Where the remote Bermudas ride
In the ocean’s bosom unespied,
From a small boat that rowed along
The listening winds received this song:
“What should we do but sing His praise
That led us through the watery maze
Where he the huge sea monsters wracks,
That lift the deep upon their backs,
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And...
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From “Comus”
THE LADY.—This way the noise was, if mine ear be true,
My best guide now; methought it was the sound
Of riot and ill-managed merriment,
Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe
Stirs up amongst the loose, unlettered hinds,
When for their teeming flocks and granges full
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan,
... -
From “Comus”
SPIRIT.—There is a gentle nymph not far from hence
That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream.
Sabrina is her name, a virgin pure;
Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine,
That had the sceptre from his father Brute.
She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit
Of her enragèd stepdame Guendolen,
Commended her... -
From the “Inner Temple Masque”
STEER hither, steer your wingèd pines,
All beaten mariners:
Here lie undiscovered mines,
A prey to passengers;
Perfumes far sweeter than the best
That make the phœnix urn and nest:
Fear not your ships,
Nor any to oppose you save our lips;
But come on shore,
... -
Ever eating, never cloying,
All-devouring, all-destroying,
Never finding full repast
Till I eat the world at last. -
From the German by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
[Greek]
(“The mills of the gods grind late, but they grind fine.”)
—Greek Poet.THOUGH the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small;
Though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds he all. -
I Made a posie, while the day ran by:
“Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie
My life within this band.”
But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they
By noon most cunningly did steal away,
And withered in my hand.My hand was next to them, and then my heart;
I took, without more thinking, in good part... -
Hence, loathed Melancholy,
Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,
In Stygian cave forlorn,
’Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy!
Find out some uncouth cell,
Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings,
And the night-raven sings;
There under ebon shades, and low-browed rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,... -
Hence, vain deluding joys,
The brood of Folly without father bred!
How little you bestead,
Or fill the fixèd mind with all your toys!
Dwell in some idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the sunbeams,—
Or likest hovering dreams,
The tickle... -
From “Verses upon His Divine Poesy”
THE SEAS are quiet when the winds give o’er;
So calm are we when passions are no more.
For then we know how vain it was to boast
Of fleeting things, too certain to be lost.
Clouds of affection from our younger eyes
Conceal that emptiness which age descries.The soul’s dark cottage, battered and decayed...