Worthy of our gorgeous rites,
And worthy to be laid by thee;
For this is England's greatest son,
He that gain'd a hundred fights,
Nor ever lost an English gun;
This is he that far away
Against the myriads of Assaye1
Clash'd with his fiery few and won;
And underneath another sun,
Warring on a later day,
Round affrighted Lisbon2 drew
The treble works, the vast designs
Of his labor'd rampart-lines,
Where he greatly stood at bay,
Whence he issued forth anew,
And ever great and greater grew,
Beating from the wasted vines
Back to France her banded swarms,
Back to France with countless blows,
Till o'er the hills her eagles flew
Beyond the Pyrenean pines,
Follow'd up in valley and glen
With blare of bugle, clamor of men,
Roll of cannon and clash of arms,
And England pouring on her foes.
Such a war had such a close.
Again their ravening eagle rose

In anger, wheel'd on Europe-shadowing wings,

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So great a soldier taught us there What long-enduring hearts could do In that world-earthquake, Waterloo! Mighty Seaman, tender and true,

130

And pure as he from taint of craven guile,

O saviour of the silver-coasted isle,
O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile,

I Assaye. A battle in India, September, 1803, when Wellington routed a native army of 40,000 with 7,000 men.

2 In the fall of 1810 Wellington retired to Lisbon, which was protected by three lines of fortifications, and thence gradually pushed out against the French until Napoleon's capitulation of 1814.

3 Sabbath. June 18, 1815, the day of the Battle of Waterloo.

gret

To those great men who fought, and kept it ours.

And keep it ours, O God, from brute control!

O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the soul

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Of Europe, keep our noble England whole, And save the one true seed of freedom sown

Betwixt a people and their ancient throne, That sober freedom out of which there springs

Our loyal passion for our temperate kings!

For, saving that, ye help to save mankind Till public wrong be crumbled into dust, And drill the raw world for the march

ODE TO THE NORTH-EAST WIND
CHARLES KINGSLEY

Welcome, wild North-easter!
Shame it is to see
Odes to every zephyr;

Ne'er a verse to thee.
Welcome, black North-easter!
O'er the German foam;
O'er the Danish moorlands,
From thy frozen home.
Tired we are of summer,
Tired of gaudy glare,
Showers soft and steaming,
Hot and breathless air.
Tired of listless dreaming,
Through the lazy day:
Jovial wind of winter

Turn us out to play!
Sweep the golden reed-beds;
Crisp the lazy dyke;
Hunger into madness

Every plunging pike.
Fill the lake with wild-fowl;
Fill the marsh with snipe;
While on dreary moorlands
Lonely curlews pipe.
Through the black fir-forest
Thunder harsh and dry,
Shattering down the snow-flakes
Off the curdled sky.

ΤΟ

20

Hark! the brave North-easter!

Breast-high lies the scent,
On by holt and headland,

Over heath and bent.2
Chime, ye dappled darlings,
Through the sleet and snow.
Who can over-ride you?
Let the horses go!
Chime, ye dappled darlings,
Down the roaring blast;
You shall see a fox die

Ere an hour be past.

Go! and rest to-morrow,
Hunting in your dreams,
While our skates are ringing
O'er the frozen streams.
Let the luscious South-wind
Breathe in lovers' sighs,
While the lazy gallants
Bask in ladies' eyes.
What does he but soften
Heart alike and pen?

'Tis the hard gray weather
Breeds hard English men.

What's the soft South-wester?
'Tis the ladies' breeze,
Bringing home their true-loves
Out of all the seas:

But the black North-easter,

Through the snowstorm hurled,

Drives our English hearts of oak
Seaward round the world.

Come, as came our fathers,
Heralded by thee,
Conquering from the eastward,
Lords by land and sea.
Come; and strong within us
Stir the Vikings' blood;
Bracing brain and sinew;

Blow, thou wind of God! (1854)

30

40

50

60

COME INTO THE GARDEN, MAUD

ALFRED TENNYSON

The

[This famous love-lyric represents a single scene in the long poem called Maud. speaker is Maud's plighted lover, but is not received at the manor-house where she lives; on the night of a great ball given there by her brother he must wait outside while she dances with the young lord (line 29) who is wooing her, but when the ball is over she has promised to join him in the garden.]

Come into the garden, Maud,

For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
I holt. Woodland.

2 bent. Hillside.

I said to the lily, "There is but one,
With whom she has heart to be gay. 20
When will the dancers leave her alone?
She is weary of dance and play."
Now half to the setting moon are gone,
And half to the rising day;

Low on the sand and loud on the stone
The last wheel echoes away.

I said to the rose, "The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.

O young lord-lover, what sighs are those,
For one that will never be thine?
But mine, but mine," so I sware to the

30

And the soul of the rose went into my blood.

As the music clash'd in the Hall; And long by the garden lake I stood, For I heard your rivulet fall From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood,

Our wood, that is dearer than all;

From the meadow your walks have left So sweet

That whenever a March-wind sighs 40 He sets the jewel-print of your feet In violets blue as your eyes,

To the woody hollows in which we meet
And the valleys of Paradise.

The slender acacia would not shake
One long milk-bloom on the tree;
The white lake-blossom fell into the lake
As the pimpernel dozed on the lea;

Duties enough and little cares,

And now was quiet, now astir, Till God's hand beckoned unawares,And the sweet white brow is all of her. Is it too late then, Evelyn Hope?

What, your soul was pure and true, The good stars met in your horoscope, Made you of spirit, fire, and dew- 20 And, just because I was thrice as old

And our paths in the world diverged so wide,

Each was naught to each, must I be told? We were fellow mortals, naught beside?

ΙΟ

2 come.

Which has come.

51

3 (For the grammatical meaning, omit the exclamation point at the end of the preceding line.)