Inscribed to R. Aiken, Esq.
“Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short but simple annals of the poor.”
—GRAY.
MY loved, my honored, much-respected...
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To Julia
HER eyes the glow-worme lend thee,
The shooting-starres attend thee,
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
No Will-o’-th’-wispe mislight thee,
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite...
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Slowly England’s sun was setting o’er the hilltops far away,
Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day,
And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair,—
He with footsteps slow and weary, she with sunny floating hair;
He with...
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From the Swedish by Théophile Julius Henry Marzials
LAST night the nightingale waked me,
Last night when all was still;
It sang in the golden moonlight
From out the woodland hill.
I opened the window gently,
And all was dreamy dew—
...
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The Gray sea, and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startling little waves, that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed in the slushy sand.
Then a...
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IF I should die to-night,
My friends would look upon my quiet face
Before they laid it in its resting-place,
And deem that death had left it almost fair;
And, laying snow-white flowers against my hair,
Would smooth it down with tearful...
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From the Greek by George Chapman
From “The Iliad,” Book VIII.
THE WINDS transferred into the friendly sky
Their supper’s savor; to the which they sat delightfully,
And spent all night in open field; fires round about them shined.
As when about the silver...
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Swiftly walk over the western wave,
Spirit of Night!
Out of the misty eastern cave,
Where, all the long and lone daylight,
Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
Which make thee terrible and dear,—
Swift be thy flight!
Wrap...
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Mysterious Night! when our first parent knew
Thee, from report divine, I heard thy name,
Did he not tremble for this lovely frame,—
This glorious canopy of light and blue?
Yet ’neath a curtain of translucent dew,
Bathed in the rays of the great setting...
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From “Childe Harold,” Canto II.
’T IS night, when Meditation bids us feel
We once have loved, though love is at an end:
The heart, lone mourner of its baffled zeal,
Though friendless now, will dream it had a friend.
Who with the weight of years...
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