« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »
Fashioned above within their inmost part,
That neither Phoebus' beams could through them throng,
Nor Eolus' sharp blast could work them any wrong.
And all about grew every sort of flower
To which sad lovers were transformed of yore;
And dearest love;
Foolish Narcisse, that likes the watery shore;
Me seems I see Amyntas' wretched fate,
To whom sweet poets' verse hath given endless date.
SPENSER. [From "The Faerie Queene." Book 3, Canto 6.]
The Passionate Pilgrim.
TAKE, oh, take those lips away,
Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow
To the Grasshopper and the Cricket.
GREEN little vaulter in the sunny grass,
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
To ring in thoughtful ears this natural song-
BUT who the melodies of morn can tell?
The wild brook babbling down the mountain's side ; The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley; echoing far and wide The clamorous horn along the cliffs above; The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide; The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.
The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark;
Crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings; The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark! Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings; Through rustling corn the hare astonished springs; Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour; The partridge bursts away on whirring wings; Deep moans the turtle in sequestered bower, And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tower.
BEATTIE. [From "The Minstrel."]
The Procession of the Seasons.
So forth issued the Seasons of the year;
And on his head (as fit for warlike stoures)
That as some did him love, so others did him fear.
Then came the jolly Summer, being dight
A bow and shafts, as he in forest green
Had hunted late the leopard or the boar,
And now would bathe his limbs with labour heated sore.
Then came the Autumn, all in yellow clad,
As though he joyed in his plenteous store,
Laden with fruits that made him laugh, full glad
That he had banished hunger, which to-fore
Had by the belly oft him pinched sore;
Το reap the ripened fruits the which the earth had yold.
Lastly came Winter, clothed all in frieze,
Clattering his teeth for cold that did him chill,
In his right hand a tipped staff he held,
SPENSER.-[From "The Faerie Queene."]
The Ivy in the Dungeon.
THE ivy in a dungeon grew
Unfed by rain, uncheered by dew;
Its pallid leaflets only drank
Cave moistures foul, and odours dank.
But through the dungeon-grating high
There fell a sunbeam from the sky;