I'LL LOVE NO MORE. For 'twixt the hours of twelve and one me thought I heard him shriek and call aloud for I'LL love no more, said I, in sullen mood; help, At which same time the house seemed all on fire With dreadful horror of these damned fiends. SEC. SCH. Well, gentlemen, though Faustus' end be such As every Christian heart laments to think on, Yet for he was a scholar once ad mired For wondrous knowledge in our German schools We'll give his mangled limbs due burial, And all the scholars, clothed in mourning black, Shall wait upon his heavy funeral. CHRISTOPHER MARLOW. The world is wholly selfish, false and vain; The generous heart but courts ingratitude, And friendship woos but insult and dis dain. Far from a cold and worthless world I'll haste: Why should my best affections unrequited waste? I fled the busy throng and turned my feet Where towering trees in sunny dells rejoice, But all things seemed, amid my lone re treat, To mourn my stern resolve and chide my choice; All urged me, so methought, to turn again, And with a hopeful trust to love my fellow men. W° TWO RONDEAUX. I. WORKS DEATH SUCH CHANGE? ORKS Death such change upon our dead, Doth it such awe around them spread, That should they suddenly appear At once we'd shrink from them with fear, Though on their breast we laid our head? Why should their light and ghostly tread We kissed their cold lips on the bier, H THE GOLDEN RINGLET. ERE is a little golden tress The all that's left of loveliness Though all beside hath fled, I hold it here, a link between Yes, from this shining ringlet still For eighteen years like sunshine slept MT But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom, The abode of the dead and the place of the tomb. Shall we build to Ambition? Oh no! Affrighted, he shrinketh away; For see! they would pin him below In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with cold clay, To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey. To Beauty? Ah, no! she forgets A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear; The charms which she wielded before, ETHINKS it is good to be here; If thou wilt, let us build. But for whom? Nor Elias nor Moses appear, Nor knows the foul worm that he frets. The skin which but yesterday fools could adore For the smoothness it held or the tint which it wore. Shall we build to the purple of Pride, The trappings which dizen the proud? Alas! they are all laid aside, And here's neither dress nor adornment allowed But the long winding-sheet and the fringe of the shroud. To Riches? Alas! 'tis in vain : Who hid, in their turn have been hid; The treasures are squandered again, And here in the grave are all metals forbid. But the tinsel that shines on the dark coffinlid. To the pleasures which Mirth can afford, The revel, the laugh and the jeer? Ah! here is a plentiful board! But the guests are all mute as their pitiful cheer, And none but the worm is a reveller here. |