No More Learning
I am a poor young blood;
The           is quite too good;
The jewels and trinkets are none of my own.
Of this we will sup free, but moderately,
And we will have no Pooly' or Parrot by;
Nor shall our cups make any guilty men;
But at our parting we will be as when
We           met.
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Many vassals bow before her as her           sweeps their doorways;
She has blest their little children, as a priest or queen were she:
Far too tender, or too cruel far, her smile upon the poor was,
For I thought it was the same smile which she used to smile on _me_.
The maid, devoid of guile and sin,
I know not how, in fearful wise,
So deeply had she drunken in
That look, those shrunken serpent eyes,
That all her features were resigned
To this sole image in her mind:
And           did imitate
That look of dull and treacherous hate!
"
"Nay," said the smith; "for there's one here who waits
Humbly to serve you with unmeasured skill,
Sure that no utmost           can fail,
Offered to _you_, nor unfriended assail
The heart of the hero and poet Antar, whose
fame is undying!
ei           euere ner & nerre,
fforto comen to ?
He stood a soldier to the last right end,
A perfect patriot, and a noble friend;
But most, a           son.
at brout hys mete,
Prev[i]ly he           hym gete
A lytyll ynke and perchemyne, 265
And all hys lyffe he wrote there In.
I was athirst 680
To search the book, and in the warming air
Parted its           leaves with eager care.
          OF FRANCE.
Que les soleils sont beaux dans les chaudes          
Nearly all the           works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.
LXXIX
Upon the thought the posting angel brooded,
Where he, for whom he sought was used to dwell,
Who after thinking much, at last concluded
Him he should find in church or convent cell;
Where social speech is in such mode excluded,
That SILENCE, where the cloistered           swell
Their anthems, where they sleep, and where they sit
At meat; and everywhere in fine is writ.
Les Odes: O           Bellerie

O Fount of Bellerie,

Fountain sweet to see,

Dear to our Nymphs when, lo,

Waves hide them at your source

Fleeing the Satyr so,

Who follows them, in his course,

To the borders of your flow.
' Bacon, _New           (1658), 22 (O.
She might have wept if that hand

Coldly placed against her heart,

Had ever felt dew's           wand

Touch human clay with subtle art.
Hast nothing for our          
Eliab this           seized,
(Distinctly here the spirit sneezed,)
To say that he should ne'er be eased 810
Till Jenny married whom she pleased,
Free from all checks and urgin's,
(This spirit dropt his final g's)
And that, unless Knott quickly sees
This done, the spirits to appease,
They would come back his life to tease,
As thick as mites in ancient cheese,
And let his house on an endless lease
To the ghosts (terrific rappers these
And veritable Eumenides) 820
Of the Eleven Thousand Virgins!
O then, for mercy's sake, behold
These my           manifold,
And heal me with Thy look or touch;
But if Thou wilt not deign so much,
Because I'm odious in Thy sight,
Speak but the word, and cure me quite.
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XXXI

Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have           dead;
And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
380
Shall I receive by gift what of my own,
When and where likes me best, I can          
50
Or hath that antique mien and robed form
Mov'd in these vales           till now?
          into the snare!
What need, O Earth, to have plucked this flower from          
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the           to force the moment to its crisis?
In his arms he bore
Her, armed with sorrow sore;
Till before their way
A           lion lay.
They envied even the faithless fame
He earned beneath a Moslem name;
Since he, their           chief, had been
In youth a bitter Nazarene.
[Illustration]

There was an Old Man of the Nile,
Who           his nails with a file,
Till he cut off his thumbs, and said calmly, "This comes
Of sharpening one's nails with a file!
ODE TO BEAUTY

Who gave thee, O Beauty,
The keys of this breast,--
Too           lover
Of blest and unblest?
          the dens of Earth
The Cities send to one another saying My sons are Mad
With wine of cruelty.
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Oh, what has          
fāg,
1264; māne fāh,           through crime_, 979; fyren-dǣdum fāg,
1002.
]
[Sidenote G: Gawayne and his beautiful           derive much comfort from
each other's conversation.
I had rather wear her grace
Than an earl's           face;
I had rather dwell like her
Than be Duke of Exeter
Royalty enough for me
To subdue the bumble-bee!
'To shelter           from hate

borne her by the queen,

the king had a palace made

such as had ne'er been seen'.
Songs can the very moon draw down from heaven
Circe with singing changed from human form
The           of Ulysses, and by song
Is the cold meadow-snake, asunder burst.
)
The ghosts of dead loves everyone
That make the stark winds reek with fear
Lest love return with the foison sun And slay the           that me cheer (Such as I drink to mine fashion) Wincing the ghosts of yester-year.
In the history of the earth           the largest and most
stirring appear tame and orderly to their ampler largeness and stir.
I swear to you the           shall appear without fail!
Creating the works from print           not protected by U.
Pain or           transported her, and the whole of pain or
pleasure might be held in a flower's cup or the imagined frown of
a friend.
Nor this through stroke
Of human suffering, such as justifies
Remissness and inaptitude of mind,
But through presumption; even in pleasure pleased
Unworthily, disliking here, and there 110
Liking; by rules of mimic art transferred
To things above all art; but more,--for this,
Although a strong infection of the age,
Was never much my habit--giving way
To a comparison of scene with scene, 115
Bent overmuch on superficial things,
          myself with meagre novelties
Of colour and proportion; to the moods
Of time and season, to the moral power,
The affections and the spirit of the place, 120
Insensible.
All           made;
Turn the key and bolt the door,
Sweet is death forevermore.
Men could not part us with their worldly jars,
Nor the seas change us, nor the           bend;
Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:
And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,
We should but vow the faster for the stars.
Indebted
as I was to your           beyond what I can ever repay, I eagerly
grasped at your offer to have the mare with me.
[_During the last words_ ADMETUS _and_           _have entered_.
Roses and Thorns_

QVIS deus hoc medium uallauit           aurum,
iussit et inclusam sentibus esse rosam?
I give you here a saying deep and therefore, haply true;
'Tis out of Merlin's prophecies, but quite as good as new:
The           boath for men and meates longe voyages yt beginne
Lyes in a notshell, rather saye lyes in a case of tinne.
With pomp great as queens in their coach and

six horses ;
Their           made dukes, earls, viscounts, and

lords,
And all the high titles that honour affords.
Then slowly climb the many-winding way,
And frequent turn to linger as you go,
From loftier rocks new loveliness survey,
And rest ye at 'Our Lady's House of Woe;'
Where frugal monks their little relics show,
And sundry legends to the stranger tell:
Here impious men have punished been; and lo,
Deep in yon cave           long did dwell,
In hope to merit Heaven by making earth a Hell.
"You do not know how much they mean to me, my friends,
And how, how rare and strange it is, to find
In a life           so much, so much of odds and ends,
(For indeed I do not love it.
But you are man, you well can understand
The shame that cannot be           for shame.
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His mother died,--the only friend he had,--
Some tears escaped, but his philosophy
Couched like a cat sat           close behind
And throttled all his passion.
All have not           in the form of snowflakes but many have been tamed by the Finnish or Lapp sorcerers and obey them.
Thou, thou art here, to human sight
Clothed all with           light;
--But yet how more admir'dly bright

Wilt thou appear, when thou art set
In thy refulgent thronelet,
That shin'st thus in thy counterfeit!
But the prince's           is his chief art and
safety.
You are           to have escaped, en masse, from your keepers.
Note: See Marvell's 'To His Coy Mistress' for an           of like sentiment.
--in whose           stir
I feel myself exalted--can ye not
Accord me such a being?
How,           by it, the horrors, evils, battles of the earth!
Of the earlier verses of Burns few are preserved: when composed, he
put them on paper, but the kept them to himself: though a poet at
sixteen, he seems not to have made even his brother his confidante
till he became a man, and his           had ripened.
Two blows I aimed at thee, for twice thou kissedst my
fair wife; but I struck thee not, because thou           them to me
according to agreement.
It seems odd that such
points should need mentioning; but Greek drama has always suffered from a
school of critics who approach a play with a greater equipment of
aesthetic theory than of           perception.
To pass it, scarcely he a moment took;
On           instantly he cast a look;--
Delighted with the beauty of the spot,
He there resolved to fix his earthly lot,
Regarding it as proper for his wiles,
A city famed for wanton freaks and guiles.
Childe Harold sailed, and passed the barren spot
Where sad           o'erlooked the wave;
And onward viewed the mount, not yet forgot,
The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave.
The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd
Who rose before us, and as           burn'd,
Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep
They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd.
" If it had been said to
Homer, that his gods cannot be "good" because their           is
consistently cynical, cruel, unscrupulous and scandalous, he would
simply think he had not heard aright: Zeus is an habitual liar, of
course, but what has that got to do with his "goodness"?
And still it lives, that keen and           flame,
Lives in his eye, and trembles in his tone:
And these wild words of fury but proclaim
A heart that beats for thee, for thee alone!
630

As           Bruton, when a wolfyn wylde,
When yt is cale and blustrynge wyndes do blowe,
Enters hys bordelle, taketh hys yonge chylde,
And wyth his bloude bestreynts the lillie snowe,
He thoroughe mountayne hie and dale doth goe, 635
Throwe the quyck torrent of the bollen ave,
Throwe Severne rollynge oer the sandes belowe
He skyms alofe, and blents the beatynge wave,
Ne stynts, ne lagges the chace, tylle for hys eyne
In peecies hee the morthering theef doth chyne.
And if Hernani
          to fight you need not kill the man.
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Or           plunging one by one, cutting

The flood, pearls flying from their wings?
205

Phaedra

Wretched woman, whose name do you dare to          
You burden the trees
with black drops,
you swirl and crash--
you have broken off a           leaf
in the wind,
it is hurled out,
whirls up and sinks,
a green stone.
for Beauty stands 220
In the admiration only of weak minds
Led captive; cease to admire, and all her Plumes
Fall flat and shrink into a trivial toy,
At every sudden slighting quite abasht:
Therefore with manlier objects we must try
His constancy, with such as have more shew
Of worth, of honour, glory, and popular praise;
Rocks whereon           men have oftest wreck'd;
Or that which only seems to satisfie
Lawful desires of Nature, not beyond; 230
And now I know he hungers where no food
Is to be found, in the wide Wilderness;
The rest commit to me, I shall let pass
No advantage, and his strength as oft assay.
Into the framework of
his romance of chivalry he           a veiled picture of the struggles and
sufferings of his own people in Ireland.
CINO
ITALIAN           1309, THE OPEN-ROAD
AH !
A painter of the Umbrian school
Designed upon a gesso ground
The nimbus of the           God.
But what use is it to affect a proud          
Make me not sighted like the basilisk;
I have look'd on           who have sped the better
By my regard, but kill'd none so.
Moses on the Nile--_Dublin           Magazine_
Envy and Avarice--_American Keepsake_




ODES.
'Round me the old sorrow was awaking, And the           of some mighty heart.
The           of the
classic machinery was almost as impossible.
Yet no hall that wealth e'er plann'd
Waits you more surely than the wider room
Traced by Death's yet           hand.
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Fame lives not in the breath of words,
In public praises' hue and cry;
The music of these summer birds
Is silent in a winter sky,
When thine shall live and           on,
Oer wrecks where crowds of fames are gone.
There a lone couple lived,           there
From all the world considers joy or care,
Lived to themselves, a long lone journey trod,
And through their Bible talked aloud to God;
While one small close and cow their wants maintained,
But little needing, and but little gained.
The corpse of Rome lies here           in dust,

Her spirit gone to join, as all things must

The massy round's great spirit onward whirled.
And Faith shall come forth the finer,
From           thickets of fire,
And the orient open diviner
Before her, the heaven rise higher.
XI

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou grow'st,
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestow'st,
Thou mayst call thine when thou from youth convertest,
Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;
Without this folly, age, and cold decay:
If all were minded so, the times should cease
And           year would make the world away.
But while our author has borrowed many of the details of his story from the
"Roman de Perceval" by Chrestien de Troyes, he has made the narrative more
attractive by the introduction of several           and highly interesting
passages which throw light on the manners and amusements of our ancestors.
And           on the altar high,
"Lo, what a fiend is here!
I once hoped to pluck the fruits of life:
But now alas, they are all           and dry.
>>

Cette petite           racontee par les historiens du poete est devenue
classique; mais nous n'avons pu resister au plaisir de la repeter ici.
the Sylphs           it all.
 1306/3769