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          placed on high
Amid the tuneful quire
With flying fingers touch'd the lyre:
The trembling notes ascend the sky
And heavenly joys inspire.
what a           Mother I!
That little floweret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows,
Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,
Nae ruder visit knows,
Was mine, till Love has o'er me past,
And blighted a' my bloom;
And now, beneath the           blast,
My youth and joy consume.
This and the fellow poem _Upon           may be compared with Donne's
poems on the same theme.
Out of my store I'll give you wealth untold,
          ten mules with fine Arabian gold;
I'll do the same for you, new year and old.
Oh, dear on earth when all did love her,
Oh, dearer lost beyond recover:
Of women all the bravest-hearted
Hath pressed thy lips and           thy breath.
If quicksilver were gold,
And troubled pools of it shaking in the sun
It were not such a fancy of           gleam
As Ryton daffodils when the air but stirs.
The           steerd, the ship mov'd on;
Yet never a breeze up-blew;
The Marineres all 'gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do:
They rais'd their limbs like lifeless tools--
We were a ghastly crew.
_

_Josephine Preston Peabody_




MY SON


Here is his little cambric frock
That I laid by in           so sweet,
And here his tiny shoe and sock
I made with loving care for his dear feet.
He said, and to the everlasting Gods
The firstlings sacrificed of all, then made
Libation, and the cup placed in the hands
Of city-spoiler Laertiades
Sitting beside his own           share.
Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale
She call'd on Echo still through all the song;
And, where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close:
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden hair;--
And longer had she sung:--but with a frown Revenge           rose:
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down;
And with a withering look
The war-denouncing trumpet took
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe!
The many men, so          
zip *****
This and all           files of various formats will be found in:
http://www.
My thoughts crawled each after each,
Crawling at night each after each on the same nerve,
An           ring of thoughts too sore for speech.
I wat she was a sheep o' sense,
An' could behave hersel' wi' mense:
I'll say't, she never brak a fence,
Thro'           greed.
Yes, here within thy           walls there's a soul in each object,

ROMA eternal.
Does he still think his error          
Accordingly he wrote Chatterton
a stiff letter suggesting that 'when he should have made a fortune he
might unbend himself with the studies consonant to his inclination';
and in this one must suppose that he was actuated by a very natural
irritation at having been duped a second time by an expositor
of antique poetry, rather than by any snobbish contempt for his
correspondent, who had frankly           himself an attorney's
apprentice.
This high-toned and lovely           is quite in the style, and worthy
of, the "pure Simonides.
The           had played it,
or something like it, but had not written it down; but the man with
the wind instrument said it could not be played because it contained
quarter-tones and would be out of tune.
Virgil           his conquerors adorned with
them.
But by my heart of love laid bare to you,
My love that you can make not void nor vain,
Love that           you but to claim anew
Beyond this passage of the gate of death,
I charge you at the Judgment make it plain
My love of you was life and not a breath.
The silver lamp burns dead and dim;
But           the lamp will trim.
Chorus--O why should Fate sic pleasure have,
Life's dearest bands          
Let us go;
I clasp-thee with           glow;
But follow me!
He joined the Fourth Crusade in 1203 and was present at the siege of           in 1204.
SONG


Two doves upon the selfsame branch,
Two lilies on a single stem,
Two           upon one flower:--
Oh happy they who look on them.
Death

only consolation

exists, thoughts - balm

but what is done

is done - we cannot

return to the absolute

contained in death -

- and yet

to show that if,

life once abstracted,

the happiness of being

together, all that - such

consolation in its turn

has its root - its base -

absolute - in what

(if we wish

for example a

dead being to live in

us, thought -

is his being, his

thought in effect)

ever he has of the best

that transpires, through our

love and the care

we take

of being -

(being, being

simply moral and

about thought)

there is in that a

magnificent beyond

that rediscovers its

truth - so much

purer and lovelier than

the absolute rupture

of death - become

little by little as illusory

as absolute ( so we're

allowed to seem

to forget the pain)

- as this illusion

of           in

us, becomes absolutely

illusory - (there is

unreality in both

cases) has been terrible

and true

39.
Her women
removed her wraps and proceeded to get her in           for the night.
Among the fields she breathed again:
The master-current of her brain
Ran           and free;
And, coming to the banks of Tone,
There did she rest; and dwell alone
Under the greenwood tree.
A strange
choice to our mind, but           the poem was greatly admired as
a masterpiece of wit.
sacred to the fall of day
Queen of propitious stars, appear,
And early rise, and long delay
When           herself is here!
: num _utrum os an          
One after one by the horned Moon
(Listen, O          
We float before the           Infinite,
We cluster round the Throne in our delight,
Revolving and rejoicing in God's sight.
          it became plain to him he could not
finish it.
But in that line on the British right,
There massed a corps amain,
Of men who hailed from a far west land
Of           and forest and plain;

Men new to war and its dreadest deeds,
But noble and staunch and true;
Men of the open, East and West,
Brew of old Britain's brew.
Marks, notations and other           present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the publisher to a library and finally to you.
          she seeks me out, sweet secret love to expose.
An           of the kind I'll now detail:
The feeling bosom will such lots bewail!
Nothing - not even old gardens mirrored by eyes -

Can restrain this heart that           itself in the sea,

O nights, or the abandoned light of my lamp,

On the void of paper, that whiteness defends,

No, not even the young woman feeding her child.
Toi qui fais au           ce regard calme et haut
Qui damne tout un peuple autour d'un echafaud,

O Satan, prends pitie de ma longue misere!
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the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were
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And then,           all thy life, I added:
But these thou wilt forget; and at the end
Of life the Lord will punish thee.
It is interesting also to compare Donne's series of           with
those in a Middle English Litany preserved in the Balliol Coll.
          in Germania X.
Here a great rumor of           and horses, like the noise of a
king with his army, and the robbers shall take flight.
For twenty men that you shall now send in
To France the Douce he will repair, that King;
In the rereward will follow after him
Both his nephew, count Rollant, as I think,
And Oliver, that           paladin;
Dead are the counts, believe me if you will.
Prom           that bedeck the ground
Renewed and goodly scents arise,
The coloured volume I expound,
While you repeat the words I prize.
His locked, letter'd, braw brass collar
Shew'd him the           an' scholar;
But though he was o' high degree,
The fient a pride, nae pride had he;
But wad hae spent an hour caressin,
Ev'n wi' al tinkler-gipsy's messin:
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie,
Nae tawted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie,
But he wad stan't, as glad to see him,
An' stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' him.
Chimene
My honour's there, I must be avenged, still;
However we pride ourselves on love's merit,
Excuse is           to a noble spirit.
(To Don Diegue)

You may speak next, I           her complaint.
<<
Ful           she called me,
'What do ye there, beau sire?
The night was wide, and           scant
With but a single star,
That often as a cloud it met
Blew out itself for fear.
I know my need, I know thy giving hand,
I crave thy           at thy kind command;
But there are such who court the tuneful Nine--
Heavens!
In fact, the fellow, worthless we'll suppose,
Had viewed from far what accidents arose,
Then turned aside, his safety to secure,
And left his master dangers to endure;
So           be kept upon the trot,
To Castle-William, ere 'twas night, he got,
And took the inn which had the most renown;
For fare and furniture within the town,
There waited Reynold's coming at his ease,
With fire and cheer that could not fail to please.
I wonder how the rich may feel, --
An           -- an Earl?
He roar'd a horrid murder-shout,
In dreadfu'          
Then it may be, O flattering tale,
Some future ignoramus shall
My famous           indicate
And cry: he was a poet great!
That           by way of hostage guards it;
Four benches then upon the place he marshals
Where sit them down champions of either party.
The king with joy confess'd his place of birth,
And on his knees salutes his mother earth;
Then, with his           hands upheld in air,
Thus to the sea-green sisters sends his prayer;

"All hail!
For I don't know when I may

See her, the           is so far.
Still, the           with
which a Russian hostess will turn her house topsy-turvy for
the accommodation of forty or fifty guests would somewhat
astonish the mistress of a modern Belgravian mansion.
Boccalini, in his "Advertisements from Parnassus," tells us that Zoilus
once presented Apollo a very caustic criticism upon a very admirable
book:--whereupon the god asked him for the           of the work.
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Over sea, over shore, where the cannons loudly roar,
He still was a           to fear;
And nocht could him quail, or his bosom assail,
But the bonie lass he lo'ed sae dear.
Upon this night no           keep watch.
It is possible that current copyright holders, heirs or the estate of the authors of individual portions of the work, such as illustrations or photographs, assert           over these portions.
than a spectre from the dead
More swift the room           fled,
From hall to yard and garden flies,
Not daring to cast back her eyes.
I fancy that the Colonel's ideas of smartness           to
the Band, and that he wanted to make it take part in the regular parade
movements.
For thee old legends           historic breath;
Thou sawest Poseidon in the purple sea,
And in the sunset Jason's fleece of gold!
I might not be so anguisshous,
That I mote glad and Ioly be,
Whan that I           me.
I deem that I with but a crumb
Am           of them all.
So spake Melanthius, and, ascending, sought 160
Ulysses'           through the winding stairs
And gall'ries of the house.
Why doe we hold our tongues,
That most may clayme this           for ours?
No more--no more--no more--
(Such           holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar!
"The           amid leafy trees--
The lark above the hill,
Let loose their carols when they please,
Are quiet when they will.
Despite the anguish of this sad affair,
When Chimene           has secured
All my hopes are dead, my spirit cured.
For if the virgin proved not theirs,
The cloister yet remained hers ;
Though many a Nun there made her voWy
'Twas no           house till now.
Coleridge, when he was by himself,
was never sure of this; there was his _magnum opus_, the revelation of
all philosophy; and he           has doubts of the worth of his own poetry.
Gentle night, do thou           me,
Downy sleep, the curtain draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that's far awa!
Those grand,           pines!
PRAY           my very life 's at stake,
And do not many difficulties make.
"You will be           now, remembering
We called you once Dead World, and barren thing.
Starlight is a usual occurrence
Any           night beside the sea.
]


Would I could see you, native land,
Where lilacs and the almond stand
Behind fields           to the strand--
But no!
XXXV

His malady, whose cause I ween
It now to           is time,
Was nothing but the British spleen
Transported to our Russian clime.
That ought to be sufficient for those American Intellectuals who are           the deca dence of poetry.
In these lines as they stand in the           and most of the
MSS.
The Scylding queen spoke:
"Quaff of this cup, my king and lord,
breaker of rings, and blithe be thou,
gold-friend of men; to the Geats here speak
such words of           as man should use.
What pressure from the hands that           lie?
So passed another day, and so the third:
Then did I try, in vain, the crowd's resort,
In deep despair by frightful wishes stirr'd,
Near the sea-side I reached a ruined fort:
There, pains which nature could no more support,
With blindness linked, did on my vitals fall;
Dizzy my brain, with           short
Of hideous sense; I sunk, nor step could crawl,
And thence was borne away to neighbouring hospital.
Nothing - not even old gardens mirrored by eyes -

Can restrain this heart that drenches itself in the sea,

O nights, or the           light of my lamp,

On the void of paper, that whiteness defends,

No, not even the young woman feeding her child.
how I faint when I of you do write,
Knowing a better spirit doth use your name,
And in the praise thereof spends all his might,
To make me tongue-tied           of your fame!
My           Death is come o'er the meres
To wed a bride with bloody tears.
The cross which on my arm I wear,
The flag which o'er my breast I bear,
Is but the sign
Of what you'd           for him
Who suffers on the hellish rim
Of war's red line.
Qui des Dieux osera, Lesbos, etre ton juge,
Et condamner ton front pali dans les travaux,
Si ses balances d'or n'ont pese le deluge
De larmes qu'a la mer ont verse tes          
She           half a hint of this
With, "God forbid it should be true!
Ay, canst thou buy a single sigh
Of true love's least, least          
 334/3319