« ForrigeFortsæt »
Than this pure soul shall be: all princely graces,
THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.-Lamb.
I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions,
I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
I loved a love once, fairest among women ;
I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man;
Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood; Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces.
Friend of my bosom ! thou more than a brother !
How some they have died, and some they have left me,
TO THE RAINBOW.-Campbell.
TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky
When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art.
Still seem, as to my
childhood's sight, A midway station given, For happy spirits to alight
Betwixt the earth and heaven.
Can all, that optics teach, unfold
Thy form to please me so,
Hid in thy radiant bow?
When Science from Creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws, What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws !
And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High, Have told why first thy robe of beams
Was woven in the sky.
When o'er the green undeluged earth
Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's gray fathers forth,
To watch thy sacred sign!
And when its yellow lustre smiled
O'er mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child,
To bless the bow of God.
Methinks, thy jubilee to keep,
The first-made anthem rang
And the first poet sang.
Nor ever shall the Muse's
eye Unraptured greet thy beam ; Theme of primeval prophecy,
Be still the poet's theme !
The earth to thee her incense yields,
The lark thy welcome sings, When glittering in the freshened fields,
The snowy mushroom springs.
How glorious is thy girdle cast
O’er mountain, tower, and town, Or mirrored in the ocean vast,
A thousand fathoms down !
As fresh in yon horizon dark,
As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark
First sported in thy beam.
For, faithful to its sacred page,
Heaven still rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the type grow pale with age,
That first spoke peace to man.
Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
As man's ingratitude !
Although thy breath be rude.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
As benefits forgot!
As friend remembered not.
THE SPANISH ARMADA.—Macaulay. ATTEND, all ye who list to hear our noble England's
praise ; I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in
ancient days, When that great fleet invincible against her bore in
vain The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of
Spain. It was about the lovely close of a warm summer
day, There came
a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth Bay; Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, beyond
Aurigny's isle, At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a
At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial