LII THE BELEAGUERED CITY White as a sea-fog, landward bound, No other voice nor sound was there, But when the old cathedral bell Down the broad valley fast and far, Up rose the glorious morning star, The ghastly host was dead. LIII JAFFAR H. W. Longfellow Jaffar, the Barmecide, the good Vizier, The poor man's hope, the friend without a peer. Jaffar was dead, slain by a doom unjust; And guilty Haroun, sullen with mistrust Of what the good, and e'en the bad might say, All but the brave Mondeer.-He, proud to show 'Bring me this man,' the caliph cried: the man Was brought, was gazed upon. The mutes began To bind his arms. 'Welcome, brave cords,' cried he; 'From bonds far worse Jaffar deliver'd me ; From wants, from shames, from loveless household fears; Made a man's eyes friends with delicious tears; With his great self. How can I pay Jaffar?' Haroun, who felt that on a soul like this And hold the giver as thou deemest fit.' H 'Gifts!' cried the friend. He took; and holding i High toward the heavens, as though to meet his sta Exclaim'd, 'This, too, I owe to thee, Jaffar.' Leigh Hunt LIV COLIN AND LUCY Three times, all in the dead of night, And shrieking at the window thrice, 'I hear a voice you cannot hear, By a false heart and broken vows, Was I to blame, because his bride 'Ah, Colin, give not her thy vows, Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kiss, Impatient, both prepare! But know, fond maid, and know, false man, 'Then bear my corse, my comrades, bear, This bridegroom blithe to meet, He in his wedding trim so gay, I, in my winding-sheet.' She spoke, she died, her corse was borne The bridegroom blithe to meet, He in his wedding trim so gay, Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts? Confusion, shame, remorse, despair, At once his bosom swell: The damps of death bedew'd his brow, T. Tickell LV THE REDBREAST CHASING THE BUTTERFLY Art thou the bird whom man loves best, The bird that comes about our doors And Russia far inland? The bird, that by some name or other The darling of children and men? Could father Adam open his eyes, Under the branches of the tree : That after their bewildering, Cover'd with leaves the little children, So painfully in the wood? What ail'd thee, robin, that thou could'st pursue A beautiful creature, That is gentle by nature? Beneath the summer sky, From flower to flower let him fly; The cheerer, thou, of our in-door sadness, LVI W. Wordsworth THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD Now ponder well, you parents dear, These words which I shall write; |