Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

- JOHN KEATS.

5.

ON HIS BLINDNESS.

WHEN I consider how my light is spent,

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent, which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest he, returning, chide;
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?"
I fondly ask but Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need
Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,

And post o'er land and ocean without rest;
They also serve who only stand and wait.”

-JOHN MILTON.

6.

TO MILTON.

MILTON! thou shouldst be living at this hour;
England hath need of thee: she is a fen

Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower

Of inward happiness. We are selfish men: Oh! raise us up, return to us again; And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart : Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea; Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free; So didst thou travel on life's common way, In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on itself did lay.

- WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

7.

THE PARTING.

SINCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part —
Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,
That thus so cleanly I myself can free;
Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,
And when we meet at any time again,
Be it not seen in either of our brows

That we one jot of former love retain.
Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath,
When, his pulse failing, passion speechless lies,
When faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And innocence is closing up his eyes, -

Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over, From death to life thou might'st him yet recover!

8.

EASTER MORNING.

Most glorious Lord of life, that on this day
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin,
And, having harrowed hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win;

This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin,

And grant that we, for whom Thou diddest die, Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin, May live for ever in felicity:

And that thy love we weighing worthily,

May likewise love Thee for the same again :

And for thy sake, that all like dear didst buy, With love may one another entertain.

So let us love, dear Lord, like as we ought;
Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

THAT time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day

As after sunset fadeth in the west,

Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire

Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. - WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

IO.

A LOVER'S LETTERS.

My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering

Against my tremulous hands which loose the string And let them drop down on my knee to-night.

This said, he wished to have me in his sight

Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring To come and touch my hand—a simple thing, Yet I wept for it! this the paper's light

Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed As if God's future thundered on my past.

This said, I am thine- and so its ink has paled With lying at my heart that beat too fast :

And this- O Love, thy words have ill availed, If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!

— ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

II.

LIFE'S LESSONS.

LORD, with what care hast Thou begirt us round!
Parents first season us: then schoolmasters
Deliver us to laws; they send us bound,
To rules of reason, holy messengers,
Pulpits and Sundays, sorrow dogging sin,
Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes,
Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in,
Bibles laid open, millions of surprises,
Blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness,
The sound of glory ringing in our ears;
Without, our shame; within, our consciences;
Angels and grace, eternal hopes and fears.
Yet all these fences and their whole array
One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away.

SAD is our youth, for it is ever going,
Crumbling away beneath our very feet;
Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing

In current unperceived, because so fleet;
Sad are our hopes, for they were sweet in sowing-
But tares, self-sown, have overtopped the wheat;
Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in blowing-
And still, oh still, their dying breath is sweet;
And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft us

Of that which made our childhood sweeter still;