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O deign to attend his evening walk,
with him in groves and grottoes talk;
teach him to scorn with frigid art
feebly to touch the unraptured heart;
like lightning, let his mighty verse
the bosom's inmost foldings pierce;
with native beauties win applause
beyond cold critics' studied laws;
O let each Muse's fame increase,
O bid Britannia rival Greece!

J. WARTON

303

FOR

THE INCARNATION

OR Thou wert born of woman! Thou didst come,
O Holiest to this world of sin and gloom,

not in Thy dread omnipotent array;

and not by thunders strewed

was Thy tempestuous road;

nor indignation burnt before Thee on Thy way.
But Thee, a soft and naked child,

thy mother undefiled,

in the rude manger laid to rest

from off her virgin breast.

The heavens were not commanded to prepare
a gorgeous canopy of golden air;

nor stooped their lamps th' enthroned fires on high:
a single silent star

came wandering from afar,

gliding unchecked and calm along the liquid sky; the Eastern Sages leading on

as at a kingly throne

to lay their gold and odours sweet
before Thy infant feet.

304 The Earth and Ocean were not hushed to hear
bright harmony from every starry sphere;
nor at Thy presence brake the voice of song
from all the cherub choirs,

and seraphs' burning lyres,

pour'd thro' the host of heaven the charmed clouds

along.

F. S. II.

9

305

One angel troop the strain began,
of all the race of man

by single shepherds heard alone
that soft Hosanna's tone.

And when Thou didst depart, no car of flame
to bear Thee hence in lambent radiance came;
nor visible Angels mourned with drooping plumes:
nor didst Thou mount on high

from fatal Calvary

with all Thine own redeemed outbursting from their tombs:

for Thou didst bear away from earth

but one of human birth,

the dying felon by Thy side, to be
in Paradise with Thee.

H. H. MILMAN

IN MEMORIAM

THE time admits not flowers or leaves

to deck the banquet. Fiercely flies
the blast of North and East, and ice
makes daggers at the sharpen'd eaves,

and bristles all the brakes and thorns
to yon hard crescent, as she hangs
above the wood which grides and clangs
its leafless ribs and iron horns

together, in the drifts that pass

to darken on the rolling brine

that breaks the coast. But fetch the wine,
arrange the board and brim the glass;

bring in great logs and let them lie,
to make a solid core of heat;
be cheerful-minded, talk and treat
of all things, ev'n as he were by ;

we keep the day. With festal cheer,
with books and music surely we
will drink to him whate'er he be,
and sing the songs he loved to hear.

A. TENNYSON

306

307

IN MEMORIAM

RISEST thou thus, dim dawn, again,

so loud with voices of the birds,
so thick with lowings of the herds,
day, when I lost the flower of men ;
who tremblest thro' thy darkling red
on yon swoll'n brook that bubbles fast
by meadows breathing of the past, .
and woodlands holy to the dead;
who murmurest in the foliaged eaves

a song that slights the coming care,
and Autumn laying here and there
a fiery finger on the leaves;

who wakenest with thy balmy breath
to myriads on the genial earth
memories of bridal, or of birth,
and unto myriads more, of death.
O, wheresoever those may be,

betwixt the slumber of the poles,
to-day they count as kindred souls;
they know me not, but mourn with me.

FAIR

IN MEMORIAM

A. TENNYSON

AIR ship, that from the Italian shore
sailest the placid ocean-plains

with my lost Arthur's loved remains,
spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er.
So draw him home to those that mourn
in vain; a favourable speed

ruffle thy mirror'd mast, and lead thro' prosperous floods his holy urn. All night no ruder air perplex

thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright as our pure love, thro' early light shall glimmer on the dewy decks. Sphere all your lights around, above;

sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow; sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now, my friend, the brother of my love;

308

my Arthur, whom I shall not see
till all my widowed race be run:
Idear as the mother to the son,
more than my brothers are to me.

A. TENNYSON

THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE

HOW happy is he born and taught,

that serveth not another's will;
whose armour is his honest thought
and simple truth his utmost skill!
Whose passions not his masters are,
whose soul is still prepared for death,
not tied unto the world with care
of public fame or private breath;
Who envies none that chance doth raise
or vice; who never understood
how deepest wounds are given by praise;
nor rules of state, but rules of good:
Who hath his life from rumours freed;
whose conscience is his strong retreat;
whose state can neither flatterers feed,
nor ruin make oppressors great;

-This man is freed from servile bands
of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
lord of himself, though not of lands;
and having nothing, yet hath all.

SIR H. WOTTON

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Μ'

Y soul, there is a country
afar beyond the stars,
where stands a winged sentry
all skilful in the wars:
There above noise and danger

sweet peace sits crown'd with smiles,

and one born in a manger

commands the beauteous files.

He is thy gracious friend,
and (O my Soul awake!)
did in pure love descend,
to die here for thy sake.

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311

If thou canst get but thither,
there grows the flower of peace;
the rose that cannot wither,

thy fortress and thy ease.
Leave then thy foolish ranges;
for none can thee secure,
but One, who never changes,
thy God, thy Life, thy Cure.

LOVE'S IMMORTALITY

H. VAUGHAN

HEY sin who tell us Love can die.

Twith life all other passions fly,

all others are but vanity:

in heaven ambition cannot dwell,
nor avarice in the vaults of hell:
earthly these passions, as of earth,
they perish where they have their birth.
But Love is indestructible;

its holy flame for ever burneth,

from heaven it came, to heaven returneth;
too oft on earth a troubled guest,

at times deceived, at times opprest,

it here is tried and purified,
and hath in heaven its perfect rest:
it soweth here with toil and care,
but the harvest-time of Love is there.
Oh! when a mother meets on high
the babe she lost in infancy,

hath she not then, for pains and fears,
the day of woe, the anxious night,
for all her sorrow, all her tears,
an over-payment of delight!

KEPLER'S PRAYER

R. SOUTHEY

THOU, who by the light of Nature dost enkindle in us a desire after the light of grace, that by this Thou mayest translate us into the light of glory: I give Thee thanks, O Lord and Creator, that Thou hast gladdened me by Thy Creation, when I was enraptured by the work of Thy hands. Behold, I have completed a work of my calling

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