobolum, Date obolian, Belisario,' 17 we drank healths 1 awarded, given 5 Give a half-penny to Belisarius of English Song 87 He whose fame from his valour and victories arose, sir, Of his country the shield, and the scourge of her foes, sir : By his poor faithful dog, blind and aged, was led With one foot in the grave, thus to beg for his bread. When a young Roman knight, in the street passing by, The veteran surve/d with a heart-rending sigh : His purse in his helmet he dropp'd with a tear, While the soldier's sad tale thus attracted his ear. ' I have fought, I have bled, I have conquer'd for Rome ; ' I have crown'd her with laurels, which for ages shall bloom ; I've enrich'd her with wealth, swell'd her pride and her power : ' I espoused her for life, — and disgrace is my dower ! ' Yet blood I ne'er wantonly wasted at random, ' Losing thousands their lives by a nil desperandum : ' But each conquest I gain'd, I made friend and foe know ' That my soul's only aim was pro publico bono. ' Nor yet for my friends, for my kindred, or self, ' Has my glory been tarnish'd by base views of pelf : ' For such sordid designs I've so far been from carving, 1 Old and blind, I've no choice, but of begging or starving. ' Now if soldier or statesman, of what age or nation ' He hereafter may be, should hear this relation, ' And of eyesight bereft, should like me grope his way, ' The bright sun-beams of virtue will turn night to day! it veteran, old soldier 19 rash courage 21 for the public good 23 pelf, making money 24 carving, contriving 27 relation, tale 88 The Children's Treasury 1 But if wanting that light, at the close of life's spark, ' He at length comes to take the great leap in the dark, ' He may wish, while his friends wring their hands round his bed, ' That, like poor Belisarius, he'd begg'd for his bread. ' But I to distress and to darkness inured, 1 In this vile crust of clay when no longer im- mured, ' At death's welcome stroke my bright course shall begin, sir, ' And enjoy endless day from the sunshine within, sir : — ' Date obolum, Date obolum, Date obolum, Belisario.' J. Collins * 52 * THE FAIRY LIFE I Where the bee sucks, there suck I : In a cowslip's bell 1 lie ; There I couch, when owls do cry : On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands : Courtsied when you have and kiss'd The wild waves whist, 31 to die 34 inured, accustomed 35 crust, his body : immured, built up of English Song 89 Foot it featly here and there ; And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. Hark, hark ! Bow-wow. The watch-dog's bark : Bow-wow. Hark, hark ! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow ! W. Shakespeare *53 * THE FAIRIES Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men ; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together ; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather ! Down along the rocky shore Some make their home : They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam ; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake. High on the hill-top The old King sits ; He is now so old and gray, He's nigh lost his wits. With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses, 5 featly, neatly 6 sprites, fairies 90 The Children's Treasury On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses : — Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with the queen Of the gay Northern Lights. They stole little Bridget For seven years long ; When she came down again, Her friends were all gone. They took her lightly back, Between the night and morrow ; They thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow. They have kept her ever since Deep within the lakes, On a bed of flag-leaves, Watching till she wakes. By the craggy hill-side, Through the mosses bare, They have planted thorn-trees For pleasure here and there. Is any man so daring As dig them up in spite, He shall find their sharpest thorns In his bed at night. Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men ; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together ; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather ! W. Allingham 28 Lights, the Aurora of English Song 91 *54* THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL There lived a wife at Usher's Well, And a wealthy wife was she : She had three stout and stalwart sons, And sent them o'er the sea. They had not been a week from her, A week but barely ane, When word came to the carline wife That her three sons were gane. They had not been a week from her, A week but barely three, When word came to the carline wife That her sons she'd never see. 1 1 wish the wind may never cease, ' Nor fishes in the flood, * Till my three sons come hame to me, ' In earthly flesh and blood ! ' It fell about the Martinmas, When nights are lang and mirk, The carline wife's three sons came home, And their hats were of the birk. It neither grew in syke nor ditch, Nor yet in ony sheugh ; But at the gates of Paradise That birk grew fair eneugh. ' Blow up the fire, my maidens ! ' Bring water from the well ! ' For all my house shall feast this night, ' Since my three sons are well ! ' 7 carline, old peasant-woman 18 mirk, murky 20 birk, birch 21 syke, marsh 22 sheugh, trench 92 The Children's Treasury And she has made to them a bed, She's made it large and wide ; And she's ta'en her mantle her about ; Sat down at the bed-side. Up then crew the red, red cock, And up and crew the gray : The eldest to the youngest said, ' 'Tis time we were away ! ' The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, ' The channerin' worm doth chide : ' If we be miss'd out of our place, ' A sore pain we must bide. ' Fare ye well, my mother dear ! ' Farewell to barn and byre ! 'And fare ye well, the bonny lass, ' That kindles my mother's fire ! ' Unknown *55 * ALICE BRAND I Merry it is in the good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry, And the hunter's horn is ringing. ' O Alice Brand, my native land ' Is lost for love of you ; ' And we must hold by wood and wold, ' As outlaws wont to do ! 37 daw, dawn 38 channerin', scolding : probably here, impatient 42 byre, cattle-house 2 mavis, thrush : merle, blackbird 7 hold, live 8 outlaws, persons driven into wild places of English Song 93 ' O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright, ' And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue, ' That on the night of our luckless flight, ' Thy brother bold I slew. ' Now must I teach to hew the beech, ' The hand that held the glaive, ' For leaves to spread our lowly bed, ' And stakes to fence our cave. ' And for vest of pall, thy fingers small, ' That wont on harp to stray, ' A cloak must shear from the slaughter'd deer, ' To keep the cold away.' — — ' O Richard ! if my brother died, ' 'Twas but a fatal chance : ' For darkling was the battle tried, ' And fortune sped the lance. ' If pall and vair no more I wear, ' Nor thou the crimson sheen, ' As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray ; ' As gay the forest-green. 1 And, Richard, if our lot be hard, ' And lost thy native land, ' Still Alice has her own Richard, ' And he his Alice Brand.' II 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, So blithe Lady Alice is singing ; On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 14 glaive, broad-sword 16 pall, fine cloth 24 sped, directed 25 vair, fur 35 the lofty beech 94 The Children's Treasury Up spoke the moody Elfin King, Who wonn'd within the hill, — Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church, His voice was ghostly shrill. ' Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, ' Our moonlight circle's screen ? ' Or who comes here to chase the deer, ' Beloved of our Elfin Queen ? ' Or who may dare on wold to wear ' The fairies' fatal green ? ' Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hie, ' For thou wert christen'd man : ■ For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, ' For mutter'd word or ban. ' Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart, ' The curse of the sleepless eye ; ' Till he wish and pray that his life would part, ' Nor yet find leave to die ! ' ill 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, Though the birds have still'd their singing ; The evening blaze doth Alice raise, And Richard is fagots bringing. Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf, Before Lord Richard stands, And as he cross'd and bless'd himself, ' I fear not sign,' quoth the grisly elf, ' That is made with bloody hands.' But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, That woman void of fear, — ' And if there's blood upon his hand, ' 'Tis but the blood of deer.' 37 Elfin, fairy 38 wonn'd, dwelt 47 mortal, man 50 ban, curse of English Song 95 — ' Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood ! ' It cleaves unto his hand, ' The stain of thine own kindly blood, ' The blood of Ethert Brand.' Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand, And made the holy sign, — ' And if there's blood on Richard's hand, ' A spotless hand is mine. ' And I conjure thee, Demon elf, ' By Him whom Demons fear, ' To show us whence thou art thyself, ' And what thine errand here ? ' IV — ' 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land, ' When fairy birds are singing, ' When the court doth ride by their monarch's side, ' With bit and bridle ringing : ' And gaily shines the Fairyland — ' But all is glistening show, 1 Like the idle gleam that December's beam ' Can dart on ice and snow. ' And fading, like that varied gleam, ' Is our inconstant shape, ' Who now like knight and lady seem, ' And now like dwarf and ape. 1 It was between the night and day, ' When the Fairy King has power, 1 That I sunk down in a sinful fray, 'And 'twixt life and death, was snatch'd away ' To the joyless Elfin bower. 76 conjure, order 89 inconstant, changeable 94 fray, quarrel 96 The Childrerts Treasury ' But wist I of a woman bold, ' Who thrice my brow durst sign, ' I might regain my mortal mould, ' As fair a form as thine.' She cross'd him once — she cross'd him twice — That lady was so brave ; The fouler grew his goblin hue, The darker grew the cave. She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold ! — He rose beneath her hand The fairest knight on Scottish mould, Her brother, Ethert Brand ! — Merry it is in good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing ; But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray When all the bells were ringing. Sir W. Scott *$6* KUBLA KHAN A Vision in a Dream In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree : Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round : And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree ; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 97 wist, knew 2 decree, order to be built 8 sinuous, winding of English Song 97 But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover ! A savage place ! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover ! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced : Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail ; And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reach'd the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean : And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war ! The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves ; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ; A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw : It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she play'd, Singing of Mount Abora ! Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, 12 chasm, sharp hollow 13 cedarn, of cedais 19 momently, every moment 20 intermitted, stopping 25 meandering, winding 30 voices of his forefathers 33 measicre, song 37 dulcimer, guitar 43 symphony, accompaniment H 98 The Children* s Treasury To such a deep delight 'twould win me That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome ! Those caves of ice ! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry Beware ! Beware ! His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise ! S. T. Coleridge *57* THE ECHOING GREEN The sun does arise And make happy the skies ; The merry bells ring To welcome the spring ; The skylark and thrush, The birds of the bush, Sing louder around To the bells' cheerful sound ; While our sports shall be seen On the echoing green. Old John, with white hair, Does laugh away care, Sitting under the oak, Among the old folk. They laugh at our play, And soon they all say, ' Such, such were the joys ' When we all — girls and boys — ' In our youth-time were seen ' On the echoing green.' of English Song 99 Till the little ones, weary, No more can be merry ; The sun does descend, And our sports have an end. Round the laps of their mothers Many sisters and brothers, Like birds in their nest, Are ready for rest, And sport no more seen On the darkening green. W. Blake *58* A CRADLE SONG Sleep, sleep, beauty bright, Dreaming in the joys of night ; Sleep, sleep ; in thy sleep Little sorrows sit and weep. Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, Little pretty infant wiles. As thy softest limbs I feel, Smiles as of the morning steal O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast Where thy little heart doth rest. Oh the cunning wiles that creep In thy little heart asleep ! When thy little heart doth wake, Then the dreadful light shall break. W. Blake 8 wiles, tricks 16 light, knowledge of life with its dangers and sufferings. H 2 ioo The Children's Treasury * 59* THE ORPHAN CHILDREN I REACH'D the village on the plain, Just when the setting sun's last ray- Shone blazing on the golden vane Of the old church across the way. Across the way alone I sped, And climb'd the stile, and sat me there, To think in silence on the dead Who in the churchyard sleeping were. There many a long, low grave I view'd Where toil and want in quiet lie ; And costly slabs amongst them stood That bore the names of rich and high. One new made mound I saw close by, O'er which the grasses hardly crept, Where, looking forth with listless eye, Two ragged children sat and wept. A piece of bread between them lay, Which neither seem'd as it could take ; And yet so worn and white were they With want, it made my bosom ache. I look'd a while, and said at last, ' Why in such sorrow sit you here ? ' And why the food you leave and waste ' Which your own hunger well might cheer ?' The boy rose instant to his feet, And said with gentle, eager haste, ' Lady, we've not enough to eat :' ' O if we had, we should not waste ! ' But sister Mary's naughty grown, ' And will not eat, whate'er I say ; ' Though sure I am the bread 's her own, ' For she has tasted none to-day !' of English Song ' Indeed,' the poor starved Mary said, ' Till Henry eats, I'll eat no more ; ' For yesterday I had some bread ; ' He's had none since the day before.' My heart with pity swell'd so high I could not speak a single word : Yet the boy straightway made reply, As if my inward wish he heard. ' Before our father went away, ' By bad men tempted o'er the sea, ' Sister and I did nought but play ; — ' We lived beside yon great ash-tree. ' But then poor mother did so cry, ' And look'd so changed, I cannot tell ! ' She told us that she soon should die, ' And bade us love each other well. ' She said that when the war was o'er, ' Perhaps our father we might see : ' But if we never saw him more, ' That God would then our father be. ' She kiss'd us both, and then she died, ' And then they put her in the grave : ' There many a day we've sat and cried ' That we no more a mother have. ' But when our father came not here, ' I thought if we could find the sea ' We should be sure to meet him there, ' And once again might happy be. ' So hand-in-hand for many a mile, ' And many a long, long day we went : ' Some sigh'd to see, some turn'd to smile, ' And fed us when our stock was spent. 102 The Children's Treasury 1 But when we reach'd the sea, and found ' 'Twas one great flood before us spread, ' We thought that father must be drown'd, 1 And cried, and wish'd we too were dead. ' So we came back to mother's grave, ' And only long with her to be : ' For Goody, when this bread she gave, 1 Said father died beyond the sea. ' So, since no parent we have here, ' We'll go and search for God around : — ' Pray, Lady, can you tell us where ' That God, our Father, may be found ? ' He lives in heaven, mother said : ' And Goody says that mother 's there : 1 But though we've walk'd, and search'd, and pray'd, ' We cannot find them anywhere ! ' I clasp'd the prattlers in my arms, I cried, ' Come, both, and live with me ! ' I'll clothe and feed you, safe from harms — ' Your second mother I will be. ' Till you to your own mother's side ' He in his own good time may call, ' With Him for ever to abide 1 Who is the Father of us all !' Unknown * 6o * THE CHILD AND THE MOWERS Dorset Dialect O, AYE ! they had woone chile bezlde, An' a finer your eyes never met ; 'Twer a dear little fellow that died In the zummer that come wi' such het ; i luoone, one 3 'Twer, it was 4 Itet, heat of English Song 103 By the mowers, too thoughtless in fun, He wer then a-zent off vrom our eyes, Vrom the light ov the dew-dry en zun, — Aye ! vrom days under blue-hollowed skies. He went out to the mowers in mead, When the zun wer a-rose to his height, An' the men wer a-swingen the snead, Wi' their earms in white sleeves, left an' right : — An' out there, as they rested at noon, O ! they drench'd en wi' eale-horns too deep, Till his thoughts wer a-drown'd in a swoon ; Aye ! his life wer a-smother'd in sleep. Then they laid en there-right on the ground, On a grass-heap, a-zweltren wi' het, Wi' his heair all a-wetted around His young feace, wi' the big drops o' zweat ; In his little left palm he'd a-zet Wi' his right hand, his vore-vinger's tip, As for zome'hat he woulden forget,— Aye ! zome thought that he woulden let slip. Then they took en in hwome to his bed, An' he rose vrom his pillow noo mwore, Vor the curls on his sleek little head To be blown by the wind out o' door. Vor he died while the hay russled gray On the staddle so leately begun, Lik' the mown-grass a-dried by the day, — Aye ! the zwath-flow'r's a-kill'd by the zun. W. Barnes 6 a-zent, sent 7 dryen, drying 9 in ?nead, in the meadow 11 snead, handle of scythe 14 en, him: eale-horns, full of ale 18 a-zweltren, sweltering 21 a-zet, put 23 zome'hat, something : ivoitlden, would not 26 noo mwore, no m^re 30 staddle, platform on which the rick stands 32 ziuath-Jiower, cut down witli the swath 104 The Children's Treasury * 6l * ELLEN BRINE OF ALLENBURN Dorset dialect Noo soul did hear her lips complain, An' she's a-gone vrom all her pain, An' others' loss to her is gain For she do live in heaven's love ; Vull many a longsome day an' week She bore her ailen, still, an' meek ; A-worken while her strangth held on, An' guiden housework, when 'twer gone. Vor Ellen Brine of Allenburn Oh ! there be souls to mum. The last time I'd a-cast my zight Upon her feace, a-feaded white, Wer in a zummer's mornen light In hall avore the smwold'ren vire, The while the childern beat the vloor In play, wi' tiny shoes they wore, An' call'd their mother's eyes to view The feats their little limbs could do. Oh ! Ellen Brine of Allenburn, They childern now mus' murn. Then woone, a-stoppen vrom his reace, Went up, an' on her knee did pleace His hand, a-looken in her feace, An' wi' a smilen mouth so small, He zaid, ' You promised us to goo ' To Shroton feair, an' teake us two ! ' 2 an', and : vrom, from : v used for./" in Dorset 6 ailen, illness 7 a-worken, working 10 murn, mourn izjeaded, faded 14 avore, before : smwold'ren, smouldering 21 woone, one : reace, running of English Song 105 She heard it wi' her two white ears, An' in her eyes there sprung two tears : — Vor Ellen Brine of Allenburn Did veel that they mus' mum. September come, wi' Shroton feair, But Ellen Brine wer never there ! A heavy heart wer on the meare Their father rod his hwomeward road. 'Tis true he brought some fearens back, Vor them two childern all in black ; But they had now, wi' playthings new, Noo mother vor to show em to : — Vor Ellen Brine of Allenburn Would never mwore return. W. Barnes * 62 * HELVELLYN I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and wide ; All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, And starting around me the echoes replied. On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer had died. Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain heather, Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd in decay, 33 meare, mare 35 feUrins, fairings 1 brow, mountain-side 3 by fits, now and then 6 verge, edge : defending, sheltering 10 Pilgrim, wanderer who admired the natural landscape Io6 The Childrefi's Treasury Like the corpse of an outcast abandon'd to weather Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay. Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, The much-loved remains of her master defended, And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber ? When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start ? How many long days and long weeks didst thou number, Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ? And, oh ! was it meet, that — no requiem read o'er him — No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before him — Unhonour'd the Pilgrim from life should depart ? When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall ; With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming ; In the proudly-arch'd chapel the banners are beam- ing" ■ Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall. 12 tenantless clay, body without soul 13 extended, stretched out 14 mute favourite, speechless dog . 21 meet, fit : requiem, funeral service 25 has died 26 tapestry, rich hangings on walls 27 scutclieons, shields 28 pages, servants : canopied, covered of English Song 107 But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, When, wilder'd, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying, With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. Sir W. Scott * 63 * A REVERIE When, musing on companions gone, We doubly feel ourselves alone, Something, my Friend, we yet may gain ; There is a pleasure in this pain : It soothes the love of lonely rest, Deep in each gentler heart impress'd. 'Tis silent amid worldly toils, And stifled soon by mental broils ; But, in a bosom thus prepared, Its still small voice is often heard, Whispering a mingled sentiment, 'Twixt resignation and content. Oft in my mind such thoughts awake, By lone Saint Mary's silent lake ; Thou know'st it well,— nor fen, nor sedge, Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink At once upon the level brink ; And just a trace of silver sand Marks where the water meets the land. 33 meeter, fitter 38 obsequies, funeral service 40 surrounded by 1 musing, thinking 6 impressed, stamped 8 by troubles of the mind 16 pollute, spoil 17 going straight up 108 The Children's Treasury Far in the mirror, bright and blue, Each hill's huge outline you may view ; Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare, Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there, Save where, of land, yon slender line Bears thwart the lake the scatter'd pine. Yet even this nakedness has power, And aids the feeling of the hour : Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy, Where living thing conceal'd might lie ; Nor point, retiring, hides a dell, Where swain, or woodman lone, might dwell ; There's nothing left to fancy's guess, You see that all is loneliness : And silence aids — though the steep hills Send to the lake a thousand rills ; In summer-tide, so soft they weep, The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude, So stilly is the solitude. Sir W. Scott * 64 * SUCH IS LIFE Like to the falling of a star, Or as the flights of eagles are, Or like the fresh Spring's gaudy hue, Or silver drops of morning dew ; Or like a wind that chafes the flood, Or bubbles which on water stood ; — E'en such is man, whose borrow'd light Is straight call'd in and paid to-night. The wind blows out, the bubble dies, The Spring entomb'd in Autumn lies ; The dew dries up, the star is shot, The flight is past ; — and Man forgot. Bishop King 26 thwart, crossing 36 rills, little streams 10 entomb'd, buried of English Song ioo * 65 * JOHN ANDERSON John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first acquent Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent ; But now your brow is bald, John, Your locks are like the snow ; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither, And mony a canty day, John, We've had wi' ane anither : Now we maun totter down, John, But hand in hand we'll go, And sleep thegither at the foot, John Anderson my jo. R. Burns * 66 * A LESSON There is a flower, the Lesser Celandine, That shrinks like many more from cold and rain, And the first moment that the sun may shine, Bright as the sun himself, 'tis out again ! When hailstones have been falling, swarm on swarm, Or blasts the green field and the trees distrest, Oft have I seen it muffled up from harm In close self-shelter, like a thing at rest. 1 jo, love 2 acquent, acquainted 4 brent, smooth 7 pow, head 10 thegither, together 11 canty, cheerful 13 maun, must no The Children's Treasury But lately, one rough day, this flower I past, And recognized it, though an alter'd form, Now standing forth an offering to the blast, And buffeted at will by rain and storm. I stopp'd and said, with inly-mutter'd voice, ' It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold ; ' This neither is its courage nor its choice, ' But its necessity in being old. ' The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew ; ' It cannot help itself in its decay ; ' Stiff in its members, wither'd, changed of hue,' And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was gray. To be a prodigal's favourite — then, worse truth, A miser's pensioner— behold our lot ! O Man ! that from thy fair and shining youth Age might but take the things Youth needed not ! W. Wordsworth * 67 * TRUE GROWTH It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make Man better be ; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere : A lily of a day- Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night — It was the plant and flower of Light ! In small proportions we just beauties see ; And in short measures life may perfect be. B. Jbnson 21 a prodigaVs favourite, wasting the many gifts of Youth 22 a miser's pensioner, getting the little we can from Age 9 just, true of English Sons; in *68 * FLOWERS WITHOUT FRUIT PRUNE thou thy words ; the thoughts control That o'er thee swell and throng : — They will condense within thy soul, And change to purpose strong. But he who lets his feelings run In soft luxurious flow, Shrinks when hard service must be done, And faints at every woe. Faith's meanest deed more favour bears, Where hearts and wills are weigh'd, Than brightest transports, choicest prayers, Which bloom their hour, and fade. y. H. Newman * 69 * CONTENTMENT My mind to me a kingdom is ; Such perfec. joy therein I find, As far exceeds all earthly bliss That world affords, or grows by kind : Though much I want what most men have, Yet doth my mind forbid me crave. Content I live — this is my stay ; I seek no more than may suffice : I press to bear no haughty sway ; Look — what I lack, my mind supplies ! Lo ! thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring. 3 condense, grow close and strong 4 by kind, naturally 6 crave, desire 7 stay, support 8 suffice, be enough 9 press, strive 112 The Children's Treasury I see how plenty surfeits oft, And hasty climbers soonest fall ; I see how those that sit aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all ; These get with toil, and keep with fear : Such cares my mind could never bear. I laugh not at another's loss ; I grudge not at another's gain ; No worldly wave my mind can toss ; I brook that is another's pain. I fear no foe : I scorn no friend : I dread no death : I fear no end. Some have too much, yet still they crave ; I little have, yet seek no more : They are but poor, though much they have, And I am rich, with little store. They poor, I rich : they beg, I give : They lack, I lend :^ they pine, I live. I wish but what I have at will : I wander not to seek for more : I like the plain ; I climb no hill : In greatest storm I sit on shore, And laugh at those that toil in vain, To get what must be lost again. — This is my choice ; for why ? — I find No wealth is like a quiet mind. Unknown * jo * THE SEARCH FOR PEACE Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell ? I humbly crave, Let me once know. I sought thee in a secret cave, And ask'd, if Peace were there ? 13 surfeits, sickens 22 brook that, bear easily what 31 at will, at command 1 crave, beg to know of English Song 1 1 3 A hollow wind did seem to answer, ' No : — ' Go seek elsewhere.' I did ; and going did a rainbow note : Surely, thought I, This is the lace of Peace's coat : I will search out the matter. But while I look'd, the clouds immediately Did break and scatter. Then went I to a garden, and did spy A gallant flower, The Crown Imperial : Sure, said I, Peace at the root must dwell. But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devour What show'd so well. At length I met a reverend good old man : Whom when for Peace I did demand, he thus began : ' There was a Prince of old ' At Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase ' Of flock and fold. ' He sweetly lived ; yet sweetness did not save ' His life from foes. 'But after death, out of his grave ' There sprang twelve stalks of wheat : ' Which many wondering at, got some of those ' To plant and set. ' It prosper^ strangely, and did soon disperse ' Through all the earth : ' For they that taste it do rehearse, ' That virtue lies therein ; 'A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth ' By flight of sin. 31 it, the Gospel 33 rehearse, say 35 virtue, power I 114 The Children's Treasury Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, ' And grows for you ; ' Make bread of it : — and that repose ' And peace, which everywhere With so much earnestness you do pursue, ' Is only there.' G. Herbert * yu THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES. That way look, my Infant, lo ! What a pretty baby-show ! See the Kitten on the wall, Sporting with the leaves that fall, Wither'd leaves — one — two — and three — From the lofty elder- tree ! Through the calm and frosty air Of this morning bright and fair, Eddying round and round they sink Softly, slowly : one might think, From the motions that are made, Every little leaf convey'd Sylph or Faery hither tending, — To this lower world descending, Each invisible and mute, In his wavering parachute. But the Kitten, how she starts, Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts ! First at one, and then its fellow Just as light and just as yellow ; There are many now — now one — Now they stop, and there are none : What intenseness of desire In her upward eye of fire ! 9 eddying, turning 13 Sylph, learned name for fairy 16 parachute, machine to float slowly down in the air 23 intenseness, strength of English Song 115 With a tiger-leap half way Now she meets the coming prey, Lets it go as fast, and then Has it in her power again : Now she works with three or four, Like an Indian conjuror ; Quick as he in feats of art, Far beyond in joy of heart. Were her antics play'd in th' eye Of a thousand standers-by, Clapping hands with shout and stare, What would little Tabby care For the plaudits of the crowd ? Over happy to be proud, Over wealthy in the treasure Of her own exceeding pleasure ! 'Tis a pretty baby-treat ; Nor, I deem, for me unmeet ; Here, for neither Babe nor me, Other play-mate can I see. Of the countless living things, That with stir of feet and wings (In the sun or under shade, Upon bough or grassy blade) And with busy revellings, Chirp and song, and murmurings, Made this orchard's narrow space And this vale so blithe a place, — Multitudes are swept away Never more to breathe the day : Some are sleeping : some in bands Travell'd into distant lands ; Others slunk to moor and wood, Far from human neighbourhood ; And, among the Kinds that keep With us closer fellowship, 31 feats, tricks 37 plaudits, shouts 42 unmeet, unfit I 2 n6 The Children's Treasury With us openly abide, All have laid their mirth aside. Where is he that giddy Sprite, Blue-cap, with his colours bright, Who was blest as bird could be, Feeding in the apple-tree ; Made such wanton spoil and rout, Turning blossoms inside out ; Hung— head pointing towards the ground- Flutter'd, perch'd, into a round Bound himself, and then unbound ; Lithest, gaudiest Harlequin ! Prettiest Tumbler ever seen ! Light of heart and light of limb ; What is now become of Him ? Lambs, that through the mountains went Frisking, bleating merriment, When the year was in its prime, They are sober'd by this time. If you look to vale or hill, If you listen, all is still, Save a little neighbouring rill, That from out the rocky ground Strikes a solitary sound. Vainly glitter hill and plain, And the air is calm in vain ; Vainly Morning spreads the lure Of a sky serene and pure ; Creature none can she decoy Into open sign of joy : Is it that they have a fear Of the dreary season near ? Or that other pleasures be Sweeter e'en than gaiety? Yet, whate'er enjoyments dwell 87 Morning in vain tempts 89 decoy, tempt of English Song 117 In the impenetrable cell Of the silent heart which Nature Furnishes to every creature ; Whatsoe'er we feel and know Too sedate for outward show, Such a light of gladness breaks, Pretty Kitten ! from thy freaks,- - Spreads with such a living grace O'er my little Dora's face ; Yes, the sight so stirs and charms Thee, Baby, laughing in my arms, That almost I could repine That your transports are not mine, That I do not wholly fare Even as ye do, thoughtless pair ! And I will have my careless season, Spite of melancholy reason ; Will walk through life in such a way That, when time brings on decay, Now and then I may possess Hours of perfect gladsomeness. — Pleased by any random toy ; By a kitten's busy joy, Or an infant's laughing eye Sharing in the ecstasy ; I would fare like that or this Find my wisdom in my bliss ; Keep the sprightly soul awake ; And have faculties to take, Even from things by sorrow wrought, Matter for a jocund thought ; Spite of care, and spite of grief, To gambol with Life's falling Leaf. W. Wordsworth 6, 97 We cannot look into the hearts of living creatures 100 sedate, saddening 107 repine, regret 108 transports, delights 124 faculties, powers Ii8 The Children's Treasury A SONG OF PRAISE To God, ye choir above, begin A hymn so loud and strong That all the universe may hear And join the grateful song. Praise Him, thou sun, Who dwells unseen Amidst transcendent light, Where thy refulgent orb would seem A spot, as dark as night. Thou silver moon, ye host of stars, The universal song Through the serene and silent night To listening worlds prolong. Sing Him, ye distant worlds and suns, From whence no travelling ray Hath yet to us, through ages past, Had time to make its way. Assist, ye raging storms, and bear On rapid wings His praise, From north to south, from east to west, Through heaven, and earth, and seas. Exert your voice, ye furious fires That rend the watery cloud, And thunder to this nether world Your Maker's words aloud. Ye works of God, that dwell unknown Beneath the rolling main ; Ye birds, that sing among the groves, And sweep the azure plain ; i choir, all Nature 6 transcendent, surpassingly bright 7 refulgent, shining n serene, clear 13 stars so distant that their light has not yet reached us 21 fires, lightnings 23 nether, lower 28 the sky of English Song 119 Ye stately hills, that rear your heads, And towering pierce the sky ; Ye clouds, that with an awful pace Majestic roll on high ; Ye insects small, to which one leaf Within its narrow sides A vast extended world displays, And spacious realms provides ; Ye race, still less than these, with which The stagnant water teems, To which one drop, however small, A boundless ocean seems ; What e'er ye are, where'er ye dwell, Ye creatures great or small, Adore the wisdom, praise the power, That made and governs all. P. Skelton *73 * THE SONG OF DAVID He sang of God, the mighty source Of all things, the stupendous force On which all strength depends ; From whose right arm, beneath whose eyes, All period, power, and enterprize Commences, reigns, and ends. The world, the clustering spheres he made, The glorious light, the soothing shade, Dale, champaign, grove, and hill : The multitudinous abyss, Where secresy remains in bliss, And wisdom hides her skill. 7 spheres, stars 9 champaign, level country 10 aiyss, space :o The Children's Treasury Tell them, I AM, Jehovah said To Moses : while Earth heard in dread, And, smitten to the heart, At once, above, beneath, around, All Nature, without voice, or sound, Replied, « O Lord, THOU ART. 5 C. Smart *74* THE TRAVELLER How are thy servants blest, O Lord ! How sure is their defence ! Eternal wisdom is their guide, Their help, Omnipotence. In foreign realms, and lands remote, Supported by Thy care, Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt, And breathed in tainted air. Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil, Made every region please ; The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd, And smoothed the Tyrrhene seas. Think, O my soul, devoutly think, How, with affrighted eyes, Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep In all its horrors rise. Confusion dwelt in every face, And fear in every heart ; When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs, O'ercame the pilot's art. 4 Omnipotence, all powerfulness 5 realms, kingdoms 11 Switzerland 12 North western coast of Italy 17 No one knew what to do of English Song 12 1 Yet then from all my griefs, O Lord, Thy mercy set me free ; Whilst, in the confidence of prayer, My soul took hold on Thee. For though in dreadful whirls we hung High on the broken wave, I knew Thou wert not slow to hear, Nor impotent to save. -The storm was laid ; the winds retired, Obedient to Thy will ; The sea that roar'd at Thy command, At Thy command was still. J. Addison *75* WRITTEN IN EARLY SPRING. I HEARD a thousand blended notes While in a grove I sat reclined, In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts Bring sad thoughts to the mind. To her fair works did Nature link The human soul that through me ran ; And much it grieved my heart to think What Man has made of Man. Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The periwinkle trail'd its wreaths ; And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes. 28 impotent, unable 29 laid, stilled 1 blended, mixed together 2 reclined, resting 3 mood, humour 11 faith, belief 2 77/i? Children's Treasury The birds around me hopp'd and play'd ; Their thoughts I cannot measure — But the least motion which they made It seem'd a thrill of pleasure. The budding twigs spread out their fan To catch the breezy air ; And I must think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there. If this belief from Heaven be sent, If such be Nature's holy plan, Have I not reason to lament What Man has made of Man? W. Wordsworth *j6 * THE RAINBOW Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy To teach me what thou art. Still seem, as to my childhood's sight, A midway station given, For happy spirits to alight, Betwixt the earth and heaven. Can all that optics teach, unfold Thy form to please me so, As when I dreamt of gems and gold Hid in thy radiant bow ? When science from creation's face Enchantment's veil withdraws, What lovely visions yield their place To cold material laws ! i arch in remembrance of victory 2 part, clear off 9 optics, laws of sight : -unfold, explain 14 enchantment, the poetry of youth 16 laws of matter of English Song 123 And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, But words of the Most High, Have told why first thy robe of beams Was woven in the sky. When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's gray fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign ! And when its yellow lustre smiled O'er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child To bless the bow of God. The earth to thee her incense yields, The lark thy welcome sings, When, glittering in the freshen'd fields, The snowy mushroom springs. How glorious is thy girdle, cast O'er mountain, tower, and town, Or mirror'd in the ocean vast A thousand fathoms down ! As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. For, faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span ; Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man. T. Campbell 21 covenant, sign of peace 23 gray fathers, Noah and his family 23 lustre, light 29 incense, swee ness 32 the mushroom springs up after rain 33 girdle, arch, bow 35 mirror'd, reflected 42 span, arch 43 type, sign 124 The Children's Treasury *77* TO THE CUCKOO. Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove ! Thou messenger of spring ! Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear ; Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year ? Delightful visitant, with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers. The schoolboy wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay, Starts the new voice of spring to hear, And imitates thy lay. What time the pea puts on the bloom Thou fliest thy vocal vale, An annual guest in other lands, Another spring to hail. Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear ; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year ! O could I fly, I'd fly with thee ! We'd make, with joyful wing, Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the spring. y. Logan 3 the trees are in leaf 6 certain, sure to come 16 lay, song 18 vocal vale, valley where you have sung 19 a guest who comes every year oj English Song 125 *?8* TO THE CUCKOO O blithe new-comer ! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice : O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird, Or but a wandering Voice ? While I am lying on the grass Thy twofold shout I hear ; From hill to hill it seems to pass, At once far off and near. Though babbling only to the vale Of sunshine and of flowers, Thou bringest unto me a tale Of visionary hours. Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring ! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invisible thing — A voice, a mystery ; The same whom in my schoolboy days I listen'd to ; that Cry Which made me look a thousand ways In bush, and tree, and sky. To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green ; And thou wert still a hope, a love ; Still long'd for, never seen ! And I can listen to thee yet ; Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again. 27, 28 till, until I fancy myself young again 126 The Children's Treasury O blessed bird ! the earth we pace Again appears to be An unsubstantial fairy place That is fit home for Thee ! W. Wordsworth *79* TO A WATERFOWL Whither, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean side ? There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast, — The desert and illimitable air, — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fann'd, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere ; Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end ; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend Soon o'er thy shelter'd nest. 3 pursue, follow 5 to shoot thee 10 marge, edge 15 illimitable, without bounds 18 atmosphere, air of English Song 127 Thou'rt gone — the abyss of heaven Hath swallow'd up thy form — yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He, who from zone to zone Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. W. C. Bryant * 80* SIGNS OF EVENING The sun upon the lake is low, The wild birds hush their song ; The hills have evening's deepest glow, Yet Leonard tarries long. Now all whom varied toil and care From home and love divide, In the calm sunset may repair Each to the loved one's side. The noble dame on turret high, Who waits her gallant knight, Looks to the western beam to spy The flash of armour bright. The village maid, with hand on brow The level ray to shade, Upon the footpath watches now For Colin's darkening plaid. Now to their mates the wild swans row, By day they swam apart ; And to the thicket wanders slow The hind beside the hart. 25 abyss, depths 29 zone, region of the world 31 through life 9 turret, little tower 14 level, setting 128 The Children 's Treasury The woodlark at his partner's side Twitters his closing song — All meet whom day and care divide, — But Leonard tarries long ! Sir W. Scott *8i * ARETHUSA Arethusa arose From her couch of snows In the Acroceraunian mountains, — From cloud and from crag With many a jag, Shepherding her bright fountains. She leapt down the rocks With her rainbow locks Streaming among the streams ; — Her steps paved with green The downward ravine Which slopes to the western gleams : And gliding and springing, She went, ever singing, In murmurs as soft as sleep ; The Earth seem'd to love her, And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep. Then Alpheus bold, On his glacier cold, With his trident the mountains strook ; And open'd a chasm In the rocks ; with the spasm All Erymanthus shook. 3 Acroceraunian, see end 6 shepherding, leading 8 little rainbows appear in the spray ii ravine, mountain-valley 21 trident, fork with three prongs 22 cJiasm, rent 23 spasm, shock of English Song 129 And the black south wind It conceal'd behind The urns of the silent snow, And earthquake and thunder Did rend in sunder The bars of the springs below : The beard and the hair Of the river God were Seen through the torrent's sweep, As he follow' d the light Of the fleet nymph's flight To the brink of the Dorian deep. ' Oh, save me ! Oh, guide me ! ' And bid the deep hide me, ' For he grasps me now by the hair ! ' The loud Ocean heard, To its blue depth stirr'd, And divided at her prayer ; And under the water The Earth's white daughter Fled like a sunny beam ; Behind her descended Her billows, unblended With the brackish Dorian stream : Like a gloomy stain On the emerald main Alphdus rush'd behind, — As an eagle pursuing A dove to its ruin Down the streams of the cloudy wind. Under the bowers Where the Ocean Powers Sit on their pearled thrones : 35 nymph, girl-goddess 44 Arethusa 47 unblended, not mixed 48 brackish, saltish 50 emerald, ear green 56 Powers, gods K 13° The Children's Treasury Through the coral woods Of the weltering floods, Over heaps of unvalued stones ; Through the dim beams Which amid the streams Weave a net-work of coloured light ; And under the caves, Where the shadowy waves Are as green as the forest's night : — Outspeeding the shark And the sword-fish dark, Under the ocean foam, And up through the rifts Of the mountain clifts ; They pass'd to their Dorian home. And now from their fountains In Enna's mountains, Down one vale where the morning basks, Like friends once parted Grown single-hearted, They ply their watery tasks. At sunrise they leap From their cradles steep In the cave of the shelving hill ; At noon-tide they flow Through the woods below And the meadows of Asphodel ; And at night they sleep In the rocking deep Beneath the Ortygian shore ; — Like spirits that lie In the azure sky When they love but live no more. P. B. Shelley 58 woods, coral grows like a tree beneath the water 50, weltering, rolling 72 Dorian, in Sicily 84 Asphodel, probably meadow-narcissus of English Song 131 *82* V ALLEGRO HENCE, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight bom In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy ! Find out some uncouth cell Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings And the night-raven sings ; There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. But come, thou Goddess fair and free, In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, And by men, heart-easing Mirth, Whom lovely Venus at a birth With two sister Graces more To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore : Or whether (as some sager sing) The frolic wind that breathes the spring Zephyr, with Aurora playing, As he met her once a-Maying — There on beds of violets blue And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew Fill'd her with thee, a daughter fair, So buxom, blithe, and debonair. Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful jollity, Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, L' Allegro, the Cheerful man ; pronounce Alaygro 2 Cerberus, the fabled Dog of the dead 3 Stygian, gloomy 8 ebon, black 10 Cimmerian, Northern, gloomy 12 yclept, called 24 debonair, handsome 25 Nymph, maiden 27 smart and odd turnv of speech K 2 132 The Children's Treasury Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek ; Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides : — Come, and trip it as you go On the light fantastic toe ; And in thy right hand lead with thee The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty ; And if I give thee honour due Mirth, admit me of thy crew, To live with her, and live with thee In unreprove'd pleasures free ; To hear the lark begin his flight And singing startle the dull night From his watch-tower in the skies, Till the dappled dawn doth rise ; Then to come, in spite of sorrow, And at my window bid good-morrow Through the sweetbriar, or the vine, Or t'le twisted eglantine : While the cock with lively din Scatters the rear of darkness thin, And to the stack, or the barn-door Stoutly struts his dames before : Oft listening how the hounds and horn Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn: From the side of some hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill. Sometime walking, not unseen, By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, Right against the eastern gate Where the great Sun begins his state 29 Hebe, Youth 36 see end 40 unreprove'd, innocent 45 eglantine, dog-rose 52 dames, hens 54 seem to waken the day 60 state, progress of English Song 1 33 Robed in flames and amber light ; The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; While the ploughman, near at hand, Whistles o'er the furrow'd land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures ; Russet lawns, and fallows gray, Where the nibbling flocks do stray ; Mountains, on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest ; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide ; Towers and battlements it sees Bosom'd high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some Beauty lies, The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes From betwixt two aged oaks, Where Corydon and Thyrsis, met, Are at their savoury dinner set Of herbs, and other country messes Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses ; And then in haste her bower she leaves With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; Or, if the earlier season lead, To the tann'd haycock in the mead. Sometimes with secure delight The upland hamlets will invite, 62 dight, dressed 67 tells his tale, counts his flock 71 lawns, open grass or moorside 75 pied, variegated 80 Cynosure, Pole-star, to which every one looks up 83 Corydon, &*c, poetical names for country-people 90 tantid, turned brown 91 secure, free from care 134 The Children's Treasury When the merry bells ring round, And the jocund rebecks sound To many a youth and many a maid, Dancing in the chequer'd shade ; And young and old come forth to play On a sun-shine holy-day, Till the live-long daylight fail : Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, With stories told of many a feat, How faery Mab the junkets eat ; She was pinch'd, and pull'd, she said ; And he, by friar's lantern led ; Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat To earn his cream-bowl duly set, When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, His shadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn That ten day-labourers could not end ; Then lies him down the lubber fiend, And, stretch'd out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength ; And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings. Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, By whispering winds soon lull'd asleep. Tower'd cities please us then And the busy hum of men, Where throngs of knights and barons bold, In weeds of peace high triumphs hold, With store of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize Of wit or arms, while both contend To win her grace, whom all commend. There let Hymen oft appear In saffron robe, with taper clear, 94 rebecks, small fiddles 102 junkets, milk-dainties 104 friar's lantern, Will o' the wisp 105 Goblin , Robin Goodfellow no lubber, lubberly 120 weeds, dress: triumphs, splendid en- tertainments 125 Hymen, fabled God of Marriage of English Song 135 And pomp, and feast, and revelry, With mask, and antique pageantry ; Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild. And ever against eating cares Lap me in soft Lydian airs Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce In notes, with many a winding 'oout Of linked sweetness long drawn out ; With wanton heed and giddy cunning, The melting voice through mazes running, Untwisting all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony ; That Orpheus' self may heave his head From golden slumber, on a bed Of beap'd Elysian flowers, and hear Such strains as would have won the ear Of Pluto, to have quite set free His half-regain'd Eurydice". These delights if thou canst give, Mirth, with thee I mean to live. J. Milton *8$* IL PENSEROSO HENCE, vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly without father bred ! How little you bestead Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys ! 128 mask, sort of play 132 sock, Ben Jonson's comedies 136 Lydian, light and festive 139 bmit, turn or strain 145 Orpheus, see end II Penseroso, the Pensive orThoughtful man 3 bestead, avail 4 toys, trifles 136 The Children's Treasury Dwell in some idle brain, And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sunbeams, Or likest hovering dreams The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. But hail, thou goddess sage and holy, Hail, divinest Melancholy ! Whose saintly visage is too bright To hit the sense of human sight, And therefore to our weaker view O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue ; Black, but such as in esteem Prince Memnon's sister might beseem, Or that starr'd Ethiop queen that strove To set her beauty's praise above The sea nymphs, and their powers offended : Yet thou art higher far descended : Thee bright-hair'd Vesta, long of yore, To solitary Saturn bore ; His daughter she ; in Saturn's reign Such mixture was not held a stain : Oft in glimmering bowers and glades He met her, and in secret shades Of woody Ida's inmost grove, While yet there was no fear of Jove. Come, pensive nun, devout and pure, Sober, steadfast, and demure, All in a robe of darkest grain Flowing with majestic train, And sable stole of cypres lawn Over thy decent shoulders drawn : 6 fond, foolish: possess, fill 9 likest, most like 10 pensioners , followers : Morpheus, sleep 14 to be visible 16 staid, sober 18 an African prince 19 Queen, Cassiopeia 31 nun, person retired from the world 33 grain, dyed stuff 35 cypres, crape of English Song 137 Come, but keep thy wonted state, With even step, and musing gait, And looks commercing with the skies, Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes : There, held in holy passion still, Forget thyself to marble, till, With a sad leaden downward cast, Thou fix them on the earth as fast : And join with thee, calm Peace, and Quiet ; Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, And hears the Muses in a ring Aye round about Jove's altar sing : And add to these retired Leisure, That in trim gardens takes his pleasure : — But first, and chiefest, with thee bring Him that yon soars on golden wing, Guiding the fiery-wheele"d throne, The cherub Contemplatidn ; And the mute Silence hist along, 'Less Philomel will deign a song In her sweetest, saddest plight, Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke Gently o'er the accustom'd oak. — Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy ! Thee, chauntress, oft, the woods among I woo, to hear thy even-song ; And missing thee, I walk unseen On the dry, smooth-shaven green, To behold the wandering Moon Riding near her highest noon, 38 musing gait, thoughtful pace 39 commercing, holding speech 40 rapt, tranced 41 passion, ecstasy 46 see end 55 hist, go quietly 56 'less, unless : Philomel, nightingale 57 plight, state 58 softening the gloom 59 Cynthia, Moon ; Milton fancies her in a chariot drawn by two dragons 63 chauntress, singer 64 moo, walk and look for 138 The Children's Treasury Like one that had been led astray Through the heaven s wide pathless way And oft, as if her head she bow'd, Stooping through a fleecy cloud. Oft, on a plat of rising ground I hear the far-off curfeu sound Over some wide-water'd shore, Swinging slow with sullen roar : Or, if the air will not permit, Some still removed place will fit, Where glowing embers through the room Teach light to counterfeit a gloom ; Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm To bless the doors from nightly harm. Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen in some high lonely tower, Where I may oft out-watch the Bear With thrice-great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato, to unfold What worlds or what vast regions hold The immortal mind, that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook : And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood, or under ground, Whose power hath a true consent With planet, or with element. Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptei J d pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine ; 74 curfeu, evening bell 80 serve to show the darkness 87 sit up all night 88-9, Hermes, Plato, ancient philo- sophers : unsphere, bring down upon earth 92 nook, the body 95 consent, agreement 96 with the stars and the forces of Nature 08 see end of English Song 139 Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. But, O sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower, Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek And made Hell grant what Love did seek ! Or call up him that left half-told The story of Cambuscan bold, Of Camball, and of Algarsife, And who had Canace" to wife That own'd the virtuous ring and glass ; And of the wondrous horse of brass On which the Tartar king did ride : And if aught else great bards beside In sage and solemn tunes have sung Of turneys, and of trophies hung, Of forests, and enchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear. Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, Till civil-suited Morn appear, Not trick'd and frounced as she was wont With the Attic Boy to hunt, But kercheft in a comely cloud While rocking winds are piping loud, Or usher'd with a shower still, When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves With minute-drops from off the eaves. And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring 104 Musaeus, a fabled poet 109 him, Chaucer, in his unfinished Squire's Tale 118 turneys, solemn fights : trophies, armour and weapons of defeated enemies 121 career, course 122 civil-suited, peacefully dressed 123 frounced, curled 124 Boy, Cephalus, supposed husband to the Dawning 125 kercheft, hooded 127 ushered, led in 140 The Children's Treasury To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, Of pine, or monumental oak, Where the rude axe, with heavdd stroke, Was never heard the nymphs to daunt Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt. There in close covert by some brook Where no profaner eye may look, Hide me from day's garish eye, While the bee with honey'd thigh That at her flowery work doth sing, And the waters murmuring, With such concert as they keep Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep ; And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings in aery stream Of lively portraiture display'd, Softly on my eyelids laid : And, as I wake, sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath, Sent by some spirit to mortals good, Or the unseen Genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloister's pale, And love the high-embowe'd roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light : There let the pealing organ blow To the full-voiced quire below In service high and anthems clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear, 134 Sylvan, fabled God of the woods 137 nymphs, wood-fairies 141 garish, staring 154 Genius, Spirit 156 pale, enclosure 157 Gothic vaulting 158 massy, massive 159 dight, adorned of English Song 141 Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. And may at last my weary age Find out the peaceful hermitage, The hairy gown and mossy cell, Where I may sit and rightly spell Of every star that heaven doth show, And every herb that sips the dew ; Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain. These pleasures, Melancholy, give, And I with thee will choose to live. J. Milton * 84* A HAPPY OLD AGE HAPPY were he could finish forth his fate In some unhaunted desert, where, obscure From all society, from love and hate Of worldly folk, there should he sleep secure ; Then wake again, and yield God ever praise ; Content with hip, with haws, and brambleberry ; In contemplation passing still his days, And change of holy thoughts to make him merry : Who, when he dies, his tomb might be the bush Where harmless robin resteth with the thrush : — Happy were he ! Unknown 170 spell, study i he could, he who could end his life 3 unhaunted, unpeopled : obscure, hidden 8 merry, cheer him up €nii of Jirst I art SECOND PART * I * THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT AGINCOURT, Agincourt ! know ye not Agincourt ? Where the English slew and hurt All the French foemen. With our guns and bills brown, O ! the French were beat down, Morris-pikes and bowmen ! T. Heywood Fair stood the wind for France When we our sails advance, Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry ; But putting to the main, At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, With all his martial train, Landed King Harry. And taking many a fort, Furnish'd in warlike sort, Marcheth towards Agincourt In happy hour ; 4 bills, pikes 6 Morris -■pikes, large-sized 3 prove, try 5 sailing forth 7 martial, warlike §/brt, castle 10 supplied for war 144 The Children's Treasury Skirmishing day by day With those that stopp'd his way, Where the French general lay With all his power. Which in his height of pride, King Henry to deride, His ransom to provide To the King sending ; Which he neglects the while, As from a nation vile, Yet with an angry smile, Their fall portending. And turning to his men, Quoth our brave Henry then, ' Though they to one be ten, ' Be not amaze"d ! ' Yet have well begun, ' Battles so bravely won ' Have ever to the sun ' By fame been raised. ' And for myself,' quoth he, ' This my full rest shall be ; ' England, ne'er mourn for me, ' Nor more esteem me : — ' Victor I will remain, ' Or on this earth lie slain ; ' Never shall she sustain ' Loss to redeem me. ' Poictiers and Cressy tell, ' When most their pride did swell, ' Under our swords they fell: — ' No less our skill is 13 skirnvshing, irregular fighting 17 his, the French general's 21 ■which, insult : he, Henry 24 portending, prophesying 26 quoth, spoke 36 if I am beaten 37 victor, conqueror 40 pay ransom for of English Song 145 ' Than when our grandsire great, ' Claiming the regal seat, ' By many a warlike feat ' Lopp'd the French lilies.' The Duke of York so dread, The eager vaward led; With the main Henry sped, Amongst his henchmen. Exeter had the rear, A braver man not there ; Heavens ! how hot they were On the false Frenchmen ! They now to fight are gone : Armour on armour shone, Drum now to drum did groan ; To hear was wonder ; That with the cries they make The very earth did shake ; Trumpet to trumpet spake ; Thunder to thunder. Well it thine age became, O noble Erpingham, Which did the signal aim To our hid forces ; When from a meadow by, Like a storm suddenly, The English archery Stuck the French horses, With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long, That like to serpents stung, Piercing the weather ; 47 feat, deed 48. see end 50 vaward, foremost men 52 henchmen, attendants 71 archery, bowmen 73 yew, used for bows 76 weather, air L 146 The Children 's Treasury None from his fellow starts, But playing manly parts, And like true English hearts, Stuck close together. When down their bows they threw, And forth their bilbows drew, And on the French they flew ; Not one was tardy ; Arms were from shoulders sent ; Scalps to the teeth were rent, Down the French peasants went ; Our men were hardy. This while our noble King, His broad sword brandishing, Down the French host did ding, As to o'erwhelm it; And many a deep-wound lent His arms with blood besprent ; And many a cruel dent Bruised his helmet. Gloucester, that duke so good, Next of the royal blood, For famous England stood, With his brave brother, Clarence, in steel so bright, Though but a maiden knight, Yet in that furious fight Scarce such another. Warwick in blood did wade, Oxford the foe invade, And cruel slaughter made, Still as they ran up ; 83 lilbows, swords 91 ding, cut down violently 94 besprent, sprinkled 102 maiden, untried of English Song 147 Suffolk his axe did ply, Beaumont and Willoughby Bare them right doughtily — Ferrers and Fanhope. Upon Saint Crispin's day Fought was this noble fray, Which fame did not delay To England to carry. O when shall Englishmen With such acts fill a pen, Or England breed again Such a King Harry ! M. Drayton * 2 * AFTER BLENHEIM It was a summer evening ; Old Kaspar's work was done, And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun ; And by him sported on the green His little grandchild Wilhelmine. She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round Which he beside the rivulet In playing there had found ; He came to ask what he had found That was so large and smooth and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy, Who stood expectant by ; And then the old man shook his head, And with a natural sigh 1 'Tis some poor fellow's skull,' said he, ' Who fell in the great victory.' in doughtily, bravely 113 October 25 115 Jinnte, report 118 give writers such a fine subject L 2 148 The Children's Treasury ' I find them in the garden, ' For there's many here about ; ' And often when I go to plough ' The ploughshare turns them out. ' For many thousand men,' said he, ' Were slain in that great victory.' ' Now tell us what 'twas all about,' Young Peterkin he cries ; And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes ; 1 Now tell us all about the war, ' And what they fought each other for ? ' ' It was the English,' Kaspar cried, ' Who put the French to rout ; ' But what they fought each other for ' I could not well make out. ' But everybody said,' quoth he, ' That 'twas a famous victory. ' My father lived at Blenheim then, ' Yon little stream hard by ; ' They burnt his dwelling to the ground, ' And he was forced to fly : ' So with his wife and child he fled, ' Nor had he where to rest his head. ' With fire and sword the country round ' Was wasted far and wide, ' And many a childing mother then 'And newborn baby died : ' But things like that, you know, must be ' At every famous victory. ' They say it was a shocking sight ' After the field was won ; ' For many thousand bodies here ' Lay rotting in the sun : of English Song 149 ' But things like that, you know, must be ' After a famous victory. ' Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won ' And our good Prince Eugene ; ' — ' Why 'twas a very wicked thing ! ' Said little Wilhelmine ; ' Nay . . nay . . my little girl,' quoth he, ' It was a famous victory ! ' And everybody praised the Duke ' Who this great fight did win.' — ' But what good came of it at last ?' Quoth little Peterkin :— 'Why that I cannot tell,' said he, ' But 'twas a famous victory.' R. Southey * 3 * LUCY GRAY Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray : And, when I cross'd the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child. No mate, no comrade Lucy knew ; She dwelt on a wide moor, — The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door ! You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green ; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen. ' To-night will be a stormy night — ' You to the town must go ; 4 And take a lantern, Child, to light ' Your mother through the snow.' 150 The Children's Treasury 1 That, Father, will I gladly do : ' 'Tis scarcely afternoon — 1 The minster-clock has just struck two, ' And yonder is the moon ! ' At this the father raised his hook, And snapp'd a faggot band ; He plied his work ; — and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Not blither is the mountain roe : With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke. The storm came on before its time : She wander'd up and down ; And many a hill did Lucy climb : But never reach'd the town. The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide ; But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide. At daybreak on a hill they stood That overlook'd the moor ; And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door. They wept — and, turning homeward, cried, ' In heaven we all shall meet ! ' — When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. Then downwards from the steep hill's edge They track'd the footmarks small ; And through the broken hawthorn hedge, And by the long stone-wall : of English Song 1 5 1 And then an open field they cross'd : The marks were still the same ; They track'd them on, nor ever lost ; And to the bridge they came. They folio u^d from the snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank ; And further there were none ! — Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living child ; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. O'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind ; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. W. Wordsworth * 4 * NURSE'S SONG When the voices of children are heard on the green, And laughing is heard on the hill, My heart is at rest within my breast, And everything else is still. Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of night arise ; Come, come, leave off play, and let us away Till the morning appears in the skies. ' No, no, let us play, for it is yet day, ' And we cannot go to sleep ; ' Besides in the sky the little birds fly, ' And the hills are all cover'd with sheep.' 152 The Children's Treasury — Well, well, go and play till the light fades away, And then go home to bed. The little ones leap'd, and shouted, and laugh'd ; And all the hills echoed. W. Blake *5 * INFANT JOY, OR, THE BABY 1 1 HAVE no name; ' I am but two days old.' —'What shall I call thee?' — ' I happy am ; ' Joy is my name.' — Sweet joy befall thee ! Pretty joy ! Sweet joy, but two days old. Sweet joy I call thee : Thou dost smile : I sing the while, Sweet joy befall thee ! W. Blake THE BLIND LASSIE HARK to the strain that sae sweetly is ringin', And echoing clearly o'er lake and o'er lea, Like some fairy bird in the wilderness singin' ; It thrills to my heart, yet nae minstrel I see. Round yonder rock knittin', a dear child is sittin', Sae toilin' her pitifu' pittance is won, Hersel' tho' we see nae, 'tis mitherless Jeanie, — The bonnie blind lassie that sits i' the sun. 1 strain, music 4 -minstrel, singer 6 pitif if pittance, small livelihood 7 mither, mother of English Song 153 Five years syne come autumn she cam' wi' her mither, A sodger's puir widow, sair wasted an' gane ; As brown fell the leaves, sae wi' them did she wither, And left the sweet child on the wide world her lane. She left Jeanie weepin', in His holy keepin' Wha shelters the lamb frae the cauld wintry win' ; We had little siller, yet a' were good till her, The bonnie blind lassie that sits i' the sun. An' blythe now an' cheerfu', frae mornin' to e'enin She sits thro' the simmer, an' gladdens ilk ear, Baith auld and young daut her, sae gentle and winnin' ; To a' the folks round the wee lassie is dear. Braw leddies caress her, wi' bounties would press her ; The modest bit darlin' their notice would shun ; For though she has naething, proud-hearted this wee thing, The bonnie blind lassie that sits i' the sun. T. C. Latto * 7 * NIGHT The sun descending in the west, The evening star does shine ; The birds are silent in their nest, And I must seek for mine. The moon, like a flower In heaven's high bower, With silent delight Sits and smiles on the night. 9 syne, since 10 sair, sorely 12 her lane, alone 15 siller, money : till, to 18 simmer, summer : ilk, every 19 daut, dote on 20 a', all 21 braw leddies, fine ladies 22 bit, little 154 The Children's Treasury Farewell, green fields and happy groves, Where flocks have ta'en delight ; Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves The feet of angels bright ; Unseen, they pour blessing, And joy without ceasing, On each bud and blossom, And each sleeping bosom. They look in every thoughtless nest, Where birds are cover'd warm, They visit caves of every beast, To keep them all from harm : — If they see any weeping That should have been sleeping, They pour sleep on their head, And sit down by their bed. W. Blake *8* SIMON LEE THE OLD HUNTSMAN In the sweet shire of Cardigan, Not far from pleasant Ivor Hall, An old man dwells, a little man, I've heard he once was tall. Full five-and-thirty years he lived A running huntsman merry ; And still the centre of his cheek Is red as a ripe cherry. No man like him the horn could sound, And hill and valley rang with glee, When Echo bandied round and round The halloo of Simon Lee. In those proud days he little cared For husbandry or tillage ; To blither tasks did Simon rouse The sleepers of the village. ii bandied, sent of English Song 155 He all the country could outrun, Could leave both man and horse behind ; And often, ere the chase was done, He reel'd and was stone-blind. And still there's something in the world At which his heart rejoices ; For when the chiming hounds are out, He dearly loves their voices. But O the heavy change ! — bereft Of health, strength, friends and kindred, see Old Simon to the world is left In liveried poverty : His master's dead, and no one now Dwells in the Hall of Ivor ; Men, dogs, and horses, all are dead ; He is the sole survivor. And he is lean and he is sick : His body, dwindled and awry, Rests upon ankles swoln and thick; His legs are thin and dry. He has no son, he has no child ; His wife, an age"d woman, Lives with him, near the waterfall, Upon the village common. Beside their moss-grown hut of clay, Not twenty paces from the door, A scrap of land they have, but they Are poorest of the poor. This scrap of land he from the heath Enclosed when he was stronger ; But what avails the land to them Which he can till no longer ? »5 bereft, cut off from 28 in a huntsman's dress 32 only one left alive 47 what use is 156 The Children's Treasury Oft, working by her husband's side, Ruth does what Simon cannot do ; For she, with scanty cause for pride, Is stouter of the two. And, though you with your utmost skill From labour could not wean them, Tis little, very little, all That they can do between them. Few months of life has he in store, As he to you will tell, For still, the more he works, the more Do his weak ankles swell. — My gentle reader, I perceive How patiently you've waited, And now I fear that you expect Some tale will be related. O reader ! had you in your mind Such stores as silent thought can biing. O gentle reader ! you would find A tale in everything. What more I have to say is short, And you must kindly take it : It is no tale ; but, should you think, Perhaps a tale you'll make it. — One summer-day I chanced to see This old man doing all he could To unearth the root of an old tree, A stump of rotten wood. The mattock totter" d in his hand ; So vain was his endeavour That at the root of the old tree He might have work'd for ever. 64 related, told of English Song 157 'You're overtasked, good Simon Lee, ' Give me your tool,' to him I said ; And at the word right gladly he Received my proffer'd aid. I struck, and with a single blow The tangled root I sever'd, At which the poor old man so long And vainly had endeavour'd. The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seem'd to run So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. — I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning ; Alas ! the gratitude of men Has oftener left me mourning. W. Wordsworth * 9 * LULLABY FOR TITANIA First Fairy You spotted snakes with double tongue, Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ; Newts, and blind- worms, do no wrong; Come not near our Fairy Queen. Cho?-us Philomel with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby ; Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby Never harm, nor spell, nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh ! So good-night, with lullaby. 84 proffer'd, offered 4 Queen, Titania 5 Philomel, nightingale 158 The Children's Treasury Second Fairy Weaving spiders, come not here ; Hence, you long-leggM spinners, hence ; Beetles black, approach not near ; Worm, nor snail, do no offence. Chorus Philomel with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby ; Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby ! Never harm, nor spell, nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh ! So good-night, with lullaby. W. Shakespeare * 10* ROBIN GOODFELLOW FROM Oberon, in fairy land, The king of ghosts and shadows there, Mad Robin I, at his command, Am sent to view the night-sports here. What revel rout Is kept about, In every corner where I go, I will o'ersee, And merry be, And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho ! More swift than lightning can I fly About this airy welkin soon, And, in a minute's space, descry Each thing that's done below the moon. 5, 6 whatever sport goes on 12 welkin, sky 13 descry, see of English Song 159 There's not a hag Or ghost shall wag, Or cry 'ware goblins ! where I go ; But, Robin, I Their feats will spy, And send them home with ho, ho, ho ! Whene'er such wanderers I meet, As from their night-sports they trudge home, With counterfeiting voice I greet, And call them on with me to roam ; Through woods, through lakes, Through bogs, through brakes, Or else, unseen, with them I go, All in the nick To play some trick, And frolic it, with ho, ho, ho ! Sometimes I meet them like a man, Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound ; And to a horse I turn me can, To trip and trot about them round. But if to ride, My back they stride, More swift than wind away I go, O'er hedge and lands, Through pools and ponds, I hurry, laughing, ho, ho, ho ! By wells and rills, in meadows green, We nightly dance our heyday guise ; And to our fairy King and Queen, We chant our moonlight minstrelsies. t6 wag, stir 17 'ware, beware of 19 feats, doings 23 counterfeiting, mimicking 28 in the nick, at the right moment 42 heyday guise, frolicsome game 44 minstrelsies, songs 160 The Children's Treasury When larks 'gin sing, Away we fling ; And babes new born steal as we go ; And elf in bed, We leave instead, And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho ! From hag-bred Merlin's time have I Thus nightly revell'd to and fro ; And for my pranks men call me by The name of Robin Good-fellow. Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, Who haunt the nights, The hags and goblins do me know ; And beldames old My feats have told, So vale, vale / ho, ho, ho ! Unknown * II * THE FAIR V PRINCE It was intill a pleasant time, Upon a summer's day, The noble Earl Mar's daughter Went forth to sport and play. And as she play'd and sported Below a green oak tree, There she saw a sprightly doo Set on a branch so hie. ' O Coo-my-doo, my Love so true, ' If ye'll come down to me, ' Ye'll have a cage of good red gold ' Instead of simple tree.' 50 wend, go 51 hag-bred, witch-born : Merlin, a magician (-0 vale, farewell 1 intill, in 7 dio, dove 8 hie, high 12 tree, wood of English Song 161 And she had not these words well spoke, Nor yet these words well said, Till Coo-my-doo flew from the branch, And lighted on her head. Then she has brought this pretty bird Home to her bower and hall, And made him shine as fair a bird As any of them all. When day was gone and night was come, About the evening-tide, This lady spied a sprightly youth Stand straight up by her side. ' O who are ye, young man ? ' she said, 'What country come ye frae V —' I flew across the sea/ he said, ' 'Twas but this very day. ' My mother is a queen,' he says, ' Likewise of magic skill ; ' 'Twas she that turn'd me in a doo, ' To fly where'er I will. ' And it was but this very day ' That I came o'er the sea : e I loved you at a single look ; ' With you I'll live and dee.' — ' O Coo-my-doo, my Love so true, ' No more from me ye'U gae.' — ' That's never my intent, my Love ; ' As ye said, it shall be sae.' Thus he has stay'd in bower with her For twenty years and three ; Till there came a lord of high renown To court this fair ladye. 31 in, to 38 gae, go M 1 62 The Children's Treasury But still his proffer she refused, And all his presents too ; Says, ' I'm content to live alone ' With my bird Coo-my-doo.' Her father sware a solemn oath, Among the nobles all, ' To-morrow, ere I eat or drink, ' That bird I'll surely kill.' The bird was sitting in his cage, And heard what he did say ; He jump'd upon the window-sill : ' 'Tis time I was away.' Then Coo-my-doo took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea, And lighted at his mother's castle, On a tower of gold so hie. The Queen his mother was walking out, To see what she could see, And there she saw her darling son Set on the tower so hie. ' Get dancers here to dance,' she said, ' And minstrels for to play ; ' For here's my dear son Florentine ' Come back with me to stay.' — ' Instead of dancers to dance, mother, ' Or minstrels for to play, ' Turn four-and-twenty well-wight men ' Like storks, in feathers gray ; ' My seven sons in seven swans, ' Above their heads to flee ; ' And I myself a gay goshawk, ' A bird of high degree.' 45 P r °ffer, offer 71 well-wight, stalwart 75 goshawk, large hawk of English Song 163 This flock of birds took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea ; They landed near the Earl Mar's castle, Took shelter in every tree. These birds flew up from bush and tree, And lighted on the hall ; And when the wedding-train came forth Flew down among them all. The storks they seized the boldest men, That they could not fight or flee ; The swans they bound the bridegroom fast Unto a green oak tree. They flew around the bride-maidens, Then on the bride's own head ; And with the twinkling of an eye, The bride and they were fled ! Unknown * 12 * THE ANCIENT MARINER PART I It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. — ' By thy long gray beard and glittering eye, ' Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ? 1 The Bridegroom's doors are open'd wide, ' And I am next of kin ; ' The guests are met, the feast is set : ' May'st hear the merry din ! ' He holds him with his skinny hand, ' There was a ship,' quoth he. — ' Hold off! unhand me, gray -beard loon !' Eftsoons his hand dropt he. 12 eftsoons, at once M 2 1 64 The Children's Treasury He holds him with his glittering eye : — The wedding-guest stood still, And listens like a three years' child : The Mariner hath his will. The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone : He cannot choose but hear ; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner : — ' The ship was cheered, the harbour clear'd ; ' Merrily did we drop ' Below the kirk, below the hill, ' Below the light -house top. ' The sun came up upon the left, ' Out of the sea came he ! ' And he shone bright, and on the right ' Went down into the sea. ' Higher and higher every day, ' Till over the mast at noon' — The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast, For he heard the loud bassoon. The bride hath paced into the hall, Red as rose is she ; Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy. The Wedding- Guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear ; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed Mariner : — ' And now the storm-blast came, and he Was tyrannous and strong : He struck with his o'ertaking wings, And chased us South along. 23 kirk, church 25 left. East, as they were going South 32 bassoon, wind-instrument 36 minstrelsy, musician! of English Song 165 With sloping masts and dipping prow, As who pursued with yell and blow Still treads the shadow of his foe, And forward bends his head, The ship drove fast, loud roar'd the blast, And southward aye we fled. And now there came both mist and snow, And it grew wondrous cold : And ice, mast-high, came floating by, As green as emerald. And through the drifts the snowy clifts Did send a dismal sheen : Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken — The ice was all between. The ice was here, the ice was there. The ice was all around : It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd and howl'd, Like noises in a swound ! At length did cross an Albatross, Thorough the fog it came ; As if it had been a Christian soul, We hail'd it in God's name. It ate the food it ne'er had ate, And round and round it flew : — The ice did split with a thunder-fit ; The helmsman steer'd us through ! And a good south wind sprung up behind ; The Albatross did follow, And every day, for food or play, Came to the mariners' hollo ! S3 glaciers 56 sheen, shining 57 ken, see 62 swound, swoon 63 Albatross, great sea-bird 1 66 The Children's Treasury In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, It perch'd for vespers nine ; Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white, Glimmer'd the white moon-shine. ' God save thee, ancient Mariner ! ' From the fiends, that plague thee thus ! — ' Why look'st thou so ?' — 'With my cross-bow I shot the Albatross.' PART II ' The sun now rose upon the right : Out of the sea came he Still hid in mist, — and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew behind, But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners' hollo ! And I had done a hellish thing, And it would work 'em woe : For all averr'd, I had kill'd the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow ! Nor dim nor red, like God's own head, The glorious Sun uprist : Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the bird That brought the fog and mist :— 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist. 75 shroud, rigging 76 vespers, evenings 93 averr'd, declared of English Song 167 The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, The furrow follow'd free ; We were the first that ever burst Into that silent sea. Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down, 'Twas sad as sad could be ; And we did speak only to break The silence of the sea ! All in a hot and copper sky, The bloody Sun, at noon, Right up above the mast did stand, No bigger than the Moon. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion ; As idle as a painted ship Upon a painted ocean. Water, water, everywhere, And all the boards did shrink ; Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink. The very deep did rot : O Heaven ! That ever this should be ! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea. About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night ; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green, and blue, and white. And some in dreams assured were Of the spirit that plagued us so ; Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us From the land of mist and snow. 1 68 The Children's Treasury And every tongue, through utter drought, Was wither'd at the root ; We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot. Ah ! well a-day ! what evil looks Had I from old and young ! Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung. PART III ' There pass'd a weary time. Each throat Was parch'd, and glazed each eye. A weary time ! a weary time .' How glazed each weary eye ! When looking westward, I beheld A something in the sky. At first it seem'd a little speck, And then it seem'd a mist ; It moved and moved, and took at last A certain shape, I wist. A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! And still it near'd and near'd : As if it dodged a water-sprite, It plunged and tack'd and veer'd. With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, We could nor laugh nor wail ; Through utter drought all dumb we stood ! I bit my arm, I suck'd the blood, And cried, A sail — a sail ! With throats unslaked, with black lips baked, Agape they heard me call : Gramercy ! they for joy did grin, And all at once their breath drew in, As they were drinking all. 152 wist, perceived of English Song 169 See ! see ! (I cried) she tacks no more ! Hither to work us weal ; Without a breeze, without a tide, She steadies with upright keel ! The western wave was all a-flame, The day was wellnigh done ! Almost upon the western wave Rested the broad bright Sun ; When that strange shape drove suddenly Betwixt us and the Sun. And straight the Sun was fleck'd with bars, (Heaven's Mother send us grace !) As if through a dungeon-grate he peer'd With broad and burning face. Alas ! (thought I, and my heart beat loud) How fast she nears and nears ! Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, Like restless gossameres ? Are those her ribs through which the Sun Did peer, as through a grate ? And is that woman all her crew? Is that a Death ? and are there two ? Is Death that woman's mate ? Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold : Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-mare Life-in- Death was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold. The naked hulk alongside came, And the twain were casting dice ; ' The game is done ! I've . . . I've won ! ' Quoth she, and whistles thrice. 168 do us good 195 hulk, body of the ship 170 The Children's Treasury The Sun's rim dips ; the stars rush out : At one stride comes the dark ; With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea, Off shot the spectre-bark. We listen'd and look'd sideways up ! Fear at my heart, as at a cup, My life-blood seem'd to sip ! The stars were dim, and thick the night ; The steersman's face by his lamp gleam'd white ; From the sails the dew did drip — Till clomb above the eastern bar The horne'd Moon, with one bright star Within the nether tip. One after one, by the star- dogged Moon, Too quick for groan or sigh, Each turn'd his face with a ghastly pang, And cursed me with his eye. Four times fifty living men, (And I heard nor sigh nor groan,) With heavy thump, a lifeless lump, They dropt down one by one. The souls did from their bodies fly, — They fled to bliss or woe ! And every soul, it pass'd me by Like the whizz of my cross-bow.' PART IV. ' I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! ' I fear thy skinny hand ! ' And thou art long, and lank, and brown, ' As is the ribb'd sea-sand. 200 Near the Equator there is hardly any twilight «I2 dogg'd, followed closely by of English Song 1 7 1 ' I fear thee and thy glittering eye, ' And thy skinny hand, so brown.' — 'Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest ! This body dropt not down. Alone, alone ; all, all alone, Alone on a wide, wide sea ! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony. The many men, so beautiful ! And they all dead did lie : And a thousand thousand slimy things Lived on ; and so did I. I look'd upon the rotting sea, And drew my eyes away ; I look'd upon the rotting deck, And there the dead men lay. I look'd to heaven, and tried to pray ; But or ever a prayer had gusht, A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust. I closed my lids, and kept them close, And the balls like pulses beat ; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet. The cold sweat melted from their limbs, Nor rot nor reek did they : The look with which they look'd on me Had never pass'd away. An orphan's curse would drag to hell A spirit from on high ; But, oh ! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye ! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die. I7 2 The Children's Treasury The moving Moon went up the sky, And nowhere did abide : Softly she was going up, And a star or two beside : Her beams bemock'd the sultry main, Like April hoar-frost spread ; But where the ship's huge shadow lay, The charmed water burnt alway A still and awful red. Beyond the shadow of the ship, I watch'd the water- snakes : They moved in tracks of shining white, And when they rear'd, the elfish light Fell off in hoary flakes. Within the shadow of the ship I watch'd their rich attire : Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, They coil'd and swam ; and every track Was a flash of golden fire. O happy living things ! no tongue Their beauty might declare : A spring of love gush'd from my heart, And I bless'd them unaware : Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I bless'd them unaware. The self-same moment I could pray ; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea. PART v 1 sleep ! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole ! To Mary Queen the praise be given ! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven That slid into my soul. of English Song 1 73 The silly buckets on the deck That had so long remain'd, I dreamt that they were fill'd with dew ; And when I awoke, it rain'd. My lips were wet, my throat was cold, My garments all were dank ; Sure I had drunken in my dreams, And still my body drank. I moved, and could not feel my limbs : I was so light ; almost I thought that I had died in sleep And was a blesse'd ghost. And soon I heard a roaring wind ; It did not come anear ; But with its sound it shook the sails, That were so thin and sere. The upper air burst into life ! And a hundred fire-flags sheen, To and fro, they were hurried about ! And to and fro, and in and out, The wan stars danced between. And the coming wind did roar more loud, And the sails did sigh like sedge ; And the rain pour'd down from one black cloud ; The Moon was at its edge. The thick black cloud was cleft, and still The Moon was at its side : Like waters shot from some high crag, The lightning fell with never a jag, A river steep and wide. The loud wind never reach'd the ship, Yet now the ship moved on ! Beneath the lightning and the Moon The dead men gave a groan. 312 sere, withered and dry 317 wan, pale 174 The Children's Treasury They groan'd, they stirr'd, they all uprose, JS or spake, nor moved their eyes ; It had been strange, e'en in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise. The helmsman steer'd ; the ship moved on ; Yet never a breeze up blew ; The mariners all 'gan work the ropes Where they were wont to do ; They raised their limbs like lifeless tools — We were a ghastly crew ! The body of my brother's son Stood by me, knee to knee : The body and I pull'd at one rope, But he said nought to me.' ' — I fear thee, ancient mariner !' ' — Becalm, thou Wedding Guest ! 'Twas not those souls that fled in pain, Which to their corses came again, But a troop of spirits blest — For when it dawn'd they dropp'd their arms, And cluster'd round the mast ; Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths, And from their bodies pass'd. Around, around, flew each sweet sound, Then darted to the Sun : Slowly the sounds came back again, Now mix'd, now one by one. Sometimes a-dropping from the sky I heard the skylark sing ; Sometimes all little birds that are, How they seem'd to fill the sea and air With their sweet jargoning ! 348 corses, dead bodies 361 jargoning, chattering of English Song 175 And now 'twas like all instruments, Now like a lonely flute ; And now it is an angel's song, That makes the heavens be mute. It ceased ; yet still the sails made on A pleasant noise till noon, A noise like of a hidden brook In the leafy month of June, That to the sleeping woods all night Singeth a quiet tune. Till noon we quietly sail'd on, Yet never a breeze did breathe : Slowly and smoothly went the ship, Moved onward from beneath. Under the keel nine fathom deep, From the land of mist and snow, The spirit slid ; and it was he That made the ship to go. The sails at noon left off their tune, And the ship stood still also. The sun, right up above the mast, Had fix'd her to the ocean : But in a minute she 'gan stir, With a short uneasy motion — Backwards and forwards half her length, With a short uneasy motion. Then like a pawing horse let go, She made a sudden bound : It flung the blood into my head, And I fell down in a swound. How long in that same fit I lay, I have not to declare ; But ere my living life return'd, I heard, and in my soul discern'd Two voices in the air. 396 discerned, heard 176 The Childretis Treasury 1 Is it he ? ' quoth one, ' is this the man ? 'By Him who died on cross, 'With his cruel bow he laid full low ' The harmless albatross. ' The spirit who bideth by himself ' In the land of mist and snow, 1 He loved the bird that loved the man ' Who shot him with his bow.' The other was a softer voice, As soft as honey-dew : Quoth he, ' The man hath penance done, ' And penance more will do.' PART VI First Voice 1 But tell me, tell me ! speak again, ' Thy soft response renewing — ' What makes that ship drive on so fast ? ' What is the ocean doing ? ' Second Voice 1 Still as a slave before his lord, ' The ocean hath no blast ! ' His great bright eye most silently ' Up to the Moon is cast — ' If he may know which way to go : ' For she guides him smooth or grim : ' See, brother, see ! how graciously ' She looketh down on him ! ' First Voice ' Eut why drives on that ship so fast, ' Without or wave or wind ?' Second Voice 1 The air is cut away before, ' And closes from behind. 408 penance, punishment to do away sin 411 response, answer of English Song 177 ' Fly, brother, fly ! more high, more high ! ' Or we shall be belated : ' For slow and slow that ship will go, ' When the Mariner's trance is abated.' I woke; and we were sailing on As in a gentle weather : 'Twas night, calm night, the moon was high ; The dead men stood together. All stood together on the deck, For a charnel-dungeon fitter : All fix'd on me their stony eyes, That in the moon did glitter. The pang, the curse with which they died, Had never pass'd away : — I could not draw my eyes from theirs, Nor turn them up to pray. And now this spell was snapt once moi'e : — I view'd the ocean green, And look'd far forth, yet little saw Of what had else been seen : — Like one, that on a lonesome road Doth walk in fear and dread, And having once turn'd round, walks on, And turns no more his head ; Because he knows a frightful fiend Doth close behind him tread. But soon there breathed a wind on me, Nor sound nor motion made : Its path was not upon the sea, In ripple or in shade. 427 belated, too late 429 abated, over N 178 The Children's Treasury It raised my hair, it fann'd my cheek Like a meadow-gale of spring : — It mingled strangely with my fears, — Yet it felt like a welcoming. Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship, Yet she sail'd softly, too ; Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze — On me alone it blew. Oh ! dream of joy ! is this indeed The light-house top I see ? Is this the hill ? is this the kirk? Is this mine own countree ? We drifted o'er the harbour-bar, And I with sobs did pray — let me be awake, my God ! Or let me sleep alway. The harbour-bay was clear as glass, So smoothly it was strewn : And on the bay the moonlight lay, Aud the shadow of the moon. The rock shone bright, the kirk no less That stands above the rock : The moonlight steep'd in silentness The steady weather-cock. And the bay was white with silent light Till, rising from the same, Full many shapes, that shadows were, In crimson colours came. A little distance from the prow Those crimson shadows were : 1 turn'd my eyes upon the deck — Oh, Heaven ! —what saw I there ! of English Song 179 Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, And, by the holy rood ! A man all light, a seraph-man, On every corse there stood. This seraph-band, each waved his hand: It was a heavenly sight ! They stood as signals to the land, Each one a lovely light. This seraph-band, each waved his hand, No voice did they impart — No voice ; but oh ! the silence sank Like music on my heart. But soon I heard the dash of oars ; I heard the pilot's cheer ; My head was turn'd perforce away, And I saw a boat appear. The Pilot and the Pilot's boy, I heard them coming fast : Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy The dead men could not blast. I saw a third — I heard his voice : It is the Hermit good ! He singeth loud his godly hymns That he makes in the wood. He'll shrieve my soul, he'll wash away The Albatross's blood. PART VII ' This Hermit good lives in that wood Which slopes down to the sea : — How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! He loves to talk with marineres That come from a far countree. 497 impart, utter 507 blast, spoil 512 shrieve, cleanse from sin N 2 180 The Children's Treasury He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve — He hath a cushion plump : It is the moss that wholly hides The rotted old oak-stump. The skiff-boat neai^d : I heard them talk, ' Why, this is strange, I trow ! ' Where are those lights so many and fair, ' That signal made but now ? ' ' Strange, by my faith,' the Hermit said — ' And they answered not our cheer ! ' The planks look'd warp'd ! and see those sails, ' How thin they are and sere ! ' I never saw aught like to them, ' Unless perchance it were ' Brown skeletons of leaves that lag ' My forest-brook along ; ' When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow, ' And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, ' That eats the she-wolfs young.' ' Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look ' (The Pilot made reply) ' I am a-fear'd.' ' Push on, push on ! ' Said the Hermit cheerily. The boat came closer to the ship, But I nor spake nor stirr'd ; The boat came close beneath the ship, And straight a sound was heard : — Under the water it rumbled on, Still louder and more dread : It reach'd the ship, it split the bay ; The ship went down like lead. 524 trow, think 530 sere, withered 535 tod, bush of English Song i ! Stunn'd by that loud and dreadful sound, Which sky and ocean smote, Like one that hath been seven days drown'd My body lay afloat ; But swift as dreams, myself I found Within the Pilot's boat Upon the whirl, where sank the ship, The boat spun round and round ; And all was still, save that the hill Was telling of the sound. I moved my lips — the Pilot shriek'd And fell down in a fit : The holy Hermit raised his eyes, And pray'd where he did sit. And now, all in my own countree, I stood on the firm land ! The Hermit stepp'd forth from the boat, And scarcely he could stand. ' O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man ! ' The Hermit cross'd his brow, 1 Say quick,' quoth he, ' I bid thee say — ' What manner of man art thou ? ' Forthwith this frame of mine was wrench'd With a woful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale ; And then it left me free. Since then, at an uncertain hour, That agony returns : And till my ghastly tale is told, This heart within me burns. I pass, like night, from land to land ; I have strange power of speech ; That moment that his face I see, I know the man that must hear me : To him my tale I teach. The Children's Treasury — What loud uproar bursts from that door ! The wedding guests are there : But in the garden-bower the bride And bridemaids singing are : And hark the little vesper bell, Which biddeth me to prayer ! O wedding-guest ! this soul hath been Alone on a wide, wide sea : So lonely 'twas, that God Himself Scarce seeme"d there to be. O sweeter than the marriage-feast, 'Tis sweeter far to me, To walk together to the kirk With a goodly company ! To walk together to the kirk, And all together pray, While each to his Great Father bends, Old men, and babes, and loving friends, And youths and maidens gay ! — Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell To thee, thou Wedding-guest ! He prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best who loveth best All things both great and small ; For the dear God who loveth us, He made and loveth all.' — The Mariner, whose eye is bright, Whose beard with age is hoar, Is gone : and now the wedding-guest Turn'd from the bridegroom's door. He went like one that hath been stunn'd, And is of sense forlorn : — A sadder and a wiser man, He rose the morrow morn. $. T. Coleridge 589 vesper, evening of English Song 183 *i3* THE FEARFUL STORY 1 O where have ye been, my long-lost lover, ' This long seven years and mair ? ' ' — O, I'm come again to seek your love, ' And the vows that ye did swear.' " Now haud your tongue of my love and vows, ' For they can breed but strife ; ' Now haud your tongue of my former vows, ' For I am another man's wife.' ' — Had I kenn'd that ere I came here, ' I ne'er had come to thee ; ' For I might ha'e married the king's daughter, ' Were it not for the love of thee. ' I despised the crown of gold, ' And the fair ladye also ; ' And I am come back to my own true Love, ' But with me she'll not go. ' Ye may leave your husband to himself, ' And your little son also, ' And sail with me across the sea ' Where the stormy winds do blow.' ' — O, what have you to keep me with, ' If I with you should go — ' If I should forsake my good husband, ' My little young son also ? ' ' — See ye not yon seven pretty ships — ' The eighth brought me to land — e With merchandise and mariners, ' And wealth in every hand ? ' 7 hand, hold !4 The Children's Treasury She turn'd her round upon the shore, Her Love's ships to behold ; Their mainyards and their topmasts high Were cover'd o'er with gold. And she has gone to her little young son, Kiss'd him both cheek and chin : ' O fare ye well, my little son ! ' For I'll never see you again.' She has drawn the slippers on her feet, Well wrought with threads o' gold, And he's wrapt her round with the soft velvet To hold her from the cold. She had not sail'd a league from land, A league but barely three. Till she minded on her dear husband, And her little young son tee. ' O if I were on shore again, ' On shore where I would be, ' No living man should flatter me 'To sail upon the sea !' — ' O haud your tongue of weeping,' says he, ' Let all your mourning be ; ' I'll show ye how the lilies grow ' On the banks of Italie.' ' — O, what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, ' That the sun shines sweetly on ?' ' — O, yon are the hills o' Heaven,' he said, ' Where you will never win.' ' — O, whatna mountain is yon,' she said, ' Sae dreary with frost and snow ?' ' — O, yon is the mountain of Hell,' he cried, ' Where you and I must go ! ' 43 minded on, remembered 44 tee, too of English Song i Sf And aye when she turn'd her round about, Aye taller he seem'd for to be : Until that the tops of that gallant ship No taller were than he ! He strack the mainmast with his hand, The foremast with his knee ; The gallant ship was broken in twain, And sank into the sea ! Unknown * 14* THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS It was the schooner Hesperus, That sail'd the wintry sea ; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm, With his pipe in his mouth, And watch'd how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South. Then up and spake an old Sailor, Had sail'd the Spanish Main, ' I pray thee, put into yonder port, ' For I fear a hurricane. ' Last night, the moon had a golden ring, ' And to-night no moon we see ! ' The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laugh'd he. 3 skipper, captain it veering flaw, changeable gusts of wind 16 hurricane, sudden storm 17 ring, halo 1 86 The Children 's Treasury Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the North-east ; The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows froth'd like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength ; She shudder'd and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leap'd her cable's length. ' Come hither ! come hither ! my little daughter, ' And do not tremble so ! ' For I can weather the roughest gale, ' That ever wind did blow.' He wrapp'd her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast ; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. 1 O father ! I hear the church-bells ring, ' O say, what may it be ? ' ' — 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast !' — And he steer'd for the open sea. ' O father ! I hear the sound of guns, ' O say, what may it be ? ' ' — Some ship in distress that cannot live ' In such an angry sea !' ' O father ! I see a gleaming light, ' O say what may it be ? ' But the father answer'd never a word, — A frozen corpse was he. Lash'd to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face to the skies, The lantern gleam'd through the gleaming snow On his fix'd and glassy eyes. 39 fog-bett, rung in thick weather to warn ships of English Song 187 Then the maiden clasp'd her hands and pray'd That save'd she might be ; And she thought of Christ, who still'd the waves On the Lake of Galilee. And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land ; It was the sound of the trampling surf, On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. She struck where the white and fleecy waves Look'd soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks they gored her sides Like the horns of an angry bull. Her rattling shrouds all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board ; Like a vessel of glass she stove and sank, Ho ! ho ! the breakers roar'd. At day-break on the bleak sea-beach A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair Lash'd close to a drifting mast. 60 reef, bank of half-covered rock 61 fitful, rising and falling 65 bows, forepart 70 carded, combed fine 73 shrouds, mast-ropes 74 went clean over the deck 75 stove, was broken in 78 aghast, horrified 38 The Children's Treasury The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes ; And he saw her hair like the brown sea-weed On the billows fall and rise. H. W. Longfellow * 15 * ROSABELLE listen, listen, ladies gay ! No haughty feat of armsl tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. ' Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew, ' And, gentle lady, deign to stay ! 4 Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, ' Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. ' The blackening wave is edged with white ; ' To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; ' The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, 1 Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. 1 Last night the gifted Seer did view ' A wet shroud swathed round lady gay ; ' Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch ; ' Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ?' — ' 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir ' To-night at Roslin leads the ball ; ' But that my lady-mother there ' Sits lonely in her castle-hall. ' 'Tis not because the ring they ride, ' And Lindesay at the ring rides well, ' But that my sire the wine will chide ' If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle.' 2 feat, deed 6 deign, be kind enough 8 firth, strait 10 inch, island 13 seer, prophet 22 ring, a game in which riders drove through a ring of English Song 189 O'er Roslin all that weary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, And redder than the bright moonbeam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden. Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud, Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie, Each Baron, for a sable shroud, Sheathed in his iron panoply. Seem'd all on fire within, around, Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; Shone every pillar foliage-bound, And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail. Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose- carved buttress fair — So still they blaze, when fate is nigh The lordly line of high Saint Clair. There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; Each one the holy vault doth hold, — But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! And each Saint Clair was buried there With candle, with book, and with knell ; But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. Sir W. Scott 36 panoply, complete coat of armour 38 sacristy, vestry : pale, space round altar 39 foliage-bound, carved with leaves 40 mail, jhain-armour 41 pinnet, pinnacle ^fate, death 50 with the old funeral service 52 dirge, funeral chant 190 The Children^ Treasury * 16* GLENCOE * O tell me, Harper, wherefore flow Thy wayward notes of wail and woe Far down the desert of Glencoe, Where none may list their melody ? Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly, Or to the dun-deer glancing by, Or to the eagle that from high Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy ? ' — ' No, not to these, for they have rest : — The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest, The stag his lair, the erne her nest, Abode of lone security. But those for whom I pour the lay, Not wild-wood deep, nor mountain gray, Not this deep dell, that shrouds from day, Could screen from treach'rous cruelty. ' Their flag was furl'd, and mute their drum : The very household dogs were dumb, Unwont to bay at guests that come In guise of hospitality. His blithest notes the piper plied, Her gayest snood the maiden tied, The dame her distaff flung aside, To tend her kindly housewifery. ' The hand that mingled in the meal, At midnight drew the felon steel, And gave the host's kind breast to feel Meed, for his hospitality ! 3 see end 8 screams in answer 11 erne, eagle 15 shrouds, hides 17 mute, silent 19 unwont, not accustomed 20 guise, look 22 snood, hair-ribbon worn by girls 26 felon, base> treacherous 28 meed, reward of English Song 191 The friendly hearth which warm'd that hand, At midnight arm'd it with the brand, That bade destruction's flames expand Their red and fearful blazonry. ' Then woman's shriek was heard in vain, — Nor infancy's unpitied plain More than the warrior's groan, could gain Respite from ruthless butchery ! The winter wind that whistled shrill, The snows that night that cloked the hill, Though wild and pitiless, had still Far more than Southron clemency. ' Long have my harp's best notes been gone, Few are its strings, and faint their tone ; They can but sound in desert lone Their gray-hair'd master's misery. Were each gray hair a minstrel string, Each chord should imprecations fling, Till startled Scotland loud should ring, ' Revenge for blood and treachery ! ' Sir W. Scott * 17 * SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA Where the remote Bermudas ride In the ocean's bosom unespied, From a small boat that row'd along The listening winds received this song : ' What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the watery maze Where He the huge sea monsters wracks That lift the deep upon their backs, Unto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own ? 30 brand, torch 34 /lain, crying 35 gain respite, save itself 40 clemency, mercy 41 clwrd, string 1 ride, lie 2 unespied, hidden 6 maze, pathless sea ig2 The Children's Treasury He lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage : He gave us this eternal spring Which here enamels everything, And sends the fowls to us in care On daily visits through the air. He hangs in shades the orange bright Like golden lamps in a green night, And does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows : He makes the figs our mouths to meet, And throws the melons at our feet ; But apples plants of such a price, No tree could ever bear them twice ! With cedars chosen by his hand From Lebanon he stores the land ; And makes the hollow seas that roar Proclaim the ambergris on shore. He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel's pearl upon our coast ; And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound His name. O let our voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, Which then perhaps rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexique bay ! ' — Thus sung they in the English boat A. holy and a cheerful note : And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time. A. Mar-veil ti stage, plain 12 see end 14 enamels, colours brightly 19 the pomegrante seeds are like rubies 20 Ormus, island in the Persian Gulf 23 price, value 28 proclaim, give notice of; ambergris, fragrant gum floating on the sea of English Song 193 * 18 * THE PILGRIM Who would true valour see Let him come hither ! One here will constant be, Come wind, come weather : There's no discouragement Shall make him once relent His first-avow'd intent To be a Pilgrim. Whoso beset him round With dismal stories, Do but themselves confound ; His strength the more is. No lion can him fright ; He'll with a giant fight ; But he will have a right To be a Pilgrim. Nor enemy, nor fiend, Can daunt his spirit ; He knows he at the end Shall Life inherit : — Then, fancies, fly away ; He'll not fear what men say ; He'll labour, night and day, To be a Pilgrim. J. Bunyan * 19 * TRUE GREATNESS The fairest action of our human life Is scorning to revenge an injury : For who forgives without a further strife His adversary's heart to him doth tie : Arid 'tis a firmer conquest truly said To win the heart, than overthrow the head. 6 relent, slacken 7 avaw'd, proclaimed 17 daunt, frighleii S said, called 194 The ChildretHs Treasury If we a worthy enemy do find, To yield to worth, it must be nobly done : — But if of baser metal be his mind, In base revenge there is no honour won. Who would a worthy courage overthrow ? And who would wrestle with a worthless foe ? We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield ; Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor : Great hearts are task'd beyond their power but seld : The weakest lion will the loudest roar. Truth's school for certain does this same allow, High-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow. Lady E. Carew * 20 * CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will ; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill ! Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death, Not tied unto the world with care Of public fame, or private breath ; Who envies none that chance doth raise Or vice ; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise ; Nor rules of state, but rules of good : 8 it must be a noble thing to yield to a worthy enemy 9 metal, quality 11 courage, enemy 15 seld, seldom Character, description 8 private &reatk,wha.t his neighbours say 12 state, policy, craft of English Song 195 Who hath his life from rumours freed ; Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make accusers great ; Who God doth late and early pray More of His grace than gifts to lend ; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend ; — This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands ; And having nothing, yet hath all. Sir H. Wotton < * 21 * THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER When my mother died I was very young, And my father sold me while yet my tongue Could scarcely cry, 'weep / 'weep ! ' weep / 'weep ! So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep. There's little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head, That curl'd like a lamb's back, was shaved ; so I said, ' Hush, Tom ! never mind it, for when your head's bare, ' You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair.' And so he was quiet : and that very night, As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight, That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack, Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of black. 13 rumours, I suppose, vain alarms 15 not rich enough to invite flatterers or enemies 21 servile bands, from being bound like a slave O 2 196 The Children's Treasury And by came an angel, who had a bright key, And he open'd the coffins, and set them all free ; Then down a green plain, leaping, laughing they run, And wash in a river, and shine in the sun. Then naked and white, all their bags left behind, They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind ; And the angel told Tom, if he'd be a good boy, He'd have God for his father, and never want joy. And so Tom awoke ; and we rose in the dark, And got with our bags and our brushes to work ; Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm : So, if all do their duty, they need not fear harm. W. Blake * 22 * DEATH THE LEVELLER THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill : But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. 1 blood and state, life and condition 5 kings and labourers, all must die 9 field, of glory 10 and gain fresh fame 12 tame, conquer of English Song 197 The garlands wither on your brow ; Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds ! Your heads must come To the cold tomb : — Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. y. Shirley HE A DEN OV A HEAD-STWONE Dorset dialect As I wer readen ov a stwone, In Grenley church-yard, all alwone, A little maid ran up, wi' pride To zee me there ; an' push'd azide A bunch o' bennets, that did hide A verse her father, as she zaid, Put up above her mother's head To tell how much he loved her. The verse wer short, but very good, I stood an' learn'd en where I stood, ' Mid God, dear Meary, gi'e me greace ' To vind, like thee, a better pleace, 'Where I, oonce mwore, mid zee thy feace ; ' An' bring thy childern up, to know ' His word, that they mid come an' show ' Thy soul how much I loved thee.' 4 Where's father, then, 5 I zaid, ' my chile ? ' ' Dead, too,' she answer'd wi' a smile : ' An' I an' brother Jem do bide ' At Betty White's, o' tother zide 17 garlands, crowns of glory 20 victor-victun, the dying conqueror S3 just, good Head-stwone, stone at head of a grave 5 bennets, bent-grass 11 mid, might 12 vind, find 19 bide, live 198 The Children 's Treasury * O' road.' — ' Mid He, my chile,' I cried, ' That's father to the fatherless, 1 Become thy father now, an' bless ' An' keep, an' lead, an' love thee.' — Though she've a-lost, I thought, so much, Still He don't let the thoughts o't touch Her litsome heart, by day or night ; An' zoo, if we could teake it right, Do show He'll meake his burdens light To weaker souls ; an' that his smile, Is sweet upon a little chile, When they be dead that loved it. W. Barnes * 24 * THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE A T CORUNNA NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corpse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin inclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him. Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 27 liisome, light 1 note, sound 2 rampart, wall or line of fortification 3 discharged, fired 4 hero, noble and loved one 11 warrior, soldier 12 martial, soldier's of English Song 199 We thought as we hollow'd his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow ! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him, — But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone — But we left him alone with his glory. C. Wolfe *25 * THE BRITISH SOLDIER IN CHINA Last night among his fellow-roughs He jested, quaff'd, and swore : A drunken private of the Buffs, Who never look'd before. To-day, beneath the foeman's frown, He stands in Elgin's place, Ambassador from Britain's crown, And type of all her race. 22 ashes, body : upbraid, blame 23 reck, care 6 Lord Elgin was then our ambassador in China : see end 7 ambassador, person sent to represent the Queen 8 type, example X) The Children's Treasury Poor, reckless, rude, low-born, untaught, Bewilder'd, and alone, A heart, with English instinct fraught, He yet can call his own. Ay ! tear his body limb from limb ; Bring cord, or axe, or flame ! — He only knows, that not through him Shall England come to shame. Far Kentish hopfields round him seem'd Like dreams to come and go ; Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleam'd, One sheet of living snow : The smoke above his father's door In gray soft eddyings hung : — Must he then watch it rise no more, Doom'd by himself, so young ? Yes, Honour calls ! — with strength like steel He put the vision by : Let dusky Indians whine and kneel ; An English lad must die ! And thus, with eyes that would not shrink, With knee to man unbent, Unfaltering on its dreadful brink To his red grave he went. — Vain, mightiest fleets of iron framed ; Vain, those all-shattering guns ; Unless proud England keep, untamed, The strong heart of her sons ! So, let his name through Europe ring — A man of mean estate Who died, as firm as Sparta's king, Because his soul was great. Sir F. H. Doyh 10 bewildered, puzzled n full of true English feeling 17 The Buffs are the East Kent Regiment 19 leagues, miles 26 vision, thought of home 32 red, bloody 39 Leonidas, who died at Thermopylae of English Song 201 * 26 * YOUNG LOCHJNVAR O, YOUNG Lochinvar is come out of the West ! Through all the wide Border his steed is the best ; And save his good broadswordhe weapons had none; He rode all unarm'd and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar ! He stay'd not for brake and he stopp'd not for stone ; He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented ; the gallant came late ; For a laggard in love and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen and kinsmen and brothers and all; — Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word, ' O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, ' Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ? ' — ' I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied ; ' Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ; ' And now am I come with this lost Love of mine ' To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. ' There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, ' That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar ! ' The bride kiss'd the goblet, the knight took it up, He quaffd off the wine and he threw down the cup ; S dauntless, bold 19 suit, courtship 202 The Children's Treasury She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye : — He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar ; 'Nowtreadweameasure! ' said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace : While her mother did fret and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; And the bride-maidens whispered, "Twere better by far 1 To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochin- var !' One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, When they reach'd the hall door ; and the charger stood near ; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! ' She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush and scaur, ' They'll have fleet steeds that follow ! ' quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran ; There was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea ; But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see : — So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? Sir W. Scott 30 measure, dance 32 galliard, lively dance 38 charger, war-horse 39 croupe, hind-part 41 scaiir, broken cliff-side 43 clan, family of English Song 203 * 27 * THE MAID OF NEIDPATH O lovers' eyes are sharp to see, And lovers' ears in hearing ; And love, in life's extremity, Can lend an hour of cheering. Disease had been in Mary's bower And slow decay from mourning, Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower To watch her Love's returning. All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, Her form decay" d by pining, Till through her wasted hand, at night, You saw the taper shining. By fits a sultry hectic hue Across her cheek was flying ; By fits so ashy pale she grew Her maidens thought her dying. Yet keenest powers to see and hear Seem'd in her frame residing ; Before the watch-dog prick'd his ear She heard her lover's riding ; Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd She knew and waved to greet him, And o'er the battlement did bend As on the wing to meet him. He came — he pass'd — a heedless gaze As o'er some stranger glancing ; Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, Lost in his courser's prancing : — The castle-arch, whose hollow tone Returns each whisper spoken, Could scarcely catch the feeble moan Which told her heart was broken. Sir W. Scott 13 hectic, fitful colour of consumption 204 The Children's Treasury * 28 * ANNAN WATER 1 Annan Water's wading deep, 'And my Love Annie's wondrous bonny ; ' And I am loath she should wet her feet, ' Because I love her best of ony.' He's loupen on his bonny gray, He rode the right gate and the ready ; For all the storm he wadna stay, For seeking of his bonny lady. And he has ridden o'er field and fell, Through moor, and moss, and many a mire ; 10 His spurs of steel were sair to bide, And from her four feet flew the fire. ' My bonny gray, now play your part ! ' If ye be the steed that wins my dearie, ' With corn and hay yell be fed for aye, ' And never spur shall make you wearie.' The gray was a mare, and a right gude mare ; But when she wan the Annan Water, She could not have ridden the ford that night Had a thousand merks been wadded at her. ' O boatman, boatman, put off your boat, ' Put off your boat for golden money ! ' But for all the gold in fair Scotland, He dared not take him through to Annie. ' O I was sworn so late yestreen, ' Not by a single oath, but mony ! ' I'll cross the drumly stream to-night, ' Or never could I face my honey.' 5 loupen, leaped 6 gate, way n sair, hard 18 tvan, reached ao merks, old coin: wadded at, betted upon 27 drumly, muc. of English Song 205 The side was stey, and the bottom deep, From bank to brae the water pouring ; The bonny gray mare she swat for fear, For she heard the water-kelpy roaring. He spurred her forth into the flood, I wot she swam both strong and steady ; But the stream was broad, and her strength did fail, And he never saw his bonny lady ! Unknown * 29 * THE ROVER ' A weary lot is thine, fair maid, ' A weary lot is thine ! ' To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, ' /ind press the rue for wine. ' A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, ' A feather of the blue, ' A doublet of the Lincoln green — ' No more of me you knew ' My Love ! ' No more of me you knew. ' The morn is merry June, I trow, ' The rose is budding fain ; ' But she shall bloom in winter snow ' Ere we two meet again.' He turn'd his charger as he spake Upon the river shore, He gave the bridle-reins a shake, Said ' Adieu for evermore ' My Love ! ' And adieu for evermore.' Sir W. Scott ag stey, steep 30 brae, slope 32 kelpy, spirit 5 mien, face, air 12 fain, gaily 2 o6 The Children's Treasury * 30* A MORNING SONG Pack, clouds, away, and welcome day : With night we banish sorrow ; Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft, To give my Love good-morrow ! Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow ; Bird prune thy wing, nightingale sing, To give my Love good-morrow ; To give my Love good-morrow Notes from them both I'll borrow. Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast, Sing birds in every furrow ; And from each hill, let music shrill Give my fair Love good-morrow ! Blackbird and thrush in every bush, Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow ! You pretty elves, amongst yourselves Sing my fair Love good-morrow ; To give my Love good-morrow Sing birds in every furrow ! T. Heyrwood * 31 * A HAPPY LIFE Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat — Come hither, come hither, come hither ! Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. 2 banish, send away 16 stare, starling 17 elves, little live things of English Song 207 Who doth ambition shun, And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets — Come hither, come hither, come hither ! Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather. W. Shakespeare * 32 * TO BLOSSOMS Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do ye fall so fast ? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here a while To blush and gently smile, And go at last What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night ? 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave : And after they have shown their pride Like you, a while, they glide Into the grave. K. Herrick g ambition, struggle to get on i promises of fruit 3 date, time 15 brave, brilliant 16 pride, beauty 208 The Children's Treasury * 33 * THE DAFFODILS I wander'd lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils, Beside the lake beneath the trees Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky-way, They stretch'd in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay : Ten thousand saw I at a glance Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee : — A Poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company ! I gazed — and gazed — but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought ; For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude ; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. W. Wordsworth >34* A THANKSGIVING TO GOD, FOR HIS HOUSE Lord, thou bast given me a cell, Wherein to dwell ; A little house, whose humble root Is weather-proof; 7 continuous, close together 10 margin, edge 18 -wealth, benefit 20 idle or thoughtful 21 inward eye, thought of English Song 209 Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry ; Where thou, my chamber for to ward, Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me, while I sleep. Low is my porch, as is my fate : Both void of state ; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by th' poor, Who thither come, and freely get Good words, or meat. Like as my parlour, so my hall And kitchen's small ; A little buttery, and therein A little bin, Which keeps my little loaf of bread Unchipt, unflead ; Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar Make me a fire, Close by whose living coal I sit, And glow like it. Lord, I confess too, when I dine, The pulse is thine, And all those other bits that be There placed by thee ; The worts, the purslain, and the mess Of water-cress, Which of thy kindness thou hast sent ; And my content Makes those, and my beloved beet, To be more sweet. 'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth, S spars, timbers ^ ward, protect iz fate, place in life 12 state, grandeur 22 un/lead, unpared 28 pulse, pottage 31 purslain, a salad P io The Children 's Treasury And giv'st me wassail-bowls to drink, Spiced to the brink. Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand That soils my land, And giv'st me, for my bushel sown, Twice ten for one ; Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay Her egg each day ; Besides my healthful ewes to bear Me twins each year ; The while the conduits of my kine Run cream, for wine : All these, and better, thou dost send Me, — to this end, That I should render, for my part, A thankful heart. R. Herrich *35* SUNSHINE AFTER A SHOWER Ever after summer shower, When the bright sun's returning power With laughing beam has chased the storm, And cheer'd reviving Nature's form, By sweet-briar hedges bathed in dew, Let me my wholesome path pursue ; There, issuing forth, the frequent snail Wears the dank way with slimy trail ; While as I walk, from pearled bush The sunny, sparkling drop I brush ; And all the landscape fair I view Clad in robe of fresher hue ; And so loud the blackbird sings, That far and near the valley rings. 39 wassail-bowls, cups of old ale 42 soils, manures 49 conduits, udders 8 dank, moist : trail, track of English Song 21 1 From shelter deep of shaggy rock The shepherd drives his joyful flock ; From bowering beech the mower blithe With new-born vigour grasps the scythe ; While o'er the smooth unbounded meads His last faint gleam the rainbow spreads. T. Warton * 36 * THE HOCK-CART, OR HARVEST-HOME Come, sons of summer, by whose toil We are the lords of wine and oil ; By whose tough labours and rough hands, We rip up first, then reap our lands. Crown'd with the ears of corn, now come, And, to the pipe, sing Harvest Home ! Come forth, my lord, and see the cart Drest up with all the country art : — See, here a maukin, there a sheet, As spotless pure as it is sweet ; The horses, mares, and frisking fillies, Clad all in linen white as lilies : — The harvest swains and wenches bound For joy, to see the hock-cart crown'd. About the cart hear how the rout Of rural younglings raise the shout, Pressing before, some coming after, Those with a shout, and these with laughter. Some bless the cart, some kiss the sheaves, Some prank them up with oaken leaves ; Some cross the fill-horse, some with great Devotion stroke the home-borne wheat ; While other rustics, less attent 18 vigour, strength 7 lord, the Earl of Westmorland 9 maukin, coarse cloth 14 hock-cart, last from harvest-field 21 Jill, shaft-horse 23 attent, eager P 2 212 The Children's Treasury To prayers than to merriment, Run after with their breeches rent. Well, on, brave boys, to your lord's hearth, Glitt'ring with fire, where, for your mirth, Ye shall see first the large and chief Foundation of your feast, fat beef ! With upper stories, mutton, veal, And bacon, which makes full the meal ; With sev'ral dishes standing by, As, here a custard, there a pie, And here all-tempting frumenty. And for to make the merry cheer, If smirking wine be wanting here, There's that, which drowns all care, stout beer ; Which freely drink to your lord's health, Then to the plough, the commonwealth, Next to your flails, your fanes, your fatts ; Then to the maids with wheaten hats ; To the rough sickle, and crook't scythe, Drink, frolick, boys, till all be blythe. Feed and grow fat, and as ye eat, Be mindful that the lab'ring neat, As you, may have their fill of meat ; And know, besides, ye must revoke The patient ox unto the yoke, And all go back unto the plough And harrow, though they're hanged up now. And, you must know, your lord's word's true, Feed him ye must, whose food fills you : And that this pleasure is like rain, Not sent ye for to drown your pain, But for to make it spring again. R. Herrick 40 fanes, apparently weathercocks : fatts, casks 41 wheaten, straw 45 neat, oxen 47 revoke, call back of English Song 2 1 3 *37* THE FIRST SWALLOW THE gorse is yellow on the heath ; The banks with speedwell flowers are gay ; The oaks are budding, and beneath, The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath, The silver wreath of May. The welcome guest of settled spring, The swallow, too, is come at last ; Just at sunset, when thrushes sing, i saw her dash with rapid wing, And hail'd her as she past. Come, summer visitant, attach To my reed roof your nest of clay, And let my ear your music catch, Low twittering underneath the thatch, At the gray dawn of day. C. Smith *38* TO A REDBREAST Little bird, with bosom red, Welcome to my humble shed ! Courtly domes of high degree Have no room for thee and me ; Pride and pleasure's fickle throng Nothing mind an idle song. Daily near my table steal, While I pick my scanty meal : — Doubt not little though there be, But I'll cast a crumb to thee ; Well rewarded, if I spy Pleasure in thy glancing eye ; See thee, when thou'st eat thy fill, Plume thy breast, and wipe thy bill. 3 domes, houses 5 the changeable crowd of proud and idle people 14 plume, trim 214 The Children's Treasury Come, my feather'd friend, again ! Well thou know'st the broken pane : — Ask of me thy daily store ; Go not near Avaro's door ; Once within his iron hall, Woful end shall thee befall. Savage ! — he would soon divest Of its rosy plumes thy breast ; Then, with solitary joy, Eat thee, bones and all, my boy ! y. Langhorne *39* TO THE SKYLARK ETHEREAL minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky ! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground ? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still ! To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler ! — that love-prompted strain — 'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond — Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain : Yet mightst thou seem, proud privilege ! to sing All independent of the leafy spring. Leave to the nightingale her shady wood ; A privacy of glorious light is thine, Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine ; Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam — True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home. W. Wordsworth 18 Avaro, man too fond of money : here, perhaps, a fierce dog 19 iron, cruel 21 divest, take off 1 singer of the air, and wanderer through the sky 3 aspire, mount 8 prompted, caused by 12 without waiting for the leaves, like most birds 14 privacy, solitude 17 type, figure of English Song 215 * 40 * THE LAST OF THE FLOCK In distant countries have I been, And yet I have not often seen A healthy man, a man full grown, Weep in the public roads alone ; But such a one, on English ground, And in the broad highway I met ; Along the broad highway he came, His cheeks with tears were wet ; Sturdy he seem'd, though he was sad , And in his arms a lamb he had. He saw me, and he turn'd aside, As if he wish'd himself to hide : And with his coat did then essay To wipe those briny tears away. I follow'd him and said, ' My friend, ' What ails you ? wherefore weep you so ? ' — ' Shame on me, sir ! this lusty lamb, ' He makes my tears to flow. ' To-day I fetch'd him from the rock ; ' He is the last of all my flock. ' When I was young, a single man, ' And after youthful follies ran, ' Though little given to care and thought, ' Yet so it was, an ewe I bought ; ' And other sheep from her I raised, ' As healthy sheep as you might see ; ' And then I married, and was rich ' As I could wish to be ; ' Of sheep I number'd a full score, ' And every year increased my store. ' Year after year my stock it grew ; ' And from this one, this single ewe, 216 The Children's Treasury 1 Full fifty comely sheep I raised, ' As fine a flock as ever grazed ! ' Upon the Quantock Hills they fed ; ' They throve, and we at home did thrive : — ' This lusty lamb of all my store ' Is all that is alive ; 'And now I care not if we die, ' And perish all of poverty. ' Six children, sir, had I to feed ; ' Hard labour, in a time of need ! ' My pride was tamed, and in our grief, ' I of the parish ask'd relief ; ' They said I was a wealthy man, ' My sheep upon the uplands fed, ' And it was fit that thence I took ' Whereof to buy us bread. 'Do this; how cati we give to you, 1 They cried, what to the poor is due ? 1 I sold a sheep as they had said, ' And bought my little children bread, ' And they were healthy with their food : ' For me— it never did me good. ' A woful time it was for me, ' To see the end of all my gains, ' The pretty flock which I had rearM ' With all my care and pains, ' To see it melt like snow away — ' For me it was a woful day ! ' Another still ! and still another ! ' A little lamb, and then its mother ! ' It was a vein that never stopp'd — ' Like blood-drops from my heart they dropp'd ' Till thirty were not left alive ; ' They dwindled, dwindled, one by one ; of English Song 217 ' And I may say that many a time ' I wish'd they all were gone ; ' Reckless of what might come at last, ' Were but the bitter struggle past. ' To wicked deeds I was inclined, ' And wicked fancies cross'd my mind ; ' And every man I chanced to see, ' I thought he knew some ill of me. ' No peace, no comfort could I find, ' No ease within doors or without ; 1 And crazily and wearily ' I went my work about : ' And oft was moved to flee from home ' And hide my head where wild beasts roam. ' Sir, 'twas a precious flock to me, ' As dear as my own children be ; ' For daily with my growing store ' I loved my children more and more. ' Alas ! it was an evil time ; ' God cursed me in my sore distress ; ' I prayed, yet every day I thought ' I loved my children less ; ' And every week, and every day, ' My flock it seem'd to melt away. ' They dwindled, sir, sad sight to see ! ' From ten to five, from five to three, ' A lamb, a wether, and a ewe ; ' And then at last from three to two ; ' And, of my fifty, yesterday ' I had but only one : ' And here it lies upon my arm — ' Alas, and I have none ; 1 To-day I fetch'd it from the rock — ' It is the last of all my flock ! ' W. Wordsworth 218 The Children's Treasury * 41 * THE SHEPHERD IN WINTER When red hath set the beamless sun, Through heavy vapours dark and dun ; When the tired ploughman, dry and warm, Hears, half-asleep, the rising storm Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain, Against the casement's tinkling pane ; — The sounds that drive wild deer, and fox, To shelter in the brake and rocks, Are warnings which the shepherd ask To dismal and to dangerous task ! Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in vain, The blast may sink in mellowing rain ; Till, dark above, and white below, Decided drives the flaky snow, And forth the hardy swain must go. Long, with dejected look and whine, To leave the hearth his dogs repine ; Whistling and cheering them to aid, Around his back he wreathes the plaid ; His flock he gathers, and he guides To open downs, and mountain-sides, Where fiercest though the tempest blow, Least deeply lies the drift below. The blast, that whistles o'er the fells, Stiffens his locks to icicles ; Oft he looks back, while streaming far, His cottage window seems a star, — Loses its feeble gleam, — and then Turns patient to the blast again, And, facing to the tempest's sweep, Drives through the gloom his lagging sheep. If fails his heart, if his limbs fail, Benumbing death is in the gale : 24 fells, moors, high open ground of English Song 219 His paths, his landmarks, all unknown, Close to the hut, no more his own, Close to the aid he sought in vain, The morn may find the stiffen'd swain : The widow sees, at dawning pale, His orphans raise their feeble wail ; And, close beside him, in the snow, Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe, Couches upon his master's breast, And licks his cheek to break his rest. Sir W. Scott * 42 * THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY The noon was shady, and soft airs Swept Ouse's silent tide, When, 'scaped from literary cares, I wander'd on his side. My spaniel, prettiest of his race, And high in pedigree, — (Two nymphs adorn'd with every grace That spaniel found for me,) Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds, Now, starting into sight, Pursued the swallow o'er the meads With scarce a slower flight. It was the time when Ouse displa/d His lilies newly blown ; Their beauties I intent surve/d, And one I wish'd my own. With cane extended far I sought To steer it close to land ; But still the prize, though nearly caught, Escaped my eager hand. 3 literary cares, studying and writing 6 of a good breed 7 nymplis. girls 15 intent, attentively 220 The Children 's Treasury Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains With fix'd considerate face, And puzzling set his puppy brains To comprehend the case. But with a cherup clear and strong Dispersing all his dream, I thence withdrew, and follow'd long The windings of the stream. My ramble ended, I return'd ; Beau, trotting far before, The floating wreath again discern'd, And plunging left the shore. I saw him with that lily cropp'd Impatient swim to meet My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd The treasure at my feet. Charmed with the sight, ' The world,' I cried ' Shall hear of this thy deed ; ' My dog shall mortify the pride ' Of man's superior breed ; ' But chief myself I will enjoin, ' Awake at duty's call, ' To show a love as prompt as thine 'To Him who gives me all.' W. Cow per *43* TO A FIELD MOUSE WEE, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O what a panic's in thy breastie ! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle ! 24 comprehend, make out 26 dream, thinking 39 mortify, take down 41 enjoin, remind 1 sleekit, sleek 2 panic, sudden fear 3 na, not 4 bickering brattle, flittering race of English Song 221 I wad be laith to rin and chase thee Wi' murd'ring pattle ! I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, And justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, And fellow-mortal ! I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve ; What then ? poor beastie, thou maun live ! A daimen icker in a thrave 's a sma' request : I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, And never miss't ! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' : And naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage green ! And bleak December's winds ensuin,' Baith snell and keen ! Thou saw the fields laid bare and waste, And weary winter coming fast ; And cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell. That wee bit heap o' leaves and stibble Has cost thee mony a weary nibble ! 5 laith, loath : rin, run 6 pattle, ploughstaff 7 man's cruelty to animals 13 whyles, at times 14 «?■ un, must 15 a corn-ear now and then from a double shock 17 lave, rest 20 wa's, walls 21 big, build 22 foggage, after-grass 23 ensuing, following 24 snell, biting 29 coulter, plough-iron 30 cell, nest 222 The Children's Treasury Now thou's turn'd out for a' thy trouble But house or hald, To thole the winter's sleety dribble And cranreuch cauld ! But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane In proving foresight may be vain : The best laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley, And lea'e us nought but grief and pain, For promised joy. Still thou art blest, compared wi' me ! The present only toucheth thee : But, och ! I backward cast my e'e On prospects drear ! And forward, tho' I canna see, I guess and fear. R. Burns * 44* THE WORM TURN, turn thy hasty foot aside, Nor crush that helpless worm ! The frame thy wayward looks deride Required a God to form. The common lord of all that move, From whom thy being fiow'd, A portion of His boundless love On that poor worm bestow'd. The sun, the moon, the stars, He made For all His creatures free ; And spread o'er earth the grassy blade, For worms as well as thee. 34 but hald, without dwelling-place 35 thole, bear 36 cranreuch, hoarfrost 37 thy lane, alone 39 schemes, plans 40 often go awry 41 lea'e, leave of English Song 223 Let them enjoy their little day, Their humble bliss receive ; O ! do not lightly take away The life thou canst not give ! T. Gisbome *45 * THE GIRL DESCRIBES HER FA WN With sweetest milk and sugar first I it at my own fingers nursed ; And as it grew, so every day It wax'd more white and sweet than they — : It had so sweet a breath ! and oft I blush'd to see its foot more soft And white, — shall I say, — than my hand ? Nay, any lady's of the land ! It is a wondrous thing how fleet 'Twas on those little silver feet : With what a pretty skipping grace It oft would challenge me the race : — And when 't had left me far away 'Twould stay, and run again, and stay : For it was nimbler much than hinds, And trod as if on the four winds. I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness : And all the spring-time of the year It only love"d to be there. Among the beds of lilies I Have sought it oft, where it should lie 5 Yet could not, till itself would rise, Find it, although before mine eyes : — For in the flaxen lilies' shade It like a bank of lilies laid. 24 should, might 224 The Children's Treasury Upon the roses it would feed, Until its lips e'en seem'd to bleed : And then to me 'twould boldly trip, And print those roses on my lip. But all its chief delight was still On roses thus itself to fill, And its pure virgin limbs to fold In whitest sheets of lilies cold : — Had it lived long, it would have been Lilies without, — roses within. A. Marvell * 46* THE CHILD AND THE SNAKE HENRY was every morning fed With a full mess of milk and bread. One day the boy his breakfast took, And ate it by a purling brook. His mother lets him have his way. With free leave Henry every day Thither repairs, until she heard Him talking of a fine gray bird. This pretty bird, he said, indeed, Came every day with him to feed ; And it loved him and loved his milk, And it was smooth and soft like silk. — On the next morn she follows Harry, And carefully she sees him carry Through the long grass his heap'd-up mess. What was her terror and distress When she saw the infant take His bread and milk close to a snake ! Upon the grass he spreads his feast, And sits down by his frightful guest, of English Song 225 Who had waited for the treat ; And now they both began to eat. Fond mother ! shriek not, O beware The least small noise, O have a care — The least small noise that may be made The wily snake will be afraid — If he hear the slightest sound, He will inflict th' envenom'd wound. — She speaks not, moves not, scarce does breathe, As she stands the trees beneath. No sound she utters ; and she soon Sees the child lift up his spoon, And tap the snake upon the head, Fearless of harm ; and then he said, As speaking to familiar mate, ' Keep on your own side, do, Gray Pate ; ' The snake then to the other side, As one rebuke'd, seems to glide ; And now again advancing nigh, Again she hears the infant cry, Tapping the snake, ' Keep further, do ; ' Mind, Gray Pate, what I say to you.' The danger's o'er ! she sees the boy (O what a change from fear to joy !) Rise and bid the snake ' Good-bye ' ; Says he, ' Our breakfast's done, and I 1 Will come again to-morrow day ' ; — Then, lightly tripping, ran away. M. Lamb THE TRA VELLER'S RETURN Sweet to the morning traveller The song amid the sky, Where, twinkling in the dewy light, The skylark soars on high. Q 226 The Children's Treasury And cheering to the traveller The gales that round him play, When faint and heavily he drags Along his noontide way. And when beneath the unclouded sun Full wearily toils he, The flowing water makes to him A soothing melody. And when the evening light decays, And all is calm around, There is sweet music to his ear In the distant sheep-bell's sound. But O ! of all delightful sounds Of evening or of morn, The sweetest is the voice of love That welcomes his return. R. Southey * 48 * A FAREWELL Go fetch to me a pint o' wine, And fill it in a silver tassie ; That I may drink before I go A service to my bonnie lassie : The boat rocks at the pier of Leith, Fu' loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry, The ship rides by the Berwick-law, And I maun leave my bonnie Mary. The trumpets sound, the banners fly, The glittering spears are ranked ready ; The shouts o' war are heard afar, The battle closes thick and bloody : 2 tassie, cup 4 a science, a health 8 maun, must of English Song iz'j But it's not the roar o' sea or shore Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; Nor shouts o' war that's heard afar — It's leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. R. Burns * 49 * ABSENCE When I think on the happy days I spent wi' you, my dearie ; And now what lands between us lie, How can I be but eerie ! How slow ye move, ye heavy hours, As ye were wae and weary ! It was na sae ye glinted by When I was wi' my dearie. Unknown * 50 * TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON When Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates ; When I lie tangled in her hair, And fetter'd to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses crown'd, Our hearts with loyal flames : 4 eerie, in low spirits 6 As ye, as if; wae, sad 7 na, not ; glinted, went brightly 3 Altfiea, his lady-love 10 with no water in the wine 12 flames, feelings Q 2 228 The Children's Treasury When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free — Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty. When, linnet-like confined, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty And glories of my King ; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be, Enlarged winds that curl the flood Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage ; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage : If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free, Angels alone, that soar above, Enjoy such liberty. Colonel Lovelace *5i* THE FORSAKEN Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever ; Thou hast left me ever, Jamie, Thou hast left me ever. Aften hast thou vow'd that death Only should us sever ; Now thou'st left thy lass for aye — I maun see thee never, Jamie, I'll see thee never ! 20 King, Charles I. 28 a prison for a place of rest 2 ever, for ever of English Song 229 Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken ; Thou hast me forsaken, Jamie, Thou hast me forsaken. Thou canst love anither jo, While my heart is breaking ; Soon my weary e'en I'll close — Never mair to waken, Jamie, Ne'er mair to waken ! R. Burns *52* THE BRAES OF YARROW Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream, When first on them I met my lover ; Thy braes, how dreary, Yarrow stream, Wb.en now thy waves his body cover ! For ever now, O Yarrow stream ! Thou art to me a stream of sorrow ; For never on thy banks shall I Behold my Love, the flower of Yarrow. He promised me a milk-white steed To bear me to his father's bowers ; He promised me a little page To squire me to his father's towers ; He promised me a wedding-ring, — The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow ; — Now he is wedded to his grave, Alas, his watery grave, in Yarrow ! Sweet were his words when last we met ; My passion I as freely told him ; Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought That I should never more behold him ! 14 jo, sweetheart 16 e'en, eyes 1 braes, sloping sides 12 squire, go with and guard 230 The Children's Treasury Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost ; It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow ; Thrice did the water-wraith ascend, And gave a doleful groan thro' Yarrow. His mother from the window look'd With all the longing of a mother ; His little sister weeping walk'd The green-wood path to meet her brother ; They sought him east, they sought him west, They sought him all the forest thorough ; They only saw the cloud of night, They only heard the roar of Yarrow. No longer from thy window look — Thou hast no son, thou tender mother ! No longer walk, thou lovely maid ; Alas, thou hast no more a brother ! No longer seek him east or west And search no more the forest thorough ; For, wandering in the night so dark, He fell a lifeless corpse in Yarrow. The tear shall never leave my cheek, No other youth shall be my marrow — I'll seek thy body in the stream, And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow. — The tear did never leave her cheek, No other youth became her marrow ; She found his body in the stream, And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow. y. Logan 23 wraith, ghost of person about to die 42 marrow, mate of English Song 231 *53* ADAM OF GORDON It fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew shrill and cold, Said Adam of Gordon to his men, ' We maun draw to a hold. ' And whatna hold shall we draw to, ' My merry men and me ? ' We will go to the house of Rodes, ' To see that fair ladye.' The lady stood on her castle wall ; Beheld both dale and down ; There she was aware of a host of men Came riding towards the town. ' O see ye not, my merry men all, ' O see ye not what I see ? ' Methinks I see a host of men : ' I marvel who they be.' She had no sooner buskit herself, And putten on her gown, Till Adam of Gordon and his men Were round about the town. The lady ran to her tower-head, As fast as she could hie, To see if by her fair speeches She could with him agree. 1 Give o'er your house, ye lady fair, ' Give o'er your house to me ! ' Or I shall burn yourself therein, ' But and your babies three.' 4 maun draw to a hold, must go to a castle 7 Rodes, Rothes 12 town, walled dwelling-place. 17 buskit, dressed 28 but and, and also 232 The Children's Treasury 1 I winna give o'er, ye false Gordon, ' To no sic traitor as thee ; ' And if ye burn my ain dear babes, ' My lord shall male' ye dree. — ' Woe worth, woe worth ye, Jock, my man ; ' I paid ye well your fee ; ' Why pull ye out the grund-wa' stone, ' Lets in the reek to me ? ' And e'en woe worth ye, Jock, my man ! ' I paid ye well your hire ; ' Why pull ye out the grund-wa' stone, ' To me lets in the fire ? ; — ' Ye paid me well my hire, ladye, ' Ye paid me well my fee ; ' But now I'm Adam of Gordon's man, — ' Must either do or dee.' O then bespake her little son, Sat on the nurse's knee ; Says, ' O mither dear, give o'er this house ! ' For the reek it smothers me.' — ' I winna give up my house, my dear, ' To no sic traitor as he : ' Come weel, come woe, my jewel fair, ' Ye maun take share with me.' O then bespake her daughter dear, — She was both jimp and small : ' O row me in a pair of sheets, ' And tow me o'er the wall ! ' 29 winna, will not 32 dree, suffer for it 34 fee, wages 35 grund-wa', foundation 36 reek, smoke 44 dee, die 54 jimp, slender 55 row, rou of English Song 233 They row'd her in a pair of sheets, And tow'd her o'er the wall ; But on the point of Gordon's spear She gat a deadly fall. O bonnie, bonnie was her mouth, And cherry were her cheeks, And clear, clear was her yellow hair, Whereon the red blood dreeps ! Then with his spear he turn'd her o'er ; O gin her face was wan ! He said, ' Ye are the first that e'er ' I wish'd alive again. ' Busk and boun, my merry men all, ' For ill dooms I do guess ; — ' I cannot look on that bonnie face ' As it lies on the grass.' But when the ladye saw the fire Come flaming o'er her head, She wept, and kiss'd her children twain, Says, ' Bairns, we be but dead.' — O this way look'd her own dear lord, As he came o'er the lea ; He saw his castle all in a lowe, So far as he could see. ' Put on, put on, my mighty men, ■\s fast as ye can dri'e ! ' For he that's hindmost of the thrang ' Shall ne'er get good of me ! ' 66 gin, if 69 busk and boun, prepare and get ready 70 I see evil coming 79 lowe, red flame 82 dri'e, drive 234 The Children's Treasury Then some they rade, and some they ran, Out-o'er the grass and bent ; But ere the foremost could win up, Both lady and babes were brent. And after the Gordon he is gane, Sae fast as he might dri'e ; And soon i' the Gordon's foul heart's blood He's wroken his fair ladye. Unknown * 54* HUNTING SONG The hunt is up, the hunt is up, And it is well nigh day ; And Harry our king is gone hunting To bring his deer to bay. The east is bright with morning light, And darkness it is fled ; And the merry horn wakes up the morn To leave his idle bed. Behold the skies with golden dyes Are glowing all around ; The grass is green, and so are the treen All laughing at the sound. The horses snort to be at sport, The dogs are running free, The woods rejoice at the merry noise Of Hey tantara tee ree ! The sun is glad to see us clad All in our lusty green, And smiles in the sky as he riseth high To see and to be seen. 87 win, come 92 wroken, revenged 11 treen, trees 18 green, dress of English Song 235 Awake all men, I say again, Be merry as you may ; For Harry our king is gone hunting, To bring his deer to bay. Unknown *55* THE RETIRED CAT A POET'S cat, sedate and grave As poet well could wish to have, Was much addicted to inquire For nooks to which she might retire, And where, secure as mouse in chink, She might repose, or sit and think. Sometimes ascending, debonair, An apple-tree, or lofty pear, Lodged with convenience in the fork, She watch'd the gardener at his work : Sometimes her ease and solace sought In an old empty watering-pot ; There, wanting nothing save a fan To seem some nymph in her sedan, ApparelPd in exactest sort, And ready to be borne to court. But love of change it seems has place Not only in our wiser race ; Cats also feel, as well as we, That passion's force, and so did she. Her climbing, she began to find, Exposed her too much to the wind, And the old utensil of tin Was cold and comfortless within : 1 sedate, sober 3 addicted, fond of 7 debonair, cheerful 11 solace, comfort 14 nymph, young lady 15 dressed in the height of fashion 23 utensil, the watering-pot 2 3° The Children's Treasury She therefore wish'd, instead of those, Some place of more serene repose, Where neither cold might come, nor air Too rudely wanton with her hair, And sought it in the likeliest mode, Within her master's snug abode. A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined With linen of the softest kind, With such as merchants introduce From India, foi" the ladies' use — A drawer impending o'er the rest, Half open, in the topmost chest, Of depth enough, and none to spare, Invited her to slumber there. Puss, with delight beyond expression, Survey'd the scene and took possession. Recumbent at her ease, ere long, And lull'd by her own hum-drum song, She left the cares of life behind, And slept as she would sleep her last ; When in came, housewifely inclined, The chambermaid, and shut it fast ; By no malignity impell'd, But all unconscious whom it held. Awaken'd by the shock, cried Puss, ' Was ever cat attended thus ! ' The open drawer was left, I see, ' Merely to prove a nest for me ; ' For soon as I was well composed, ' Then came the maid, and it was closed. ' How smooth these kerchiefs, and how sweet ! ' Oh ! what a delicate retreat. 1 1 will resign myself to rest, 28 -wanton, ruffle 30 abode, home 35 impending, hanging out 41 recumbent, lying down 45 housewifely, to make things neat 48 unconscious, not knowing 50 attended, waited on of English Song 237 'Till Sol, declining in the west, ' Shall call to supper, when, no doubt, ' Susan will come and let me out.' The evening came, the sun descended, And Puss remain'd still unattended. The night roll'd tardily away, (With her, indeed, 'twas never day,) The sprightly morn her course renew'd, The evening gray again ensued ; And Puss came into mind no more Than if entomb'd the day before. With hunger pinch'd, and pinch'd for room, She now presaged approaching doom, Nor slept a single wink or purr'd, Conscious of jeopardy incurr'd. That night, by chance, the poet watching, Heard an inexplicable scratching ; His noble heart went pit-a-pat, And to himself he said, ' What's that ?' He drew the curtain at his side, And forth he peep'd, but nothing spied ; Yet, by his ear directed, guess'd Something imprison'd in the chest, And, doubtful what, with prudent care Resolved it should continue there. At length a voice which well he knew, A long and melancholy mew, Saluting his poetic ears, Consoled him and dispell'd his fears. He left his bed, he trod the floor, And 'gan in haste the drawers explore, The lowest first, and without stop 58 Sol, the sun 63 tardily, slowly 66 ensued, followed 68 entomb'd, buried 70 presaged, prophesied ; doom, death 72 jeopardy, danger incurr'd, run into 73 poet, Cowper 74 inexplicable, what he could not make out 86 dispelled, drove away 88 'gan, began 238 The Children's Treasury The rest in order, to the top ; For 'tis a truth well known to most, That whatsoever thing is lost, We seek it, ere it come to light, In every cranny but the right. — Forth skipp'd the cat, not now replete, As erst, with airy self-conceit, Nor in her own fond apprehension A theme for all the world's attention : But modest, sober, cured of all Her notions hyperbolical, And wishing for a place of rest Anything rather than a chest. Then stepp'd the poet into bed With this reflection in his head : — Moral Beware of too sublime a sense Of your own worth and consequence ! The man who dreams himself so great, And his importance of such weight, That all around, in all that's done, Must move and act for him alone, Will learn in school of tribulation, The folly of his expectation. W. Cowper * 56 * THE HARPER On the green banks of Shannon when Sheelah was nigh, No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I ; No harp like my own could so cheerily play, And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray. 95 replete, filled 96 erst, before 97 apprehension thought 98 theme, matter 100 hyperbolical, ridiculously grand 103 sublime, grand n 1 tribulation, suffering of English Song 239 When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, She said, (while the sorrow was big at her heart,) Oh ! remember your Sheelah when far, far away : And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray. Poor dog ! he was faithful and kind to be sure, And he constantly loved me although I was poor ; When the sour-looking folk sent me heartless away I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray. When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold, And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray, And he lick'd me for kindness — my poor dog Tray. Though my wallet was scant, I remember'd his case, Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face ; But he died at my feet on a cold winter day, And I play'd a sad lament for my poor dog Tray. Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind ? Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind ? To my sweet native village, so far, far away, I can never more return with my poor dog Tray. T. Campbell *57 * ELEGY ON THE DEA TH OF A MAD DOG Good people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song ; And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long. In Islington there was a Man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran — Whene'er he went to pray. 240 The Children's Treasury A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes : The naked every day he clad, — When he put on his clothes. And in that town a Dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree. This Dog and Man at first were friends ; But when a pique began, The Dog, to gain some private ends, Went mad, and bit the Man. Around from all the neighbouring streets The wondering neighbours ran, And swore the Dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a Man ! The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every Christian eye : And while they swore the Dog was mad, They swore the Man would die. But soon a wonder came to light, That show'd the rogues they lied : — The Man recover'd of the bite, The Dog it was that died ! O. Goldsmith * 5 8* THE PARROT A T7~ue Story The deep affections of the breast That Heaven to living things imparts, Are not exclusively possess'd By human hearts. 18 pique, quarrel 19 ends, objects 3 exclusively, only of English Song 24 1 A Parrot, from the Spanish main, Full young and early caged came o'er, With bright wings, to the bleak domain Of Mulla's shore. To spicy groves where he had won His plumage of resplendent hue, His native fruits, and skies, and sun, He bade adieu. For these he changed the smoke of turf, A heathery land and misty sky, And turn'd on rocks and raging surf His golden eye. But petted in our climate cold, He lived and chatter'd many a day : Until with age, from green and gold His wings grew gray. At last when blind, and seeming dumb, He scolded, laugh'd, and spoke no more, A Spanish stranger chanced to come To Mulla's shore ; He hail'd the bird in Spanish speech, The bird in Spanish speech replied ; Flapp'd round the cage with joyous screech, Dropt down, and died. T. Campbell *59* ROBIN REDBREAST Good-bye, good-bye to Summer ! For Summer's nearly done ; The garden smiling faintly, Cool breezes in the sun ; 5 Spanish main, mainland of South America near West Indies, belonging to Spain 8 Mulla, island of Mull 10 plumage, feathers : resplendent, brilliant 12 adieu, farewell 13 changed, took instead : turf, the fuel of the Hebrides R 242 The Childrerts Treasury Our thrushes now are silent, Our swallows flown away, — But Robin's here with coat of brown, And ruddy breast-knot gay. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear ! Robin sings so sweetly In the falling of the year. Bright yellow, red, and orange, The leaves come down in hosts ; The trees are Indian princes, But soon they'll turn to ghosts ; The scanty pears and apples Hang russet on the bough ; Its Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, T'will soon be Winter now. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear ! And what will this poor Robin do ? For pinching days are near. The fire-side for the cricket, The wheatstack for the mouse, When trembling night-winds whistle And moan all round the house. The frosty ways like iron, The branches plumed with snow, — Alas ! in winter dead and dark, Where can poor Robin go ? Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear ! And a crumb of bread for Robin, His little heart to cheer ! W. Allingham IS covered with gold 30 plumed, feathery of English Song 243 * 60 * ODE TO A UTUMN Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run: To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core ; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel ; to set budding more And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease ; For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells. Who hath not seen Thee oft amid thy store ? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind ; Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep, Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers ; And sometime like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook ; Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, — thou hast thy music too, While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue ; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river-sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies ; 2 maturing, ripening 3 conspiring, planning 12 Thee, Autumn 17 drowsed, made drowsy : fume, sleepy smell 25 bloom, cast a soft light upon 27 wailful, wailing R 2 244 The Children's Treasury And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn ; Hedge-crickets sing, and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft, And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. J. Keats *6i * THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear. Heap'd in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead ; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread. The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. The wind-flower and the violet, they perish'd long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow ; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen. 30 bourn, hill bounding the view 31 treble, piping 7 wind-Jlo7ver, Anemone nemorosa of English Song 245 And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home ; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more. W. C. Bryant * 62 * TO DAFFODILS Fair Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon : As yet the early-rising Sun Has not attain'd his noon. Stay, stay, Until the hasting day Has run But to the even-song ; And, having pra/d together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay, as you, We have as short a Spring ; As quick a growth to meet decay As you, or any thing. We die, As your hours do, and dry Away Like to the Summer's rain ; Or as the pearls of morning's dew Ne'er to be found again. R. Herrick 16 smoky, misty 17 fragrance, sweet smell 4 attained, reached 13 we giow as fast towards death 246 The Children's Treasury ♦ 63* CHRISTMAS IN OLD TIME Heap on more wood ! — the wind is chill ; But let it whistle as it will, We'll keep our Christmas merry still. Each age has deem'd the new-born year The fittest time for festal cheer : And well our Christian sires of old Loved when the year its course had roll'd, And brought blithe Christmas back again, With all his hospitable train. Domestic and religious rite Gave honour to the holy night ; On Christmas Eve the bells were rung ; On Christmas Eve the mass was sung : That only night in all the year, Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. The damsel donn'd her kirtle sheen ; The hall was dress'd with holly green ; Forth to the wood did merry-men go, To gather in the mistletoe. Then open'd wide the baron's hall To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; Power laid his rod of rule aside, And Ceremony doff'd his pride. The heir, with roses in his shoes, That night might village partner choose ; The lord, underogating, share The vulgar game of ' post and pair.' All hail'd, with uncontroll'd delight And general voice, the happy night, 4 deemed, thought ' 10 rite, observance 13 mass, divine service 15 stoled, robed 16 kirtle slieen, gay gown 21 vassal, serf, countrymen under landlord 26 underogating, without losing his place 27 a game at cards of English Song 247 That to the cottage, as the crown, Brought tidings of Salvation down. The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, Went roaring up the chimney wide ; The huge hall-table's oaken face, Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace, Bore then upon its massive board No mark to part the squire and lord. Then was brought in the lusty brawn, By old blue-coated serving-man ; Then the grim boar's head frown'd on high, Crested with bays and rosemary. Well can the green-garb'd ranger tell, How, when, and where, the monster fell ; What dogs before his death he tore, And all the baiting of the boar. The wassel round, in good brown bowls, Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls. There the huge sirloin reek'd ; hard by Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie ; Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce, At such high tide, her savoury goose. Then came the merry maskers in, And carols roar'd with blithesome din ; If unmelodious was the song, It was a hearty note, and strong. Who lists may in their mumming see Traces of ancient mystery ; White shirts supplied the masquerade, And smutted cheeks the visors made ; — But, O ! what maskers, richly dight, Can boast of bosoms half so light ! England was merry England, when Old Christmas brought his sports again. 42 green-garbed, foresters were dresfed in green 46 wassel, comfortable drink : probably old ale 56 lists, likes S7 mystery, rough stage -play 59 visors, masks 60 dight, dressed 248 The Children's Treasury 'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale ; Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ; A Christmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year. Sir W. Scott * 64 * RULE BRITANNIA When Britain first, at Heaven's command, Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of her land, And guardian angels sung the strain : Rule Britannia ! Britannia rules the waves ! Britons never shall be slaves. The nations not so blest as thee Must in their turn to tyrants fall : Whilst thou shalt flourish, great and free, The dread and envy of them all. Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke ; As the loud blast that tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak. Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame ; All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame, And work their woe and thy renown. To thee belongs the rural reign ; Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; All thine shall be the subject main, And every shore it circles thine ! The Muses, still with Freedom found, Shall to thy happy coast repair ; 64 broached, opened the cask 2 azure 7>iain, blue sea 3 charter, law 12 foreign stroke, attack 17 flame, spirit 19 rural reign, excellence in farming 21 main, sea 23 the Muses, arts"and learning 24 repair, come of English Song 249 Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd, And manly hearts to guard the fair : — Rule Britannia ! Britannia rules the waves ! Britons never shall be slaves ! y. Thomson *65 * BATTLE OF THE BALTIC Of Nelson and the North Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone ; By each gun the lighted brand In a bold determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on. Like leviathans afloat Lay their bulwarks on the brine ; While the sign of battle flew On the lofty British line : It was ten of April morn by the chime : As they drifted on their path There was silence deep as death ; And the boldest held his breath For a time. But the might of England flush'd To anticipate the scene ; And her van the fleeter rush'd O'er the deadly space between. ' Hearts of oak ! ' our captains cried, when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. 4 all the power of the Danes 6 brand, torch n bulwarks, Danish ships 19, 20 our sailors rejoiced at what was coming 21 van, foremost ships 24 adamantine, very hard 26 like the sun hidden hy a southern storm 250 The Children's Treasury Again ! again ! again ! And the havoc did not slack, Till a feeble cheer the Dane To our cheering sent us back ; — Their shots along the deep slowly boom : — Then ceased — and all is wail, As they strike the shatter'd sail ; Or in conflagration pale Light the gloom. Out spoke the victor then As he hail'd them o'er the wave, ' Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! ' And we conquer but to save : — ' So peace instead of death let us bring : ' But yield, proud foe, thy fleet ' With the crews, at England's feet, ' And make submission meet ' To our King.' Then Denmark blest our chief That he gave her wounds repose ; And the sounds of joy and grief From her people wildly rose, As death withdrew his shades from the day : While the sun look'd smiling bright O'er a wide and woeful sight, Where the fires of funeral light Died away. Now joy, old England, raise ! For the tidings of thy might, By the festal cities' blaze, Whilst the wine-cup shines in light ; And yet amidst that joy and uproar, Let us think of them that sleep 29 havoc, destruction 33 wail, sorrow 37 victor, conqueror 50 as the battle-smoke cleared off 57 festal, rejoicing of English Song 251 Full many a fathom deep By thy wild and stormy steep, Elsinore ! Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride Once so faithful and so true, On the deck of fame that died With the gallant good Riou : Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave ! While the billow mournful rolls, And the mermaid's song condoles, Singing, Glory to the souls Of the brave ! T. Campbell * 66* TOM BOWLING Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, The darling of our crew ; No more he'll hear the tempest howling, For death has broach'd him to. His form was of the manliest beauty, His heart was kind and soft ; Faithful, below, he did his duty ; But now he's gone aloft. Tom never from his word departed, His virtues were so rare, His friends were many and true-hearted, His Poll was kind and fair : And then he'd sing, so blithe and jolly, Ah, many's the time and oft ! But mirth is turn'd to melancholy, For Tom is gone aloft. 70 condoles, joins in lamenting 1 sheer hulk, ship without masts 4 broach to, brought him suddenly up so as to go over 8 aloft, up to heaven 12 his wife !52 The Children's Treasury Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, When He, who all commands, Shall give, to call life's crew together, The word to pipe ' all hands.' Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches, In vain Tom's life has doff'd : For though his body's under hatches, His soul has gone aloft. C. Dibdin *6y * THE LA WLANDS OF HOLLAND The Love that I have chosen I'll therewith be content ; The salt sea shall be frozen Before that I repent. Repent it shall I never Until the day I dee ! But the Lawlands of Holland Have twinn'd my Love and me. My Love he built a bonny ship, And set her to the main ; With twenty-four brave mariners To sail her out and hame. But the weary wind began to rise, The sea began to rout, And my Love and his bonny ship Turn'd withershins about. There shall no mantle cross my back, No comb go in my hair, Neither shall coal nor candle-light Shine in my bower mair ; 20 pipe, whistle 22 doffed, ended 23 under hatches , below the deck, buried 7 the Lawlands, probably here the flat sands of the coast 8 twinn'd, parted 16 withershins, the wrong way ; probably here, right over 20 bower, girl's room of English Song 253 Nor shall I choose another Love Until the day I dee, Since the Lawlands of Holland Have twinn'd my Love and me. ' Now haud your tongue, my daughter dear, ' Be still, and bide content ! ' There's other lads in Galloway ; ' Ye needna sair lament.' — O there is none in Galloway, There's none at all for me : — I never loved a lad but one, And he's drown'd in the sea. Unknown * 68 * THE ANCHORSMITHS Like Aetna's dread volcano, see the ample forge Large heaps upon large heaps of jetty fuel gorge, While, salamander-like, the ponderous anchor lies Glutted with vivid fire, through all its pores that flies : — The dingy anchorsmiths, to renovate their strength, Stretch'd out in death-like sleep, are snoring at their length, Waiting the master's signal when the tackle's force Shall, like split rocks, the anchor from the fire divorce ; While, as old Vulcan's Cyclops did the anvil bang, In deafening concert shall their ponderous hammers clang, And into symmetry the mass incongruous beat, To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant British fleet. 2 gorge, swallow greedily 3 salamander, reptile fabled to live in fire 4 glutted, filled through and through 5 renovate, refresh C divorce, withdraw 9 see end 11 symmetry, accurate form: incongruous, shapeless 12 adverse, opposing 254 The Children's Treasury Now, as more vivid and intense each splinter flies, The temper of the fire the skilful master tries ; And, as the dingy hue assumes a brilliant red, The heated anchor feeds that fire on which it fed : The huge sledge-hammers round in order they arrange, And waking anchorsmiths await the look'd-for change, Longing with all their force the ardent mass to smite, When issuing from the fire array'd in dazzling white ; And, as old Vulcan's Cyclops did the anvil bang, To make in concert rude their ponderous hammers clang, So the misshapen lump to symmetry they beat, To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant British fleet. The preparations thicken ; with forks the fire they goad; And now twelve anchorsmiths the heaving bellows load ; While arm'd from every danger, and in grim array, Anxious as howling demons waiting for their prey : — The forge the anchor yields from out its fiery maw, Which, on the anvil prone, the cavern shouts hurraw ! And now the scorch'd beholders want the power to gaze, Faint with its heat, and dazzled with its powerful rays ; While, as old Vulcan's Cyclops did the anvil bang, To forge Jove's thunderbolts, their ponderous ham- mers clang ; — 15 as the dark iron grows red 19 ardent, white-hot 30 prone, lying flat : cavern, the smiths in their smithy of English Song 255 And, till its fire's extinct, the monstrous mass they beat To save from adverse winds and waves the gallant British fleet. C. Dibdin * 69 * THE VISION OF BELSHAZZAR The King was on his throne, The Satraps throng 5 d the hall ; A thousand bright lamps shone O'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold, In Judah deem'd divine — Jehovah's vessels hold The godless Heathen's wine. In that same hour and hall The fingers of a Hand Came forth against the wall, And wrote as if on sand : The fingers of a man ; — A solitary hand Along the letters ran, And traced them like a wand. The monarch saw, and shook, And bade no more rejoice ; All bloodless wax'd his look, And tremulous his voice : — ' Let the men of lore appear, ' The wisest of the earth, 1 And expound the words of fear, ' Which mar our royal mirth.' 35 extinct, gone out 2 Satraps, chief governors 79 wax'd, grew 30 tremulous t trembling 21 lore, wisdom 23 expound, explain 24. -mar, spoil 256 The Children's Treasury Chaldea's seers are good, But here they have no skill ; And the unknown letters stood Untold and awful still. And Babel's men of age Are wise and deep in lore ; But now they were not sage, They saw — but knew no more. A Captive in the land, A stranger and a youth, He heard the king's command, He saw that writing's truth ; The lamps around were bright, The prophecy in view ; He read it on that night, — The morrow proved it true ! 1 Belshazzar's grave is made, ' His kingdom pass'd away, ' He, in the balance weigh'd, ' Is light and worthless clay ; * The shroud, his robe of state ; ' His canopy, the stone ; 'The Mede is at his gate ! ' The Persian on his throne ! ' Lord Byron *70* EDWIN AND PA U LINUS: The Conversion of Northumbria The black-hair'd gaunt Paulinus By ruddy Edwin stood : — ' Bow down, O king of Deira, ' Before the blesse'd Rood ! 25 seers, prophets 46 canopy, covering of throne stone, tombstone 4 Rood, crucifix of English Song 257 ' Cast out thy heathen idols, ' And worship Christ our Lord.' — But Edwin look'd and ponder'd, And answer'd not a word. Again the gaunt Paulinus To ruddy Edwin spake : ' God offers life immortal ' For his dear Son's own sake ! ' Wilt thou not hear his message, ' Who bears the keys and sword ? ' ■ — But Edwin look'd and ponder'd, And answer'd not a word. Rose then a sage old warrior ; Was five- score winters old ; Whose beard from chin to girdle Like one long snow-wreath roll'd : — ' At Yule-time in our chamber ' We sit in warmth and light, ' While cold and howling round us ' Lies the black land of Night. ' Athwart the room a sparrow ' Darts from the open door : ' Within the happy hearth-light ' One red flash, — and no more ! ' We see it come from darkness, ' And into darkness go : — ' So is our life, King Edwin ! ' Alas, that it is so ! ' But if this pale Paulinus ' Have somewhat more to tell ; 1 Some news of Whence and Whither, ' And where the soul will dwell ; — 13 his, the Bishop of Rome, who sent the mission to England s Unknown 5 The Children's Treasury ' If on that outer darkness ' The sun of Hope may shine ; — ' He makes life worth the living ! ' I take his God for mine ! ' So spake the wise old warrior ; And all about him cried ' Paulinus' God hath conquered ! ' And he shall be our guide : — ' For he makes life worth living ' Who brings this message plain, ' When our brief days are over, ' That we shall live again.' * 71 * TO A FLY BUSY, curious, thirsty Fly, Drink with me, and drink as I ! Freely welcome to my cup, Could'st thou sip and sip it up : Make the most of life you may ! Life is short and wears away. Both alike are mine and thine, Hast'ning quick to their decline : — Thine's a summer : mine's no more, Though repeated to three-score : — Three-score summers, when they're gone, Will appear as short as one. W. Oldys * 72 * THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS Oft in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light Of other days around me : 2 before Sleep has made me his prisoner of English Song 259 The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken ; The eyes that shone, Now dimm'd and gone, The cheerful hearts now broken ! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. When I remember all The friends so link'd together I've seen around me fall Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one Who treads alone Some banquet-hall deserted, Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead, And all but he departed ! Thus in the stilly night Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. T. Moore * 73 * THE POPLAR FIELD The poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 16 link'd, joined 21 banquet, feast 2 colonnade, row S 2 260 The Children's Treasury Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew: And now in the grass behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade. The blackbird has fled to another retreat Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat ; And the scene where his melody charm'd me before Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. My fugitive years are all hasting away, And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head, Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 'Tis a sight to engage me, if anything can, To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ; Short-lived as we are, our enjoyments, I see, Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. W. Cowper * 7 A- * FRIENDS DEPARTED THEY are all gone into the world of light ! And I alone sit lingering here ! Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear. It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest After the Sun's remove. 5 elapsed, passed n melody, music 13 fugitive, flying 17 engage, lead 18 muse, reflect 5 It, memory 8 remove, setting of English Song 261 I see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days ; My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmerings and decays. O holy hope ! and high humility ! High as the Heavens above ! These are your walks, and you have show'd them me, To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous Death ; the jewel of the just ! Shining nowhere but in the dark ; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark ! He that hath found some fledged birdes nest may know At first sight if the bird be flown ; But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep. H. Vmtghan *7S * THE LAND OF DREAMS 1 AWAKE, awake, my little boy ! ' Thou wast thy mother's only joy ; ' Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep ? ' O wake ! thy father does thee keep.' 10 tratnpl on, surpass greatly 17 just, good 19 mysteries, wonders 27 transcend, go above ou usual thoughts 262 The Childrerts Treasury — ' O what land is the Land of Dreams ? ' What are its mountains, and what are its streams ? ' O father ! I saw my mother there, ' Among the lilies by waters fair. ' Among the lambs, clothe"d in white, ' She walk'd with her Thomas in sweet delight : ' I wept for joy ; like a dove I mourn : — ' O when shall I again return ! ' — ' Dear child ! I also by pleasant streams ' Have wandered all night in the Land of Dreams : — ' But, though calm and warm the waters wide, ' I could not get to the other side.' — ' Father, O father ! what do we here, ' In this land of unbelief and fear ? — ' The Land of Dreams is better far, ' Above the light of the morning star.' W. Blake * 76 * DEA TH IN LIFE How soon doth man decay ! When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets To swaddle infants, whose young breath Scarce knows the way, Those clouts are little winding-sheets, Which do consign and send them unto death. When boys go first to bed. They step into their voluntary graves ; Sleep binds them fast ; only their breath Makes them not dead. Successive nights, like rolling waves, Convey them quickly, who are bound for death. 6 consign, mark them for : — the thought of the poem is, that every. thing in Life foreshows and longs for Death 11 successive, one after the other of English Song 263 When youth is frank and free, And calls for music, while his veins do swell, All day exchanging mirth and breath, In company ; That music summons to the knell, Which shall befriend him at the house of death. When man grows staid and wise, Getting a house and home, where he may move Within the circle of his breath, Schooling his eyes ; That dumb inclosure maketh love Unto the coffin, that attends his death. When age grows low and weak, Marking his grave, and thawing every year, Till all do melt, and drown his breath When he would speak ; A chair or litter shows the bier Which shall convey him to the house of death. Man, ere he is aware, Hath put together a solemnity, And drest his hearse, while he has breath As yet to spare : — Yet, Lord ! instruct us so to die, That all these dyings may be life in death. G. Herbert *77* TO-MORROW In the downhill of life, when I find I'm declining, May my lot no less fortunate be Than a snug elbow-chair can afford for reclining, And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea ; 15 breath, song 22 schooling, training 23 the walls of his house form themselves beforehand into a coffin 24 at:e»ds, is waiting for 29 shows, figures beforehand 264 The Children's Treasury With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, While I carol away idle sorrow, And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn, Look forward with hope for to-morrow. With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too, As the sun-shine or rain may prevail ; And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, With a barn for the use of the flail : A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game, And a purse when a friend wants to borrow ; I'll envy no nabob his riches or fame, Nor what honours await him to-morrow. From the bleak northern blast may my cot be com- pletely Secured by a neighbouring hill ; And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly By the sound of a murmuring rill : And while peace and plenty I find at my board, With a heart free from sickness and sorrow, With my friends may I share what to-day may afford, And let them spread the table to-morrow. And when I at last must throw off this frail cover- ing Which I've worn for three-score years and ten, On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hovering, Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again : But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey, And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow; As this old worn-out stuff, which is thread-bare to-day. May become everlasting to-morrow. y. Collins 15 nabob, newly rich man 28 thread to spin, live my life 29 serenely, calmly 31 stuff, his body of English Song 265 HUMAN LIFE This Life, which seems so fair, Is like a bubble blown up in the air By sporting children's breath, Who chase it everywhere, And strive who can most motion it bequeath. And though it sometimes seem of its own might Like to an eye of gold to be fix'd there, And firm to hover in that empty height, That only is because it is so light. — But in that pomp it doth not long appear ; For when 'tis most admired, in a thought, Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought. W. Drummond *79* ADORATION Sweet is the dew that falls betimes, And drops upon the leafy limes ; Sweet Hermon's fragrant air : Sweet is the lily's silver bell, And sweet the wakeful tapers smell That watch for early prayer. Sweet the young nurse, with love intense, Which smiles o'er sleeping innocence ; Sweet when the lost arrive : Sweet the musician's ardour beats, While his vague mind's in quest of sweets, The choicest flowers to hive. 5 bequeath, give 10 pomp, glory 12 erst, at first 10 ardour, passion for his work 11 vague, wandering : quest, search 12 flowers, of music 266 The Children's Treasury Strong is the horse upon his speed ; Strong in pursuit the rapid glede, Which makes at once his game : Strong the tall ostrich on the ground ; Strong through the turbulent profound Shoots xiphias to his aim. Strong is the lion — like a coal His eyeball — like a bastion's mole His chest against the foes : Strong the gier-eagle on his sail ; Strong against tide the enormous whale Emerges as he goes. But stronger still, in earth and air, And in the sea, the man of prayer, And far beneath the tide : And in the seat to Faith assign'd, Where ask is, have ; where seek is, find ; Where knock is, open wide. C. Smart *8o* ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds : 14 glcde, kite 17 turbulent profound, stormy sea 18 xiphias s.word-fish 20 iastion's mole, projecting piece of fortification 22 gier-eagle, large a emerges, rises above surface 1 curfew, evening bell 7 droning, long low humming of English Song 267 Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care : No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; How jocund did they drive their team afield ! How bowM the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure ; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 12 molest, trouble her solitude 15 cell, chamber, the grave 17 incense-breathing; smelling sweetly 19 clarion, trumpet 22 ply her care, do her work 26 glebe, plough land 27 jocund, cheerful 30 destiny, mode of life : obscure, little known of 32 annals, history of years 35 inevitable, that which cannot be escaped 268 The Children's Treasury Nor you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? Can Honour's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death ? Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear : Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes 37 impute fault ', blame 38 trophies, great monuments 39 fretted, carved 41 storied urn, monument with inscription 43 provoke, call out again to life 46 pregnant ■with, full of 48 lyre, harp 51 Penury, poverty : rage, genius 53 ray, radiance 39 mute, silent 61 applause, shouts of praise : senates, parliaments of English Song 269 Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenour of their way. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply : And many a holy text around she strews That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 65 circumscribed, bounded 71, 72 flatter with poetry the rich 75 sequester'd, quiet 76 tenour, character 80 tribute, offering Si unletter'd Muse, untaught village poet 82 elegy, poem upon a person dead 84 moralist, thoughtful person 86 this being, this life 87 precincts, abodes 89 parting, departing 90 pioiis drops, tears of affection 91, 92 the dead have affections and desires 270 The Children's Treasury For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonourM dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate ; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, — Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, ' Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn 1 Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, ' To meet the sun upon the upland lawn ; ' There at the foot of yonder nodding beech ' That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, ' His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, ' And pore upon the brook that babbles by. ' Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, ' Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove ; ' Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, ' Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. ' One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, 'Along the heath, and near his favourite tree ; ' Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, ' Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he ; ' The next with dirges due in sad array ' Slow through the church-way path we saw him ' borne, — 'Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 'Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.' The Epitaph Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown ; Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. 93 thee, the Poet 94 artless, simple 96 kindred spirit, thoughtful man 97 swain, countryman 102 fantastic, twisted 104 fore, look steadily 105 Bard by, close to 113 dirges, funeral service 115 lay, epitaph 119 though poor, he was well educated of English Song 27 1 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; Heaven did a recompense as largely send : He gave to Misery all he had, a tear, He gain'd from Heaven, 'twas all he wish'd, a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God. T. Gray *8l* TO A SKYLARK HAIL to thee, blithe Spirit ! Bird thou never wert, That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest, Like a cloud of fire, The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever s ingest. ■» In the golden lightning Of the sunken sun O'er which clouds are bright'ning, Thou dost float and run, Like an unbodied Joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight ; Like a star of heaven In the broad daylight Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight : 122 recompetise, reward 125 disclose, make known 5 profuse, abundant : unpre7)ieditated, not thought of before 272 The Childrerts Treasury Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see, we feel that it is here. All the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is over- flow'd. What thou art we know not ; What is most like thee ? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden In the light of thought, Singing hymns unbidden, Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not : Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower : Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view : 21 arrows, rays 22 sphere, star 23 intense lamp, brilliant light 40 to sympathy, to feel 49 aerial hue, the faint light of the glow-worm of English Song 273 Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflower'd, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy- winge'd thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awaken'd flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth sur- pass. Teach us, sprite or bird, What sweet thoughts are thine : I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. Chorus hymeneal Or triumphal chaunt Match'd with thine, would be all But an empty vaunt — A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain ? What fields, or waves, or mountains ? What shapes of sky or plain ? What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain ? 55 thieves, the winds that steal the scent of the rose 56 vernal, in spring 65 rapture, delight 66, 67 marriage-song or song of victory 69 vaunt, boast T 274 The Children's Treasury With thy clear keen joyance Languor cannot be : Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee : Thou lovest ; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. Waking or asleep Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream, Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream ? We look before and after, And pine for what is not : Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught ; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground ! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow The world should listen then, as I am listening now ! P. B. Shelley 82 deem, think 89 fraught, laden 96 measures, music of English Song 275 * 82 * A CRADLE SONG Hush ! my dear, lie still and slumber ; Holy angels guard thy bed ! Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head. Sleep, my babe ; thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide ; All without thy care or payment All thy wants are well supplied. How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from Heaven he descended, And became a child like thee ! Soft and easy is thy cradle : Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay : When his birth-place was a stable, And his softest bed was hay. See the kindly shepherds round him, Telling wonders from the sky ! Where they sought him, there they found him, With his Virgin-Mother by. See the lovely babe a-dressing : Lovely infant, how he smiled ! When he wept, the mother's blessing Soothed and hush'd the holy child. Lo, he slumbers in his manger, Where the horne'd oxen fed ; —Peace, my darling ! here's no danger ! Here's no ox a-near thy bed ! 9 attended, waited on T 2 276 The Children's Treasury — May'st thou live to know and fear him, Trust and love him all thy days : Then go dwell for ever near him ; See his face, and sing his praise. I could give thee thousand kisses, Hoping what I most desire : Not a mother's fondest wishes Can to greater joys aspire. /. Watts *8$* ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY This is the month, and this the happy morn Wherein the Son of Heaven's Eternal King Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring ; For so the holy sages once did sing That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside ; and, here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the Infant God ? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain To welcome him to this his new abode, Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, 36 aspire, hope 6 forfeit, punishment due for sin 15, 16 shrill not this sacred subject be sung 19 team, chariot and horses, supposed to carry the sun of English Song 277 Hath took no print of the approaching light, And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright ? See how from far, upon the eastern road, The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet : O run, prevent them with thy humble ode And lay it lowly at his blessed feet ; Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel quire From out his secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire. The Hymn It was the winter wild While the heaven-born Child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; Nature in awe to him Had doff'd her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize : It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow ; And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; Confounded, that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But he, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace ; She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, 21 host, stars : squadrons, bands 23 wizards, the three kings 24 prevent, go before : ode, solemn song 33 doff'd, put off 34 sympathize , show similar feeling 36 paramour, lover 39 front, forehead 48 turning sphere , see end 278 The Children's Treasury His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ; And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around : The idle spear and shield were high up hung ; The hooke'd chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood ; The trumpet spake not to the arme'd throng : And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began : The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kist, Whispering new joys to the mild ocean — Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. The stars, with deep amaze, Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, Bending one way their precious influence ; And will not take their flight For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence ; But in their glimmering orbs did glow Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. And though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, 49 harbinger herald 50 turtle, dove 56 hooke'd, with hooks at axletree 59 awful, full of fear 64 whist, hushed 71 influence, supposed power 74 Lucifer, the morning-star of English Song 279 As his inferior flame The new-enlighten'd world no more should need : He saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could bear. The shepherds on the lawn Or ere the point of dawn Sate simply chatting in a rustic row ; Full little thought they than That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below ; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet As never was by mortal finger strook — Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took : The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. Nature, that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat the aery region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling ; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. 81 As, as if 86 Or ere, before 88 than, then 92 silly, simple 95 strook, struck 98 delighted their souls 100 close, cadence 102 within the Moon's {Cynthia s) orbit 103 aery region, the atmosphere 280 The Childrerts Treasury At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light That with long beams the shamefaced night array'd ; The helme'd Cherubim And sworded Seraphim Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, Harping in loud and solemn quire With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir. Such music (as 'tis said) Before was never made But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set And the well-balanced world on hinges hung ; And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so ; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time ; And let the bass of Heaven's deep organ blow ; And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. For if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold ; And speckled vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould ; And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. 116 unexpressive, such as no one could express 124 weltering, rolling 125 see end 132 consort, agreement : symphony, choral song 134 be audible to man 136 speckled, perhaps, plague-spotted 140 dolorous, sad of English So tig 281 Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will sit between Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering ; And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. But wisest Fate says No ; This must not yet be so ; The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss ; So both himself and us to glorify : Yet first, to those y-chain'd in sleep, The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep ; With such a horrid clang As on mount Sinai rang While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake : The aged Earth aghast With terrour of that blast Shall from the surface to the centre shake, When, at the world's last sessidn, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins ; for from this happy day The old Dragon, under ground In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway ; 143 Orb'd in, encircled by 145 sheen, brightness 146 tissued, variegated 155 y-chained, y is a participial prefix 163 session, assembly for trial 168 Dragon, Satan 282 The Children's Treasury And wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swindges the scaly horrour of his folded tail. The oracles are dumb ; No voice or hideous hum Buns thro' the archdd roof in words deceiving : Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving : No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament ; From haunted spring and dale Edged with poplar pale The parting Genius is with sighing sent ; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. In consecrated earth And on the holy hearth The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ; In urns, and altars round A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar Power forgoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baalim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice batter'd god of Palestine ; And mooned Ashtaroth 172 swindges, lashes 177 divine, utter oracles ; see end 186 Genius, Spirit of the place 191 Lars and Lemures, house- hold gods and spirits of the deal 194 Flamens, Roman priests : quaint, here, u.-.Uli1 196 forgoes, quits 199 Dagon of English So tig 283 Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn ; In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue ; In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; The brutish gods of Nile as fast I sis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove, or green, Trampling the unshower'd grass with lowings loud : Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest ; Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud ; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark The sable-stole'd sorcerers bear his worshipt ark. He feels from Juda's land The dreaded infant's hand ; The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ; Not all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damne'd crew. 215 unshower'd, watered by the Nile only 219 timbrell'd anthems, sacred songs, accompanied by timbrels 220 stoUd, mantled 223 eyn, eyes 226 twine, twists 284 The Children's Treasury So, when the sun in bed Curtain'd with cloudy red Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave ; And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest ; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending : Heaven's youngest-teeme'd star Hath fix'd her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord with hand-maid lamp attending : And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness'd angels sit in order serviceable. J. Milton *84* THE BURNING BABE As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat, which made my heart to glow ; And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near, A pretty babe, all burning bright, did in the air appear ; Who, scorched with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed, As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears were fed : — 231 orient, in the east 232 see end 235 fays, fairies 236 steeds, mares : maze, dancing-ground 239 tedious, long 240 teemid, born 241 the star is resting 244 harness'd, armoured of English Song 285 Alas ! ' quoth He, ' but newly born, in fiery heats I fry, 'Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I ! ' My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wound- ing thorns ; ' Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns ; 'The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals, ' The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defiled souls, ' For which, as now on fire I am, to work them to their good, ' So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood.' — "With this He vanish'd out of sight, and swiftly sh runk away ; And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas-day. R. Southwell 7 fry, old use of the word for burn 12 defiled, sinful <8mfc of Steontf Hart NOTES: MAINLY HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL PART I. HGK NO. 6 4 Most copies of Cowper's poems contain an account of these hares, written in the exquisite prose of which he was master. 13 9 The poetry which Blake, an artist of very high and rare powers, wrote during his youth, shows the same qualities as his art : simple yet often majestic imagination, spiritual insight, profound feeling for grace and colour. Like his art also, his verse is narrow in its range, and at times eccentric to the neighbourhood of madness. But, what- ever he writes,his eye is always straight upon his subject. a6 12 So many beautiful pieces in prose and verse have been written in the Scots or North Country language that a great source of pleasure is lost by readers who will not take the small pains required to master the peculiarities of spelling and vocabulary : it is hoped that the very numerous notes added here will tempt children to give themselves this pleasure. The original ballads by unknown poets appear gene- rally to have taken their present form within the two hundred years before 1700. 33 16 Casabiani:a was son to 'a French Admiral commanding the flag-ship L'Orient at the battle of the Nile, 1758. 34 17 The Birkenhead ', steam troop-ship, struck near Simon's Bay, Cape of Good Hope, 25th of February, 1852. Four hundred and thirty-eight officers, soldiers, and seamen, were lost : including the military commander, Colonel Seton of the 74th. For some alterations which make this fine poem more intelligible to children, readers are indebted to the author's kindness. 37 19 These gallant lines are almost worthy of Campbell. 38 20 The Royal George, of 108 guns, commanded by Admiral Kempenfelt, whilst undergoing a partial careening in Portsmouth Harbour, was overset about 10 a.m. Aug. 29, 1782. The total loss was believed to be near 1,000 souls. These lines were written (Sept. 1782) to the music of the March in Handel's Scipio. For tenderness and grandeur under the form of severe simplicity they have few rivals. They are Greek after the manner in which a modern English poet should be Greek : — Readers who admire them are on the right way to high and lasting pleasure. 39 ii Burns justly named this ' one of the most beautiful songs in the Scots or any other language.' 41 23 'I never saw anything like this funeral dirge,' says Charles Lamb, ' except the ditty which reminds Ferdi- nand of his drowned father in the Tempest. As that is of the water, watery ; so this is of the earth, earthy. Both have that intenseness of feeling, which seems to re- solve itself into the element which it contemplates.' 4* 94 Alexander Selkirk's life of four years in the desolate Notes 287 island, Juan Fernandez, may have been in De Foe's mind when he wrote ' Robinson Crusoe.' 43 28 Line 66, Cockrood, unexplained, so far as the Editor can learn. It would seem to mean either a road or run, as we say, for woodcocks ; or a wooden stage for them, by a vague use of rood. 49 29 A justly famous specimen of the allegorical style pre- valent in Elizabeth's time : the Shepherd's life being poetically glorified and described as a type of life in general. This piece should be compared with the charm- ing truthfulness of Herrick's country scenes in the pre- ceding piece, or Wordsworth's following : — Marlowe's has much beauty : but how much more beautiful is Truth, in the hands of a genuine poet ! 63 41 The tale of Lord Leicester's private marriage with Amy Robsart, her imprisonment and fearful death at Cumnor Hall, near Oxford, partially confirmed by his- tory, has been made more real to us than most histori- cal realities by Sir Walter Scott's Kenilworth : the most splendid of the three tragic romances left by that great writer. 78 47 This spirited poem, which blazes throughout with the highhearted patriotism of its distinguished author, should be read accompanied by some history of the period, and the map of England. Line io, Pinta; the Editor can find no Spanish vessel recorded under this name ; nor does the word, in Spanish, bear any sense applicable to a ship. Medina Sidonia, who commanded the Armada, sailed in the Saint Martin. Line 23, At Cressy, in Picardy, the king of Bohemia, and a body of Genoese soldiers, fought in the army of Philip. Ccesar's eagle shield appears to be an allusion to some German troops who also served. The eagle is the ancient bearing of the empire. Line 42, Mines of lead and zinc exist in the Mendip Hills. Line 43, Longleat, Cranbourne ; houses in Wilts and Dorset belonging to Lords Bath and Salisbury. Line 7r, Belvoir, house of the Duke of Rutland near Grantham. Line 73, Gaunt' s embattled pile, Lancaster Castle, built by John of Gaunt about 1363. 82 48 This battle was fought December 2, 1800, between the Austrians under Archduke John and the French under Moreau, in a forest near Munich. Hoken Linden means Higk Limetrees. 86 51 Belisarius, a Thracian peasant, became general of the Roman Empire under Justinian. He fought against the Vandals, Moors, Goths, Bulgarians, and other enemies ; but was finally dismissed ungratefully by the Emperor, and died a.d. 565. The writer of this rough, but truly noble and original poem, died soon after 1800. The version here given (from Plumtre's ' Songs,' 1806) differs from that published by Collins in his very rare little book, ' Scripscrapologia/ 1804. 8q S3 Lines 22, 24, These places are in the S.W. promontory of 288 Notes Donegal, Ireland. Slieveleaguc is a mountain ; Columb- kill a glen between Slieveleague and the Rosses islands. 96 56 The poet professed that these fine, wildly musical lines came to him in his sleep, and that all he did on waking was to write them down. Coleridge, in his magic world, is the most imaginative and romantic of all our poets, Shakespeare (always exceptional) excepted. Seeing how little he wrote in this class, we must regret that he did not dream oftener. 100 59 In this one poem the Editor has ventured to make some changes, in order to simplify the language, which (in the original) does not appear to him to do full justice to the admirable simplicity and pathos of the picture presented. 102 60 During the last three centuries, the poetry written in the North Country or Scots form of English has been so much more important than that written in other forms, as to obscure the peculiar merits which each of them possesses. But the series of poems from which this piece and the next are taken proves the pathos and picturesqueness which the Dorset dialect has when handled by a gifted countryman. 105 62 The death of a young man wandering on Helvellyn in the Lake country, in 1805, supplied Scott with his sub- ject. In this poem the thoughts are much simpler than the language : a rare fault with Scott, or, indeed, with any really great poet. 112 70 An admirable specimen of the Allegorical style which, under the first two Stuart kings, took the place of the pastoral Elizabethan allegory represented by No. 29. Few poets, in C. Lamb's language, are more ' matterfur than Herbert, or express their thoughts with fewer words, introduced only for ornament or metre's sake. 11S 72 Remarkable for its close and scientific enumeration of natural phenomena. 119 73 An extract from the long poem said to have been written by poor Smart when confined as a madman. It is full of glorious wildness and intense imagination. Many of its strange phrases (as line 10 here) might probably be traced to, if not explained by, the writings of the ' mystical ' theologians. 120 74 It is remarkable how much Addison here anticipates the exquisite suavity and elegance of Cowper's style in similar pieces. 121 75 Wordsworth has left no more consummate specimen of the singular art by which he presents us with a thought which strikes the mind as, at once, perfectly original, and yet, perfectly familiar. The Cuckoo (No. 78), on the other hand, paints a fervour of imaginative delight which would be felt only by a highly poetical nature 128 81 Arethusa, with the two poems which follow it, will pro- bably be found difficult at first reading, and may give older children a glimpse into that world of poetry in general to which this book is meant as an introduction. Shelley has here put into verse, so brilliant that we easily forgive its occasional commonplace and careless- ness of phrase, a Greek mythical legend. Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluice Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse, — a river rising near Mount Erymanthus in Arcadia, Notes 289 the ancient central province of Southern Greece, is leigned to pursue the stream Arethusa ; they pass through a rent in Mount Erymanthus, cross under thf sea to Sicily (opposite to the coast of Greece), and now form one stream in the harbour of Syracuse (Ortygia). Acroceraunia, a mountain tract in Northern Greece, must have been named by Shelley inadvertently, or on account of the resonance of the name. This poem is a fine example of Shelley's singular power in personifica- tion : he paints the rivers as vividly as if they had been real human creatures. 131 82 L' Allegro and 77 Penseroso. It is a striking proof of Milton's astonishing power, that these, the earliest pure descriptive lyrics in our language, should still remain the best in a style which so many great poets have since attempted. The bright and the thoughtful aspects of nature are their subjects ; but each is preceded by a mythological introduction in a mixed Classical and Italian manner. The meaning of the first is that gaiety is the child of nature and of spring ; of the second, that pen- siveness is the daughter of solitude and wisdom. 132 — Line 36, Milton calls Liberty a mountain-nymph in allusion to ancient Greece, Switzerland, and other similar countries in which national freedom has been defended by the hardy inhabitants. Wordsworth has a fine sonnet on this subject. 135 — Line 132, The sock was the low shoe worn by actors in the ancient comedies ; the buskin (line 102 of the Penseroso, No. 83) the high shoe worn in tragedies, to give the figure a more commanding air. Line 133. Fancy: probably used for what we speak of as Imagination. Milton is here alluding to Shakespeare through the mouth of the ' Cheerful Alan ; ' he hence refers to Shakespeare's lighter qualities. Line 145, Orpheus in Greek story was a divine musician who redeemed his wife Eurydice from death (Pluto) by song ; but lost her when on the boundary line of life by turning back to look on her before she had passed it. See also Penseroso, No. 83, line 105. 137 83 Line 46, Spare Fast : Milton elsewhere has expressed his belief that the mind is made clear and fit for high and divine thoughts by fasting. 138 — Line 87, The Great Bear, in English latitudes being always above the horizon, is here used for Night. Line 98, Sceptred pall : Ancient tragedies turned gene- rally on the fortunes of heroic persons, kings, and gods ; hence the actors appeared robed and with sceptres. Tliebes, &c. are names referring to the great Athenian tragedies. 139 — Line no. Cambuscan,&c, these names occur in Chaucer's unfinished ' Squire's Tale.' Line 116, Great bards ; referring to such poets as the Italian Ariosto and Tasso, and to our own Spenser. (41 84 This fine poem, recently printed from manuscript, has been ascribed to Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. It does not appear whether the first of that name (be- headed 1600) or his son (with whom the peerage ended in 1646) be intended. The lines, at any rate, belong to the ' Elizabethan ' period or a few years later. U NOTES: PART II. MAINLY HISTORICAL AND CRITICAL PAGE NO. 143 i This rough but spirited poem, with a very few more, give Drayton a claim to remembrance, which his long and laborious chronicles in rhyme have failed to secure. Agincourt was fought October 25, 1415. A history of England, and Shakespeare's Henry the Fifth should be read with this poem. 145 — Line 48, The lilies are the Fleur-de-Lys, long the arms of France, as the Lions are of England. 147 2 Southey, like Drayton, has left little work vividly penetrated with the spirit of poetry, in comparison with his many pages of skilful and industrious manufacture. This piece has something of the merit shown in Words- worth's tales ; but it wants Wordsworth's exquisiteness 149 3 Simple as Lucy Gray seems, a mere narrative of what 'has been and may be again,' yet every detail in it is marked by the deepest and purest ' ideal ' character. Hence it is not strictly a pathetic poem, pathetic as the situation is. So far as this element has a place, Words- worth asks that we should feel for the parents, rather than for the child : she is painted as a creature, ' made one with Nature ' in her death, not less than in her life. 15 2 5 This little poem, again, within, its sphere, in ideal per- fection rivals the most perfect work of the world's greatest lyrical poets. — Readers who smile, are invited to try to ' do likewise.' 163 12 Within its range, the Ancient Mariner 'is 'alone in its glory':— but the crown must have been given to Chris- taiel, had Coleridge completed that poem, and completed it in the style of the two parts which we have. The Memoirs of Wordsworth give an interesting narrative of the mode in which the Ancient Marinerwas written : The dream of a friend, according to Coleridge, was the foundation ; but by far the greatest part of the story is due to the poet's mind. The introduction of the Albatross, and the working of the ship by the dead sailors, were motives suggested by Wordsworth, who also supplied a very few lines, as the friends walked together over the lovely Quantock Hills in the autumn of 1797- — Such were the external circumstances under which this masterpiece was created : it is pleasant to know them ; but all that made it such is the poet's secret. 185 14 Line 5, It is not clear whether by fairy-flax the poet means graceful and fairylike, or whether it be a local name for some species of the plant. Notes 291 PAGE NO 190 16 Glencoe, the ' Valley of Weeping,' is a savage glen on the north-western coast of Argyllshire. The murder of the Macdonalds who were settlel in it, by the Earls of Breadalbane and Argyll, and (most prominently) Sir John Dalrymple of Stair, has been told by Macaulay with equal historical force and judicial fairness. igi 17 Line 12, Marvell belonged to the ' Puritan ' party ; and the Emigrants here intended are persons of that party flying from ecclesiastical pressure during the first half of the seventeenth century. Lines 35, 36 present a curious example of ' anti-climax ' ; but the poem, as a whole, is very sweet and original. 193 18,19 Noble, if rough, pieces of work. In Bunyan's, there may be an echo of Shakespeare's Under the greenwood tree, No. 31. 197 23 Very full explanatory notes have been subjoined to this and to other poems written in local dialect, in hope that children may thus be tempted to conquer (to their own great advantage) the sense of difficulty and repulsion which the first sight of a vocabulary, differing slightly from the common literary form, never fails to rouse. 198 24 After the capture of Madrid by Napoleon, Sir J. Moore retreated before Soult and Ney, the French com- manders, to Corunna, in North-west Spain, and was killed whilst covering the embarkation of his troops. His tomb, built by Ney, bears this inscription — 'John Moore, leader of the English armies, slain in battle, 1809.' 199 25 Founded on a real story of the English campaign in China, i860. 205 29 Eminently characteristic of Scott in its music. It has an airy freedom and freshness, a certain magical quality ; one might fancy that the actual voice of the wildwood was audible in it. 20S 34 The Thanksgiving, and No. 36, are delightful pictures of English country life two centuries ago. 222 44 There is something of the sublime in the severe and pathetic simplicity of this little piece. 22 3 45 Perhaps no poem in this collection is more delicately fancied, more exquisitely finished. By placing the description of the Fawn in a young girl's mouth, Marvell has legitimated that abundance of ' imaginative hyper- bole ' to which he is always partial ; he makes us feel it quite natural that the maiden's favourite should be whiter than milk, sweeter than sugar, ' lilies without, roses within.' The poet's imagination is, as it were, justified in its seeming extravagance by the intensity and unity with which it invests the poem, — and the reader's plea- sure is proportionately intensified. The verdict of Time is not always just and conclusive, even after many years. Undeserved contemporary fame is sometimes traditionally prolonged ; sometimes, though less often, the crown, fairly won, is withheld for centuries. Of this latter injustice, Marvell is an ex- ample. We cannot place him among our ' greater gods ' of song ; yet, within his own sphere, no one has more decided originality, more vivid imagination, more attrac- tive and enduring charm. U 2 292 Notes PAGE NO 224 4'' This poem (inserted on the ground of its naiveti and originality) is one of a series described as by Charles and Mary Lamb. The style seems to warrant its ascription to the latter. 226 .; i An old fragment, rompleted with exquisite skill by Burns. His version of No. 49 is not equally successful. It would, indeed, hardly be possible to improve such a little masterpiece of music, tenderness, and simplicity. 227 50 A justly-famous piece of 'Cavalier' poetry: Lovelace was brought twice to prison by his devotion to Charles I. Thames (line 10), by a classical form of metaphor, is used for "water. 225 51 Compare the note on Nos. 48, 49 : — These poems may (perhaps) a little exceed the boundary line laid down in the Preface; but the Editordidnot know how to omit them. 2 35 55 ^ ur collection has much loftier pieces of poetry than Cowper's Cat, but none in which poetical skill is more consummate. 2f9 65 Sir Hyde Parker commanded in this battle, fought in April 1801 in order to detach Denmark from the Northern coalition which hindered the singlehanded attempt of England to curb Napoleon Bonaparte. Nel- son's spirit of heroic gallantry never blazed higher than here. Riou was killed in command of a squadron. 253 68 The insertion of these grandly-simple, almost Homeric stanzas is due to the suggestion of Mr W. E. Gladstone : — of No. 79, equally fine in its wild intensity of imagina- tion, to Mr R. Browning. The Cyclops were the assist- ants of Vulcan, the god of the forge, in old mythology : Jove was the king of all. 256 70 The vivid incident (a.d. 627), characteristic in every way of the English mind, upon which the poem is founded, is told by the old English historian Bede. 260 74 The subjects chosen by Vaughan and Herbert have mostly placed their poems beyond the limits of this selection ; but they will be found ' treasures for ever ' by readers who find more attraction in the matter than in the manner of poetry. Line T7 refers either to the imagined car- buncle, or to the brief luminosity which the diamond retains after exposure to sunshine. 266 80 For wealth of condensed thought and imagery, fused into one equable stream of golden song by intense fire of genius, the Editor knows no poem superior to this Elegy, — none quite equal. Nor has the difficulty of speaking well on Common topics, without exaggeration yet with unfail- ing freshness and originality, been ever met with greater success. Line after line has the perfection of a flawless jewel : it is hard to find a word that could have been spared, or changed for the better. This condensation, however, has injured the clearness of the poem : the specific gravity of the gem, if we may pursue the image, has diminished its translucent qualities. Many notes have hence been added ; — the useful but prosaic task of paraphrase is best left to the reader, who may make one for his benefit, and then burn it for his pleasure. *75 82 Shelley's masterpiece, in the shorter form of lyric (as, if such a judgment be permissible, all things considered, the Editor would hold the Skylark,) follows Gray's : Notes 293 PAGE NO. and in No. 83 we have one of the most stately and musical odes in our or any language. With these, Watts' verses come like the child they describe into a company of kings and conquerors. Indeed, the admir- able author of the Cradle Song almost apologized for publishing it ; — yet within its little sphere, this also is a masterpiece : — Reynolds himself does not paint childhood with a more absolute tenderness. Here, as in other instances within our selection, it will be useful if the reader pauses and considers how many ways true art offers for reaching excellence. The ' House of Poetry,' if we may so call it. truly has ' many man- sions ': size and splendour are not the only elements of success : here, as elsewhere, the poet's words are true — , In small proportions we just beauties see ; And in short measures life may perfect be. 276 83 Milton imagined this magnificent ode at dawn of Christmas-day 1629, having then lately passed his twenty- first birthday, and completed his Cambridge course. The poem, if compared with V Allegro or Comics, moves somewhat heavily at times, and as if embarrassed by its weight of historical allusion : Milton has proved his armour, but does not yet wear it with perfect ease. Yet this stateliness of movement, as in sacred music, befits the subject. 277 83 Line 37, Nature is here treated by Milton as ' guilty,' as impersonating a ' fallen world.' The heathen religions, in the latter part of the Ode, are similarly regarded rather as demon-worship than as the imperfect and corrupted efforts of man to reach the truth. — — Line 47, The olive and the myrtle (line 51) have for many centuries been regarded as emblems of Peace and her blessings. — — Line 48, turning spJiere ; the whole Universe is here thought of as a whirling orb, hung from heaven. 278 — Line 68, The ' halcyon days,' when the king-fishers were breeding, and the sea supposed to be supernaturally calm, were placed by the ancients in midwinter. 279 — Line 89, Pan, God of shepherds, here used for the Lord of All. 280 — Line no, globe; here seemingly bears the military sense of body of troops. — Line 125, The Universe was by the Greeks supposed to consist of crystal spheres concentrically arranged, the sound of which as they moved formed a heavenly music, too fine for human hearing. — Line 135, By the ' age of gold' the old poets meant the earliest and best time of the world. 2 % 2 — Lines 173 — 236, Milton here works out at length the tradition that the power of the heathen gods ended with the birth of Our Saviour. Oracles were answers given to enquirers at certain holy places, as Delphos (liner78) : Nymphs (line 188) goddesses of wood and field. 2 °3 — Line 204, Thammuz or Adonis was feigned to die and revive yearly in Lebanon. Osiris (line 213) was the god of the Nile, torn to pieces by Typhon, and embalmed in a 294 Notes sacred chest. The Bull-form belongs, however, to Apis, another Egyptian deity. 284 8-5 Line 232, The old belief was, that spirits fled away at dawning to their prisons underground. Line 243, courtly, the stable of Bethlehem being figured as a palace. 2 g g Ben Jonson, a man who rated himself Hghly, said If he had written that piece, the Burning Babe, he would have been content to destroy many of his own poems : — and Jonson's enthusiasm is well justified by the passionate intensity and picluresqueness of this lovely mystical lyric. INDEX OF WRITERS. PART I. FIRST PERIOD Fletcher, John (1576 — 1625) 27 Herbert, George (1593 — 1632) 70 Herrick, Robert U591 — 1674?) 2 & Jonson, Ben (1574 — 1637)67 King, Henry (1591 — 1669) 64 Marlowe, Christopher (1562 — 1593) 29 Milton, John (1608 — 1674) 82, 83 Nash, Thomas (1567 — 1600?) 26 Shakespeare, William (1564 — 1616) 22, 36, 52 Webster, John ( 1638 ?) 23 Unknown : 12, 13, 33, 40, 44, 54, 69, 84 SECOND PERIOD Addison, Joseph (1672 — 1719) 74 Blake, William (1757 — 1827) 1, 3, 9, 57, 58 Burns, Robert (1759 — 17961 5, 34, 65 Cibber, Colley (1671 — 1757) 7 Collins, John (18th century) 51 Cowper, William (1731 — 1800) 4, 6, 10, 20, 24 Goldsmith, Oliver (1728 — 1774) 39 Lindsay, Anne (1750 — 1825) 43 Logan, John (1748 — 1788) 77 Mallet, David (1700? — 1765) 11 Mickle, William Julius (1734 — 1788) 21, 41 Skelton, Philip (1707 — 1787)72 Smart, Christopher (1722 —1770) 73 296 Index of Writers THIRD PERIOD Ai.lingham, William ( )53 Barnes, William ( ) 60, 61 Bryant, William Cullen ( ) 79 Byron, George Gordon Noel (1788 — 1824) 46 Campbell, Thomas (1777— 1844) 14, 45, 48, 30, 76 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772 — 1834) 56 Cunningham, Allan (1784 — 1842) 25 Dibdin, Charles (1745- 1814) 15 Doyle, Francis Hastings Charles ( ) 17 Hemans, Felicia Dorothea (1794—1835) 16 Macaulay, Thomas Babington (1800 — 1859) 47 Newman, John Henry ( ) 68 Scott, Walter (1771 — 1832) 37, 38, 42, 49, 55, 62, 63, 80 Shelley, Percy Bysshe (1792 — 1822) 32, 81 Wordsworth, William (1770 — 1850) 2, 8, 30, 31, 3s, 66, 71, 75, 78 Unknown : 18, 19, 59 INDEX OF WRITERS. PART II. FIRST PERIOD Bunyan, John (1628— 1688) 18 Carew, Elizabeth (16th and 17th centuries) 19 Drayton, Michael (1563 — 1631) 1 Drummond, William (15S5— 1649) 78 Herbert, George (1593 — 1632) 76 Herrick, Robert (1591 — 1674?) 32, 34, 36, 62 Heywood, Thomas ( — 1649 ?) 1, 30 Lovelace, Richard (1618 — 1658) 50 Marvell, Andrew (1631 — 1678) 17, 45 Milton, John (1608 — 1674) S3 Shakespeare, William (1564 — 1616) 9, 31 Shirley, James (1596 — 1666) 22 Southwell, Robert (1560 — 1595)84 Vaughan, Henry (1621 — 1695) 74 Wotton, Henry (1568 — 1639) 20 Unknown : 10, n, 13, 28, 53, 54, 67 SECOND PERIOD Blake, William (1757 — 1827) 4, 5, 7, 21, 75 Burns, Robert (1759 — 1796 1 43, 48, Collins, John (18th century) 77 Cowper, William (1731 — 1800) 42, 55, 73 Gisborne, Thomas (1758 — 1846I 44 Goldsmith Oliver (1728 — 1774) 57 Gray, Thomas (1716 — 1771) 80 Langhorne, John (1735 — 1779) 38 Logan, John (1748 — 1788) 52 Oldys, W (18th century) 71 298 Index of Writers Smart, Christopher (1722— 1770) 79 Smith, Charlotte (1749 — 1806)37 Thomson, James (1700 — 1748) 64 Warton, Thomas (1728 — 1790) 35 Watts, Isaac (1674 — 1748) 82 Unknown : 49 THIRD PERIOD Allingham, William ( ) 59 Barnes, William ( ) 23 Bryant, William Cullen ( ) 61 Byron, George Gordon Noel (1788 — 1824) 69 Campbell, Thomas (1777 — 1844) 56, 58, 65 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772 — 1834) 12 Dibdin, Charles (1745—1814)66, 68 Doyle, Francis Hastings Charles \ ) 25 Keats, John (1795 — 1821) 60 Lamb, Mary (1765 ? — 1847) 46 Latto, T C (19th century) 6 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth ( ) 14 Moore, Thomas (1780 — 1852) 72 Scott, Walter (1771 — 1832) 15, 16, 26, 27, 29, 41, 63 Shellf.y, Percy Bysshe (1792 — 1822) 81 Southey, Robert (1774 — 1843) 2, 47 Wolfe, Charles (1791 — 1823) 24 Wordsworth, William (1770 — 1850) 3, 8, 33, 39, 40 Unknown : 70 THACHER. THE LISTENING CHILD. A selection from the stories of English verse, made for the youngest readers and hearers. By Lucy W. Thacher. 12mo. xxx + 408 pages. Under this title are gathered two hundred and fifty selections. The arrangement is most intelligent, as shown in the proportions assigned to different authors and periods. Much prominence is given to purely imaginative writers. The preliminary essay, "A Short Talk to Children about Poetry, " is full of suggestion. WALLACE. UNCLE HENRY'S LETTERS TO THE FARM BOY. By Henry Wallace. 16mo. ix + 180 pages. Eighteen letters on habits, education, business, recreation, and kindred subjects. WEED. LIFE HISTORIES OF AMERICAN INSECTS. By Clarence Moores Weed. 12mo. Illustrated, xii + 272 pages. In these pages are described by an enthusiastic student of entomology such changes as may often be seen in an insect's form, and which mark the progress of its life. „_He J shows-how very wide a field of interesting facts is within re'ach of any one who has the patience to collect these little creatures. WELLS. THE JINGLE BOOK. By Carolyn Wells. 12mo. Illustrated, viii + 124 pages. A collection of fifty delightful jingles and nonsense verses. The illustrations by Oliver Herford do justice to the text. WILSON. DOMESTIC SCIENCE IN GRAMMAR GRADES. A Reader. By Lucy L. W. Wilson. 12mo. ix + 193 pages. Descriptions of homes and household customs of all ages and countries, studies of materials and industries, glimpses of the homes of literature, and articles on various household subjects. WILSON. HISTORY READER FOR ELEMENTARY SCHOOLS. By Lucy L. W. Wilson. 16mo. Illustrated, xvii + 403 pages. Stories grouped about the greatest men and the most striking events in our country's history. The readings run by months, beginning with September. WILSON. PICTURE STUDY IN ELEMENTARY SCHOOLS. By Lucy L. W. Wilson. 12mo. Illustrated. 10 Ninety half-tone reproductions from celebrated paintings both old and modern, accompanied by appropriate readings from the poets. All schools of art are represented. WRIGHT. HEART OF NATURE. By Mabel Osgood Wright. 12mo. Illustrated. This volume comprises "Stories of Plants and Animals," "Stories of Earth and Sky," and "Stories of Birds and Beasts," usually published in three volumes and known as "The Heart of Nature Series." It is a delightful combination of story and nature study, the author's name being a sufficient warrant for its interest and fidelity to nature. WRIGHT. FOUR-FOOTED AMERICANS AND THEIR KIN. By Mabel Osgood Wright, edited by Frank Chapman. 12mo. Illustrated, xv + 432 pages. An animal book in story form. The scene shifts from farm to woods, and back to an old room, fitted as a sort of winter camp, where vivid stories of the birds and beasts which cannot be seen at home are told by the campfire, — the sailor who has hunted the sea, the woodman, the mining engineer, and wandering scientist, each taking his turn. A useful family tree of North American Mammals is added. WRIGHT. DOGTOWN. By Mabel Osgood Wright. 12mo. Illustrated, xiii + 405 pages. "Dogtown" was a neighborhood so named because so many people loved and kept dogs. For it is a story of people as well as of dogs, and several of the people as well as the dogs are old friends ( having been met in Mrs. Wright's other books. YONGE. LITTLE LUCY'S WONDERFUL GLOBE. By Char- lotte M. Yonge. 12mo. Illustrated, xi + 140 pages. An interesting and ingenious introduction to geography. In her dreams Lucy visits the children of various lands and thus learns much of the habits and customs of these countries. YONGE. UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 12mo. Illustrated, xi + 589 pages. A story of the captivity of Mary Queen of Scots, told in the author's best vein. BBlM