"But should suspense permit the foe to cry,
'Behold, they tremble !-haughty their array,
Yet of their number no one dares to die '?
In soul I swept the indignity away:

Old frailties then recurred :—but lofty thought,
In act embodied, my deliverance wrought.

"And thou, though strong in love, art all too weak
In reason, in self-government too slow;

I counsel thee by fortitude to seek

Our blest re-union in the shades below.

The invisible world with thee hath sympathized ;
Be thy affections raised and solemnized.

“Learn by a mortal yearning to ascend
Towards a higher object.-Love was given,
Encouraged, sanctioned, chiefly for that end :
For this the passion to excess was driven-
That self might be annulled; her bondage prove
The fetters of a dream, opposed to love.”

Aloud she shrieked! for Hermes reappears!

Round the dear shade she would have clung-'tis vain :
The hours are past-too brief had they been years;
And him no mortal effort can detain :

Swift, toward the realms that know not earthly day,
He through the portal takes his silent way,
And on the palace floor a lifeless corse she lay.

By no weak pity might the gods be moved;
She who thus perished not without the crime
Of lovers that in reason's spite have loved,
Was doomed to wander in a grosser clime,
Apart from happy ghosts-that gather flowers
Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers.

Yet tears to human suffering are due;
And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown
Are mourned by man, and not by man alone,
As fondly he believes.-Upon the side
Of Hellespont' (such faith was entertained)
A knot of spiry trees for ages grew

om out the tomb of him for whom she died;

1 A narrow strait between Asia and Europe.

And ever, when such stature they had gained
That Ilium's walls were subject to their view,
The trees' tall summits withered at the sight;
A constant interchange of growth and blight!
W. WORDSWORTH.

94.

Ode to Duty.

STERN daughter of the voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove;
Thou who art victory and law
When empty terrors overawe;

From vain temptations dost set free;

And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity.

There are who ask not if thine eye

Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely

Upon the genial sense of youth:

Glad hearts! without reproach or blot;

Who do thy work, and know it not!

Long may the kindly impulse last!

But thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast!

Serene will be our days and bright,

And happy will our nature be,

When love is an unerring light,

And joy its own security.

And they a blissful course may hold

Even now, who, not unwisely bold,

Live in the spirit of this creed;

Yet find that other strength, according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust;
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred

The task, in smoother walks to stray;

But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control ;

But in the quietness of thought:

Me this unchartered freedom tires ;
I feel the weight of chance desires :
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.

Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face:

Flowers laugh before thee on their beds;

And fragrance in thy footing treads ;

Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong;

And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh

and strong.

To humbler functions, awful power!
I call thee: I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour;
Oh, let my weakness have an end!
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice;

The confidence of reason give;

And, in the light of truth, thy bondman, let me live!

W. WORDSWORTH.

95.

The Fairies.

If ye will with Mab find grace,

Set each platter in his place;
Rake the fire up, and get

Water in, ere sun be set.

Wash your pails and cleanse your dairies,

Sluts are loathsome to the fairies;

Sweep your house; who doth not so,

Mab will pinch her by the toe.

R. HERRICK.

96.

The Bag of the Bee.

ABOUT the sweet bag of a bee
Two Cupids fell at odds;

And whose the pretty prize should be
They vowed to ask the gods.
Which Venus hearing, thither came,
And for their boldness stript them;
And taking thence from each his flame,
With rods of myrtle whipt them.
Which done, to still their wanton cries,
When quiet grown she'd seen them,
She kissed and wiped their dove-like eyes,
And gave the bag between them.

97.

The Message.

R. HERRICK.

SEND home my long-strayed eyes to me,
Which, oh! too long have dwelt on thee;
But if they there have learned such ill,
Such forced fashions
And false passions,

That they be

Made by thee

Fit for no good sight, keep them still.
Send home my harmless heart again,
Which no unworthy thought could stain ;
But if it be taught by thine

To make jestings

Of protestings,
And break both
Word and oath,

Keep it still, 'tis none of mine.

Yet send me back my heart and eyes,
That I may know and see thy lies,
And may laugh and joy when thou
Art in anguish,

And dost languish
For some one

That will none,

Or prove as false as thou dost now.

J. DONNE.

98.

A Cruel Mistress.

WE read of kings, and gods, that kindly took
A pitcher filled with water from the brook :
But I have daily tendered without thanks
Rivers of tears that overflow their banks.
A slaughtered bull will appease angry Jove;
A horse, the Sun, a lamb, the god of Love;
But she disdains the spotless sacrifice
Of a pure heart, that at her altar lies.
Vesta is not displeased, if her chaste urn
Do with repaired fuel ever burn;

But my Saint frowns, though to her honoured name

I consecrate a never-dying flame.

Th' Assyrian king did none i' th' furnace throw

But those that to his image did not bow;
With bended knees I daily worship her,
Yet she consumes her own idolater.

Of such a goddess no times leave record,
That burnt the temple where she was adored.

99.

T. CAREW.

The Message of the Rose.

Go, lovely rose !

Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows

When I resemble her to thee

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung

In deserts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired;
Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admired.

I Nebuchadnezzar ordered that all those who refused to fall down and worship the golden image he had made should be cast into a fiery furnace.