ouse I trod,

Fnd tre

Arnold (1822-1888]

СКАЧА

To she pisto

ving iceboard
shore; qual

eneath us; }guor

en no more.
you die
depЯ

olish baby,

fights, and frets;

rving nothing;guti

what he gets bl

Thomas Carlyle [1795-1881]

wold ads to esvasl:

BILITYBOS SOLE
nu gunng in bes
t smiles to-day

Whilst skies are blue and bright,
Whilst flowers are gay,

Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day,

Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou-and from thy sleep
Then wake to weep.

Percy Bysshe Shelley [1792-1822]

A FANCY FROM FONTENELLE

De mémoires de Roses on n'a point vu mourir le Jardinier

THE Rose in the garden slipped her bud,
And she laughed in the pride of her youthful blood,
As she thought of the Gardener standing by—
"He is old-so old! And he soon must die!"

The full Rose waxed in the warm June air,

And she spread and spread till her heart lay bare;
And she laughed once more as she heard his tread-
"He is older now! He will soon be dead!"

But the breeze of the morning blew, and found
That the leaves of the blown Rose strewed the ground;

And he came at noon, that Gardener old,

And he raked them gently under the mold.

And I wove the thing to a random rhyme:
For the Rose is Beauty; the Gardener, Time.

Austin Dobson (1840

"OH, EARLIER SHALL THE ROSEBUDS BLOW"

Он, earlier shall the rosebuds blow,

In after years, those happier years,
And children weep, when we lie low,
Far fewer tears, far softer tears.

Oh, true shall boyish laughter ring,
Like tinkling chimes, in kinder times!

And merrier shall the maiden sing:

And I not there, and I not there.

Down, Sad Soul"

3173

g in the summer night

Eh shall be, so quick and free; flash of their delight

see, I may not see.

eam, with wider range,

s shall shine, but not on mine: mblest, by worldly change, must rest, the dead shall rest. William Johnson Cory [1823-1892]

THE DOVE

d the sweet dove died;
ought it died of grieving:

t grieve for? Its feet were tied
hread of my own hand's weaving;
cet! why should you die—
leave me, sweet bird! why?
in the forest tree,

ng! would you not live with me?
and gave you white peas;

eetly, as in the green trees?

John Keats [1795-1821)

We dream; do thou the same;
We love for ever;

We laugh, yet few we shame

The gentle, never.

Stay, then, till sorrow dies;

Then-hope and happy skies

Are thine for ever!

Bryan Waller Procter [1787-1874]

ON A TEAR

O THAT the chemist's magic art
Could crystallize this sacred treasure!
Long should it glitter near my heart,
A secret source of pensive pleasure.

The little brilliant, ere it fell,

Its luster caught from Chloe's eye;
Then, trembling, left its coral cell,-
The spring of Sensibility!

Sweet drop of pure and pearly light!
In thee the rays of Virtue shine,
More calmly clear, more mildly bright,
Than any gem that gilds the mine.

Benign restorer of the soul!

Who ever fliest to bring relief, When first we feel the rude control Of Love or Pity, Joy or Grief.

The sage's and the poet's theme,
In every clime, in every age,
Thou charm'st in Fancy's idle dream,
In Reason's philosophic page.

That very law which molds a tear,
And bids it trickle from its source,-

That law preserves the earth a sphere,
And guides the planets in their course.
Samuel Rogers [1763-1855]