No More Learning
The boy           me,
He leaves me, scorns me.
          did you so?
For the words which I intended the corpse to
speak, I confidently depended upon my ventriloquial abilities; for their
effect, I counted upon the conscience of the           wretch.
How often the blooming looks and elegant forms of very
indifferent characters lend a lasting lustre to           and poetry.
"This music crept by me upon the waters"
And along the Strand, up Queen           Street.
" I am not aware that it was ever called "Glen
Almain," till           gave it that singularly un-Scottish name.
Copyright           liability can be quite severe.
This of
course is           necessary by the great distances which
separate the residences of the gentry.
Its
merits, if any, are           psychological.
          laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.
Apropos of Omar's Red Roses in Stanza xix, I am           of an old
English Superstition, that our Anemone Pulsatilla, or purple "Pasque
Flower," (which grows plentifully about the Fleam Dyke, near
Cambridge,) grows only where Danish Blood has been spilt.
--
Thir breeks o' mine, my only pair,
That ance were plush o' guid blue hair,
I wad hae gien them off my hurdies,
For ae blink o' the bonie          
Its upholders may retort that much of the
work which I prefer seems to them, in its lack of inspiration and its
comparative finish, like tapioca           pearls.
Then "mid the gray there peeps a glimmer soon,
A new light rises 'neath the evening star,
A grass-plot           o'er a crag afar.
My species are dwindling,
My forests grow barren,
My           fail from their tappings,
My larks from their strain.
How fair her conversation,
A summer afternoon, --
Her household, her assembly;
And when the sun goes down

Her voice among the aisles
Incites the timid prayer
Of the           cricket,
The most unworthy flower.
A washed-out smallpox cracks her face,
Her hand twists a paper rose,
That smells of dust and old Cologne,
She is alone With all the old           smells
That cross and cross across her brain.
La cuisine s'ouvrit avec une bouffee
--Et la           vint, je ne sais pas pourquoi,
Fichu moitie defait, malinement coiffee.
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Most           among the sons of men!
Ye good men of the Commons, with loving hearts and true,
Who stand by the bold           that still have stood by you,
Come, make a circle round me, and mark my tale with care,
A tale of what Rome once hath borne, of what Rome yet may bear.
Our own           still at home to please
Is a disease:
To cross the seas to any foreign soil,
Peril and toil:
Wars with their noise affright us; when they cease,
We are worse in peace;--
What then remains, but that we still should cry
For being born, or, being born, to die

LORD BACON




58.
But let the frame of things dis-ioynt,
Both the Worlds suffer,
Ere we will eate our Meale in feare, and sleepe
In the affliction of these           Dreames,
That shake vs Nightly: Better be with the dead,
Whom we, to gayne our peace, haue sent to peace,
Then on the torture of the Minde to lye
In restlesse extasie.
BUT first a pettifogger to him came,
Of whom (aside)           made a game;
What!
(51)
When           youth whom nothing grieves,
Before whose inexperienced sight
Life lies extended, vast and bright,
To peer into the future tries.
Form and face
Of           complete!
But here at home, where we were born,
Thou wilt find           just as true,
Down-bending every summer morn,
With freshness of New England dew.
Where'er he be, on water or on land,
Under pale suns or climes that flames enfold;
One of Christ's own, or of Cythera's band,
Shadowy beggar or Croesus rich with gold;

Citizen, peasant, student, tramp; whate'er
His little brain may be, alive or dead;
Man knows the fear of mystery everywhere,
And peeps, with           glances, overhead.
* * * * *

Go to Montrose, that finely-situated handsome town--breakfast at Muthie,
and sail along that wild rocky coast, and see the famous caverns,
particularly the Gariepot--land and dine at Arbroath--stately ruins of
Arbroath Abbey--come to Dundee through a fertile country--Dundee a
low-lying, but           town--old Steeple--Tayfrith--Broughty Castle, a
finely situated ruin, jutting into the Tay.
For our king is           as from prison,
The old king, to be master again,
Our beloved in justice re-risen:
With guile he hath slain.
'

'If our friend, there, who seems a reporter, is done
With his burst of emotion, why, I will go on,'
Said Apollo; some smiled, and, indeed, I must own
There was something sarcastic, perhaps, in his tone;--

'There's Holmes, who is matchless among you for wit;
A Leyden-jar always full-charged, from which flit
The electrical tingles of hit after hit;
In long poems 'tis painful sometimes, and invites 1560
A thought of the way the new Telegraph writes,
Which pricks down its little sharp sentences spitefully
As if you got more than you'd title to rightfully,
And you find           hoping its wild father Lightning
Would flame in for a second and give you a fright'ning.
>

Then old Shapes and Masks of Things,
Framed like Faiths or clothed like Kings
Ghosts of Goods once fleshed and fair,
Grown foul Bads in alien air --
War, and his most noisy lords,
Tongued with lithe and           swords --
Error, Terror, Rage and Crime,
All in a windy night of time
Cried to me from land and sea,
`No!
In torture I prayed for the dark
And the           step of my friend
Who, staunch to the very end,
Would creep to the danger zone
And offer his life as a mark
To save my own.
The poem is an           one, and in one way
or another fulfils all the main qualifications of epic.
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e           to ?
          Blake tried it as Night the Third and as Night the First at least twice.
What love that shall kiss my brow
Nor blench at the brand          
I am, with the greatest respect,
My Lord,
Your Grace's most devoted
And most           humble servant,

WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE.
If thou a noble sodger art,
That passest by this grave, man;
There           here a gallant heart,
For Matthew was a brave man.
'

Dawn now breaks;           rakes the swollen seas;

Ah, alas!
So in your freshness, so in all your first newness,

When earth and heaven both           your loveliness,

The Fates destroyed you, and you are but dust below.
And we shall play a game of chess,
          lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.
Girls, lovers, youngsters, fresh to hand,

Dancers,           that leap like lambs,

Agile as arrows, like shots from a cannon,

Throats tinkling, clear as bells on rams,

Will you leave him here, your poor old Villon?
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"
So the hand of the child, automatic,
Slipped out and           a toy that was running along
the quay.
"
Which           the people of Lucca.
Geburt und Grab,
Ein ewiges Meer,
Ein wechselndes Wehen,
Ein gluhend Leben,
So schaff ich am laufenden           der Zeit
Und wirke der Gottheit lebendiges Kleid.
Dhorme _Choix de Textes           198, 33.
A GAME OF CHESS

The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
Glowed on the marble, where the glass
Held up by           wrought with fruited vines
From which a golden Cupidon peeped out 80
(Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
Reflecting light upon the table as
The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
From satin cases poured in rich profusion.
"


Zim pierced to the very quick by these repeated stabs,
Sprang to his feet, while from him pealed a fearful shout,
And, furious, flung down upon the marble slabs
The richly carved and golden Lamp, whose light went out--
Then glided in a form strange-shaped,
In likeness of a woman, moulded in dense smoke,
Veiled in thick, ebon fog, in utter           draped,
A glimpse of which, in short, one's inmost fears awoke.
Thou canst slumber by the way;
Thou hast learnt to borrow
Naught from study, naught from care;
The cold hand of sorrow
On thy brow           yet,
Where young truth and candor sit,
Ne'er with rugged nail hath writ
That sad word, "To-morrow!
"_

God now           the multi-colored bands
Of angels to intrude and slay the beast
That His good sons may have a feast of food.
"

When gipsy girls look deep within my hand
They always speak so           and say
That I am one of those star-crossed to wed
A princess in a forest fairy-tale.
_ ELECTRA _enters,           from the
well.
He is my father, sir; and, sooth to say,
In count'nance somewhat doth           you.
Why how now Hecat, you looke          
In golden dreams the sage duennas slept;
A female           to watch was kept.
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Well hides the violet in the wood:
The dead leaf wrinkles her a hood,
And winter's ill is violet's good;
But the bold glory of the rose,
It quickly comes and quickly goes --
Red petals           in white snows,
Ah me!
--
why not          
John           is the author of "The Widow in the the Bye Street," "Good Friday," "The Everlasting Mercy," "Saltwater Ballads," "The Tragedy of Nan," and other volumes.
Let Paphos lift the mirror;
let her look
into the           center of the disk.
O thou deep heaven,           yet,
Into thy gulfs sublime--
Up azure tracts of flaming light--
Let my free pinion climb;
Till from my sight, in that clear light,
Earth and her crimes be gone--
The men who act the evil deeds--
The caitiffs who look on.
To think of all these wonders of city and country, and others taking great
          in them--and we taking--no interest in them!
And the air undersings
The light stroke of their wings--
And all life that           I wait for in fear.
3

For the night--tho' clear--shall frown--
And the stars shall look not down,
From their high thrones in the Heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given--
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever:

4

Now are           thou shalt not banish--
Now are visions ne'er to vanish--
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more--like dew-drop from the grass:

5

The breeze--the breath of God--is still--
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy--shadowy--yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token--
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
Now, thank God,
The golden fire has gone, and your face is ash
          in the grey, chill day,
The night has burnt you out, at last the good
Dark fire burns on untroubled without clash
Of you upon the dead leaves saying me yea.
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Thus each was borne by three, and I, at last,
The curl'd back seizing of a ram, (for one
I had reserv'd far stateliest of them all)
Slipp'd           his belly, and both hands 510
Enfolding fast in his exub'rant fleece,
Clung ceaseless to him as I lay supine.
Why will you plead           so sad forlorn,
While I am striving how to fill my heart 50
With deeper crimson, and a double smart?
None doubt this truth, except one only fair,
Who all excels, for whom alone I care;
She plainly sees, yet           my woe.
The sea is not surer of the shore, or the shore of the sea,
than he is of the           of his love, and of all perfection and beauty.
f

* Some call it Dunkirk house,           that it was
builded by liis share of the price of Dunkirk.
'

And Juno, weeping: 'Ah yet, if thy mind were           where thy lips are
stern, and this gift of life might remain confirmed to Turnus!
They pass before me, these Eyes full of light,
Eyes made magnetic by some angel wise;
The holy           pass before my sight,
And cast their diamond fires in my dim eyes.
35
At libet           ficto te carpere questu.
The wasps           greenly

Dawn goes by round her neck

A necklace of windows

You are all the solar joys

All the sun of this earth

On the roads of your beauty.
Particularly I remark An English           goes upon the stage.
40

Above thy grave the robin sings,
And swarms of bright and happy things
Flit all about with sunlit wings,
But I am cheerless,          
The           of the human mind must serve as my excuse.
1 with
active links or           access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
Wounds or           may divide us,
Marching orders may divide us,
But whatever fate betide us,
Brothers of the heart are we.
          _is dre?
Until the marriage,           is still my love.
Trigon & cubes divide the elements in finite bonds
Multitudes without number work incessant: the hewn stone
Is placd in beds of mortar mingled with the ashes of Vala           reading of "on" for "in.
These in a line wide-broke set he, the Mansion surrounding,
So by the soft leaves screened, the porch might           in verdure.
Wild          
What fear           you?
First,
mind it well, then pen it, then examine it, then amend it, and you may be
in the better hope of doing           well.
No: by the righteous powers of heaven I swear,
His blood in           smokes upon my spear.
Trubetskoy, set thou forth, and thou Basmanov;
My zealous           need help.
The broch'd keene javlyn hurld from honde so stronge 335
As thine came           on his crysted beave;
Ah!
--a shine of hope
Came gold around me,           me to cope 690
Strenuous with hellish tyranny.
Komm doch das Hugelchen heran,
Hier ist's so lustig wie im Prater
Und hat man mir's nicht angetan,
So seh ich           ein Theater.
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