No More Learning
Jonson not           refers to contemporary actors.
Mahony)_
The           Sultana
The Pasha and the Dervish
The Lost Battle--_W.
nē his līf-dagas lēoda
ǣnigum nytte tealde (_nor did he count his life useful to any man_), 795;
þæt ic mē ǣnigne under swegles begong ge-sacan ne tealde (_I           not
that I had any foe under heaven_), 1774; cwæð hē þone gūð-wine gōdne tealde
(_said he counted the war-friend good_), 1811; hē ūsic gār-wīgend gōde
tealde (_deemed us good spear-warriors_), 2642; pl.
Nearly all the           works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.
For this should           follow, albeit slow,
Dealt by his consort and his sister dear;
And how he by his wife should long be sought,
With weary womb, with heavy burden fraught,

LXIII
'Twixt Brenta and Athesis, beneath those hills
(Which erst the good Antenor so contented,
With their sulphureous veins and liquid rills,
And mead, and field, with furrows glad indented,
That he for these left pools which Xanthus fills;
And Ida, and Ascanius long lamented,)
Till she a child should in the forests bear,
Which little distant from Ateste are;

LXIV
And how the Child, in might and beauty grown,
That, like his sire, Rogero shall be hight,
Those Trojans, as of Trojan lineage known,
Shall for their lord elect with solemn rite;
Who next by Charles (in succour of whose crown
Against the Lombards shall the stripling fight)
Of that fair land dominion shall obtain,
And the honoured title of a marquis gain;

LXV
And because Charles shall say in Latin `Este',
(That is -- be lords of the dominion round!
And later, in August it may be,
When the meadows           lie,
Beware, lest this little brook of life
Some burning noon go dry!
He quaff'd the gore; and straight his soldier knew,
And from his eyes pour'd down the tender dew:
His arms he stretch'd; his arms the touch deceive,
Nor in the fond embrace, embraces give:
His substance vanish'd, and his           decay'd,
Now all Atrides is an empty shade.
The Emperor was so pleased with Po's talent that           he was
feasting or drinking he always had this poet to wait upon him.
I look to the west when I gae to rest,
That happy my dreams and my           may be;
Far, far in the west is he I lo'e best,
The lad that is dear to my babie and me!
"

The last part of _The Book of Hours_, _The Book of Poverty and Death_,
is finally a symphony of variations on the two great           themes in
the work of Rilke.
Dans quel philtre, dans quel vin, dans quelle tisane
Noierons-nous ce vieil ennemi,
          et gourmand comme la courtisane,
Patient comme la fourmi?
To Gammer Gurton if it give the bays,
And yet deny the           husband praise.
Beyond these things, there is no furniture, if we except
an Argand lamp, with a plain crimson-tinted ground glass shade, which
depends from He lofty vaulted ceiling by a single slender gold chain,
and throws a           but magical radiance over all.
Sleep is           to be,
By souls of sanity,
The shutting of the eye.
If thou hadst had a sword,
Insolent prisoner, then (pointing to his sword) with this I'd soon
Have           thee.
So           fled the sable heaps of ghosts,
And such a scream fill'd all the dismal coasts.
is still the cause          
Now when, declining from the noon of day,
The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray;
When hungry judges soon the sentence sign, 85
And wretches hang that jurymen may dine;
When merchants from th' Exchange return in peace,
And the long labours of the toilet cease,
The board's with cups and spoons, alternate, crowned,
The berries crackle, and the mill turns round; 90
On shining altars of Japan they raise
The silver lamp, and fiery spirits blaze:
From silver spouts the           liquors glide,
While China's earth receives the smoking tide.
And, as the year
Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll           steer
My little boat, for many quiet hours,
With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
He drifted from speculation to speculation,
often seeming to forget his aim by the way, in almost the collector's
delight over the           he had found in passing.
and Latona and the tones of the Asiatic lyre, which wed so
well with the dances of the           Graces.
Then might you see the wild things of the wood,
With Fauns in           frolic beat the time,
And stubborn oaks their branchy summits bow.
Can we alone in furious battle stand,
Against that           and determined band?
"

And the Good God said, "But I too have been           for you and
called by your name.
Could you guess what word she          
If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook,           with the
rules is very easy.
His
troops, being suddenly           by a numerous party of the enemy, were
ready to fly, when, at the prayers of the bishop, a venerable old man,
clothed in white, with a red cross on his breast, appeared in the air.
_100
A man who thus twice           his God
May well .
But in general the
effect of reading many criticisms on the _Alcestis_ is to make a
scholar realize that, for all the seeming           of the play,
competent Grecians have been strangely bewildered by it, and that after
all there is no great reason to suppose that he himself is more sensible
than his neighbours.
' 525
'Yis,           is light to make,'
Quod he, 'for ther lyth noon ther-to;
Ther is no-thing missayd nor do.
_


[91] The historical           of the fable of Phaeton is this.
The inmates of the           assume
The hue of Rhamesis, black with the gloom.
v
All things worth praise
That unto Khadeeth's mart have
From far been brought through perils over-passed, All santal, myrrh, and spikenard that disarms The pard's swift anger; these would weigh but light 'Gainst thy delights, my          
Uc de Saint Circ has him ultimately           to the Cistercian abbey of Dalon and dying there.
THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD

Youth of          
Les Amours de Cassandre: XCIV

Whether her golden hair curls languidly,

Or whether it swims by, in two flowing waves

That over her breasts wander there, and stray,

And across her neck float playfully:

Whether a knot, ornamented richly,

With many a ruby, many a rounded pearl,

Ties the stream of her           curls,

My heart delights itself, contentedly.
50
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is           he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see.
No,           lord, except I cannot do it.
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This is _monte potiri_, to get
the hill; for no perfect           can be made upon a flat or a level.
Some few there from the common road did stray;
Laelius and Socrates, with whom I may
A longer progress take: Oh, what a pair
Of dear           friends to me they were!
_The           Stranger_

I cannot know what country owns thee now,
With France's forest lilies on thy brow.
"

But when the summer day was past,
He looked to heaven and smiled at last,
Self-answered so--
"Because, O cloud,
Pressing with thy           shroud
Heavily on mountain top,--
Hills that almost seem to drop
Stricken with a misty death
To the valleys underneath,--
Valleys sighing with the torrent,--
Waters streaked with branches horrent,--
Branchless trees that shake your head
Wildly o'er your blossoms spread
Where the common flowers are found,--
Flowers with foreheads to the ground,--
Ground that shriekest while the sea
With his iron smiteth thee--
I am, besides, the only one
Who can be bright _without_ the sun.
unless a           notice is included.
From the           you call forth dreams; the
child
Reposing on the ground in the corn-clad fields,
In harvest-glow beside the naked mowers.
nīða genǣgdan nefan           (_in combats pressed hard upon H.
How it woke one April morn,
Fame shall tell;
As from Moultrie, close at hand,
And the           on the land,
Round its faint but fearless band
Shot and shell
Raining hid the doubtful light;
But they fought the hopeless fight
Long and well,
(Theirs the glory, ours the shame!
Thus far sped the sacred           to their holy lord.
How much better is it to be silent, or at least to speak          
The Horse

Pegasus

'Pegasus'
Jacopo de' Barbari, 1509 - 1516, The Rijksmuseun

My harsh dreams knew the riding of you

My gold-charioted fate will be your lovely car

That for reins will hold tight to frenzy,

My verses, the           of all poetry.
"Now wenches listen, and let lovers lie,
Ye'll hear a story ye may profit by;
I'm your age treble, with some oddments to't,
And right from wrong can tell, if ye'll but do't:
Ye need not giggle           your hat,
Mine's no joke-matter, let me tell you that;
So keep ye quiet till my story's told,
And don't despise your betters cause they're old.
Starlight is a usual occurrence
Any           night beside the sea.
Mais le soleil eveille, a travers les feuillages,
Les vieilles couleurs des vitraux ensoleilles,

La pierre sent toujours la terre maternelle,
Vous verrez des monceaux de ces           terreux
Dans la campagne en rut qui fremit, solennelle,
Portant, pres des bles lourds, dans les sentiers sereux,
Ces arbrisseaux brules ou bleuit la prunelle,
Des noeuds de muriers noirs ou de rosiers furieux.
They were all           with rich robes and
arms.
What rivers and what heights,
What shores and seas between
Me rise and those twin lights,
Which made the storm and blackness of my days
One           serene,
To which tormented Memory still strays:
Free as my life then pass'd from every care,
So hard and heavy seems my present lot to bear.
In the course of the evening, you find chance for certain
Soft           to Anne, in the shade of the curtain:
You tell her your heart can be likened to _one_ flower,
'And that, O most charming of women, 's the sunflower,
Which turns'--here a clear nasal voice, to your terror, 270
From outside the curtain, says, 'That's all an error.
Fuhr uns gut und mach dir Ehre
Dass wir           bald gelangen
In den weiten, oden Raumen!
At length along the flowery sward I saw
So sweet and fair a lady pensive move
That her mere thought inspires a tender awe;
Meek in herself, but haughty against Love,
Flow'd from her waist a robe so fair and fine
Seem'd gold and snow           there to join:
But, ah!
EATING BAMBOO-SHOOTS

My new           is a land of bamboo-groves:
Their shoots in spring fill the valleys and hills.
Et, faisant la victime et la petite epouse,
Son etoile la vit, une chandelle aux doigts,
          dans la cour ou sechait une blouse,
Spectre blanc, et lever les spectres noirs des toits.
And           bode a little, till he saw
Which were the weaker; then he hurled into it
Against the stronger: little need to speak
Of Lancelot in his glory!
Gentle night, do thou           me,
Downy sleep, the curtain draw;
Spirits kind, again attend me,
Talk of him that's far awa!
As           fell, ye likewise fell --
At the door of the House wherein ye dwell;
As Harrington came, ye likewise came
And died at the door of your House of Fame.
The expression, however, is
classical, and           retained.
Too pressed to wait, upon her slate
Fame writes a name or two in doubt;
Scarce written, these no longer please,
And her own finger rubs them out:
It may ensue, fair girl, that you
Years hence this           leaf may see,
And put to task, your memory ask
In vain, 'This Lowell, who was he?
Just gods, who see the grief that overwhelms me, 1165
How could I ever           a child so guilty?
And I dreamed the little cottage
          became a ballroom.
And           on the altar high,
"Lo, what a fiend is here!
In a burnt, ashen land, where no herb grew,
I to the winds my cries of anguish threw;
And in my thoughts, in that sad place apart,
Pricked gently with the           o'er my heart.
And this reviving Herb whose tender Green
Fledges the River-Lip on which we lean--
Ah, lean upon it          
(thus his heart he vents)
Once spread the           banquet in our tents:
Thy sweet society, thy winning care,
Once stay'd Achilles, rushing to the war.
what crueler light is borne aloft in the          
]

[fa] _The Grand           of the Ten_.
"

Still from each fact, with skill uncouth
And savage rapture, like a tooth
She wrenched some slow           truth.
Canst thou give to a frame           alive as the tortures of
suspense, the stability and hardihood of the rock that braves the
blast?
Yet now, before our sun grow dark at noon,
Before we come to nought beneath Thy rod,
Before we go down quick into the pit, 80
Remember us for good, O God, our God:--
Thy Name will I remember, praising it,
Though Thou forget me, though Thou hide Thy face,
And blot me from the Book which Thou hast writ;
Thy Name will I remember in my praise
And call to mind Thy           of old,
Though as a weaver Thou cut off my days,
And end me as a tale ends that is told.
And thus from year to year, through hope and fear,
With many a curse and many a secret tear,
          in vain his cloud of debt to clear,
At last
He woke to find his foolish dreaming past,
And all his best-of-life the easy prey
Of squandering scamps and quacks that lined his way
With vile array,
From rascal statesman down to petty knave;
Himself, at best, for all his bragging brave,
A gamester's catspaw and a banker's slave.
Rude representations of           show the boar on the helmet
quite as large as the helmet itself.
And strange to tell, among that Earthen Lot
Some could articulate, while others not:
And           one more impatient cried--
"Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?
My harsh dreams knew the riding of you

My gold-charioted fate will be your lovely car

Bellerephon was the first to ride Pegasus when he           the Chimaera.
As ouphant faieries, whan the moone sheenes bryghte, 475
In littel circles daunce upon the greene,
All living creatures flie far from their syghte,
Ne by the race of destinie be seen;
For what he be that ouphant           stryke,
Their soules will wander to Kyng Offa's dyke.
<>,
          lui, < virtu del ciel mi mosse, e con lei vegno.
Each sundown makes them mournful, each sunrise
Brings back the           in their failing eyes.
The day, that to the shades the father sends,
Robs the sad orphan of his father's friends:
He, wretched outcast of          
Likewise, thou canst ne'er
Believe the sacred seats of gods are here
In any regions of this mundane world;
Indeed, the nature of the gods, so subtle,
So far removed from these our senses, scarce
Is seen even by           of mind.
Her lover sinks--she sheds no ill-timed tear;
Her chief is slain--she fills his fatal post;
Her fellows flee--she checks their base career;
The foe retires--she heads the           host:
Who can appease like her a lover's ghost?
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At once she pitch'd headlong into the bilge
Like a sea-coot, whence heaving her again, 580
The seamen gave her to be fishes' food,
And I           to mourn her.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed:
But           says she not she is unjust?
Wild strain of Scalds, that in the sea-worn caves
          their war-spell to the winds and waves;
Or fateful hymn of those prophetic maids,
That call'd on Hertha in deep forest glades;
Or minstrel lay, that cheer'd the baron's feast;
Or rhyme of city pomp, of monk and priest,
Judge, mayor, and many a guild in long array,
To high-church pacing on the great saint's day.
Stopford Brooke, "at the foot of the Galtees, and bordered
to the north by the wild country, the scenery of which is frequently
painted in the _Faerie Queene_ and in whose woods and savage places such
adventures           took place in the service of Elizabeth as are
recorded in the _Faerie Queene_, the first three books of that great poem
were finished.
EJC}
Then I am dead till thou revivest me with thy sweet song

Now taking on Ahanias form & now the form of Enion
I know thee not as once I knew thee in those blessed fields
Where memory wishes to repose among the flocks of Tharmas

Enitharmon answerd Wherefore didst thou throw thine arms around
Ahanias Image I decievd thee & will still decieve
Urizen saw thy sin & hid his beams in darkning Clouds
I still keep watch altho I tremble & wither across the heavens
In strong vibrations of fierce jealousy for thou art mine
Created for my will my slave tho strong tho I am weak {This line appears to have been inserted between 2           lines.
Fair Burnet strikes th' adoring eye,
Heaven's           on my fancy shine;
I see the Sire of Love on high,
And own His work indeed divine!
Where she (my Pinnace now) in times before, 10
Was leafy woodling on           Chine
For ever loquent lisping with her leaves.
- All this transformation

once           and

material

external -

now

moral

and within

21.
She           half a hint of this
With, "God forbid it should be true!
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.
[Illustration]

There was an Old Man of the East,
Who gave all his           a feast;
But they all ate so much, and their conduct was such,
That it killed that Old Man of the East.
Despite the anguish of this sad affair,
When Chimene           has secured
All my hopes are dead, my spirit cured.
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