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poets, like the cooperating thoughts of one great mind, have built up since the beginning of the world.'
As he closes his long survey, the Editor trusts he may add without egotism, that he has found the vague general verdict of popular Fame more just than those have thought, who, with too severe a criticism, would confine judgments on Poetry to the selected few of many generations.' Not many appear to have gained reputation without some gift or performance that, in due degree, deserved it: and if no verses by certain writers who show less strength than sweetness, or more thought than mastery in expression, are printed in this volume, it should not be imagined that they have been excluded without much hesitation and regret, far less that they have been slighted. Throughout this vast and pathetic array of Singers now silent, few have been honoured with the name Poet, and have not possessed a skill in words, a sympathy with beauty, a tenderness of feeling, or seriousness in reflection, which render their works, although never perhaps attaining that loftier and finer excellence here required, -better worth reading than much of what fills the scanty hours that most men spare for self-improvement, or for pleasure in any of its more elevated and permanent forms.-And if this be true of even mediocre poetry, for how much more are we indebted to the best! Like the fabled fountain of the Azores, but with a more various power, the magic of this Art can confer on each period of life its appropriate bles sing : on early years Experience, on maturity Calm, on age, Youthfulness. Poetry gives treasures ‘more golden than gold,' leading us in higher and healthier ways than those of the world, and interpreting to us the lessons of Nature. But she speaks best for her. self. Her true accents, if the plan has been executed with success, may be heard throughout the following pages :-wherever the Poets of England are honoured, wherever the dominant language of the world is spoken, it is hoped that they will
find fit audience.
The Golden Treasury
Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo.
SUMMONS TO LOVE
Phoebus, arise !
That she may thy career with roses spread :
- This is that happy morn,
W. Drummond of Hawthornden
TIME AND LOVE
When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced
away : —This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose.
2. Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower ? O how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays ? O fearful meditation ! where, alack ! Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid ? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back, Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? () ! none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS
Come live with me and be my Love,