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I stopp'd and said, with inly-mutter'd voice,
'It doth not love the shower, nor seek the cold;
This neither is its courage nor its choice,
But its necessity in being old.

'The sunshine may not cheer it, nor the dew;
It cannot help itself in its decay;

Stiff in its members, wither'd, changed of hue,'-
And, in my spleen, I smiled that it was gray.
To be a prodigal's favourite-then, worse truth,
A miser's pensioner-behold our lot!

O Man! that from thy fair and shining youth
Age might but take the things Youth needed not!
W. Wordswort

CCLXVIII

PAST AND PRESENT

I remember, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn;
He never came a wink too soon
Nor brought too long a day;
But now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away.
I remember, I remember
The roses, red and white,
The violets, and the lily-cups-
Those flowers made of light!
The lilacs where the robin built,
And where my brother set

The laburnum on his birth-day,-
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow.

I remember, I remember
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,

But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm farther off from Heaven

Than when I was a boy.

CCLXIX

T. Hood

THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS

Oft in the stilly night

Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Fond Memory brings the light

Of other days around me:
The smiles, the tears
Of boyhood's years,

The words of love then spoken;

The eyes that shone,

Now dimm'd and gone,

The cheerful hearts now broken!

Tnus in the stilly night

Ere slumber's chain has bound me, Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

When I remember all

The friends so link'd together

I've seen around me fall

Like leaves in wintry weather,

I feel like one

Who treads alone
Some banquet-hall deserted,
Whose lights are fled

Whose garlands dead,

And all but he departed!

Thus in the stilly night

Ere slumber's chain has bound me,

Sad Memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

T. Moore

CCLXX

STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION
NEAR NAPLES

The sun is warm, the sky is clear,
The waves are dancing fast and bright,
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
The purple noon's transparent might:
The breath of the moist earth is light
Around its unexpanded buds

Like many a voice of one delight—

The winds', the birds', the ccean-floods'-
The city's voice itself is soft like Solitude's.
I see the deep's untrampled floor

With green and purple sea-weeds strown;
I see the waves upon the shore

Like light dissolved in star-showers thrown:
I sit upon the sands alone;

The lightning of the noon-tide ocean

Is flashing round me, and a tone

Arises from its measured motion

How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion

Alas! I have nor hope nor health,

Nor peace within nor calm around,
Nor that content, surpassing wealth,
The sage in meditation found,

And walk'd with inward glory crown'd-
Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure;
Others I see whom these surround-
Smiling they live, and call life pleasure;

To me that cup has been dealt in another measure.
Yet now despair itself is mild

Even as the winds and waters are ;
I could lie down like a tired child,
And weep away the life of care

Which I have borne, and yet must bear,—
Till death like sleep might steal on me,
And I might feel in the warm air

My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea
Breathe o'er my dying brain its last monotony.
P. B. Shelley

CCLXXI

THE SCHOLAR

My days among the Dead are past;
Around me I behold,

Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old :

My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.

With them I take delight in weal
And seek relief in woe:

And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,

My cheeks have often been bedew'd

With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

My thoughts are with the Dead; with them
I live in long-past years,

Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears,

And from their lessons seek and find
Instruction with an humble mind.

My hopes are with the Dead ; anon
My place with them will be,
And I with them shall travel on
Through all Futurity;

Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.

CCLXXII

R. Southey

THE MERMAID TAVERN

Souls of Poets dead and gone,
What Elysium have ye known,
Happy field or mossy cavern,
Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
Have ye tippled drink more fine
Than mine host's Canary wine?

S

Or are fruits of Paradise
Sweeter than those dainty pies
Of venison? O generous food!
Drest as though bold Robin Hood
Would, with his Maid Marian,
Sup and bowse from horn and can.

I have heard that on a day
Mine host's sign-board flew away
Nobody knew whither, till
An astrologer's old quill

To a sheepskin gave the story,
Said he saw you in your glory,
Underneath a new-old sign
Sipping beverage divine,

And pledging with contented smack
The Mermaid in the Zodiac.

Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known,

Happy field or mossy cavern,

Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?

J. Keats

CCLXXIII

THE PRIDE OF YOUTH

Proud Maisie is in the wood,
Walking so early;

Sweet Robin sits on the bush,
Singing so rarely.

"Tell me, thou bonny bird,

When shall I marry me?' -'When six braw gentlemen Kirkward shall carry ye.'

'Who makes the bridal bed,
Birdie say truly?'

The gray-headed sexton
That delves the grave duly.

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