"GO, LET ME WEEP-THERE'S BLISS IN TEARS, WHEN HE WHO SHEDS THEM INLY FEELS

"YOU MAY BREAK, YOU MAY RUIN THE VASE, IF YOU WILL,-(MOORE)

BUT THE SCENT OF THE ROSES WILL HANG ROUND IT STILL."-MOORE.

SOME LINGERING STAIN OF EARLY YEARS EFFACED BY EVERY DROP THAT STEALS."-MOORE.

66

ON, ON TO THE COMBAT; THE HEROES THAT BLEED-(MOORE)

He cries, and with a strength that seems
Not of this world, uplifts the frame

Of the fallen chief, and towards the flame
Bears him along. With death-damp hand
The corpse upon the pyre he lays,
Then lights the consecrated brand,
And fires the pile, whose sudden blaze,
Like lightning, bursts o'er Oman's sea.
"Now, freedom's God, I come to thee!"
The youth exclaims, and with a smile
Of triumph vaulting on the pile,
In that last effort, ere the fires

Have harmed one glorious limb, expires!

[From the "Fire Worshippers," one of the poems introduced in the Oriental romance of "Lalla Rookh," in which Moore seems to have caught something of Scott's vigour and metrical dash, added to his own lavishness of allusion and felicity of phrase.]

"LIKE THE GALE, THAT SIGHS ALONG BEDS OF ORIENTAL FLOWERS,-(THOMAS MOORE)

IS THE GRATEFUL BREATH OF SONG, THAT ONCE WAS HEARD IN HAPPIER HOURS."-MOORE.

316

"" THERE IS A WORLD, WHERE SOULS ARE FREE,-(MOORE)

THOMAS MOORE.

Oh, let me hope that thus for me,

When life and love shall lose their bloom,
Some milder joys may come, like thee,

To light, if not to warm, the gloom!

[From Moore's "Poetical Works," Longman's Collected Edition.]

"MANY A HEART THAT NOW BEATS HIGH IN SLUMBER COLD AT NIGHT SHALL LIE,-(THOMAS MOORE)

R

66

RICH AND RARE.

ICH and rare were the gems she wore,

And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore;
But oh! her beauty was far beyond

Her sparkling gems or snow-white wand.

Lady, dost thou not fear to stray,

So lone and lovely, through this bleak way?
Are Erin's sons so good or so cold,

As not to be tempted by woman or gold?"

"Sir knight, I feel not the least alarm,

No son of Erin will offer me harm;

For though they love women and golden store,
Sir knight, they love honour and virtue more! "
On she went, and her maiden smile
In safety lighted her round the Green Isle.
And blest for ever is she who relied
Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride!

[From the "Irish Melodies."-The ballad is founded on the following
anecdote: "The people were inspired with such a spirit of honour, virtue,
and religion, by the great example of Brien, and by his excellent adminis-
tration, that a young lady of great beauty, adorned with jewels and a
costly dress, undertook a journey alone from one end of the kingdom to
the other, with a wand only in her hand, at the top of which was a ring of
exceeding great value; and such an impression had the laws and govern-
ment of this monarch made on the minds of all the people, that no attempt
was made upon her honour, nor was she robbed of her clothes or jewels."—
Warner's History of Ireland, vol. i., bk. x.]

WHERE TYRANTS TAINT NOT NATURE'S BLISS."-MOORE.

BUT OH, HOW BLEST THAT HERO'S SLEEP O'ER WHOM A WONDERING WORLD SHALL WEEP!"-MOORE.

THE HEAVY TROUBLE, THE BEWILDERING CARE,-(MORRIS)

SONG OF THE SEA.

William Morris.

[THIS true poet has given to the world, of late years, three carefully written works, inspired by genuine fancy and characterized by touches of deep earnest feeling-"The Legend of Arthur and Guenevere," "The Life and Death of Jason," and "The Earthly Paradise." Of the second of these, a brother poet-Algernon Charles Swinburne-not unjustly says: "This 'Jason' is a large and coherent poem, completed as conceived-the style throughout on a level with the invention. In direct narrative power, in clear forthright manner of procedure, not seemingly troubled to select, to pick, and sift, and winnow, yet never superfluous or verbose, never straggling or jarring; in these high qualities it resembles the work of Chaucer. In this poem a new thing of great price has been cast into the English treasure-house. Nor is the cutting and setting of the jewel unworthy of it-art and instinct have wrought hand in hand to its perfection." -Fortnightly Review, July 1867.1

"MEMORIES VAGUE OF HALF-FORGOTTEN THINGS, NOT TRUE OR FALSE, BUT SWEET TO THINK UPON."-MORRIS.

317

"NO GRIEF EVER BORN CAN EVER DIE IN CHANGELESS CHANGE OF SEASONS PASSING BY."-WILLIAM MORRIS.

SONG OF THE SEA.

BITTER sea, tumultuous sea,

Full many an ill is wrought by thee!

Unto the wasters of the land

Thou holdest out thy wrinkled hand;
And when they leave the conquered town,
Whose black smoke makes thy surges brown,
Driven betwixt thee and the sun,

As the long day of blood is done,
From many a league of glittering waves
Thou smilest on them and their slaves.

The thin bright-eyed Phoenician
Thou drawest to thy waters wan,
With ruddy eve and golden morn
Thou temptest him, until, forlorn,
Unburied, under alien skies
Cast up ashore his body lies.

THAT WEIGHS US DOWN WHO EARN OUR BREAD."-MORRIS.

BOTH SEEM AFAR, SO FAR THE PAST ONE SEEMS,-THE GATE OF BIRTH, MADE DIM WITH MANY DREAMS,-(MORRIS)

318

"TWO GATES UNTO THE ROAD OF LIFE THERE ARE,

WILLIAM MORRIS.

SO FAR, HE THINKS NOT OF THE OTHER GATE WITHIN WHOSE SHADE THE GHOSTS OF DEAD HOPES WAIT."-MORRIS.

["O bitter sea, tumultuous sea."]

Yea, whoso sees thee from his door,
Must ever long for more and more;
Nor will the beechen bowl suffice,
Or homespun robe of little price,
Or hood well-woven of the fleece
Undyed, or unspiced wine of Greece;
So sore his heart is set upon
Purple, and gold, and cinnamon;
For as thou cravest, so he craves,
Until he rolls beneath thy waves.
Nor in some landlocked, unknown bay,
Can satiate thee for one day.

AND TO THE HAPPY YOUTH BOTH SEEM AFAR,