Not for a moment could I now behold
A smiling sea, and be what I have been:
The feeling of my loss will ne'er be old;
This, which I know, I speak with mind serene.

Then, Beaumont, Friend! who would have been the friend
If he had lived, of Him whom I deplore,
This work of thine I blame not, but commend;
This sea in anger, and that dismal shore.

O'tis a passionate Work!-yet wise and well,
Well chosen is the spirit that is here;
That Hulk which labors in the deadly swell,
This rueful sky, this pageantry of fear!

And this huge Castle, standing here sublime,
I love to see the look with which it braves,
-Cased in the unfeeling armor of old time-
The lightning, the fierce wind, and trampling waves.

-Farewell, farewell the heart that lives alone,
Housed in a dream, at distance from the Kind!
Such happiness, wherever it be known,

Is to be pitied; for 'tis surely blind.

But welcome fortitude, and patient cheer,
And frequent sights of what is to be borne!
Such sights, or worse, as are before me here:-
Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

William Wordsworth (1770-1850]

WILLIAM BLAKE

[1757-1827]

HE came to the desert of London town,

Gray miles long;

He wandered up and he wandered down,
Singing a quiet song.

nds and thousands of human kind

E brick and stone:

f and some were blind,

e alone.

hour came; he died

alone:

from the desert wide,

found at the Throne.

James Thomson [1834-1882]

Therefore this one prayer I breathe,—
That you yet may worthy prove
Of the heirlooms they bequeath

Who have loved you with such love:
Fairest land while land of slaves

Yields their free souls no fit graves.

James Thomson (1834-1882]

ROBERT BURNS

[1759-1796]

ALL Scottish legends did his fancy fashion,

All airs that richly flow,

Laughing with frolic, tremulous with passion,
Broken with love-lorn woe;

Ballads whose beauties years have long been stealing

And left few links of gold,

Under his quaint and subtle touch of healing

Grew fairer, not less old.

Gray Cluden, and the vestal's choral cadence,

His spell awoke therewith;

Till boatmen hung their oars to hear the maidens
Upon the banks of Nith.

His, too, the strains of battle nobly coming
From Bruce, or Wallace wight,

Such as the Highlander shall oft be humming

Before some famous fight.

Nor only these for him the hawthorn hoary
Was with new wreaths enwrought,

The "crimson-tippèd daisy" wore fresh glory,
Born of poetic thought.

From the "wee cowering beastie" he could borrow

A moral strain sublime,

A noble tenderness of human sorrow,

In wondrous wealth of rhyme.

ut of our human sight

ith love and each with wonder: with his mouth of thunder, Fords and mantled in the might gnificence of night;

could smite the night in sunder, no light were thereunder, of loving-kindness light. hought with eyes of fire teousness with deep desire n before her and above, to steer by; but more sweet veliest lamp for earthly feet,

hildren, and their love.

ernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

NG OF THE TOMB OF

HARLEMAGNE

[742-814]

d gloom of Aachen's aisle

any's imperial lord,

melancholy smile, here, fitly to record

by a single word,

o-Magno." Regal style

that name such thoughts restored ke nobler, men the while.