Part 1

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Fifteenth Volume

LITTLE CLASSICS

EDITED BY

ROSSITER JOHNSON

Minor Poems

BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY The Riverside Press, Cambridge 1900

COPYRIGHT, 1875, BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

CONTENTS.

PAGE AE FOND KISS _Robert Burns_ 52 AGE OF WISDOM, THE _William Makepeace Thackeray_ 115 ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD, THE _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 146 ASTARTE _Robert Bulwer Lytton_ 54 BETROTHED ANEW _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 86 BLINDNESS, ON HIS _John Milton_ 143 BRAVE AT HOME, THE _Thomas Buchanan Read_ 142 BREAK, BREAK, BREAK _Alfred Tennyson_ 53 BRIDAL DIRGE, A _Bryan Waller Procter_ 163 BROOKSIDE, THE _Richard Monckton Milnes_ 36 BUGLE-SONG _Alfred Tennyson_ 40 CAVALIER'S SONG, THE _William Motherwell_ 132 CHAMBERED NAUTILUS, THE _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 214 CHANGES _Robert Bulwer Lytton_ 71 CHILDREN'S HOUR, THE _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 152 CHRISTMAS HYMN, A _Alfred Dommett_ 217 CLOUD, THE _John Wilson_ 213 COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM _Thomas Moore_ 46 CORONACH _Sir Walter Scott_ 133 COURTIN', THE _James Russell Lowell_ 26 DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE, THE _Alfred Tennyson_ 65 DEATH-BED, THE _Thomas Hood_ 160 DEATH OF THE FLOWERS, THE _William Cullen Bryant_ 100 DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST _James Shirley_ 182 DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER _George Henry Boker_ 134 DRAKE, JOSEPH RODMAN _Fitz-Greene Halleck_ 169 DRIVING HOME THE COWS _Kate Putnam Osgood_ 140 EAGLE, THE _Alfred Tennyson_ 105 ENTICED _William C. Wilkinson_ 224 EPILOGUE _The Editor_ 231 EVELYN HOPE _Robert Browning_ 161 FAREWELL, A _Charles Kingsley_ 199 FAREWELL, A _Alfred Tennyson_ 112 GIRDLE, ON A _Edmund Waller_ 23 GOING HOME _Benjamin F. Taylor_ 185 GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD, THE _Felicia Hemans_ 174 HAUNTED HOUSES _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 73 HEALTH, A _Edward Coate Pinkney_ 21 HERMIT, THE _James Beattie_ 175 HEROES _Edna Dean Proctor_ 144 HIGHLAND MARY _Robert Burns_ 166 HOW'S MY BOY? _Sydney Dobell_ 150 HYMN TO THE NIGHT _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 103 ICHABOD _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 123 INDIAN GOLD COIN, TO AN _John Leyden_ 183 IN MEMORIAM _Thomas K. Hervey_ 173 I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER _Thomas Hood_ 72 IVY GREEN, THE _Charles Dickens_ 90 KNIGHT'S TOMB, THE _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 133 KUBLA KHAN _Samuel Taylor Coleridge_ 16 LAMENT, A _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 192 LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT _Lady Dufferin_ 158 LAND OF LANDS, THE _Alfred Tennyson_ 126 LAND O' THE LEAL, THE _Lady Nairne_ 156 LAST LEAF, THE _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 117 LAST ROSE OF SUMMER, THE _Thomas Moore_ 111 LIE, THE _Sir Walter Raleigh_ 204 LIFE _Anna Lætitia Barbauld_ 193 LIFE _Henry King_ 192 LINES ON A SKELETON _Anonymous_ 201 LINES TO AN INDIAN AIR _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 42 LITTLE BLACK BOY, THE _William Blake_ 181 LITTLE YEARS, THE _Robert T. S. Lowell_ 114 LONG-AGO, THE _Richard Monckton Milnes_ 88 LOST LEADER, THE _Robert Browning_ 119 LOVE NOT _Caroline Norton_ 51 LUCASTA, TO _Richard Lovelace_ 125 MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART _Lord Byron_ 45 MANGO TREE, THE _Charles Kingsley_ 59 MAN'S MORTALITY _Simon Wastel_ 189 MARIANA _Alfred Tennyson_ 37 MARY IN HEAVEN, TO _Robert Bums_ 61 MINSTREL'S SONG _Thomas Chatterton_ 171 MONTEREY _Charles Fenno Hoffman_ 128 MOORE, THOMAS, TO _Lord Byron_ 110 MUSICAL INSTRUMENT, A _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 11 MY CHILD _John Pierpont_ 154 MY HEID IS LIKE TO REND _William Motherwell_ 56 MY PSALM _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 221 MY SLAIN _Richard Realf_ 219 NICE CORRESPONDENT, A _Frederick Locker_ 24 NIGHT AND DEATH _Joseph Blanco White_ 104 NOT FAR TO GO _William Barnes_ 43 ODE _William Collins_ 139 ODE _Theodore P. Cook_ 137 ODE _Sir William Jones_ 148 ODE _Henry Timrod_ 136 ODE ON A GRECIAN URN _John Keats_ 199 OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT _Thomas Moore_ 64 OLD FAMILIAR FACES, THE _Charles Lamb_ 66 OLD MAN'S IDYL, AN _Richard Realf_ 84 ON A PICTURE OF PEEL CASTLE _William Wordsworth_ 209 OVER THE RIVER _Nancy Priest Wakefield_ 78 O, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD? _William Knox_ 177 PAUPER'S DEATH-BED, THE _Caroline Bowles Southey_ 208 PETITION TO TIME, A _Bryan Waller Procter_ 122 PHILIP, MY KING _Dinah Maria Mulock Craik_ 149 PROGRESS _Robert Bulwer Lytton_ 179 QUA CURSUM VENTUS _Arthur Hugh Clough_ 69 RIVER PATH, THE _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 82 ST. AGNES _Alfred Tennyson_ 215 SANDS OF DEE, THE _Charles Kingsley_ 102 SERENADE _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 41 SHE DIED IN BEAUTY _Charles Doyne Sillery_ 164 SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND _Thomas Moore_ 170 SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY _Lord Byron_ 34 SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT _William Wordsworth_ 18 SHE WAS NOT FAIR, NOR FULL OF GRACE _Bryan Waller Procter_ 165 SKYLARK, THE _James Hogg_ 104 SKYLARK, TO THE _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 106 SLANTEN LIGHT O' FALL, THE _William Barnes_ 20 SNOW-STORM, A _Charles Gamage Eastman_ 97 SOLDIER'S DREAM, THE _Thomas Campbell_ 127 SONG,--"THE HEATH THIS NIGHT" _Sir Walter Scott_ 124 SONG FOR SEPTEMBER, A _Thomas William Parsons_ 63 SONG OF THE CAMP, A _Bayard Taylor_ 130 SONNETS _William Shakespeare_ 48 SPINNING-WHEEL SONG, THE _John Francis Waller_ 32 STANZAS,--"MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE" _Richard Henry Wilde_ 113 SUMMER LONGINGS _Denis Florence Mac-Carthy_ 91 THANATOPSIS _William Cullen Bryant_ 75 THEY ARE ALL GONE _Henry Vaughan_ 80 THREE FISHERS, THE _Charles Kingsley_ 143 TIGER, THE _William Blake_ 96 TIME'S CHANGES _David Macbeth Moir_ 67 TITHONUS _Alfred Tennyson_ 193 TOM BOWLING _Charles Dibdin_ 168 TOO LATE! _Dinah Maria Mulock Craik_ 167 TOO LATE _Fitz-Hugh Ludlow_ 120 TOUJOURS AMOUR _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 228 TREASURES OF THE DEEP, THE _Felicia Hemans_ 212 TWO WOMEN _Nathaniel Parker Willis_ 207 UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY, THE _Edmund Clarence Stedman_ 220 VIRTUE _George Herbert_ 203 VOICELESS, THE _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 229 VOYAGE, THE _Alfred Tennyson_ 13 WEARINESS _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 227 WELCOME, THE _Thomas Davis_ 35 WHEN THE KYE COME HAME _James Hogg_ 30 WOMAN OF THREE COWS, THE _James Clarence Mangan_ 196 WOMAN'S QUESTION, A _Adelaide Anne Procter_ 46 YARROW UNVISITED _William Wordsworth_ 93

* * * * *

A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT.

What was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river? Spreading ruin and scattering ban, Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, And breaking the golden lilies afloat With the dragon-fly on the river.

He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep cool bed of the river: The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away, Ere he brought it out of the river.

High on the shore sat the great god Pan, While turbidly flowed the river; And hacked and hewed as a great god can, With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed To prove it fresh from the river.

He cut it short, did the great god Pan, (How tall it stood in the river!) Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, Steadily from the outside ring, And notched the poor dry empty thing In holes, as he sat by the river.

"This is the way," laughed the great god Pan (Laughed while he sat by the river), "The only way, since gods began To make sweet music, they could succeed." Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed, He blew in power by the river.

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan! Piercing sweet by the river! Blinding sweet, O great god Pan! The sun on the hill forgot to die, And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly Came back to dream on the river.

Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, To laugh as he sits by the river, Making a poet out of a man: The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,-- For the reed which grows nevermore again As a reed with the reeds in the river.

_Elizabeth Barrett Browning._

* * * * *

THE VOYAGE.

We left behind the painted buoy That tosses at the harbor-mouth: And madly danced our hearts with joy, As fast we fleeted to the south: How fresh was every sight and sound On open main or winding shore! We knew the merry world was round, And we might sail forevermore.

Warm broke the breeze against the brow, Dry sang the tackle, sang the sail: The lady's-head upon the prow Caught the shrill salt, and sheered the gale. The broad seas swelled to meet the keel, And swept behind: so quick the run, We felt the good ship shake and reel, We seemed to sail into the sun!

How oft we saw the sun retire, And burn the threshold of the night, Fall from his ocean-lane of fire, And sleep beneath his pillared light! How oft the purple-skirted robe Of twilight slowly downward drawn, As through the slumber of the globe Again we dashed into the dawn!

New stars all night above the brim Of waters lightened into view; They climbed as quickly, for the rim Changed every moment as we flew. Far ran the naked moon across The houseless ocean's heaving field, Or flying shone, the silver boss Of her own halo's dusky shield;

The peaky islet shifted shapes, High towns on hills were dimly seen, We passed long lines of northern capes And dewy northern meadows green. We came to warmer waves, and deep Across the boundless east we drove, Where those long swells of breaker sweep The nutmeg rocks and isles of clove.

By peaks that flamed, or, all in shade, Gloomed the low coast and quivering brine With ashy rains, that spreading made Fantastic plume or sable pine; By sands and steaming flats, and floods Of mighty mouth, we scudded fast, And hills and scarlet-mingled woods Glowed for a moment as we passed.

O hundred shores of happy climes, How swiftly streamed ye by the bark! At times the whole sea burned, at times With wakes of fire we tore the dark; At times a carven craft would shoot From havens hid in fairy bowers, With naked limbs and flowers and fruit, But we nor paused for fruits nor flowers.

For one fair Vision ever fled Down the waste waters day and night, And still we followed where she led In hope to gain upon her flight. Her face was evermore unseen, And fixed upon the far sea-line; But each man murmured, "O my Queen, I follow till I make thee mine."

And now we lost her, now she gleamed Like Fancy made of golden air, Now nearer to the prow she seemed Like Virtue firm, like Knowledge fair, Now high on waves that idly burst Like Heavenly Hope she crowned the sea, And now, the bloodless point reversed, She bore the blade of Liberty.

And only one among us,--him We pleased not,--he was seldom pleased: He saw not far: his eyes were dim: But ours he swore were all diseased. "A ship of fools!" he shrieked in spite, "A ship of fools!" he sneered and wept. And overboard one stormy night He cast his body, and on we swept.

And never sail of ours was furled Nor anchor dropped at eve or morn; We loved the glories of the world, But laws of nature were our scorn; For blasts would rise and rave and cease, But whence were those that drove the sail Across the whirlwind's heart of peace, And to and through the counter-gale?

Again to colder climes we came, For still we followed where she led: Now mate is blind and captain lame, And half the crew are sick or dead. But blind or lame or sick or sound, We follow that which flies before: We know the merry world is round, And we may sail forevermore.

_Alfred Tennyson._

* * * * *

KUBLA KHAN.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree Where Alph, the sacred river, ran, Through caverns measureless to man, Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round; And there were gardens, bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree; And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm, which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced, Amid whose swift, half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail; And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale, the sacred river ran,-- Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean; And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war.

The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves, Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device,-- A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw; It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played, Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such a deep delight 'twould win me That, with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air,-- That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! beware His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.

_Samuel Taylor Coleridge._

* * * * *

SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF DELIGHT.

She was a phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view, A spirit, yet a woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin-liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food, For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death: The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect woman, nobly planned To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a spirit still, and bright With something of an angel-light.

_William Wordsworth._

* * * * *

THE SLANTEN LIGHT O' FALL.

(DORSET DIALECT.)

Ah! Jeane, my maid, I stood to you, When you wer' christen'd, small an' light, Wi' tiny earms o' red an' blue, A-hangen in your robe o' white. We brought ye to the hallow'd stwone, Vor Christ to teake ye vor his own, When harvest-work wer' all a-done, An' time brought round October zun,-- The slanten light o' Fall.

An' I can mind the wind wer' rough, An' gather'd clouds, but brought noo storms, An' you wer' nessled warm enough, 'Ithin your smilen mother's earms. The whindlen grass did quiver light, Among the stubble, feaded white, An' if at times the zunlight broke Upon the groun', or on the vo'k, 'Twer' slanten light o' Fall.

An' when we brought ye droo the door O' Knapton church, a child o' greace, There cluster'd roun' a'most a score O' vo'k to zee your tiny feace. An' there we all did veel so proud, To zee an op'nen in the cloud, An' then a stream o' light break droo, A-sheenen brightly down on you,-- The slanten light o' Fall.

But now your time's a-come to stan' In church a-blushen at my zide, The while a bridegroom vrom my han' Ha' took ye vor his faithvul bride. Your christen neame we gi'd ye here, When Fall did cool the weasten year; An' now, agean, we brought ye droo The doorway, wi' your surneame new, In slanten light o' Fall.

An' zoo vur, Jeane, your life is feair, An' God ha' been your steadvast friend, An' mid ye have mwore jay than ceare, Vor ever, till your journey's end. An' I've a-watch'd ye on wi' pride, But now I soon mus' leave your zide, Vor you ha' still life's springtide zun, But my life, Jeane, is now a-run To slanten light o' Fall.

_William Barnes._

* * * * *

A HEALTH.

I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon; To whom the better elements And kindly stars have given A form so fair, that, like the air, 'Tis less of earth than heaven.

Her every tone is music's own, Like those of morning birds, And something more than melody Dwells ever in her words; The coinage of her heart are they, And from her lips each flows As one may see the burdened bee Forth issue from the rose.

Affections are as thoughts to her, The measures of her hours; Her feelings have the fragrancy, The freshness of young flowers; And lovely passions, changing oft, So fill her, she appears The image of themselves by turns,-- The idol of past years!

Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears, When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers.

I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon,-- Her health! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name.

_Edward Coate Pinkney._

* * * * *

ON A GIRDLE.

That which her slender waist confined Shall now my joyful temples bind; No monarch but would give his crown, His arms might do what this hath done.

It was my heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer: My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move.

A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair. Give me but what this ribbon bound, Take all the rest the sun goes round!

_Edmund Waller._

* * * * *

A NICE CORRESPONDENT!

The glow and the glory are plighted To darkness, for evening is come; The lamp in Glebe Cottage is lighted; The birds and the sheep-bells are dumb. I'm alone at my casement, for Pappy Is summoned to dinner at Kew: I'm alone, my dear Fred, but I'm happy,-- I'm thinking of you.