Poems
Thy buskined feet appear upon our hills.
Song
WRITTEN AT FOURTEEN
How sweet I roamed from field to field,
And tasted all the summer’s pride,
Till I the Prince of Love beheld
Who in the sunny beams did glide.
He showed me lilies for my hair,
And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his gardens fair
Where all his golden pleasures grow.
With sweet May-dews my wings were wet,
And Phœbus fired my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,
And shut me in his golden cage.
He loves to sit and hear me sing,
Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing,
And mocks my loss of liberty.
Song
Love and harmony combine,
And around our souls entwine,
While thy branches mix with mine,
And our roots together join.
Joys upon our branches sit,
Chirping loud and singing sweet;
Like gentle streams beneath our feet,
Innocence and virtue meet.
Thou the golden fruit dost bear,
I am clad in flowers fair;
Thy sweet boughs perfume the air,
And the turtle buildeth there.
There she sits and feeds her young;
Sweet I hear her mournful song;
And thy lovely leaves among
There is Love; I hear his tongue.
There his charming nest doth lay,
There he sleeps the night away;
There he sports along the day,
And doth among our branches play.
Song
Memory, hither come,
And tune your merry notes:
And, while upon the wind
Your music floats,
I’ll pore upon the stream
Where sighing lovers dream,
And fish for fancies as they pass
Within the watery glass.
I’ll drink of the clear stream,
And hear the linnet’s song,
And there I’ll lie and dream
The day along:
And, when night comes, I’ll go
To places fit for woe,
Walking along the darkened valley
With silent Melancholy.
Mad Song
The wild winds weep,
And the night is a-cold;
Come hither, Sleep,
And my griefs enfold!...
But lo! the morning peeps
Over the eastern steeps,
And the rustling birds of dawn
The earth do scorn.
Lo! to the vault
Of paved heaven,
With sorrow fraught,
My notes are driven;
They strike the ear of Night,
Make weep the eyes of Day;
They make mad the roaring winds,
And with tempests play.
Like a fiend in a cloud,
With howling woe
After night I do crowd
And with night will go;
I turn my back to the east,
From whence comforts have increased;
For light doth seize my brain
With frantic pain.
Song
Fresh from the dewy hill, the merry Year
Smiles on my head, and mounts his flaming car:
Round my young brows the laurel wreathes a shade,
And rising glories beam around my head.
My feet are winged, while o’er the dewy lawn
I meet my maiden risen like the morn.
O bless those holy feet, like angel’s feet;
O bless those limbs, beaming with heavenly light!
Like as an angel glittering in the sky
In times of innocence and holy joy;
The joyful shepherd stops his grateful song
To hear the music of an angel’s tongue.
So, when she speaks, the voice of Heaven I hear;
So, when we walk, nothing impure comes near;
Each field seems Eden, and each calm retreat;
Each village seems the haunt of holy feet.
But that sweet village where my black-eyed maid
Closes her eyes in sleep beneath night’s shade
Whene’er I enter, more than mortal fire
Burns in my soul, and does my song inspire.
To the Muses
Whether on Ida’s shady brow,
Or in the chambers of the East,
The chambers of the Sun, that now
From ancient melody have ceased;
Whether in heaven ye wander fair,
Or the green corners of the earth,
Or the blue regions of the air
Where the melodious winds have birth;
Whether on crystal rocks ye rove,
Beneath the bosom of the sea,
Wandering in many a coral grove;
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry;
How have you left the ancient love
That bards of old enjoyed in you!
The languid strings do scarcely move,
The sound is forced, the notes are few!
Blind-Man’s Buff
When silver snow decks Susan’s clothes,
And jewel hangs at th’ shepherd’s nose,
The blushing bank is all my care,
With hearth so red, and walls so fair.
“Heap the sea-coal, come, heap it higher;
The oaken log lay on the fire.”
The well-washed stools, a circling row,
With lad and lass, how fair the show!
The merry can of nut-brown ale,
The laughing jest, the love-sick tale,—
Till, tired of chat, the game begins.
The lasses prick the lads with pins.
Roger from Dolly twitched the stool;
She, falling, kissed the ground, poor fool!
She blushed so red, with sidelong glance
At hobnail Dick, who grieved the chance.
But now for Blind-man’s Buff they call;
Of each incumbrance clear the hall.
Jenny her silken kerchief folds,
And blear-eyed Will the black lot holds.
Now laughing stops, with “Silence, hush!”
And Peggy Pout gives Sam a push.
The Blind-man’s arms, extended wide,
Sam slips between:—“Oh, woe betide
Thee, clumsy Will!”—But tittering Kate
Is penned up in the corner strait!
And now Will’s eyes beheld the play;
He thought his face was t’other way.
“Now, Kitty, now! what chance hast thou?
Roger so near thee trips, I vow!”
She catches him—then Roger ties
His own head up—but not his eyes;
For through the slender cloth he sees,
And runs at Sam, who slips with ease
His clumsy hold; and, dodging round,
Sukey is tumbled on the ground.—
“See what it is to play unfair!
Where cheating is, there’s mischief there.”
But Roger still pursues the chase,—
“He sees! he sees!” cries softly Grace;
“O Roger, thou, unskilled in art,
Must, surer bound, go through thy part!”
Now Kitty, pert, repeats the rhymes,
And Roger turns him round three times.
Then pauses ere he starts. But Dick
Was mischief-bent upon a trick:
Down on his hands and knees he lay
Directly in the Blind-man’s way,
Then cries out “Hem!”—Hodge heard, and ran
With hoodwinked chance—sure of his man;
But down he came.—Alas, how frail
Our best of hopes, how soon they fail!
With crimson drops he stains the ground;
Confusion startles all around.
Poor piteous Dick supports his head,
And fain would cure the hurt he made.
But Kitty hasted with a key,
And down his back they straight convey
The cold relief; the blood is stayed,
And Hodge again holds up his head.
Such are the fortunes of the game;
And those who play should stop the same
By wholesome laws, such as—All those
Who on the blinded man impose
Stand in his stead; as, long agone
When men were first a nation grown,
Lawless they lived, till wantonness
And liberty began to increase,
And one man lay in another’s way;
Then laws were made to keep fair play.
King Edward the Third
PERSONS
KING EDWARD
SIR THOMAS DAGWORTH
THE BLACK PRINCE
SIR WALTER MANNY
QUEEN PHILIPPA
LORD AUDLEY
DUKE OF CLARENCE
LORD PERCY
SIR JOHN CHANDOS
BISHOP
WILLIAM, _Dagworth’s man_
PETER BLUNT, _a common soldier_
SCENE—_The Coast of France_
KING EDWARD _and Nobles before it_
_The Army_
KING
O thou to whose fury the nations are
But as dust! maintain thy servant’s right.
Without thine aid, the twisted mail, and spear,
And forged helm, and shield of seven times beaten brass,
Are idle trophies of the vanquisher.
When confusion rages, when the field is in a flame,
When the cries of blood tear horror from heaven,
And yelling Death runs up and down the ranks,
Let Liberty, the chartered right of Englishmen,
Won by our fathers in many a glorious field,
Enerve my soldiers; let Liberty
Blaze in each countenance, and fire the battle.
The enemy fight in chains, invisible chains, but heavy;
Their minds are fettered; then how can they be free?
While, like the mounting flame,
We spring to battle o’er the floods of death!
And these fair youths, the flower of England,
Venturing their lives in my most righteous cause,
Oh, sheathe their hearts with triple steel, that they
May emulate their fathers’ virtues!
And thou, my son, be strong; thou fightest for a crown
That death can never ravish from thy brow,
A crown of glory—but from thy very dust
Shall beam a radiance, to fire the breasts
Of youth unborn! Our names are written equal
In Fame’s wide-trophied hall; ’tis ours to gild
The letters, and to make them shine with gold
That never tarnishes: whether Third Edward,
Or the Prince of Wales, or Montacute, or Mortimer,
Or ev’n the least by birth, shall gain the brightest fame,
Is in His hand to Whom all men are equal.
The world of men are like the numerous stars
That beam and twinkle in the depth of night,
Each clad in glory according to his sphere;
But we, that wander from our native seats