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And robed the world, and hung the Disperst is all its chivalry.

night,

With silent, stern, and solemn forms; And strown with sounds of awe, and

might,

The seas and storms;

All lacking power to impart

To man the secret he assails,

But arm'd to crush him, if his heart Once doubts or fails!

To make him feel the same forlorn
Despair, the Fiend hath felt ere now,
In gazing at the stern sweet scorn
On Michael's brow?

Full many a move since then have we
'Mid life's perplexing checkers made,
And many a game with fortune played;
What is it we have won?
This, this at least, if this alone:

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LEWIS MORRIS.

1833

[BORN in Carmarthen, Wales, in 1833; graduated at Jesus College, Oxford, in 1855 as first class in classics and chancellor's prize-man; called to the bar at Lincoln's Inn, 1861. Has held numerous positions of trust in Wales, where he resides. In 1871-4-5, appeared the three volumes of Songs of Two Worlds. In 1876-77 The Epic of Hades, Books I., II., and III., were pub lished. Gwin, a Drama in Monologue, appeared in 1878, and in March, 1880, The Ode of Life. The above have hitherto appeared anonymously as the work of "A New Writer," but a new edition is announced for publication under the author's name. His latest work, Songs Unsung, appeared in 1883.]

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There through the sweet and toilsome day,

To labor is to pray;

There love with kindly beaming eyes
Prepares the sacrifice;

And voice and innocent smile

Of childhood do our cheerful liturgies
beguile.

There, at his chaste and frugal feast,
Love sitteth as a Priest;

And with mild eyes and mien sedate,
His deacons stand and wait;
And round the holy table

Paten and chalice range in order ser-
viceable.

And when ere night, the vespers said,
Low lies each weary head,
What giveth He who gives them sleep,
But a brief death less deep?
Or what the fair dreams given
But ours who, daily dying, dream a hap-
pier heaven?

Then not within a cloistered wall
Will we expend our days;

But dawns that break and eves that
fall

Shall bring their dues of praise.
This best befits a Ruler always near,
This duteous worship mild, and reason-
able fear.

WILLIAM MORRIS.

1834

[BORN near London in 1834. Educated at Forest School, Walthamstow, at Marlborough, and at Exeter College, Oxford. Studied painting, but did not succeed in that profession. In 1858, published The Defence of Guenevere, and Other Poems. In 1863, with several partners, he started in London an establishment for the artistic designing and manufacturing of various articles, especially wall paper, stained glass, tiles, and household decorations. At this business he has wrought as a designer, devoting his leisure to the composition of poetry. He published in 1867 The Life and Death of Jason; The Earthly Paradise, in 3 vols., 1868-1870. His later publications are The Eneid of Virgil done into English Verse, 1876; The Story of Sigurd, the Volsung, and The Fall of the Niblungs, 1877. He has also aided in the work of translating several volumes from the Icelandic.]

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A samite cloth of white and red;
A rose lay on my face.

Many a time I tried to shout;
But as in dream of battle-rout,
My frozen speech would not well out;
I could not even weep.

With inward sigh I see the sun
Fade off the pillars one by one,
My heart faints when the day is done,
Because I cannot sleep.

Sometimes strange thoughts passthrough
my head;

Not like a tomb is this my bed,
Yet oft I think that I am dead;

That round my tomb is writ,
"Ozana of the hardy heart,

Knight of the Table Round,
Pray for his soul, lords, of your part;

A true knight he was found."
Ah! me, I cannot fathom it. He sleeps.

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I enter'd by the western door;

I saw a knight's helm lying there: I raised my eyes from off the floor, And caught the gleaming of his hair.

I stept full softly up to him;

I laid my chin upon his head;
I felt him smile; my eyes did swim,
I was so glad he was not dead.
I heard Ozana murmur low,

"There comes no sleep nor any love." But Galahad stoop'd and kiss'd his brow: He shiver'd; I saw his pale lips move.

SIR OZANA.

There comes no sleep nor any love;
Ah me! I shiver with delight.

I am so weak I cannot move;

God move me to thee, dear, to-night! Christ help! I have but little wit:

My life went wrong; I see it writ,

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[SON of the late Admiral Charles Henry Swinburne; born in London, April 5, 1837. He entered Balliol College, Oxford, in 1857, but left the University without taking a degree. He afterwards visited Florence and spent some time with Walter Savage Landor. His first produc

tion, The Queen Mother, and Rosamond, two plays, appeared in 1861. These were followed by Atalanta in Calydon, a Tragedy, in 1864; Chastelard, a Tragedy, in 1865; and Poems and Ballads, in 1866; published in New York under the title Laus Veneris. His later poetical works are A Song of Italy, 1867; Siena, a Poem, 1868; Bothwell, a Tragedy, 1870; Songs before Sunrise, 1871; Erechtheus, a drama on the Greek model, 1875; Poems and Ballads, (second series) 1878; Studies in Song, 1881; Tristam of Lyonesse, 1882; and A Century of Roundels, 1883.]

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