John Keats: 1796-1821, To Autumn. Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook And sometime like a gleaner thou dost keep Or by a cider-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? ; Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; Leigh Hunt: 1784-1859. To the Grasshopper and the Cricket. Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, With those who think the candles come too soon, Nick the glad silent moments as they pass; Oh, sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, One to the fields, the other to the hearth, Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong At your clear hearts; and both seem given to earth To ring in thoughtful ears this natural song In-doors and out, summer and winter, Mirth. William Cullen Bryant: 1794 The Evening Wind. 1. Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea! 2. Nor I alone-a thousand bosoms round 3. Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and rouse The wide old wood from his majestic rest, Summoning from the innumerable boughs The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his breast: 4. The faint old man shall lean his silver head To feel thee; thou shalt kiss the child asleep, And dry the moistened curls that overspread His temples, while his breathing grows more deep; And they who stand about the sick man's bed Shall joy to listen to thy distant sweep, And softly part his curtains, to allow 5. Go-but the circle of eternal change, Which is the life of nature, shall restore, With sounds and scents from all thy mighty range, Lord Macaulay: 1800-1859. Ivry, a Song of the Huguenots. [The Huguenots was the name given to the Protestant party in France in the sixteenth century. They were cruelly persecuted by the Catholics under the Duke of Guise, and on the eve of St Bartholomew's Day (September 5), 1572, many thousands of them were massacred. Henry de Bourbon, king of Navarre, one of the Huguenots who had escaped the massacre, now headed the Protestants; the Catholics, under Guise, having meanwhile formed themselves into a League for the extirpation of the heretics. On the death of the French king in 1589, Henry of Navarre became sovereign of France, but the Catholics opposed his claims, and an arduous struggle ensued between the two parties. At length, in 1590, the forces of the League under the Duke of Mayenne were completely defeated at the village of Ivry, a few miles from Paris, and Henry afterwards became king.] 1. Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, O pleasant land of And thou, Rochelle,1 our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. 2. Oh! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day, 3 3. The king is come to marshal us, all in his armour drest; He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, 1 Rochelle was considered the Protestant capital. 2 The Guises belonged to the ducal family of Lorraine. 3 Coligni, Admiral of France, perished in the massacre of St Bartholomew. 4 The ancient royal standard of France, a little banner of red silk with many points streaming like flames, borne on a gilt staff. 4. Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest; 5. riding Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein. 6. Right well fought all the Frenchmen who fought for France to-day; But we of the religion have borne us best in fight; And the good lord of Rosny hath ta'en the cornet white. Our own true Maximilian the cornet white hath ta'en, The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false Lorraine. Up with it high; unfurl it wide; that all the host may know How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought His church such woe. Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loudest points of war, Fling the red shreds, a foot-cloth meet for Henry of Navarre. 7. Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne ! Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls! 1 The battle-field. 2 Saint Genevieve is the patron saint of Paris. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow: 1807 The Reaper and the Flowers. 1. There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, 2. 'Shall I have nought that is fair?' saith he; 'Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again.' 3. He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. 4. 'My Lord has need of these flowerets gay,' The Reaper said, and smiled; 'Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where He was once a child. 5. 'They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care; And saints upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear.' 6. And the mother gave, in tears and pain, 7. Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, The Reaper came that day; 'Twas an angel visited the green earth, And took the Flowers away. Midnight Mass for the Dying Year. 1. Yes, the year is growing old, And his eye is pale and bleared! Death, with frosty hand and cold, Plucks the old man by the beard, Sorely-sorely! 2. The leaves are falling, falling, Solemnly and slow; Caw! caw! the rooks are calling; It is a sound of woe! A sound of woe! 3. Through woods and mountain passes, The winds, like anthems, roll; They are chanting solemn masses, Singing Pray for this poor soul; Pray-pray!' |