FOUNDER'S DAY

Exceed the prayer and keep the fame
Of him, the sorrowful king, who came
Here in his realm a realm to found,
Where he might stand for ever crown'd.

Or whether with naked bodies flashing
Ye plunge in the lashing weir; or dashing
The oars of cedar skiffs, ye strain
Round the rushes and home again ;-

Or what pursuit soe'er it be

That makes your mingled presence free,
When by the schoolgate 'neath the limes
Ye muster waiting the lazy chimes;

May Peace, that conquereth sin and death,
Temper for you her sword of faith;

Crown with honour the loving eyes,

And touch with mirth the mouth of the wise.

Here is eternal spring: for you
The very stars of heaven are new;
And aged Fame again is born,
Fresh as a peeping flower of morn.

For you shall Shakespeare's scene unroll,
Mozart shall steal your ravish'd soul,
Homer his bardic hymn rehearse,
Virgil recite his maiden verse.

Now learn, love, have, do, be the best:
Each in one thing excel the rest:

FOUNDER'S DAY

Strive; and hold fast this truth of heaven-
To him that hath shall more be given.

Slow on your dial the shadows creep,
So many hours for food and sleep,
So many hours till study tire,

So many hours for heart's desire.

These suns and moons shall memory save,
Mirrors bright for her magic cave;
Wherein may steadfast eyes behold
A self that never groweth old.

O in such prime enjoy your lot,
And when ye leave regret it not;
With wishing gifts in festal state
Pass ye the angel-sworded gate.

Then to the world let shine your light,
Children in play be lions in fight,

And match with red immortal deeds
The victory that made ring the meads:

Or by firm wisdom save your land
From giddy head and grasping hand:
IMPROVE THE BEST; so shall your sons
Better what ye have better'd once.

Send them here to the court of grace
Bearing your name to fill your place:
Ye in their time shall live again
The happy dream of Henry's reign.

WOTTON AT WINCHESTER

And on his day your steps be bent
Where, saint and king, crown'd with content,
He biddeth a prayer to bless his youth
With truth, and purity, mother of truth.

HE

ROBERT BRIDGES

Wotton at Winchester

E yearly went also to Oxford. But the summer before his death he changed that for a journey to Winchester College, to which School he was first removed from Bocton [where he was born and spent his childhood]. And as he returned from Winchester towards Eton College, said to a friend, his companion in that journey: How useful was that advice of a holy Monk, who persuaded his friend to perform his customary devotions in a constant place, because in that place we usually meet with those very thoughts which possessed us at our last being there! And I find it thus far experimentally true, that at my now being in that School, and seeing the very place where I sat when I was a boy, occasioned me to remember those very thoughts of my youth which then possessed sweet thoughts indeed, that promised my growing years numerous pleasures, without mixtures of cares: and those to be enjoyed when time-which I therefore thought slow-paced-had changed my youth into manhood. But age and experience have taught me that those were but empty hopes; for I have always found it true, as my Saviour did foretell, "Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof." Nevertheless I saw there a

me:

PATER FILIO

succession of boys using the same recreations, and, questionless, possessed with the same thoughts that then possessed me. Thus one generation succeeds another, both in their lives, recreations, hopes, fears, and death.'

SENSE

IZAAK WALTON

Life of Sir Henry Wotton

Pater Filio

ENSE with keenest edge unusèd,
Yet unsteel'd by scathing fire;

Lovely feet as yet unbruisèd

On the ways of dark desire;
Sweetest hope that lookest smiling
O'er the wilderness defiling?

Why such beauty, to be blighted
By the swarm of foul destruction?
Why such innocence delighted,

When sin stalks to thy seduction?
All the litanies e'er chaunted
Shall not keep thy faith undaunted.

I have pray'd the sainted Morning
To unclasp her hands to hold thee;
From resignful Eve's adorning

Stol'n a robe of peace to enfold thee;
With all charms of man's contriving
Arm'd thee for thy lonely striving.

TO H. F. B.

Me too once unthinking Nature

-Whence Love's timeless mockery took me―
Fashion'd so divine a creature,

Yea, and like a beast forsook me.
I forgave, but tell the measure

Of her crime in thee, my treasure.

ROBERT BRIDGES

To H. F. B.

RAVE lads in olden musical centuries
AVE

BRA

Sang, night by night, adorable choruses, Sat late by alehouse doors in April Chaunting in joy as the moon was rising:

Moon-seen and merry, under the trellises,
Flush-faced they played with old polysyllables;
Spring scents inspired, old wine diluted,
Love and Apollo were there to chorus.

Now these, the songs, remain to eternity,
Those, only those, the bountiful choristers
Gone-those are gone, those unremember'd
Sleep and are silent in earth for ever.

So man himself appears and evanishes,
So smiles and goes; as wanderers halting at
Some green-embower'd house, play their music,
Play and are gone on the windy highway;