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RUTH She stood breast high amid the corn, Clasped by the golden light of morn, Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won. On her cheek an autumn flush Deeply ripened — such a blush In the midst of brown was born Like red poppies grown with corn. Round her eyes her tresses fell, Which were blackest none could tell, But long lashes veiled a light That had else been all too bright. And her hat, with shady brim, Made her tressy forehead dim: Thus she stood amid the stooks, Praising God with sweetest looks: Sure, I said, Heav'n did not mean Where I reap thou shouldst but glean, Lay thy sheaf adown and come Share my harvest and my home.
O SAW you not fair Ines?
She's gone into the West,
And rob the world of rest.
The smiles that we love best, With morning blushes on her cheek,
And pearls upon her breast. Oh, turn again, fair ines!
Before the fall of night, For fear the moon should shine alone,
And stars unrivalled bright. And blessed will the lover be,
That walks beneath their light, And breathes the love against thy cheek
I dare not even write! Would I had been, fair Ines,
That gallant cavalier,
Who rode so gaily by thy side
And whispered thee so near!
Or no true lovers here,
The dearest of the dear?
Alas, Alas, fair Ines !
She went away with song,
And shoutings of the throng.
But only music's wrong,
To her you've loved so long.
That vessel never bore
Nor danced so light before.
And sorrow on the shore;
Has broken many more!
I saw thee, lovely Ines,
Descend along the shore,
And banners waved before,
And snowy plumes they wore;
•-If it had been no more!
1799-1827. !Born in Renfrewshire, Scotland, 1799: educated for the church, but produced, before he had attained his twenty-sixth year, a very remarkable poem, entitled The Course of Time, which attracted the most unqualified admiration in the religious world. The young poet's constitution was frail, and was undermined by his intense application. He was preparing to start for Italy, but died at Southampton in 1827.) THE GENIUS OF BYRO.V.
It scarce deserved his verse. With Na.
ture's self (The Course of Time.)
He seemed an old acquaintance, free to He touched his harp, and nations
jest heard, entranced.
At will with all her glorious majesty. As some vast river of unfailing source, He laid his hand upon “the Ocean's Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers
And played familiar with his hoary And oped new fountains in the human
Stood on the Alps, stood on the ApenWhere Fancy halted, weary in her flight, nines, In other men, his, fresh as morning, Aud with the thunder talked as friend rose,
to friend; And soared untrodden heights, and And vove his garland of the lightning's seemed at home,
wing, Where angels bashful looked. Others, In sportive twist, the lightning's fiery though great,
wing, Beneath their argument seemed strug. Which, as the footsteps of the dreadful gling whiles;
God, He from above descending, stooped to Marching upon the storm in vengeance, touch
seemed; The loftiest thought; and proudly | Then turned, and with the grasshopper,
stooped as though
His evening song beneath his feet, con- But back into his soul retired, alone, versed.
Dark, sullen, proud, gazing contempSuns, moons, and stars, and clouds, his
tuously sisters were;
On hearts and passions prostrate at his Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and
feet. winds, and storms;
So Ocean, from the plains his waves His brothers, younger brothers, whom
had late he scarce
To desolation swept, retired in pride, As equals deemed. All passions of all Exulting in the glory of his might, men,
And seemed to mock the ruin he had The wild and tame, the gentle and se
As some fierce comet of tremendous All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and
To which the stars did reverence as it All creeds, all seasons, Time, Eternity;
passed, All that was hated, and all that was So he, through learning and through dear;
fancy, took All that was hoped, all that was feared, His flights sublime, and on the loftiest by man,
top He tossed about, as tempest-withered Of Fame's dread mountain sat; leaves;
soiled and worn, Then, smiling, looked upon the wreck As if he from the earth had labored he made.
up; With terror now he froze the cowering But, as some bird of heavenly plumage blood,
fair, And now dissolved the heart in tender- He looked, which down from higher ness;
regions came, Yet would not tremble, would not weep And perched it there, to see what lay himself;
1800–1859. [THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY was born at Rothley Temple, Leicestershire, Oct. 25, 1321 and died at Holly Lodge, Campden Hill, Dec. 28, 1859. His Lays of Ancient Rome were pube ished in 1843: other ballads and poems were written from time to time, his earliest published piece, an Epitaph on Henry Martyn, being dated 1812.1
HENRY OF NAVARRE.
Now glory to the Lord of hosts, from
whom all glories are !
Henry of Navarre !
music and of dance,
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny
vines, oh pleasant land of France! And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle,
proud city of the waters, Again let rapture light the eyes of all
thy mourning daughters. As thou wert constant in our ills, be
joyous in our joy,
For cold, and stiff, and still are they Of fife, and steed, and trump and drum, who wrought thy walls annoy.
and roaring culverin! Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath The fiery Duke is pricking fast across turned the chance of war,
Saint André's plain, Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King With all the hireling chivalry of GuelHenry of Navarre.
ders and Almayne.
Now by the lips of those ye love, fair Oh! how our hearts were beating, when
gentlemen of France, at the dawn of day
Charge for the Golden Lilies now — We saw the army of the League drawn
upon them with the lance! out in long array;
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a With all its priest-led citizens, and all
thousand spears in rest, its rebel peers,
A thousand knights are pressing close
behind the snow-white crest; And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears.
And in they burst, and on they rushed, There rode the brood of false Lorraine,
while, like a guiding star, the curses of our land!
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a
helmet of Navarre. truncheon in his hand! And as we looked on them, we thought Now, God be praised, the day is ours ! of Seine's empurpled food,
Mayenne hath turned his rein. And good Coligni's hoary hair all dab- D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The bled with his blood;
Flemish Count is slain. And we cried unto the living God, who
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds rules the fate of war,
before a Biscay gale; To fight for his own holy name, and
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, Henry of Navarre.
and flags, and cloven mail; And then, we thought on vengeance,
and all along our van, The King is come to marshal us, in all
“ Remember St. Bartholomew," was his armor drest, And he has bound a snow-white plume
passed from man to man;
But out spake gentle Henry, “No upon his gallant crest.
Frenchman is my foe: He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye;
Down, down with every foreigner, but
let your brethren go.” He looked upon the traitors, and his
Oh! was ihere ever such a knight, in glance was stern and high. Right graciously he smiled on us, as
friendship or in war, rolled from wing to wing,
As our Sovereign Lord King Henry, the
soldier of Navarre! Down all our line, a deafening shout, “God save our Lord the King!”
Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons "And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall
of Lucerne! full well he may,
Weep, weep, and rend your hair for For never saw I promise yet of such a
those who never shall return. bloody fray,
Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy MexiPress where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war,
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass And be your oriflamme to-day the hel
for thy poor spearmen's souls ! met of Navarre."
Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look
that your arms be bright! Hurrah! the foes are moving. Hark Ho! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep to the mingled din
watch and ward to-night!
For our God hath crushed the tyrant,
our God hath raised the slave, And mocked the counsel of the wise,
and the valor of the brave. Then glory to His holy name, from whom
all glories are; And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King
Henry of Navarre !
O! WHEREFORE come ye forth in triumph
from the North, With your hands and your feet, and your
raiment all red? And wherefore do your rou send forth
a joyous shout? And whence are the grapes of the wine
press that ye tread? O! evil was the root, and bitter was the
fruit, And crimson was the juice of the vintage
that we trod; For we trampled on the throng of the
haughty and the strong, Who sate in the high places and slew
the saints of God.
For God! for the Cause! for the Church!
for the Laws! For Charles, King of England, and Ru
pert of the Rhine! The furious German comes, with his
trumpets and his drums, His bravoes of Alsatia and pages of
Whitehall; They are bursting on our flanks! Grasp
your pikes! Close your ranks! For Rupert never comes, but to conquer,
or to fall. They are here — they rush on - we are
broken — we are gone Our left is borne before them like stub.
ble on the blast. O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord,
defend the right! Stand back to back, in God's name ! and
fight it to the last ! Stout Skippen hath a wound - the cen
tre hath given ground. But hark ! what means this trampling
of horsenen in the rear? What banner do I see, boys? 'Tis he!
thank God! 'tis he, boys ! Bear up another minute! Brave Oliver
Their heads are stooping low, their pikas
all in a row: Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a
deluge on the dykes, Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks
of the Accurst, And at a shock have scatter'd the forest
of his pikes. Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe
nook to hide Their coward heads, predestined to rot
on Temple Bar. And he — he turns! he flies! shame to
those cruel eyes That bore to look on torture, and dare
not look on war.
Like a servant of the Lord, with his
Bible and his sword, The General rode along us to form us
for the fight; · When a murmuring sound broke out,
and swell'd into a shout . Among the godless horsemen upon the
And hark ! like the roar of the billow
on the shore, The cry of battle rises along their charg.
ing line :
Ho, comrades ! scour the plain, and ere
ye strip the slain, First give another stab to make the