AFTER THE STORM

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY

AND when, its force expended,

The harmless storm was ended,

And as the sunrise splendid

Came blushing o'er the sea-
I thought, as day was breaking,
My little girls were waking,
And smiling and making
A prayer at home for me.

A FAIRY IN ARMOR

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE

HE put his acorn helmet on ;

It was plumed of the silk of the thistledown;

The corselet plate that guarded his breast

Was once the wild bee's golden vest;

His cloak, a thousand mingled dyes,

Was formed of the wings of butterflies;

His shield was the shell of a ladybug green,

Studs of gold on a ground of green;

And the quivering lance which he brandished bright

Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.

Swift he bestrode his firefly steed;

He bared his blade of the bent grass blue;

He drove his spurs of the cockle seed,
And away like a glance of thought he flew,

To skim the heavens, and follow far
The fiery trail of the rocket star.

IN MARCH

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

HE cock is crowing,

THE

The stream is flowing,
The small birds twitter,

The lake doth glitter,

The green field sleeps in the sun;
The oldest and the youngest
Are at work with the strongest ;
The cattle are grazing,

Their heads never raising;

There are forty feeding like one!

Like an army defeated,
The snow hath retreated,
And now doth fare ill

On the top of the bare hill;

The plowboy is whooping-anon - anon.
There's joy in the mountains;

There's life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,

Blue sky prevailing ;

The rain is over and gone!

VERSES

WILLIAM COWPER

Supposed to have been written by Alexander Selkirk during his solitary abode in the Island of Juan Fernandez.

I

AM monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute;
From the center all round to the sea
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O Solitude! Where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms
Than reign in this horrible place.

I 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 bestowed upon man,
Oh, 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 cheered by the sallies of youth.

Religion! What treasures untold
Reside in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford:
But the sound of the church-going bell
These valleys and rocks never heard,
Nor sighed at the sound of a knell,

Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared.

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?
Oh, tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is a glance of the mind,
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-wingèd 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 sea fowl 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.