Изображения страниц

And now again fresh leaves do bud for me, Yet let me feel that still the spirit sings

Its quiet song, coming from heaven free.

S. G. W.

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.

SHAKSPEARE: As you like it.


ALL the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's


And then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel,

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school: and then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow: then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation Even in the cannon's mouth: and then the justice

In fair round belly, with good capon lined,

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern in

[blocks in formation]


THE shadow on the dial's face,
That steals from day to day,
With slow, unseen, unceasing pace,
Moments and months, and years

This shadow, which, in every clime,
Since light and motion first began,
Hath held its course sublime;
What is it? mortal man!
It is the scythe of Time.
Not only o'er the dial's face,
This silent phantom, day by day,
With slow, unseen, unceasing pace,
Steals moments, months, and years

From hoary rock and aged tree, From proud Palmyra's mouldering walls,

From Teneriffe, towering o'er the

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

My hand was next to them, and then my heart;

I took, without more thinking, in

good part

Time's gentle admonition;

[blocks in formation]

Can yet the lease of my true love control,

Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.

The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured,

And the sad augurs mock their own presage;

Incertainties now crown themselves assured,

And peace proclaims olives of endless age.

Now with the drops of this most balmy time

My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,

Since spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,

While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes.

And thou in this shalt find thy monument,

When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.


[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]



NOT mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul

Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,


THE Destiny, Minister General, That executeth in the world o'er all The purveiance that God hath seen beforne;

So strong it is, that though the world had sworn


[blocks in formation]

Upbear me in your arms, unceasing river,

That from the soul's clear fountain swiftly pours,

Motionless not, until the end is won,

Which now I feel hath scarcely felt the sun.

To feel, to know, to soar unlimited, 'Mid throngs of light-winged angels sweeping far,

And pore upon the realms unvisited, That tesselate the unseen unthought


To be the thing that now I feebly dream

Flashing within my faintest, deepest gleam.

Ah, caverns of my soul! how thick your shade,

Where flows that life by which I faintly see,

Wave your bright torches, for I need your aid, Golden-eyed demons of my ancestry!

Your son though blinded hath a light within,

A heavenly fire which ye from suns did win.

O Time! O Death! I clasp you in my armis,

For I can soothe an infinite cold


And gaze contented on your icy charms,

And that wild snow-pile which we call to-morrow;

Sweep on, O soft, and azure-lidded sky,

Earth's waters to your gentle gaze reply.

I am not earth-born, though I here delay; Hope's child, I summon infiniter powers;

And laugh to see the mild and sunny day

Smile on the shrunk and thin autumnal hours;

I laugh, for hope hath happy place with me,

If my bark sinks, 'tis to another sea. W. E. CHANNING.

[blocks in formation]

I see how plentie surfeits oft,

And hasty climbers soonest fall; I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all. These get with toil, and keep with fear;

Such cares my mind could never


No princely pomp nor wealthy store,
No force to win the victory,
No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to win a lover's eye-
To none of these I yield as thrall;
For why, my mind despiseth all.

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 laugh not at another's loss,

I grudge not at another's gaine; No worldly wave my mind can toss; I brook that is another's bane.

I feare no foe, nor fawn on friend;
I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly blisse;

I weigh not Croesus' wealth a straw;

For care, I care not what it is;

I fear not fortune's fatal law; My mind is such as may not move For beauty bright, or force of love.

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 storms I sit on shore, And laugh at them that toil in vain To get what must be lost again.

I kisse not where I wish to kill;
I feign not love where most I hate;
I break no sleep to win my will;

I wait not at the mighty's gate.
I scorn no poor, I fear no rich;
I feel no want, nor have too much.

The court nor cart I like nor loathe; Extremes are counted worst of all; The golden mean betwixt them both Doth surest sit, and fears no fall;

This is my choyce; for why, I find No wealth is like a quiet mind.

My wealth is health and perfect


My conscience clear my chief defence;

I never seek by bribes to please,

Nor by desert to give offence. Thus do I live, thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I! WILLIAM BYRD.

AN HONEST MAN'S FORTUNE. You that can look through Heaven, and tell the stars,

Observe their kind conjunctions, and their wars;

Find out new lights, and give them where you please,

To these men honors, pleasures, to those ease;

You that are God's surveyors, and can show

How far, and when, and why the wind doth blow;

Know all the charges of the dreadful thunder,

And when it will shoot over, or fall under:

Tell me, by all your art I conjure ye, Yes, and by truth, what shall be

come of me?

[blocks in formation]
« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »