With quaking hands, and other signes of feare:
Who full of ghastly fright and cold affray,
Gan shut the dore. By this arrived there

Dame Una, wearie Dame, and entrance did requere.

*

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*

*

*

The day is spent, and commeth drowsie night,
When every creature shrowded is in sleepe;
Sad Una downe her laies in wearie plight,
And at her feet the Lyon watch doth keepe:
In stead of rest, she does lament, and weepe
For the late losse of her deare loved knight,
And sighes, and grones, and evermore does steepe
Her tender brest in bitter teares all night,

All night she thinks too long, and often lookes for light.

Now when broad day the world discovered has,
Up Una rose, up rose the Lyon eke,

And on their former journey forward pas,

In wayes unknowne, her wandring knight to seeke, With paines farre passing that long wandring Greeke, That for his love refused deitie;

Such were the labours of this Lady meeke,

Still seeking him, that from her still did flie,

Then furthest from her hope, when most she weened nie.

*

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ULYSSES AND THE SIREN.

Samuel Daniel.

Siren.

COME worthy Greek, Ulysses, come,
Possess these shores with me,
The winds and seas are troublesome,
And here we may be free.

Here may we sit and view their toil
That travail on the deep,

Enjoy the day in mirth the while,
And spend the night in sleep.

Ulysses.

Fair nymph, if fame or honor were
To be attained with ease,

Then would I come and rest with thee,
And leave such toils as these.

But here it dwells, and here must I
With danger seek it forth,

To spend the time luxuriously

Becomes not men of worth.

Siren.

Ulysses, O be not deceived.

With that unreal name,

This honor is a thing conceived,
And rests on others' fame.

Begotten only to molest

Our peace, and to beguile,

The best thing of our life, our rest,

And give us up to toil.

Ulysses.

Delicious nymph, suppose there were

Nor honor nor report,

Yet manliness would scorn to wear
The time in idle sport;

For toil doth give a better touch

To make us feel our joy,

And ease finds tediousness as much

As labor yields annoy.

Siren.

Then pleasure likewise seems the shore
Whereto tends all your toil,
Which you forego to make it more,

And perish oft the while.

Who may disport them diversely

Find never tedious day,

And ease may have variety
As well as action may.

Ulysses.

But natures of the noblest frame
These toils and dangers please,
And they take comfort in the same
As much as you in ease;

And with the thoughts of actions past Are recreated still:

When pleasure leaves a touch at last To show that it was ill.

Siren.

That doth opinion only cause,
That's out of custom bred,
Which makes us many other laws
Than ever nature did.

No widows wail for our delights,
Our sports are without blood,
The world we see by warlike wights
Receives more hurt than good.

Ulysses.

But yet the state of things require
These motions of unrest,

And these great sports of high desire
Seem born to turn them best.

To purge the mischiefs that increase,
And all good order mar,
For oft we see a wicked peace

To be well changed for war.

Siren.

Well, well, Ulysses, then I see,

I shall not have thee here:

And therefore I will come to thee,

And take my fortune there.

I must be won that cannot win,
Yet lost were I not won,
For beauty hath created been
T'undo, or be undone.

STANZAS.

WRITTEN ON THE ROAD BETWEEN FLORENCE AND PISA.

Lord Byron.

Он, talk not to me of a name great in story;
The days of our youth are the days of our glory,
And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled?
'Tis but as a dead flower with May-dew besprinkled.
Then away with all such from the head that is hoary!
What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory?

O fame! if I e'er took delight in thy praises,
'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,
Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover,
She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee;
Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee;
When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story,
I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.