OZYMANDIAS

I MET a traveler from an antique land

Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stampt on these lifeless things,
The hand that mockt them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

SONNET: ENGLAND IN 1819

AN old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king,
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow
Thro' public scorn - mud from a muddy spring,
Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know,
But leech-like to their fainting country cling,
Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow,
A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field,
An army, which liberticide and prey

Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield
Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay;
Religion Christless, Godless - a book sealed;
A Senate, Time's worst statute unrepealed, —
Are graves, from which a glorious Phantom may
Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day.

THE INVITATION

BEST and brightest, come away!
Fairer far than this fair Day,
Which, like thee to those in sorrow,

Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow

To the rough Year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.

The brightest hour of unborn Spring,
Thro' the winter wandering,

Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn
To hoar February born;

Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth
It kist the forehead of the Earth,
And smiled upon the silent sea,

And bade the frozen streams be free,
And waked to music all their fountains,
And breathed upon the frozen mountains,
And like a prophetess of May
Strewed flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.

Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs-
To the silent wilderness

Where the soul need not repress
Its music lest it should not find
An echo in another's mind,
While the touch of Nature's art
Harmonizes heart to heart.

I leave this notice on my door
For each accustomed visitor:-
"I am gone into the fields

To take what this sweet hour yields;
Reflection, you may come to-morrow,
Sit by the fireside with Sorrow. -
You with the unpaid bill, Despair,
You tiresome verse-reciter, Care, -
I will pay you in the grave,
Death will listen to your stave.
Expectation too, be off!
To-day is for itself enough;

Hope, in pity mock not Woe

With smiles, nor follow where I go;

Long having lived on thy sweet food, At length I find one moment's good After long pain with all your love, This you never told me of."

Radiant Sister of the Day,
Awake! arise! and come away!
To the wild woods and the plains,
And the pools where Winter rains
Image all their roof of leaves,
Where the pine its garland weaves
Of sapless green and ivy dun
Round stems that never kiss the sun;
Where the lawns and pastures be,
And the sand-hills of the sea;-
Where the melting hoar-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
And wind-flowers and violets,
Which yet join not scent to hue,
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dun and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,

And the multitudinous

Billows murmur at our feet,

Where the earth and ocean meet,

And all things seem only one

In the universal sun.

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY

THE fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine.
In one another's being mingle;
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother:
And the sunlight clasps the earth,

And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN, an English dramatist and orator. Born in Dublin, September 30, 1751; died in London, July 7, 1816. Author of "The Rivals," "The Duenna," "The School for Scandal," "The Critic."

The "School for Scandal" has been called the most successful comedy of manners in the English language. Both this and "The Rivals "are still favorites on the stage. As a member of Parliament Sheridan made several brilliant speeches, which became famous. He is buried in Westminster Abbey.

(From "THE RIVALS")

Scene: ACRES' Lodgings. Present: BOB ACRES.

Enter SIR LUCIUS O'TRIGGER

Sir Luc. Mr. Acres, I am delighted to embrace you.
Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hands.

Sir Luc. Pray, my friend, what has brought you so suddenly to Bath?

Acres. Faith! I have followed Cupid's Jack-a-lantern, and find myself in a quagmire at last. — In short, I have been very - 1 ill used, Sir Lucius. — I don't choose to mention names, but look on me as on a very ill-used gentleman.

Sir Luc. Pray, what is the case? I ask no names. Acres. Mark me, Sir Lucius, I fall as deep as need be in love with a young lady - her friends take my part I follow her to Bath - send word of my arrival; and receive answer,

that the lady is to be otherwise disposed of. This, Sir Lucius,

I call being ill used.

Sir Luc. Very ill, upon my conscience. divine the cause of it?

Acres. Why, there's the matter; she has another lover, one Beverley, who, I am told, is now in Bath. - Odds slanders and lies! he must be at the bottom of it.

Sir Luc. A rival in the case, is there? supplanted you unfairly?

and you think he has

Acres. Unfairly! to be sure he has. He never could have done it fairly.

Sir Luc. Then sure you know what is to be done!

Acres. Not I, upon my soul!

Sir Luc. We wear no swords here, but you understand me. Acres. What! fight him?

Sir Luc. Aye, to be sure: what can I mean else?

Acres. But he has given me no provocation.

Sir Luc. Now, I think he has given you the greatest provocation in the world. Can a man commit a more heinous offense against another man than to fall in love with the same woman? Oh, by my soul! it is the most unpardonable breach of friendship.

Acres. Breach of friendship! aye, aye; but I have no acquaintance with this man. I never saw him in my life.

Sir Luc. That's no argument at all he has the less right then to take such a liberty.

Acres. Gad, that's true I grow full of anger, Sir Lucius ! — I fire apace! Odds hilts and blades! I find a man may have a deal of valor in him, and not know it! But couldn't I contrive to have a little right on my side?

Sir Luc. What the devil signifies right, when your honor is concerned? Do you think Achilles, or my little Alexander the Great, ever inquired where the right lay? No, by my soul, they drew their broadswords, and left the lazy sons of peace to settle the justice of it.

Acres. Your words are a grenadier's march to my heart! I believe courage must be catching! I certainly do feel a kind of valor rising as it were a kind of courage, as I may say. Odds, flints, pans, and triggers! I'll challenge him directly.