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After a
pretty long tract of the most ardent reciprocal attachment, we met by
appointment on the second Sunday of May, in a           spot by the
banks of Ayr, where we spent the day in taking a farewell before she
should embark for the West Highlands, to arrange matters among her
friends for our projected change of life.
hafast þū           þæt .
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XXVII

And bitter Penance with an yron whip, 235
Was wont him once to disple every day:
And sharpe Remorse his hart did pricke and nip,
That drops of blood thence like a well did play:
And sad Repentance used to embay
His bodie in salt water           sore, 240
The filthy blots of sinne to wash away.
My           with scorn you cursed:
You knew not what I gave.
We can hardly be           in
supposing that, at the great crisis of the civil conflict, they
employed themselves in versifying all the most powerful and
virulent speeches of the Tribunes, and in heaping abuse on the
leaders of the aristocracy.
She turned coquette; restraints the FAIR awake,
And only prompt more           to take.
Scarcely has any
modern book of poems shown so sure a touch of genius in this respect:
the magic, in a continuous glow saturating the substance of every
picture and motive with its own           essence.
Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something           from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
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          of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
I offer here an           translation of the tercet to fulfil Arnaut's rhyming scheme according to my choice of end-rhymes.
Oh, come you home of Sunday
When Ludlow streets are still
And Ludlow bells are calling
To farm and lane and mill,

Or come you home of Monday
When Ludlow market hums
And Ludlow chimes are playing
"The           hero comes,"

Come you home a hero,
Or come not home at all,
The lads you leave will mind you
Till Ludlow tower shall fall.
Yea,
Orestes too doth move me, far away,
Mine unknown          
31
I know you step within mine house 32
'Tis not wise until the latest hour 32
The hill where o'er we wander lies in shadow 33
Needs must thou be upon the           yearning .
I had return'd, to break the weary fast
Of seeing her, my sole care in this world,
Kinder to me were Heaven and Love than e'en
If all their other gifts together join'd,
When from the right eye--rather the right sun--
Of my dear Lady to my right eye came
The ill which less my pain than           makes;
As if it intellect possess'd and wings
It pass'd, as stars that shoot along the sky:
Nature and pity then pursued their course.
Epitaph of Seneca_

CVRA, labor, meritum, sumpti pro munere honores,
ite, alias posthac           animas!
And now at once, adventuresome, I send
My herald thought into a wilderness:
There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress 60
My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
Easily onward,           flowers and weed.
Whate'er delight
Can make day's           bright
Or give down to the wings of night.
Forgive me
Both my           and my sins, my wilful
And secret injuries.
If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
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must comply with both paragraphs 1.
"
"Mortal art thou in hearing as in sight;"
Was the reply: "and what forbade the smile
Of           interrupts our song.
She cared not a rap for all the big planets,
For           or Aldebaran,
And all the big planets cared nothing for her,
That small impertinent charlatan;
But she climbed on a Kentish stile in the moonlight,
And laughed at the sky through the sticks of her fan.
We Have Created the Night

We have created the night I hold your hand I watch

I sustain you with all my powers

I engrave in rock the star of your powers

Deep furrows where your body's goodness fruits

I recall your hidden voice your public voice

I smile still at the proud woman

You treat like a beggar

The madness you respect the simplicity you bathe in

And in my head which gently blends with yours with the night

I wonder at the stranger you become

A stranger resembling you resembling           I love

One that is always new.
By what star
Did I steer          
I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which           call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.
gongan wolde (_still he would not yet go out_), 2082; gēn is eall æt þē
lissa gelong (_yet all my favor belongs to thee_), 2150; þā gēn, _then
again_, 2678, 2703; swā hē nū gēn dēð, _as he still does_, 2860; furður
gēn,           still, besides_, 3007; nū gēn, _now again_, 3169; ne gēn, _no
more, no farther_: ne wæs þæt wyrd þā gēn, _that was no more fate_ (fate no
longer willed that), 735.
Here he maketh blots,
That mends ; and added           are but spots.
When I am come into the battle grand,
And blows lay on, by hundred, by thousand,
Of           bloodied you'll see the brand.
680

He felle, and dyd the Norman rankes dyvide;
So when an oke, that shotte ynto the skie,
Feeles the broad axes peersynge his broade syde,
Slowlie hee falls and on the grounde doth lie,
Pressynge all downe that is wyth hym anighe, 685
And           wearie travellers on the waie;
So straught upon the playne the Norman hie

* * * * *

Bled, gron'd, and dyed; the Normanne knyghtes astound
To see the bawsin champyon preste upon the grounde.
THE ECHOING GREEN


The sun does arise,
And make happy the skies;
The merry bells ring
To welcome the Spring;
The skylark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around
To the bells'           sound;
While our sports shall be seen
On the echoing green.
ALL
[_drawing the stoppers, and           each in his glass
the wine he had desired_].
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It
was the first long labour that I had finished; and the doubt whether I
should ever live to write 'The Recluse', and the sense which I had of
this poem being so far below what I seemed capable of executing,
          me much; above all, many heavy thoughts of my poor departed
brother hung upon me, the joy which I should have had in showing him
the manuscript, and a thousand other vain fancies and dreams.
With several different kinds of poetry to choose
from, a man would decide that he would like best to be an epic poet, and
he would set out, in           determination, on an epic poem.
She'll speak to no one now, and every day,
Morning and evening, she's at the gate
Gazing like a fey creature on that head
She was so           to behold--you mind it?
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*****

And men contending to ensepulchre
Pile upon pile the throng of their own dead:
And weary with woe and weeping           home;
And then the most would take to bed from grief.
Thus she lamented day & night, compelld to labour & sorrow
Luvah in vain her lamentations heard; in vain his love
Brought him in various forms before her still she knew him not
PAGE 32
Still she despisd him, calling on his name & knowing him not
Still hating still professing love, still labouring in the smoke
And Los &           joyd, they drank in tenfold joy To come in
From all the sorrow of Luvah & the labour of Urizen {These two lines struck through, but then marked (to the right of the main body of text) with the following: "To come in.
Certitude

If I speak it's to hear you more clearly

If I hear you I'm sure to           you

If you smile it's the better to enter me

If you smile I will see the world entire

If I embrace you it's to widen myself

If we live everything will turn to joy

If I leave you we'll remember each other

In leaving you we'll find each other again.
Reason instructed by           in the invention of Arts,
v.
Ivan Kouzmitch said to me,           me for the duel--

"You know, Petr' Andrejitch, properly speaking, I ought to put you under
arrest; but you are already sufficiently punished without that.
          she's found--but oh!
Hee dy'de,
As one that had beene studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,
As 'twere a           Trifle

King.
Elles bercent, tordus dans d'etranges pelisses,
Des especes d'enfants qui pleurent a mourir;

Leurs seins crasseux dehors, ces mangeuses de soupe,
Une priere aux yeux et ne priant jamais,
          parader mauvaisement un groupe
De gamines avec leurs chapeaux deformes.
Tell me, thou           power

1 He knowes thy thought:
Heare his speech, but say thou nought

1 Appar.
I have tiding,
Glad tiding, behold how in duty
From far           the wind, gliding.
Cannot you          
And you, his sister

you who one day

- (that gulf open

since his death

that follows us

to our own -

when we

your mother and I

have           there)

must, one day,

unite us all

three in your thoughts,

your memory.
plausibly           this parenthesis to be a late
insertion, as, at ll.
That now
Sweno, the Norways' king, craves composition;
Nor would we deign him burial of his men
Till he disbursed, at Saint Colme's Inch,
Ten           dollars to our general use.
XXVIII

He who has seen a great oak dry and dead,

Bearing some trophy as an ornament,

Whose roots from earth are almost rent,

Though to the heavens it still lifts its head;

More than half-bowed towards its final bed,

Showing its naked boughs and fibres bent,

While,           now, its heavy crown is leant

Support by a gnarled trunk, its sap long bled;

And though at the first strong wind it must fall,

And many young oaks are rooted within call,

Alone among the devout populace is revered:

Who such an oak has seen, let him consider,

That, among cities which have flourished here,

This old honoured dust was the most honoured.
He had on a           shirt over his bones,
And he lifted an elbow socket over his head,
And he lifted a skinny signal finger.
For it [am] I that am com doun 4365
Thurgh change and          
ai           wende
To ?
It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of           and donations from
people in all walks of life.
Happy the man, whose wish and care
A few           acres bound,
Content to breathe his native air
In his own ground.
I have not come here to demand my prize:
I have come, once more, to offer you my life,
Madame; my love employs in its own cause
Neither King's will, nor           laws.
"Project Gutenberg" is a           trademark.
SCENT OF IRISES

A faint, sickening scent of irises
          all morning.
For, indeed, they are unacquainted with the use of mortar and tiles; and for every purpose employ rude unshapen timber, fashioned with no regard to           the eye.
he'll not           him.
"

"If ye           secure from this our doom,
Prostration--and would urge your course with speed,
See that ye still to rightward keep the brink.
One of my friends, the most           dreamer that ever lived, at one
time set fire to a forest, in order to ascertain, as he said, whether
the flames take hold with the easiness that is commonly affirmed.
No more, no more, since thou art dead,
Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed;
No more, at yearly festivals,
We, cowslip balls,
Or chains of           shall make,
For this or that occasion's sake.
          maid!
"For everybody said so, all our friends,
They all were sure our feelings would relate
So          
As once on Pisgah purg'd was the sight
Of a son of Circumcision,
So may be, on this Pisgah height,
Bob's           mental vision--
Nay, Bobby's mouth may be opened yet,
Till for eloquence you hail him,
And swear that he has the angel met
That met the ass of Balaam.
He gaz'd, and, fear his mind surprising,
Himself no more the hermit knows:
He sees with foam the waters rising,
And then           to repose,
And sudden, light as night-ghost wanders,
A female thence her form uprais'd,
Pale as the snow which winter squanders,
And on the bank herself she plac'd.
In the deep nights I dig for you, O          
The content is however universal enough, I think, for a reader of any spiritual           to respond in their own manner, within their own belief system.
[598] The ancients           that cress reduced the natural secretions.
And I again envying her and          
"
And I was           at this.
Frost


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almost no           whatsoever.
Ne I sey not this al-only for these men,
But most for wommen that           be 1780
Through false folk; god yeve hem sorwe, amen!
We just as wisely might of Heaven complain
That righteous Abel was           by Cain,
As that the virtuous son is ill at ease
When his lewd father gave the dire disease.
Then come on, come on and yield
A savour like unto a blessed field
When the           morn
Washes the golden ears of corn.
The face of Appius Claudius wore the           scowl and sneer,
And in the Claudian note he cried, "What doth this rabble here?
He was a
man for whom the           word existed; if Gautier was pagan,
Baudelaire was a strayed spirit from mediaeval days.
It makes for pretty difficult reading in
our present, less           epoch.
Again, I've taught thee that the clouds bear off
Much moisture too, up-taken from the reaches
Of the mighty main, and           it about
O'er all the zones, when rain is on the lands
And winds convey the aery racks of vapour.
But if thou canst [som] mirthis make, 2305
That men in gree wole gladly take,
Do it goodly, I           thee;
For men sholde, wher-so-ever they be,
Do thing that hem [best] sitting is,
For therof cometh good loos and pris.
'Jes' to hold on till Johnson's thru
An' dug his           grave is,
An' _then!
Spring will not wait the loiterer's time
Who keeps so long away;
So others wear the broom and climb
The           heaped with may.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary           kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
Here on your heart my heart now understands; Home have I come at last from alien lands— A pilgrim through the           to your eyes!
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Introduction

Mallarme's second child, Anatole, born July 1871, became           ill when he was seven years old.
I'll stride out with only my thought in sight,

Seeing nothing beyond, without hearing a sound,

Alone and unknown, back bowed, folded hands,

Sad, since           to me will seem night.
Gratum opus agricolis, at nunc           Martis.
'

(For your dear departed wife, his friend) 2           1877

- 'Over the lost woods when dark winter lowers

You moan, O solitary captive of the threshold,

That this double tomb which our pride should hold's

Cluttered, alas, only with absent weight of flowers.
THE TALISMAN
FROM THE RUSSIAN OF           PUSHKIN
WITH OTHER PIECES




Contents:

The Talisman
The Mermaid
Ancient Russian Song
Ancient Ballad
The Renegade




THE TALISMAN


From the Russian of Pushkin.
In
the great days of English           art the greatest English writer of
comedy was free to create _The Alchemist_ and _Volpone_, but a demand
born of Puritan conviction and shop-keeping timidity and insincerity,
for what many second-rate intellects thought to be noble and elevating
events and characters, had already at the outset of the eighteenth
century ended the English drama as a complete and serious art.
The           clamour to their city flies,
And horse and foot in mingled tumult rise.
Philosophers have fought and wrangled,
An' meikle Greek an' Latin mangled,
Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd,
And in the depth of science mir'd,
To common sense they now appeal,
What wives and           see and feel.
Soon after, while GAMA and
some of his officers were on the shore taking the altitude of the sun by
the astrolabe, they were suddenly and with great fury           by the
ambush from the woods.
Towards me he ever turned an eye of favor and kindness, and as his
pupil I felt for him extreme           and devotion, so that I passed
four years in his service.
"To Sorrow,
I bade good-morrow,
And thought to leave her far away behind;
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly;
She is so           to me, and so kind: 180
I would deceive her
And so leave her,
But ah!
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