countenance, I began to make him compliments of condolance: but he started from his chair, and said "Isaac, you may spare your speeches, I expect no reply: when I told you this, I knew you would laugh at me: but the next woman that makes me ridiculous shall be a young one."

R. Steele.

Sonnet

L'

IFT not the painted veil which those who live Call Life; though unreal shapes be pictured there,

And it but mimic all we would believe

With colours idly spread,—behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.

I know one who had lifted it—he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love,
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.

P. B. Shelley.

Он

H cruel Time! which takes in trust,
Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days.

Invocation

Sir W. Raleigh.

(From the Third Book of Airs, 1617)

HRICE toss these oaken ashes in the air,

THR

Thrice sit thou mute in this enchanted chair, Then thrice times three tie up this true love's knot, And murmur soft "She will or she will not."

Go burn these poisonous leaves in yon blue fire, These screech-owl's feathers and this prickling briar,

This cypress gathered at a dead man's grave,
That all my fears and cares an end may have.

Then come, you fairies! dance with me a round!
Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound!
In vain are all the charms I can devise:

She hath an art to break them with her eyes.
T. Campion.

Dirge

(From Poems of 1851)

ET dew the flowers fill;

LE

No need of fell despair, Though to the grave you bear One still of soul-but now too still

One fair-but now too fair.

For, beneath your feet, the mound,

And the waves that play around,

Have meaning in their grassy and their watery

smiles;

And with a thousand sunny wiles

Each says, as he reproves,

Death's arrow oft is Love's.

Death's Summons

ADIEU; farewell earth's bliss,

This world uncertain is :

Fond are life's lustful joys,

Death proves them all but toys.

None from his darts can fly :

I am sick, I must die.

Lord have mercy on us!

Rich men, trust not in wealth,
Gold cannot buy you health;
Physic himself must fade;
All things to end are made;

T. L. Beddoes.

The plague full swift goes by;
I am sick, I must die.

Lord have mercy on us!

Beauty is but a flower,

Which wrinkles will devour:
Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath closed Helen's eye;
I am sick, I must die.

Lord have mercy on us!

Strength stoops unto the grave :
Worms feed on Hector brave;
Swords may not fight with fate :
Earth still holds ope her gate.
Come, come, the bells do cry;
I am sick, I must die.

Lord have mercy on us!

Wit with his wantonness,
Tasteth death's bitterness;

Hell's executioner

Hath no ears for to hear
What vain art can reply;

I am sick, I must die.

Lord have mercy on us!

Haste therefore each degree

To welcome destiny:

Heaven is our heritage,

Earth but a player's stage.

Mount we unto the sky;

I am sick, I must die.

Lord have mercy on us !

(From Hawthorn and Lavender)

RAY hills, gray skies, gray lights,

GRAY

And still gray sea

O fond, O fair,

The Mays that were,

When the wild days and wilder nights

Made it like heaven to be!

Gray head, gray heart, gray dreams—
O breath by breath,

Night-tide and day

Lapse gentle and gray,

As to a murmur of tired streams,

Into the haze of death.

T. Nashe.

W. E. Henley

Men of Genius

SILENT the Lord of the world

Eyes from the heavenly height,
Girt by his far-shining train,
Us who with banners unfurled

Fight life's many-chanced fight
Madly below, in the plain.